#this was a PERFECT mirror of the last battle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rockingbytheseaside · 4 months ago

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✦ You test out a new lipstick

(Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia)

Tw: smooches! Shield your eyes!

Oh, would you look at that, you bought a new lipstick. You just need to test whether it wears down quickly or leaves any mark.

✧ Pierro is in a haste. You blurt out that you need a new lipstick once, and the next thing you know, he purchases several high-quality ones for you. Offering you swatches of colors, makeup removers, different shades, and lipstick textures, he observes with analytical admiration as you sit in front of a mirror and apply the lipstick carefully.

One last step is missing – to try its imprint. The Jester is ready to reach for a napkin to let you try. But you only smiled. Before he can comprehend, your hand reaches to turn his head and gently guides him closer to your lips until you sweetly capture his. It’s not often that The Jester experiences a complete blank out, but when you deliberately trace your lips across his skin and start preparing his face with kisses, how else is he supposed to react? Hold in his hitched breaths? Not deepen the kisses to relish the ambrosia of your lips?

Suffice it to say, you are proud of the imprints on his pale skin. He seems even prouder, wearing them like a badge of honor, despite his stoic appearance.

✧ You asked Il Capitano to evaluate the new shade of lipstick you bought. Like any loving partner, the honorable Captain stated honestly that any hue suits you elegantly. Even if his knowledge of cosmetics is minimal, he felt delighted and proud of your looks.

But that wasn’t the issue. Now you were standing in front of him, smiling menacingly.

“What is it, my treasure?”

You stepped closer.

“Dear…?”

You stepped even closer. Oh no, thought the Captain, he’s in danger. His pleas for reason and mercy went unheard. Instead, he faced a bigger battle—a battle that left his helmet not with scratches but with various imprints of your kisses. You stood triumphantly, happy with your lipstick and the numerous marks on his helmet and neck.

Il Capitano lost the battle that day.

✧ At last, Il Dottore mused to himself, the perfect hue of lipstick designed scientifically for you. You voiced your issue in finding a suitable shade of makeup for yourself, hence you asked none other than your beloved to find a logical solution. So he took matters into his own hands to find the best chemical solution and accurately create the best shade to match your skin.

Naturally, it was a success. With his gloves stained in various colorful substances, he proudly handed you a slender tube with a delicate black cap from the table as if it were a casual concoction he could make on a whimsy. Hence, you thanked him and blithely applied it on the spot.

“Dottore, it turned out magnificently!” – you said as you looked into the reflection of your face. But when you turned to look at him, Dottore’s complexion went vaguely blank. “Hm, what is it? Isn't it good? You made it matte, too.”

He silently stepped forward; even behind his black mask, you could sense his full attention zooming on the beauty of your lips.

"Well, true... I formulated it to be stain-proof, so it won't smudge as you go about your day. However," - he hummed, his hand cupping your jawline warmly. "Every product requires assiduous testing. We could conduct a few tests of our own to ensure its performance. If I may,"

Of course, he would test it personally. Of course, he then captures your lips in a kiss, his hand on the back of your head, his touch an ardent mix of passion and desire. He explores your mouth, his tongue caressing yours with a fervor, wanting to test how long the lipstick will last under the pressure of his kisses. You should've expected this, as his other hand encloses around you to press you flush against him.

"Ah... interesting. It's held up quite well. There's no transfer on your skin or mine, but I do think further testing is necessary."

“Enough, enough! That’s plenty of testing from you!”

✧ Scaramouche dislikes shopping. It’s a hassle, truly. You requested him to accompany you on a leisurely stroll, oblivious of your trap to drag him to some quick shopping. Except this quick shopping turned into a full-blown shopping spree. The question is: was he here to accompany you or to pull you away from wasting all your Mora on fleeting indulgences?

“No, you don't need any more clothes. You have plenty of unworn ones.”

“No, we don't need any more plushies, your bed is already littered with them.”

“And no, you already had some snacks on the way here. Stop buying more!”

You couldn't escape his stern reminders, even if they were practical. However, there was still one shop you left as an ace up your sleeves. Before finishing today's trip, you encouraged The Balladeer to join you in cosmetics shopping. Your innocent smile spoke promises of letting him choose your new lipstick color if he so desired, and the allure of it caused him to halt.

“... Me? Why must I choose? Can't you pick a simple color and call it a day, huh?” - Scaramouche feigned annoyance when, in reality, he quickly grabbed your arm and led you hastily to the boutique. “We'll quickly buy one, but don't get any ideas that we're staying here for any longer.”

Poor Harbinger; he didn't have to lie to himself so cruelly. The two of you stayed in the boutique for a long while, not because you were indecisive, but because Scaramouche suddenly took the matters with utter seriousness. Should he suggest a carnelian shade? It would match with his own red eyeshade. Or perhaps a darker one would suit your complexion? Especially if you decided to leave contrasting lipstick imprints all over his porcelain skin-

Scaramouche shook his head. Your voice interrupted his train of thought.

“Um… Scara, sweetie? Could we decide already? We spent the whole day in this shop.”

“We'll buy all of them, then,” - he held up your face, his full focus on you as you timidly averted your gaze. “Here. Now let me help you apply it.”

✧ Pantalone sat behind his desk, fingers intertwined thoughtfully. Silver glasses cast a shadow upon his already darkened gaze. His expression, unfortunately, was far from pleased.

“L-lord Harbinger Regrator,” – the Fatui subordinate uttered. “It is with utmost sorrow that I must inform you that- that the cosmetologists you hired have not finished their work. They are still in the process of creating the products you requested.”

The silence of the office was deafening. The Harbinger granted no mercy with his prolonged pause.

“... I commission the best cosmetologist in all of Teyvat, and they still dare to waste my Mora and time? Is this some frivolous matter for them?” - The Harbinger's hands sternly pressed against the table, his voice raised “My beloved requested a new lipstick! They deserve the best of the best, as soon as possible!”

“Uh, honey… I am still here in the room.” - your voice interjected awkwardly. Indeed, it's true; you are sitting nearby, blinking in confusion. You waved at the Fatui subordinate to take it easy, signaling sympathetically that your partner was having another one of his ambitious episodes.

“Honey, my love, this is no fleeting matter! I wanted you to get the highest, custom-made quality for cosmetics. You rarely ask for anything, but when you do, I can't just let you down!”

“It's just lipstick…! I didn't even say what color or kind I wanted.”

“And that's precisely why you shall get all of them. You there,” - he signaled back to the subordinate swiftly. “Quick, send the letters to those cosmetic chemists to hurry up if they want to make themselves worth the Mora. Delays are not negotiable.”

With the Fatui worker scurrying away in a hurry, Pantalone sighed deeply before plopping down beside you on the sofa of his office. You patted his back, amused by his sudden precedence over something so mundane.

“There, there, Pantalone. You know it's nothing urgent. It's just lipstick.”

“Not any lipstick. Your lipstick, darling! I need to see you don the most dazzling color on your lips.” He turned to gently trace his thumb across your jawline, his voice softening. “...The lips that should be showering me with kisses and leaving lipstick prints on my skin.”

You laughed heartily – “Oh, so that's what it's all about? You know, makeup or no makeup, I can still kiss y-”

You didn't register how The Harbinger's head bowed lowly in reverence. “I would pay you any amount of Mora for you to do so.”

Pantalone truly knows how to blow up over the most bizarre things. Either way, as the weeks passed, the newly ordered cosmetics did arrive as instructed. How did people know? Because Pantalone didn’t shy away from flaunting the traces of your delicate lips on his neck and blouse. A testament to stolen kisses and intimate moments behind closed doors. His triumphant grin says it all.

✧ Your ever-observant boyfriend, Tartaglia, noticed you mulling something over by the mirror. You seemed in deep focus, a new item in your hands as you inspected your visage. You tried on a new lipstick!

Childe, being the endearing goofball that he is, complimented your new purchase with delight. You appreciated his knack for noticing even the smallest changes, even if you didn't directly tell him you tried on something new. All was well!

Or was it? For beneath his easygoing smile, in the deepest recesses of his soul, Tartaglia was begging, crying, screaming. He wanted to hold your face in his palms and kiss you senseless. He wished to taste the sweetness of your lips until this adorable color of your lipstick was smeared on both of your faces. He wished to soak in the warmth of your pecks and kisses, dreaming for your touch to litter his face with imprints.

Did he say all of that? Of course not. He kept beaming at you in adoration, his smile tender while his thoughts devouring. Yet, after days of wrestling with his unspoken desires, Childe devised a plan – a very, very subtle plan.

“Oh nooo,” - he lamented dramatically, leaning against the doorway with a hand draped theatrically over his forehead. “If only my beloved was here to bestow me some loving kisses, especially when they look so alluring in their new lipstick! If only!”

You raised an eyebrow at Tartaglia’s shenanigans as if asking him: Really? What is this damsel in distress act? Nonetheless, luckily for the 11th, his oh-so-subtle hints hit the mark, because you happily cupped his cheeks and smooched them with fervor, feeling his warm skin under your lips as he chuckled.

Needless to say, your lipstick didn’t stand a chance.

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gtgbabie0 · 4 months ago

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Can I make a request for Ambessa with wife!reader and reader is a few months postpartum and she’s insecure about her figure. Ambessa decides to comfort her and show her how special she really is.

⋆⁺ ✮⋆⁺ Ambessa Medarda x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: {The birth of your child left you with many doubts and your wife proves them all wrong} CW: talks of childbirth, body image issues, themes of postpartum depression, bathing together. AN: I got so carried away with this. oml.

The birthing bed was your battlefield as the wife to a fearsome warlord— a fate that had surprisingly brought you more happiness than you had originally anticipated, that was until your waters broke and the contractions started. Then you were cursing Ambessa’s name.

You were prepared for this, your handmaidens spent day and night explaining to you the pain and showing you hand-drawn pictures— your mother had even told you of her own experiences. It was all pointless because you quickly learned that no word or picture could ever even begin to describe the pain of childbirth.

It didn’t get much easier from there. The battle continued even after the birth of a healthy baby boy and girl—oh how grateful your wife was—twins, a strong boy and girl to carry on her name… a miracle. You only wished you could share her joy, but you couldn’t. There was an odd disconnect that had managed to wedge itself between you, your children, and Ambessa.

Your skin didn’t feel your own, hell, your whole life didn’t feel like yours— almost as if you had taken the place of some stranger, a different woman that was not you. That woman was more suited to be a mother, a wife. It was a sickening feeling, one that often left you immobilised in bed.

You didn’t want to face the mirrors, hold your babies, or have your wife look at you, much less touch you—hence why you slept with a pillow stuffed between you both, not wanting to risk it… despite how much you deeply yearned for it, and oh how you really did yearn for her comforting touch.

It was the reason your maid brings you your nightly tea with just enough crushed poppy flowers to knock you out— you preferred to sleep before your wife got back from her duties, although you told your maids differently.

“Leave it on the table.” The words leave you with a sigh, not looking over to her from your place on the sofa— a deep red velvet colour, soft to the touch, your wife only accepts perfection.

“Lady Medarda, surely a simple ginger tea would be better for you?— The pain shouldn’t be lasting this long.” bless her, she sounded so concerned. Of course, your excuse of birthing pains could only last so long, five whole months had passed since— the warmth of summer slowly dwindling away, replaced by a sharp chill that autumn brought.

You shake your head, bringing your fingertips to your temple with a pitiful glint in your eyes, ready to put on a show— then the bedroom door opens and your handmaiden is bowing to Ambessa, whose eyes are fixed onto you, stepping off to the side politely.

“You’re back early.” The words fly from your lips faster than you could even process them and far more harshly than intended, however, the quiver in your voice gives you away. Your false bravado was not lost on Ambessa, that mask you wore did not fool her.

“Leave us.” Her words are sharp, stern and has the maid scurrying off— dress clutched in her hands. You could already hear the gossip she was sure to spread with the other servants.

A sigh escapes you as your eyes flicker over to the flames in the fireplace, watching the embers dance wildly within the hearth— Ambessa’s heavy, golden spear hanging above, displayed proudly, every nick and indent tells a different story. You let your mind wander in hopes she'll drop it.

“Do I need to send for a doctor?” She doesn't. Your wife was a smart woman, she knew you like the back of her hand and could read all your inner thoughts, until recently— now getting a single word out of you was like trying to get blood out of a stone. Instead, she was left with this distance you had managed to put between yourself and her. Ambessa felt it, she just didn’t know how exactly to approach it and it was driving her crazy.

She was a practical woman, fixing her problems with strength, not emotions, this was not her strong suit. But she also did not know defeat.

“No, I am fine.” The lie didn’t sound convincing in the slightest, not even in your own ears— the words make you wince and from the sound of her scoff she didn’t believe you either.

You hated to be the cause of her concern, gods only know how busy the woman already was. Ambessa watches you, studying your movements with slightly narrowed eyes as you tug your shawl over your shoulders— grasping the soft fabric as if it were some sort of protective shield, a lifeline, that you wished desperately to disappear into.

“This is not fine, lie to your handmaidens all you want but do not lie to me.” Her tone is much softer than you deserve, you can’t help but cower away with a look of shame in your eyes— it only triples when she kneels down in front of you, her big, battle-worn hands resting over your knees.

The Ambessa Medarda, a feared warrior, kneeling before you like you were some sort of deity worth praying to… no it didn’t feel right.

The words die on your tongue, getting stuck in the back of your throat tightly— a whimper is the only thing you can let out, such a weak sound, strained with this insecurity that had been eating away at you for months.

“I do not know what it is— just an ache I cannot rid myself of, no matter what I do.” you breathe, dropping your head slightly as your gaze falls to her hands, the way her thumb rubs the inside of your knee. “I bring shame upon this family— upon you.”

Ambessa tuts at your words, pinching your chin between her index finger and thumb. “Shame?— look at me,” your eyes find her own hesitantly. “You are my greatest treasure… my proudest accomplishment.”

“I can’t be— I’m not fit for motherhood, to be your wife. I am weak.”

She bristles, “No flower, you are the furthest thing from weak. Motherhood is no easy feat, but we strengthen each other… you have me. Forever.” her eyes never once straying from your own.

You have only ever heard such loving sincerity from her a handful of times, on the day she asked you to marry her and the first time she had taken your maidenhead— your wedding night, and now. It’s a stern tone that is draped in earnest, so heavy with love, leaving no space for arguments.

Ambessa wouldn’t hear another word of it, of you speaking poorly of yourself— she had taken someone’s tongue after they foolishly insulted you, that wasn’t for nothing, that was out of devotion.

So all you can do is apologise— “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” but even that she doesn’t want to hear, her lips pressing a soothing kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“No more apologies, no more distance. You have me.” She promises, words whispered against your cheek before she pulls back to admire you with a soft yet firm stare. “Understood?”

“Yes, I understand.” You whisper, leaning into her hand as soon as her rough palm meets your cheek— your chest tightens and your eyes prickle with tears, it had been far too long since you felt her tender touch. With a hum of acknowledgement, she leans forward, still kneeling before you, her hand curving across your jaw to cup the back of your head— her lips meeting your own in a slow kiss, the rough pad of her thumb brushing your tears away.

“Shh my heart, I’m right here.” She soothes, lips brushing along your jaw when you melt further into her— trembling hands resting upon her broad shoulders which she cages within her own big ones as she pulls back to admire you. “I’ll have a bath prepared for us.”

Her words make you tense, something uncomfortable churning within your stomach at the thought. “No, my body has changed— it’s—”

“—It is just as perfect as the night I first had you.”

“No, it’s different.”

“Sweetling, you have brought life into this world. It’s a beautiful change.” She murmurs against your knuckles with an almost reverent gleam in her eyes, one that almost breaks down the defences that you have built up around your fragile heart, almost.

Ambessa can sense your unease, the hesitation— the way you can’t seem to meet her eyes and it destroys her, how had she failed to protect you from this? She brings your palm to rest over her heart, her eyes searching your own. “Trust me with this, let me worship you.” there's a soft question hidden beneath her tone, behind the firmness of what sounds like a demand.

“Just— Just a bath,” you whisper, glossy eyes and strained voice and she nods in response— cupping your face ever so gently as she repeats “Just a bath.” in agreement.

You trust her enough to guide you to your shared bathroom, enough to let her peel your nightgown off with careful hands, fingertips grazing across your body ever so slightly. The comforting scent of rose and honey wisps around you, carrying memories of nights you’ve shared like this and the prospect of being close to her seems a little less daunting as the familiarity warms your heart and the hot water envelops your body.

Ambessa's form engulfs your own as she sits behind you, strong thighs caging either side of you. It was protective, how her hands rub across your shoulders soothingly and the soft whispers of sweet nothings that leave her lips, muffled into the nape of your neck. She wishes to rid you of any self-doubt that had wormed itself into your mind.

Bubbles splay across your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around your knees that you’ve tucked beneath your chin in an attempt to make yourself smaller. “Flower?— relax into me,” her voice breaks you out of your thoughts as she slowly guides you back against her chest, wrapping an arm around your abdomen whilst the other moves to cup your cheek.

The candlelight flickers against your face as you tip your head backwards to look up at her, her thumb wiping away a stray tear that had escaped you. “Forgive me for not noticing your pain sooner,” She whispers, dropping a kiss to your forehead and then another to the tip of your nose.

The warm water laps at your bodies slightly as you move to curl up further into her, wanting to disappear in her embrace. “Just don’t let go,” and with that her arms tighten around your body, leaning to rest her forehead against your own.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about. Your place in my heart is yours, no one can take that from you.” You sigh at your words, letting out a teary giggle as she peppers kisses over your face. For the first time in a while, you felt whole, full, in a way you thought you would never feel again, for the time being at least… you savoured every second of it.

Her fingertips trace over the stretch marks left by your pregnancy, letting her lips trail over the dewy skin of your shoulders whispering soft “I love yous,” against you as she washes your hair— smirking at the way you let your guard down for her, how your eyes flutter close and the way sigh and hum in delight as she massages your scalp.

The water felt cleansing in a way, as it trickles down your head and along your back, washing away the months of aches that weighed on top of you. “How does that feel?” She asks, lips brushing along your jaw.

“Good, much better.” The relief in your tone brought immeasurable amounts of satisfaction to her that she couldn’t help but chuckle, happiness blooming through her chest as she replies with a soft. “That’s what I like to hear, my sweet.”

Ambessa vows to herself in that very moment to spend the night and every other night paying homage to the curves and dips of your body, to each stretch mark that maps over your skin until you feel nothing but love— she would put your pieces back together again no matter how jagged the edges were.

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solxamber · 3 months ago

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Supervillain's Guide to Romance || Rook Hunt

You, Supervillain, planned for a lifetime of rivalry, but instead, the Hero, Rook Hunt just keeps breaking into your lair with snacks.

Where did it all go wrong?

(Villain! Reader x Hero! Rook)

You have waited for this moment forever.

The world has been terribly dull as of late. Sure, your evil empire is thriving, the peasantry cowers at the mention of your name, and several major institutions have crumbled beneath your perfectly polished boots.

But without conflict, without an opponent, it’s just… paperwork and infrastructure maintenance. And while managing the economy after singlehandedly obliterating capitalism is hilarious, it does not provide the visceral thrill of a good old-fashioned deathmatch.

But now. Now.

The Goddess has finally chosen her Hero.

And you are so ready for this.

Your Ultimate Doomsday Device™ is primed. Your Evil Lair is bathed in appropriately dramatic red lighting. Your constructs—hulking, ominous, heavily armed—are lined up in terrifying symmetry, all enhanced with freshly sharpened weaponry and, crucially, eyeliner. Because aesthetic matters.

And you?

You are a vision of villainy. Cloak billowing, sword gleaming, boots heeled just enough to exude power but still practical enough for dramatic combat maneuvers. You spent three hours in front of a mirror perfecting your “I’ll kill you and laugh about it” smirk. You are prepared to be an absolute menace.

And then he arrives.

Standing atop the nearest cliff, silhouetted by an impossibly well-placed moon, is him.

The Goddess’s Chosen Hero.

Rook Hunt.

He is posing. His bow gleams. He looks like a romanticized painting of a hunter-king about to declare war on a stag. And then—

“Ah-ha!” he cries, pointing dramatically at you. “At last, we meet, O Dark Jewel of the Night’s Malevolence!”

…What.

Rook places a hand on his chest, eyes alight with unhinged enthusiasm. “What poetry! What drama! What an exquisite monologue that must have been as you awaited my arrival! Tell me, mon cher adversaire, how long have you rehearsed this glorious moment?”

…What.

You were expecting many things.

A clash of ideals. A heated battle. Perhaps a reluctant respect forged in the fires of combat.

You were not expecting your mortal enemy to sound like a theater major experiencing religious ecstasy at the sight of your properly villainous cape swish.

You squint at him. “You’re… excited?”

Rook nods so fervently his hat nearly flies off. “But of course! To stand against one so resplendently wicked! To trade blows—nay, souls—in this eternal dance of justice and villainy! C'est magnifique!”

