#and play private ryan

[mikeluciraphgabe]

I don’t think, as a fandom, we talk about Bucky and Steve fighting in one of the most gruesome and fucked up wars the modern world has seen enough (ontop of being raised by fathers who fought in the one before it)

While yes, they deserve and should be written as characters with PTSD because of what they do on the avengers/as the winter soldier/being placed in a whole new world without a say

We should also be writing them as characters who have fought in WWII and seen some fucking shit (Omaha beach, the bombs in Japan, people who where imprisoned at the concentration camp, their friends dying right next to them, helping out in the trenches, watching people loose a leg or arm, etc etc)

Ontop of this, bucky (in the comics and I think one of the cartoons) joined the army when he was like 17/18 years old. A fucking kid.

We should write more PTSD scenes of the two having flashbacks relating to WWII and not only the things I mentioned before

Steve is screaming and crying on the floor because Tony grabbed his arm from behind and- Buck is a fucking child and he’s stuck in the building, let go of me Sargent - let me go get my little brother before it blows and Tony is shushing him with “it’s okay hon, it’s just me”

Bucky is holding a gun up to his husband’s face because, just for a second, Sam (with a Halloween mask) looked like a gasser that killed a guy who pushed Bucky out of a window before said gas exploded on that floor and the guy died

More scenes of PTSD Bucky and Steve that goes to WWII

[jonny-versace]

Just watched April 13th 2016 and "He's the sort of person you want to be...... and be with" is massively underrated in Robert's insaniography, he flung that door open publicly IN COURT and it's never been close to being shut since

[rustedleopard]

Monsters are made up of "Love, Hope, and Compassion," but I see it as a metaphor for their society as a whole. The Underground society is more peaceful, due to much less competition than humans, most likely due to less access to resources, which most likely contributed to cooperation.

Perhaps because of this, their scientific and technological progress has slowed down (the closure of Steamworks and the dismissal of all engineers. And the opening of a scientific complex with ONE scientist.) although because of the magic, they probably don't need that much technology...

As I said, their society is becoming more peaceful and monsters are just more inclined to cooperate. For them, murder is an unthinkable act (remember when Ed joked "that now he is with the wind," Martlet was shocked by these words.) Perhaps the monsters have built a kind of utopia within a limited framework

Even if the monsters broke the barrier and killed all the people, many people didn't like this result very much.

(Starlo rummages through a garbage dump and finds a VHS tape of Saving Private Ryan and takes it to his gang's house to show everyone, thinking it's about cowboys;)

P.S. This is the result of my brainstorming, which I decided to share with you.

I find it interesting that people think that monsters are made of "love, hope, and compassion" when the book from the Snowdin Librarby states:

Love, hope, compassion... This is what people say monster SOULs are made of.

But the absolute nature of "SOUL" is unknown.

After all, humans have proven their SOULs don't need these things to exist. - Book 6 (from the left) in Snowdin Library

Note that it doesn't state that monster SOULs are 100% confirmed to be made of "love, hope, and compassion;" it's just what they're said to be made out of (by monsters, so this conclusion is of course going to be biased) but what monster/human SOULs are actually made of is unknown. Love and hope and compassion are things that both humans and monsters need to live though. A monster denied these things will Fall Down because, being composed of magic, their dispositions are weaker than humans and they rely heavily on their SOULs/emotional state to sustain their being.

But humans have physical bodies that aren't linked so closely to the state of their SOUL. A human will certainly not die without love and compassion and hope, but that doesn't mean that they'll remain the same. Take what Frisk turns into over the course of a No Mercy Run (and I suppose I can throw Clover in here as well, even though they're from a fan-game). They become worse, warping into violent beings that are unrecognizable as human (Frisk)/unrecognizable as their former self (Clover). It's not a literal death of the person but more of a figurative death of the self.

Or look at Flowey: former monster, now SOULless being who's become so detached from his own emotions that love and compassion feel foreign to him. He's not dying from a lack of those feelings, but the person he used to be died over time + hundreds of Resets and Reloads and he's turned malevolent. He's able to recognize himself in Frisk when they finish a No Mercy Run in the Ruins ("Hahaha... You're not really human, are you? No. You're empty inside. Just like me."). This is the closest that you will likely get to seeing what a monster could become without love, hope, and compassion without Falling Down because Asriel exists in the physical body of a flower that is sustained by DT. And here he is drawing a comparison between himself and an exceptionally cruel human, proving that humans and monsters aren't so different from each other in the matters of the SOUL.

Tl;dr, personally I don't think that monsters are made of love, hope, and compassion like they claim to be. They still bully each other. They still hurt each other. They still want to go to war against humanity* and bring about the death of humankind. That doesn't sound loving and compassionate to me. They're peaceful beings and a large part of that is because of their magical physiology that relies on them feeling good in order to exist + they're all crammed under a mountain that practically forces cooperation with one another (you're stuck with your community whether you like it or not so you might as well get along). But that doesn't make them perfect.

And I have no clue how Starlo mistakes Saving Private Ryan for a cowboy movie from the title alone, but rest assured that I doubt that the Five making it through a war movie. Or any sort of movie that's excessively violent (unless it's a western and the violence is depicted in a more glorifying way but even they have their limits). They're LARPers, entertainers, not fighters.

*Though this fixation on destroying humanity seems more like monsters focusing on some nebulous goal that comes with their freedom than actually wanting the death of the human race, judging by how quickly they give up the War as soon as the Barrier is broken. Monster society is peaceful, crimes in the Underground are of the petty variety like theft. They lack the disposition for violence, judging by how so many of them aren't actually attacking Frisk/Clover but are instead communicating via magic which is perceived as an attack by humans--and those few monsters that are attacking for real can be dissuaded with the proper ACTs. I'd imagine that because monsters are so divorced from violence, they don't truly understand the suffering that comes with it; had they been plunged into actual war, they wouldn't have lasted long.

[fanofsimonpegg]

In a VR/AR class using Unity as its engine. Love the slides use such popular & new games running on Unity as examples for its success such as Temple Run 2 and Gone Home.

A time capsule of 2013. No gachas, no suspicious space men, not even Mr. Scrunko Himself Kaname Date.

A simpler time.

[dieschwartzman]

it's daniel craig's birthday today and i'm always thinking about why the fuck my year 9 english teacher made us watch the opening scene from enduring love

[witchblade]

it inexplicably comes with the demos for forza motorsport, Conker live & reloaded and mech assault 2

[elierlick]

Tennessean trans man David Scott Ryan III transitioned in 1949, around age 26. He became a pastor in 1955 while passing as cis and preached throughout Arkansas and Oklahoma for years. Narratives like David's narratives don't often end well, but David successfully fought to live as a man! Here's his story:

Born in rural Oklahoma on 9/22/1923, David privately transitioned in 1949 before marrying his first known wife, chaplain Margie. He then married another woman named Gwyn after leaving Margie in 1953. He later married a third wife, Glenda, in 1960.

David was outed after his 1961 bigamy arrest. It's unclear if his bigamy was accidental or even real. Gwyn filed for divorce in March 1960 before he married Glenda in June, but documents do not show if the divorce was completed. Glenda filed the bigamy complaint herself for unknown reasons. Was it jealousy? Was David outed? Was she feeling neglected? Glenda did not speak with reporters.

David was far from the first trans man arrested for marrying a woman. Yet, the courts did not know what to do with him. The judge dismissed his case after 4 months of jail and he stayed out of the news for a decade.

There are countless cases like David Ryan in the mid-20th century- trans people who make the news for a few weeks before fading into history. However, thanks to new archive technology, we can trace David's story further. He re-married a woman named May Louise and they divorced in 1971. He then married for a 5th and final time to high school teacher Imogene Cox in 1975. He took up jobs at a construction equipment site and Walmart in Evansville, Indiana over the following decades.

David passed in 2002 from heart disease at age 78. The mortician must have insisted on using an "F" for David despite "M" appearing on his other documents (why?). Local news reported that David loved to play instruments and paint. 50 years after transitioning, he still worked with the church.

[rogerdeakinsdp]

Academy Award Winners for Best Cinematography: 1999 — Janusz Kamiński, ASC Saving Private Ryan (1998) Directed by Steven Spielberg Aspect Ratio: 1.85 : 1

“Steven and I really didn't want to shoot Private Ryan in black-and-white, and I think it would have been a little pretentious to do another World War II film that way. [...] We also wanted to shoot this picture in color because there is some blood in the film and we wanted to play with the reds, even though we did desaturate the colors. [...] I knew the movie would have more of a bluish tone to it, and the color of the blood on the uniforms and the ground was a primary concern. Because we were dealing with a World War II drama, the wardrobe was already muted, and since we were shooting in England and Ireland, we had day after day of foggy, rainy climate, which automatically made the light more diffused and the colors more pastel. We therefore compared various levels of ENR, and based on those tests, the special effects department mixed a certain amount of blue into the blood to make it a bit darker than they normally use.” — Janusz Kamiński for American Cinematographer, August 1998

[burnforyou]

FRAT PRESIDENT - LUIGI MANGIONE x READER

!SUMMARY! frat sweetheart gets with the frat president: Luigi. he interrupts/catches you masterbating. also im aware frat sweethearts usually don't live in the house but I don't care this is my fanfiction. (I honestly don't know how frats/sororities work). enjoy!

based off of this ask and these photos

!WARNINGS! alcohol, smut!!!!!, female masterbation, he's creepy kinda (as he always is in my fics, its a reoccurring theme), choking, a lot of force, overstim, rough + raw.

you knew once your frat president, Luigi Mangione, took his shirt off at the party, you were going to have a long night.

not in the way you might think, where you have to take care of him because he's too drunk.

no, that's his problem.

more in a way where you have to take care of yourself, privately.

you stumble up the stairs to your bedroom, your last cup threatening to come back up. you fall back onto your bed and close your eyes, tuning out the party and the rest of the world.

being a frat sweetheart is not as easy as it looks, you truly take care and love all of the boys like they're your actual brothers. and once again, it's not what you think it is.

well, there's one boy you love a little bit more than like a brother. Luigi Mangione, the fraternity president.

oh, Luigi!

you tilt your head back and press your thighs together just at the mere thought of him. you close your eyes and imagine him, his body burned into the back of your eyelids by now.

watching him take his shirt off with Jake and Ryan, he made them look so small compared to him. his back muscles rippled as he jokingly stretched, prepping to shotgun a can of beer. you bit your lip, gluttony taking over you.

you knew you were going to have a long night of fucking yourself, wishing it was Luigi, wishing he would hear you through the thin walls of your frat house and barge into your room to force himself on you.

Jake tossed him a can and he caught it with one hand, his long fingers completely wrapping around the can. you had to lean back on the fence to prevent yourself from falling over on the beer pong table. the people playing paid no attention to you gaping at Luigi from afar.

time seemed to slow down, like you were watching an old porn film from the 80s.

he punched a hole in his can with a key, tilted his head back, flicked the tab open, and began sucking the drink down. your whole body flushed and you relished in the sight.

you nearly moaned watching him swallow over and over, the drink running down his throat, as well as his bare upper body. the beer streamed down his chest and you wished you could get on your knees and lick it all off him.

you had to press your thighs together, your panties shamefully wetter than ever. they were practically sopping by the time you got up to your room.

you don't even bother taking your clothes off, you just pull your ruined panties to the side and plunge your fingers inside of yourself, gasping at the intrusion.

with your eyes closed, you're able to pretend luigi's fingers are deep inside of you, stretching you out, preparing you to take his cock. you moan out into your empty bedroom.

then you remember a little present that's sitting in the bottom of your underwear drawer: your vibrator. you hop up, dig through your drawer and smile at the sight of your loyal, small pink vibrator. how could you forget about her?

you hop back into bed and actually settle in this time: abandon your dress on the floor and hide under the safety of your blankets. you press the small "on" button and hold the buzzing vibrator onto your clit. your back arches, your hips rock and a moan slips out of you uncontrollably.

your mind flickers with images of Luigi, one sticking out more than the others: him rocking his hips into your for the first time and his jaw dropping at the sensation of your pussy gripping onto him.

you slip one finger in your hole, then another, and eagerly fuck yourself with a hunger so deep, a longing, a horrible desire for Luigi Mangione.

it feels like you're moaning right to his face, begging him to make love to you.

on the other side of the wall, Luigi has his ear pressed against the thin thing you called a wall. he gasps when your vibrator begins buzzing, the tent in his shorts growing even more.

it's so erotic, filthy, almost creepy, what's happening now. you fingering yourself, imagining him, yearning for him. him on the other side of the wall, listening to your moans and your pussy squelching around your fingers.

"oh, Luigi," you moan, louder than before, "fuck me, please!"

when he hears you moan his name, he loses all self control completely and furiously enters your bedroom. but you don't notice him.

and there you were, pleasuring yourself in front of him like a divine entity. your mouth stayed open, trembling and letting out small whimpers every time you grinded on your fingers.

your fingers, your soft hands, so small compared to his.

just wait until my fingers are inside of you.

he carefully locks the door behind him with a click. the small sound has your eyes flying open.

"luigi!" you shout in surprise, holding your covers over your chest to protect what little dignity you have left. you fumble your still-buzzing vibrator and to your demise, it rolls down off your bed and onto the floor.

he looks between the vibrator and you. your heart beats so intensely you fear he could hear it from across the room. you grip onto your bed sheets for dear life and regret all of your life choices.

unfortunately for you, your small pink magic wand rolls across the floor, right to luigi's feet. he picks it up and presses the "on" button, filling the room with a deep silence for the first time.

he stalks up to your bed agonizingly slow. his eyes ares are full of a dark emotion, which you can't tell if its desire, or anger. or both?

"what do we have here?" he smirks, holding the toy out with his thumb and pointer finger. you try and reach for it, but he's faster than you are. he swerves his arm backwards when you lunge at him, lucky enough to catch a glimpse of your nipple that you accidentally flashed. even more blood rushes to his already aching cock.

"what are you wearing?"

you hesitate, knowing you're completely bare besides your thin panties you've pulled to the side.

"come on, show me." he nods to you, reaching down to palm his cock with his empty hand.

you look up into his eyes, the look on his face sending a shiver over your whole body.

you hesitantly pull the covers off your body, revealing your chest first.

"fuck," he groans, licking his lips and continuing to touch himself, "keep going baby."

you push the sheet off the rest of your body, revealing your bare skin to him for the first time. your skin burns under his heated gaze.

"god, you're so beautiful," he mutters. he shakes his head in disbelief. his eyes run all over your body and you press your thighs together.

he crawls onto your bed, his weight on the mattress making you slide towards him slightly. his broad shoulders cast a shadow over you.

he grabs the side of your neck and forces your lips on his roughly. you had no choice but to kiss him back, moaning into his animalistic kiss. you grasp onto his collared shirt and pull him down on you, his weight crashing onto your body.

he comes up from the kiss, you two heavy breathing in unison. your eyes flutter open and your met with his built arms caged around your head. before you can look into his eyes he's ducking into your neck and kissing down the side, where his hand once was. his scruff slightly scratched your soft skin.

"you smell so good," he whispered into your neck, making you whimper softly.

he drags his hand down your silhouette, lightly grazing the side of your tit before resting on your hip, right on your waistband. he hooked his finger around the thin fabric and attempted to pull them down with your help.

he drags his tongue up your neck, nibbling on your earlobe.

"I heard you, touching yourself for me." he murmurs into your ear, "you wanted me to fuck you, hm?"

"please," you whimper softly, grasping onto his wide back.

"you wanted me to make you feel good, I'm here now," he slides his hand down to your bare, already sensitive pussy, "you're already so wet f'me."

your whole body shudders against him. he kisses you soothingly, your whimpers lost in his lips. he slides his fingers through your folds, getting them soaked in your cream. his digits teased your hole and you grasp onto his curls, pushing him down on you harder.

"please, lu," you cry into his kiss. he finally slips 2 fingers into you, his thumb stretching to press onto your clit. your back arches against him and your nipples rub against his shirt.

he breaks the kiss first and presses his forehead against yours, his eyes full of greed.

"you're so pretty," he groaned as your pussy gripped his fingers, creating a satisfying wet noise as he intruded in you. you grinded against his digits, allowing him to feel you completely.

he curled his fingers and pressed on your clit just right and whispered "cum for me."

his name fell from your lips in a moan as your orgasm washed over you. he reveled in the sight of your orgasm, your head tilted back on your pillows and thighs shaking around him. he continues fucking his fingers into your pulsing pussy, his forearm straining.

"mmm, lui," you struggle to get out, head whipping from side to side as he overstimulates you. you try and push him off you but he's much stronger than you are.

he ends up pressing his hand to your throat, cutting off your airflow, just like you wanted him to. he presses his long fingers into your sensitive skin, making sure to leave markings. you grasp onto his wrist and desperately buck against him.

"you think you're ready now?" he hissed. you try and speak but nothing comes out. you nod desperately.

he removes his hands from you and you whine at the loss of warmth, but enjoy the sight of him stripping in front of you. he sits back and takes his shirt off, revealing his chest to you again. you bite your lip at the sight, admiring the body you know he worked to have. each one of his abs were shaped so perfectly they almost looked fake. his v-line, so defined its almost edging you. his happy trail runs from his belly button to below his waistline and you wish you could feel it on your forehead as he uses your face.

"you like what you see?" he laughs at you below him.

"and what if I do?" you shrug, reluctantly tearing your eyes off his abs.

he does the same thing to you, tearing his shorts and boxers off in one go so he can finally stroke himself. he runs his thumb over his tip, already wet with pre-cum, and his eyes run down your body. he cant believe this is real, he cant believe you're really bare in front of him, begging for him to have you.

he begins stroking himself, using his pre-cum as a lubricant, his hungry eyes locking onto your breasts, rising and falling with every breath you took.

his heavy eyes fell to your hips, the ones he'd been dreaming of holding. occasionally he'd use your hips to guide you, hold you for a photo, or just slipping past you in the house, and those small touches would have him gooning later.

you have no choice but to watch as he agonizingly strokes himself in front of you. tired of waiting for him, you push yourself up and grasp the back of his head, pulling him down to kiss you. your hand came between you two and wrapped around his thick cock. your mouth watered with a need to taste him.

"shit," he groaned, breaking the kiss, "I don't have a condom."

"I don't either, it's fine, I'm clean." you assure him, kissing him again.

"I haven't been with anyone since you moved in," he murmurs through the kiss. you pump kiss cock faster, feeling his veins pulsing.

