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queers-gambit · 1 year ago

Text

Silence

prompt: ( requested ) anxiety plays tricks on your mind, making you mistake your boyfriend's stress for anger - at you.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

word count: 2.5k+

note: it's short but to the point.

warnings: cursing, hurt and comfort, depiction of mental health: anxiety, slight self-destructive thoughts.

Silence could be a good thing.

Libraries were silent for ample focus. Theaters were silent during the showing. Sometimes, long drives were peacefully silent.

Silence could also be a bad thing.

Demanding an explanation and the silence stretches. The silence before a doctor delivers life-changing news. Asking someone if they're okay and they don't answer.

When your boyfriend, Carmy, had returned from work that evening, he slammed the front door, dropped his backpack, toed out of his shoes, and stormed around the apartment silently. He didn't greet you, didn't offer a kiss, nothing - just breezed past you as if a pile of dirty laundry he's ignored for the past two weeks. You watched him from the kitchen, sipping a glass of wine, worry sprouting in your gut and chest. It was obvious something was bothering him - but couldn't fathom what it was that made him ignore you; to make him not look at you one single time.

It was like you weren't even there with the way he projected his moodiness. Even on his worst days, he always always always greeted you with a kiss; but the lack of affection hallowed your chest into a pit, wondering what you had done to make him avoid you.

Suddenly, the silence was eerily deafening, coiling your stomach and pumping lead through your veins; no TV or radio switched on to fill the void and create passive, background audio. Carmy was obviously upset about something, but the fact that he didn't even look at you made you think he didn't want to talk. This worried you because before dating, you and Camry Berzatto were the best of friends; talking about literally any and everything you could think of. He came to you with every single grievance, every frustration, every slice of drama - so why wouldn't he now?

Unless... Unless you were the cause of his annoyance? The idea made the pit in your chest stretch to your gut - anxiety rapidly spreading, confusion warping rational thought into something darker and self deprecating. The idea of upsetting Carmy - or anyone, for that matter - was enough to bubble nausea and turn your skin clammy. Muscles tensed, eyes darted, and your mind was plagued with every single thing you had said or done in the past 16 hours.

However, your memory couldn't pinpoint any moment you could've upset him; things had been normal and easy-going lately, there being no clear indication you were the culprit of Carmy's anger. However, there didn't need to be anything clear because your mind was fully convinced you were the bad guy now.

After swallowing a gulp of wine, your eyes adverted to give him privacy and begin on dinner; being obvious that his phone was much more important than you right now. Unfortunately, when it came to picking which sauce to dress your meal with, you were forced to slowly enter the living room where your boyfriend had taken refuge.

"Hey, baby?"

"Hmm?"

You tried not to be offended by his lack of verbal acknowledgement, but your intestines flipped and grew heavy. "Uh, just wondering, you want the marinara or Alfredo tonight with the - "

"Doesn't matter, you choose."

"I mean, which would you prefer?"

"I just said it didn't matter," he repeated with a hardening tone, "it's not like it's a difficult decision to make."

You didn't want to make his attitude worse, so you backed off silently and returned to your task. Yes, yes, Carmy was the professional cook between you but that didn't mean he wanted to come home and continue the act. So, you learned a few new recipes to keep meals interesting - a feat your boyfriend didn't seem to appreciate or even recognize most days. Tonight especially.

Tension tangibly filled the apartment the longer the silence stretched. Your mind conjured a hundred questions at once, begging your mouth to run rapidly if it meant getting answers - yet your logic stuck the words in your throat, refusing to let them fly, and even shoving them deep down for your soul to hold.

You poured a second glass of wine, throat thickening with silent emotion. There was always the worry in the back of your mind that Carmy would one day realize you didn't fit into his life and would break up with you. Or that perhaps, his irritation tonight wasn't due to anything you did specifically, but instead, was attested to your normal behavior and quirks - like the want to talk throughout the day.

Blinking the moisture away, you remembered Carmy hadn't answered a single one of your texts the entire day - a normal act for you, but maybe one that now got on your boyfriend's nerves. You dished up dinner, standing in the open kitchen with two plates and feeling silly for the nerves prickling your skin. You barely noticed the slight tremor in your hands. "Dinner's ready, Carm," you alerted, leaving the plates on the kitchen island you normally ate at; distracted by the need to pour a glass of water.

When you turned, your heart stalled in your chest when you noticed his plate missing - locating him in the living room, again, and it being obvious he didn't intend to eat with you. Now you knew for sure, you had indeed done something. So, you gingerly took a seat and tried to take up as little space as possible; shying in on yourself, eating silently and quickly so you could do the dishes right after.

Sure, there was usually the rule that the cook didn't clean, but there was no way you were gonna ask Carmy to do the simple chore; afraid of pushing him over whatever edge he teetered at. After storing any leftovers, you started the dishwasher and retreated to your bedroom with another glass of wine and the intention to get a bath. You felt like a glaring inconvenience all of a sudden, regret inking your blood and reprimanding yourself for being so - so - so... Clingy?

Is that what it was? Did Carmy think you were clingy? Perhaps texting him throughout the day without him ever answering was the final straw of annoyance he felt toppled the haystack. You wanted to apologize and eliminate the tension, but couldn't necessarily understand what you were sorry for; thinking you were simply paying attention to him, being attentive and interested in his everyday life.

Maybe you needed to apologize for being suffocating? Was that it? Your love was suffocating him? Was he feeling pressured by you? Did he think you two too comfortable in this relationship? Was your wall of texts an indication you were more serious than he? Oh, God, was that it - did Carmy think you were getting too serious, too fast?

Granted it'd been a few years of dating, a lifetime of friendship before that - so how much more serious could you get? Why would your attempts of communication rub him the wrong way? How could the pair of you ever manage to fall off from the same page? Make him think you were pushing for something more? Didn't he know he was enough for you? Didn't he appreciate your presence? The want to be closer? Your desire to maintain the friendship your relationship was built off of? The appreciation you had for him? The support you wanted to offer?

You soaked in epsom salt for the better part of half an hour. Draining the tub, drying off, and changing into pajamas were done silently; feeling almost fearful to venture out of the bedroom to return your wine glass to the sink.

So you decided to just get in bed, figuring if Carmy was so angry at you that it resulted in him ignoring you, he wouldn't want to sleep beside you, either. With your thick framed glasses on, you nestled into bed with your newest novel, trying not to let your mind go into overdrive as your need to fix whatever was upsetting Carmy was overwhelming. Yet there was also the nagging idea that trying to fix whatever was 'broken' would've made things worse - again, resulting in you doing nothing and giving Carmy his space.

The silence haunted the apartment like a ghostly presence; leering over your heads, embracing you uncomfortably.

When the bedroom door opened, you masked your surprise and just read the same paragraph three times in a row - distracted by your boyfriend milling around, preparing for bed. Your eyes widened in shock when the bed dipped and shifted, jostling you as Carmy got into bed beside you, but you still didn't look up from your book.

"What're you reading, sweetheart?"

His mood swings often gave you whiplash. You glanced at Carmy, finger holding your place to let you fold the book over and present the title on the cover. You worried that anything you said and did could make this tension fester, so, you remained silent and went back to reading.

"Is it any good?" He pondered, watching your profile. You nodded mutely, lips slowly rolling between your teeth in a show of anxiety Carmy could now recognize. "Hey, hey, you all right, babe?" He asked softly, sounding mildly confused - perhaps even alarmed.

"Yeah, 'course," you mumbled.

"Well, how was work?"

"Fine."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

There was a brief pause, then Carmy gently pried, "C'mon, baby, what's wrong? Why're you so quiet?" He chuckled gently, "Usually so talkative in the evenings."

You offered him a bewildered look with slightly pinched brows, swallowing nervously and slowly shutting your book to trace the spine mindlessly in an effort to distract yourself. Typically when anxious, your hands needed stimulation, something tangible to do and feel when your mind numbed with nervousness.

With a great deal of bravery, more than you thought was necessary to muster when talking to the person you love, you asked softly, "Are you mad at me, Carm? I mean, did I do something? T-To upset you?"

"Wait, what?" He asked in confusion. "Nah, baby, you didn't do anything, why would you even ask?"

"'Cause you've been ignoring me...?"

He scoffed, "Ah, 'cause I didn't answer your texts?"

"That, and you've been ignoring me in favor of your phone since you got home. Slamming doors, brooding in the living room, didn't eat dinner with me - got a little snappy when I asked what sauce for dinner? Feels like I did something but I don't know what, so I don't know how to fix this."

Carmy sighed, leaning back to the mound of soft and fluffed pillows you had stacked on your shared bed. "Shit," he breathed, huffing a dramatic sigh, "didn't even realize I was doin' all that, baby."

"If you're mad, just tell me what I did - "

"No, no, hey, hey, hey, hey," he rushed, turning on his side to look at you, elbow supporting his weight; clocking the glassiness coating your eyes. "You didn't do anything, baby, I swear. There's nothing for you to fix 'cause you didn't do nothin'. I just - I've been havin' a shit day, didn't realize I was bein' mean to you let alone that you'd take it to heart."

"Kinda hard not to when I'm the only one here."

"No, right, I get that," he sighed. "I'm sorry, baby, I know you get anxious when I shut down like that, but I promise, I'm not mad at you."

"Well, who else would you be mad at? I thought you were annoyed 'cause I was texting you all day. Thought I was, I don't know, being clingy or something since you didn't answer me."

Carmen frowned, "Sweetheart, no, hang on, listen to me. You didn't do anything to upset me, okay? I didn't answer you 'cause I dropped my phone in the sink and it got all glitchy, I couldn't answer you. I tried to fix it when I got home, but I think I fried it - should just get a new one. It was just one of those days that everything went to shit, it all built up, got the better of me."

You nodded, still looking dejected and making a shot of guilt plunge his heart. "You usually talk to me when you're upset," you pointed out softly, "and when you didn't say anything, I thought I was the reason you were upset. Figured you wouldn't talk to me if I did something to cause your attitude."

"No, hey, I'm sorry, c'mere, baby," he opened his arms and curled them around you when you shuffled into his chest. "Shit, I'm really sorry, I didn't even realize what I was doing - but Goddamnit, that's no excuse, though. I don't mean t'take my shit out on you, you don't deserve that."

"I just got a little nervous, maybe let my anxiety get the better of me."

"That's okay," he promised, kissing your forehead, "I can understand why. I was a dickhead, being snappy and ignoring you when all you do is support and love me. I'm real sorry, sweetheart," he sighed against your skin, tightening his arms to keep you cocooned in his warmth. "You know, you can always talk to me - don't gotta shut yourself down and avoid me."