He’s smiling.

Why is he smiling.

This is a deathmatch, not a wine tasting.

You clear your throat, lifting your chin in the most intimidating way possible. “Do you have any final words before I bring ruin upon you?”

Rook inhales deeply, eyes glimmering like a man utterly in love with the idea of his own demise.

“You are radiant in your menace! A blinding star of destruction! Smite me, O Harbinger of Dread! Let me bask in the beauty of your malice!”

He spreads his arms as if to embrace the impending carnage.

You slowly lower your sword.

“…What the hell is wrong with you?”

You shrug it off, maybe the Goddess likes them unhinged.

You had prepared for this moment your entire life.

The darkness swirled dramatically around you as you stood atop your obsidian throne, gazing down at the battlefield below. Your constructs—your beautiful, eyeliner-wearing minions—were poised, weapons gleaming, capes billowing, eyes smoldering with unholy (and stylish) rage.

The sky rumbled, lightning cracked, your "smite-a-city" device hummed ominously, and a general sense of doom and destruction filled the air.

This was it. The fated clash between good and evil. The battle that would shake the heavens, rend the earth, and—

"Ah, mon cher, your stance is exquisite! But tell me, would you rather have dinner instead of world domination?"

You freeze mid-swing, sword inches from his throat.

Your constructs freeze mid-battle, one still mid-air, about to deliver a flying kick. The thunder hesitates, the lightning awkwardly fizzles out, the wind that had been howling through the battlefield just kind of... stops, like it forgot what it was doing. Even your "smite-a-city" device lets out a confused beep.

Rook Hunt—the Goddess’s Chosen Hero, The People's Champion, The Bringer of Light and Justice, The Reason You Haven’t Been Able to Have a Peaceful Afternoon in Months—gazes at you with sparkling green eyes, utterly unbothered. He is smiling. He is batting his eyelashes. He is somehow more dazzling than the lightning.

You, in contrast, are short-circuiting. "HUH??? WHAT??? NO???"

"Magnifique." He lunges again, sword clashing against yours, his grin only widening. "Then I shall vanquish you with the elegance you deserve!"

The world unfreezes as if someone hit 'play' on reality again. Your constructs return to attacking, the wind resumes howling, thunder remembers how to be intimidating, and you—still reeling—dodge a particularly poetic strike from the overly enthusiastic Hero of the World.

You're not sure what just happened, but you do know one thing:

You absolutely refuse to die without getting some answers first.

And maybe, just maybe, you need to recalibrate your entire life plan.

You had been prepared for a worthy opponent. You had been prepared for grand battles, for expertly crafted schemes, for a rivalry that would echo through the annals of history.

What you had not been prepared for was Rook Hunt.

You take a sip of your tea, relishing a rare moment of villainous peace. The sun is setting, your latest evil scheme (a devastating tax loophole reform) is progressing smoothly, and—most importantly—Rook Hunt is not around.

Or so you thought.

Because the moment you relax, you feel it. That unmistakable tingle of being observed.

Slowly, you lower your cup.

And there he is. Peeking through your window.

His stupid hat. His stupid cape. His stupidly enchanting green eyes shining like a cursed emerald in the dim light.

"Bonsoir, mon cher!" he greets cheerfully, dangling upside down from your roof like a particularly well-dressed bat.

You nearly drop your tea. "WHAT THE FU—"

You're exhausted. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. You decide to dedicate an entire day to self-care. Face masks, fluffy robes, a villainous bath bomb infused with the souls of the unjustly rich—you are determined to ignore the world.

As you stretch luxuriously in your grand lair, you hear a faint thunk.

You pause.

Slowly, you turn your gaze toward the door.

There, pinned straight through the wood by an arrow, is a neatly wrapped face mask.

You take a deep breath. You count to ten. You fail to count to ten because you are seething.

You yank the arrow out and unroll the note attached to it.

"Self-care is crucial, mon ami! Hydrate well and let your skin glow like the celestial heavens! À bientôt~!"

There is a little hand-drawn heart at the bottom.

You have never known rage like this.

At this point, you’re convinced the Goddess chose him purely to fuck with you.

There is no other explanation. None.

Because every time you turn around, he is there.

He is watching.

He is smiling.

He is way too into this.

You are a responsible supervillain. You do your own paperwork.

This is crucial.

Do you have minions? Yes. Constructs? Absolutely. Are they efficient? Of course. Do they understand the fine intricacies of tax-deductible lair maintenance expenses? No.

So here you are, suffering, hunched over your desk, reviewing budgets for your upcoming Doomsday Apparatus™ (pending patent).

Your shoulder aches. The price of evil, you suppose.

Then, hands.

You sigh, assuming it’s one of your constructs trying to be helpful, but the texture is all wrong. Not cold. Not metallic. Not vaguely threatening.

You freeze.

These are human hands.

You whirl around so fast you nearly fall out of your chair.

And there he is.

Rook Hunt. The Menace of Your Existence.

Wearing that same infuriatingly pleased expression he always has when he manages to unnerve you.

“Mon trésor, you are so tense! Do not fret, for I am here to ease your burdens—”

Your hand is already on your emergency drawer.

Because of course you keep a glock in there. You’re a responsible supervillain.

But before you can make him truly holy, he lifts a plate of your favorite cookies.

You squint.

You squint harder.

The cookies look perfect.

You hate him.

But you love those cookies.

“...Fine,” you grumble. “Dining room. Now.”

And that’s how you end up having the most awkward tea party of your life.

Your constructs—tall, looming, deadly—stand against the walls like confused statues.

You glare at Rook. He beams at you.

You eat a cookie. He sips his tea like he’s the most welcome guest in the world and not your mortal enemy.

Finally, you break the silence.

“I’m going to destroy an entire city district next time.”

Rook hums, interested. “Hm. But which one? Have you considered an aerial attack for maximum devastation?”

Your constructs shift uncomfortably.

You blink. “...What.”

“If you truly wish to inspire terror, mon cher, a coordinated offensive utilizing shadow and fire would be most spectacular. Oh, imagine the fear in their eyes! The poetry of destruction!”

Your constructs are now visibly uncomfortable.

You stare at him. “...You realize I am trying to defeat you, right?”

“Oui.” He takes another dainty sip of tea. “But what is a villain without a hero? What is a hero without a villain? We are locked in the most beautiful dance, and it would be a shame if your evil was anything less than... magnifique.”

You hate how good that sounds.

Your constructs, sensing the sheer unhinged energy at this table, collectively decide they are done.

You’ve had it.

Rook Hunt has been breaking into your lair every other day, treating your villainous empire like it’s some kind of all-you-can-antagonize buffet.

So tonight? You strike back.

Your plan is perfectly petty. You sneak into his house, bypass his defenses, and leave a nasty little surprise—a copy of his stupid hat, but without the feather. Symbolic. Brutal. Devastating.

It’s dark inside. Suspiciously dark. You move silently through the halls, your villain senses tingling, when—

A hand grabs your wrist.

You let out the most unvillainous, undignified little squeak known to man.

A candle flares to life.

And there he is.

Rook Hunt. Smiling. Smug. Suspiciously pleased.

And behind him?

A fully set candlelit dinner table.

What.

You yank your wrist free and glare at him. “How did you know I was coming?”

“I didn’t!” He laughs, delighted, as if this entire scenario isn’t absolutely deranged. “I’ve merely been setting this up every night for the past week, hoping one day you would.”

You stare.

Your brain buffers.

Your evil plan—your brilliant, petty, symbolically devastating evil plan—is completely ruined.

But also.

You are weirdly, deeply flattered.

Which is so annoying.

You grumble and stomp over to the table. “Well, I’m not wasting a perfectly good meal.”

Rook positively beams as you sit down, pouring you a glass of something fancy.

You stab at your food aggressively. “You suck, Hunt.”

“Ah, mon amour, flattery will get you everywhere.”

You contemplate murder.

You also contemplate dessert.

Your life is hard.

As a renowned and feared supervillain, you have many responsibilities—world domination, economic destabilization, overthrowing the bourgeoisie—but even the greatest of evildoers need time to unwind.

For you, that means art.

Tonight, you sit in your grand lair, sketchbook in hand, dreamily doodling while fantasizing about the day you will finally, unequivocally, beat Rook Hunt.

Perhaps you’ll trap him in an inescapable dungeon.

Perhaps you’ll trick him into an elaborate psychological game that will break his very spirit.

Perhaps you’ll put a single grain of sand in his boots and let nature take its course.

The possibilities are endless.

You’re so absorbed in your creative villainous process that you fail to notice the cryptid himself materializing behind you like some kind of woodland horror story.

“Ah, mon trésor, what are you drawing?”

You freeze.

Your villain instincts kick in, but it’s too late. Before you can shove your sketchbook under your cloak and play it off like a true mastermind, Rook Hunt has already peeked.

A beat of silence.

You watch as, for the first time in history, Rook Hunt blushes.

You look down at your sketchbook.

Oh.

It’s a doodle of him.

With a heart drawn near it.

Obvious context:

It’s a threat.

Clearly, you meant “I will rip your heart out with my bare hands.”

Obviously, this is not romantic.

Clearly, he should know this.

And yet—

Before you can explain this very normal and absolutely not embarrassing drawing, Rook makes a strangled noise—and then, without warning—

He launches himself out of the window.

Full-speed.

No hesitation.

You stare blankly at the gaping hole in your wall.

The night breeze drifts in.

A loose paper flutters off your desk.

Your jaw clenches.

You pull out your calculator.

“Alright. How much is this repair gonna cost me this time?”

It had been months. Months of what was supposed to be an intense, dramatic rivalry, full of mortal combat, fire, and the kind of operatic duels that would make even the gods weep. Months where the world should have trembled at the very mention of your name as you and the so-called Goddess’s Chosen Hero waged battle across the land.

Instead, what had actually happened was this:

Rook had become a persistent, feathered plague upon your life. Every time you so much as breathed, he was there. If you drank tea, he was peeking through the window like some kind of blonde cryptid.

If you took a relaxing villainous bubble bath, he left a scented candle by your doorstep with a little handwritten note.

If you tried to sleep? Oh, well clearly that was the perfect time for him to send a love arrow straight through your pillow, just narrowly missing your skull.

This was not how hero-villain dynamics were supposed to go.

And apparently, the Goddess had finally taken notice, because today, as you and Rook clashed swords atop your usual scenic cliffside battlefield—lightning flashing, your cape billowing just right—a new hero arrived, looking exactly like the bootleg discount protagonist you’d expect from a last-minute recast.

“Villain!” he bellowed, dramatically pointing his sword at you. “Your reign of terror ends—”

You vaporized him on the spot.

Your constructs, standing dutifully in formation, collectively gasped.

Rook, who had been mid-flourish with his sword, stopped and blinked at the rapidly dissipating ashes of what had, just seconds ago, been an eager new recruit in the grand war of good versus evil. Then, he turned back to you, smiling fondly.

“Ah, mon trésor, how dashing you are when you wield your power with such effortless grace!”

You scowled, pointing your sword at him this time. “Why are you acting like I just did something romantic? I murdered that guy.”

“Oui! And beautifully so!” Rook twirled his own blade, utterly unbothered. “Like a star snuffing out another in the vast cosmos! Poetry in motion! Ah, my heart beats faster just thinking of it.”

Your constructs, meanwhile, were losing their collective minds.

One of them, a hulking, six-armed behemoth of enchanted steel, hesitantly raised a hand. “Uh. So. Boss? Just so we’re clear—”

“Don’t,” you warned.

“No, no, just a quick question,” it continued, with the slow, careful tone of someone addressing a very temperamental god. “You just smote a hero instantly. Like, zero hesitation. Which means you can do that. So, um. What exactly is stopping you from smiting him?” It pointed at Rook.

Rook, the absolute menace that he was, waved cheerfully.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Considered your options.

Then, in a show of supreme villainous dignity, you turned on your heel and dramatically stomped away.

Your constructs stared after you.

Rook sheathed his sword and sighed wistfully. “Ah, such passion. Such fire. Such restraint! Truly, they are the one chosen for me.”

The constructs turned to him in absolute horror.

“What have you done to our boss?”

You were having a perfectly normal evening.

By "normal," of course, you meant that you were lounging in your grand, candlelit villainous dining hall, sipping a glass of expensive wine (stolen, obviously), while Rook Hunt, your mortal enemy and frequent dinner guest, debated you on the finer points of mid-air combat.

"Mon trésor, think of the artistry!" Rook exclaims, gesturing wildly with his fork. "A battle in freefall—two souls clashing against the endless sky, the wind whipping our capes, the suspense of who will deploy their parachute first!"

You scowl, jabbing a piece of steak. "No. That’s impractical. There’s no stable footing, gravity ruins your attack trajectory, and if one of us dies before hitting the ground, there’s no dramatic final duel."

Rook gasps. "But what of style, mon cher? What of the poetry of two destined foes plummeting through the heavens, locked in the embrace of battle?"

You roll your eyes. "What of the reality that I’m not breaking my legs just so you can fulfill some mid-air fencing fantasy?"

Before Rook can counter with another unnecessary metaphor, there's a knock at the door.

You pause. Rook tilts his head. Your constructs—the ones assigned to not be traumatized by your ridiculous rivalry—shift uneasily.

No one knocks on the door of the Evil Overlord.

You cautiously rise, striding toward the entrance, adjusting your cloak. If this is some dumb assassin, you’re going to vaporize them before they finish their opening monologue.

You throw open the door.

Standing there, shimmering with divine light and looking deeply, deeply exasperated, is the Goddess.

You blink.

Rook, behind you, immediately bows with theatrical reverence. "Ah, my divine patron! What honor do we have to—"

She shoves a hand in his face, shutting him up. "Not a word from you."

Rook makes a delighted noise behind her palm, as if being personally scolded by a deity is the highlight of his week.

Then, the Goddess turns her gaze to you.

"You," she says, voice layered with millennia of barely restrained frustration.

You raise a brow. "Me?"

She points accusingly. "You are not even a villain."

You stiffen. "Excuse me?"

"The people adore you!" she snaps, throwing up her hands. "Your so-called empire? Has better infrastructure and social services than any kingdom in the world! Your so-called evil policies? Fixed the economy! Your supposed tyranny? Universally beloved by the peasantry!”

You gape at her. "I run a dictatorship."

"A benevolent dictatorship!"

Your eye twitches. You glance back at Rook, who is absolutely vibrating with amusement.

The Goddess rounds on him next. "And you!"

Rook straightens, looking delighted to finally have her attention. "Oui?"

"You are the worst hero I have ever chosen."

His smile widens. "Merci!"

"That wasn't a compliment." She pinches the bridge of her nose, like she’s developing divine stress migraines. "You were supposed to defeat them. Not take them to dinner, deliver self-care gifts, and give them advice on better city destruction tactics."

"But, my Goddess, what is heroism if not—"

She holds up a finger. "Finish that sentence, and I swear on the cosmic balance, I will smite you myself."

Rook, wisely, shuts up.

Your arms cross, and you scowl at her. "So what do you want, exactly?"

The Goddess sighs. "Nothing. I am done. I am sick of this. I gave your world a clear narrative, and you two have turned it into—into—" she gestures wildly at the two of you, "whatever this is."

She looks exhausted. You take a slow sip of wine. Rook sips his tea. Your constructs, still lurking awkwardly in the background, look on in silent horror.

Finally, the Goddess rubs her temples and lets out a long, world-weary sigh.

"I give up," she declares. "I abandon this world."

You blink. "What."

Rook gasps. "Mon Dieu!"

She throws her hands up. "No. Not your "Dieu" anymore. Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore. Conquer the world. Get married. Build a flying opera house of destruction. I do not care."

She turns on her heel, divine light flaring around her, ready to vanish back into the heavens. But before she fully ascends, she pauses, turns back, and levels one last glare at you.

"And fix your damn roof. I know he broke it." She jerks her head at Rook.

Then, with a flash of light, she is gone.

Silence.

Your constructs do not move. You do not move. The air is thick with the weight of divine abandonment.

Then—

"Mon trésor," Rook breathes, eyes sparkling. "Did you hear? We have divine permission to wed!"

You throw your wine glass at his head.

You were going to prove a point.

The Goddess’s words still echoed in your mind:

"The people adore you."

"Your so-called tyranny is beloved."

Absolutely not. You are terrifying. You are a villain. You are the Dread Overlord of Shadows and Eternal Night, not some beloved community figure.

So, naturally, you stormed into the city streets in full dramatic regalia, determined to strike fear into the hearts of the people.

And, of course, they were absolutely terrified.

(There are children braiding flowers into your hair.)

Their knees knocked together in terror.

(The baker personally handed you a warm loaf of bread, saying, "It’s your favorite, dear. Fresh out of the oven.")

They shrank away from you, trembling.

("Can we get a selfie, Overlord of Shadows? You look so cool today!")

They screamed in fear.

(M’overlord, would you consider attending our town’s Harvest Festival? It wouldn’t be the same without you.")

By the time you made it back to your lair, the weight of reality had crushed your entire soul into a fine powder.

Your constructs barely had time to move out of the way before you collapsed onto the cold stone floor, sprawled dramatically, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It was not normal.

Nothing about today was normal.

You were supposed to be evil. The darkness lurking at the edges of civilization. The terrifying ruler who demanded obedience, not… not fan interaction.

You reach up and pull a flower from your hair. A daisy. A cute little daisy.

You stare at it.

Then, slowly, you sit up and reach into your pocket.

You pull out the loaf of bread. It’s still warm. It smells amazing.

You take a slow, deliberate bite.

You chew. You swallow.

You scream into a pillow.

Your constructs watch in silence, wisely choosing to let you process your existential crisis.

Then—

A slow, steady clap echoes through the lair.

You groan, rolling onto your side, as Rook Hunt steps into view, absolutely beaming.

"Mon trésor," he breathes, looking so unbearably pleased. "Did you have a revelation?"

You almost hurl the loaf of bread at his head.

You wake up with a revelation so profound it shakes you to your very core.

You don’t have to fight Rook Hunt anymore.

Not because you won—oh no, if anything, it’s because you never actually fought him to begin with.

This so-called “battle” had always been one-sided. You, pouring your very soul into villainy, scheming, plotting, monologuing—only for Rook to respond with enthusiastic admiration instead of righteous fury.

You had never been fighting a hero. You had been performing for a very intense fan.

And you are so tired.

So you get up, summon your constructs, and announce with all the dignity of a fallen monarch:

"I’m retiring."

They blink.

Your war construct, a towering mass of steel and death, hesitantly raises a hand. "Uh. What?"

"I’m retiring." You rub your temples. "I was never really a villain, apparently. The people adore me. The Goddess abandoned this realm. And my greatest enemy is currently sitting on my chandelier, smiling at me like a particularly pleased house cat."

A collective glance is shared. The constructs all look up.

Indeed, Rook is perched there, grinning like the absolute menace he is.

A few seconds of silence.

Then, your constructs all just nod.

"Yeah, okay. That makes sense."

"Honestly, I think we all saw this coming."

"So what now?"

You sigh and gesture vaguely at the lair. "Do whatever you want. You’re free. Find a new purpose. Go live your lives."

And, to your eternal exhaustion, they do.

Your once-feared War Construct? Now bakes delicate cream puffs.

Your impenetrable Shield Construct? Wears a frilly little apron and dusts the rooms.

Your Lurking Shadow Beast of Eternal Horror? Manages the garden.

You watch all of this unfold with a blank stare, feeling your villainous reputation crumble into nothing. And you?

You don’t even care anymore.

You sit at your grand villainous dining table, Rook across from you, smiling, victorious, insufferable.

He raises a teacup in toast. "To the end of an era, mon trésor."

You sip your tea.

Then, with all the resignation in the world, you simply mutter—

"...Yeah."

Rook just winks.

If you were going to commit one last act of villainy, it had to be grand. Poetic. Fitting for the infuriatingly ridiculous story that had become your life.

And so, you decide.

You were going to steal Rook Hunt’s heart.

… Metaphorically. Probably.

So you don your best dramatic cloak, grab the most intimidating bouquet of flowers you can find, and march to wherever Rook is lurking (which, statistically speaking, is either your lair or right behind you).

But before you can utter a single villainous declaration, you stop.

Because Rook is already kneeling.

Already holding out a ring.

Already smiling like he knew this would happen.

"When’s the wedding, mon trésor?" he asks, eyes gleaming.

You stare at him. Stare at the ring. Stare at the flowers in your own hands like an idiot.

And then—

You laugh.

You laugh so hard you nearly double over, because this is your life now.

The Goddess abandoned your world. Your constructs run a quaint domestic empire. The people adore you. And the so-called Hero?

The Hero beat you to the proposal.

You shake your head, still chuckling, before pulling him up by the front of his shirt and pressing a kiss to his lips.

"Maybe," you murmur, "we can have the wedding on the anniversary of the day we met."

Rook exhales something close to a sigh, grinning against your lips before kissing you again, soft and victorious.

"Magnifique," he whispers.

And, honestly?

Yeah.