"lay back, I need you," he groans deeply. you reluctantly let go of his cock and settle back onto the pillows. he follows you, pressing his weight onto you again, your bare chests touching.

he grinds his cock through your slick folds, shuddering at the feeling. he presses his forehead onto yours and grabs the back of your head with one of his hands.

he reaches down and aligns his raw tip with your dripping hole, advancing into you finally. his jaw fell open at the feeling of your pussy gripping him.

"lu, mm," you whimpered, your mind going blank. he bottomed out and kissed your lips feverishly. the sensation of him fully in you was so overwhelming you couldn't do anything but lay there and take him. he raised his hips and slammed them back into yours, making you both moan.

"you feel so fucking good," he grunted through gritted teeth, his pace picking up. he looked down at your pussy taking him, watching his cock (which now had a ring of your arousal around the base) go in and out of you smoothly.

"god," he looked up at you and smiled, his perfect white teeth glistening. "you're amazing."

you wrapped your legs around his waist and forced him into you deeper, laying back in pure ecstasy.

the sound of his skin slapping on yours and the bed frame creaking filled the room.

it almost prevented you from hearing him sneakily turn on your vibrator.

while your eyes were closed, intoxicated on his dick, he pressed your vibrating toy onto your sensitive clit.

"oh my god," you nearly screamed, your back arching into him. he pressed you down flat again, still pounding into you while pinning the vibrator onto you.

you tried to force your legs shut but he grabbed your thighs, ferally forcing them back down on the mattress.

"It's too much," you moaned, trying to get away from him. you pushed on his lower stomach, trying to push him away. (you shamefully enjoyed the feeling of his hard abs rippling under your hand).

"you can take it," he kept on spreading you open, ruthlessly tormenting your pussy with his cock and now your toy.

"please, Luigi," you shouted, your voice mixed with pain and pleasure, "I can't do it."

he ignores your protests and blocks your throat with his hand again, successfully shutting you up and making you take it.

"that's it, pretty girl, you can do it." he leaned down to leave a peck on your forehead, but came back up quick to keep looking at you.

he thought you looked so gorgeous like this. it was electrifying, finally getting to have you. and to make you feel so good.

you resort to scratching your fingernails into his back, leaving your marks with every hard thrust.

he feels your walls clamp around him harder, his cock pulsing.

"you gonna cum again?" he asks you, knowing you cant say anything. he fucks into you impossibly harder than before, his cock hitting your cervix with every thrust.

"yeah, do it for me pretty girl, il mio tesoro, cum on my cock," he groans, still pressing the vibrator onto you.

you uncontrollably thrash under him, grasping onto his shoulder with your nails. your second orgasm hit you with much more force than the first, the coil in your stomach coming undone much harder. your vision went dark and you came all over his raw cock. you clamped around him so hard he almost couldn't fit inside of you, your cum overflowing all over the bed and his skin.

somewhere in your high, he turned the vibrator off and stored it away.

when you came down, he finally slipped out of you and fell back on the bed beside you, heavy breathing. sweat dripped down both of your bodies and the sheets was soaked beneath you.

you were too caught up in your own pleasure to notice that he didn't finish.

you finally opened your eyes and were met with him gazing at you, a light smile on his face.

"hey, bella ragazza, how are you?" he whispers.

"I'm better than ever."

"you need some water?" he asks, gently reaching for the water bottle on your nightstand. you nod silently. he holds the bottle up to you and you take a small sip.

"you probably need this more than me, you did all the work." you smile lazily. he shakes his head and smiles.

"I'm sure your throat is sore, drink."

you giggle.

"did you like that, by the way," he asks shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"I did," you nod, affirming his worries, "maybe a little too much."

"oh, you're freaky." he laughs.

"hmph, only for you."

he takes a swig out of the bottle and your eyes fall down his body, noticing his dick is still hard.

"hey, lu, did you cum?"

"that'll be for another time baby, I have a frat party to attend to," he says, slipping out of your bed.

"you promise?" you hold onto his arm and whimper, desperate for him.

he leans down and kisses your forehead. "I promise. go to sleep now, we'll talk in the morning."

as your eyes flicker shut, he puts his once-discarded clothes back on. he grabs your panties and vibrator, shoving them into his pocket.

later that night, you felt the bed dip and a body pull your back against them. you tried to fight it, but their strong arms held you against them.

"shhh, its just me, go back to sleep." Luigi whispered against your hair.

MASTERLIST - PREV WORK

part 2 incoming where the rest of the frat brothers plan them a frat wedding and he Monica Lewinsky's all on my gown! or another part where he buys you a remote controlled vibrator and makes you wear it at another frat party??????? omg I am meaningless mush.

anyways I'm so emo bc we're not gonna see Luigi until January or February :( I hope he's okay :((((

!TAGS!

@strawbrriess @bellobambino @f4nfic-lover @btcowboy @chmpgneprblem @soggysouppp @hereandqueer6540 @poohkie90 @bricapallen16 @miarosalie11 @v1rtualsalvat10n @hypnotizedbyhood @webanglikethat @croucify @cumdnmp @ga33y3 @zeervzn @marzipanlvr @seesaw-it @raekensluver @ddlydevotion @hujirose @darleneslane

[hyuckysunflower]

Our Messes

Omg so after not writing for YEARS I am finally back. So I've never written anything suggestive, like ever actually but I've been doing lots of research sooo please let me know if its underwhelming or if there's anything I can do to improve my writing!!

Paring : BFF!Haechan X YN/Reader

Genra : Smut (MINORS DNI)

Warnings : Drinking, Majority mutual maturation

Word Count : 2k

You’ve drank with Haechan plenty of times before. He was your drinking buddy. One of the only ones that could keep pace with you. Tonight wasn’t anything different. You both decided to go over to his place to just hang out, the semester had just wrapped up and you were both ready to sit back and rewind.

“Can you bring me another mixed drink? Prettttty please with a cherry on topp?” you slurred out with a little giggle. You were feeling flushed. It had been a few hours since you both started drinking. You can tell Haechan was getting a little tipsy too. On his way to the kitchen he was swaying his hips and moving his hands back and forth, doing a little dance.

After he brought back your drink, you took a big gulp and relaxed on his couch. You both fell into a steady conversation of anything and everything above. “Okay, okay. What's the weirdest porn you’ve ever jerked off to?” you asked him with a giggle. Sex isn’t an uncommon topic between you two. You went to him after you lost your virginity to tell him about it. And in return he told you about all his hook ups. It wasn’t awkward between you two. 

“Fuck, I don’t know what it was called but the whole thing was awkward as fuck.” He patted around on the couch for the tv remote before finding it and clicking on the tv. “It wasn't even like one of those amature videos where they’re just enjoying themselves. They both just stood there and made eye contact with the camera, threw in some out of place agent roleplay, and then they started touching each other. It was so stiff.” He chuckled before pulling up porn hub. You both talked about your sex lives pretty often, but you’ve never watched porn together. Your heart sped up a bit but you let go of the thought, blaming it on you both being drunk.

“No way! Do you have a premium account? Dude what? You get enough action. I doubt you need it! It’s just a waste of money Haechan!” you bent forward laughing, grabbing your stomach. He held his hand to his chest in mock hurt.

“No, it’s actually so helpful. For one I can see my history so that I can go back and rewatch the stuff I like, and two, how do you think I keep the ladies coming? In more ways than one,” he smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. You giggled and held your hand over your mouth.

“I was guessing your ruggish good looks, “ you mocked. He shook his head, a playful smirk still on it. He scrolled through his history, coming up to one with a cheesy title before his eyes lit up and he pointed at it. “Oh my god, Saving ‘Private’ Ryan? Really?”

“Oh yeah, that’s the one.” He clicked on it before some royalty-free music started to play on the title screen. The video opened up to two people, the woman already naked standing and staring at the camera. There was a brief pause before the woman started to talk.

“Ooh,” she moaned out exaggeratedly before turning to the man who had boxer briefs on. “Ryan! Your privates,” she paused to look at the camera, “they’re stuck in your underwear, I need to save them.”

“Oh my god Haechan. How the hell did you stumble across this let alone masterbate to it,” you paused as the lady on the screen pulled down the man’s briefs, pulling out his cock. ‘I need to give it CPR’ you hear her say before rolling your eyes with your hand pointed out to it. “what a masterpiece,” you deadpanned.

“What are you even talking about? I was doing research for roleplaying okay? Sue me for wanting to be knowledgeable,” he emphasized the syllables. You shook your head hiding your entertained smile. Your body felt like it was on fire. “Okay, do you have any BETTER videos oh wise one?” he tossed the remote to you, it smacked your thigh, leaving a red mark in its place. You glared at him but there was no bite to it. You went to the search bar typing in some words before results started to pop up. “Oh my god Y/N, you’re a stepbro truther?” he eyed you skeptically, but there was some underlying look you couldn’t pick up on.

“Okay don’t jump down my back Haechan,” you rolled your eyes. “Some of them have decent acting, okay? This one pulls off the taboo part of it so well actually,” you clicked on a video that was familiar. Everything went quiet as you both focused on the video. The overheating feeling you felt earlier only seemed to get stronger. You still felt light headed from the drinks you had. Speaking of, you leaned forwards to grab your drink off the table. You missed the look Haechan throws at the exposed skin of the back of your thighs. His eyes focused on how they stuck a little to his leather couch. You were wearing some short pajama shorts, anticipating a sleepover that usually happens after you guys drink, and a tight take top that he noticed hugged the curves of your boobs in all the right places.

In hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have put something on that you frequently watched whenever you had alone time. You crossed your legs, thighs rubbing together to soothe the aching that started in your core. You could already feel how your panties stuck to you with the wetness that had undoubtedly started to leak out. You glanced over at Haechan, not turning your head. He was staring intently at the screen, his chest rising and falling a little quicker than usual. You looked down to his lap. He had his hand resting on his thigh, fiddling with the hem of his basketball shorts. That's not what caught your eye though. It was the bulge that was unmistakable. You quickly shot your eyes back to the TV, trying to get your eyes to focus on anything else besides your best friend’s dick.

Haechan let out a low groan. You almost didn’t hear it over the sounds from the TV. You would’ve thought it came from the video if Haechan didn’t adjust himself, his hand hovering over his boner. “You’re right Y/N,” his voice sounded husky saying your name. Your thighs tightened. “The acting isn’t bad. Her facial expression is so hot,” he laid his head back, resting it on the back of the couch, looking down to continue watching the video. “You can tell she’s tight as fuck the ways she’s sucking him in,” His eyes glazed over. Hand twitching in his lap, trying to refrain from palming himself.

Your heart sped up. You guys talk pretty vulgar all the time. But this? This was different. You guys have never actually talked this dirty together and meant it.

“See?” It came out in an exasperated gasp, “So much better than the one you put on,” He nodded his head focusing on the screen ahead. You grabbed the throw blanket that you leave at his apartment for sleepovers and draped it over your legs. Even though you were so overheated, you needed to put something on you to not make it how obviously turned on you were. You held your thighs, gripping them with your fingertips, the heel of your hand rubbing against your clit slightly. You exhaled a sigh as it alleviated a little bit of the pressure building in your stomach. You focused on the video just in time for the guy to manhandle the girl, flipping her to knees and holding his hands on her lower back, pinning her in place. A whine escaped your lips as you moved your fingers to play with yourself a little more. “That’s my favorite part,” you whispered, eyes squinting a bit as you try to control your voice and facial expressions. “The guy I was with was so gentle, but I kept hoping for something like that.” You didn’t even realize what you were saying. You were just speaking your thoughts.

Haechan’s eyes rolled back slightly at the mental image of pinning you down and drilling into you until you were a fuck out heap on his sheets. He won't lie and say he's never looked at you with a wandering eye, but he valued your feelings and your friendship too much to make any moves on you. 

He glanced at you and saw you covered under the blanket. Disappointment sparked when he realized he couldn’t stare at one of his favorite spots on you, your thighs. That was until he saw the little quivers and shakes your arms and legs did. He looked at your face and saw how flushed you were, your hair sticking to your forehead slightly, your pupils blown wide as you watched the scene in front of you. He noticed how your eyebrows pinched together when your legs especially shook.His self restraint broke as he gave in and started to palm himself through his basketball shorts.

The video ended as you both stared at the blank screen. You held out the remote to Haechan, your voice airy. “You can pick the next one.” You didn’t question why you wanted another video to watch and neither did he. He grabbed the remote from your hands, his fingers brushed against your palm. Electricity shot up your arm, you both locked eyes for a moment before you looked down to his lap where he was rubbing himself. “You,” you paused for a moment gathering the courage, anticipation in the air. “You can take it out if you want.”

He smirked but complied, eyes heavy and barely focused. He slipped his fingers underneath the band of his shorts and shimmied them down his thighs taking his boxers with it. Once free, his member sprang up, hitting his navel. You’ve never seen him naked. You’ve seen him shirtless yeah but never like this, but somehow he was bigger than what you figured. His beautiful honey skin was damp with sweat. His thighs flexed as he grabbed himself with his hand, giving it a few tugs and letting out a breathy sigh. He clicked a video, one neither of you guys had seen. There was no point to it. Neither one of you were focused on the video, both of you stealing sneaky glances at the other when you thought they weren't looking.

Your hand was completely in your shorts now, underneath your panties. Your finger slipped around rubbing friction against your night ball of nerves. Your legs were completely spread open as you chased your high. The blanket slipped off one of your legs exposing your bare thighs as they flinched with each roll off your fingers. Haechan was lost in the new exposed skin, zeroing in on where your hand laid in your shorts moving. He threw his head back and laid it to the side watching, his hand moving to match the pace and rhythm of your tight circles.

He looked up towards your face, flushed and beautiful. Your eyes were tightly shut, eyebrows drawn together. A few seconds later your shoulders shook with your climax as you let out a slow whine, your head leaning against your shoulder as you eased through the end of your release. Haechan felt his stomach light up in fire watching you fuck yourself through your release. He felt his following quickly.

You opened your eyes to a breathtaking sight. Haechan had his head relaxing back against the couch, eyes gently closed with his mouth hanging open with quiet moans coming out. You watched how quickly he stroked himself. His shoulders tensed before he let out a long drawn out high pitched moan. His eyes met yours before he climax, his cum shooting to his stomach hitting it and spilling over his fist that held himself tight.

It was quiet for a few minutes. Just you two catching your breaths staring at each other and the messes you’ve made. You were the first to break the silence. You chuckled, letting out a huff. “What type of drink did you get me?” you joked and he laughed a breathy one.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I grabbed things from the liquor cabinet and hoped for the best,” He pulled his shorts up, cringing at the mess he made on himself. “Let me grab something to clean ourselves with. Then we can lay down for the night.” He grunted as he got up on the couch. You watched him as he walked away. The start of anxiety forms in your belly. How are you guys going to talk about this? How should you even address it?

All thoughts flew out of your mind as Haechan came back from the kitchen, minus a shirt with a goofy grin on his face. You smiled at him. You guys could figure this out later. Right now, you just want to keep in the moment smiling and laughing together.

[theblacklewinsky]

Note: I'm feral for this man and this song + struggling w my writing format ( im new to this omg )

JADED | AARON PIERRE.

Toxic!Terry Richmond x Black!Female Reader.

warnings: MNDI!! this story is 18+ with depictions of but not limited to; sexual content ( finger!ng), extreme language (cursing, use of n-word, use of b-word), talking you through it. lil bit of exhibitionism if you squint, mild daddy k!nk.

summary: in which you decide to end the toxic situation-ship you share with Terry— except this man only know how to suck you back in.

tell me that we locked in, locked in, look in my eyes.

tell me that you mine and we ain't just fuckin, ain't just vibin.

Why were you nervous? It wasn't like you'd never been in the very same GMC pickup before—oh you'd been in here plenty times, plenty times. Your eyes flickered to whatever they could, other than him.

The backseat.

The same backseat you'd been folded. flipped, and fucked out on. It was clean now, he'd definitely had some detailing done, the remnants of how he made you squirt only two weeks earlier had vanished, once etched into the seat itself.

And why were you sad about that?

You averted your eyes away from the backseat, firmly turning straight forward in the passenger seat, teeth nervously gnawing at the skin in your jaw. It was way too silent and tense in the truck. Way too silent. "Hi..” you sheepishly muttered, tucking a stray curl from your wash and go behind your ear, eyes darting around the parking lot of your apartment complex. The parking lot was the safest option for you, you knew how incredibly intoxicating Terry was, which meant the more space from your bedroom, the better.

Out of your peripheral, you could see Terry's face contorted into a twisted mix of confusion anger. His brows furrowed together, a mug presenting itself on his face. "What the fuck?" He spat. "Wassup?" He asked, his tone more accusatory than anything.

Where the fuck did he get off acting hurt and confused? That was supposed to be your stance in this whole thing, hurt and confused. And most of the time it was. But tonight, it was a nice change of pace, the hurt and confusion lingered on Terry instead—in which you could finally take on the nonchalant and curt demeanor. It felt so good too. So good to finally not be the one with the lump in their throat, eyes burning from blinking back tears. This felt, good.

"Nothin', just chillin," you simply responded, playing with the smartphone in your lap, acrylic nails tapping at the casing.

"Fuck you mean just chillin?" He asked his brows furrowed as he tried to catch your darting eyes. "You ain't been seein' me text you?"

"Yeah?" You responded slowly in a questioning tone, as you focused on the ASICS on your feet. "Been busy lately."

You seen Terry texts. Shit, the past couple of days he'd been the one blowing you up. It started the other night when he rung your bell and you didn't answer, you knew it was him, and he knew you were home. Lights still on and bright in the kitchen.

Private Ryan: Just rung the bell

Private Ryan: Come out.

Private Ryan: I'm sorry for the way I acted the other night. I ain't handle that situation like a man. Lemme make it up to u

It was so hard ignoring Terry, he made it hard. He didn't text or call often, he wasn't hardcore into his phone like the rest of the generation, maybe the marines played a part in that? Hell, he made sure to stay active in an effort not to get addicted to his cellular device—that's why when he texted it was a big deal.

But no way this nigga thought that you'd be at his every beck and call when he couldn't even solidify a title between the two of you? Casual sex and jealousy gets old—especially when it isn't under the terms of a relationship.

It was fun at first, linking up and sneaking off. Getting folded like a lawn chair when you least expected it, but there was something about Terry that brung the strings to a no-strings-attached situation. You started craving him, wanting him, and you made that very clear, but Terry made his intentions crystal clear from the beginning. How could you fault him for not wanting what you want? But how he could he also fault you for the change in your attitude?