"Do you even hear yourself? Should take your own advice."

"Yeah, I should," he smirked. "Hey, promise I'll do better not to shut down like that."

You nodded in acceptance, wondering softly, "Do you wanna talk about it? Whatever happened today?"

"Uh, nah, you know what? Think I owe you some cuddles, maybe a dessert? You know, to make up for my bullshit attitude."

"You don't have to - "

"I got you all worked up, feels like the least I can do."

With a hum, you smirked, "I won't say no to a slice of cheesecake."

"What baby wants, she gets," he grinned, a hand caressing your cheek to direct your eyes up to his. His thumb swept back and forth under your eye, "Still sorry about today. I didn't mean to be such an oblivious dickhead, I swear."

You nodded, "I know, baby. Just don't shut me out next time. Had me worried when you didn't even kiss me when you got home."

"A heinous crime on my part," Carmy smirked. "Should I remedy that?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't."

He chuckled and pressed his lips to yours in a soothing kiss, hand sliding to the back of your neck. It was a slow and languid kiss, something he took his time in engaging; lips sticking together, moving in-sync, creating chains of saliva when he pushed his tongue against yours. "Yeah," he mumbled, "I'm the dumb fuck who had you thinkin' I didn't want this from you." He pressed another kiss to your waiting lips, "You're intoxicating, baby - always want your kisses. Yeah? Always. The day I don't, take me out back like Old Yeller."

You wanted to voice that he wanted your kisses now until one day, he simply wouldn't - but refrained from doing so because you knew it was just anxiety talking. So, instead, you chuckled at his comment and leaned in to initiate your own kiss.

requesting rules and masterlist

FX's The Bear masterlist

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harmoonix · 2 years ago

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Eye of the hurricane

(Short Astrology Observations)

🌪️- Chiron in Scorpio/8th or Chiron in Scorpio Degrees [8°, 20°] can be afraid to be intimate with their partners, or they can be anxious when it comes to intimacy

🌪️- Sun/Uranus/Neptune in the 12th house are half between the worlds, with one foot in the real world and with one foot in their subconscious world/spiritual

🌪️- Moon aspecting Pluto can sense energies for example they can have sense when they're being followed or watched by others

🌪️ - Chiron in Pisces/Chiron at Pisces Degrees (12°, 24°) and Chiron in the 12th house will have to end some karmic pain/wounds from their past lives in this current one

🌪️ - Neptune in the 1st house can get into a state of realization a bit harder than others, they usually tend to dream with their eyes open

🌪️ - Uranus aspecting asteroid Psyche (16) will make the native so much intuitive. Having these aspects will feel like a lightning striking the sky.

🌪️ - Psyche in Taurus or in the 2nd house can make the native gracious/ they can be blessed by Venus with grace/elegance and romance

🌪️ - People with Pluto aspecting the ascendant can get hate and envy without a reason, they're like in the middle of the fight and still the one who gets blamed 100% times

🌪️ - Saturn in the 12th and 6th house have a hard time to focus on themselves, in their lives they mostly focused on others instead of themselves and that can cause a chaos between soul & body

🌪️ - Ceres (1) in the 1st house is already a big indicator that you need to nurture yourself, you could've have been hurt a lot in your past and that caused pain in your life

🌪️ - Mars in air and fire signs (yang energy) wil feel very attracted or pulled in by the men around them. Is not like you are attracted by them but you rather are pulled in their circle of energy

🌪️ - Mars in the 11th house will be that friend who laughs when you do something wrong but still supporting you in some friendly way

🌪️ - Mercury in the 7th house cannot function in a relationship where there is not communication a lot. Omg guys please stay away from people who don't like to communicate their feelings because you'll get hurt so much

🌪️ - Mercury ascendant in your persona chart can indicate how are you at your best when you're communicating/expressing yourself fx Leo Rising may like to talk about self esteem and that will make them feel better

🌪️ - Destinn asteroid (6583) in Libra or Taurus cand end up being in a place predominant with fashion/art/style/glamour

🌪️ - Air Risings feel like a breeze of air in your life, they won't judge you or pull you down but rather they will be staying supporting always and they're so open-minded everything

🌪️ - Midheaven in Sagittarius or in Sagittarius Degrees (9°, 21°) can have luck when choosing for a career/job because Jupiter rules that specific house of theirs

🌪️ - Venus in Capricorn/Venus in the 4th/Venus in Cancer house can look after an traditional relationship and traditional household

🌪️ - Sun at 4°, 16° 28° degrees (Cancer Degrees) when they get hurt sometimes these natives try to manipulate people emotionally

🌪️ - Mars in the 3rd house may enjoy riding cars/motorcycles/bicycles/ etc.. Or they can find satisfaction in these things

🌪️ - Cancer Moons or Moon in the 4th house. They can try to be like their mothers but they could also get the toxic traits from their mothers aswell

🌪️ - Pisces Sun/Moon/Rising/Midheaven natives can be so indecisive when it comes to choosing the right path for them, because they can have more options to choose from and it can end up promising

🌪️ - Juno in Pisces Degrees (12°, 24°) or Juno in the 12th house are looking for a lasting romantic relationship, they want to feel romantic and make their partners to feel the same

🌪️ - Moon aspecting Venus (all aspects), i can't find the perfect words to describe this but, they can search all their lives for their partners and it can get pretty sad if they lose the hope for finding "the one" fated for them

H a r m o o n i x

#astrology #astro observations #birth chart #astrology fyp #astro notes #astrology observations #placements #astro community #horoscope #ascendant #venus #fyp2023 #tumblr fyp #astrolog

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neil-gaiman · 2 years ago

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I have a very weird question but also I feel like you get way weirder ones.

I was just reading an MCU comic and came across this line. I immediately thought of the Good Omens line. One of my friends said it was a reference to the 1960s Howling Commando comics.

Are both GO and the MCU comic referring to a different thing that’s older than both or am I overthinking this?

The Howling Commandos war cry was "Wah-Hooo!" which I always assumed sounded like a howling wolf.

"Wahoo!" is an interjection indicating enthusiasm, first recorded in 1904 in the Washington Post.

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trippinsorrows · 1 year ago

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looking through your eyes + six

authors note: i really like how this one came out. hope you guys do too.

i use some psych terminology, so just as a lil glossary: pt=patient, dx=diagnosis, hx =history, fx=functioning status (mental stability, essentially) and hopefully everyone can understand the rest with context clues.

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

cw/tw: fluff, language, medical report following suicide attempt, discussion of sexual abuse, mention of torture

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

masterlist

words: 10k (i don't know how to write short chapters, clearly)

The last thing Solana expected to wake up to is a handwritten note left for her in the same journal she deposited on Roman’s bed despite her better judgment. She was filled to the brim with anxiety regarding that bold decision, asking him to do something she’s certain is miles outside of his comfort zone.

She expected him to ignore her.

What she didn’t expect was for him to reply.

Reading over his words, Solana struggles with the ease of his acquiescence. He indicated it could be short term, but she’ll take that, because it’s a hell of a lot easier for her to talk to this man if it’s through written word.

And the last part.

There’s nothing you can’t tell me.

There’s actually a lot she can’t tell him. A lot he can never know. No one can know, but the sentiment behind it…..it has her puzzled. He has her puzzled.

Solana grabs the journal and scans the kitchen for a pen when a thought crosses her mind. She bites down on her bottom lip, forever battling with the idea of something vs the actuality of carrying out the plan.

In a plot twist, she sides with the plan and pulls out her phone, searching for Roman’s contact.

She types, deletes, and does so again at least three times before settling on a text that really could have been conjured and sent in seconds vs the solid ten minutes she takes to issue it out.

Solana: Hi. Thank you. Do you think we could text too? I know that writing is my thing, but I can text if that’s easier for you too….thanks.

Solana nearly tosses her cell phone on the large slab that is his granite kitchen island and moves around to figure out what she’s going to fix for breakfast. The perfect excuse for her to not think about the knots in her stomach at her message. It doesn’t stop the overthinking though.

What if she’s asking too much? Pushing him too far out of his comfort zone? It doesn’t take long for her to regret her decision, wishing it was still within the time limits to unsend her message.

And then her phone dings.

Solana nearly drops the egg she was about to crack over the skillet. Swallowing, she places it back in the bowel as her feet slowly carry her to the phone that has now dinged a second time. Her fingers dance against the sides of her pants, stretching and scratching the cotton.

Lifting her phone, she unlocks her phone and heads straight to his thread.

Roman: Yes.

It’s a simple response that makes sense for him and is beneficial for Solana who sighs in relief at his agreement. She stews on how to respond, eventually settling on a simple thank you as well as answering his question. The least she can do.

Solana: Thank you…

Solana: And I don’t work this weekend.

Solana: Can I ask you something?

Solana again starts chewing on her bottom lip as she mentally berates herself for bombarding him with messages when he’s probably in the middle of working.

But even so, that doesn’t stop him from replying almost instantly.

Roman: You don’t have to ask if you can ask me something, Solana. Just ask.

It’s hard not to imagine the frustration on his face at answering her question while also having to remind her of what he’s already stated at one point or another.

Solana: Okay…

Solana: Where are we going?

She’s unsure if he will respond and has accepted that he may not, which is okay with her. He’s already being more responsive than she initially anticipated he would. And Solana is barely able to put the skillet on the fire before her phone is buzzing again.

Roman: You’ll see.

His answer makes her frown. It’s not what she wanted to hear, but it’s also not a complete disregard or verbal lashing for asking a simple question.

Solana prepares to leave it as is when Roman’s voice is in the back of her mind, nudging and reminding her of his desire for her to communicate with him more.

Nervous fingers type out an expression of said nerves.

Solana: Okay….surprises just make me nervous.

She doesn’t have time to put her phone down when those three dots appear, indicating he’s typing.

Roman: It’s nothing bad.

Roman: I wouldn’t lie to you.

And for some strange reason, Solana believes that. Roman doesn't seem like a man to lie in general, because he’s too blunt for that.

Unless….

Unless it’s one of his mind games, because he is notorious for that. Still, she can’t find a reason why he would waste his time playing one of those with her.

Solana: Okay. Sorry to text you while you’re working.

Roman: You’re apologizing again.

Roman: And I don’t care.

Roman: I’d rather talk to you than listen to the twins bullshit.

Solana tries to not put too much into his words, into him saying that he wants to talk to her. It’s not that he directly wants to speak to her, more she’s the lesser of two evils. Nothing to get into her head about.

Solana: They’re kinda funny….🙈

Roman: You’d feel differently if you had to deal with them all the time.

Solana: Fair.