Magnifique indeed.

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #rook hunt x reader #rook x reader #rook hunt #rook #twst rook x reader

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lordtraco · 5 months ago

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Behold!! My Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU TAKEOVER contribution! Rìloù Bàng in teeny tiny form!

And an accompanying mini fic under the readmore

Mk gripped the weapon born of his own shadows. It thrummed in his hands, as full of life and energy as Monkey King’s staff. The key difference was that this was his.

Would it be rude to ask his new staff to perhaps not yeet him into the sky on their first day together? Probably. He saw a faint shift in the colors.

Oh no, you like that idea, don't you?

MK wasn't certain how much his own silliness was just being mirrored back at him, but it slowly started growing as if playfully threatening to do so.

“...you can morph it freely as you're capable of.” MK tuned back in to the end of Chiyou’s explanation.

“It’s-It’s… WOW it's perfect!” He smiled at them all, looking back at the staff for a moment.

It was quiet, solid, real. It was his through and through, but… It needed an ode to his hero-turned-family, a reminder of the joy and wonder he felt upon first seeing the staff.

“It's only missing one final touch!”

Taking a piece from his scarf, MK tied it to his new staff. It cascaded down, not catching on any wind. There were no explosions, no battles to run towards or from, just a quiet, happy moment with his family and a very kind god of war.

It wouldn't last, something would come along and twist his life into a tornado again. But when it did, Rìloù Bàng would be at his side to face it head on. And their ribbons would flow, a heroic sight in both light and shadow!

Thank you @kyri45 for this wonderful comic and inspiration!

#shadowpeach bio parents au #shadowpeach bio parents AU TAKEOVER #needle felting #mini fic #lmk

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oddinary4bts · 1 year ago

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To Give a Helping Hand | jjk (ch 2)

☆summary: when Jungkook finally approaches you at the gym, he realizes you've been wanting him just as badly as he's been wanting you.

☆pairing: idol!Jungkook x female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: smut, idol!au

☆warnings: unedited, curses, explicit content: mentions of hard drugs (in a metaphor, no character does hard drugs), jerking off, oral sex (male receiving), fantasies about female oral sex (face riding), ball fondling, a tiny bit of marking, exhibitionism (they are in a car?), deep throating ish?, mouth fucking

☆word count: 3.1k

☆a/n: pure unedited sins again bc you guys asked for it and I am far too horny for mr jeon jungkook (thank you, calvin klein). I also wrote this when I was severely depressed and in need of a distraction so my bad if it sucks haha

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook watches himself in the mirror. His hair clings to the sweat on his forehead as he curls his arms, the strain enough to make him wince. Yet he pushes through, finishes the motion and then goes for another one.

He always trains until failure. Because it’s the best way to grow muscle, yes, but also because he likes the pain of it. Likes the burn, likes to put his body through the worst.

He knows he can take it.

It helps that you’re just a few benches away, doing some Bulgarian split squats. Twenty-five-pound dumbbells in each hand, you’ve been going for twelve reps each time, your focus unfaltering as you stare at a spot on the floor in front of you.

Jungkook wishes you’d look at him.

His next bicep curl ends on failure, and he winces as he lets go of the weights, putting them down on each side of the bench. He grabs his water bottle, taking a long swig of it as he looks at your reflection in the mirror.

You’ve got perfect form, your strong thighs pushing up on what he thinks is your fifth – sixth? – rep on your right leg. Your muscles shift under your skin as you move, and Jungkook forces himself to look away.

He doesn’t want to end up with a boner like he did last time. He’s been ashamed of himself somehow, and he doesn’t want to repeat it.

But it’s like you’re keen on teasing him. On being a walking nightmare, with those same devilish biker shorts that fried his brain that time. He’d told himself that he’d approach you, but so far he hasn’t been successful.

Indeed, you’ve suddenly decided to start coming to the gym with a friend, and though your friend is cute, with dark skin that hints at a perfect skincare routine, Jungkook doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you.

But yes, you’re keen on teasing him, doing squats next to him after he’s moved to do shoulder press on the machine. Indeed, despite all the squat racks being empty in the gym right now, you choose the one right in front of Jungkook, and it’s a battle of will to refrain from looking at your ass each time you’re bending down.

So Jungkook looks up to the ceiling, pushes up, and he clenches his jaw at the strain in his shoulders. It’s a good burn, one he knows will leave him sore, but it’s also one that leaves him thirsty when he finishes his reps. Unfortunately, his water bottle is empty, so he walks to the water station, the music in his earbuds loud.

He’s almost done refilling his bottle when you come up behind him, with your own water bottle in hand. He feels your eyes on his profile and, heart suddenly racing, Jungkook meets your gaze.

You already have a small, knowing smile on your lips when his eyes find yours. Beautiful as ever with your high ponytail, Jungkook finds he gets lost in your gaze, unable to find the exit.

It comes to him when the water in his bottle overflows and he makes a mess on the floor. You chuckle and, despite his cheeks burning, Jungkook faces you fully.

“You come here often?” he asks over the sound of his earbuds, and he quickly takes one out.

If you’re surprised that he’s speaking to you, you don’t let it show. Instead, you raise your water bottle, motioning towards the water station. “Just a couple of times per workout.”

Jungkook feels like an idiot, yet he steps aside to let you fill up your bottle. He doesn’t walk away though, just watches you, and damn if you aren’t even more beautiful from so close.

It isn’t fucking fair.

“I’ve noticed we often come here at the same time,” Jungkook says, scrambling to find something to talk to you about.

You offer him a corner smile as you finish filling up your bottle, twisting the cap back on. “We do.”

He purses his lips, wondering if you can hear the thunder in his chest, and then he says, “I’m Jungkook.”

Your eyes twinkle with mischief, and he wants to curse himself because obviously you know who he is. But you surprise him, replying with your name and a polite bow of your head, and immediately mirrors the motion.

Then he says your name, and he has a feeling it’ll become his favourite word to moan whenever he comes. It’s inevitable – the lust he has for you is clouding his vision even now, as if the rest of the gym is fading out of focus. You don’t disappoint, holding his gaze, lips slightly parted as if you, too, are imagining what it’d be like to be together.

To tangle in bed together, up until the rest of the world cease to exist.

Is it stupid that Jungkook asks for your number next? He doesn’t think so. Especially not as you oblige, putting it into his phone. It feels like a victory – a huge one, one he knows he’ll celebrate in an entirely not appropriate way, yet he can’t stop himself from smiling to you.

It’s like you’ve given him strength to finish his workout grandly. Indeed, he maxes his PR on his next two exercises, and he leaves the gym with a comfortable soreness in his arms and shoulders, right after he’s taken a quick shower.

To his surprise, you’re standing outside, near the building in the dim light of dusk, eyes glued to your phone when he steps out of the gym.

“Need a lift?” he can’t help but ask.

You startle and he does feel bad, up until your features break into a smile that makes his heart race in his chest. “Just waiting for the bus,” you say.

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, surprised that you can afford this gym yet use public transport. He wonders, are you the kind of girl who cares about the environment to the point that you decided not to get a car? Something about the thought is adorable, and Jungkook toys with his lip piercings for a few seconds.

“I mean, I really don’t mind lifting you if you need to,” he repeats, hoping with everything in his soul that you’ll say yes.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you insist, scrunching up your nose cutely. “But thanks for offering.”

He takes a few steps towards you so that you don’t have to speak so loud anymore, desperately looking for something else to say. “Where’s your friend?” he asks, thinking he’s a genius for asking.

“Sera?” you answer, as if he has any clue what your friend is called. “Oh, her boyfriend picked her up earlier.”

“He didn’t offer to drive you?” Jungkook says, not bothering to hide the condescendence in his tone.

You wince. “I fear that’s too much to ask of Yeonseok.”

“Then I really must drive you home,” Jungkook insists, offering you the sweetest smile he can convey.

“And what, find out where I live before you’ve even taken me out on a date?”

It’s like the world stops turning, and all Jungkook can see is you, and that twinkle of mischief lighting your gaze.

“You want me to take you out on a date?” he asks, fully aware of that bright pink Kooky plushie swinging from your keychain right now.

“Who wouldn’t?” you tease.

He narrows his gaze, yet can’t help but play along with you.

He’s been going insane for this moment for weeks after all.

“Then let’s say this is our first date,” he says. “We can drive around and if you like it, I’ll drop you at home, if you don’t I’ll drop you somewhere else. Deal?”

You smile, genuine, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Deal.”

And that’s how Jungkook finds himself in his car with you seated next to him, your head bobbing along to the music on the radio. Though you’re quick to turn towards him, your gaze burning on his profile.

“How long have you wanted to talk to me?”

Jungkook chokes on his saliva, and he coughs as he glances at you, the tip of his ears reddening. “What?”

“You think I haven’t noticed you staring at me every time we work out at the same time?” you tease, and you laugh as he shrugs his shoulders.

“You’ve been putting on a show, it’s not my fault.”

“I have?”

He lets out a non-committal sound that makes you laugh, a crystalline laugh that sounds like he’ll get addicted to it far too easily. Like heroin – one hit and he’s a goner.

As you laugh, you rest your hand on his thigh, giving it a quick, playful squeeze.

Insane. He’s fucking insane for you.

“Listen,” you say after a tense silence with your hand on his thigh. “I really am not looking for a relationship right now.”

He hears the underlying truth – you wouldn’t date an idol. He doesn’t blame you.

It’s not like he plans on ever dating you anyway.

“But if you want some fun, then I’m all in.”

His throat feels dry, and Jungkook wets his lips, glancing at you quickly. The mischief has shifted into pure lust, something he wasn’t expecting he’d see right away.

Hell, he’d imagined he’d have to work for it. But you’re offering yourself on a silver platter, and he’d be fucking dumb to let the opportunity slip away.

“You aren’t what I expected,” he says.

No, you are ten times better.

You run your hand up and down his thigh, head tilted to the side as you look at him. It’s hard to focus on the street in front of him, especially as his dick already starts getting hard.

“I hope that’s a good thing,” you let out on a low, breathy tone that makes him truly lose touch with sanity.

“Have you ever seen the city from the mountains?” he asks seemingly out of the blue.

You pout, glancing towards those you can see in the distance. “On hikes, yeah I have. Why?”

“I know a spot.”

He doesn’t actually, but he ends up finding one anyway after you’ve driven around for a little while. Though you can’t see most of the city from here, it’s still beautiful, twinkling lights looking back at you down in the city.

You admire the view, and Jungkook gets lost admiring you. Your profile is delicate, your hair still just as fluffy and unruly around your head. He instinctively pushes a strand behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek as you meet his gaze.

The car fills with electricity, with an intensity that cannot be ignored, and Jungkook dives in, pressing his mouth on yours. You immediately kiss him back, your hand finding his thigh again, and Jungkook pushes his tongue in your mouth, lapping you up, making the kiss far too languid for his own good.

You let out a breathy sound that makes him see stars, and when your hand shifts closer to his dick, he feels all his blood rushing down. His own hand finds the back of your head, and he tilts his to the side to deepen the kiss, right as he softly grunts.

You’re a good kisser. All lips and tongue, and Jungkook wants to pull you on his lap, to keep on kissing you all night long, but it seems you’ve got other plans in mind. Indeed, you pull away from the kiss, leaving him breathing raggedly as he looks at you quizzically, but then you’re quickly pulling your hair back into a ponytail.

His heartrate skyrockets as he understands what will happen next. It’s like he’s stuck in one of his deepest, darkest fantasies, and you’re jumping right in with him.

You truly are devilish, aren’t you?

When your hair is safely tucked in a ponytail, you meet Jungkook’s gaze. Your eyes shine with undiluted lust, and it steals the breath from his lungs.

To be the receiver of such desire…

He’s going to come far too quickly, isn’t he?

You pat his thigh again, leaning in for another kiss. Jungkook immediately obliges, colliding his mouth with the softness of yours. You palm him through his pants the second he pushes his tongue between your lips again, and Jungkook grunts as he instinctively bucks his hips, seeking for more friction.

“You’re a little impatient,” you say as you pull away, and you glance down at where you’re touching him. “Maybe we should get you out of your pants.”

It doesn’t take more than that to convince Jungkook to push his pants down, and he’s soon sitting there, his dick out in his car as if someone can’t just pull up and see.

Yet the thought turns him on, and Jungkook is infinitely thankful that he took a quick shower at the gym when you grab the base of his dick, jerking him off once.

“You’re so big,” you breathe.

All he can do is grunt as you stroke him again, your grip firm. It feels even better than he imagined. Like heaven – your hand fits perfectly around him, and you expertly flick your wrist whenever you near the top.

All that’s missing is lube, but you’re quick to bend down, blowing a breath on the sensitive tip of his dick.

“Shit,” Jungkook lets out.

“You often get sucked in your car?” you ask like the brat you are.

He can’t reply. Not when you wrap your lips around his tip, and he thinks he’s floating out of his body. Your mouth is wet, warm and so, so soft around him he thinks he might just come already.

“No,” he chokes out as you swirl your tongue around him before pushing down on him, up until he hits the back of your throat.

It takes everything in Jungkook not to buck his hips and fuck your mouth. But he wants to be nice, wants to play nice, if only so that he won’t scare you.

He doesn’t want to lose you before he’s even had you.

He reclines his seat, allowing you a better access, and you reward him with a small moan as you can take more of him in, and it’s enough to make his mind spin with addictive bliss.

You pull away, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his dick. “Good boy.”

That’s it. He’s a goner. Especially when you truly get to work, offering him the perfect combination of sucking and tongue, of your hand jerking him off in time with the bobbing of your head. He keeps his moans low, more grunts than anything, but when you moan as he hits the back of your throat, Jungkook curses loudly.

“You like this?” you tease, blinking away tears from the gag reflex you’ve been holding in.

“Holy fuck,” he answers, and you laugh lightly before taking him in your mouth once more.

You’re drooling all over him, sucking his soul out of his body, and Jungkook feels his balls tightening.

Already.

“Wait,” he lets out, and you pull away, breathing heavily as you meet his gaze.

“Uh?”

He wipes the drool on your lips, and you immediately suck on his thumb, tongue teasing the pad of the finger. You’re going to fry his brain before the end of the night, aren’t you?

“If you keep sucking me like this I’ll come.”

You smirk, downright lustful. “Isn’t that the point?”

“I want to fuck you,” he says, and he hates that he sounds so pouty, but he can’t help it.

He wants to live every single one of his dirty fantasies with you, after all.

“And I want to know what your cum tastes like,” you counter, squeezing his dick hard.

Jungkook moans, his eyes fluttering shut, his defiance fully leaving him now. If you want him to come in your mouth, then he’ll happily oblige. And then you’re bending down, going back to work as he murmurs your name.

You’re better than he imagined, so much better, and his dick twitches in your mouth as you moan. He feels the vibrations all along his shaft, and he grabs your ponytail, increasing your rhythm. Pushing your head down on him so that you take more of him, and when you don’t complain, instead moaning again, Jungkook stops holding himself back.

He fucks up in your mouth, and your hand flies to his thigh, your nails digging in his skin. The slight pain sets his nerves alight with desire, and he loses himself in you, in the rocking of his hips as he snaps them up in your mouth.

You take him in, holding the gag reflex in, moaning as he establishes a quick rhythm to chase his orgasm. He thinks he’s in love with your mouth – you’re so good, too good to him. He highly doubts he deserves it.

Not when he hasn’t given you anything in return. And he wants to taste you, wants you to sit on his face until he can’t breathe anymore and he gets drunk to the taste of you. It’s that image that brings him closer to his high, so close he already buzzes with it.

You push him over the edge when you grab his balls, gently squeezing. He moans out your name as he comes, unloading his cum deep in your throat as you take over, bobbing your head up and down slowly to milk his orgasm.

And you do milk his orgasm. You fucking do – he’s truly, fully swimming in bliss by the time his dick stops twitching, his balls fully emptied.

You pull away from him, and he thinks he loves your mouth even more when you push your tongue out to show that you swallowed everything. It’s so hot he’d fool himself into going for another round, but the hour is getting late, and he’s got an early morning tomorrow.

“Holy shit,” he lets out.

You laugh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “That felt good?”

“Fuck, yeah it did.”

You smirk, tilting your head to the side. “Happy to oblige.”

“I’ll have to repay the favour to you one of these days,” Jungkook says, and he hopes you don’t hear the underlying hope in his tone.

He doesn’t want you to think he’s been dreaming about you, about your body for so long.

You wet your lips. “Your place this weekend?”

And though maybe he should say no, as you’re the fan and he the idol, Jungkook answers with, “Bring a bottle of wine.”

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

Yeah this is pure sin. Porn with practically no plot hahah did we like it? Let me know what you thought!

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook #to give a helping hand ch 2 #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fic #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fic #btswritersclub

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coffee-blvck · 9 months ago

Text

Soap pops an unexpected question 💍

Originally posted on my AO3 - coffeeblvck

“Marry me.” Nearly drowned out by gunfire, it takes a few moments for the words to settle in your ears. Half pleading, half a grunt, as Soap throws his back against the concrete barrier. Bullets rain above your heads.

When your thoughts finally catch up with one another, you're left staring at your partner. You must look like a deer in headlights, blinking as if trying to convince yourself you had actually heard him. “What??”

“Marry me. Right here, right now.” He breathes, twisting up and firing twice. You continue to stare dumbly. This had to be a joke. You're in the middle of battle right now, fighting for your lives. But his tongue is dripping with fierce honesty and you can't come up with any other reason. “Serious, Major. Marry me.”

Your body reacts before you can form a response, gripping fiercely at his collar and pulling him to you. Gunfire still peppers the air around you as you kiss him. It's hasty and you both jerk a little, pulsing with adrenaline and flinching against the onslaught of gunfire.

It's your turn to twist about, firing down a few loose ends breaking from their lines of defense, and as you turn back Soap is mirroring your elated grin. Checking your magazine, you shrug. “Okay.”

Neither of you bring it up again. When you're the last to make it back to the safe house, Ghost is the first to grill you and Soap on your recklessness, and for not responding to the comms after the fact. Price was at the ready, with Gaz at his side to lead a squadron to track you down. When Soap merely ducks his head and takes the scolding without argument, the team starts to question what really happened out on the field. Your sheepish grin doesn't help the matter as you depart to clean yourself up.

That night, draped together and still high with adrenaline, it comes up. “I was serious ya know,” He whispers against your neck, peppering the soft skin with his lips and hoping, praying, you were as serious as he was. He takes your fingers curling through his as a good sign.

You're so pretty, Soap thinks, bathed in the moonlight and wrapped against him. He wants to die this way. He could die a happy man even if this was his last memory.

“I was too.”

A beat of silence. Soap hoists himself onto an elbow, gazing down at you to be able to see your full face. To memorize the way your eyes glittered in the pale light, the smile that forced the dimples and lines into your cheeks. It was a little crooked, your smile, but he could swear he’d never seen any art as perfect.

“Say it again.”

“I'm serious, Johnny. I’ll marry you.” You kiss him, soft and quick and he can't help but pout as you pull away, falling back into the mattress.

“I love you.” He breathes. This was heaven, and he was the luckiest man on earth at this moment.

“You're dumb.” You laugh, pulling gently at his neck for another kiss. “I love you too, pretty boy.”

Price is the first to notice the pretty little gem on your finger and how his usually level headed medic can’t stop staring at it during that morning's debriefings. It had been a few weeks since the operation and the question, a long overdue moment of quiet for the entire Task Force. No one had really paid any mind to the way Soap kept his chest puffed when you were in the same room together.

“Is that what happened, Major?”

“Is what what happened?” You ask dumbly, attention pulled away from the little gem.

“That,” Price gestures with his cigar. “It's new.”

“I'm married.” You blurt out, a shy grin creeping across your features. You couldn't hide your excitement anymore. It hadn't been a secret, but neither you nor Soap had gone out of your way to spill the news either. Now with the ring around your finger, Soap had given it to you one early morning over coffee before training, you found your new reality hammering inside your chest, begging to be flaunted to someone, anyone who would listen.

“Come again?” Price was sure he had heard you correctly, but couldn't help but ask for you to repeat yourself. The task force was his family, and his heart swelled with pride that a piece of his family had found their happiness.

The grin on you only grows. “I'm married, Captain.”

“When…?”

“Johnny asked while we were clearing loose ends, before we made it back to the safe house. It was so fucking stupid. How could I say no?”

#cod #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #cod modern warfare #john price #captain price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #fluff #reader insert

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phossiii · 4 months ago

Text

｡𖦹°‧⭑ monsters: chapter six

synopsis: you and mahalat come to an impasse during battle. and phosphorus saves your ass.

cw: reader is a monster, mature themes, violence, profanity, innuendos, phosphorus is phosphorus, reader has a bit of a psychotic break, mahalat is horrible.

"Da?" Alexi raised a brow, keeping a hand on the wheel as he picked up the phone.

He paused a moment, expression darkening slightly as he glanced at the Bride, who was sitting in the passenger.

"Da."