"Busy?" He repeated the word like it disgusted him. His burning gaze tore through you, you could feel the heat radiating from his glare. Terry let out a heavy breath, gently tapping his fist against the staring wheel as he finally averted his gaze to the windshield. Thank Q!

But as he tore his gaze away from you, you centered yours on him. And why the fuck would you go and do that? Knowing how gorgeous he was, especially when he was pissed off? Clenching and unclenching his jaw. He had some nerve coming over here with a fresh cut. Everything so lined up and sexy—

"I came over here, a few days ago," he sternly spoke, the rough edge to his voice only setting off the throbbing in your pussy, "and you know that 'cause you was home, lights on and shit, I'm textin' you and you reading the shit in real time. What the fuck?" He repeated the three words once again. His voice growing rougher by the second.

"Two weeks ago, I'm fillin' you up and today you actin' cold as hell? Fuck is goin on?"

And why did he keep saying all the wrong shit? Filling you up was an understatement, he was stuffing you to the brim quite literally, to the point where he had bottomed out and was still tryna give you more. Filling you up, ha.

"I can't do this anymore, Terry," the words came out of your mouth abruptly, almost like you could trust yourself to say them. Terry sat there unwavering, he didn't speak, he didn't move. This only prompted you to continue. "It's too much, we both want...different things. And I'm tired of feeling like I'm overextending myself to you, being too available for you. I can't do...whatever this is anymore."

"Pea..”

"Don't do that," you firmly responded. The direct eye contact didn't seem to deter you this time. There he went. Playing those mind games. Calling you that nickname. Pea. A shorter version of the popular nickname your grandfather frequently referred to you as, sweet pea.

Terry kissed his teeth. Oh he thought he knew what was up. It'd became clear as a day. "You fuckin' somebody else." The words came out soft, quiet almost as if there had been a realization.

You let out a heavy sigh, your eyes rolling at the comment, " I'm not having sex with anyone, Terry." You spoke truthfully. As if you could. He made that hard enough, he stuffed you perfectly. He knew how to find that spot inside of you so easily, almost like he vacationed there in his spare time. He knew exactly what made your eyes roll back, what made that squeal in the back of your throat come barreling out, he knew your body too well to let anyone else come and have a gander.

"But I am dating," you said more quietly than you anticipated. Maybe it's because the recent dates haven't been anything to brag about. Not that your online dating profile and messages to your homegirl hadn't been highly specific, you've been attracting the same types. Baby daddies and men way too old to still be trying to just hook up. "And I know what I want, and it's not this...anymore. I wanna be able to climb in bed with a man and wake up beside him too, and not worry about him being hot or cold, or when I'll see him again," yuck. Why did you feel that damn lump in your throat again?

"I'm so tired of feeling disposable." You finalized. Flashing your watery eyes to the window adjacent to you. You weren't gonna cry in front of him. Shit, you weren't that tender. But all your feelings hitting you at once in this situation made you more emotional than you gambled for. You knew the nonchalant facade would only last so long on you. Terry was trained in that shit. He had a poker face like no other.

Terry didn't deter his gaze from you, his gorgeous eyes soft and lingering. "I don't try to make you feel disposable, Pea."

"Yeah, well, you don't have to try. You just do." You mumbled quietly. "That's why I don't wanna do this shit anymore."

Terry kept his eyes on you, reaching his large hand out to grasp your smaller one at a failed attempt at interlacing your fingers when you snatched away.

"Stop, Terry!" You frowned folding your arms. "I'm serious. No more calling, and texting, and popping up at my place."

He barely acknowledged you, kissing his teeth and leaning over the center console to rub his hand across your tummy, gripping your sides. "Why you actin' like that? Like you don't miss daddy?" He mumbled softly, pressing soft kisses to your temple.

This man didn't give up. Your restraint was at zero, and just like that you were putty.

You shook your head, arms still crossed as you let out a small whimper in which you claimed to be a protest. Eyes lowering at his wandering hands. "Hm, you don't miss daddy?" He asked in response, his hand sliding back over your tummy, fingers fondling with the button on your shorts.

This is exactly what you wanted to avoid, that was the whole point of the parking lot. Far away from a bed. But you should've known that you didn't need a bed with Terry.

And yet, just like a dumb bitch you shook your head once again. Playing into his sick little game.

He trailed his soft, teasing lips down your cheek until he reached your neck, leaving a searing trail behind on the skin there. You sucked your bottom lip in, a solid attempt at trying to keep whatever moans he was pulling out of you at bay. You couldn't betray yourself even more than you had already done. You came down here to end things, and instead you were about to get folded in half once again. The circle of life if you will.

"You don't miss me? So why you lettin' me take these off you right now?" He asked. Oh he was soo condescending. He tugged on the bottom of your shorts, and look at you, lifting up to help him earning a chuckle. You were so easy. "Nipples been hard ever since I touched you," he mumbled in between kisses to your neck, his hand busying itself up to your breast while your shorts slid down your legs, rubbing your hardened nipple through the thin fabric of your tank top.

You suck in a sharp breath. Your body was on fire. You felt like you were on fire. Every kiss made you hotter, and the way he was touching you had your pussy fluttering. You had to be ovulating, this shit wasn't normal.

"That pussy so wet, I know it," he spoke, his voice lower, lips sucking on the thin flesh on the side of your neck, hand roughly parting your thighs earning another isolated whimper from you. His hand rubbing the inside of your thighs, leaving a lingering tingle behind. He was such a fucking tease sometimes.

He kissed his way back to your cheek, all the while his hands left soft slaps, and grips to your inner thigh. Your eyes fluttered closed at his constant teasing, breathing uneven as hell. You felt like you were swelling with need.

"Look at you, baby," he hummed against your ear, "you a horny fuckin' mess," he tsk'd in your ear, fingers dancing over to your pussy. Fingers lazing dancing over your slit through the thin fabric of your panties. A shaky breath slipped past your lips a soft drawn out moan following. Hell, the betrayal was already done.

"Niggas not treatin' my bitch right, huh?" He rhetorically asked referring to your dates, his own eyes focusing on the lazy dance his fingers were doing on your barely exposed pussy, until he quickly got bored and used those same fingers to move the fabric aside. "Can't be, otherwise you wouldn't be this fuckin' turned on right now." He answered his own questions, fingers immediately doing slow, hypnotizing circles on your clit.

"Fuhhh," you moaned out in response, arms immediately parting so that you could grip onto the sides of your seat for a sense of stability.

"Mhm," he hummed in response, "pussy wet just like I thought," he mumbled dragging his pointer and middle finger up and down your pussy a few times before slowly slipping the both of them in your heated core at once earning a choked out moan from you. You fit around his fingers so perfectly, almost as if he'd molded your pussy to do so.

His brows furrowed as his fingers searched inside of her, knuckle deep, "fuck," he cursed, "look how you suckin' my fingers in you like that. You missed daddy, this fuckin' pussy missed me."

It wasn't like you could respond at all, he was literally pulling your moans out of you with his fingers. His free hand had busied itself with pulling up your tank top and exposing your braless titties.

"Look how you came out here," he kissed his teeth, fingers massaging your slippery insides, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching on his fingers filled the pickup truck, his other fingers pulling and tugging on your hardened nipples, squeezing softly before quickly pulling away. "Barely fuckin' dressed, you wanted this. You wanted daddy to get you right, huh?"

"Talkin' about' dates, you don't want them fuckin' clowns," he hummed peppering soft kisses on your cheek, his fingers attacking that delicious spot inside of you. "You just want daddy to flood that pussy again? Make you his bitch?"

"Oouu shit, daddy!" You moaned out, eyes squeezing shut as your head lazily fell against his shoulder. Him humming in agreement to your moans followed by a cocky chuckle. "Right there, right there!" You rushed out. Your resolve had slipped away a long time ago.

"Where baby?" He cooed,his tone condescending. "Right here?" He asked his fingers never deterring from the spot, instead he pushed them deeper, faster.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as his fingers continued to work inside of you, he whispered other obscenities to you as he finger fucked you good. Deliciously good. So good that you couldn't decipher or comprehend anything he'd been saying. The sound of your pussy around his fingers was sending you to another bliss you didn't know you could reach.

"Listen to how messy that pussy sound on my fingers, baby," he groaned, his free hand gripping your face firmly, tilting your head up from his shoulder so that he could watch your facial expressions closely. He smiled as he watched you; eyes squeezed shut, lips forming into that familiar frown he knew so well, a long whine following suit.

"Yeah, that pussy wanna cum for daddy don't she?" He asked placing a sloppy kiss on your parted lips.

"Oh my god," you whined your brows furrowing as you opened your watery eyes to Terry looking down right at you.

"Yeah, she do," he mumbled nodding his eyes focusing in on the assault his fingers were doing to your pussy before slipping them out slowly, rubbing the stickiness he accumulated on his fingers onto your clit in slow, agonizing circles earning a whine from you. "You better not fuckin' cum though," he mumbled quietly to you, hand softly tapping against your cheek.

"Don't..cum?" You slurred through a moan for confirmation. You could barely comprehend what he was saying, you were so deliciously close. So close.

"Don't cum," he slapped his finger against your pussy lightly, the wet plaps almost enough to send you over the edge. Only almost though. "Get in the backseat, I wanna get in that pussy." He spoke hand slapping down on your sensitive pussy once again, sending trembles to your already weakened legs.

—

cheers to my first fanfic on here lolz! feedback and criticism always welcome 💗💕 hope you enjoyed xx!

[bullet-prooflove]

Mack The Knife: John Carter x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @anna-bailey @ofsoapsuds @queenslandlover-93 @gemofspace

Summary: You come face to face with a nightmare in John's apartment.

Companion piece to:

Dreamer (NSFW) - John dreams of you when he's with someone else.

Little John - You try to keep John's mind off the task at hand.

The First One Is Always The Hardest - You comfort John after the death of a patient.

Forget-Me-Nots - John wakes up hung over in a strange bed and with an unexpected memento of the night before.

Speak Your Truth - John speaks his truth in the aftermath of a tragedy.

Trauma - John makes a realisation after his confession.

Fever - John gets more than he bargained for when he attends a friend's stag party in a Chicago Speakeasy.

Minx (NSFW) - John had no idea he had such a deviant little minx on his hands.

Always - You and John discuss the reasons behind your dancing.

Diamonds - John's friend and rival makes you an offer you can't refuse.

The Stethoscope - John's world is turned upside down when he finds your stethoscope in his locker.

Elderberry Wine - You come home to find John waiting for you.

Sex, Lies and Cocaine Dreams - John takes his revenge on the man that shattered your dreams.

By The Grace of God - An unexpected ally goes to bat for you during your beard hearing.

Choices - You and John discuss your options moving forward.

The Sexual Revolution (NSFW) - You decide to give John a private show before the event.

A Love Story - Your performance sparks an unexpected conversation with Gamma.

The Problem With Winning The War - The problem with winning the war is that you don't expect the second attack.

The first thing you do when you step into John’s apartment is put a vinyl on the record player. You’re feeling something that fits the era you’ve been playing to tonight so you choose Mack The Knife. It’s one of John’s favourites. You tease him about it being a murder ballad and he reminds you it’s the first song he danced with you to at Soloman’s bar back in the day.

You’re singing along to the second chorus when you hear the door open behind you, you don’t glance over your shoulder. You’re too busy making tea so that you can both settle down for the night.

“I decided to make you Earl Grey because you’re such a classy bitch.” You drawl, swaying to the music as you place the tea infuser into his mug. “You don’t have any lemon though so I…”

You can’t describe how you know in that moment that it’s not John standing in the apartment with you. Women’s brains, they’re attuned to register danger in a way that men’s aren’t, picking up tiny details that alert your senses long  before you even begin to understand them. A heavier footstep, a different cologne, the slight rasp of breath you know has never left your lover’s mouth.

You process all of this in a fraction of a second before you turn around to face the man who is not John Carter.

Ryan Burkefield II stands before you, the man who tried to extort you for sex, who almost made you lose your entire career. He’s more dishevelled than the last time you saw him, a beard has grown in over those chiselled features of his, his hair is longer, more unkempt.

It’s the knife that you focus on, the way it glints dangerously underneath the dome light in the kitchen. It hangs alongside him, grasped tightly in his hand as blood drips onto the tiles underneath your feet. Your breath catches as you stare at it because you know it’s John’s blood, you feel it deep down in your heart.

“Is he dead?” You ask him, your voice barely more than a ragged whisper.

“Soon.”  He says shrugging his shoulders. “I left him bleeding out in the parking lot in front of that fucking Jeep of his.”

Already your instincts are kicking in, mentally running through the items in the apartment you can use to stifle the bleeding. You make a move towards the drawer where the kitchen towels are kept and the blade flashes. A burst of pain erupts through your left forearm as the skin splits, blood rushing to the surface, running down your arm.

“I need to help him-”

“No you don’t.” He snarls, pointing the knife at you as you throw up your hands up to show compliance. “What you need to do is do as you fucking told.”

“You haven’t told me what you want-”

“Come on Crystal, you know what I want.” He drawls, the blade teasing along the neckline of your white tank top. The fabric begins to separate as he slices down, just a couple of inches, enough to display your cleavage. “I want what he had that night. You in that bed, begging for me to fuck-”

He doesn’t see the kettle coming, the one you’ve just boiled for the tea. It’s a metal Russell Hobbs, something you made fun of John for buying because it was so stupidly shiny but now your fucking glad because all that stainless steel, it makes this thing scalding hot. He screams as it makes the connection, it’s a piercing shrill sound that erupts through the entire apartment as you swing your arm back, his skin ripping from his face, sticking to the kettle before you hit him again. He goes down this time, the knife clattering across the floor, spinning underneath the kitchen table.

“You better pray to fucking God he isn’t dead because I will track you down in whatever hospital they put you in and make sure you are.” You snarl before using your thumb to open the lid and upending the entire kettle of boiling water all over him.

The screaming starts again as you discard it, snatching up the kitchen towels out of the drawer before you take off down the hall. You don’t bother with the elevator, you race down the stairs two at a time, hitting the fire door at the bottom with such force that it smashes against the wall as you burst through it.

Al the Doorman’s head pops up like meerkat from behind the reception desk where he’s eating the Falconi’s pizza, one he must have walked across the street to pick up in his fifteen minute break.

“Call the police and an ambulance.” You bark at him and to his credit, he’s on his feet in an instant, the phone in his hand. “There’s a guy in 374 that’s just stabbed John Carter in the parking lot.”

You’re already out in the street by the time he dials 911, hauling ass towards the Jeep. You find John tucked between it and a neighbour’s car, hidden completely from view. His body is sprawled out across the tarmac, his skin deathly pale under the glow of the street lamp. His eyes are closed, his breaths short and labours as plumes of crimson stain the puddles of water around him.

“It’s alright babe, I’m here.” You murmur as you drop down beside him, your fingers seeking out his jugular. His pulse beats against your fingertips, weak and thready.

The back of his shirt is drenched in blood, you can taste  the copper on your tongue as you yank the fabric up so that you can get a clearer picture of the wound. What you see… you wish you’d beaten the fucker upstairs to death with that kettle.

It didn’t just stab John, he twisted the knife to cause maximum damage.

You bundle up the towels as tightly as you can, thrusting them against the wound. The only thing you can do now is keep pressure on it until the ambulance arrives.  In the distance, you can already hear the sirens, your chest filling with relief as red and blue lights cascade through the parking lot.

“They’re here now baby.” You tell him, waving your hand in the air so the EMTs can see you between the parked cars. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

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[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |9|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Fighting, Guns, Violence, Attempted Murder, Shooting

Word Count: 3.5k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

You and Sam walked back to Blackmore in a comfortable silence. You preferred the quiet and appreciated that she didn’t ask you questions or push you on anything. Sam had no reason to trust you, but she was taking a chance, and you were going to make sure to prove you were worthy of her trust. When you got to Blackmore you and Sam sat on one of the benches outside the building that held Tara’s class until she came out half an hour later. As soon as you had her, the three of you went back to the apartment.

When you got back to the apartment Tara flung her backpack into the corner and plopped herself down on the couch, kicking her feet up as she reached for the remote on the coffee table. She flicked on the TV and instantly began scrolling through one of the streaming apps.

You mindlessly watched at Tara continued to scroll until you felt her eyes on you. You glanced at her and waited to see what she would say. Mindy was the most suspicious of you, which was fair, though she seemed to be more of a conspiracy theorist than anything, Chad seemed almost too trusting of you, it was slightly concerning, and Tara seemed to be hesitant of you, like Sam was with everyone, though she wasn’t as paranoid Sam. The one thing different about Tara though was half her suspicion seemed to come from just being protective of her sister.

“Do you like movies?” Tara asked, squinting her eyes as she waited for your response.

You shrugged. “I’ve seen a few,” you said.

That seemed to make Tara only narrow her eyes even more. “What’s your favorite movie?” You opened your mouth to give her what would probably be an unsatisfactory answer once again. “Wait! Let me guess,” she turned so half her body was facing you. “Saving Private Ryan!” You opened your mouth, but she didn’t stop there. “No! Hacksaw Ridge!” You closed your mouth and waited; you knew she wasn’t done yet. “You have a dog you love,” she mumbled more to herself than you. “War Horse!” She clapped her hands, quite proud of herself for that one. “Wait!” She shot her hand out, grabbing you on your arm as if you were about to get up and leave. “The Patriot.”

You waited a second to see if she had any more, but she just looked at you with a raised eyebrow. You chuckled to yourself with a shake of your head. “All military related because I’m in the military?” You asked.

She shrugged. You playfully rolled your eyes. “Those are all great movies,” you started. You caught Sam out of the side of your eye, she was in the kitchen making a sandwich, but she tilted her head just slightly, indicating she was listening. “The superhero stuff is also good. I-”

“I bet you’re a Captain America person,” Tara cut you off. You rolled your eyes. “You give off the same vibes.”

You gave her a thankful nod. You had never been compared to Captain America before and you were truly honored, though you were inclined to disagree with her. “Cap is great,” you said. “And Steve Rogers is definitely much cooler than me.” Tara shrugged, seeming to agree with you on that. “But I’ve always been more of a Batman person.”

Tara looked at you and nodded her head. “That tracks.” You tilted your head in question, but she didn’t elaborate any further.

“But my default movie, the one I’m always cool to watch, The Mummy.”

“Where Brendan Frazier plays a soldier,” Tara nodded, clearly not surprised by the answer.

“Only in the beginning do the movie,” you defended. Seriously the movie started with him figuring in the desert but that was it when it came to military related things. Unless Tara was also counting the pilot they found to fly them back out there.