The exchange is so in the moment, back to back, that she doesn’t put her phone down again until her last message. She then returns to preparing her breakfast.

Solana is frying her eggs, adding in seasoning when her phone dings again. Wiping her hands on her apron, she expects a message from Bayley or even Naomi.

Especially Naomi. She needs to talk to her about what happened, apologize for putting her in what must have been an awkward situation.

It’s neither of them.

Roman: How’d you start writing?

Roman continuing or prolonging the conversation isn’t something she saw coming. But, the message is right there in white writing against that gray background.

Solana briefly debates how honest to be in her answer, deciding to step a bit out of her comfort zone in offering more than just her usual three to five word responses.

Solana: My mom. She spoke English, but she wasn’t fluent, so she’d write letters to me in Spanish, and I’d have to respond in English so we both could learn.

Solana: My dad wouldn’t let her teach or speak it around me and Wes so that was the only way I/she could learn.

He stops replying after that, and Solana feels stupid for being so open, for not just giving him a simple answer with all of the unnecessary verbiage.

And then her phone goes off.

Roman: Not surprising.

When he doesn’t say anything else, Solana debates on whether to end it there or follow up with another question given that he asked one first. It feels like returning the favor or reciprocating manners.

Hence, she decides on texting him again.

Solana: What is that language you speak to the twins sometimes?

Roman: Samoan. I’m fluent. Italian and English as well.

That’s not entirely surprising. Roman is obviously a well educated, well rounded man.

Roman: You’re more perceptive than you let off.

Solana: Maybe. But no one ever cares what I have to say or think, so it doesn’t make sense to share it.

He stops replying after that.

And Solana tries to not think too much about her disappointment, moving around the kitchen to finish fixing breakfast as a distraction.

A poor distraction, because not even twenty minutes later, she’s ready to check her phone again even if it hasn’t made the special sound that makes her belly flutter. However, the sound of the doorbell pulls her from that premature excitement.

Solo comes to meet her in the kitchen informing matter-of-factly, “it’s Naomi and Bayley.”

Solana stills. That’s definitely not someone she expected to see so soon. Neither of them.

“Invite them in?” Solo’s voice tinges with borderline irritation, which she can understand.

Cheeks reddening, she apologizes. “Yes. Sorry. Of—of course.”

Solana hears Bayley before she sees her. “Damn. This is how it’s like to live as the Tribal Chief's wife? Maybe shit isn’t so bad after all.” The two walking in wearing friendly smiles brings back Solana’s grin.

“Hey there. We wanted to come check on you.” Naomi introduces, the first to ask, “is it okay if we hug you?”

Solana doesn’t hesitate as much as she would expect herself to. “Yes.”

Naomi also doesn’t hesitate and steps forward, hugging Solana in such a sincere way she’s not sure she’s experienced in years. Since her mom.

And Bayley does the same, maybe even a little tighter.

The three of them sit down at the kitchen island as Bayley asks in a sympathetic tone. “How you doing, lady?”

“Better.” It’s an honest answer, and Solana can’t help but think about the additive that it’s largely due to Roman. But, she keeps that part to herself. She looks at Naomi. “I’m so sorry—“

Naomi lifts a manicured finger to silence her. “Girl, you have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I’m sorry I didn’t know what was going on. You could have told me too, but I get it must have been hard for you.”

This part had Solana deeply nervous, the part where she’d have to ‘face’ Naomi after causing such a scene and getting the whole place shut down for an entire day, So, for the woman with the penchant for bold colors that look delightful against her complexion to be so understanding and empathetic, it means a lot to Solana.

It means a lot that Bayley would also even tag along when she wasn’t even part of that chaotic ordeal.

“Just know you can tell us anything. We’ve got your back,” Bayley affirms, adding with a smirk. “And clearly your big bad husband does too.”

We’ve got your back.

Solana doesn’t even know where to begin comprehending and swallowing that.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have too long to be in her head, because Naomi starts talking again. “That was wild,” she comments with a shake of her head and then looks at Solana. “Oh shit, you probably don’t know, do you?”

Solana’s stomach does the opposite of butterflies, the uncomfortable clenching and twisting that accompanies anxiety. “Know what?”

There’s no delay with the answer.

“Theory and Waller are dead.” Solana wasn’t sure what to expect to hear Naomi say, but even if she tried to guess, that would have never been one of her options.

Confusion is painted all over her face. “Wha—what?”

Dead.

The two men who just yesterday caused her to breakdown and revert back to her teenage years where dissociation was her coping mechanism, the men who’d been sexually harassing her with zero regards for her as a human and even more, as Roman’s wife….are dead.

It feels almost impossible to be true.

Bayley backs up Naomi’s assertion, adding, “yeah, he had their bodies, or what was left, displayed at the Warehouse this morning.”

Chills travel up her spine. “W–why?”

It’a a word aimed towards a lot of the questions Solana has unanswered. Why are they dead? Why did Roman kill or have them killed? Sure, she expected there to be some form of punishment, merely for the simple fact that messing with her was a clear sign of disrespect toward him, which the Tribal Chief would never tolerate. But, for them to be killed, in such a what sounds like a gruesome manner, and their remains to be left for all to see?

Why?

Bayley answers with a shrug of her shoulders. “To send a message.”

Solana is surprisingly fast with her follow up. “W-what message?”

Naomi is quick with the answer, but in general, she seems to be knowledgeable about a lot of things Bloodline. “You’re Bloodline now. No one messes with us. And you’re Roman’s wife? Yeah, he’s making sure everyone knows what happens if they even think about fucking with you.”

It lines up, Solana reflecting back on Roman’s departing declaration the night before.

“I told you. No one lays a hand on you. I’m gonna make sure everyone understands that shit from here on out.”

She just never expected such a….big message.

“Honestly, they were fucking creeps anyway.” Solana cannot and does not disagree with the first part of Bayley’s statement, the second part, however, is iffy for her. “They got exactly what they deserved.”

Solana neither agrees or disagrees with that.

“I’m thinking we do your training from here for a little while,” Naomi suggests. While her initial response is to apologize for any inconvenience this may cause Naomi, Solana can’t deny the fact that just the thought of walking back in that building right now makes her physically ill. “I know Roman got a state of the art gym here and that massive backyard of yalls? This will do just fine.”

“Oooh, I gotta see this.” Bayley then asks, “Solana, are you working today?”

“No, I called out.” Solana needs at least a day to get her mind right, hence taking today off.

Bayley then suggests, “Naomi and I were gonna go shopping. Why don’t you come with us?”

It's an interestingly timed question given one of Solana’s text exchanges with Roman not even an hour ago included him informing her that the stack of envelopes on the kitchen island earlier were her new set of cards, all linked to his accounts.

And he made sure to reiterate again that there is no limit. For any of them.

Bayley then decides and declares, slapping her hand on the island. “Matter of fact, we’re not asking. We’re telling you that you’re going shopping with us.” That is something Solana is familiar with, never being asked, always being told.

It’s just rare, if ever, it’s something that isn't entirely bad or terrible she’s being told she needs to do.

“I’ve been wanting to take you shopping for forever anyway. Because as sweet and great as you are, Solana, you dress like college freshman meets Billie Eilish.” Before Solana can ask what exactly that means, Naomi explains. “So much neutral and dark colors. And everything is oversized. I can tell you’re kind of insecure about your body, but you literally have no reason to be because you have an amazing shape.”

Solana doesn’t say anything, but her hand naturally goes to one of the scars on her arm from that night.

Naomi notices this and advises in a gentle voice, “we all have scars, Solana. Some you can see and others you don’t.” Solana has both, and it’s a miserable experience. “That doesn’t mean you have to hide them and be ashamed.”

“Naomi is right.” Bayley agrees, and something tells Solana she’s going out shopping today whether she wants to or not. “We are going to help you learn to embrace your curves one better fashionable choice at a time.”

________

Solana can probably count on one hand how many times she’s gone shopping in person over the past couple years. Maybe longer. She mostly sticks to online shopping when she is in need of a couple new pieces, always sizing way up so she can assure that it fits. More so drapes over her body, but that’s always been the preference.

She’s also never shopped at stores where the price for a single item can be upwards to three to four figures, which apparently isn’t the case for Bayley and Naomi.

Cause one of the first items they pick up for her is a single blouse that reads $650.00 on the price tag. Solana nearly faints when she reads that. That’s probably the entire cost of her wardrobe put together.

She’s starting to regret telling them about Roman adding her to his accounts. Naomi especially seemed thrilled at that, and she seems to be the one piling the cart with more and more items. Bayley also offering her fair share of contributions.

All the while Solo keeps a safe but comfortable distance, wearing that infamous stoic expression, Solana can’t help but wonder how he must be feeling about this, about having to spend his time watching her while she shops. It can’t be enjoyable for him at all. She feels sort of bad.

“Oh my god, you have to try this on.”

Feeling bad for someone else morphs into feeling bad for herself, to a certain extent, when Solana sees the dress that Naomi is holding up for her.

In all interactions, Solana does her best to be polite and kind, to never invite a volatile or mean response. “Ummm, I don’t—I don’t think that’ll look good on me.”

It won’t look good for a lot of reasons, the main one being it’s too small. Solana can see the thin sleeved dress is intended to be form-fitting—another major red flag—but even with that, it’s obviously a size, or eight, too small.

Naomi makes a sound. “Girl, that’s just how it looks. It molds to your shape, and with all your curves, I know it’s going to be a killer look.” She then pushes it in Solana’s direction again. “At least try it on. You never know unless you try.”

But Solana does know. She knows this dress is going to draw attention to all of her flaws. The rolls, the pudge of her belly, her big arms, and those damn scars. But, she also doesn’t want to be rude, so she agrees, disappearing in the dressing room before emerging a couple minutes later, never once checking her reflection before doing so.

She walks to where the ladies are waiting, asking with an awkward shrug of her shoulders, “well?”

Naomi gasps. “Holy shit, that looks amazing on you, Solana!”

“Of course it does. You see that body?” Bayley joins in on gassing her up, adding, “it really does look good, Solana. We wouldn't lie to you.”

Huh. That’s the second time today Solana has been told that.

Bayley then instructs her to look at her reflection in the full body mirror of the dressing room, a dreaded task but one she makes herself complete.

Solana does her best to try to be as neutral and not negative towards her appearance, but it’s hard when she keeps honing in on the scars on her arms, the one on her face, not to mention her weight and how, to her, it just seems too much.

Her father’s sharp and consistent criticism starts to return to the forefront of her mind when she notices Naomi snap a photo. Turning on her heel, she asks with a level of nervousness, “w–what are you doing?”