He paused again, brows dropping sternly.

"Da."

With a quick snap, he hung up, plastering on his usual happy expression and turning to everyone, as if you didn't notice the huge change in atmosphere.

"He says there is unfortunate traffic on the way to the castle, so we should take alternative route."

With a small rev, he cut a corner, turning into a random side street with a completely straight face.

After arriving at the Pokolistan airport once again, you were greeted by Alexi, he, as well as the other guards, completely oblivious to the true objective of your mission.

Kill the princess.

You almost felt bad, seeing as these people had been nothing but nice to you.

But orders were orders, and the quicker you got this out of the way, the quicker you could go back home.

Discreetly, you glanced at Phosphorus, him doing the same, the two of you silently noting the odd behavior before going back to your usual shenanigans.

"Quit man-spreading. Your leg's takin' up most of my room," you ordered, lowly, using your knee to push his closer to the door.

"It's a cramped car, sweetheart, you barely had any room to begin with," he shrugged you off, widening his spread to fight back against your assault before patting his thigh. "But I got a space right here for you. Free parking. No handicap."

"And feel your disco stick stab me every time we drive over a pothole? No thanks," you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"Sounds delightful to me."

"To you," you emphasized.

"Could use my arm as a seat belt."

"Don't think I can file a sexual harassment complaint against a seat belt."

"Sexual harassment? Where?" he asked, sarcastically, whipping his head around as if he was looking for something.

"Half the shit that falls out your mouth is sexual. And you haven't stopped harassing me since this whole thing started."

"Last I checked, Belle Reve didn't have HR."

"And last I checked, skeletons didn't have dicks. But here you are."

Glancing into the side mirror, the Bride raised a brow, noticing that the palace was behind them, and getting farther and farther

"What's up, Alexi?" she asked, turning to him. "This isn't—We're leaving the city. The castle is that way."

"Oh! It seems roundabout, but it's good shortcut," the captain assured, flashing the woman a smile before focusing his sights back on the road.

Out the corner of her eye, the Bride took a quick glance at the back seat, sharing a suspicious look with you and Phosphorus.

The two of you nodded, turning to look out the window, finally noticing that you all were in the abandoned part of town, dilapidated buildings and trash galore.

'Aw, fuck...'

You knew exactly what was happening here.

Suddenly, the car pulled to a stop, the Bride's patience running thin.

"What the hell?" she asked, sharply, turning to the captain.

"Engine was making funny noise. Did you hear that?" Alexi excused, suddenly sputtering like an engine. "Did you, huh?"

"No," your brows furrowed, arms crossing over your chest as you sized him up with a suspicious look.

"I am afraid I am screwing up. How do you say? The... The suedinitel? How do you—?"

"I think how we say it is Keep moving, Alexi!" Phosphorus exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat.

"You want me to permanently damage vehicle?"

"Yes!"

Just then, two other armored trucks pulled up in front of yours, the men inside hopping out instantly and drawing their very high-powered guns, training them on the car.

And on perfect cue, the cavalry arrived, a few flying knights and a helicopters swooping in to cut off any form of aerial escape.

'For fuck's sake...'

"Damn it!" the Bride exclaimed, brows cinching at the sight.

"My men have fought and died for the Princess. We are not going to let you kill her now," Alexi stated, firmly, eyes deadly serious.

Leaning over the skeleton next to you, you tried the door, quietly cursing to yourself when it wouldn't budge.

'Bastard locked us in.'

Suddenly, he drew his pistol, pressing it into the Bride's temple.

"Stand down, Bride. You—"

Without hesitation, Phosphorus sent his radiated fist flying through the head rest, punching a hole right through it as well as completely demolishing the top half of Alexi's head, splattering blood, brains, and teeth all over the dash.

"Jesus, fuck, Phos," you grimaced, watching the remains of the poor man's jaw, as well as the rest of his body, flop forward against the steering wheel.

"What a shame. I liked that guy," he sighed.

But before you all could even get a moment to breathe, the guards opened fire, littering the truck with bullets.

Quickly, you all ducked down, the Bride unlocking and opening all the doors, allowing everyone to roll out and duck for cover.

Instantly, you all scattered, forcing the men to break off into smaller groups and fight you off.

"I smell blood, o' pityful flesh..." Mahalat's voice boomed within your mind, teasingly, sending a cold shock down your spine as you ran down an alley, bullets whizzing past. "Have you more for me to feast upon?"

'Jesus Christ...'

The wave of dread that washed over you was uncanny, your legs wanting nothing more than to buckle and drop you to the ground.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" you exclaimed, fed up, as you jumped onto the wall, bounding off of the other and back-flipping in mid-air to tackle the flying knight in the sky. "I'm busy! I don't need a peanut gallery!"

As he attempted to buck you off, you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him in place as your sharpened tail stabbed him right in the neck.

Twisting his arm, you used his gauntlet to shoot down the soldiers below, managing to take out three before you began to plummet toward the ground.

Loosening your hold and flipping yourself around, you used the poor man as a landing pad, crushing his ribs as you collided with the ground, fully upright.

But another armored truck was quick to swerve a few feet in front of you, soldiers jumping out an opening fire.

'Shit!'

Quickly, you dropped into a split, using your acrobatic prowess to flip and maneuver around them.

"On the contrary, it looks to me that you seem to be struggling against these peons."

"Shut up!" you spat, performing a front handspring into a handstand, propelling yourself into the air to scissor kick two men at once, before your tail wrapped around another's neck and swung you back for seconds. "I don't need your help! I'm doing just fine on my own."

"You know as well as I, (y/n), that our power could be so much greater, so much more potent... humans crawl over this rock like maggots, we alone could rule them all."

"Skip over this part! You've had the same pitch for years and my answer hasn't changed!" you groaned, landing on the shoulders of another soldier before snapping his neck. "Never! Gonna! Happen!

"Your humanity holds you back! You're weak! Pathetic!"

"Fuck you!"

"SUNUK ZETAM MA—" "NO!"

Quickly, you whipped your tail around, its pointed tip stabbing you in the thigh and forcing you to let out a howl of pain.

But it distracted you, preventing you from switching over.

"I am in charge!" you barked, scrambling to your feet and sprinting toward the alley wall, "This is my body! You listen to me!"

Without hesitation, you smashed your face into the bricks, breaking your nose on impact and splattering blood everywhere.

Disoriented, you fell backward, smacking your head on the ground with a sick thud.

Everything in your mind was coming to a head, bursting violently from every pore.

Your captivity.

Your self-loathing.

Your fear.

Being so desperate—and so off your anti-psychotics—you were grasping for anything to stop the torture, anything to stop her from winning.

Even if that meant maiming yourself.

Swiftly, your tail snatched up a large shard of broken glass, quickly moving and stabbing you in the stomach.

"I HATE YOU!" you screamed at the top of your lungs, tears welling in your eyes as you pulled the glass out, only to stab it right back in.

Repeatedly.

"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YO—"

"SUNUK ZETAM MA'AK KULA BAA NAT SU DA MAHALAT!"

Instantly, your body stopped, your limbs and tail falling limply to your sides as your eyes rolled over white, and you slowly began to float into the air.

Unable to hold them back, your tears floated with you as well, disappearing into nothing as you burst into hellflame, destroying any evidence of your humanity.

Slowly, but surely, the demon employed her magic, using fire to arduously heal all of your wounds.

Blood returning.

Vessels sealing.

Muscles fusing.

Flesh mending.

Until, eventually, there was no trace of you ever hurting yourself at all, rendering your pain and your actions ultimately meaningless.

'Why... Why couldn't I have never been born...?'

When Mahalat emerged—wings, fangs, horns, and all—she let out a howling, maniacal laugh, zooming into the air in search of meat.

"Enough of this rebellion, (y/n)!" Mahalat laughed, her voice, once again, dubbed over yours. "You have lost! You lost the moment your wretched mother shoved you out of her revolting womb!"

Soaring through the air, she set her sights on a flying soldier, who opened fire after catching her in his periphery.

But she swiped her hand through the air, sending an effortless blade of fire to cut him in half.

Bisected, he let out a blood-curdling scream, quickly losing consciousness as Mahalat caught his top half, using his torso as a shield from the bullets below while she ripped off his helmet and took a huge bite out of his cheek.

"I am the one that is in charge! I am the one who dictates life or death! You belong to me!"

She relished the flavor, eyes nearly rolling to the back of her head as she savored the taste of human meat.

The maggots at Arkham fed her nothing but lettuce and cabbage, as if she were some plow-horse to docile and tame.

But this... there was no heaven like it.

"You are nothing but a satchel of blood and bones in a flesh-drawn sack! A pitiful husk of meat! With me, you will survive for eons! Countless lifetimes! And we will rule this grievous hunk of rock, and all the maggots that fester on its surface!"

Glancing down at the ground, a sadistic smirk stretched across her lips, more trucks pulling up to attack.

"Like lambs to the slaughter..."

Large flames burst from Mahalat's palms, her eyes glowing bright red as she charged, allowing herself to heat up hotter and hotter and hotter, until finally...

She burst.

A tidal wave of hellflame erupted from her every direction, completely incinerating everything within a ten block radius.

The men below didn't even have a chance to scream before they were turned to ash, along with the countless other surrounding buildings.

Right then and there, Mahalat could've cried with joy.

It had been so long since she'd seen a scene like this, the smell of singed rubble and burning flesh like a goddamn Yankee candle to her.

But, in her happiness, she let her guard down, allowing you to take control just long enough to recite the incantation.

"KUNUS MATEZ KA'AM ALUK BAA NAT SU DA (Y/N)!"

"NO!" the demon roared, furious.

In her last moment of control, she grabbed her own wrist, using her strength to quickly swirl herself around before throwing your body clear across the city.

When you landed, you would be in for a world of hurt.

Pupils dilating, you snapped out of it with an aggressive gasp, eyes shooting wide as you suddenly collided with the wall of a building

Turning away from the man melting under his foot, Phosphorus raised a brow, eyes quickly scanning over the area at the sudden noise.

'The hell was that?'

Looking closer, he slowly began to make it out, the dust settling to reveal a naked, red woman, who was lying unconscious on the sidewalk.

You.

"(y/n)," he muttered under his breath, quickly snatching up his lab coat and jogging toward you

From what he could see, you were banged up pretty bad, but the little fires burning on your skin seemed to be patching you up—snapping your bones back in place, sucking up your bruises.

'Whoa... didn't know she could do that...'

You were such a mystery; there was still so much he didn't know about you.

But, on the contrary, there was a hell of a lot more you didn't know about him—a fact he was hoping to maintain.

Whatever reason you had for being incarcerated, he could already tell it had nothing to do with you being evil or malevolent in any way.

You hid behind swears and sharp looks, but behind your prickly exterior was a genuinely kind, caring, and beautiful person—of course, with a great rack, nice ass, smoking hot bod, heart-stopping smile, and delicious pussy.

...

But all of those were just bonuses.

Guys like him didn't associate with women like you.

Guys like him shouldn't associate with women like you.

He knew that, thoroughly, yet for some reason...

He just couldn't seem to stay away.

Suddenly, the siren of a cop car echoed throughout the streets, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Looking out to the streets, he could see the swirling red and blue drawing neared, the sirens getting exponentially louder along with them.

'Shit.'

Not wasting a second, Phosphorus scooped his arm under your waist, sitting you up and haphazardly tugging his coat on your naked body before tossing you over his shoulder.

"C'mon, doll face," he sighed, ducking into the shadows as he started off in the direction of the castle.

Once again, it looked like you both would be in it for the long haul.

"We gotta lay low for a bit..."

#creature commandos #creature commandos x reader #dc #dc x reader #dcu x reader #doctor phosphorus #dcu #doctor phosphorus x reader #dr phosphorus #dr phosphorus x reader

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lieslab · 4 months ago

Text

Just come home

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Han X gn reader

Summary: Being overweight, you're constantly fighting an internal battle and this time, your boyfriend confronts you.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 2.1K

Eating disorder resources

Trigger warning: Mentions of weight, implied eating disorder, body insecurities, low self-esteem, brief mention of diets, not eating, and meanspo

A/N: I feel like this isn't enough requestee. I literally need to grab your face and physically comfort you. I need to tell you that things will be okay and just because you look a certain way, it doesn't mean people secretly dislike you. The people that really love you will be there no matter what.

Comparison will destroy you in this life if you let it. Love will find you and despite whatever you think, you still deserve to eat good food. That goes for all of you, you are worthy of food, no matter what you look like. Please take care of yourselves <3

_ _ _

In this life, a body is everything. Every shape, every size, and every way the clothes sit. Do they hang or are they tight? Should a body have curves or be thin enough to see the rib cage? To have a body is beautiful, but too many people tend to forget that.

The comments and whispers from people. The poor self-perception that you drown in when you see the mirror. The way the fat in your body lays in the wrong spots. The stomach that juts out and the flab on the end of your arms that hangs. There is always something and lately, it just felt like you were a victim of your own body.

Everyone deserves to feel comfortable in their body, but when was the last time that you truly felt valid when you looked in the mirror? When was the last time that you realized the shirt you were wearing was cute? When was the last time you liked the way your face looked when you smiled? The roundness was something to be embraced instead of hated.

Has there ever been a swell of gentleness within you? Had you ever wrapped yourself in a hug and reminded yourself that you were worthy of things, even when your brain pushed those thoughts away because of the way you looked? If it were anyone else, you’d remind them that they were loved.

It didn’t matter if there was extra fat upon their hip bones or if their stomach pushed out over their waistline. Nobody deserves to be hated for how they look. Change can always occur and while change happens, people don’t have to hate themselves. They can embrace their flaws and yet, when you looked in the mirror, your flaws were all you could see.

The way the shirt curled around your stomach. The way your chest looked wrong. Every time you shifted an arm, so much fat shifted with it. Your neck was too big and your face was too round. Your collarbone was invisible and when was the last time you saw it?

Taking photographs and going out, it seemed impossible like this. Insecurities clouded your head and they were all you could think about. You were a painting gone wrong. Your body was flawed and nobody could save you from your internal combustion.

The numbers on the scale were all you thought about and you were toying with a deadly game. What was the quickest way to lose weight? The easiest? How long could you go without eating? How fast could the scale drop the numbers? You just wanted to shrink.

Clothes shopping was a nightmare. When you went out and finally found your size, you expected it to fit, but the dressing rooms were always full of tears. Shirts didn’t cover the bottom of your stomach. The fabric was too tight around the top of your arms.

Pants only went up so far and wouldn’t tug up over your thighs. Maybe you could get them on and just when you thought you had the perfect pair, the button wouldn’t button. The zipper wouldn’t go up any higher and you were left defeated.

Your body was a tomb and you were a soul waiting on the next one. Maybe the next body would be smaller. Maybe you’d be able to see your collarbone and your wrists would be dainty. You would be able to wear the necklace without the necklace extender.

In the next life, if you were lucky, your insecurities wouldn’t force you into long sleeves in the uncomfortable heat. You wouldn’t have to hide in baggy pants and oversized t-shirts. Your shape would be something to show off and not something that felt like you had to hide.

They say embrace insecurities, but at this weight, it was impossible. Shame filled your body and your bones. The whispers of doctors warning about higher risks of diseases laced your ears at night. The embarrassment at the doctor’s office when they weighed you steered you away from routine checkups.

Lately, you couldn’t be bothered to go outside. You pulled away from your friends and the things you tried to enjoy, you couldn’t do it anymore. You were silent about your struggles, but you were crumbling inside. Everything was being torn apart and there was nothing that you could do.

And lately, your boyfriend was starting to notice it. The first time he noticed you pulling away from a kiss, he thought he did something wrong. A frown sat on Han’s face and he watched you disappear with confusion in his eyes.

Did he say something wrong? Were you realizing he was flawed? Did he do something that made you feel like you weren’t good enough?

And then you pulled away from him when the two of you were in bed spooning. You rolled away, mumbling that it was too hot and you didn’t want to cuddle, but the two of you always cuddled. Hurt filled his heart and he mumbled an agreement as he turned his back to you, still wondering what he did wrong.

The third time, you pulled away from him, the two of you were outside. You were holding hands and heading to a nearby cafe. Occasionally, the two of you would indulge in a sweet treat and an evening walk. That night turned into one of those nights, but you let go of his hand.

Instead of walking beside him on the sidewalk, you let go of his hand and moved behind him. He reached back for your hand, but you pulled away and mumbled something about how the sidewalk felt too big for the both of you, but he didn’t understand. The two of you always walked side-by-side on the sidewalk, so what was wrong?

And that’s when he began pulling away from you. He didn’t have the courage to try to ask you what was wrong. He knew it deep down, you probably found someone better. Maybe he was too much and you couldn’t take it anymore.

Every day that passed, it seemed like the two of you were playing some sort of game. Time was ticking and he was waiting for you to pull the plug. He waited for the call at work and he checked for a break up text, but it never came.

“Hyung, are you sure they’re not struggling with something?”

It was Felix that caused him to snap out of his daze at work. He was feeling down and Felix noticed it first. When Han began describing your behavior, Felix began to worry, not about Han, but about you. Han’s behavior had been perfectly normal, but yours was so unlike you.

Felix’s words haunted his head all day and when he got home, he couldn’t stand it. You were scrolling through your phone when he got home. Desperation hit its peak with you and it took your mentality to the darkest corners of the internet.

Pinterest boards with skinny bodies and dainty fingers. Faceless photos of people that you wanted to look like. All the outfits you wanted to recreate when you finally reached your goal weight. The hairstyles you’d try and all the trips and adventures you’d indulge in once you were finally camera ready.

Hundreds and hundreds of meanspo quotes. Every time you thought about cheating on your diet, they appeared in your brain. You were training yourself to deny food, even when your body needed it to survive; a soldier turning the gun on themselves in the front line of a war.

“We need to talk.”

Han’s words sent fear vibrating through your body. As you turned off your phone and looked up, your heart sank. He’d finally seen you like you saw yourself, you just knew it. Tonight would be the night he’d pack up his items and leave.

You sat on the plush couch paralyzed by that fear. You couldn’t speak, so you were forced to listen as he spoke. You held your breath and waited and waited and waited, but it never came.

“Um, listen.” Han began to pace upon the beige carpet, unable to meet your eyes. “I just want to ask if you’re okay. I-I’m starting to think that maybe I did something wrong and maybe I hurt your feelings somehow.”

“And if I did, I’m really sorry. It feels like you’re pulling away from me and I-I don’t like that. I love you,” he nervously glanced up and then looked back down. “I love you a lot and if there’s something I can do to fix that, I-”

“What?” Your voice came out hoarse and your eyes clouded with tears.

“I don’t know. You just… you just seem like you don’t love me anymore. Over these past two weeks, you seem different and I need to know if it’s me.” He walked over towards you and slumped to his knees. His hands found yours and he gently squeezed them.

“If it’s me, please tell me what I did. I don’t like the way you’re acting lately. I don’t want to see you so detached and so quiet. I miss you so much.”

You couldn’t see him as tears fell from your cheeks. You sucked in a deep breath and wiped away your tears. “It’s not you. It’s not that I don’t love you, I swear.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t love me.”

“What?”

“Look at me, Han. Truly and seriously look at me! I look like a whale!” A lump formed in your throat, but you kept going. “How are you not embarrassed to be around me? To be photographed with me? To be seen around me? I’m almost double your size and-”

His head shook frantically and he squeezed your hands again. “Baby, no. Don’t say that about yourself. Is that how you see yourself? Sweetheart, no.”

“Shut up!” You snapped angrily. You ripped your hands away and stood up. He jerked backwards and stared at you with wide eyes.

“Look at me! How can you even love me when I look like this? You should be ashamed of me! I don’t look right! Look at this body!”

It killed him. Something inside of him broke. Through the ways of the twisted world and through your self-hatred, you couldn’t see how he viewed you. You couldn’t see how much he loved you and it cut his heart straight in two.

He scrambled to his feet and reached out. Gently, he cupped your cheeks in his hands. “I never want to hear yourself talk about that way ever again. Not a peep. You are one of the most beautiful people that I have ever laid my eyes upon and I will do whatever it takes to make you understand that.”

“If I didn’t love you, if I didn’t like the way you looked, I’d never be with you.” Your face scrunched up as he went on. “But I’ll always love you. If you choose to lose weight or even if you gain more, I will continue to love you.”

“We’re in a relationship and your struggles are also my struggles. How many times have you told me that?” His eyes searched yours desperately. He leaned forward and pressed the warmth of his forehead against yours.

“So why-” His voice cracked. “If you’re struggling with this so much, why didn’t you bring it up? Why did you suffer in silence for so long?”

“Because I’m so afraid that if you really see me for how I look, you’ll leave,” you finally whispered.

“Never. I see you every day. I try to hold you every day, but I really haven’t been able to do that for the past two weeks. Do you want the truth? The truth is that I miss you. I miss you so much.”

“I miss holding your hand and being near you. I miss grabbing your cheeks and gently squishing them as I kiss you. I miss falling asleep to the scent of your shampoo and I miss holding you.”