“So, you just really love mummies?” Tara raised an eyebrow.

“The Mummy is fantastic, it’s got everything, action, comedy, a supernatural element, and romance. There should be no explanation required.” You had never had to defend liking The Mummy before, you thought Sam’s sister was going to school for film, you figured she’d know this better than anyone. “Oh, and Rachel Weisz,” you added.

“All good points,” Sam said, coming back into the room. She handed you a bottle of water before taking her seat in the chair next to the couch. You gave her a thankful smile; you hadn’t even asked for a drink for her to just bring one to you.

“You too?” Tara shouted, whipping her head around so fast you were surprised she didn’t get whiplash.

Sam shrugged as she curled her feet up on the chair, tucking them under her before reaching for her sandwich on the coffee table. “Who doesn’t love Brendan Frazier and Rachel Weisz,” she said as if they explained everything.

Sam went on to eat her sandwich while Tara was looking at her sister in a whole new light, as if she was seeing her sister for the first time. You were still new and getting to know the sisters, but you were curious why Sam liking The Mummy would be so surprising. Tara just stared at her sister for several minutes before finally going back to scrolling for a movie, finally deciding to settle on The Mummy.

Not long after the movie ended did Chad walk in with a stack of three pizza’s, quickly followed by the others. “Dinner is served!” Chad said, holding up the pizza’s as he took them to the dining table.

“Thanks for picking them up,” Sam said as she got up to grab some paper plates.

Chad waved her off and flipped open all three boxes. Each pizza was different, there was a plain cheese, a pepperoni, and then a meat lovers. You and Tara got up to join the others around the table, everyone grabbed their slices and then went off to separate corners of the room. Quinn took the seat across the room, closest to the door, Mindy and Anika cuddled up next to each other on the floor, Ethan plopped himself down in the seat furthest from the door, and Tara dropped herself down in what was Sam’s seat because Chad stole her spot on the couch next to you.

Once Chad finished up his pizza, he wiped his hands off on a napkin and tossed it onto his dirty plate. He was still chewing the last bit of his food as he switched the channel on the TV and grabbed a PS4 controller. You wiped your own hands and put your trash on top of his, creating an organized little pile. You leaned back and watched the screen as Chad flipped through games.

“What are you playing?” you asked.

“Crash,” he said mindlessly.

“Racing or the original?”

Chad’s mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish. He looked at you then back at the TV, only to do a double take and look back at you. It was like he couldn’t believe you were asking him about video games.

“R-Racing,” he said. “Want to join?” he reached over and grabbed the other controller and held it out to you.

You shrugged and took the controller from him. “Sure,” you said.

The two of you selected our characters and started the first race. You let Chad pick the track, you knew he’d need the edge anyway. The two of you raced around, doing your laps, you felt everyone’s eyes on you and the TV but you paid them no mind as you drove your way into first place. You were on the last lap when you dropped a TNT crate, only to hear Chad hit it a few seconds later. You quickly crossed the finish line, coming in first, then you leaned back and watched as Chad tried to fight his way back up the line, striving to just not come in last.

You repeated that with the same outcome another three races. Chad was hunched over, pressing the buttons hard as if that would make the cart go faster. You kept your eyes on the screen, never wavering as you completed lap after lap, coming in first every single time.

“You’re good at this,” Chad said. “How are you so good?”

“I play all the time when I’m home,” you said with a shrug.

“That’s why the only thing in your house is a game system,” Sam said.

You looked over at her and smiled. “Got my PS5 and my dog, what more could one possibly want?” Sam tilted her head, seeming to actually think about the question then nodded with a small shrug.

“One more,” Chad said, already flipping through the tracks again.

You rolled your eyes and got ready again as Chad finally selected the track. You were fully prepared to beat Chad on every track, using any character.

You got distracted when you noticed Sam staring down at her phone. You paused the game, ignoring Chad’s protests as you waited to see what was going on with Sam. “Everything okay?” you asked.

Sam looked up, meeting your eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “Your dad is calling me,” she looked at Quinn.

Quinn furrowed her brow and leaned forward in the chair. “He’s probably just following up,” Quinn said with a shrug. “Or wanting to update you.”

Sam nodded but she didn’t seem too certain in Quinn’s guess. Whatever doubt she was having didn’t stop her from raising the phone to her ear. “Detective Bailey?” Sam spoke into the phone.

You couldn’t hear the other end of the line, but Sam’s furrowed brow deepened. “Yes, I know him,” she said. You look around the room, seeing Chad, Mindy, and Tara all looked just as confused. “Of course, I’m on my way.”

As soon as Sam hung up the phone she was moving and so were you and Tara. Sam didn’t even so much as look at any of you as she grabbed her keys. “Sam,” Tara said. “Sam, what’s going on?”

“Stay here,” is all Sam said.

“What happened?” you asked as you made your way over to the sisters.

Sam finally paused her movements and looked up at you, then at her sister. “That was detective Bailey.” You and Tara both nodded. “He said Doctor Stone is dead.”

“Who?” you asked. You glanced at Tara to see her furrow, her brow before her eyes widened.

“He’s my old therapist,” Sam dropped her eyes to the floor.

You furrowed her brow; you weren’t sure why Sam seemed ashamed of that. You went to a therapist; she didn’t know it was because you were ordered to, but she knew you saw one. She went with you to your appointment earlier, you couldn’t see why she would think you would judge her for seeing a therapist herself. You didn’t want to pressure her though; she didn’t owe you any answers.

“I need to go down to the station,” Sam said.

“Great, let’s go,” Tara said, gesturing for Sam to walk towards the door.

“No, no,” Sam spun around, holding her hand up to Tara. “You’re staying here.”

“No, we’re not splitting up,” Tara shook her head. “School was one thing, but this?” she pointed around her. “No. I’m going with you.”

Sam let out a tired sigh and ran a hand through her hair. “Fine.”

“Obviously I’m coming as well,” you said. Sam opened her mouth, probably to argue with you as well. “This is why you asked me here,” you whispered, looking her in the eye. You weren’t sure what it was but the idea of Sam and her sister going out there alone, at night, after Ghostface killed someone connected to Sam, it didn’t sit right with you.

“Okay,” Sam conceded, nodding. “The rest of you stay here,” she said loudly, looking at each and every one of them. Once they all nodded in agreement Sam finally made her way to the door.

You followed behind Sam and Tara, keeping close as they quickly ran down the steps and out the door without a second thought. You checked your surroundings as soon as you got outside, making sure to keep your head on the swivel.

“Why would Ghostface go after your old therapist?” Tara questioned. “I though you hadn’t seen that dude in months.”

“I haven’t,” Sam said. “It was only a couple sessions before I left him.”

“So, is he important?” you asked, inserting yourself into the conversation.

“No,” Sam shook her head. “As soon as he learned who I was…” she crossed her arms over her chest. “He wasn’t the right fit, we never even got into the details.”

You nodded, you could understand why she might not want to share that information. You didn’t care about why she was seeing a therapist or why she left this Doctor Stone, it was none of your business.  “Then whoever this is might not know you switched therapists.” You looked around, carefully watching the other people on the street as you passed them. “They might have gone after him, thinking he was your current one still.”

Sam furrowed her brow and then nodded. “The only one I mentioned my new therapist to was Tara,” she looked at her sister.

“And I haven’t told anyone,” Tara said.

You nodded. “Good, don’t tell anyone. Your therapist is safer if no one knows who they are.”

Sam and Tara both agreed and continued their walk down the street. It was only a few minutes later when Sam pulled out her phone, you saw over her shoulder that she was getting a call from some guy named Richie Kirsch.

“Why do you still have his number?” Tara asked, clearly recognizing whoever this was.

Sam looked at her sister guiltily. “I couldn’t bring myself to delete his number,” she admitted quietly. You furrowed your brow; you could only begin to guess who this guy was.

“What do you want asshole?” Sam asked as she answered the phone, her attitude quickly becoming aggressive.

You couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, and you were just watching Sam’s reaction until you caught a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye. You just reacted, your arm shooting out to catch the arm of Ghostface as he tried to bring a knife down on Tara. You knocked Tara back toward Sam with our free arm, and twisted Ghostface’s hand, then punched him in the face.

“Run!” you called out to the girls, hoping they listened to you. As Ghostface stumbled back, trying to shake off the hit you brought your knee up, nailing him in the gut, and sending him falling back into the bushes.

You didn’t hesitate to turn around and take off after the girls, quickly catching up to them. You felt something when you kneed Ghostface, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it as Sam flung open the door to a bodega. You were only a couple steps behind them, swinging the door open to see them begging the cashier to help them.

You looked back and caught a flash of a cloak through the window. You pushed Sam and Tara back, spreading out your arms so that they wouldn’t be easy to hit as Ghostface charged into the bodega. One of the customers stepped forward and was yelling at Ghostface when Ghostface just started stabbing him in the chest and then a few of the other customers.

“The backdoor!” the cashier called out, nodding his head to the side as he reached under the counter and pulled out a shotgun. You glanced back to see a door on the other side of the room. You pushed Tara and Sam towards it so they could get out first as you kept your eyes on Ghostface.

The cashier tried to shoot Ghostface but couldn’t raise the gun before Ghostface reached out and ripped it out of his hands. Ghostface flipped the gun around and blasted the cashier in the chest. Your eyes widened and you turned and grabbed Sam and Tara. Ghostface had just raised the gun and fired at the back door when you pushed Sam and Tara down to the ground behind some of the shelves.

You raised a finger to your lips and then gestured forward, indicating for them the to slowly move. You kept your back pressed against the shelf as Tara and Sam slowly crawled around to the next aisle. When they got over there Sam looked back at you and you gestured for her to continue forward. If they kept going and kept quiet, then they could make it back to the front door and while you distracted Ghostface they could slip right out. Sam seemed hesitant to continue on, but she did anyway.

You stayed low and kept your eyes looking up, waiting for the perfect opportunity. You listened as Ghostface’s boots slowly crunched across the broken glass and bags of chips that were now scattered across the ground. You caught a glimpse of the barrel of the gun when the sound of someone hitting a bottle echoed throughout the room.

You held your breath and froze in place. The barrel of the gun disappeared and then a shot echoed through, hitting the shelf across the room and sending snacks flying. You only had to hear the crunch of Ghostface’s boot to make your move, shooting up from your spot and launching yourself at Ghostface.

You grabbed onto the gun and kept it pointed up as Ghostface tried to turn it on you. The two of you went back and forth, each of you fighting for control of the gun. In your struggle the gun got pointed up and went off, blowing a hole through the ceiling and sending chunks raining down on you.

“Go!” you called over your shoulder. If the sisters didn’t move now, you weren’t sure you could get them another chance.

You heard the sound of footsteps running across the floor and caught a flash of Sam’s jacket out of the corner of your eye. You jerked the gun up, finally ripping it out of Ghostface’s hands. You flipped the gun around and fired, only for nothing to happen, it was out of ammo. You flipped it back around and used the butt of the gun to smack the Ghostface’s chest with all your strength.

Ghostface went stumbling back until he hit the back door. As soon as Ghostface pushed off the door you thew the shot gun at him, making him react and catch it, the impact making him hit the door again. You reached behind you and pulled out your gun, not hesitating to raise it and fired three bullets into Ghostface’s chest.

Ghostface slid to the ground, his back against the wall and his body slumped over as the shotgun rested at his side. You stepped forward, raising the gun to Ghostface’s head when you finally heard the sirens. You dropped the gun back to your side and quickly tucked it back in its holster at your back before making your way out of the bodega.

Almost as soon as you stepped foot outside you were hit with a small impact. You let out a groan and looked down to see Tara with her arms wrapped around her waist. “Thank you,” she mumbled into your shirt. Police officers rushed past the two of you, none of them paying you any attention as they made their way into the bodega, their guns drawn.

“Are you okay?” you asked, looking down at Tara. You weren’t big on hugs but if it made Tara feel better then you were willing to accept it.

“What happened?” Sam asked, rushing up beside you. “Did you get him? Are you hurt?” she looked you up and down, searching for new injuries.

“I’m fine,” you assured her. “I shot him, but I didn’t get him,” you looked back at the front door, just waiting for him to come out.

“What do you mean?” Sam furrowed her brow. Tara finally released you and looked up as she waited to hear your answer as well.

“He was wearing bullet proof vest.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Flet it as soon as I kneed him on the street.” It took a while with all the adrenaline for you to finally connect the dots as to what you felt. You had more to say btu you didn’t think this was the time or place with all the prying eyes. You knew it was a good idea to keep the information to yourself when the cops came back out and said Ghostface was gone.

You, Tara, and Sam rushed back into the bodega to see the back door open, the lock that was on the door now lay scattered on the ground. Ghostface recovered fast, he could certainly take a hit, but you weren’t surprised he escaped. Just one fight with this Ghostface and you had enough information to narrow down your suspects. You weren’t sure when you’d have the time or privacy to go over everything with Sam though.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @acutenobody @godamnityess @luvwanda @rqizzu @riyaexee

[pedroscowgirl]

summer secrets

hugh jackman x female!reader

part 1 /part 2 here (you can read it seperatly) MASTERLIST

Warnings: smut!! minors dni!

oral! f receiving, p in v , creampie (wrap it up), edging, age gap (reader is 20s hugh is 55), lmk if i forgot something

Summary: you and hugh are at a bbq organised by ryan and blake

words: 8.1k (yeah ... i went insane idk what to tell you)

A/N: can u believe it took me so long to find a good pic for this cuz he looks so young in all his pics. i tried to proofread as good as i can but it's 5am here so bear w me pls

You were thrilled to receive an invitation to Ryan and Blake's barbecue, an intimate gathering they were hosting at their home. The guest list was small, limited to a close-knit group of friends, including Hugh and a few other familiar faces. As you read the invitation, a mix of emotions washed over you. On the one hand, you were excited to spend time with Ryan and Blake, who had always treated you with warmth and kindness. They saw you as a close friend and respected colleague of Hugh, and they had no idea about the secret that you and Hugh were carefully guarding.

Your relationship with Hugh had grown deeper over time, evolving from a casual friendship into something much more meaningful and intense. Despite the undeniable connection between the two of you, you had decided to keep your relationship private. The significant age gap between you and Hugh was something you knew others might not easily accept or understand. This was especially true in the circles you moved in, where appearances and reputations were scrutinized closely.

As the day of the barbecue approached, you couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy. Being invited to this get-together felt strange because, on the surface, it was just a casual social event, but beneath it all, it carried the weight of your hidden relationship. You knew that keeping up the facade of being just friends in front of Ryan, Blake, and the others would be challenging, especially as you and Hugh had grown so close.

Still, you were determined to enjoy the day, focusing on the company of good friends and the relaxing atmosphere that Ryan and Blake were known for creating. You trusted that Hugh, ever composed and discreet, would help maintain the illusion of you just being friends. While it felt odd to be so near him yet unable to openly show your feelings, you reassured yourself that the secret was necessary, for now. After all, the bond you shared with Hugh was something precious, something worth protecting, even if it meant enduring a little discomfort at events like these.

The sun blazed overhead on what felt like one of the hottest days of summer, casting a golden glow over everything it touched. As you stood in front of your closet, you debated what to wear for Ryan and Blake’s barbecue. The air was thick with heat, making anything too heavy or restrictive out of the question. After a moment of consideration, you reached for a short, bodycon dress adorned with delicate floral patterns. The fabric was light and breathable, perfect for the weather, and the dress hugged your figure in all the right places, offering both comfort and a touch of elegance.

As you slipped into the dress, you couldn't help but smirk at the thought of Hugh’s reaction when he saw you. The dress, while chosen primarily for comfort, was also undeniably flattering, accentuating your curves and bringing out the vibrant colours of the floral design. You knew it would drive Hugh absolutely insane—his eyes would darken with that unmistakable mix of admiration and longing that always sent a thrill through you. But you were careful to keep this thought tucked away in the back of your mind. Today, you had to play it cool, keeping up the pretence of being just another guest at the barbecue.

You and Hugh had agreed to arrive at Ryan and Blake’s home separately, a necessary precaution to avoid drawing any unwanted attention to your relationship. Hugh had a closer bond with Ryan and Blake, having known them for years, and had offered to come early to help with the preparations. True to his nature, Hugh had slipped into the role of a perfect gentleman, lending a hand with the barbecue setup, arranging the seating, and making sure everything was in order before the other guests arrived.

By the time you arrived, the gathering was already in full swing. Laughter and the smell of grilling food filled the air, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. You spotted Hugh across the yard, effortlessly charming everyone with his easy going nature and genuine smile. It was a scene you had witnessed countless times, yet it never failed to stir something deep within you.

Ryan and Blake’s kids were particularly fond of Hugh, and today was no exception. No sooner had you arrived than you noticed the children begging him to perform his famous routine from The Greatest Showman, a request he had apparently fulfilled countless times before. Without missing a beat, Hugh obliged, launching into his well-practiced performance with enthusiasm and flair. The kids gathered around the television, wide-eyed and mesmerized as Hugh sang and danced, bringing the movie to life once again.

It was a sight to behold, and you couldn’t help but feel a sting of affection as you watched him entertain the little ones for what must have been the hundredth time. The way he could effortlessly switch from being the life of the party to a beloved performer for the kids was one of the many things you admired about him. Yet, as you stood there in your floral dress, sipping on a cold drink and watching Hugh interact with everyone, you were acutely aware of the secret you were both hiding.

Throughout the afternoon, Hugh managed to steal subtle glances in your direction whenever he thought no one was looking. There were moments when his gaze would linger a little longer than necessary, a brief exchange of looks across the yard that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered. Occasionally, he would find a reason to drift closer to you, making casual conversation as if nothing were out of the ordinary. But despite these fleeting interactions, there was no opportunity for the two of you to be alone—not until everyone eventually settled at the long, wooden table set up in the shade for the meal.

As luck would have it, you ended up sitting next to Hugh. The air was thick with the mingled scents of grilled food, fresh flowers, and the tang of sunscreen, creating a heady atmosphere that only intensified the tension between the two of you. Your heart raced as you tried to focus on the casual conversations happening around the table, but all you could think about was how close he was, the warmth of his body just inches from yours.

At one point, Hugh leaned back in his chair, glancing around the table before he got up. "I need to grab something from the kitchen," he announced casually, but then he turned his gaze to you, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. "Do you want to join me?" he asked, his voice smooth and inviting.

You hesitated for only a fraction of a second before nodding. There was something in his eyes, a look that made it clear this was about more than just fetching something from the kitchen. As you followed him inside, your heart pounded in your chest, anticipation bubbling up as you wondered what was about to happen.