“Helping you to realize how bad as hell you are.” Naomi says it so casually, so calmly, turning her phone toward Solana. “See.”

It’s a thread, a group chat, and along with the picture Naomi just snapped, there’s an accompanying text.

Naomi: Solana is being stupid and thinks she looks bad in this dress. Please prove me and Bayley’s point.

Solana’s eyes go wide when she realizes just who is in this group text. Jimmy, Jey, and Roman.

Her stomach is twisting all over again. “Naomi, I—I don’t think—”

Naomi’s phone chimes, and a smile grows on her face as Bayley moves closer to Solana.

Naomi starts laughing and then smirks as she flips it so Solana and Bayley can read. “I rest my case.”

Jey: Damn, Soso 👀 Hell yeah, she look good. Goddamn! 😫

Jimmy: I GYAT to start coming over to ya’ll house more, Uce. 🍑

Bayley makes a wolf sound, playfully shoving Solana whose cheeks are reddening by the second after reading the surprising response from the twins. She definitely either expected no response or an either kind or unkind disagreement. “We told you, girl. You look amazing.” Bayley then comments, directing her statement to Naomi. “Man, you and Jimmy definitely have a strong ass relationship, cause I’d be ready to kick his ass.”

Naomi shrugs, simply responding. “We trust each other. I know it stops at just looking for him. Same for me.”

Her phone makes a sound, and she reads whatever the latest incoming messages are, instantly rolling her eyes. “Roman is such an ass sometimes.”

Solana’s ear perks up at the mention of his name as she asks, “what did he say?”

Naomi turns her phone again so Solana can read for herself, her stomach twisting with anxiety when she reads his trenchant reply.

Roman: Shut the fuck up.

Roman: Unsend this shit, Naomi. Now.

But before Solana can panic about his response, her phone dings and she pulls it out to see his name on her lockscreen. Instead of delaying the inevitable, she unlocks to read his response, anticipating the worst.

Roman: You look good.

Roman: But you always look good.

Solana has to read his text a couple of times before it actually registers. He thinks she looks good. Roman thinks she looks good. Even more, he thinks she always looks good. Solana doesn’t know how to take that, even though there really is only one way to take such a message.

Bayley and Naomi being the bit of nosy Nancy’s that they are, sneak a peek at Solana’s phone and also read his text. Bayley is the first to speak, displaying that knowing dimpled smile. “Ha! See. The Tribal Chief himself has spoken.”

Naomi and her share a laugh as Solana finds herself also with a small smile. Roman had told her the night of WarGames that she looked beautiful, and she hadn’t really known how to take that either, chalking it up to the face full of makeup and fancy updo.

But this photo Naomi snapped and sent shows her without a lick of makeup on, hair messily pulled back and out of the way. It’s literally just her in a dress, a dress she normally would never dare to brave, but something Roman apparently thinks she looks good in.

“Does…..does he really think I’m beautiful?” It’s a question she never intended to leave the safe confines of her mind, but it’s a rebel, sneaking its way out and landing on the doorstep of the two women before her.

Bayley, as per usual, is the first to speak. “Is that a serious question? Of course he thinks you’re beautiful, because you are. You’re absolutely stunning, Solana. You have to see that.”

“Most of the men at your wedding kept commenting on how pretty you are. And your boobs, of course, because men have no couth.” Naomi rolls her eyes but continues. “And as someone who has had the displeasure of knowing Roman literally since we were in elementary school, I can tell you that you’re 1000% his type.”

Solana doesn’t believe that Naomi has reason to lie to her. Bayley either. And as Naomi has been around the family for so long, her word has to be true. But, Solana has a hard time separating the fact that Roman, who has someone as beautiful and unflawed like Samantha, in the same vein, could think someone like her is beautiful.

Samantha is beautiful, and someone he can actually touch.

Because regardless of how he views her, it all comes down to that. Physical intimacy. One of many things that Solana can’t give him.

But Samantha can.

Samantha does.

That’s why she was in the house that day, doing what Solana should but can’t because she’s too fucked up, too damaged, too broken.

Bayley reaches over with a comforting hand, switching to Spanish. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, don’t. You’re beautiful, Solana. That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less. Fuck anyone who’s ever said different.”

Solana isn’t quite sure how to describe how grateful she feels in this moment, to have such support, to have people be so genuinely and sincerely supportive. She hasn’t had that in so long, she’d almost forgotten that it was possible.

Emotion thick, she responds in the same language, “thank you, Bayley.”

“Okay, now that’s just not fair. I wanna know what’s going on too.” Naomi’s protest and almost childlike pout makes Solana smile, a nice break from the heavy emotional experience going on in her head.

“Just some girls supporting girls shit.” Bayley shrugs and claps her hands together. “Okay, now let’s see what sexy little red pieces we can find for you….”

________

Texting and writing with Roman on and off for the rest of the week was never on Solana’s agenda, but it’s exactly what’s been happening.

And she has no idea what to make of it.

Every time there’s a delay with his response, she assumes that’s it. That’s the end of the conversation. Only for her phone to buzz with not only a response but usually a follow up question.

It’s almost as if he wants to keep the conversation going, but that can’t be it. She can’t see why he’d want to speak with her.

Even if he literally stated that he’d prefer to talk to her than listen to his cousins bicker. Still, his entire day can’t involve their presence. There has to be some separation at one point or another.

But even with that, he’s consistent with eventually replying, acknowledging her messages even if the responses come hours after her first one was sent.

And for the life of her, Solana cannot find a good or logical reason as to why her stomach flutters with a modicum to medium level of excitement every time her phone dings.

Because she thinks it’s another text from Roman.

Because she’s enjoying speaking with him. Because she seeks out opportunities even while working to check her phone and see if he’s text her. It’s not traditional communication, and she’s certain there’s no way in hell she’d be able to talk to him this freely, this comfortably if it was verbal.

Not a chance.

But in texting, she finds a level of ease that makes it significantly easier to get to know him. And maybe that’s what it is, she has some level of desire to get to know him more. If this “marriage” is to last, whatever that looks like, it feels like she needs to know more about him other than that he’s big, strong, and a killer.

Those traits more than speak for themselves, but there’s gotta be more, and there is. Like her now knowing he speaks three languages fluently and would like to pick up another someday if he ever has the time. Or that he works out at least twice every day and doesn’t feel right if he can’t get in at least one workout.

Similarly, Solana finds herself reciprocating his sharing of information, small facts that aren’t major but make a smidge of difference. Like her love of books and words. The few shows she enjoys. She especially doesn’t understand where that comes from. The sharing on her end. It’s something similar like her growing relationships with Bayley and Naomi.

But that’s different, so so different, for a variety of reasons. One, they’re women, and while anxiety is something she struggles with in interactions with all individuals, regardless of sex, it’s much easier with them than men.

And Roman is not the average man, far from it.

He scares her.

Or does he?

Solana has been struggling to make sense of the fear that often cripples her and the behavior he’s shown her thus far. They don’t add up. Sure, he’s expressed irritation and a level of anger towards her, but both were more than warranted. And even in those moments, there was still a level of control and composure. He didn’t scream at her. Didn’t belittle her. Didn’t hit her.

And his words from earlier that week circle back around to the front of her mind.

Even that day at her job.

He’s made it clear now two times that he has no plans or desire to ever hit her. Initially, that didn’t mean anything to Solana, because she’s never known a man in her life to never beat on her. The second time, it made her start to wonder if he was telling the truth.

And now, in a week of genuine and okay interactions, maybe even good interactions, that wondering of the truth is gradually meshing into believing.

Especially because something tells her Roman’s not a man to lie, not unless he’s playing one of his infamous mind games. And what reason would he have to play a mind game with her of all people?

She’s nobody.

But not enough of a nobody for him to end the conversation, which she’s expected all week but yet to see happen. Even more, a part of Solana feels like he’s also wanting to keep the conversation going, matching her with the questions vs just responding and leaving it as is.

And Solana appreciates it a lot, maybe even to the point where she’s gradually starting to appreciate him.

If she doesn’t already.

It’s why she doesn’t mind waking up earlier than she already does to fix breakfast and get ready for work to do something for him that she hopes he views as nice while he gets in his morning workout in the home gym.

Finished and almost too nervous to stay around for his response, she grabs the notebook, leaving a quick message before heading up the stairs to get in at least another hour of sleep as there’s still leftovers from yesterday’s breakfast.

Roman,

I noticed you tend to start off your breakfast with a protein shake. I saw how you make it, so I figured I’d just make it for you. Less for you to do.

Hope that was alright.

Solana

________

Roman didn’t plan to text and write Solana as often as he has. It just…..happened.

She was right in that communication does seem smoother and even easier through this channel. It’s also nice to “hear” her communicate without all that damn stuttering and stammering. Her texts and letters read so much better than actually listening to her speak aloud.

Not that her voice isn’t pleasing to some extent. It is. Soft and almost melodic, minus the fucking stutters.

Roman is in the middle of reviewing income spreadsheets when Jimmy walks into his office and

drops a stack of paperwork on top of Roman’s desk. He then plops down in one of two chairs opposite his cousin. “Solana’s medical records.”

Roman is pleased, thankful to the Wise Man for his promptness regarding his request.

“There is something you should know though.”

Instantly, Roman is annoyed, because he recognizes that tone of Jimmy’s. The tone that lets Roman know he’s not going to like what he’s about to hear. “What?”

“Apparently, information is missing.”

“What do you mean it’s missing? Find the fucking hospital that has them. I want all of her records.” Roman’s orders were clear as day, and he fucking hates when even with comprehensible issuance, there’s still a fucking problem.

“That’s all that’s available. Paul said the records indicate shit was deleted or something. Like cleared out of the system.” Before Roman can express his dissatisfaction and suggestions, Jimmy explains, “He said he consulted with Pearce to see if he could retrieve the files, but even he couldn’t get them. Something about systems changing over time and not being compatible. You know, all that tech shit Pearce be talking.”

Roman was right. As always. He’s annoyed.

Because he knows exactly who would have had a hand in something like this.

Xavier.

He expresses as such. “It was Xavier. Son of a bitch probably had it deleted somehow.” Roman knows Miller has hands and ties in the medical community as well as social services, though that power and leverage has definitely dwindled over the years due to Miller’s mounting financial problems. However, around the time Solana was a kid was very much the peak of Miller’s paltry empire.

“What exactly are you looking for, man?” Jimmy asks, trying to get a read on his cousin, never an easy feat. If at all possible. “I’m not trying to be mean, but it’s obvious Solana been through some shit. You really need to know all of it?”