“I’m sorry.”

He pulled away, shook his head, and gently wiped away your tears. “Don’t be sorry, just please let me love you. Let me hold you and if you want to cry about this in my arms, go ahead. If you need to scream, do it. Just please, stop shutting me out. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered.

“You’ll always deserve me and so much more. I’ll always want you. I’ll always want your body. Do you know what you are for me? You might be a person, but to me, you’re not just that. Baby, you’re my home.”

Entirely defeated from the emotional weight of the conversation, you didn’t fight as he tugged you to the couch. He sat down and pulled you on top of him. His arms wrapped around your body and you buried your face into the side of his neck.

Back where you belonged, he internally reminded himself to text Felix and thank him later.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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magical-regical · 21 days ago

Text

King of My Heart

A Leona Kingscholar x gn!Yuu fic

Word count: 2021 words

Today I'm thinking of Leona with a Yuu who he takes home to the Sunset Savannah for the Cloudcalling Festival. He didn't want to, but his sister-in-law really wanted to meet them and he won't say anything against that. Besides, he knows his s/o has also been curious about the rest of his family and the Sunset Savannah ever since their last Cloudcalling Festival so at least it's a win-win for some people.

They emerged from the mirror and were received by Falena and his son.

"Ojii-tan!" Cheka ran and tackled his uncle, almost knocking him over.

"Doesn't a king have more important things to do?" Leona grumbled as he tried to peel his nephew off of him.

"Now, now, I'm sure the kingdom won't collapse if their king breaks away for a minute to welcome his brother. Especially when he's bringing his special someone with him." Falena turned to Yuu, giving them a warm smile, "A pleasure to meet you, Yuu. I am Falena Kingscholar. Leona's older brother, and the crown prince of the Sunset Savannah."

Leona let out a growl, wrapping his arms around their shoulders, "They know who you are. Now let's go, I bet you left Nee-san to handle the affairs while you're out messing around."

As soon as they stepped into the throne room, Falena was met with a lecture from Kifaji about shirking his royal duties. As the crown prince hemmed and hawed, a laugh could be heard from the other side of the room.

Yuu's eyes couldn't help but follow the queen as she descended from her throne, her every movement commanded your full attention and respect. Cheka ran to his mother, who lifted him into her arms.

"It's alright Kifaji. It was a quick matter, just as he promised." She said, giving her husband a kiss on the cheek.

"Welcome home, Leona." she said.

Leona let out a small 'hm' while bowing. Yuu followed his lead.

"Nee-san, this is my partner." he said.

"Ah yes, Yuu, I believe? We've heard a lot about you from Leona's letters. All good things, rest assured. Thank you for taking care of my dear brother-in-law."

"It was no trouble at all. Leona's been a perfect gentleman." Yuu said, their hand wandering to hold his.

Leona's grip on their hand tightened, an action that didn't escape the queen's keen eye.

She smiled, "I'm glad to hear that. I hope you enjoy your stay here. If there's anything else you need please don't hesitate to let me know."

Over the next few days the palace was a whirlwind of activity. Yuu only had about a day or two to enjoy the festivities of the Cloudcalling Festival with their boyfriend before Leona had to go tend to his duties as the leader of the Sunset Warriors.

Falena had decided to make this year's 'guardian lessons' a more hands-on experience by incorporating combat drills and mock battles. A decision Leona was definitely not happy with.

"Fine. I'll put them through training that will really show if they're warriors or just mewling kittens who'd only learned how to use their claws." That's what he'd said before walking away.

Yuu sent silent condolences to all the sunset warriors. Left to their own devices they wandered through the halls of the royal palace, gazing at portraits and miscellaneous memorabilia of past royals until reaching the doors of the royal kitchen.

Dinner service was over yet the chefs were still as busy as ever. The head chef noticed them lingering, "Ah you must be Yuu-sama. Please come in, come in. What can we do for you?"

"I'd like to help everyone do prep work for tomorrow's meals. Would that be alright?"

They paused to gauge everyone else's reaction before continuing,

"All the food I've eaten here has been absolutely delicious and I'd like to learn more about how each dish is made. I have experience working in a professional kitchen (Mostro Lounge) so I promise I won't get in the way. You can kick me out if I do."

The head chef smiled, "No need to be nervous. His highness has told us to give Yuu-sama full access to the kitchen so of course you're allowed to help. I have to warn you though, I can be quite strict."

"Yes chef! Looking forward to working with you, chef!" They said while putting on the apron the head chef had tossed them.

The prep work included chopping vegetables, pre-seasoning some meat, tossing a different kind of meat in a marinade, and, most surprisingly, making dessert. On the dessert menu for lunch tomorrow was baobab ice cream.

Baobab juice was extracted by boiling the fruit and straining the seeds. The juice was then combined with powdered milk and condensed milk and poured into molds before being put in the freezer to chill overnight. The leftover seeds were coated in a sticky syrup made of sugar and a blend of spices that turned it a striking red color, turning them into candies that were enjoyed by people from all walks of life.

A portion of the candy was set aside for the royal family while the rest were packed into small plastic bags and distributed to every chef and servant in attendance.

"Thanks for helping out today, Yuu-sama. If you want to help out again sometimes or have any special requests, feel free to stop by. The doors are as open to you as they are to the royal family."

Yuu thanked the head chef before wishing everyone a good night. They were halfway down the next hallway when they remembered the had planned to ask for some fruit as a small snack for when Leona gets back.

They immediately turned back to the kitchen only to hear a passing conversation amidst the sound of sweeping.

"Yuu-sama is so nice aren't they?"

"They really are! Honestly, I didn't know what to expect when I heard Leona-sama was bringing their partner."

" I know right? I mean, Leona-sama tends to be quite moody. I heard he had another fight with the crown prince a few days ago and now he's taking it out on this year's sunset warriors."

"Oh man seriously? My brother's a sunset warrior. I hope he's doing okay... I'm worried now. I mean, with Leona-sama's unique magic and all..."

"Hey come on. He wouldn't do that... Would he? I mean a guy like that wouldn't be with someone as nice as Yuu-sama unless..."

The sound of sweeping was replaced by the sound of approaching footsteps. The two servants almost crashed into each other when they saw who was standing behind the door.

"Hello!" Yuu's tone was cheerful but their smile didn't quite reach their eyes.

"Yuu-sama! How long have you— I mean, uh, what, what brings you back to the kitchen?" One of the servants said.

"I wanted to see if there was any fruit I could have as a snack."

"O-of course, Yuu-sama. We can help you with that right away. What kind of fruit would you like?"

"Mm... I'm not sure... Do you two know what kind of fruit Leona likes?"

The two servants flinched at the mention of the second prince. They rambled some gibberish until someone placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

"My, my, is that any way for royal chefs to act? You two must be exhausted. Why don't you return to your quarters for tonight? I'll handle things here." The head chef said.

Relief flooded the two servants' faces as they scurried away like a pack of rats.

"My apologies Yuu-sama. I'll be sure to put them through the proper disciplinary actions tomorrow."

Yuu nodded, "Thank you. Now, could I have some apples please?"

The head chef watched silently as they grabbed a knife and started cutting up the fruit.

"Were you angry at them?"

"What makes you say that?"

The head chef chuckled, "Well, I've never seen anyone make bunny apples with such intensity in their eyes."

They sighed, "Fine, I'm a little angry. I mean okay, Leona can be lazy sometimes... most of the time, but he's no slouch! He runs rings around almost everyone at Night Raven. He reads people like books and he can gauge a situation in a second even with his eyes closed. He's a great leader too! Everyone in Savanaclaw would follow him to the ends of the earth and the spelldrive club members trust him with their lives whenever they play a match."

The head chef nodded along as they continued their rant,

"Also, what's with everyone being scared of his unique magic? Do they seriously think he's the kind of guy to use it on a whim? Just because he isn't as cheerful as his brother, it doesn't mean he's a psychopath. No matter how annoyed he gets he never raises a hand against anyone unless they cross a line and even then he'd never turn them to sand."

They let out a frustrated groan, eating a few candies to calm down.

"It seems Leona-sama is very loved." The head chef said.

Yuu felt heat rise up to their cheeks but they didn't look away. "Damn right he is. He's a great prince and the best boyfriend I could ever ask for. There's nowhere in this world that makes me feel as safe as when I'm in his arms."

"That so herbivore?"

A pair of arms wrapped around their shoulders. They look up to find Leona staring back at them, still in his lion garb.

"I was wondering who was chatting it up in the kitchen at this hour. Who would've thought I'd find my partner and the head chef rubbing shoulders?"

His gaze fell on the head chef who was suddenly very interested in the floor tiles.

"You're excused for the night. Get out of here."

"Yes your highness! Thank you!"

"Finally..." he rested his head on Yuu's shoulder, settling into the crook of their neck.

Yuu reached up to stroke his hair, "Long day?"

"Oh you wouldn't believe it. Those idiots were practically foaming at the mouth waiting to punch something after sitting through etiquette class. Fucking amateurs."

"You poor thing." They said, semi-sarcastically, "Here, I cut you some apples."

"Apples? What am I a monkey? And what's with the cutesy shape huh? I'm not a kid."

Despite his grumbling he still opened his mouth when Yuu held a slice to his lips and of course, he finished the entire plate.

"You want some candy too?" They asked once all the apple slices were gone.

"Mmm."

They pretended like they were going to feed him before pulling away at the last second and popping the candy into their own mouth, "Too bad. These are mine."

Leona growled, "You're forgetting something herbivore."

He tilted their chin up and kissed them, prying their mouth open with his tongue. When he pulled away he had successfully stolen the candy.

"You're mine. So what's yours is also mine." He whispered into their ear as he lifted them on to the counter, leaning in for another kiss. "Just like what's mine is yours."

It was the kind of kiss that left them breathless and coming back for more. The kind that leaves one utterly defenseless against the predator hovering in front of them.

The pout on their face when he pulled away was so cute he couldn't resist giving a playful bite to one of their delightfully red cheeks, "Don't give me that look. You knew what you were getting into."

Yuu broke into a giggle, "I do... And I don't regret it."

Now it was their turn to kiss him. They kissed his cheek, his nose, and all over his face, whispering sweet nothings in between each one.

"I love you.

I really, really love you.

My strong, smart, protective boyfriend.

You're really amazing you know?

The king of my heart."

Leona closed his eyes and let out a content sigh as they continued to shower him with affection. His arms settling around their waist and his tail wrapping around their leg. The world seemed to come to a halt. The silence only broken by their voice, and their heartbeat, beating in sync with his. In the midst of the peace fatigue crept up on him, making him let out a yawn.

"Let's go back to our room. Then you can conk out whenever you like." Yuu paused for a second before adding, "After you shower."

"Anything for you, princess." He said, nuzzling their forehead before scooping them up and carrying them out of the kitchen.

Omake

"Wanna get in the shower with me?"

"Only if you promise to behave. It's late and I'm also kind of sleepy."

"Oh you will be after I'm done with you."

"Leona!"

-END-

Divider by: @/cafekitsune

#a/n: I kind of don't like how long this is. But I'm way more down bad for Leona than I am for Vil #as you can probably tell by my last few twst posts #this took so long to write tho #partly because I started it close to the end of the semester #twisted wonderland #disney's twisted wonderland #twst #twst x yuu #twst yuu #leona kingscholar #twst x reader #leona kingscholar x reader

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aspergerasparagus · 21 days ago

Text

Patch Job (White RabbitxGN!Reader)

Request: Oh dear, it appears after getting a little trigger happy with trying to lure Dante towards him, he damaged his mask in the process, perhaps you, the Reader, Y/N, whatever you call yourself could have some quality time together while you fix that mask of his and making a few improvements..?

(You can tell I don't write reader fics very often but I did try. Also it wasn't supposed to be this long but again woops.)

Honestly he should have known better. Maybe he was getting cocky? Maybe having Dante almost in his grasp made him slip up? Regardless it didn’t matter, what had been done had been done and now he was paying the price for his stupidity. Sighing the rabbit looked at himself in the bathroom mirror of some random slum he’d taken refuge in from his last battle, the glass was cracked and it was a miracle that this place even still had electricity as the naked blub above him flickered, threatening to go out at any second. But it would be enough, he’d been in worse after all. Looking over his mask he cursed himself under his breath as he surveyed the damage the son of Sparta had done. Admittedly he’d gotten off scot free, not a scratch on him, his “face” on the other hand was a different story.

Grumbling he picked at the broken stitching, his “real” face visible from beneath it now. He’d need to repair it quickly but given that he didn’t exactly have any supplies here and it wasn’t like he could go out like this. It would ruin everything. Growling he smashed his hand into the mirror, destroying what was left of it with his fist. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Collecting himself he took a deep breath before straightening up. He’d have to quickly try to locate some supplies to fix this, at least under the cover of night he’d been harder to spot but he couldn’t help but grimace at the idea of trying to waltz into some haberdashery and purchase some fresh thread and needles. Tutting he resigned himself to just breaking into somewhere like some common thug before turning on his heel, as if this night could get any worse…

Surprisingly the rabbit managed to locate a craft shop after not too long of searching. It was a small little place, tucked out of the way, far from prying eyes. Perfect. Slinking his way out from the alleyway he’d been tucked away in he swiftly made his way over until there was movement within the darkened windows. Someone was still inside? At this time? Gritting his teeth he faltered for a moment before shrugging, at least he wouldn’t have to break in now. Holding back he waited until the employee finally emerged from the shop, they were carrying a bag and turned their back to him as they began to fish about for the keys to lock up. He didn’t give them a chance to scream as he clamped a hand over their mouth, the keys tumbling from their hands as their fingers as their eyes snapped wide, fear gripping them.

“One word, one movement, and I’ll snap your neck like a toothpick. Is that understood? Now open the shop up and walk back inside. I’ve already had a terrible day so one wrong move and I’ll make sure I’ll leave you as a surprise for your boss to clean up in the morning. Now get back inside.”

Of course he was a bit more forceful than he would typically be, but he was irritated and taking out on the human was at least making him feel a little better. The sooner he could get his mask fixed the sooner he could get back to his mission. The human trembled in his grip, they were considerably shorter than himself so he towered over them, plunging them into his shadow as they frantically tried to open the door.

“P-Please don’t hurt me-”

“What did I just say about talking?”

He cut them off as their timid voice cut through the ambient hum of the night. He felt them nervously swallow before they managed to pry the key into the lock. Pushing them both through the door, he quickly slammed the door, locking it again. No disturbances. Especially while he would be so vulnerable…

Rounding back onto the human, their eyes were still locked forwards, too terrified to look up or to try to make a break for it. They surely must have heard about all the demon attacks going on. At least that would keep them compliant.

“Now, where do you keep your needles and thread?”

His voice cut through the tension as the human in his grip jumped slightly, startled by his voice, or maybe it was the request itself.

“Needles and thread? You’re not here to rob me?”

Sighing, the rabbit just tutted and shook his head.

“Do I look like someone who needs money? Now where are the needles and thread, I warn you I don’t like having to repeat myself.”

A small squeak escaped the human before they pointed in quickly to a display to the side. A range of needles and thread littered the wall. Perfect!

“Thank you, and my apologies for all this. I’m not typically so thuggish but I’m a little desperate at the moment.”

Finally releasing them the rabbit made his way over to the display, quickly grabbing what he could.

“What are you trying to repair?”

His ears twitched as the human’s suddenly piped up, glancing out of the corner of his eyes, he regarded them before turning back.

“I broke into your establishment, threatened you and am now stealing thread. And that’s what you’re asking me?”

“Well, those threads are only meant for simple embroidery, if you need something more durable I might be able to suggest something…”

He heard them trail off, as they began to fiddle with their hands, eyes glancing around the room as if they were mulling over their options, as if they were just helping any other customer who just happened to waltz into the store looking for help with a project. Unbelievable. But not unwelcome.

“I… I need to repair something that was damaged during a fight. I need something that’s strong enough to hold up, at least until I can repair it properly myself.”

“Oh, is it your suit? A torn panel maybe?”

Amused, the rabbit just turned and pointed at their torn face, chuckling as the human went pale and flinched back slightly, obviously shocked by the fact he needed to perform what most people would call a surgery rather than a simple patch job.

“It’s a bit more complicated than a mere tear in some fabric. But nothing that I can’t fix with the right equipment. Any suggestions?”

He’d admit he was tickled by the little human and it made a nice change, considering most humans he’d met so far had been cruel, abusive or just straight up tried to shoot him. Admittedly the last one was to be expected but regardless it was a nice change of pace.

“Well human, I’d love to hear your feedback.”

Snapping back he watched as they began to stumble over their words before biting their tongue and trying to calm themselves.

“Nylon thread is one of the strongest thread types, typically used for leatherwork and the such but um, maybe something stronger for… your needs will be needed. Hold on.”

Before he could object he watched as they scampered off towards the back of the shop, disappearing between the labyrinth of craft supplies and fabric samples. The rabbit could just stare in disbelief before groaning and readying the sword on his back, ready to chase them down and cut them down. He really was getting sloppy. But just as he was about to level the building they reappeared again, scampering up to him with a needle and a spool of some black thread.

“This is um kevlar thread, it’s typically only used for very high stress applications like high stress clothing and machinery but it could work for you. It’s very durable and probably the strongest stuff on the market! We only stock a small quantity of it but um…”

The rabbit just regarded them before he burst out into a bout of loud laughter, causing the little human to panic and jump out of their skin. Oh now this human was amusing! Slipping the sword back onto his back, he took the supplies from them, eyeing them over quickly.

“Yes I think that would do very nicely. Thank you my dear. Now to find a mirror…”

“W-we don’t have one in store I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter, you know your way around a needle I’m sure. You can do it. Probably do a better job than I would.”

“W-what!? I-I can’t sew your face up! I’m not a surgeon. B-besides won’t it hurt like hell?!” The rabbit just scoffed and grabbed them by the scruff of their shirt, rolling his eyes as he dragged them to one of the tables at the back.

“Doesn’t matter, I'm sure you’ll do a fantastic job. Besides, I've endured worse. A couple of minutes of being stabbed by a needle will be nothing more than an insect bite.” The human tried to protest again, wriggling in his grip but soon resigned themselves as he felt them slouch and mutter to themselves they knew they shouldn’t have swapped shifts.

Plopping them down, the rabbit flipped a lamp on before sitting down himself, laying out the supplies.

“Now, make sure the stitching can hold, I don’t want it breaking again. It would be inconvenient for both of us if I have to come back again because of your poor sewing skills.”

The human suddenly looked annoyed as they huffed, pouting slightly at the fact someone was questioning their skills.

“I’ll have you know that I am pretty skilled with a needle, so I won’t take any criticism before you’ve seen my work. How rude.”

The rabbit was taken aback and couldn’t help as he let out a roar of laughter, the human jumping in front of him.

“Oh how cute! Now that’s unexpected, a human with a backbone, how charming.”

Slipping an arm over his chest, he bowed his head slightly, flashing the human a smirk.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to doubt your skill, my dear. I’ll let your work talk for you then.”

Seeing a flashing of a blush on their cheeks, he could only chuckle as they tried to play it off, huffing before they motioned him to lean down so they could assess the damage.

You looked over the tear, it was luckily across what seemed some sort of the seam that ran along the demons’ face. It should be easy to repair, but sewing together skin and fur was nothing like trying to sew together fabrics! Of course you were stressed but at least the rabbit, well the demon, in front of you didn’t seem to want to rip you apart, for now. Sighing, you gently folded the seams together as the rabbit watched you, their eyes fixed on your face, observing every action and twitch in your face. Looking for anything they didn’t like, or simply studying you. It was hard to say, but it was certainly getting to you. You could feel your cheeks going pink as they huffed softly, leaning in gently to your touch as you pet the soft white fur on their head. This really shouldn’t be as distracting as it was but it was getting harder and harder to focus now! Stupid bunny demon!

Trying your best to focus you quickly started, the needle and thread easily piercing through the soft flesh and quickly beginning to pull the skin back into place. You tried hard to try and not focus on it, just thinking about what you were doing, who or what you were doing it to, was making your palms sweat and a trembling hand would never get this done. There was also the small fact you hoped you weren’t hurting the bunny. But he didn’t seem to take much notice of the needle stabbing into him, instead his attention was focused squarely on you. You really wished he would stop looking up at you with those eyes of his!

“Your hands are shaking my dear. Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”

You jumped as he spoke, that deep, low voice of his catching you off guard as you were trying to pay attention to the task at hand.

“W-well it’s not like I stitch demons together very often. I have every right to be nervous! I don’t know what you’ll do…”

The rabbit hummed, amused by your answer more than anything.

“That’s true, but not all demons are your enemy. Some of us can be rather charming if given a chance.”

He flashed you a quick wink making your face erupt with heart as the obvious blush crept across your cheeks. The cheek on this bunny rabbit! Pouting you stabbed the needle into his flesh for the last time, maybe a little rougher than you needed to as you saw him flinch slightly. But it seemed he agreed that he might have deserved that.