Once inside the cool, quiet kitchen, Hugh paused for a moment, glancing out the window to ensure no one was watching. Satisfied that you were alone, he turned to you with a sneaky look that made your breath catch. Before you could say a word, he reached out and grabbed your waist, pulling you close until your bodies were pressed together. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine.

"Gosh, you look so gorgeous in that dress," he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. His eyes roamed over your figure, taking in the way the floral fabric clung to your curves. "It's almost too cute to rip it off your beautiful body."

His words sent a wave of heat through you, and you felt a familiar dampness growing between your legs. Your cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and excitement as your body was responding to the raw intensity of his gaze and the sultry promise in his voice. Before you could even process the full extent of your arousal, Hugh closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was long and full of passion.

The kiss was everything you had been craving and more. His lips were firm and insistent against yours, moving with a hunger that matched your own. You melted into him, the world outside the kitchen fading away as your senses were overwhelmed by the taste of him, the scent of his cologne mingling with the heady aroma of summer. Hugh's big hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, tilting your head to the side to allow him better access.

Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his shirt as if to anchor yourself in the moment. The kiss seemed to go on forever, a perfect blend of urgency and tenderness, leaving you breathless and longing for more. The sensation of his lips moving against yours, the way he held you so possessively, made it clear just how much he had been holding back all day.

Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, Hugh pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath. His eyes were dark with desire, the usual calmness replaced by something much more primal.

"You're driving me crazy, you know that?" he whispered, his voice rough and barely above a murmur. You could see the effort it took for him to restrain himself, to not let things go any further in the middle of Ryan and Blake’s house. But the intensity of the moment, the unspoken promise in his gaze, told you that this was far from over.

With a final, lingering kiss on your lips, he reluctantly stepped back, his hand sliding away from your waist. He glanced out the window once more, ensuring that your absence hadn’t been noticed before giving you a mischievous grin. "We should probably head back out before anyone gets suspicious," he said, though the lingering heat in his voice hinted at how difficult it was for him to let go of you.

You nodded, still trying to steady your racing heart and the fluttering feeling in your stomach. As you both made your way back to the table, it was impossible to ignore the tingling sensation left by his touch or the way your body still hummed with the aftermath of that kiss. The rest of the world had returned, but the memory of what had just transpired in the kitchen was seared into your mind.

As you and Hugh made your way back to the table, the atmosphere between you was thick with the electricity of what had just happened. Your lips still tingled from his kiss, and your mind raced with thoughts of what it all meant. The brief interlude in the kitchen had only heightened the tension between you two, making it even more challenging to act normal in front of everyone else.

Hugh, ever the master of composure, seemed to slip effortlessly back into the role of charming guest as you both rejoined the gathering. He held the door open for you with a polite smile, his fingers lightly brushing your lower back as you walked past him, a subtle but deliberate touch that sent another shiver down your spine. You returned to your seat, trying to focus on the conversations around you, but the awareness of Hugh’s presence next to you made it almost impossible to concentrate.

As everyone began to dig into their plates, you caught Hugh stealing another glance at you, this one quick and loaded with meaning. His eyes held a promise of more to come, a silent acknowledgment that what had happened in the kitchen was only a prelude. You knew that he was just as affected as you were, despite the cool, collected exterior he presented to the others.

Ryan, ever the attentive host, began recounting a funny story from a recent project, his animated gestures drawing the group’s attention. The table erupted in laughter, and for a moment, you found yourself caught up in the light-heartedness of the scene, the warmth of the summer day, and the companionship shared among friends. But the laughter also provided a perfect cover for the way Hugh subtly leaned closer to you under the disguise of reaching for something on the table.

A few minutes passed as you tried to engage in small talk, but Hugh was far from done with you. Under the table, where no one could see, his knee brushed against yours again, this time with more purpose. You felt the familiar jolt of electricity shoot through your body, and you had to bite your lip to keep your reaction in check. It was a simple touch, yet it carried all the weight of the unspoken desire simmering between you.

As the conversation around the table continued, you felt Hugh’s hand slowly make its way to your thigh, his fingers ghosting over your skin with deliberate slowness. The heat of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of your dress, making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Your breath hitched involuntarily as his hand inched higher, his fingertips tracing a path that left a trail of fire in their wake.

He leaned in closer, pretending to reach for something across the table, but his hand didn’t stop its upward journey. His fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You glanced around nervously, but everyone was still engrossed in their own conversations, oblivious to the secret touches happening beneath the table.

Hugh’s hand slid further up, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as he reached the edge of your panties. You tried to maintain a steady expression, but when his fingers finally grazed your core, you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped your lips. The fabric of your panties was already damp with arousal, and Hugh’s touch sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body.

He paused for a moment, just long enough for you to catch your breath, before he gently pressed his fingers against the soaked fabric. The pressure was light, almost teasing, but it was enough to make your hips involuntarily shift toward his hand, craving more.

Hugh’s breath was warm against your ear as he leaned in, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re so wet,” he murmured, his tone a mix of amusement and desire. “I knew that dress would drive you crazy, but I didn’t realize just how much.”

His words, spoken so close to your ear that only you could hear them, sent a rush of blood to your cheeks. You felt the heat pooling between your legs intensify as he continued to tease you with the slightest pressure of his fingers, still hidden from view beneath the table. Your breathing grew shallow, and it took every ounce of willpower not to react too obviously, not to let on that anything out of the ordinary was happening.

Hugh’s fingers began to move in slow, deliberate circles, rubbing against your core with just enough force to keep you on the edge of losing control. Your grip on the edge of the table tightened as you fought to maintain composure, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of his touch and the thrill of being so close to getting caught. Every nerve in your body was focused on the secret, sinful pleasure he was giving you, even as you struggled to keep up the pretence of casual conversation.

“Do you like this?” Hugh whispered, his voice low and filled with a dark, teasing edge. “I can feel how much you want it, how much you’re enjoying this.” His words were a wicked reminder of how exposed you were, how easily anyone could discover what he was doing to you, and that thought only heightened your arousal.

You swallowed hard, unable to form a coherent response, your mind fogged by the haze of desire. All you could manage was a slight nod, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as his fingers pressed harder against your aching core. The friction was maddeningly perfect, and you knew you were close to losing control entirely.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, Hugh’s fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your panties, finally touching your slick folds directly. The sensation was almost too much, and your entire body tensed in response. You bit down hard on your lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape when suddenly , Hugh abruptly withdrew his fingers, leaving you breathless and aching with need.

Your eyes flew open in surprise, and you turned to look at him, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you tried to understand why he had stopped. The ghost of a smirk played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of his control over your body and the pleasure he had just denied you. You bit back a frustrated whimper, trying to regain your composure even as your body throbbed with unfulfilled desire.

At that exact moment, Blake appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray piled high with slices of her famous pies, topped with generous dollops of whipped cream. The children cheered in excitement as she set the tray down in the center of the table, oblivious to the charged atmosphere between you and Hugh.

As everyone eagerly reached for the desserts, you struggled to focus on anything other than the way your body still hummed with the need for release. You watched, heart pounding, as Hugh casually leaned forward, his demeanour cool and composed as he joined the others in serving himself a slice of pie. But then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he dipped his finger into a small dollop of whipped cream that had spilled onto the table.

Your breath hitched as you watched in stunned silence, realizing exactly what he was about to do. With a deliberate slowness that seemed designed to drive you wild, Hugh brought his finger to his lips, the very finger that had just been inside you, coated with both your arousal and the sweet cream from the dessert.

His eyes met yours as he slipped the finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it to savour the taste. The look in his eyes was dark, almost predatory, as he held your gaze, a silent reminder of the power he held over you. The sight of him licking your juices mixed with the whipped cream off his finger sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, and you had to press your thighs together under the table to keep from squirming.

The whole scene was over in a matter of seconds, but it felt like an eternity. No one else at the table seemed to notice the intimate, charged exchange happening between you two, too engrossed in their desserts and conversations. But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Hugh, the knowledge that he had just tasted both the sweetness of the dessert and the evidence of your arousal making your pulse race.

Hugh finally withdrew his finger from his mouth with a satisfied hum, a wicked glint in his eyes as he reached for his fork to dig into his slice of pie. He was the picture of nonchalance, as if he hadn’t just left you trembling with desire under the table, your body aching for the release he had so cruelly withheld.

You attempted to collect your thoughts while reaching for your own dessert with hands that were slightly unsteady. But the taste of the pie was bland compared to the lingering heat in your body, the aching emptiness that only Hugh could fill. Every bite was a reminder of what had just happened, and what hadn’t, leaving you both frustrated and desperate for more.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere became even more relaxed, with guests gradually drifting away from the dinner table and settling into comfortable spots around the house. Some gathered in the living room, chatting softly over glasses of wine, while others lingered on the patio, enjoying the cool evening air. The kids were tucked away in a separate room, lost in their own world as they watched a movie, their laughter and shouts of excitement occasionally filtering through the house.

The shift in the evening’s tone provided the perfect cover for you and Hugh. The subtle touches and heated glances exchanged throughout the night had built up an almost unbearable tension between you two. With everyone now scattered and deeply engaged in their own conversations, the opportunity to slip away unnoticed was too tempting to resist.

You caught Hugh’s eye across the room, and the silent understanding passed between you. He gave you a slight nod, and your heart skipped a beat in anticipation. With a casual stretch and a smile, you excused yourself from the group you were chatting with, mentioning something about needing a moment to yourself. No one paid you much mind as you walked through the house, your footsteps quiet on the hardwood floors.

Your pulse quickened as you headed towards a guest room at the far end of the hallway, a room that you knew would be empty and offer the privacy you both craved. The house was quiet here, the distant hum of conversation from the other rooms fading into the background as you reached for the door. You slipped inside, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves as you waited, the door clicking softly shut behind you.

The look in his eyes was intense, filled with the same desire that had been simmering between you all evening. Without a word, he crossed the room, his hands reaching for you the moment he was close enough.

In an instant, his lips were on yours, the kiss filled with all the passion and longing that had been building up between you. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you tightly against him as the kiss deepened, his body pressing into yours with a need that matched your own. The world outside that room ceased to exist. All that mattered was the feel of his lips, the heat of his body, and the way his hands roamed over your curves as if he couldn’t get enough.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” Hugh murmured against your lips, his voice husky with desire. “That dress... the way you looked at me... I’ve been counting the minutes until I could get you alone.”

You gasped as his hands slid down to your thighs, lifting the hem of your dress as he pressed his body even closer to yours. The heat between you was undeniable, the electricity in the air almost tangible as his touch sent shivers down your spine. His hands moved with purpose, sliding up your thighs, brushing against your hips, and finally slipping beneath your panties.

His fingers found you easily, the wetness there a clear sign of how much you had wanted this. You couldn’t stifle the small moan that escaped your lips as he teased you, his touch light and maddeningly slow. The sensation was almost too much, and you gripped his shoulders for support, your body trembling with the intensity of your need.

“Still so wet,” Hugh’s voice dropped to a husky whisper as he leaned in, his breath hot against the sensitive skin of your ear. His words sent a shiver down your spine, the promise they held making your pulse race. “I knew you’d be thinking about what we started.”

His fingers moved with a practiced skill, tracing delicate patterns that left your skin tingling with anticipation. The intensity of his touch heightened every sensation, your breath catching as he expertly drew you closer and closer to that sweet edge. Your heart pounded, and your body responded eagerly, arching into his touch, desperate for more.

But just as you felt the brink of release approaching, Hugh’s hand stilled again. He pulled away with infuriating calm, leaving you breathless and aching once more . A tear fell from your eye and a low moan of protest escaped your lips as the tension in your body remained agonizingly unfulfilled.

“Not yet,” he murmured, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest. The sound was thick with amusement and control, a clear indication that he was enjoying the power he held over your pleasure. His voice, smooth and taunting, sent another wave of heat coursing through you, only adding to the frustration and longing he had expertly built up within you.

Before you could even begin to voice your protest, Hugh stepped back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, watching every flicker of emotion that played across your face. The intensity in his gaze was almost overwhelming—a dark hunger that matched the desire burning inside you. His eyes glittered with a primal need, yet there was a patience there, a determination to savour every moment, to make you wait until he decided it was time.

He leaned in once more, capturing your lips in a deep, searing kiss that stole your breath away. His lips were insistent, claiming you with a passion that made your knees weak. The kiss deepened, his tongue tangling with yours in a dance that left you dizzy with want. His hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of your body, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand the distance between you.

As he guided you towards the bed in the center of the room, everything else faded into the background. The distant murmur of the party, the music, and laughter were nothing but a muffled hum, a world away from the intoxicating bubble that had enveloped the two of you. It was as if time itself had slowed, every touch and every whispered word heightening your senses, making you crave him more with each passing second.

With a growl that reverberated deep in his chest, Hugh grabbed you, his hands firm as he effortlessly lifted you off the ground. His strength took your breath away, his movements rough yet controlled as he set you down on the edge of the dresser in the guest room. The force of it made something on the dresser topple over, the sharp sound of breaking glass cutting through the air as the vase shattered on the floor. But neither of you cared, too lost in the heat of the moment to spare even a glance at the mess you’d made.

“I’ll find an excuse for that,” Hugh murmured against your mouth, his voice rough with desire as he cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your lips. The proximity of his body, the scent of him, sent your mind spiraling into a haze of lust. As his hands moved down to grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh, you could feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained hunger that radiated off him in waves.

“Fuck, that dress is really too cute to rip off of you,” he muttered, his voice thick with both frustration and admiration. His eyes roved over your body, taking in every inch of you as you sat perched on the edge of the dresser, legs spread just enough to hint at what lay beneath the fabric of your dress. “And I can’t let you go out naked after this,” he added with a dark chuckle, his gaze flicking back up to meet yours, filled with a mix of amusement and raw desire.

You bit your lip, a shiver running through you at the way his words and his touch made your heart race. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the air around you crackling with the electricity of what was about to happen. Your fingers gripped the edge of the dresser, bracing yourself for whatever he had planned next.

Without warning, Hugh’s hands left your thighs, and he dropped to his knees before you. The sudden movement made your breath hitch, and before you could process what was happening, his hands were on you again, this time sliding up your legs, pushing your dress up higher and higher until it bunched around your waist. He took off your panties and the cool air of the room hit your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Hugh’s breath against your core.

He didn’t waste a second. As if he were a man starved, Hugh leaned in and latched onto you with a fervour that left you gasping. His tongue worked against you in long, deliberate strokes, his lips sealing around your most sensitive spot as he devoured you with a hunger that was both primal and relentless. Every movement of his mouth sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, your head falling back as your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, gripping tight as you moaned his name.

Everything felt so right in that moment. It was just you and Hugh, the dresser beneath you, and the growing tension in your belly as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Your legs trembled around him, your body shaking on the brink of release as the intensity of his actions overwhelmed your senses. Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, when you were right on the cusp of falling apart, Hugh’s mouth left your core, and in its place, you felt the sudden intrusion of his fingers.

Three of them, thick and skilled, plunged into you without warning, stretching you in a way that made you cry out, your back arching as your grip on the dresser tightened. The combination of his mouth and his fingers, the way he filled you and sucked on your clit, sent you spiralling into a release so intense it felt like your body was shattering into a million pieces. “Fuck!” you screamed, your voice echoing in the small room as you came hard, the pleasure ripping through you like a tidal wave.

Hugh didn’t let up, his mouth flew to you again, working you through your orgasm, drawing every last bit of pleasure from you until you were left trembling and breathless, slumped against the dresser as your body came down from the high. When he finally pulled back, your thighs were shaking, your skin flushed with the aftermath of your release.

He stood up, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “You’re not so quiet now, are you, baby girl?” he whispered, his voice low and teasing, the words sending another shiver down your spine. His face was still flushed, his hair tousled from where your fingers had gripped it, and his lips glistened with evidence of what he’d just done to you.

Your eyes, still wide with the aftershocks of pleasure, slowly travelled down his body, taking in the sight of him standing before you. When your gaze reached his pants, you noticed the way they strained against his obvious arousal, the fabric pulled tight over the hardness that pressed against it. The sight of it made your pulse quicken again, desire flaring back to life even as you struggled to catch your breath.

Hugh followed your gaze, a dark chuckle escaping him as he watched you take in the evidence of his need. “Seems like we’re just getting started,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise as he reached down to unbuckle his belt, the sound of the leather sliding through the loops making your heart skip a beat.

Hugh's belt came undone with a swift motion, the clink of the buckle loud in the quiet room, a stark contrast to the sounds of the party that were now a distant hum beyond the closed door. His eyes were locked on yours, dark with a need that mirrored the heat still simmering inside you. With each second that passed, the tension in the room grew, thick and palpable, as he slowly slid the belt from his pants, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thud.

The way he looked at you made your breath hitch, anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach. He took his time, every movement deliberate, as if he was savouring the moment, drawing out the anticipation until it was almost unbearable. His fingers worked at the button of his pants, the sound of the zipper being pulled down sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

Your heart raced as you watched him, your body still tingling from the aftershocks of your recent orgasm, but already, the fire within you was reigniting, fuelled by the sight of him standing before you, his desire for you barely contained. When he finally pushed his pants down, freeing himself from the confines of the fabric, your breath caught in your throat.

He was so hard, his length thick and pulsing with need, the sight of it making your mouth water and your core clench with anticipation. You bit your lip, the desire to feel him inside you, to be filled by him, overwhelming. But Hugh wasn’t in a hurry. He stood there for a moment, letting you take him in, the smirk on his lips growing as he saw the effect he had on you.

“Like what you see?” he asked, his voice dripping with confidence, yet there was a teasing edge to it, as if he already knew the answer.

You nodded, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Yes,” you breathed, the word coming out more like a whimper, your body aching with the need to feel him against you, inside you.

You smirked to yourself as you slid off the dresser, your legs still shaky from the intensity of your climax. But there was still an edge of desire lingering, a hunger that hadn’t been fully sated. As you landed on your feet, you felt Hugh’s eyes on you, heavy with anticipation, wondering what you were planning next.

As you turned around, you reached down, gripping the hem of your dress and pulling it back up over your waist, exposing your bare ass to him. You could hear his breath hitch as you bent slightly, pushing your hips back, your wet cunt brushing against his still-hard cock. The sensation of his length pressing against you sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but moan softly, rocking your hips to increase the friction.