It’s a sound question that Roman isn’t certain he has the answer for. Knowing just what Solana has been through could be helpful in helping him understand her better, but there’s also a part of him that doesn’t know why he’s even bothering with that. Why does he even need to understand her better?

“I mean, just what happened to her mom could be the reason for a lot of her….struggles.”

“That’s part of it.” Roman’s certain of that, but he also knows there’s more. “Her father and brother were abusive.”

At that, Jimmy appears shocked. “What?” His expression quickly turns into a scowl. “That’s why you had us handle up on ole’ boy? You should have said that was why. Would have broke that bitch left hand too.”

“I’m going to kill them both before all is said and done.” And that’s a fucking promise, an oath. Their days are numbered. “But until then, I’ll keep them away from her.”

“That must piss them the fuck off.”

“Exactly.” Beyond making sure they don’t fucking touch Solana, Roman recognizes flexing his power and authority by cutting off all contact between them is something Miller and his boy must find infuriating. They’ve clearly thrived on controlling and torturing Solana, but that shit is over.

Solana is Bloodline now.

No one fucking touches her.

“Well.” Jimmy blows out a big breath and shrugs his shoulders. “I just hope you know what you doing, Big Dog.”

“Don’t I always.” Roman mutters, opening the manilla envelope to start going over the files. “Jimmy.”

“Yeah?”

“Have Naomi continue to do Solana’s training from the house.”

“Come on, man, my girl is already on that. She said Soso’s been getting better and better too. ” Jimmy answers, explaining, “I think she and Bey should be over there right about now anyway. Feels like they always over there these days.”

Roman wouldn’t entirely disagree. He gets regular updates from security regarding any and all happenings at his home, which includes a list of visitors, and Naomi and Bayley have been consistent on that list.

Roman also understands now why Solana hasn’t replied to his latest text.

Not that it bothers him. A lot, at least. He has shit to do anyway.

A couple minutes later, Jimmy leaves, and Roman is left alone to venture into the next task on his to-do list.

As expected, Solana��s medical records consist of a lot of emergency visits for accidents. Sprains. Broken bones. Fractures. Endless bruising, hematomas even. The visits eventually die down, but Roman suspects it’s not because the abuse stopped or paused. More likely they stopped taking her and she tended to her wounds herself.

But, the largest section of her records is the most telling.

Subjective: PT is a 16 y/o mixed race female currently admitted following SI attempt. PT was reportedly found in bathroom by family maid and transported to ER by ambulance where she was formally admitted. PT does not appear fully oriented to person, place, and time. PT offered minimal responses to questions and would only speak when prompted. PT denies auditory and visual hallucinations. PT reports wanting to be with mother who is deceased. PT reports no will to live. PT indicated yes with a head nod when asked about hx of sexual trauma. PT observed to become teary eyed following this acknowledgment and would not speak on nature of trauma. PT began to cry and moved into fetal position after being asked reasons for attempt. PT was heard repeating the question, “why didn’t you let me die?” PT became unresponsive after this exchange.

Objective: PT does not appear stable enough to be released from care. Fx is severely impaired. I suspect a long history of complex trauma, confirmed sexual abuse, and suspected physical abuse. Medical records from client’s initial admission indicate “numerous” pre-existing cuts on PT’s inner forearms, indicating repeated incidents of self-harm. I deem PT to be an imminent danger to herself and suspect a release would result in another SI attempt.

Assessment: PT presents with flat affect and depressed mood. Presents with poor insight and impulse control. PT’s wrists medically wrapped. Faded scars and bruises observed on PT’s arms, legs and partially faded bruise on left eye. PT also has scars on both arms and face, reportedly from knife attack during childhood.

Plan: I strongly recommend client be transferred to an adolescent residential facility or kept inpatient at hospital where she can be monitored and placed on medication regimen as well as participate in intensive individual and group therapy to assist in mood stabilization.

If released and left untreated, it is my belief and professional opinion that PT will eventually be successful in efforts to end life.

Diagnosis: F43.10 Posttraumatic Stress Disorder w/ Dissociation

Roman keeps reading over this section of the file, but there’s one part that stands out the most.

PT indicated yes with a head nod when asked about hx of sexual trauma.

That’s the part that Roman can’t seem to move past. He’s read it all. Every fucking word. And it’s all horrific. But, it’s that one sentence, that one damn sentence that confirms what he’d started to suspect, had gradually started to put the pieces together to see the much larger, darker picture.

She’d been touched. He doesn’t know to what extent, but regardless of the specific nature, at fucking sixteen years old, she’d already been violated.

A single swoop of his big arm across the desk sends all of the items once neatly situated sprawled across the cherry wood flooring. Roman stands up and slams his fist down on the table, head down as he tries to calm his suddenly shot nerves.

Livid. He’s livid.

The Bloodline is a lot of things but that has never and will be one of them. It only took one time for some fucking piece of shit to even suggest the Bloodline enter the world of Human Trafficing to increase their reach and profits even more for everyone to know that’s where the line in the sand is drawn.

Roman’s never put a fucking bullet in someone’s head so fast.

The same urge he has currently.

An urge that’s almost instantly lessened by a small amount when his phone lights up and a name appears across his lock screen.

Solana

Eyes shutting, Roman runs his hand over his face and snatches the phone, unlocking it to view her text.

Solana: What time will you be home tonight?

Instantly, Roman feels a lessening of his anger, reading her message, almost hearing said message in her gentle voice. It’s a distraction but both a reminder of why he’s all upset. Solana’s softness doesn’t equate with the violence she’s experienced, the violation, the pain. Especially as a fucking child. Roman has never understood and has always been especially infuriated by violence against children. There’s wrong and then there’s immoral.

That’s beyond immoral.

Roman will never deny he’s committed his fair share of sins, earning a VIP spot in hell when that time finally comes, but that is something he could and will never get behind.

Solana: Just so I know what time to have dinner ready by…..

Her follow up is typical, always explaining what she doesn’t have to.

Roman gives her the best reply he can muster up at this moment in time.

Roman: Not sure. Don’t worry about that. Probably won’t get in until late.

And he truly doesn’t know, because going home in this state of anger won’t do her any good. He told her he’d try to be mindful of his temper around her, and this is just that. He doesn’t want to scare her.

He needs an outlet.

But, here lies the fucking dilemma.

Since he was a teenager, Roman’s outlet has always been sex. He’s the type to fuck away his feelings. Working out also helps, but sex always took the cake, helped out sometimes just a smidge or a shit ton more.

And in a different kind of world, he’d do just that working out with the same woman he finds himself infatuated over. His dick stiffens in his pants thinking back on the picture Naomi sent and wisely unsent to his disrespectful ass cousins.

But not before he could save it to his camera roll.

Roman has never and will never deny his physical attraction to Solana. She checks every box for him in that category, but she’s not an option. He can’t touch her. He can’t touch her because some fucking piece of shit did just that to her when she was essentially a child, and now she can’t stand to be touched because of it.

Roman finds himself returning to his previous level of rage.

He needs to work this off him.

And he knows just how.

Grabbing his phone and switching from Solana’s thread to hers, he shoots out a simple text.

Roman: I’m coming over.

________

True to his word, Roman gets back late after an…..interesting visit to see Samantha. Somewhat worth it, but mostly now just another irritating thing he has to handle. Not that her being upset bothers him in the slightest.

She can fuck off and ride off into the sunset for all he cares.

Granted, the non-asshole side of him, more a small section than a side, can understand why she was upset with him.

He just can’t find it in him to give a fuck.

What he does find, however, is something else.

Roman steps into the living room and sees none other than Solana sleeping on the sofa. Confused, he quietly moves closer in her direction and sits opposite of her on the sturdy, mahogany wood coffee table.

And he watches her, studies her sleeping expression, wondering if she had another nightmare. The possibility drags him back to his earlier disposition, the reason he didn’t allow himself to come back to the mansion at a more reasonable time.

He didn’t want to expose her to that. To that side of him.

Without much thought, he reaches for her face, fingers gently caressing the smooth skin of her cheek. She feels so soft, a stark contrast against his roughness.

In more than one area.

He’s not sure if she felt his gesture or, like him, is just a light sleeper because her eyes slowly start fluttering open. He waits for her to become more aware and cognizant, and she does, whispering, “hey.”

He matches her low volume. “Hey.” Roman studies her, asking, “you alright?”

She nods, gradually sitting up, and he tries not to notice how instead of wearing the type of baggy shirts he’s noticed she likes to sleep in, she’s donning a thin sleeved top that accentuates her chest. “Yeah, I—” She closes her mouth, and he can tell by the way her brows furrow slightly that she’s trying to figure out how to word whatever she wants to say. “You seemed off. I just—just wanted to make sure you were okay, but I guess I fell asleep….”

It’s Roman’s turn now to not quite understand or make sense of what he’s hearing, so he asks, still in that subdued voice, “you waited up for me?”

Roman can’t recall the last time anyone cared when and even if he made it home. He doesn’t know how to feel about this. At all.

With a sheepish expression, she nods, “tried to, at least.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” And it’s the truth. He doesn’t know why she would in the first place anyway. “It was just….a long day.”

Solana nods, “I get that.” He also takes note of the fact that she’s not stammering as much, doesn’t seem as jittery as he’s used to seeing her. “I should—I guess I’ll go to bed now.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, just sits back so she can stand up without him being too in her space. He especially understands now why that’s such a big thing for her.

But, it’s when she stands that his gaze seems to travel to her inner forearms, faded scars now having an even bleaker meaning as he now has the full story.

Another sentence from her medical report whizzes back to him.

If released and left untreated, it is my belief and professional opinion that PT will eventually be successful in efforts to end life.

He should write it. Roman knows this. Knows that she’d probably respond better and be more comfortable writing, but he also knows it makes him feel almost physically uncomfortable with having to wait to get a response.

He’s much too impatient for that shit.

He needs to say this shit now.

“Solana.”

She’s halfway to the staircase and turns around, “yes?”

Roman’s never been one to beat around the bush, so he gets straight to the point. “You used to cut, right?”

Always perceptive, Roman sees the shock in her face at his question, the unease that brews as she nervously runs her hand along the side of her cardigan pajama pants. “I—yes, but—not since….it’s been a long time.”

He half expected to have to ask her about the last time she actually did it, though he can tell by how faded the scars are that it has been quite some time, so he believes her. Knows she’s telling the truth.

Still, he needs to make something perfectly clear.

“Any of those thoughts come back, you tell me. I don’t care if you have to paint it on the fucking wall. I want to know.” His intense expression is set right on her, needing to make sure she understands what he’s asking of her. “Understand?”

Solana looks just as confused as he feels as to why this is suddenly important to him, important that she knows she can come to him if those dark thoughts and urges occur. But still, she agrees, acknowledging in that same small voice.