Pouting you quickly trimmed the excess thread before gently holding the demon’s cheeks as you examined the stitching. Not your finest work, but it would certainly hold you. Hopefully.

“There you’re all done, it shouldn’t come undone again. In theory anyway. You wanna take the thread in case? It’s not like I can sell it now anyway…”

As you spoke you watched as the rabbit straightened back up, feeling over the stitching himself, his fingers trailing over the once torn face, accessing the workmanship. Then after a moment or so he smiled at you, his eyes squinting slightly as he seemed genuinely impressed and pleased with your work.

“I must commend your work, you really didn’t sell yourself short my dear. And yes I think it might be for the best.”

Reaching out he took the supplies from your hand, but before you could pull your hand away, he quickly grasped your hand in his own. You couldn’t pull away, even if you had wanted to, he was far too strong. Obviously this must be it you thought, as your mind raced but instead of yanking you forward to tear you to shreds, the rabbit instead brought you hand up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss against it.

“However, maybe you should keep it. You never know when I might need another repair job and you have done such a fantastic job with my repairs.”

Unable to take it any more, you huffed and pulled your hand free, yelling at the demon to get out of your store as the creature only just let out another loud laugh, the enjoyment from teasing you only tickling him even more. Demons really were the worst!

#my writing #devil may cry #dmc #white rabbit #dmc white rabbit #also sorry for the delay it took longer than expected

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aeth-eris · 5 months ago

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★ the physical essence of venus ★

★ aries venus ★ the scarred helmet hanging on the back of your door that you won’t replace, even though it’s scratched beyond repair, because it’s been with you through every wild decision you’ve made. the sneakers at your front door, caked with mud from an impulsive hike you dragged your friends on last spring—still laced tightly, ready to go at a moment’s notice. your jacket pockets always seem to hold something random—keys, an old receipt, or a coin you found that felt like it could bring good luck, though you’d never admit it. even your wallet looks battle-worn, stuffed with notes you’ll never throw out because they’re pieces of a past that make you feel alive when you touch them.

★ taurus venus ★ the candle on your bedside table, burned just enough to release the scent of wildflowers but still pristine, because you’re saving it for “when it feels right.” the blanket on your couch is perfectly folded, even though you use it every day, its edges slightly frayed because it’s older than you’d care to admit. your collection of tea blends isn’t about drinking them—it’s about the ritual of opening the tin, inhaling the scent, and deciding what fits your mood that day. even the wooden cutting board in your kitchen feels sacred, smoothed from years of careful use, holding the quiet memories of meals shared with people who make your world feel steady.

★ gemini venus ★ the pen you always lose but somehow manage to find at the exact moment you need it, its cap chewed and its ink running dry because you use it for everything—doodles, random notes, grocery lists, and the occasional half-baked love letter. your phone case has a faint crack from being tossed on a table during an animated conversation, and there’s a tiny keychain charm dangling from it that you picked up during a trip you can barely remember. your desk is a mess of brightly colored sticky notes, most of which have cryptic one-liners that no longer make sense, but you refuse to throw them away because they “might mean something someday.”

★ cancer venus ★ the slightly faded Polaroid stuck to your fridge of a moment you’ll never stop replaying in your mind, its corners curling just enough to show its age. the quilt on your bed, soft with time, smells faintly of lavender and home, even when you’ve been away for too long. your jewelry box holds treasures you don’t wear but can’t let go of—a broken bracelet, a ring from someone you loved, or a single earring that’s lost its match but not its meaning. there’s a jar of seashells on your windowsill, each one tied to a memory you can’t explain but would defend if anyone tried to move it.

★ leo venus ★ the golden compact mirror in your bag that you flip open with a dramatic flourish, even when you don’t need to use it. your favorite jacket, velvet or sequined, hangs at the front of your closet, waiting for its next moment in the spotlight, no matter how rare. you keep a framed photo of yourself from that one perfect night, sitting prominently where you can see it and be reminded of your glow. even your perfume bottle looks like art—half-full because you save it for moments when you want the world to remember you by its scent.

★ virgo venus ★ the planner on your desk is immaculate, with color-coded tabs and neat handwriting that looks like it belongs in a design catalog. your favorite pen is a gel pen with just the right flow—you buy them in bulk because losing one feels like losing a limb. your kitchen has a perfectly organized spice rack, alphabetized not out of compulsion but because it just makes sense. even your plants thrive in an oddly perfect way; they’re pruned regularly, sitting in matching pots, as if they’ve agreed to reflect your careful attention to detail.

★ libra venus ★ the antique hand mirror on your vanity, slightly tarnished but impossibly elegant, next to a bottle of rose-scented perfume that’s more art than utility. your coffee table has a stack of perfectly arranged art books that you flip through during lazy afternoons, marveling at the balance of beauty and creativity. your wardrobe holds a silk scarf or pair of perfectly pointed flats that you wear when you want to feel effortlessly polished. even your favorite mug has an air of charm—delicate, with a tiny chip that only makes it more perfect in your eyes.

��★ scorpio venus ★ the leather-bound journal hidden in a drawer, its pages filled with raw, unfiltered emotions you wouldn’t dare share aloud. the black candle on your nightstand, burned down just enough to release its smoky, mysterious scent, but not finished, as if waiting for the right moment. your ring drawer holds a piece you never wear anymore, but every time you pick it up, the memories it holds flood back so vividly it takes your breath away. even your favorite book has underlined passages that feel like secrets only you could understand, the kind you re-read when you need to feel seen.

★ sagittarius venus ★ the worn leather backpack leaning by your door, its zippers jingling faintly every time you grab it to head out. your passport is scuffed, its pages stamped with memories that still bring a grin to your face when you flip through them. you keep a jar of foreign coins from places you’ve been, not for their value but because they remind you of café conversations, train rides, and sunsets you swore you’d never forget. even your favorite shoes are battered from countless adventures, soles worn thin but still too full of life to be replaced.

★ capricorn venus ★ your desk holds a fountain pen, heavy in your hand, its ink flowing with precision as you jot down plans that matter. the watch on your wrist is timeless—its leather strap softened with wear, a quiet symbol of discipline and style. your planner is sleek, every page carefully filled with tasks and goals, because each moment of time feels like an investment. even your scarf is understated and elegant, folded neatly by the door, ready to shield you from the chill as you head out into the world you’re steadily building.

★ aquarius venus ★ the slightly offbeat earrings you wear almost daily, their mismatched charm drawing compliments wherever you go. your favorite gadget—a smart device, a quirky invention, or something DIY—sits proudly on your desk, a blend of utility and rebellion against the ordinary. your coffee table holds an art book or zine from an obscure creator you discovered before anyone else did. even your favorite lamp is asymmetrical or futuristic, casting light in ways that feel just unconventional enough to reflect your unique vision of the world.

★ pisces venus ★ the candle on your desk smells like sea salt and mystery, burned down to a waxy puddle but kept because it reminds you of a fleeting, perfect moment. your dream journal sits beside your bed, pages filled with poetry and fragmented thoughts you’ve scrawled in the dark, barely legible but emotionally potent. you keep a jar of glitter on your shelf—not for any practical purpose, but because it catches the light like magic. even your blanket, impossibly soft and slightly worn at the edges, feels like a portal to the dreamscape you create every time you wrap yourself in it.

★ book a reading ★ ★ masterlist 1 ★ ★ masterlist 2 ★

#astrology #astrology observations #astrology aspects #astro observations #astrology venus #venus

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bamsara · 11 months ago

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I dont know if it was intentional but I love that Narinder when he sees Lamb throwing up he turns gentle and pushes their wool and ears back so they dont get stained with vomit and for some reason it reminded me of how when Nari was throwing up too after the nightmare he had when they were on route to fight Leshy, Lambert helped him with camellias for the nausea.

Ahh, parallels. I think.

IM SO GLAD YOU POINTED THAT OUT allow me to ramble for just a moment.

Narinder was trapped in the Afterlife for over 1000 years, with little social skills and plagued by wishing for vengeance and his only company being two kittens who become disciples under his rule. He has terrible social skills, if not lacking them entirely.

(I would argue that Aym and Baal also have horrific nonexistent social skills, so those three cat's can't really help each other communicate properly to anyone else outside themselves.)

It can be argued that since The One Who Waits had other vessels to pass time and try to kill /annoy his siblings before the prophesized Lamb arrival, that he would have developed them a little bit more, but I would argue that the power balance would have been oodles more severe since the vessels weren't the promised one. He didn't need them, so if they no longer were of service or disobeyed him, he got rid of them. Whether just sending them out or killing them, any how.

Lamb, however, knows they are the last Lamb, the prophesized liberator of The One Who Waits, and therefore his only option. They knew that they were his only reasonable way out of there (whether they asked for it or not) so they were oodles more comfortable than how a professional relationship would have been.

So they asked questions, bothered him, played and ran around him. Complained and vented to him. Yapped and yapped. What is he gonna do? Kill them? Find a new vessel? He can't. "You're as trapped into this prophecy as much as I am, so let's be friends"

Example parts from Chapter 3:

The power balance equalizes because Lamb did not see his presence a God, but rather a fellow prisoner and victim of fate. Rude and demanding, but in the same chains as they were. 'My lord' was simply formalities at first.

This puts Narinder / The One Who Waits in social situations he hasn't been in (or hardly been in) in over a thousand years, and frankly, he had no idea how to navigate them:

Example from Chapter 5:

The God of Death has not needed to comfort or 'be there' for someone in a long, long time. The Lamb's presence is what forces him to try, even if his first attempt aren't perfect. So in that same chapter, he'll ask them a question to distract them. Conversation. Like how they do it.

While I won't post a screenshot of everytime this happens in written format (not including the dreams/memories/flashbacks that haven't been posted yet)-

The One Who Waits is pushed outside of his bubble when it comes to socializing in a way that isn't just 'God-to-Lowly-Vessal' format. He has to talk to them like a person, because he's being talked to like a person, not a god on a pedestal.

Obviously after the final battle and betrayal (to both of them, otherwise known as the Grand Miscommunication) this means nothing for a while as tempers are still high and feelings are hurt. But overtime, this returns, and can show in small ways (ways that may not seem like comfort but is certainly an attempt) like just in Chapter 18:

Trying to bring them an 'offering' (breakfast) mirroring other times the Lamb has done the same for him:

Crudely offering to replace something they are upset at losing/later offering reassurance abet in a curt way:

And what you mentioned: earlier when the Lamb is throwing up, narration shows they're having trouble with keeping their wool, cloak, bell, ect all back at the same time. He can see that. He has a mental boiling pot explosion over the fact that helping them is even a want that he has after the denial crisis he's experiencing where the only answer a minute ago seemed like he needed to kill them, and he chose comfort.

It is intentional. Narinder is learning how to show care, and allowing himself to show care. Slowly, and not perfect, but learning.

#trod au #the rehabilitation of death #ramble #long post #apologies for the spew of words #there are other small instances in the fic outside of chapter 18 where he shows a little #but it's going to just get more and more noticable from this point on #with a lot of his behaviors he honestly needs to be smacked with a rock (deuragatory) /j #but the lamb does not take his shit and doesn't react in explosive anger #a 'be kind but take no shit' kind of vibe that has narinder put in a spot where he has to actively choose #whether the consequences of his actions is something he really wants or if he Wants Something Else

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trippinsorrows · 7 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + twenty one

authors note: good lord, ya'll was in a frenzy following that last one. hope this provides some clarity and closure.

cw/tw: angst, solana being very upset, and smut

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

gif belongs to @romanreigns

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 8k

Solana’s cried a lot in the past month.

More than she’s probably ever cried in her life.

But the past few hours have to be the heaviest bout she’s experienced since her mother was killed.

Everything hearts. Her head. Her body. Her heart.

She’s confused and angry and scared and nervous and so many different emotions at once that all she wants to do is scream, but she can’t even do that, because she has nothing left in her. She spent the night crying her eyes out, sleeping a little, then crying her eyes out some more. So much so that she’d be surprised if she got a good two consistent hours of sleep.

She just feels so empty. Like everything she thought she knew is now no more. Because it isn't. Because the man she thought Roman was has turned out to be exactly who he is. Not the….version he showed her. And she feels so stupid, so naive. She gave him so much, exposed so much of herself to him, loved him, and what has it gotten her?

The epic, incurable sting of betrayal.

And a part of her didn’t want to believe it, wanted to believe that maybe it’s not what she thought, but what was said was pretty self-explanatory. And if that wasn’t enough pressing evidence, the fact that Roman kept calling and texting her afterwards, probably realizing the phone was still connected, was the nail in the coffin.

Proof that he knew fucked up.

That he was caught.

That she now knows the truth about their marriage. About it all.

Solana couldn’t bear seeing his name continue to pop up on her phone, resulting in her just turning the damn thing off.

She doesn’t want to talk to him, doesn’t want to see him, doesn’t want anything from him.

Just thinking about it makes the heavy lump in the back of her throat throb. She’s so tired of crying. Tired of it all.

Turning over in her bed, a part of her wishes she hadn’t asked to cancel her therapy appointment with Gail, citing that she was feeling physically unwell. That’s not a lie, but Gail would be the perfect person to speak to right now. If only she had it in her to talk. But, she doesn’t. She has no words for what she still doesn’t fully understand.

A knock on the door disturbs her from her depressing thoughts. Solana shifts in the bed, calling out in a weak voice, “I want to be alone right now.”

Bautista’s deep voice sounds on the other side of the door. “It’s a wellness check.”

Solana shuts her eyes. She should have known this was coming. She was practically silent during breakfast and retreated back to her room in that same silence, which was bound to garner a visit from staff to make sure she’s okay.

With a heavy sigh, she kicks the blankets off and intentionally avoids looking at her reflection in the large mirror anchored on top of the dresser. She’s certain she’d hate what would be looking back at her.

Using the back of her hand to wipe at her eyes, Solana takes a deep breath and turns the knob, opening the door, expecting to see a nurse or maybe even Gail.

But, she’s wrong.

So wrong.

Because it’s neither of those women. Not even Bautista. Instead, standing before her is none other than the one person she doesn’t want to see. At all.

Shaking her head, nose turned up, Solana goes to close the door. “I have nothing to say to you—” But, she should know better, know that Roman is not the man to ever be denied.

He reaches out his arm, putting an abrupt, effective stop. “We need to talk.”

Knowing there’s no way in hell she’ll win the battle for the door, she instead reaffirms her position. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Solana turns away, heading back for her bed when she hears the door shut and footsteps.

“Baby—”

“No!” She snaps, twisting around and jumping away from Roman as he tries to reach for her arm. “Don’t—don’t call me that. You’re a liar.”

It’s only now that he’s a bit closer, and she’s actually looking at him, that she sees just how….different he looks. Concerned. Worried. Scared, almost. “Solana, would you just listen to me?”

“Why?” She demands. “So you can tell me more lies?” Solana was all but certain she cried out all the tears in her body last night, yet standing in front of Roman, just looking at him, makes her sick. Makes her sad.

Makes her angry.

He swallows, tone dripping with anguish. “It’s not what you think—”

“Were you working?” It’s a simple question. One that should elicit a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer right away, but instead Roman just looks at her with that same wounded expression. With a tinge of something else. Guilt.

“Exactly.”

“Solana—” Again he tries to reach for her, and again she moves away. She doesn’t even want to be in the same room with him right now, let alone have him touch her.

“No!” She shouts, hating this. Hating all of it. The hurt. The betrayal. It’s disgusting to her. “I trusted you! I trusted you more than anyone, and you lied to me. You said you’d never lie to me. You said—you said you’d never hurt me, and that’s exactly what you’ve done!”

If not for the heaviness for this situation, Solana would be floored by how expressive Roman is being right now. No stoic, unreadable expression. Just a man who looks like he’s been slapped in the face. Like her words are more of a physical assault on him than any injury he’s ever received.

Sniffling, she takes her hand and wipes at her eyes. She can only imagine how red and puffy they must be from all the crying she’s done the past twenty–four hours. “I know that—that I’ve been a lot, but you didn’t—if you didn’t want me—if you didn’t want to be with me—”

“Don’t you ever fucking say that,” he cuts her off with all the swiftness. His voice taking on an almost angry tone. Like he’s offended she could even fix her lips to say that. “Of course, I want to be with you.”

But, she’s not listening, Solana instead slips into the spiraling she’s done all night. That lane of self-blame. “I know—I know that I haven’t been the best wife, that I’ve been here,” she gestures around the room and points to herself, “but I’m trying—I’ve been trying.” It’s a cascade of emotions that have spilled out of whatever semblance of resolve and border she had around herself. All of her insecurities falling out in the open for him to see. “I’m trying.” She breaks down, hands covering her face as she cries into her palms. Sobs that wreck her body and make her legs feel so weak.

But, it’s when she feels him directly in front of her, his arms around her that she shakes her head and drops her hands. “Don’t touch me!” Solana shouts, trying to push him away. But, he doesn’t budge, just continues to hold her. “Déjame en paz! ¡Te odio!” Solana progresses to angrily beating on his chest to get him away, but he says nothing, does nothing. “Te odio…..” Just continues to let her throw all of her hurt and anger at him until her fists grow just as tired as her resolve, Solana eventually falling and crying into his chest.

Roman carefully lifts her up and carries her over to the bed, laying her down and not wasting a second to lie beside her, gathering her into his arms yet again and positioning her on his chest.

It’s such a confusing experience. She wants him to leave, but she wants him to stay. She hates him touching her, but she craves being close to him. He disgusts her, but she finds herself clutching onto him.

She hates him, but oh how she loves him.

Solana cries until there’s nothing left, depleting her body of nearly all of its energy. Her red eyes are open and focused on nothing in particular as Roman rubs soothing circles on the small of her back. But, it’s only when they’ve been submerged in radio silence for nearly ten minutes that he finally speaks.

Voice low and borderline hoarse. “I didn’t cheat on you, Solana.” There’s not much left in her to offer any sort of response other than the lump in the back of her throat pulsing. Throbbing. Trying to recharge for the next breakdown. “But….but I haven’t been honest with you either.”

She doesn’t want to talk to him. Doesn’t want anything from him. And yet, she finds herself asking, “where were you?”

“I can’t tell you.” Solana closes her eyes and shoots up, moving to get out the bed, away from him, But, Roman is faster, grabbing her by her waist and angling her, so that she’s looking at him. His eyes are soft and damn near pleading. Desperate. “Because I want to show you.”

—-----------

Solana hasn’t a clue how she ended up in this position.

Sitting in the passenger seat of an SUV, Roman in the driver’s seat, driving them to a destination unknown but one that’s clearly not anywhere close to home considering it’s been almost two hours, and they still haven’t arrived to wherever it is he’s taking her.

She shouldn’t have agreed. Shouldn’t have allowed him to convince her to acquiesce so easily. Shouldn’t have let him inform Dr. Stratus and Gail that she’ll be gone for a day or two. Shouldn’t have packed her small bag and climbed in the escalade and allowed him to guide her to this unknown place.

Solana just hates it all. It’s why she hasn’t said a word to him. Not a single one. She just sits in her seat, body angled to the window, earbuds plugged in playing music that resonates so deeply with all of her emotions right now.

Every now and then, the feelings will brew, and she’ll have to quickly wipe away the silent tears, praying he doesn’t see them.

Though, she’s certain he does.

She slips in and out of surface leveled sleep for the majority of the ride but is eventually woken up by Roman lightly shaking her shoulder. His expression is still soft, his voice calm, “we’re here.”

Blinking back into awareness, Solana wipes at her eyes and looks around, seeing the car is indeed parked. Her passenger door is open, Roman waiting patiently for her to get out.

She unbuckles her seatbelt, mouth dropping open when she sees they’re in the middle of a forest. Nothing but greenery surrounding them and the beautiful house that seems tucked away from it all. Solana is starting to wish she’d stayed awake. Turning to Roman, she asks, “where—where are we?”

He doesn’t say anything, just motions for her to follow him. And for some reason, she does. She doesn’t push him more, just stays close behind him as he walks up the stairs of the home and pulls out a key, unlocking the front door.

Roman steps to the side and motions for her to walk in first. Again, she says nothing, just silently follows his directions, mind still racing about everything that’s happened as well as just what in the hell is going on.

Stepping into the home, Solana’s mouth naturally falls open. The interior is beautiful, warm in color, almost naturistic with the design. It feels warm and cozy and welcoming. Like a safe space for any and all who happen to venture into the literal house in the woods.

Roman suddenly calls out, speaking in a language she doesn’t understand. Samoan, if she had to take a guess. Him doing so, however, makes her even more nervous.

Are they not alone?

Now, she needs to know. Needs to have her questions answered. She grabs his arm, ignoring the sparks that fly at touching him. “Roman, what is goi—”

“And he says that I’m the one with the memory problems.” Solana overhears the almost aged voice of a woman, a voice that’s very much unlike the one she heard over the phone. “atalii o le uso, were you not just over—here?”