Hugh’s hands quickly found your hips again, his fingers gripping you firmly as he groaned, the sound deep and filled with renewed desire. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he held himself back, his self-control slipping with every second you teased him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust as he let one hand slide down to cup your ass, squeezing it before trailing his fingers teasingly over your slick folds. The gentle touch was almost maddening, your body aching for more, for him to fill you again.

But just as you began to push back harder, desperate for him to take you, Hugh’s fingers stilled on your pussy. His other hand moved to your lower back, pressing you gently forward, making you arch your back even more, exposing yourself fully to him.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against the nape of your neck as he whispered, “Hmm, no, baby. Turn around. I wanna see your pretty face when I fuck you.”

The command in his voice sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your heart racing as you straightened up and turned to face him. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire as he watched you with a gaze that made you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

You bit your lip, your body already responding to his words as you reached for him, your hands sliding up his chest before wrapping around his neck. Hugh’s hands found your waist again, pulling you flush against him, his cock brushing against your inner thigh, sending a jolt of anticipation through you.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was hungry and possessive, his tongue claiming your mouth as his hands roamed over your body. The kiss deepened, becoming more intense, and when he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his breathing heavy as he looked down at you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice rough but filled with a softness that made your heart flutter.

Hugh picked you up again and as he set you down on the soft sheets, you felt the cool fabric against your back, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your skin. Hugh stood at the edge of the bed, his naked body on full display, the sight of him making your breath catch in your throat. His cock was still hard, throbbing with need, and the desire in his gaze was almost palpable as he looked down at you.

Your dress, still bunched around your waist, clung to you in a way that accentuated every curve. One of the thin straps had slipped off your shoulder, exposing one breast, the soft fabric clinging to the other as your chest heaved with each breath. Hugh’s eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight, his gaze lingering on the way your nipple hardened under his scrutiny.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire as he climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and you couldn’t help but shiver in anticipation as he ran his hands up your thighs, spreading them wide.

Hugh leaned in, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, down to your exposed breast. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You arched your back, a soft moan escaping your lips as you threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

His hands continued to roam over your body, one sliding up to cup your other breast, still covered by your dress, while the other slipped between your thighs, his fingers teasing your entrance, already slick and ready for him. He groaned against your skin, the sound vibrating through your chest as he felt how wet you were, his cock twitching in response.

“Hugh,” you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper as you rocked your hips up, desperate to feel him inside you again.

“Patience, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his voice laced with a teasing edge as he pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours. “I want to take my time with you. Remember?”

But the need between you was too intense, too overwhelming, for either of you to wait any longer. With a growl of barely restrained desire, Hugh positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock brushing against your slick folds. He looked into your eyes, his expression filled with raw hunger, and then he thrust into you in one smooth, powerful motion.

You gasped, your back arching off the bed as he filled you completely, the sensation of him stretching you almost too much, yet exactly what you craved. Hugh groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move, each thrust deep and deliberate, the rhythm slow at first, as if he was savouring the feeling of being inside you.

One of your hands slid down his back, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, needing more, needing him to go faster, harder. “Please, Hugh,” you moaned, your voice trembling with the intensity of the pleasure building inside you.

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a low growl, he picked up the pace, his hips slamming into yours with a force that made the bed shake beneath you. Each thrust drove him deeper inside you, the headboard knocking rhythmically against the wall, but the sound was drowned out by the moans , gasps and sweet words that filled the room. “Gosh you are literally made for me” Hugh groaned as he threw his head back in pleasure.

One of the straps of your dress slipped further down your arm, fully exposing your other breast. Hugh’s eyes flickered with something dark and primal as he watched you writhe beneath him, your body completely at his mercy, the sight of your exposed chest only fuelling his desire.

“You look so fucking perfect like this,” he groaned, his voice rough and breathless as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth with the same intensity as his thrusts.

You kissed him back with equal fervour, your hands roaming over his body, feeling the muscles in his back tense with each powerful movement. The friction between your bodies, the way he filled you so completely, pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“Hugh,” you gasped against his mouth, your body trembling with the intensity of the pleasure building inside you. “I’m so close.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with a hunger that mirrored your own. “I want to see you come for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he angled his hips slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside you with each thrust.

That was all it took. With a cry of his name, you tumbled over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you breathless. Your body tightened around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

Hugh groaned, his pace becoming erratic as he chased his own release, the feeling of you tightening around him pushing him closer and closer. With one final, powerful thrust, he came, his body tensing as he spilled inside you, a low growl escaping his lips as he rode out the waves of his orgasm.

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, his body pressed against yours, both of you breathing hard as you came down from the high. Hugh’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he slowly regained his composure.

When he finally pulled back, he looked down at you with a satisfied smirk, his eyes still dark with the remnants of desire. The strap of your dress was still hanging off your shoulder, your chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, and the sight made his smirk widen.

“You’re absolutely stunning,” he whispered, his voice rough but filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips, his hands brushing over your skin as if committing every inch of you to memory.

You smiled up at him, your body still trembling slightly from the intensity of what had just happened. “So are you,” you whispered back, your voice laced with exhaustion but also with deep satisfaction.

Hugh chuckled softly, his hands sliding up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks. “We should do this more often,” he teased, his lips quirking up into a playful grin.

You laughed softly, the sound light and filled with contentment. “I wouldn’t mind that, it’s very thrilling” you admitted, leaning in to press another soft kiss to his lips.

As you and Hugh made your way back down the hallway, the sounds of the party grew louder, a stark contrast to the intimate moments you had just shared. Your pulse was still racing, your skin tingling from where his hands had been. Despite the flush in your cheeks, you couldn't help but tease him, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Do you think they would’ve noticed that we were gone?” you asked, your voice soft but filled with amusement as you looked up at him. Hugh smirked, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back, guiding you with a confidence that made your heart skip a beat.

“We did spend a long time in there,” he replied, his tone rich with a knowing edge that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. The memory of his hands on your body, the way he had claimed you with such fervour, was still vivid in your mind, and you bit your lip to keep a satisfied smile from spreading across your face.

As you reached the door leading back to the main living area, you paused for just a moment, your hand resting on the doorknob. The noise from the party, laughter, music, the clinking of glasses,reminded you that you'd have to face everyone again. You took a deep breath, hoping your slightly dishevelled appearance wouldn’t give away the passionate encounter you’d just shared.

When you finally opened the door and stepped back into the room, your eyes immediately met Blake’s across the crowded space. Her eyes were sharp, and a slight, knowing smirk played on her lips as she took in the sight of you and Hugh rejoining the group. Blake, ever perceptive, clearly had an idea of what had kept the two of you away for so long. The way her gaze lingered on you sent a flush of warmth to your cheeks, and you quickly looked away, busying yourself by smoothing down your dress.

Hugh’s hand gave your back a reassuring squeeze before he reluctantly stepped away, moving across the room to join Ryan, who was standing near the bar. You could feel Blake’s gaze still on you, her expression amused but understanding, almost as if she was silently saying, I won’t tell a soul, but I know.

You tried to shake off the feeling of being watched and focused on Hugh, who had reached Ryan and was immediately greeted with a hearty slap on the back.

“There he is!” Ryan exclaimed with a grin, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Where’d you disappear to, mate? We were starting to think you both got lost.” he said in his best Australian accent.

Hugh laughed, his expression easy and confident despite the tension you could see in his eyes. “Just needed a bit of fresh air,” he said smoothly, but the slight curve of his lips hinted at more. You could tell he was trying to play it cool, though there was a flicker of something else behind his smile.

Ryan wasn’t buying it, though. He narrowed his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he took a sip of his drink. But then his gaze shifted slightly, landing on you, and his eyes narrowed in on something at your neck.

“Hold on,” Ryan said, his voice laced with amusement as he set his glass down with a soft clink. His eyes locked onto the side of your neck, and a mischievous grin spread across his face. “Be honest, Hugh, did you do that, you beast?”

Confused, you instinctively reached up to touch your neck. The moment your fingers brushed over the tender spot, your heart sank. You remembered how Hugh’s mouth had lingered there, how he’d sucked on your skin until you moaned. The realization that he’d left a mark—a very visible hickey—made your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Hugh’s eyes widened slightly as he realized what Ryan was talking about, and for a split second, you saw the nervousness in his eyes. But then he let out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at you with a guilty smile. “Uh… yeah, I might have gotten a little carried away,” he admitted, his tone both apologetic and playful.

Ryan burst out laughing, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You’ve got some nerve, man,” he teased, clapping Hugh on the shoulder. “Next time, try not to leave evidence.”

Your face was on fire, and you quickly looked away, trying to hide your embarrassment. But Hugh, ever the charmer, quickly changed the subject, leaning in to say something to Ryan that made him chuckle and shift his attention away from you. But even as the two of them continued their banter, you couldn’t shake the awareness of the hickey on your neck, a physical reminder of the heated passion you and Hugh had shared just moments before.

The party continued on as if nothing had happened, with everyone else seemingly oblivious to the charged undercurrent between you and Hugh. But with every glance, every casual brush of his hand against yours, it was impossible to ignore the unspoken connection that lingered between you. The memory of what had just transpired was still fresh, the desire far from sated

taglist (dm if u wanna be added): @ermlady @elloredef @haytchee @melaninjoys @megangovier @blue2jay @hearts4suri @narniabusinessbitch @jadenlyday25 @getmeoutofhell @rockytheluver @stark-ironman

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + eighteen

authors note: this one gets pretty heavy and violent at points. please read the cw/tw's carefully in order to make the best informed decision regarding your mental ability to handle such heavy topics.

cw/tw: angst, violence, torture (gore), (light) fluff, ptsd episode, character being triggered, and references to childhood sexual assault

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

masterlist + story playlist

words: 10k

Solana knows Roman well.

She knew to start off the letter the way she did, asking for him to be open minded, because she knew exactly what his answer would be. 

No.

It’s the same answer he still has even after her logical explanation. It’s a selfish thing. He’s a selfish bastard at heart because despite her being vulnerable about her mental state and making a solid point, he still wants and plans to say no. 

Still plans come and take her home in a week.

And while he has his reasoning, believing that she can continue her healing outside of some mental facility, it’s also for his own good. He just wants her home. He wants to not have the house be so quiet and empty. To not have to be reminded of her absence in everything from the lack of the aroma of her delicious cooking to Dulce yelping and whimpering whenever he walks in the door home from work without Solana beside him.

He just misses her, and he wants her home. 

He understands where she’s coming from and agrees she could benefit from continuing to talk to someone, to definitely stay on medication. 

But, those things can continue without her being away from home.

There’s also the matter of safety. Yes, Roman went above and beyond what was probably necessary to ensure she has a copious amount of protection, but that’s still not as safe as her being with him.

And he’s almost certain that the facility she’s talking about is the same one Stratus mentioned to him. The place that’s an hour away.

That’s too fucking far.

From their home, Roman can make it to the hospital in ten minutes, if need be. 

Solana being an hour away from him just isn’t a fucking option.

He needs her…..she needs to be close to him.

He’ll just have to help her understand that. 

But, all of that is easy. 

What’s not easy is the other major takeaway from her letter.

I love you, Ro.

In all of his thinking, perhaps overthinking, regarding his thoughts and feelings about his wife, never did it really occur to him that she could feel the same. He knew she cared about him. She’s said as such to him before. But, for whatever reason, he never allowed himself to imagine that she could love him.

And that she could love him without expecting anything in return. Because she believes him incapable of loving her because of his own trauma, and that’s not entirely wrong. 

He does love her.

Fuck, he loves the living shit out of her.

But, he can’t act on it.

Even with this unexpected twist. Her loving him, which fucks with his head too. The why of it. 

There’s not a lot to love, if he’s being honest.

He protects her. Keeps her safe. Gives her that safe space. Beyond that, there’s not really anything else. 

Her standards must be so low. 

Regardless, Roman can’t allow this new piece of information to change or impact his decision.

He can’t openly reciprocate her feelings.

Even….even if he sure as hell feels the same. It’s too risky. Too dangerous. 

He just can’t.

Roman may love her, but he can never tell her he loves her.

It just has to be this way.

________

Ryan Alexander

Tyler Hawkins

Two men whose lives have been intertwined in various ways in the almost 60 years they’ve walked this earth. It started with a meeting in college, both men playing for the same baseball team, having a few of the same classes together, even pledging to the same fraternity. 

They would end up in the same graduating class and go on to open up their own private security company that offered protective services for upscale clientele. Celebrities, athletes, even politicians.

But…..for the right amount of money, they could do more than just protect lives.

They could take them too. 

The company easily and quickly made its name  known through the right or maybe wrong places. Information falling in the lap of parties who were less interested in safety and more interested in murder.

It’s how Xavier Miller got in touch with them. How Solana’s father hired them to take out his wife and daughter after learning of her plan to run away and steal his children away from him, more his son than anything. He really didn’t give a shit about Solana.

Never did. 

It was why when the hit failed to take out both Nina and Solana, Xavier was able to negotiate so that instead of paying the remaining debt due after the deposit. He got them to agree to slash it in half, leaving him owing 250k. The problem was as it always has been though. Xavier lacks vision, lacks long-term vision. He didn’t think about how finances could change for the negative between the time he made the deal and when payment would be due.

Because when that day arrived, he lacked the sufficient funds. But while Xavier may lack good financial and investment knowledge, he makes up for it in craftiness. 

He formed a new deal. One that truly gave all three men a win-win. Xavier’s debt would be cleared, and Ryan and Alexander would be able to enjoy indulging in one of their favorite sexual pastimes. A privilege they can usually only pursue when traveling overseas where child sex slavery runs a lot more rampant and unregulated. 

By luck though, they got their fill domestically in the form of an innocent, 12 year-old little girl. 

A virgin. 

Xavier’s daughter.

Solana Miller

Now known as Solana Reigns, the wife of the infamous Roman Reigns. The same man who Ryan and Tyler have no idea has been behind the absolute hell they’ve been through in the past almost two weeks. Kidnapped in the middle of the night, subjected to an unauthorized but ultimately approved (by Roman) beating by Jimmy and Jey before they were reunited with Xavier’s ain’t shit ass who had also received a long overdue beating from both Roman and the twins.

That beating, however, was nothing compared to the beginning stages of their demise, a version and level of hell only few experience, but something these fuckers have front seats for. 

Roman is methodical with his torture, and this might be the most determined he’s ever been to maximize pain. 

He’s going to ensure they only take their last breath when he feels it’s time, when he’s exhausted any and all ways to extend their life in order to extend their suffering.

And while many would think it started with the beatings, that’s far too simple, too easy. And Roman is neither of those things. He’s calculated and borderline sadistic when the occasion calls for it, and there’s not been a more deserving occasion for him to act on his dark, evil impulses than this. 

So, it was only fitting that all three men, the rapists and the son of a bitch who organized it all, know exactly what it’s like to experience what they put Solana through. 

And that’s exactly what Roman organized. Having all three men dumped and left defenseless in a maximum security prison. Whatever happened, fucking happened. 

And judging by the battered, stunned, borderline traumatized expressions on their cut, brusied faces, exactly what Roman wanted them to experience is precisely what they fucking got. 

For almost two weeks straight.

Jimmy and Jey toss the three men down on the ground before Roman before moving to stand behind him on either side. 

“Ya’ll like fucking little girls, don’t you?” Jimmy sneers, Roman not even needing to look at his cousin to know he’s livid. “So what’s the big fuckin’ deal?”

“Don’t like it when your assess the ones on the receiving end, huh?” Jey taunts. Fitting. 

But, now…..now it’s time for the real pain to begin. Roman lifts his hand to signify his desire from silence. The twins go quiet almost immediately. 

The Tribal Chief turns up his nose as Ryan spits up blood onto the concrete floor. Granted, it won’t make much of a difference. When Roman is done with them, the room will be bathed red. 

He steps forward. 

“August 7th, 2005 and September 8th, 2007.” Roman shrugs and asks the men, “what’s significant about these dates?” When he doesn’t receive an answer, he takes his gun and aims it for Tyler, emptying the bullet into his knee. The man howls in pain and begins to cry. Roman scowls. Pathetic bitch. “I aksed a fucking question.” 

He gaps,, forcing out through closed eyes. “I–I don’t know.” 

Roman crouches down in front of them, ignoring the stench of piss and perspiration emanating off their pathetic bodies. “August 7th, 2005. A mother and daughter were attacked. Stabbed. Mother died trying to protect her daughter. Daughter survived. She was ten-years-old.” Roman looks away at the adjacent wall, jaw clenching a bit as he recalls the next part. “”September 8th, 2007. Two men break into the house and spend hours gang raping a child in her own fucking bedroom before beating her half to death and leaving her for dead.” Dead fucking silence. “She was 12-years-old.” He turns his empty, stoic gaze back onto them. “Sound fucking familiar now?” 

“You carried out the rape,” he gestures to the set of crying rapists and then a numb looking Xavier. “And you arranged it.” Roman shrugs, rolling his big shoulders. “Seemed only fucking fair you three got a taste of what you put her through.” He then chuckles. “Now, I am a fair man. A fair Tribal Chief.” In a matter of seconds though, his disposition completely shifts, changes into something cold, heartless. “But, you don’t get that. You don’t get that fairness. You don’t fucking deserve it. You tortured her. You made her life a living fucking hell.” 

“But you know where you really fucked up?” He reaches his arm out, pointing toward the sledgehammer, one of the twins placing it in his hand. Roman stands up and kicks Tyler backwards, hesitating not a second as he brings it down to his knees, one by one, effectively and immediately shattering both. “You did it to my wife.” Roman taunts over the sound of the man crying. He then moves to Ryan, aware of the knee he already shot, sticking with one to avoid too much blood. Can’t have the bitch bleeding out just yet. “That twelve year-old girl was my wife.” When he gets to Xaveir, he exerts a special amount of energy to strengthen the impact of his blow as he demolishes the older man’s knees. “That ten year old-girl was my wife!” 

Roman tosses the sledgehammer to the side as someone has the audacity to utter out a pained, “p–please.” 

That infuriates Roman more than what should be humanly possible. “Please?” He sees the word came from Tyler. Snarling, Roman jumps over the man, raining a blow so heavy that it breaks his nose, the sickening crack sounding through the air. “Is that what she said when you fucking held her down and raped her!” 

The thought alone results in Roman continuing to punch the man until his fist is painted red and Tyler is clearly on the verge of losing consciousness. 

Standing back up, he huffs, speaking to the rapists, “17 years. She’s suffered for seventeen years because of you.” He points to a barely there Xavier. “And 29 years because of you.” Roman’s  upper lip curls a bit as he swears, “if I could torture you all for that long, I fucking would, but I can’t, so days will have to suffice.”