“I understand….”

________

The breeder is only about a half hour out from the mansion, allowing for a drive that’s on the shorter side than what Roman was initially anticipating.

Just like he successfully anticipated Solana’s nervousness throughout that entire drive. She keeps looking out the window, most likely trying to navigate where they’re going. And if not for the unexpected but necessary business call he had to take that lasted almost the entirety of the drive, he would have tried to calm her nerves.

He’s realizing he doesn’t like seeing her so on edge.

When they arrive, Roman is the first to exit the SUV, circling around to open the door for her. She offers a nervous smile and steps out, Roman’s eyes darting to her ass, the sway of it in her yoga pants as she moves a bit away, taking in the average two story house in front of them.

She looks back at him, and he redirects his focus to her eyes, big, brown, and just as innocent as the rest of her. “Where—where are we?”

Paul also steps out of the car, almost immediately coughing and waving at some flying insect that whizzed at him. “In the middle of nowhere.” He then sets his cautious gaze on Roman. “My Tribal Chief, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I have terrible allergies—”

“I don’t care.” Roman cuts him off, speaking to Solana, gesturing with a nod of his head. “Come with me.”

A part of him wonders if she’ll hesitate, freeze up on him, maybe even refuse. But she instead moves closer to him, walking along his side as he leads them up the steps of the porch. He reaches for the doorbell and is almost instantaneously met with the sound of barking. Interestingly enough, one glance down at Solana and he sees a spark of excitement that chips away at her nerves.

A couple seconds later, the door opens revealing a middle aged white woman wearing an inauthentic smile. The kind of smile someone forces for a business meeting or possible transaction.

“You must be Mr. Reigns?” She correctly guesses, eyes then landing on Solana. “And you must be the Mrs?”

Roman places his hand on the small of Solana’s back, noticing how she initially tenses but, surprisingly, relaxes just a few seconds later. “My wife, Solana.”

Solana offers a small wave and polite hello but nothing more.

“I’m Beverly.” She introduces, but Roman doesn’t care. He doesn’t need to know shit about her except whatever her price is. She steps aside, motioning for them to come in. “Please.” He allows Solana to walk in first, followed by himself. When Paul doesn’t also follow suit, Roman turns around. “Wise Man.”

Paul, complexion starting to become pinkish, politely declines. “I’ll just wait here—”

“Wise Man.”

“Coming, My Tribal Chief.”

Once all three are inside, Betty or whoever, offers something to drink which all three decline, shortly after which the woman asks, “so, are we looking for—”

“It’s for her.” Roman motions to Solana who looks at him still wholly confused as a teenage girl, who looks like the spitting image of her mother, descends down the stairs. “Whatever she wants.”

Betty’s eyes light up as she directs the teenager. “Honey, can you take her outside to see the puppies?”

“Sure.” The teen’s voice is annoyingly preppy, like nails on the chalkboard, like a fucking cheerleader or something. “Follow me.”

Solana again looks at Roman, as if for guidance, but he only nods, encouraging her to follow. She’s still reluctant—he can see as such—but ultimately follows the blonde out the backdoor.

As soon as she’s out the door. Betty starts with the irritating sales pitch, talking to him about the history of Pomeranians, the benefits of that breed, dietary guidelines and other things he couldn’t give two shits about. It’s why he doesn’t hesitate to take the business call the minute his phone rings and instead advises Paul to listen to the woman talk.

He moves to the front of the house, securing another layer of privacy and doesn’t even hesitate to walk right past a wheezing Paul to head out back where Solana is once the call is over.

Roman finds her outside in the spacious yet somehow closed in yard. She’s sitting in the grass, legs open as a tiny dog, a puppy, moves back and forth between sitting in Solana’s lap and running in a circle before coming right back to her. Roman realizes she’s playing with the freakishly small animal, but beyond that, she’s smiling.

And laughing.

Roman can’t recall the last time, if ever, he’s seen her do the latter of the two. Even her smile is much larger, much more genuine than he’s seen her offer in the short time he’s known her..

“That one.” The woman, Bonnie, who came outside at one point with Paul, moves toward Roman. “She wants that one.”

Bonnie steps forward and frowns, slapping on that disingenuous smile he’s learned how to read all too well with years of experience working with people. “Oh no, that one’s not supposed to be out there. My daughter must have forgotten to pull her.”

Roman really does try sometimes with people, but they always end up fucking annoying him one way or another. “She wants that one.”

The woman stutters. “I–I’m sorry, but that dog is already under contract.”

Rolling his eyes, he asks, surprisingly calmly, not wanting to necessarily cause a scene in front of Solana. “How much?”

“Pardon?”

Roman does his best to hide his irritation at having to repeat himself. “How much?”

Betty releases a nervous smile, crossing her arms across her badly built body. “I—I can’t sell you a dog that’s already under contract, sir.”

Politics. It’s all politics. Roman knew the second Betty’s smile grew as her eyes landed on his Hublot watch that she saw this as a great, unexpected windfall. And she’s not entirely wrong. “Everyone has a fucking price, lady. Name yours.”

She stutters again. “Sir, I—I appreciate the interest, but that dog comes from a champion bloodline. The buyers intend to show her, so they’re paying a pretty penny.” She throws out casually, as if he can’t tell what she’s trying to do, the deal she’s trying to see if she can score. “They’re paying $10,000—”

There it is. The sin of greed that gets us all at one point or another.

Without second thought or guess, Roman states, “I’ll give you $20,000.”

As expected, her eyes nearly bulge out of her head, the expression highlighting excessive crows feet no doubt caused by unnecessary time spent under this scorching sun. “$20,000?” He doesn’t even have to counter again. “Well, I suppose I could offer them another puppy—”

“Good.” Roman knew right away “negotiating” with this woman wouldn’t take much. She’s in it for a clean, high profit, which is fair considering one could say that for all business owners. But, if all else failed, he had…..other strategies. But those are much messier, and he’d rather just throw a stack of cash her way so they could be on their merry fucking way. “Wise Man.”

Paul steps forward, pudgy cheeks reddened and eyes watering. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“Pay the woman.”

Paul swallows. “But, my—”

“Wise Man.”

Paul’s cheeks redden as he nods and motions to the house. Roman doesn’t need to say anything else. “I will handle the sale. Shall we?”

As Roman allows his counsel to handle the closing of the deal, he walks over to Solana who looks over at him with that same smile. He crouches down near her, observing, “she seems to like you.” And it’s the truth, seeing how the other puppies are content with playing with each other, this one is sticking with Solana.

She looks at Roman, petting the top of its head carefully, looking back down with that happy smile.“Thank you for taking me—”

“She’s yours.”

Her head snaps in his direction, right as the dog climbs into her lap. “W–what?” Solana blinks, face painted in plausible confusion. “M–mine?”

Roman chuckles. “It’s certainly not for me.”

“Really?” Roman watches the hairy ass creature stand on its legs, as if demanding her attention. Attention whore ass.

“Yes, if you want her—”

“Yes,” she answers almost immediately, suddenly. And true to her nature, she’s already backtracking. “I mean—“

“You want her, so she’s yours,” he reiterates his previous statement, but there’s a tone of finality that lets Solana know he’s not open to a discussion or debate.

It’s a sure thing.

“She’d be your dog. Not mine.” He clarifies. Solana can tell it’s also his way of telling her he’s not doing shit to help her take care of this dog, which is more than fair since Solana would bet he had no plans to purchase a dog anytime soon.

So why is he?

She just has to ask again. “You don’t—-you really don’t care?”

It feels unreal. Too much like not an option. Not a reality. Why would he allow her a pet? Buy her a pet?

He eyes the animal that’s seemingly already taken so well to Solana. “She’s so damn small I’ll probably forget she’s there half the time.”

There’s that laugh again, and Roman finds himself with a small smile of his own, not as big, nor as genuine, but a smile nonetheless. But just as quick as it’s there, it’s gone. Clearing his throat, he asks, “what are you gonna name her?”

Solana looks down at the puppy in her lap, nestled so comfortably against her stomach, eyes fluttering close like she’s about to fall asleep. With a soft smile and gentle caress of her coat, she answers. “Dulce.”

Roman’s thick brows arch together as he asks, “is that Spanish?”

She nods, glancing over at him just long enough to answer. “It means sweet.”

He makes a sound. That lines up. For both of them.

The dog's eyes then land on him with as much disinterest he feels about it, quickly focusing back on Solana. “I suppose we’ll have to get supplies and shit for her.”

Roman doesn’t consider himself having a childhood, so he refers to what most call just that as his ‘formative year.’ And during those formative years, he never had a pet, so this is new to him as well, outside of just the common sense parts of owning a dog.

She’s petting the sleeping puppy “Aren’t you busy today?”

Yes. Always. Roman’s to-do list is on subscribe and save, constantly delivering him new shit when he’s still working on the old shit. It’s just a part of the job though.

“No,” he answers. “It can wait.”

________

A couple of stops at different stores to pick up all of the shit Solana needs for Dulce along with getting the first vet appointment scheduled for the puppy takes just under three hours, which still grants Roman plenty of time to head into the office. Not until, though, he makes sure Solana is good to go, good with being left alone with the dog.

He meant it when he said it was her dog and he wouldn’t be helping out and shit, but given it’s the first day, he can see how there could be some nerves there.

But, there’s not. She’s good to go, hence his okayness with leaving for a little while to get some work done.

She doesn’t text him as much during the day, a noticeable thing that he understands is because she’s spending time with the dog.

But, he does come home for lunch to get in a workout where he finds an entry in the notebook.

Roman,

Thank you so much.

I promise I’ll take care of her and keep her out of your way. Paul’s too. I’ll keep her in the room with me when he’s over.

I always wanted a dog, but my dad hates them, and even if he didn’t, I was always too scared Wes would do something to it or worse….just to hurt me. He hates me, if you didn’t notice….

Solana

Roman doesn’t take much, if any time, to reply. He’d prefer to talk to her in person, but Bayley and Naomi are over, the three women in the backyard playing with the dog. So, he allows her that time, settling for a written response.

Solana,

You’re welcome.

Don’t worry about Paul. He won’t fucking die from allergies, and if he does, oh well.

I noticed. It’s why I’ll never leave you alone with him or your shitty father. Ever.

Why does he hate you?

Roman

Solana is partially upset when she realizes she missed Roman coming home for a workout, not that she wanted to bother him, just maybe….see him. Maybe even talk to him. Possibly tell him thank you again in person vs writing it in the notebook, but after Naomi and Bayley are gone and she’s fed Dulce her dinner, Solana sees Roman replied, leaving the notebook on her bed this time.