Solana’s gaze sets on the woman. She’s up in age, that much is obvious. Tanned complexion, warm brown eyes, her hair long and a beautiful combination of salt, pepper, and a brunette color. She’s a little on the heavier side, Solana taking note of the almost limp she walks with as well the disfiguration on both her arms.

Burns.

However, when her gaze switches from Roman to herself, Solana sees the woman smile brightly. A smile that’s eerily similar to the man standing beside her.

“Well, it’s about damn time.” Solana is still trying to process just what’s going on when the woman walks over to her, eyes squinting with curiosity. “Such a beautiful girl.” Solana freezes initially when the woman pulls her in for a hug. Warm and friendly. Just like the atmosphere of the home. It’s…..comforting almost.

The other woman is the first to end the hug, though her friendly expression remains focused on Solana “Hi….” Meanwhile, Solana remains abundantly lost in this situation. “I’m—”

“Oh, child. I know exactly who you are.” She waves off Solana’s introduction, almost playful gaze switching to Roman. “But, something tells me you don’t know who I am.”

At all.

“Solana.” It’s then that Roman steps forward, gesturing to the older woman. “This is Fetu.” He swallows, something flashing in his eyes. “My aunt.”

The past twenty-four hours have been filled with nothing but bombshells, but this one has to take the cake. Solana’s mouth is ajar, her gaze bouncing back and forth between the two. She sees it now. The same smile. Same eyes. The burns.

Similar to Roman’s. The ones he received the night his family was killed, family that included an aunt, according to him.

This…..this can’t be her….right?

A different one maybe who coincidentally has the same type of injuries Roman sustained that night…..maybe.

Or not.

But how?

Completely taken back, she finds herself asking him, “your…..your aunt?”

Fetu says something in what she would guess is Samoan. Roman sighs, loudly, looking over at Solana, expressing quietly, “I’ll explain later.”

That’s…..that’s very much appreciated, because Solana has so many questions.

“Men.” Fetu rolls her eyes. “They have such horrible timing.” Her gaze shifts for a second as she focuses on Solana. “Child, have you been crying?” That seems like an understatement. Again, Fetu speaks in Samoan, voice suddenly angry as she slaps Roman on the arm. “I’ll deal with you later.” She switches English and goes to move her arm around Solana, “come. I was just about to prepare dinner. Roman said you like to cook?”

At that, Solana’s eyes light up a bit. “I–I do.”

“Good, then you won’t mind helping this old lady, now, will you?” It’s not really posed as a question. More of a directive, Solana briefly glances back at Roman as she’s guided away from him. He simply gives her a nod of reassurance and disappears through the door they just walked through.

—--------

Solana likes Fetu. It’s a bit of a strong statement considering she’s known her for less than 24 hours, 12 hours even. But, it’s true.

Roman’s aunt is kind and funny. A spitfire who keeps a smile on her face the entire time they’re in the kitchen cooking together, the older woman so patient as she explains each step of the traditional Samoan dish they’re preparing.

Solana is washing the dishes, with only a few left when Fetu calls her from where she sits at the kitchen table. Solana grabs the towel and dries off her hands, tossing it on the counter as she walks over.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Oh please, I know I’m ancient, but don’t make me feel like it.” Solana smiles and sits down in the chair on the adjacent side of the table. Fetu’s eyes are focused on Solana in a studying manner, a small chuckle leaving her mouth. “I see it.”

Understandably, Solana is confused, asking in a small voice. “See what?”

“The light.” She answers, returning the smile. “Roman refers to you as his light. I didn’t understand then, but I do now. I see it now.”

Solana sits there, silenced and taken back for the 19th time today. “He….he calls me that?”

She nods, eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Among other things.” Solana would love to know just what those things are, but there’s something she wants—needs—to know more. A confirmation, really.

“Was—was Roman here with you this weekend?” A question she’s been wondering from the moment Roman introduced her to his aunt, the only thing confusing her being the voices. Fetu is most definitely not the woman she heard on the phone. Her voice is too aged and scratchy.

“He was,” she confirms, and Solana’s stomach drops. “A surprise but welcomed, nonetheless.”

Meanwhile, Solana is doing her best to regulate her breathing and not freak out on this poor, old woman. “I—was someone else here too?”

Fetu nods. “My younger cousin, Ava, stays with me as well, because apparently I need a caretaker.” She rolls her eyes, explaining, “she’s out taking care of some personal business but will be back shortly. I can’t wait for you two to…..is everything alright, child?”

Far from it. Solana doesn’t even need to ask any more questions, because certain pieces are coming together. The truth is gradually revealing itself to be something entirely different from what she thought it was.

“No,” Solana answers with a surprising level of honesty. “I—I really messed something up.”

“Does it have to do with Roman?” Silently nodding, Fetu makes a sound. “I see…..” She reaches over, placing a hand over Solana’s. “Solana, I know that all of this must be confusing to you, and it’s clear while I’ve been asking my nephew to meet you, today was not planned, and I’m guessing it wasn’t from anything good.” Solana says nothing, silent tears falling down her face. “And there’s much I wish to discuss with you once you know the full story, but let me just say this.” She gives a gentle squeeze. “There’s no one on this earth who my nephew cares about more than you. You have completely changed his life, brought out a side of him I thought they killed, that died that awful, awful night.” Solana gasps quietly, stuck on both the words as well as indirect confirmation that this is the same aunt she believed was killed with the rest of his family. “I know he can be difficult at times. Stubborn. Hardheaded. A closed book, but….you must understand the massive weight he carries. Even as a boy, they put so much pressure on him to be perfect.” She shakes her head, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “That’s why he kept him away from him, because I always just let him be a kid. Be human.”

There’s continued confusion at the he part, but Solana doesn’t want to interrupt, doesn’t want to pry too much. Especially since there’s a not so light conversation she still needs to have with her cousin.

“Roman calls you his light because you are. Whether he’s ready to admit it or not, he needs you, and something tells me you need him just as much.” Truer words have never been spoken, “so whatever it is that happened, I can promise you it’s nothing you two can’t work through, because he’d do anything for you, especially if it’s to keep you.”

By the end of it, Solana has a fresh set of tears, the beautiful words from someone who clearly knows Roman, and knows him well, meaning the world to her.

The same way he does.

Even if…..even if her behavior earlier indicated otherwise.

It’s why…..why she needs to make this right.

“Thank you,” she manages through the emotionality of it all. “That….that means a lot to me.” Because it does. More than Fetu could ever know. Clearing her throat, she stands up and dusts off her pants, sharing, “I think…..I think I need to go talk to Roman.”

Fetu chuckles softly. “I think you do too.” She motions with her hand. “Up the stairs. Last room on the right.”

Solana smiles appreciatively. “Thank you.”

The older woman says nothing else as Solana finds her legs carrying her to the dark staircase, up to the second level and down the hall to the room Fetu identified as belonging to Roman.

She starts to knock before entering but ultimately decides against it. They’re way past that point.

So, she opens the door, quietly closing it behind her when she hears Roman’s deep voice from a bit of the distance given the size of the bedroom. He’s in the bathroom ,on the phone, speaking in a different language. It doesn’t sound Samoan. Maybe Italian.

Regardless, she moves over and sits on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting for him to walk out while also wondering just what in the hell she’s going to say. Sorry, of course, but what more? That can’t be enough. Not with how she acted. The lack of trust in him and their relationship completely shelved to the side, replaced with her borderline irrational behavior.

She didn’t even give him a chance to speak.

Just the thought of how unfair she treated him bringing another set of tears to her eyes at the same moment the bathroom door opens, revealing a shirtless Roman, dark sweatpants resting low on his hips, hair down and clearly in the midst of air drying given its voluminous state. If not for the nature of why she’s here, of what transpired, she’d be distracted at him in such a state.

But, that’s not the focus. She doesn’t care about that right now.

She just cares about him.

About making this right.

And the minute Roman’s gaze sets on her, he says something quickly and lowly, followed by him hanging up the phone. He places it atop the dresser near him, eyes never leaving her. “Solana, what’s—”

He’s silenced when she hops up from the bed and rushes over to him, practically throwing her body into his, holding him. Tight.

“I’m sorry,” she cries, uncaring about any sort of plan she had regarding how to tackle this. How to make this right. She simply just needs him to know how sorry she is. “I shouldn’t have said those things—I didn’t mean—”

“Solana, it’s okay.” Him holding the back of her head with such tenderness is an equal match to the gentle way he’s speaking to her right now. Undeserved in her opinion.

“No,” she forces out. Pulling back, she shakes her head. “I was—I was mean to you, and—and I didn't trust you.” He’s always been so good to her. It’s almost embarrassing to Solana how easily she could believe he could do something like that to her. “You didn’t deserve t–that.”

Roman, however, simply looks down at her with an almost nervous expression. “You weren’t entirely wrong, Solana. I was lying to you. Like Ava said, I’ve been lying to you.” He lightly taps on her hip and motions for her to follow him as he sits on the edge of the bed. Solana is right beside him, one leg up on the mattress, the other on the ground. “Fetu…..”

And just like that, she knows where he’s going. Knows what he’s about to share.

Truth be told, the past twenty four hours have been such a whirlwind of emotions that she’s not even sure this is the right time to be having this conversation, but it’s one that needs to be had. Whether she wants to or not. Because she’d rather not. Rather not put Roman through any more unnecessary stress than she already has. “Ro, you—you don’t—”

“Someone dragged me out of the house. I never found out who.” Interrupting her, his voice is eerily similar to the first night he opened up about his family, about that night when so much was lost. “But, I—I couldn’t just stand there and let my family die. So, I ran back in.” Her chest tightens, listening to him recall such a harrowing night. “There was so much smoke and fire, and I don’t know how the hell I got to her, but I did. She was hurt and burned, but she could walk, so I guided us both out, but I got burned too in the process.” Fetu. He has to be talking about Fetu.

It’s hard for her to imagine him. An innocent 10 year old boy who’d just lost his family in the most horrific way still doing what he can to help. To save them. To save her.

Solana naturally moves closer to Roman, holding onto his arm, her thumb soothingly running over his tattoos.

“I wanted—” He closes his eyes, and for the first time in maybe ever, Solana can see and hear the visceral emotions in his voice. “I tried to go back in there, but one of the firefighters restrained me, and I was too weak and injured to fight back. I ended up passing out shortly after that.”

“Roman….”

He continues, hard gaze focused on the intricate design of the large rug on the floor. “When I came to, they told me everyone was dead. Including Fetu. That she’d died from her injuries.”

Solana gasps.

What?

They….lied to him?

Roman, however, just continues to recall his trauma, expression still blank, voice betraying all of the emotions brewing beneath the surface. “So, for years, I worked to accept the fact that I was alone, because at the end of the day, Jimmy and Jey still have Rikishi. They had their brothers and mother. Rikishi had his own family. Everyone did. Except me, cause mine was all dead.”

There’s something so heartbreaking about hearing that. Solana thinking back on how she felt the first time he opened up about his family’s murder. He’s right. They might all be blood related, but they each have their own family units.

Roman’s, however, was taken from him.

“Then, when I turned 21, Rikishi finally told me the truth. That she was alive and had been living in hiding all those years. He was the only one who knew.” It’s the part she was still confused about that his continued explanation touches on, providing an answer but also something else.

Anger.

“Why?” Solana cuts in, unable to help herself. “Why would he keep that from you? Why so long? Why at all?”

Why would he keep an innocent child away and separated from the closest family member he had left? That just sounds so….cruel.

Roman swallows, a dark, emotionless chuckle leaving his voice. “Said he was worried she’d make me weak. He wanted to be sure my training was effective, hence why he waited a couple years after I became Tribal Chief to make sure I could still handle the truth and be what they made me to be.”

Solana thinks back to her conversation with Fetu. Rikishi must be the he she was referring to.

Roman, however, keeps sharing, opening up more than she would have ever expected. “I don’t—I can’t come see her as much as I’d like to, because I don’t want to put her safety at risk.” That makes so much sense. All the sense. To keep her safe, he has to keep his distance. “But, when…..when I need to get away and clear my head, or I just need someone to talk to, I come see her.”

Solana thinks back to something, a few months ago when Roman up and disappeared for almost a week. “That’s where you went that one time…..you came here to see her?” He nods. She would have never in a million years guessed this. Guessed that Roman’s safe space is with the one person he probably needs the most but can only have in small doses.

It’s almost inconceivable to her that his own family could do that to him. To a child. To deprive an innocent child of the only, close family they have left. To keep them separated so he wouldn’t be weak.

It makes her heart heavy.

It only gets heavier though with the next thing that comes out of his mouth. “She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s last year.” Another devastating, crushing blow. “Some visits, she knows who I am. Others….I’m a complete stranger.”

“Oh my God…..” Roman lost her as a child, regained her as a man and is now having to intermittently experience that loss over and over again. It's so cruel and entirely unfair to someone who truly deserves the world.

She can’t imagine what that’s like for him.

It’s like Roman is reading her thoughts, his next explanation touching on some of her questions and thoughts.

“Fetu is….she’s always been like a mother to me. My own mother….that was…..complicated.” She believes it. Doesn’t know how, but she just does. “Fetu was the only person—before you—to ever tell me that she loves me.” Solana’s heart simply breaks all over again, because just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, it does.

While her father never once uttered those sacred words, Nina never let a day pass without both verbalizing and showing her daughter all the purest love in the world. Solana almost finds it inconceivable that Roman’s parents truly never expressed loving him. But, when she thinks about it, it makes sense.

His aloofness. His stoicism. It’s not just because of the titles he holds. It’s because of the upbringing he had.

The lack of care and nurturance.

The lack of love.

Outside of Fetu.

“Solana….” His voice again takes on a desperate, almost foreboding tone. “Outside of myself, Ava, and Rikishi, the twins are the only ones who know about Fetu. Not even Paul knows. I know…..I know Naomi and Bayley are your friends, but—”

“Roman.” She brings her hands to his face, eyes locked with his. “I swear to you on my mother’s grave that I will never tell a soul. Ever.” And she means that with every fiber of her being. Nothing about what has and will be experienced will leave her mouth unless it’s through discussion with Roman herself. Not even the twins, even if they do know about Fetu. “And I’m—I’m so sorry I put you in this position. Where you felt like you had to tell me. If—if I knew—”

“But, you didn’t,” he cuts in, admitting. “And a part of me wants to be upset with you that you didn’t trust me, but the truth is I would be a hypocrite, because I haven’t been honest with you either.”

She wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to keep talking, that he’s been vulnerable enough, but something tells her not to. Tells her that he needs to get this out.

And she’s glad she doesn’t stop him, because his next confession nearly blows her away.

“I’ve—I’ve been struggling, Solana.” Her shoulders slump and frown deepens. “Ever since—ever since you tried—” he doesn’t say what, but he doesn’t have to either. She knows exactly what he’s talking about. “I’m a fucking mess without you. I think about you all the fucking time. The thought of anything happening to you scares the shit out of me.” Roman Reigns admitting to being scared of something, anything, let alone losing her, is something she could have never predicted. But, it’s exactly what he’s saying, and it nearly breaks her heart. “So much that when I read your letter, my initial answer was no, because I wanted you home with me. Because I miss having you around. I want—I need you around.” Her eyes shut, for so many different reasons. “I need you”

“And I need you to know that I would never cheat on you, Solana. Ever.” Tears forming again, she opens her eyes and her mouth to apologize again, but she can’t because he has to continue with the confessions. “I love you too much to do that to you.” Her breathing is halted, focus centering in on the words that just left his mouth or didn’t leave his mouth, because Solana is all of a sudden questioning her hearing. There’s no way he just….no. “But, I—I don’t know how to love you either.”

It feels like there should be some type of cap on newfound, previously unbelievable things being dropped on a person, because Solana is at her absolute max. The past twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind, but this….this has to take the cake.

Roman….loves her?

The tears are definitely falling now. She’s more or less speechless, overcome by the emotionality of it all. “Ro….”

“I don’t know how to love and be with you and still be the Tribal Chief and the Head of the Table and the Capo and every other fucking perfect thing I have to be all the fucking time.” His voice becomes increasingly bitter with each word that leaves his mouth, the full extent of the weight he carries all the time being laid out in the open for her to dissect and process.

This is the last place she expected their conversation to go, but that’s a moot point. What matters is that they’re here, and the last thing she wants to do is discourage him from being open and honest with her. She can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for him.

Solana stands up and moves in front of Roman, lowering herself onto his lap, bringing her hands to his face. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I never have, and I never will. I don’t need you to be the Tribal Chief or the Head of the Table. Or anything else.” She moves her hand to his chest, over his heart, speaking firmly yet gently. “I just need you to be my Roman.”

His gaze visibly softens. Relief. Happiness. Fear.

“And you say….you say you don’t know how to love me, but….what do you think you’ve been doing?” She smiles, head tilted. “All this time, I’ve just been thinking how you are with me is because you care about me, and you do, but it’s much deeper than that. It’s because….it’s because you love me, Ro. I think…..I think you’ve loved me for a while. The same way that I’ve loved you for a while, We just….it took us a while to catch on.”

Because what Solana is now realizing is that the love has always been there. For him. For her. Always there. Lying dormant, waiting for both of them to step into the space of realization.

“And the honest truth is that I don’t know how to love you either. I just know that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and no one else I want to be with.” If it’s not Roman, she doesn’t want it. He’s her forever. “So, here’s what we’re going to do.” Smiling softly, she pushes back some of his hair. “I’m going to love you, and you’re going to love me. We’re not going to question it, not think too much about how to do it and just do it.”

Because what is also true is that clearly neither of them had the best, healthiest examples of love and what a healthy marriage looks like. So, they have to make it their own. Trial and error. Living and learning. Knowing that at the end of the day, what matters most is their love for one another.

“And you’re going to talk to me, the same way you let me talk to you, because what I do know is that people who love each other help each other out. You help me so much, more than you’ll probably ever know. Now it’s my turn to return the favor, okay?”

That might even be the thing that Solana needs the most. Needs him to know that he’s not alone. He has her. He’ll always have her.

“I’ll—I’ll try.” Roman nods, and Solana closes her eyes. That’s all she needs. All she’ll ever need.

Pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. She tries to move off his lap when he just so slightly holds her, preventing the separation. “What’s—”

“Can—” He swallows, an almost nervous hint to his deep, usually confident voice. “Can I make love to you?”

It’s not a question she was expecting. Not in the slightest. But, her answer is an obvious one. Solana gets up to stand directly in front of him. Moving her hands to the waistband of her pants, she pushes them down her legs, stepping out, kicking the material to the side.

Her fingers then move to the bottom of her shirt as she lifts it over her head, also tossing it to the side. Her eyes never leaving his, Solana reaches behind and unclasps her bra, breast falling freely at the same time her bra also tumbles to the ground. And lastly, with fingers hooked around the band of her underwear, she slides off and steps out of them, the last piece of clothing now piled with the rest.

Completely bare in front of him, in more than just the physical, Solana places both of her hands on his broad shoulders and answers in the softest voice, “yes.”

Roman briefly closes his eyes. His hands move back to her waist, gently tugging her closer to him. Solana’s eyes also shut just as he opens his and drinks all of her in. “aulelei oe…..” Oblivious to what he’s just said, Solana is instead tightening her grip on him when he moves his mouth to her neck, starting a downward trail of kisses down her body.

She’s missed this. So much. “Roman….”

She releases a sharp gasp when he covers his mouth over her areola, his other hand softly kneading her breast. Solana can already feel the wetness pooling between her legs as he sucks on her nipple, finally releasing with an audible pop as he tugs her onto his lap so that she’s straddling him.

Her eyes lock with him as he lifts his hand to her cheek. “How the hell could I ever be with somebody else when all I see is you?” It’s a rhetorical question posed with so much tenderness and dedication. It brings tears to her eyes.

Solana brings her hands back to his face, voice quiet and purposeful. “Make love to me.”

It doesn’t need to be asked or said twice.

Roman is careful in how he lifts her and lays her down on the bed. Solana moves up the mattress, watching with a steady beating heart as Roman starts to remove his clothes. Movements somehow graceful but determined, like he’s just as eager and wanting this as much as she does. Because he is. Because Solana isn’t certain they’ve ever wanted each other more than they do in this moment. This space of full, visceral vulnerability.

Completely naked, a small flash of nervousness fills her as Roman moves over her, the heavy, lengthy weight of him semi hard between his thick, muscular thighs. It’s been over a month since they were last intimate, and as much as she wants him, she knows there might be some initial pain.

Roman seems to catch onto her anxiety, hand going to her chin, capturing the softest kiss before he assures, “I’ll be gentle.”

Soft smile on her face, her hand moving to his chest, she reminds him, “you always are.”

Roman returns his mouth to hers, engaging her in a sensual kiss full of all the longing and love that fills the room, dances up the walls and creeps through the cracks and crevices. It’s overwhelming in all of the right and wonderful ways.

But the more passionate their make out becomes, her nectar soaks her inner thighs, the throbbing between her legs so bothersome that she ends up breaking their kiss, both of them breathing heavily. Solana pulls him closer, her thigh lifting against his hip, another gasp leaving her mouth at the feel of him warm and hard against her apex.