He’s filled with another level of rage when the cries and pleads for mercy intensify. “Shut up!” He then forcefully demands of the twins, “bring him in!”

Jey, he thinks, disappears for a few minutes only to return with an also bruised, battered Wes. Roman scoffs with disgust as Xavier looks horrified at the presence and sight of his son.

He coughs out, ribs probably broken or at least fractured. And if they’re not, Roman will make sure they are before the end of the night. “Pl—please don’t do—”

Roman has heard enough. This piece of shit has the fucking audacity to beg and plead for the life of his son but couldn’t even protect his own fucking daughter?

Fuck that.

Fury fills and controls the Head of the Table as he yanks up a barely conscious Wes and throws him against the brick wall, the impact loud enough for the sound of his shoulder popping to fill the room. Roman then grabs the sledgehammer again and rains it down on not only his knees but his hands as well, effectively smashing them, resulting in grotesque hairline fracture, bones protruding from his skin.. 

Xavier cries out and begs Roman to stop, which only fuels his tirade even more. Drives him to continue his brutal assault. Roman slams his fist onto Wes’s face, breaking his jaw before Roman squeezes the fucking life out of Wes’s neck and slams him again against that same brick wall. 

And without second thought, as Wes fights to remain conscious, face almost unrecognizable at this point, Roman reaches for his eye, using his middle and index finger to gouge out his eyeballs one by one, ignoring the horrified screams of both father and son. 

Xavier is full on sobbing but practically screams when Wes body drops to the ground like a ragdoll, and Roman tosses the bloody eyeballs toward Xavier. 

“Waterboard him!” Roman directs to the twins who don’t hesitate to drag a crying Wes out of the room by his limp arm, most likely broken in the midst of Roman’s vicious beating. Breathing uneven, Roman flips his hair back that had come out of his bun and turns his attention back on the three older men. 

“I’m going to make you all suffer the same fucking way you made her suffer,” he vows, every intention on maximixing pain in a way he’s never done before. “You’ll be wishing for something as fucking nice as hell when I’m done with you.”

________

Roman has just finished skinning a patch out of Ryan’s abdomen, the chunk of skin joining that of Tyler and Xavier’s slab of skin and other dismembered body parts. 

Wes is up next on the list.

The fucker strapped to the chair has gone unconscious, but his pulse is still relatively strong, so Roman continues. He’s done this too many times to be deterred by someone tapping out.

Tossing the bloodied knife and saw to the side of the room with the rest of the blood stained tools of torture, he grabs the drill and starts to navigate which drill bit to use when the door opens.

Right away, he’s tempted to use the object in hand on whoever was stupid enough to interrupt him.

Roman turns to see none other than his aggravating ass cousin holding a phone. Of course. Attention back to the task at hand, he bites out, “I told you not to fucking bother me. Whoever it is, I’m busy.”

Jey is about as moved by Roman’s tone as he is by the bloody, gory scene before him. Indifferent but still eager to leave, he instead provides the additional information that he knows will absolutely snatch Roman’s attention.

“It’s Bautista.” Sure enough, Jey can see his cousin’s big shoulders go still. “He—”

Roman stands up, tossing the drill to the side and quickly removing the gloves that are caked in blood, skin, and other anatomical matter. He stalks toward Jey, issuing his harsh demand,“give me the phone.”

Jey does as such, sucking his teeth when some of the blood flicks on him. “Man, that’s nasty as hell.”

Roman doesn’t comment, just walks out the room for privacy and demands to the man on the other end, “what happened?”

Bautista doesn’t hesitate and is quick with an easy response. “She wants to talk to you, sir.”

There’s only a slight decrease in concern levels that Roman experiences in hearing that Solana wants to speak to him versus Bautista having to inform him that something has happened. She’s conscious. That’s good. “Put her on.”

Bautista doesn’t say anything, but Roman hears what sounds like slight movement and hushed voices. It’s followed up with a quiet sniffle and even quieter, “hey….” Another sniffle as her volume increases ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, it’s—it’s so late.”

Roman has no idea what time it is nor does he care what time it is. He just wants to know why she’s crying and who he has to kill. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She takes a shaky breath and follows it up with an even shakier answer, weighed down with the heavy emotions she’s clearly struggling with at this moment. “We—we—we talked about my…my rape in therapy today, and I’ve never—I’ve never actually spoken about it to anyone, and I thought—I thought I was fine, but now…..”

His chest suddenly tightens. “Are you thinking about—”

“No.” Her answer is the firmest he’s heard in the conversation so far. Serious and solid. “Not that. I just—I can’t sleep because now I’m thinking about….about it, and I just….I wanted to hear your voice, and I’m sorry—you were probably asleep.”

No. No, he wasn’t. Far from it. And even if he was, it wouldn’t matter.

She comes first. 

No matter what.

“I’m gonna come see you.”

“No.” The sniffling resumes as does her tendency to try to make herself as less of a ‘problem’ as she can, no matter how many times Roman tries to explain she never has and never will be anything of the sort. “I’ll–I’ll be okay.”

Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, he’s not taking the risk because Roman cannot physically handle hearing her crying, hearing her so upset and not be able to do anything about it.

“I’m coming, Solana. Give me a half hour, okay?” He’d head there straight away right now, but the idea of coming to her after spending house torturing men, blood, bone, and other unidentifiable matter splattered all over him, is the last thing she needs. “I’ll be there.”

There’s another delay, and he’d bet any money it’s her trying to hold back the tears as best she can. “Oh–kay.”

He swallows, asking, “can you put Bautista back on the phone?”

Again, more shifting on the other end. “Hello?”

“Don’t take your fucking eyes off her.” Roman’s tone is hardened and leveled. “I’ll be there shortly.” He doesn’t wait for a response, doesn’t need to provide instructions on how to make sure his wife is kept safe.

Bautista already knows what the fucking deal is.

Roman can’t get cleaned and showered fast enough, ridding his body of all of the telltale signs that he’d spent the majority of the day torturing his wife’s family and rapists. She doesn’t need to know that. 

He’s impatient for the drive that feels much longer than the twenty minutes it actually is. A large part of that being that he just wants to get to Solana. 

She’d called him. She’d reached out to him.

The same thing he wishes she had done that night. Something he still feels strangely about but will learn to sort through later. Not now. 

Now his focus is on just making sure she’s alright.

That she’s safe.

Roman walks in with purpose, uninterested in Bautista’s short briefing, which is essentially more or less him just confirming that Solana hasn’t been left alone, another guard watching her as Bautista escorted Roman into the premises that’s otherwise locked down given it’s almost midnight.

Not that he gives a fuck.

Roman finds Solana sitting on her bed, legs pulled up to her chest. But, the minute her teary eyes land on him, she’s moving up from said bed, rushing over to him. Naturally, Roman catches her, holding her as she silently cries into his chest.

He’s gonna rip that fucking therapist a new one. 

“I’m sorry—” Roman hates hearing her apologize. He hates seeing her upset, but the fact that she’s apologizing for feeling the way she does is a different layer of irritation. It reminds him of how she used to be. Makes him realize just how much and deep this regression has been. “I just—I don’t want to be alone tonight.” 

He’s just about to once again remind her that she has nothing to be sorry about when her last statement snatches his attention. Alarms him a bit. “Solana….I need you to be honest with me—”

And she must know where he’s headed, because she pulls back, holding his gaze as she shakes her head. “I don’t want to hurt myself. I promise. I just….I just don’t want to be by myself.” 

It makes sense, and he believes her. Somewhat. There’s still that part of him that’s skeptical. He’s not sure if that part will ever go away either.

Solana swallows and licks her lips, asking in that tentative voice, “will—will you stay with me tonight?”

It’s an easy answer. Something he already decided the minute he heard her crying on the other end of the phone.

“Yes.” She looks so massively relieved by that one word. “But not here.” And before the confusion fully sets in, he clarifies, “I’m taking you home.”

As expected, she looks surprised and torn, “Roman, I—”

“You get released in three days, Sol. I’ll bring you back tomorrow afternoon, but tonight, you need to be home. You don’t need to be here.” Roman isn’t a fucking professional, but he knows his wife. Knows that what she’s looking for is the feeling of security. There’s no more secure place than with him in their home. And even with Dulce.

Solana seems to be on the same page, nodding and offering no further protest. “Oh–okay.”

As she’s barely allowed any personal items, it takes less than twenty minutes for her to be ready to go, Roman directing Bautista to handle any issues that arise regarding her departure.

Roman is sure Stratus or even Gail will have issues with his decision. He’s also 100% sure that he doesn’t give a flying fuck. 

Solana needs to get away. 

She needs to be home.

She needs to be with him. 

And, he’s proven correct, because the minute she walks into the house, she’s looking over at Roman, asking, “where is she?”

“Our room.”

Solana can’t seem to move up the stairs fast enough, Roman behind her, partially eager to see this long awaited reunion. He’s not sure who will be happier: Solana or her puppy. 

It’s about a tie though, because the minute Solana moves over to the side of the bed where Dulce is sleeping and gets on her knees, carefully petting the puppy, Dulce’s head snaps up.

And instantly, she jumps at Solana. 

They’re both crying, Solana holding onto Dulce who is a mixture of whimpers, licks, and that tail of hers excitedly wagging. 

Solana says something in her to Spanish, something Roman can’t make out, but he doesn’t need to make it out. It’s obviously something moving. 

Something healing almost. 

Solana looks up at him, laughing and crying as Dulce tries to lick her face. Her voice cracks a bit as she says to him, “thank you.” 

Roman nods, that same, warm, unfamiliar emotion building up. Fucking feelings.

Nodding, he says nothing, watching as she continues to hold onto and cuddle with Dulce. 

Yeah…..

Definitely the right decision.

________

Roman lifts his eyes from the phone that he just put on Do Not Disturb to set his gaze on Solana. Out of the shower, she’s wearing only one of his shirts. Nothing else. He can tell by the way the cotton almost outlines her nipples. 

Placing the phone to the side, he’s slightly taken back when she moves onto his lap. “I—” Her eyes drop downward, her hands grasping at his shirt. “I need a distraction.” He’s confused, but it’s only temporary as she trails off with the specific distraction she’s looking for. “Can we….”

He doesn’t need to hear more. Roman understands just what she’s asking for.

And his answer is simple.

“Solana, I don’t think…..” He has to phrase it correctly, word it so that it doesn’t sound like he is rejecting her. He is, but it can’t come across as just that. “You’re not—”

“I feel dirty,” she interrupts, eyes closing, mouth moving around as she does her best to balance emotion with verbalization. “I—I don’t want to feel that. I want—I want to feel you. I only ever want to feel you.” Solana opens her eyes, pleading almost. “Please.”

Something is telling him to tell her no, to find a way to decline without hurting her feelings or making her feel rejected, because that’s the last thing he wants. 

But, it feels almost impossible. She’s upset. He doesn’t want her to feel the way she’s feeling, and if she believes being intimate tonight will help her, then he’ll give her that. 

Roman nods and gently taps her hip, partially surprised when she moves off his lap, taking his hand as she lays back on the bed, pulling him on top of her. 

Roman’s lips hover over hers as she breathes, “I just want to feel you.”

It’s taking a painful amount of self-control on Roman’s part to refrain from taking here right here and now. Because while he’s mentally conflicted, there’s no denying the hardness that’s growing in his pants by the minute as she lifts her thigh and grazes it against his hip. There’s no properly explaining how much he’s missed this.

He kisses her, tentatively almost, letting her take the lead as she moves her arms around his neck, tugging him closer. Roman’s hand goes to palm her breast through her shirt which makes her breathe against his mouth.

He shuts his eyes for a minute. He’d almost forgotten the sweet sounds she makes, fodder for his growing desire. He moves his mouth to her neck, sucking on the spot he’s learned makes her writhe under him, her nails scraping down his taut back. 

And then, the shift.

Roman feels it only seconds before she acts on it, the way she starts to tense underneath him, the growing unsteady pattern of her breathing, the fear. But before he can pull away, she’s pushing him away, letting out a ‘no’ that comes from a different place, a different time. It comes from her trauma.

Her push is strong, but it’s not enough to get him completely off of her. Roman does that much all on his own, watching as she sits up in the bed and covers her face.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes into her hands. “I—I’m sorry.” Her shoulders tremble as the apologies melt into the bleeding of emotions she tried to mask away with intimacy. “I’m sorry—” Solana falling into a full out crying session, the third or fourth time she’s done as much tonight, is more than enough for Roman to motion her over to him.

“Come here.” 

He’s at least grateful she lets him pull her onto his chest, letting her cry on him as he lays them back in the bed, his protective arms around her. For a second, he berates himself for taking her from the hospital. If they were still there, he’d wake up whoever the fuck he needed to wake up to give her that medicine she was prescribed for moments like this.

Moments where she just needs more.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, crying subdued a bit. But Roman is unsure what he dislikes more: the fact that she’s so upset or the fact that she thinks she needs to apologize for being so upset.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” is all he says. His hand is on the small of her back, moving in comforting circles. “Nothing at all, okay?”

She doesn’t say anything, just continues to cry into him, Roman wishing he could do more to settle her. It kills him to see her so upset. 

A few minutes later, her tears having almost entirely subsided, she murmurs, “I’m sorry we couldn’t….”

He takes a deep breath, willing his voice to remain calm. “Solana, I told you before I don’t need that from you—”

“But, I wanted to. I just…..”

“It’s okay.” He cuts her off, kissing the top of her head. “I never expected that from you tonight anyway.”

He already knew she wasn’t in the mental space for it, but he didn’t want her to feel rejected either, so he went along with it. There’s a bit of regret, maybe more than a bit, but Roman also knows he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Still is. 

“Rest.” He instructs, grateful when she simply nods against him, tucking herself closer into his body. And he watches her closely and intently, an infinite amount of pleasure rising within him when he feels the steady rise and fall of her body, confirmation that she’s finally drifted off into sleep.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep with her. He would actually prefer to stay up and watch her, but the weight of the day, mentally and physically, takes its unavoidable toll. And not too long after she succumbs to sleep, he does the same.

________

“Daddy.”

Roman’s eyes shoot open at the both familiar and unfamiliar voice. Looking down, he sees Solana sleeping peacefully on top of him, her hand atop his chest. But to his right, he finds sad eyes, tear stained cheeks, and a deep frown. 

Naturally, he frowns a bit as well. He hates seeing any of this family upset. “Bad dream?” 

She nods, holding onto the teddy bear in her arms. He’d gotten it for her a couple years back while he was away on business, and it’s become her comfort animal ever since. 

Roman is careful in prying Solana’s arm off him, grateful when the extent of her stirring is simply her turning over on the other side. Over the years, she’s gotten better with not being as easily disturbed or woken up.

And he’s especially thankful for that in this moment.

Moving the blankets down and off, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and rolls his shoulders. She shifts the bear in her arm to one side and reaches up for him to pick her up. “Come here.” Roman does as such, pulling her up as he stands from the bed. 

She lays her head on his shoulder while  he quietly walks them out the room, cracking the door behind him. Roman takes her downstairs into the living room and hits the lamp on the side table before grabbing the remote off the coffee table. 

Sitting down, she adjusts herself in his lap, holding onto her stuffy while he loads up the animated show with the creepy blue looking thing that kids apparently love, his included. 

Especially the twin on his lap. It’s like her comfort show.

“You wanna pick the episode?” It’s a preference. 

She nods and accepts the remote from him, selecting the same episode she’s watched the last 10+ times this has occurred. She almost always starts with this same episode, like she has to or else she can’t watch it.

A repeat and increasing thing, he’s noticing. 

As the opening credits roll around, Roman gently rubs her back, asking, “you wanna talk about it?”

She keeps her focus on the TV while shaking her head no. An expected answer given the fact that she never really likes to talk in general, but as Roman thinks about the increase in how often this is happening, he’s starting to wonder if it’s past the point where she gets a choice in the matter.

For the past few months, every so often, or more often now, he’ll be awoken in the middle of the night by his youngest daughter. Upset and clearly crying, she’ll ask him to sit with her, to stay with her until she falls asleep again. Though at some point, the addition of letting her watch an episode or two of her show seemed to aid in not only calming her down but eventually lulling her back to sleep.

And every time Roman tries to get out of her just what these bad dreams are, she remains quiet, forcing him to wreck his brain over what could be bothering her so much.

The unknown of it all is starting to mess with him.

He can’t help her if he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Sissy?”

Both Roman and the daughter on his lap look over to see her twin rubbing her sleeping eyes as she walks over and climbs onto the sofa, the two adjusting so they’re both seated on top of him. “Did you have the bad dreams again?”

At that, Roman’s brow furrows. Did she talk about them with her sister?

He asks as such. 

“Do you know what they’re about?” Roman and Solana suspected that she’d confided in her sister, her true confidant, but they also didn’t want to risk putting a rift between the sisters by making one feel like she has to ‘snitch’ on the other.

However, an unspoken communication of some sort is exchanged between the twins. The quieter of the two reluctantly nodding as the outspoken one shares, “sissy has bad thoughts…..”

Roman takes the remote and turns down the volume versus pausing as he notices she’s still trying to watch. To some extent. And it’s clearly helping to calm her, so he won’t deprive her of that. But, he does have to ask, “what kind of bad thoughts?”

That could be and mean so many things. And if the situation was different, he wouldn’t be too concerned. The level and standard for ‘bad’ that he has compared to his kids is vastly different. But given how upset his daughter has been getting, there’s gotta be something more severe to the ‘bad’ this time. 

His twin, in more than just looks and demeanor, seems to hesitate for a second, Roman ready to encourage her that it’s okay to be honest with him. He needs that honesty at this point. “She—she has scary thoughts about something happening to you and mama. And—and bad dreams that something’s gonna happen to you when you go on your trips.”

Roman does his best to hide his surprise. And his concern. He wasn’t expecting that. Turning to the youngest of the two, he asks, “is that true?”

She looks down, tightening her hold on her bear as she nods slowly.

Roman closes his eyes and takes a second to gather himself. Comfort now. Process later. It’s become a bit of a routine for him.

Needing both of their attention, he takes the remote again to hit pause. 

“Girls….” Roman has to remind himself to keep it simple and at a level they can understand. “I’m never going to let anything happen to your mom. Or to you. Or to your brother. And nothing is especially going to happen to me.” Seeing the emotion especially present in his youngest, he kisses her temple. “I’m always going to come back home to you guys, okay?”

And that’s a promise.

Come hell or high water, nothing could separate him from his family. 

Especially his kids. 

“Told you, sissy.” She then smiles a little, adding on with a toothy grin. “Daddy’s like a superhero.”