Most likely for privacy.

The first part of his note makes her laugh, even if she doesn’t enjoy Paul clearly suffering from his allergies. The second part, however, Solana struggles with.

She doesn’t know how honest to be with Roman, doesn’t know where she should draw that line in the sand. However, it’s not missed upon her that everything she’s shared with him, he’s been surprisingly okay with. Never having such a major reaction that it made her second guess her sharing.

And the man just bought her a fucking dog, something she’s always wanted. For no apparent reason.

Maybe….maybe she can be a bit more honest, a bit more forthcoming, even if it is a somber truth.

Roman,

I don’t want to inconvenience Paul. That’s not fair to him….

Wes blames me for our mother’s murder, says it was my fault.

And he’s not wrong.

She is dead because of me.

Solana

The minute Solana brings the notebook to Roman’s room, she regrets it. She regrets opening up, regrets being so vulnerable with him. Just because he answers her questions and bought her a puppy doesn’t mean he gives two shits about her trauma.

She’s so tempted to sneak into his room and take the journal back. It keeps her up, makes her toss and turn as Dulce sleeps peacefully in her pink dog bed beside Solana’s.

But, it’s when Solana wakes up at 4am and notices the notebook on her nightstand, her anxiety reaches another level. Instead of avoiding it until morning, she sits up and snatches it, flipping to the page they’re on.

And her stomach achieves a new level of butterflies when she reads his response.

Solana,

It’s not your fault.

Also, you were wrong.

I care what you have to say and think.

Roman

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

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zorrasucia · 2 years ago

Text

Teach Me Tonight - Part 5

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Deleted Scene] [Part 4] Part 5: [Part 6] [Part 7] [Deleted Scene] [Part 8]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit (4k)

Tags: Smut, Set sometime after the opening of The Bear, Porn with a little plot, Virgin!Carmy, Fluff, P in V sex, Rough Sex (consensual at reader's request), Facesitting, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Summary:

It was Friday, a little past nine at night and you were home alone. You had said goodbye to Carmy back at the restaurant, the frantic energy inside the kitchen a clear indicator that you wouldn't see him until the next day.

You huffed and rolled over on the mattress. You were antsy, and a little horny; thinking about what Carmy would do to you if he was there wasn't helping in the slightest. After a while of being just restless you decided to watch some porn and masturbate to get sleepy.

You started teasing over your underwear, vaguely following the vapid introduction of the video. When the couple began fucking in earnest, you touched yourself following the rhythm of their moans. You were getting wet and squirming between the sheets when you heard the front door unlock and open.

"Shit," you cursed. "Carmy?"

"Hey," he called from the hallway.

"You're back early."

"Uncle Jimmy bought out the restaurant for the evening. Forgot to tell you. We set up everything and he sent us home," he explained, then peeked inside the room. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Dunno," he got close to the bed, "you look flushed," he placed a hand over your forehead, that little wrinkle between his eyebrows showing up immediately.

You sighed; you couldn't let him worry over nothing just because you were embarrassed.

"Uh- I was watching porn and touching myself," you confessed. You handed him your phone - the screen showed a man and a woman, tastefully lit, fucking over a bed doggy style.

"Ah," he arched his eyebrows.

"I didn't know you would be home early, or I would have definitely waited for you," you bit your lip. He stayed silent for a little while. "Are you mad?"

It wouldn't be the first time that a guy felt a certain way about you watching porn - the argument was mostly about the fact that they were allowed to do it and you weren't.

"No, it's just-" he sat by you. "You never said you liked this," he gestured vaguely at the position.

"Um, I didn't think you'd be into it. When we fucked the first time you said you liked eye contact. This is sort of the opposite," you shrugged helplessly.

"Yeah, but I also fucked you from behind on the kitchen table that one time and it was fun," he reasoned.

"I thought you were only doing it for me," you realized you sounded a little silly but it was the truth. For all your willingness to try new things it had mostly involved positions where you could face each other. And you liked it. Still some secret part of you wondered what it would be like with Carmy.

"I mean, yeah, it started that way but in the end I enjoyed it too," Carmy said earnestly. "Really. I don't- I don't want you to feel like you can't tell me these things."

You blushed.

"Okay," you nodded. "Okay. Uh. I like being fucked from behind sometimes. Not always but uh- it feels good, you can get a little rough," your already wet underwear got soaked at the thought of Carmy using those strong arms of his to manhandle you a little.

Without a word, he untied his shoes and got rid of his shirt. Then, he leant over.

"Tell me what to do."

You shivered.

"Kiss me," you asked and a second later he was all over you, shoving his tongue in your mouth, getting the idea of 'a little rough' and running with it.

You started unbuttoning his trousers, shoving them and his boxers out of the way and he followed suit, tugging at fabric blindly until you were completely bare. Your hand was touching his cock idly, getting him hard.

"Put me face down on the bed," you said against his lips.

He grabbed you by the waist and maneuvered you into position, a little too gently for your taste but it was a start. You got on all fours while he rummaged the bedside table for a condom.

"Tease me," you pleaded.

He obliged. His hard cock traced figures over the lips of your pussy, almost pushing in but not quite. He lined up his cock with your entrance.

"Slow at first, slow." He took his time to fill you up. "Fuuuuuck," you keened.

There was a sharp inhale behind you and Carmy ran his fingers down your spine, to your hips and moved the last inch in a hard thrust.

"Shit, just like that," you praised.

It took him a little bit to get the hang of the position, his thrusts cautious and slow. You focused on the feeling of being full of him. You swayed your hips with his cock buried deep inside you, a challenge of sorts.

"Jesus," he panted, falling into rhythm.

It was still careful and you thrust back into him, desperate, needy.

"Harder, Carm," you whined.

He growled, getting a good grip on your waist. You moaned, your jaw dropped at the head of his cock grazing your G spot everytime.

"Right there, right there," you reached back for his thigh, giving him a reassuring squeeze that turned into you leaving scratch marks on his pale flesh.

"Do you- shit-" he stuttered, overcome with pleasure. "Do you like to have your hair pulled?"

And you would have caressed his face gently and kissed him sweetly in that moment - he had taken a glimpse at the video and he was devoted to making it real for you.

Except, well, you were on all fours being fucked senseless and absolutely wild with lust. So instead you grinded into his cock and begged:

"Yes, please, fuck, please!"

He gathered your hair in the nape of your neck and gave a tug that electrified you all the way down to your pussy. A breathy laugh escaped your lips.

"Good?" he asked.

"So fucking good, keep going," you praised and he thrust harder, every movement pushing you over the edge. "It's so good."

He grabbed your hair harder than before, pulling you until you were on your knees, flush against his chest. You moaned in surprise and bliss. His free hand immediately found your clit and teased it mercilessly until your pussy was fluttering on his cock.

"Keep going, keep going," you pleaded through your orgasm.

He held you through it, kissing your neck and shoulders with a tenderness that didn't match the wanton moans and gasps that tickled the side of your face. In your daze, you realized he was holding back for you. Carmy was thoughtful and shy and caring, but he could also be angry and mean and explosive. You knew, you had seen glimpses of him in the kitchen at rush hour.

"Carm... It's okay."

"Hmm?" It was a desperate sound - his grip on your hips was so tight that you suspected you would wake up with bruises.

"You can go as fast as you want, as hard as you need, baby," you intertwined your fingers with his. "I'll tell you if you hurt me, just-"

He dragged his teeth down the side of your neck, from your ear to your shoulder.

"You sure?" he exhaled into your skin.

"Pretty fucking sure," you touched his hair and kissed the side of his face blindly. You went back on all fours and looked back at him seductively. "You've been so good, Carmy, you deserve it."

You knew you were overselling it, but you meant it. Carmy chuckled a little, his fingers softened their grip and caressed the curve of your spine, settling back on your waist.

With barely any warning, he thrust into you, hard, knocking the wind out of you.

"Oh my God," you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as he made you see stars with every forceful movement. He kept going, his skin clapping on yours, hitting perfectly with each stroke. "Yes, fuck!"

You felt your second orgasm approaching quickly, the punishing pace Carmy set had you gasping for air. You felt your arms give out and suddenly your face was on the comforter, your ass up, and the mattress swaying under the two of you. You squirmed and moaned, and he kept on fucking mercilessly, prolonging your orgasm until it was almost too much to bear, until your pussy was straining from squeezing around his cock. You bit on the comforter to stop yourself from screaming.

Carmy bent over on top of you, his cock still drilling into your pussy. He twisted around to kiss you - it was all teeth and tongue and desperation. Your right hand reached underneath to touch your clit. The pleasure and pain had blurred and you were pretty sure your last orgasm was turning into a third one.

"So good, so fucking good, Carm," you mumbled into his mouth, squirming, feeling his sweat mix with yours.

"Fuck, I'm gonna-" he started and you nodded eagerly.

"Yes, please, come with me," you panted, rolling your eyes when his hips started moving even faster than before. The sounds he uttered would have been enough to have you coming but there was also his hand on your throat, and his cock inside your pussy...

You came at the same time with a series of grunts and a long, high-pitched moan. His hips kept rutting into yours, making you tremble with pleasure for a while longer, not a drop of that delicious electricity gone to waste.

"You okay?" he asked, his breathing labored and his lips kissing your shoulders and spine.

"Yeah," you sighed and chuckled, satisfied. You reached out behind you to caress the nape of his neck, wet with sweat. "You?"

"Yeah." He nodded and, after a quick kiss on your shoulder, he rolled over, leaving your pussy empty and wrecked. He threw the condom to the trash and laid back, looking at you. You whined a little as you untangled from your position, thighs cramping, to lie by his side.

"You sure I wasn't too rough?" he tilted his head, cupping your face.

"It was amazing, Carm," you gave him a gentle kiss. "I think I got a little carried away, though," you added softly.

"It's fine - I liked it," he covered his face to hide a grin.

You smiled relieved and got closer to him, claiming your place between his arms.

"Thank you," you said against his collarbone. He hummed into your hair, tugging on the comforter to cover you both with it. "Carmy? Do you have one?"

"Hmm?"

"A fantasy you haven't told me about because you thought I wouldn't be into it?" you asked.

He stayed silent for a while and you looked up in search of his eyes.

"I- uh- I've been wanting you to sit on my face for months," he gulped, avoiding your gaze and the shocked face you were doing. "I didn't say anything 'cause you get all nervous and start apologizing when you squeeze me with your thighs..."

"Well, I don't want to hurt you!" you replied defensively.

"I don't mind," he blushed. "I'm kind of into it."