“Please…..” She breathes, eyes shutting when Roman lays his forehead against hers. “Need you….” Solana finds her hand traveling down his chest, venturing until he’s hot, heavy, and pulsing in the palm of her hand. She watches him release a shaky breath at the contact of her hand on him, his shoulders tensing almost when she moves to align him at her aching, dripping entrance.

Roman reaches and stops her, Solana confused only briefly when he instead takes over, directing her, “hold onto me.”

She nods and lifts her hand, instead doing just as he advised, her wrists locked over one another behind his neck. And the minute his thick mushroom head presses against her velvety lips, they’re both moaning, breathing uneven. But before he can ask her if she’s okay, if she wants him to stop, Solana wiggles her hips and scoots down the bed, wanting more of him. All of him.

Roman takes note of this and tips her head upward, claiming her lips for another kiss, maintaining and holding it as he continues to slide into her welcomed warmth. Solana’s hands shift to his back, nails pressed against his tanned skin, tiny crescent indents formed from the sharpness of her nails.

“Fuck. I’ve missed this,” he breathes against her once fully situated and settled in her. The fullness of and tightness of which, something that takes them both a second to adjust to. “Missed this feeling. So tight….just for me…”

They’re both so deeply synched that Solana doesn’t even have to prompt him to move, Roman’s thrusts initially gentle to continue to help her re-adjust, to reacclimate to the feel of him, so deep, so good.

“Baby…..” She moans, holding onto him, thighs pressing against his hips as he pistons in and out of her, her back arching, head falling back against the pillow. “Roman.”

Roman groans, his thrusts purposeful and focused. “Does that feel good, baby?”

Her answer should be obvious, but Solana nods as best she can, whining when he hits that spot, that sensitive space that always brings tears to her eyes. “Yes, baby.”

Head resting in the crook of her shoulder, Roman reaches for the headboard, using it to steady him as Solana continues to hold onto him, ankles locking above his ass. “Look what you do to me.” Her whimpers and moans under him only serve as fodder for his determination to make her feel good, to make her feel a fraction of how he feels being inside her like this. “I’ve never wanted or needed anyone like I need you, Solana.”

“Don’t need anything else in this life. Just you. Always you.” Her eyes shut, still holding onto him as she kisses his temple. “And you can’t leave me, Sol.” Solana’s stomach coils and twists when he switches angles, somehow reaching her even deeper than he already was. “You understand me?” He steals another kiss, whispering against her mouth. “I can’t lose you.”

There’s something deeper beyond his words, something underlying and still incredibly painful for him. And Solana knows exactly what it is. Tears from a different reason brimming her eyes, she palms his cheeks, forcing him to meet her contrite gaze. “I’m sorry.” His eyes shut, and her chest tightens. “I’m so sorry.”

He’s lost so much already. Had more loss as a child than some people will ever experience in their entire lifetime. And almost losing her, because of her actions is clearly something that he’s still not over, that she didn’t realize affected him as deeply as it did.

And she hates that. Hates that she missed how much he’s been struggling.

How much he’s been hurting.

“Never again,” she promises. Never again can she put him through that, can she do that to him, can be the cause of so much emotional turmoil for him. “I promise, Ro.”

He pauses, stops mid movement, opens his eyes and looks at her, fully vulnerable and exposed. Letting her in in a way she knows no one else is privy to. This isn’t the Tribal Chief or the Capo.

It’s just Roman.

Her Roman.

Solana takes a sharp breath as he pulls out of her almost entirely only to enter back in, slowly, gradually, a breathy “I love you” falling out of his mouth. Once again, he somehow manages to reach a different depth that has her back almost completely arched off the mattress, her breast pressing against his hard chest.

“Roman.” She’s not sure she could ever tire of having his name in her mouth, on her lips. It’s embedded in her soul at this point.

“I love you,” he repeats it, hips meeting hers, Solana whimpering from the overwhelming nature of it all. “I love you.” And again, each sensual thrust accompanied by a confession. A vow. A promise. An oath.

The pleasure continues, flows, consistent and strong, depleting her body of all energy while filling her with a rapture that feels too beautiful to be human. It carries and sustains her until she absolutely can’t take it anymore, Solana’s orgasm strong and pulsing, her toes curling and stomach coiling. Roman talks her through it, loving and comforting, his own coming over him not even minutes later.

And the minute he falls down on the bed next to her, his arms are around her, tugging her close into his side. He kisses her temple, Solana holding onto his forearm, murmuring, “I love you.”

A part of her expects him to not say it back, to somehow be limited to only so many uses of a term that’s, sadly, unfamiliar to him. “I love you too.”

But, he does, and it may be the best thing anyone has ever said to her. She cranes her neck to look at him. “Enough to start talking to me more?” A small frown falls on her face. “I mean it, Roman, you—you can’t keep holding it all in.” She knows better than anyone else how badly that can turn out. “You always say you’ve got me, but–but I’ve got you too.”

Emotion flashes in his beautiful brown eyes. “I know.” Is his reply, quiet but understanding. “I’m—I’m going to work on it.”

“Good.” That’s all she can ask for. Because Roman has been so patient and understanding with her. The least she can do is return the favor. “And I’ll start us off….” Taking a deep breath, Solana decides to share with him a secret she’s been keeping. “I’ve been having dr—”

Abrupt banging on the door startles Solana to the point that she nearly jumps out the bed. Her reaction makes Roman smile when she buries her head under the blankets.

“Roman, you fucking asshole! You parked that big ass truck in my spot!” Solana peeks from under the blanket, curious to see her husband’s reaction at being spoken to so boldly but also realizing she recognizes that voice. It’s the voice of the woman on the phone. This Ava person, most likely. His cousin. “Pe e te fa'agaoioi pe ou te sasaina i fafo faamalama uma!”

Roman, however, looks unbothered and borderline amused. “O ki o loo i luga o le matau ki. Aveese oe lava.”

Solana taps him on his chest, asking, “what did she sa—”

“Ava! Leave your cousin alone!” Fetu’s voice also calls out from outside the door, Solana’s eyes widening again. “He’s having make up sex with his wife!”

And just like that, it goes from bad to worse. Solana wants to melt into the bed, the floor, the ground. Anything to escape this humiliation. Looking over at Roman, she yell-whispers, “she heard us?”

Her husband, however, still looks just as unbothered and amused as before. “Baby, you’re not exactly very quiet.”

“Oh my god, Solana is here?” Ava gasps on the other side. “I’m so sorry! It’s nice to kind of meet you! Sorry you got stuck marrying my asshole cousin.”

“This is so embarrassing,” Solana moans, moving to bury her head into Roman’s chest before calling out with all awkwardness, “ummm, it’s n–nice to meet you too!”

“Tama teine, leave them alone! They might be making a baby!” And it just keeps going from bad to worse, Fetu adding on. “Keep the Samoan breeding kink tradition growing strong!”

“Uso o le tinā! What do you know about breeding kinks?” Solana is certain her face is tomato red. She’s never been so mortified. “Anyway, I’ll meet you later, Solana. And Roman, fuck you.”

He rolls his eyes, Solana waiting until she hears the footsteps vanish and melt into silence to speak again. “I can’t believe that happened.” Something said, however, triggers a thought for her. The breeding kink comment, specifically. “Roman….should we….should we use protection or something?” He looks confused, prompting her to explain. “I don’t—I don’t want you feeling pressured. I want a baby, but I want to make sure you’re good first too.” She adds on, wanting him to know how sincere she is. “Or, I can get on birth control. I know it’s not really allowed, but—”

“You’re my wife, Solana.” He cuts her off, hand to her cheek. “I’m not using a condom, and you’re not getting on birth control.” She nervously licks her lips as he brushes his thumb over her cheek. “When it happens….it happens. Okay?”

She nods, eyes closing when he kisses her forehead. She goes to lay on his chest, Roman’s hand on the small of her back, gradually moving downward. A small, teasing smile grows on her face as she looks up at him. “Dinner is gonna be ready soon, Ro….”

He hums, smirking when she gasps at how he squeezes her ass. “My appetite’s not for that….” Solana giggles when he flips them, so he’s over her, her hands gliding down his chest. “It’s makeup sex, right?” His eyes are filled with lust, Solana moaning when he starts spreading her legs. “So, let’s continue to make up.”

--------

Translations:

“Déjame en paz! ¡Te odio!” = "Leave me alone! I hate you!"

“Aulelei oe…..” = "You're so beautiful."

"Pe e te fa'agaoioi pe ou te sasaina i fafo faamalama uma!" = "Either you move it, or I'll smash out the windows!"

"O ki o loo i luga o le matau ki. Aveese oe lava." = "The keys are on the hook. Move it yourself."

"Tama teine." = "Niece."

"Uso o le tinā!" = "Aunt."

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

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rebelliousmuse · 9 months ago

Text

Flirt Zone - M.S.

Warnings: masturbation (male), unprotected p in v (always use condoms).

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Nick fumbled through his overflowing closet, muttering under his breath. Doja Cat acting as the soundtrack. This first visit to his house, though, took an unexpected turn.

The door swung open, revealing a guy who could've been a model for a cologne ad. Messy, dark hair tumbled across his forehead, partially obscuring the tattoos peeking out from his rolled-up sleeve. A smile played on his lips, showcasing a row of perfectly white teeth. He smelled like heaven. For a moment, you forgot you were looking for Nick. This was Matt, and he was breathtaking.

“Hey, you must be y/n,” he said. “Nick's running a fashion show apparently. Come on in.” He ushered you inside, followed by another guy with similar features, who introduced himself as Chris. The house mirrored Nick's personality – slightly chaotic but undeniably welcoming.

You reached Nick's room, the door swinging shut behind you as Matt and Chris disappeared down the hall. You sank onto the bed, letting out a breathless, “Holy shit.” Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, and you bit your lip hard to try and suppress a goofy grin.

Nick whipped around, a mock look of disgust contorting his features. “Seriously, y/n?” he asked. “Which one stole your heart this time?”

“Matt, definitely,” You confessed, unable to hold back a giggle. “He smells amazing, that smile and those tattoos…” Your voice trailed off as you recalled his image.

Nick snorted. “Great, just what I need, my best friend developing a crush on my brother.”

“Hey, it's not my fault he looks like a rockstar who just stepped out of a cologne commercial!” You defended yourself, playfully nudging him. “Besides, more visits mean more opportunities for me to help you find the perfect outfit, right?”

Nick rolled his eyes dramatically. “Whatever, just don't drool all over my clothes while you're at it, okay?” He said, already rummaging through his t-shirts.

---

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and Nick's house became a second home. You'd sprawl on the living room floor, controllers clutched in hands, battling it out in the latest game. Sometimes, Matt and Chris would join in, their competitive streaks making things even more intense.

One afternoon, while Matt and you were arguing (playfully, of course) about who deserved the last slice of pizza, Nick blurted out, “Don't worry, y/n won't mind sharing with you, Matt. After all, she practically worships the ground you walk on!”

Your cheeks burned like you'd swallowed a fireball. “Nick!” You sputtered, mortified. But seeing the laughter sparkling in Matt's eyes, you took a deep breath. “Well,” You said, trying to sound casual, “You already know now, there's no point in hiding it.”

From then on, flirting became your game. You'd compliment his taste in music, playfully nudge him during movie nights, or tease him about his messy hair (which, secretly, you found incredibly endearing). Matt would mostly respond with a playful eye roll and a chuckle, but sometimes a blush would creep up his neck, and he'd resort to burying his face in his phone to avoid eye contact.

One afternoon, you brought the guys over to meet your other friends. “These are my two best friends,” you said, gesturing towards Nick and Chris, “Nick and Chris. And this one,” You added, turning to Matt, “is Matt.” You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile as you met his gaze. “Let's just say I’m… working on something here.”

The statement hung in the air, open to interpretation. My friends exchanged curious glances, while Matt's cheeks flushed a faint pink. He mumbled a greeting, his gaze flickering away from yours.

Every outing became a performance. Introductions were meticulously crafted. Nick and Chris received a casual wave and a quick name toss. But Matt, well, Matt was different. His introduction lingered, a hint of possessiveness lacing the words. It was a message not just for him, but for the girls who inevitably wandered into their orbit. A subtle marking of territory, a playful yet firm declaration: Matt, in your eyes, was something special, someone off-limits, especially to your closest circle. He was, quite simply, too good to share.

---

Today was sleepover night with Nick, a monthly tradition you cherished. You were putting the finishing touches on yourself, a breezy sundress swirling around your legs as you reached for your favourite bottle of Chanel perfume. A soft chime from your phone announced a text – Matt's message confirming they were outside. Grabbing your purse and a backpack overflowing with sleepover essentials, you dashed out the door, a hurried goodbye to your two barking dogs echoing behind you.

The familiar car idled in the driveway. Sliding into the backseat, you offered a bright "Hi!" that was met with a chorus of greetings from the three brothers. Nick, occupying the seat next to you turned with a grin. "Ready to raid the mall? We need to stock up on serious movie snacks for tonight." You couldn't help but smile back, nodding your head.

The rearview mirror offered a glimpse of Matt as you chatted with Nick. You caught his gaze flickering back in your direction a few times. Feeling a playful nudge of courage, you leaned forward. "Like the view?" you teased, "I know I do."

Your playful jab elicited chuckles from Chris in the front seat, while Nick snorted out a sarcastic, "Gross." But Matt's reaction was different. He rolled his eyes, in annoyance. "Did I ask?" he muttered.

Undeterred, you met his gaze with a smirk. "Damn, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today," you countered. "Feeling a bit bratty, are we?" He shot you a mock-irritated look, his jaw clenching slightly. But before he could retort, you leaned in closer.

In a flirty whisper that tickled his ear, you murmured, "I like it." You accentuated the point by biting your lower lip. A blush crept up Matt's neck, his cheeks turning a faint pink. His gaze darted away momentarily, flustered by your bold move.

The mall bustled with activity as you navigated the aisles, gathering movie snacks and groceries for the triplets' house. You kept up a steady stream of chatter with Nick and Chris. However, you couldn't shake the feeling of Matt's gaze burning into you. Every now and then, you'd steal a glance in his direction, only to find him staring intently.

Finally, bags overflowing, you piled back into the car. Matt, focused on the road as he navigated the traffic.

Reaching the triplets' house, you helped Nick unload the snacks. As the boys ordered takeout for the evening, you retreated to a bathroom, taking a moment to prepare for a night of movies. Slipping into a comfy nightgown, you brushed your hair and applied a touch of lip gloss, a subconscious effort to feel put-together even for just a sleepover.

Nick soon appeared at the doorway, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Ready for some movies?" he announced, gesturing for you to follow him. Settling onto Nick's bed, you grabbed a handful of popcorn as the movie started.

The movie was nearing its climax, you were thoroughly engrossed, practically glued to the screen alongside Nick. Then, that familiar pressure built in your bladder. Stifling a groan, you glanced around the room. Nick's bathroom door was ajar. Apparently, a recent "science experiment" for a video involving a rogue Mentos geyser had rendered it temporarily out of commission.

With a resigned sigh, you stood up, the sudden movement momentarily pulling Nick's attention away from the movie. "Bathroom break," you said apologetically, already heading for the hallway. There was a single bathroom close to Nick's bedroom. Reaching for the knob, going in to use the toilet. As you got out, passing outside Matt’s door, you heard a low, guttural groan sent a jolt through you. Concern washed over you, was Matt alright? Had he tripped and hurt himself? Before you could second-guess yourself, you threw open the door.

Your worried frown melted into stunned silence as your gaze fell upon Matt. He was sat with his back to you, his torso was bare. A gasp caught in your throat.

But it wasn't the sight of his bare chest that left you frozen. It was the expression on his face, a look of pure, transcendent pleasure etched across his features; his pants and boxers were down to his ankles as he ran his hand through his big dick. His eyes were squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in concentration, and the low, guttural groans you'd heard earlier escaped his lips involuntarily with each rhythmic movement. He was completely lost in the moment, oblivious to the world around him – oblivious to you standing there, speechless and wide-eyed in the doorway. You bit your lower lip hard, feeling yourself getting soaked at the view of Matt jerking off.

A low involuntary moan escaped your lips before you could even register it. The unexpected sight sent a jolt of arousal through you. Matt's eyes snapped open at the sound, his face contorting in surprise. The rhythmic movement he'd been engaged in ceased abruptly, replaced by a frantic scramble to cover himself with the nearby towel.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" you stammered, cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and lingering heat. "I thought… I heard a noise and thought you were hurt."

"Don't you knock?" he finally managed.

Guilt gnawed at you. You hadn't meant to intrude on such a private moment. Yet, even as you mumbled another apology, your gaze couldn't help but linger on the outline of his hard cock beneath the towel, and the glimpse of toned abs and strong arms fuelled the fire simmering in your core.

"Do you need help?" you blurted out. Matt's jaw clenched, his eyes widening in further surprise. You took a step forward, only to realize he was frozen in place, speechless under the weight of your unexpected advances.

As you closed the distance, reaching out, you tentatively brushed a hand against the rough fabric of the towel taking it off him, sending a tremor through Matt's body as you began massaging his length.

Lifting yourself onto his lap, you straddled him. Hesitantly, his hands reached out, hovering at your waist before finding purchase on the soft skin of your ass.

A wave of heat flooded your senses. Leaning in, you trailed a line of kisses down his neck. He responded with a muffled groan, a low sound that vibrated against your lips. Emboldened, you captured his mouth in a hungry kiss, starting to make out with him as you grinded against him.

Pulling away, breathless, you nipped at his lower lip. With a boldness you never knew you possessed, you reached for your panties, putting them to the side. Maintaining eye contact, your hand grabbed his dick, pumping it a few times before placing it on your entrance and slowly lowering yourself to him, making both of you gasp. He was larger and thicker than you anticipated, a realization that momentarily stole your breath.

He cupped your waist, his fingers digging in as he began to make you move your hips. You followed his lead, moving in a slow way, adjusting little by little to his size. A moan escaped your lips as his tip brushed your g-spot deliciously, making you start to move faster, bouncing on his dick, as he responded with a deep grunt and breathless moans “That’s good, keep doing that” he ordered.

He began thrusting up, his hips meeting yours with a satisfying force that sent shivers down your spine. "So damn tight," he growled in your ear. You responded by digging your nails into his back, leaving a red trail on his bare skin. The sharp sensation seemed to ignite him further, and he abruptly shifted positions, taking control.

He was on top now, he moved impossibly fast and deep into you. The room filled with the sound of skin meeting skin. You cried out with a mixture of pleasure and surprise, the intensity pushing you closer to the edge.

"Quiet, baby," he rasped. "The others will hear." Shame washed over you momentarily, replaced by a desperate need to silence the sounds escaping your lips.

"S-sorry, Ma-tt," you stammered, your breath hitching in your throat. He responded with a brief, urgent kiss.

You felt yourself teetering on the precipice, a knot of anticipation tightening in your stomach. The sounds you made grew louder, involuntary expressions of the pleasure coursing through you. He noticed with a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

"Your legs are shaking like crazy," he murmured in your ear. A desperate plea formed on your lips.

"Matt, I… I can't… please," you stammered with a mixture of need and vulnerability in your voice. He understood. A low growl escaped his throat, "Come on then, cum for me" he rasped. And then, in a glorious rush, it happened. The tension shattered, replaced by a wave of pure pleasure that washed over you both as you came all over his dick and you felt him paint your insides with his cum at the same time. You clung to each other, breaths mingling in the aftermath, hearts pounding in a shared rhythm.

He leaned in, peppering your cheeks and neck with soft, lingering kisses. You couldn't help but giggle, and Matt chuckled too. He leaned back, meeting your gaze once more. This time, the kiss he offered was different. It was slow and deliberate.

The afterglow was sweet, but reality beckoned. Nick must be wondering where you'd disappeared to. With a sigh, Matt reluctantly untangled himself from you. He offered a hand to help you sit up. He watched as you reached for your scattered panties.

Before you could leave, he surprised you by grabbing your waist and pulling you into a quick kiss. Finally, with a lingering look that spoke a thousand unspoken words, he released you. Stepping aside, he gestured towards the door. "Go," he said smiling at you.

A nervous giggle escaped your lips as you tried to tame your hair. Reaching for the doorknob, you braced yourself for the trek back to Nick's room. What on earth would you say? How long had it been? Opening the door a little bit, you peeked inside, expecting to find Nick glued to the movie, completely oblivious.

Instead, the sight that greeted you was far worse. Nick was sprawled across his bed, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. The movie had been paused. Before you could stammer out an apology, he spoke.

"Don't even try to make up an excuse for taking so long," Nick cut in. “Let's just say the walls in this house aren't exactly soundproof." He punctuated his statement with a theatrical gag.

Heat flooded your cheeks. "You heard everything?" you mumbled. Nick burst out laughing, "Oh, come on y/n, it sounded like a jungle safari!" he teased making you blush profusely.

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