"Shit, Carmy," you giggled, settling back in his embrace. He held you closer. "We're definitely doing it, don't worry."

"Not now though," he said, completely exhausted.

You laughed. "No, not now," you repeated, falling asleep to the beat of his heart.

"Come on, Carmy! Come out!" you urged him from outside the changing room.

"The pants are too long," he complained. "I look fucking stupid."

He opened the curtain and walked out, wearing the vintage tuxedo you had chosen for him - midnight blue with satin accents.

"You look very handsome," you beamed, straightening the lapels of his blazer. He allowed himself a small smile.

"Just- the pants," he insisted. There were about three inches of extra fabric pooling at his feet.

"Baby, you do know that clothes can be tailored," it wasn't a question - his slacks and his favorite coat had all been professionally shortened to fit him, you knew.

"Yeah," he said, defeated.

"C'mere," you guided him to stand on a stool. You knelt by him, folding the fabric by his ankles and pinning it carefully. "What's this about?"

"I'm going to fuck it up," he said, looking at the ceiling. "I can't do that to Sydney. Let her down again," his eyes had turned a little glassy.

"Hey," you gave his calf a gentle caress. "It's gonna be okay. You're just introducing her. She's very excited about this."

He cleared his throat. "I know." That's the problem.

"Imagine if a friend had given you your award," you prompted. "Someone you looked up to, someone as excited as you were to get it."

He hummed, biting on his lip nervously.

"The only way you'd let her down would be to not show up," you said softly, then stood up to meet his gaze. "And you are showing up, right?" you cupped his face lovingly.

He nodded. He was too tall to reach standing on the stool, so you tugged on the lapels of his suit to kiss him.

"Good," you said against his lips. "I don't want to miss it - I already chose a dress for it."

"Can I see?" he asked.

"No. It's a surprise."

"You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" he said in mock annoyance.

You smiled, walking to the counter and returning with two options of bow ties and placing them near his face.

Just then, Richie walked in.

"Hi!" you greeted him. "Help us pick."

"Right one," he pointed at the wider tie.

"I agree," you said.

"Looking like a real boy, cousin!" he teased.

"Fuck you," Carmy replied without bite.

"Chef Sydney asked me to pick up her dress," Richie said. "Ever since she got that James Beard invite thing she's become such a diva."

"She kind of deserves it, though," you said. "Here you go," you handed him the gown, a seventies number with a plunging back, inside a suit bag.

"Is he gonna be ready on time?" Richie asked you.

"Count on it," you reassured him.

“Alright!” Richie hollered from the door. "See you tonight, kids!"

The drive back to Carmy's apartment had been quiet, with him only breaking the silence to lend you his coat. His hand was on your thigh, and you felt calm and safe.

"So, was it like this when you got your award?" you asked.

"Dunno, didn't go to the ceremony," he said blankly.

"Why?"

"You know me - talking in public and shit," he shrugged.

"You were scared," you realized.

He hummed, not admitting to it but not denying it either.

"You were good tonight," you squeezed his hand. "Syd looked very happy."

He smiled. "She did."

Carmy let go of your hand for a minute to park the car, his arm around your headrest.

"You look very hot when you do that," you flirted as he turned off the engine.

"Shut up," he laughed and got out of the car, racing to open the door for you.

You walked to the apartment hand in hand, enjoying the quiet of the night. You returned his coat once you were inside, helping him turn the lights on.

"You look very pretty," he said.

You leaned into his space and kissed him, the many petticoats of your fifties dress rustling as he brought you closer.

"Thank you," you whispered against Carmy's lips. You tugged on the ends of his bowtie, undone from hours ago, making him look disheveled and beautiful. You kissed a while longer, his mouth gentle against yours, and his hair going back to that familiar mess. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your waist and lifting your skirt a little.

"Wha- what's this?" he asked, his palm landing on your upper thigh.

You smiled and turned around instead of responding. "Help me with the zip."

He did. Opening the dress carefully, caressing your sides and shoulders as he helped you get out of it. Under the dress, you were wearing a lacy bra, panties, tights and garters.

"Holy shit," Carmy said, covering his mouth.

"They're vintage. You like them?" you asked, your hands brushing over the clasps on the garters, a little self-conscious with how he was staring.

"Do I-? Fuck."

He lunged forward and kissed you hungrily, holding onto the back of your thighs until your legs were around his waist and he could carry you to the bedroom. He placed you on the bed and he cupped your face, a pleading look in his blue eyes.

"Can I- Can we do it tonight, baby? Will you- Jesus- Will you fuck my face?"

It sounded like a confession, the words getting stuck in his tongue like it was something shameful. You placed your hands over his and nodded, feeling a familiar heat pool in your belly and your chest.

"Yes."

He beamed. You dragged him by the bowtie to lie on the pillows, while you straddled his hips. After he had told you about his fantasy, you looked for some videos to see what he was talking about, what he wanted and what you'd be willing to do.

"I don't want to hurt you, Carm," you said gently, caressing his chest and unbuttoning his shirt. "Is it okay- Would it be okay if we don't do it too rough?"

You felt a little guilty, since he had been so open to fuck you hard when you had asked him to.

"It’s okay. You can do as much as you want," he said, his hands caressing your thighs, tracing the edge of your garters. "I don't want you to, like, break my nose or anything," you laughed together.

"Good, I like your nose," you said softly. He sat up to kiss you and you helped him get undressed, throwing his clothes somewhere across the room. After a while of making out and grinding on your clothed pussy, he guided you upwards, to the headboard, while he kissed down your body - your chest, your belly, your hip, until he was right underneath you.

"Hi," he said, dissipating some of the tension. You grinned.

Carmy's face between your legs was a sight you couldn't get enough of, and the change of perspective was really doing it for you. His eyes were half-lidded as he kissed the inside of your thighs. His tattooed fingers moved your panties to the side; he had insisted you kept everything on.

"I'll tap your thigh three times if I want out," he said; his breath on your pussy made you shiver.

"Okay," you swayed your hips a little, already worked up from just thinking about it. "Fuck. I don't know how to do this," you said, holding on to the headboard, your knees by the sides of his face. "Promise you'll tell me if something's wrong," you said, locking eyes with Carmy.

"Promise," he said.

He pulled on your hips until your pussy was just over his mouth. He took a deep inhale and started lapping at your wetness, small licks at your clit and long strokes up and down. You rolled your eyes and let out a long moan. As he grew more confident, he held on tighter to your thighs, pulling you downwards, keeping you close.

He sucked on your entrance, which felt nice, but it would drive you insane if it was on your clit. Gently, you grinded backwards, until his mouth was right where you wanted it.

"Holy fuck," you mumbled, staying there, back arched, while his hands caressed every inch of your legs, his touch over the tights making you hum with pleasure. "That feels so nice, Carm, so nice."

He kept sucking diligently until you were on the edge of your release and then let go. You sighed, frustrated.

Carmy went back to licking gently and kissing over your pussy, almost making out with you down there. You ran one of your hands through his hair, caressing, trying to return even a fraction of the pleasure he was giving you. He tugged on one of your garters and let go, spanking your thigh. You chuckled, loving the feeling. He went faster, humming into your pussy. You squirmed and held on tighter to the headboard, still determined to not lose control. Suddenly, he stopped sucking on you, gently biting on your thighs instead.

"Use me," he said, and then went back to sucking on your entrance.

When you tilted your hips backwards, he froze, making you grind again and again. A glance behind let you know he was touching his cock and groaning. He liked it.

You shifted a little, finding a comfortable position and started riding his face in earnest, the tip of his nose grazing your clit and his tongue fully out, caressing every fold and nerve. It was so good.

"Oh, fuck," you let out desperate noises, the beginnings of a delicious orgasm building in your belly. "Caaarmyyy," you dragged the vowels of his name into a high pitched sound.

He hummed again, vibrating into you. You could feel his right arm picking up speed on his cock.

When he went back to sucking, you grabbed his face with both hands and kept him there, on your clit until you came with a scream, too caught up in ecstasy to worry that you were squeezing the sides of his head with your thighs. Everything was white, hot, and electric.

"Fuck," he mumbled, neglecting his cock to squeeze your ass and hips, licking every drop of arousal you gave him.

"You okay?" you asked from above, panting heavily.

"Yes, perfect," he replied, his eyes wide with lust. He was still kissing and touching greedily. "Turn around."

You did. His hands guided you back above his mouth, only now your clit was on his chin and you had a clear view of his erection. You leaned forward to touch his cock, give it a couple of pumps. Underneath you, Carmy squirmed with pleasure but pulled you back on his face, away from his cock. You didn't have time to argue - his mouth was devouring you, worshiping you. The wet noises he was making were driving you insane.

His right hand gave your pussy a gentle caress, taking your arousal to use it as lube to pump on his cock.

"Holy shit, Carm," you gasped - watching him, listening to him, feeling him. It was all too much and before you realized it you were coming again all over his chin. "Fuck."

The orgasm was short, leaving you more frustrated than anything else, especially compared to the one you had before. When Carmy stopped licking, you pleaded:

"One more, can I have one more, please?"

"Yes," he sighed, warm air hitting your pussy and lighting you up again.

You leaned forward, bracing on his chest while he made you lose control once more. You used the position to play with his nipples, enjoying the feeling of him moaning into you. He snapped your garters once again in retaliation, and it made you shiver. Your grinding was becoming frantic, the hand on his cock echoed your rhythm. You moved backward until his tongue was right on your clit and his nose poked lightly at your entrance. You were so close to your release it hurt.

"Right th- right there, baby," you said, one of your hands caressing his chest and the other playing with your own breasts, staring at Carmy's weeping cock.

It built up beautifully - his moans with yours, your nails teasing over lace, his fingers holding tight to the flesh of your hips. And his mouth, fuck, his mouth.

You came with a scream, thighs shaking around Carmy's head, watching him come too while still feeling the aftershocks yourself, still grinding lightly on his nose and chin.

Slowly, you dismounted, feeling like you were made of jello, weightless and giggly. Once you got face to face with Carmy you found he was smiling too. Gently, you fixed his hair and wiped his face with a tissue. You handed him another for the mess on his stomach and chest.

After, you kissed his chin, his nose and his lips multiple times, getting the tangy taste of your arousal on your tongue too.

"Thank you," you said, feeling giddy and satisfied.

He ran his fingers down your side, until they landed on your tights.

"Thank you," Carmy said, arching an eyebrow that seemed to say 'This was my fantasy, remember?'

You smiled wide and kissed him one last time.

"Shower?" you proposed.

He nodded and followed you.

[Part 6]

@th3h0nkz

#yes i need to find jesus thanks for your concern :)#carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x you #replies

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