Roman chuckles. Far from it. But whatever helps them. 

Taking over the duty of being the parent, showing that while she has many of her father’s interests and some of his temperament, she also has her mother’s caring nature, she asks, reaching for her little sister’s hand. “Wanna try to go back to sleep? You can sleep in my bed.”

The offer to not have to sleep alone as well as having some one on one time with him seems to be enough to be enough to coax her back  to bed. He watches as the girls climb off his lap, the oldest taking the youngest hand, as she also handles the parting words, “goodnight, daddy.”

He offers a small smile. Their bond is something special. “Night, girls.” Hands still locked, they walk away, heading back up the stairs. “Love you.” He calls out after them. 

An almost synchronized response is what he’s met with. “Love you too, daddy.” 

It brings that warmth back to him, Roman blowing out a deep breath when it’s just him and the paused screen on the TV. He takes a couple minutes to sit on the weight of the conversation. 

He doesn’t like knowing that his daughter is struggling with thoughts. Hates that they haunt her in the form of dreams. He knows better than anyone how difficult that can be. How exhausting.

So does Solana.

Thoughts of his wife and wanting to get back to her before she notices his absence and wakes up, Roman shuts off the TV and starts heading upstairs.

Walking back into their bedroom, he’s only partially surprised to find Solana awake, sitting up against the headboard, their son on her chest for one of his nightly feedings. 

She gives him a sad, knowing smile. “Another bad dream?” 

Roman nods and goes to sit back in the bed next to her. “Found out what they’re about.”

Solana’s eyes widen a bit. “She told you?”

He shakes his head. “The other one did.” He frowns a bit, sharing, “she’s having thoughts and dreams of something happening to us. Me especially.” 

Solana’s frown is deep and concerned. Valid. “What? Where—Where did that come from?”

“Don’t know.” Roman answers. He’d have loved to been able to ask more questions, but it’s also the middle of the night and just getting some kind of answer is a huge win in and of itself. “But, I wanna schedule an appointment with her pediatrician. If something else is going on with her, we need to know.”

Roman has an idea of what it could be, now starting to put different pieces together. Her particular way of doing things, rituals of sorts, thoughts she can’t control. But, he wants to be sure.

“Of course,” Solana agrees. “I’ll call in the morning.”

Good. 

Roman chuckles after looking over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:59am. He glances at Solana, “and you really wanna do this all over again?”

He’s still partially stuck on the fact that even with three kids, Solana is still wanting more. 

The thought alone brings out a heavy sigh just from tonight’s events.

All three of their kids up and in need of something in the middle of the night like he and his wife don’t have work in the morning.

He can’t even really picture an additional child—or two–added into the mix. 

Solana, however, only smiles, rocking gently to help soothe their son. “Only with you, papi.” A beat. “Only with you.”

________

“No!”

Roman is awakened by movement and volume. Both of which effectively deter and distract him from yet another strange dream, a fantasy of some sort.

Or…..something more. 

Regardless, he has neither the time nor energy—nor desire—to think about that. Not with the woman violently stirring beside him. A nightmare. It’s obvious Solana is in the middle of a nightmare.

“No….” Twisting against the mattress, Roman sees the light sheen of sweat on her forehead. He frowns. How long has she been in the middle of this nightmare? “Get off me….”

At that, he stills a bit. With Solana’s extensive trauma, it’s pretty impossible to know just what specific traumatizing incident haunts her dreams and interrupts her sleep. But this….this one is pretty obvious. 

And it guts him.

He moves his hands to her shoulders. “Baby, wake up.”

She starts crying, and Roman isn’t quite sure how much worse and useless he can feel. “No. Please—please. You’re hurting me.”

There’s a heaviness in his chest as Roman deepens his voice and shakes her a little harder. “Solana, wake up.”

It seems the more he says it, the more she writhes and cries, trapped in the throes of trauma. Roman doesn’t want to be physical with her, doesn’t want to exacerbate an already difficult situation, but he can’t just sit here and watch her suffer. 

He moves his hands to her arms, restricting her just enough, raising his volume yet again. “Solana, it’s just a nightmare. Wake up.” He’s not entirely certain if it’s his escalation or just the natural progression, but she shoots up, eyes opening for the briefest second before slamming shut. 

And then, the climax.

Roman is taken back when she starts pushing and shoving him, but that surprise is easily weighed down with sympathy when she starts talking again. 

“Get off of me!” She cries, never once letting up on him.

He takes it all, her fists really of no consequence to him as he continues to try to break her from this torment. “Solana, please—”

“No!” She’s the one with the increased volume, Roman biting back a hiss as a sharp almost burning pain throbs in his shoulder, the area where he was shot. But, it’s irrelevant. His focus is on Solana and nothing else. 

“Baby, it’s me.” He’s no longer restraining her, letting her let it out on him as much as she needs to. Whatever she needs in this moment, he’ll give it to her. He’s not sure what else to do besides that, to be honest.

But, it’s when Roman manages to cup her face, again, repeating the hopefully calming, settling words, “it’s me” that seems to help break through to her. Blinking, wet eyes open, filled with fear. He studies her, watching her focus on him, as the fear starts to diminish. Replaced with recognition. “R–Roman?”

He nods, his own concern settling seeing her anxiety lessen. “Yes. It’s just me.”

She releases a shaky, emotional breath, clearly coming to grips with what just occurred. But, her gaze settling on his shoulder seems to bring back that previous level of horror. “Oh my god, I—I hurt you.” She slaps her hand over her mouth, shaking her head. “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

He looks down, realizing she must have ripped his stitches when she was hitting him, blood trickling down his skin. Roman is entirely unbothered. “Solana, I’m fine.”

She doesn’t seem to be hearing him, too focused on the unintentional thing she caused. “I hurt you…..” 

He lowers her hands from her face, kissing her inner palms. “Baby, it’s fine.” 

“I–I’m sorry. I–She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths, asking him in an unexpected calmer voice. “I—I need to stitch it back up for you.”

Roman shakes his head. “I can do th—”

But, she cuts him off, sounding a little bit more stable and a lot more desperate. “Roman, please?” 

Not wanting to risk upsetting her again, he shakes his head, allowing her to take the lead as she grabs his hand and guides him into their bathroom. Roman sits on the toilet and watches her silently move around, gathering the medical kit and other needed supplies. 

His eyes don’t leave her as she works carefully and tediously to stitch him back up, Roman partially thankful her focus is on something else versus the horrific memories that seemed to have been tormenting her the past couple hours. 

He wants to say something, do something to help her feel better, to especially rip away the guilt evident in her eyes at ‘hurting’ him.

Solana may be the only person on this earth capable of doing as such, but it could never be physically. 

Ever.

“I’m not crazy. I—I promise.” Her voice is shaky, unsteady by understandable emotion as she finishes up, starting to put the supplies back. “I just—I don’t know—”

Roman takes her hands in his. “Sol, I know you’re not crazy.” Feeling an unfamiliar sense of openness and vulnerability, he asks her, “do you know why I was able to help you with your panic attack that night?” Her eyes are lit with confusion as she shakes her head no. Roman’s jaw clenches. He’s never once told a soul what he’s about to share with her. “It’s because I used to have them.” 

Her reaction is exactly what he would expect from anyone to hear such words coming from him. 

“Wh—what?” 

Roman’s eyes divert to the wall beside her as he powers through the discomfort. “It was….it was after my family was killed. I’d have nightmares about it and wake up freaking the fuck out.” Just like her. “That’s when they’d happen.”

“But, I couldn’t tell anyone, because they were already questioning if I would be fit to lead.” He scoffs, “I had to be perfect. I couldn’t let anyone know how fucked up I really was from what happened.” 

He can only imagine that the softness in her voice matches the expression on her face. “Roman….” 

“But, I couldn’t keep dealing with the shit either, so I found this book at my school’s library about mental health and whatnot, and it had a section on panic attacks and how to cope with them. So, I studied and learned them. It’s been fine since then. Haven’t had one in years.” Though that similar budding feeling of panic that used to be present before they’d occur is something Roman’s noticed having versions of for almost the past two weeks.

Since he found out Solana tried to kill herself. 

She lifts her hand to his face, and he closes his eyes. He can feel it. Can sense it. Her sympathy or maybe something different. Maybe empathy. Regardless, he doesn’t want or need it. The point was to not bring attention to his fucked up past but rather help her reduce some of her self-judgment. 

He stands up, forcing her hand to fall down as he instead cups her face, looking and speaking directly at her. “You’re not crazy.” Far from it. And he needs her to know that. “You just….you need help.” His voice shifts into something softer. “And I’m going to make sure you get it.”

Her gaze also shifts. Something both hopeful and sad. “I–I can go?”

Roman only hesitates for a second. “Yes.” 

The answer he gives her is in no way indicative of how he feels about it. He still hates it. Hates the idea of her not coming home for good in three days and instead going to yet another treatment facility. This one longer and farther away.

But, if there’s anything the past few hours have taught him, have shown him, it’s that Dr. Stratus and Gail were right. 

And so was Solana. 

She’s not ready to come home. 

She needs more help.

And he can’t, won’t, be selfish. Won’t be too consumed by his own want and desire to have her back with him. Not when it directly contrasts what she needs. 

And what she needs is continued professional help. 

So, that’s exactly what she’s going to get. 

“I’ll talk to Stratus about what we need to do.” And that’s more so in regards to location solely, so Roman can get a head start on working on safety precautions for her. He’ll keep Bautista with her. That seems to be a good fit. 

Solana, however, is bubbling with emotion again. From a different source. For a different reason. 

She pushes herself into his chest, Roman easily dropping his hands to her waist, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you.” It’s as he holds her, her face buried into his chest that she murmurs those three, sacred, terrifying words. “I love you.”

He closes his eyes. 

It’s one thing to read it but something entirely different to actually hear her say it. 

He doesn’t know how to respond, how to react, what to say. 

Even if does feel the same way. 

So, he says nothing. 

________

“You took her out of the hospital.”

“Sure fucking did.”

Roman has never been so unbothered while sitting in Dr. Stratus office as she paces across, visibly and audibly stressed the fuck out by what occurred. 

After agreeing to let her continue treatment at the other facility, Solana was finally able to get some sleep. Roman as well. Not a ton, of course, because he woke up to her spot in bed next to him vacant. Dulce missing as well.

And if not for the note left for him that read ‘fixing us breakfast <3’, he might have even panicked a bit. Just a smidgen. Of course she would spend time doing something for them rather than herself. It’s such a Solana thing.

Regardless, he enjoyed breakfast with her but hated to see the saddened expression on her face as she said goodbye to her puppy, Dulce’s ears dropping and the whimpering returning as she also picked up on the pending separation.

She’s also felt and been impacted by Solana’s absence. 

But, it’s a necessary absence. 

Solana needs help. 

And it’s that, that oh-so important reminder, Roman keeps repeating to himself as this blonde bitch continues to berate him like he’s a fucking child. 

“Who the hell are you to make that decision?” She continues, pointing at him. “You do not get to remove my patient from my care without speaking to me!”

“I did what I had to do for my wife. She needed to get the fuck out of here.” Roman is a man who doesn’t believe in explaining himself, but given the situation, he makes a small exception. For Solana. Only for her. “But, if you don’t lower your fucking voice, you won’t have to worry about her, or anyone else, being your patient because the dead can’t be fucking psychiatrists.”

Dr. Stratus closes her eyes and shakes her head. “At the very least, you could have just texted me what was going on.”

“Keeping you briefed wasn’t my priority.” At all. “Keeping my wife alive was.”

She opens her eyes, asking, “was she suicidal?”

“She said no.” Roman still isn’t entirely sure he believed her. She could have been telling the truth, but she also could have been lying for a lot of different reasons. Still, that’s not something he feels the need to share. “She said she talked about her rape earlier that day in therapy and was having….flashbacks.”

“Flooding,” Dr. Stratus informs. “It’s when a survivor experiences intrusive thoughts, images, and flashbacks of their trauma.” She then looks at him, almost surprised, “she called you?”

Roman nods. “Said the coping shit wasn’t working.”

The doctor plops back down into her seat, saying more to herself than anything. “Well, I suppose that’s a good sign. That she reached out to you versus….other things.” That’s exactly how Roman feels. “Regardless, in the future, at least let me know what’s going on. I would have told you to give her the Hydroxyzine. We could have seen if it’s helpful.”

Roman doesn’t disagree with her there. The thought of one of her medications potentially being helpful definitely crossed his mind. But, he’s not about to tell this woman that.

He’s got other things he needs to discuss.

“The facility you were telling me about….” Roman looks away, not eager to have this conversation but knowing he needs to. For Solana. “Tell me more.”

________

A loud, guttural, almost animalistic growl leaves Samantha’s mouth at the same time the glass plate is tossed against the wall, shattering and spilling into tiny little pieces all across her kitchen floor.

Not that it makes a difference.

Punching the fridge, she ignores the throbbing in her fist and ineffectively tries to manage her nerves, dissuading the burning urge within to scream. It’s been less than 24hrs since she regained the ability to speak, her jaw finally healed enough and no longer wired shut.

But, now she’s left with nothing but pent up emotion all directed toward one person.

Solana

That fat bitch ruined everything. She stole Roman from her. The man who she’s been with since she was a fucking teenager. The man she always imagined would be her husband and father of her children, who would make her his Queen of the Bloodline, but none of that will happen now.

It won’t happen because of that slashed face whore.

Because Roman chose her over him.

Which brings up unfamiliar feelings towards her former lover.

Roman is an asshole. Always has been. As long as she’s known him, he’s been a dick, so his cruel behavior at times toward her never really bothered her. That’s just his personality. She never took it personally. 

Not until now, at least.

Because now, it’s not just his wife she’s mad at, it’s Roman too.

Granted, her fury toward the troll is significantly worse.

She’d kill the bitch if she could.

“Rough day?”

Samantha nearly jumps across the room at the sound of another person’s voice. She instead is braced against the refrigerator as she lands eyes on the last person she expected to find in her place.

“Seth?”

It takes another second for her to register that it truly is the once friend of her former lover. He sits on her sofa wearing at least three different types of animal print that are all outlined in some kind of bling, hair looking as unkempt as his mental health. 

She’s sly in trying to move closer to the knife set on the counter.

Seth, however, is as perceptive as he is insane. She stills when he casually pulls out a gun. “Ah ah. I just want to talk to you. That’s all.” He makes a face, playing with the gun.“Word on the street is that you got dumped.”

Samantha’s eyes narrow a bit. How does Seth freakin Rollins of all people know about her ‘breakup’ with Roman? Only those close to Roman would know that, and there’s no way anyone close to Roman would be speaking to Seth……

Right?

“Who—”

“You’ll find out about the members of this little crusade once you agree,” he explains, placing the gun on the sofa beside him, casually viewing his nails that are painted a hideous green. Like the color of slime from Nickelodeon back in the day. “Can’t risk snitches, of course.”

More interested than anything, Samantha asks, “what are you talking about?”

“Oh, that’s right.” He giggles, standing up and pulling a flask out of what seems like nowhere. “We’re gonna kill Roman Reigns.” Seth takes a swig as Samantha’s eyes widen, before he adds on, as if he forgot. “And his wife, Sadie.”

“Solana?”

Seth shrugs “Yeah, she can get killed too. Why not?”

Samantha finally laughs, crossing her arms. “You’re even crazier than I realized. You can’t just kill, Roman.” It’s damn near impossible. Does he not know the mountain of bodies that have tried and failed at the very same thing he’s suggesting? “And there’s no way in hell he’ll let you get even close enough to kill that bitch wife of his.”

“Oh, that’s a lot easier than you think.” Seth takes the flask to his mouth again, voice teasing yet malicious. “The Bloodline is full of traitors.”

Samantha goes quiet, wondering how much of this is madness and just how much is true. It seems too asinine to be true. 

But, there’s also the fact that the only way Seth could have known about Roman leaving her was if someone within the Bloodline told him, which would most definitely make them a traitor. And even that feels almost impossible. Roman’s family is notoriously loyal. Who would want to betray him?

The plural form of the word ‘traitor’ is also something that catches her attention. 

Could there be more than one traitor?

Seth meanwhile seems to be in a sense of imaginative blood lust, practically squealing, “the infamous Roman Empire is going to be coming to a gloriously bloody, gory end, and we’re trying to see who all want to be a part of our little murderous, traitorous gang.” 

Again, she’s caught off guard, realizing just now he’s clearly referring to more than himself. “Gang?”

Seth tilts his head, pouting as he says almost mysteriously, “we both know your former lover has no shortage of enemies.”

That is dangerously true, but what’s even more dangerous is this suicide mission Seth is proposing.

“How is this supposed to be any different from any other time people have tried to kill Roman?” As much as she would love to see Solana’s life drain from her ugly ass face, Samantha would rather not lose her life in the process. 

Seth is way too excited to answer. “Because this time, the call is coming from inside the house.” Her eyes widen. “With a little….Nightmare help as well.”

There’s so much to process in that one bombshell of a sentence. “Someone in the Bloodline is orchestrating this?” Not to mention whatever role the Nightmare Factory is playing. That’s just salt on an open, gushing wound. 

This type of betrayal is bound to crush Roman.

Samanth smiles. 

Oh, revenge is so so sweet. 

“I’ll join, but on one condition.” Seth’s brow lifts, a sign he’s ready to hear out her caveat. “That I get to stab and kill that bitch Solana myself. I get to be the one to take her from Roman.”

At the vision alone, Seth’s mad smile grows followed by that crazy ass laugh. “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better.” He claps his hands together, nodding. “You got yourself a deal, curly.”

Samantha nods, pleased with the arrangement. 

Whoever previously took the knife to Roman’s little wife, causing all those ugly ass scars, failed to get the job done. 

Samantha won’t. 

She does have another question, shrugging. “So who all is a part of this shit anyway?”

She’s especially curious about who the traitor is.

Or traitors. 

Of course, it’s just more mental edging with the self-proclaimed visionary. “You’ll get to meet the gang soon enough, but we’ve got one more person to recruit.” Samantha’s curiosity is evident, prompted by Seth casually tossing the flask up and down with a wicked gleam in his empty eyes. “Can’t take down Roman Reigns without inviting his good ole’ pal Brock Lesnar to join in on the fun, now can we?”

[foxybrownsugababe]

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐮𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Damson Idris x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - He finds out, and everything shifts

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Mentions of past absence, emotional tension, infidelity, drinking, mild language, angst to softness

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - I saw this TikTok of a super adorable baby and he looked like he could literally be Damson Idris’s son so I wrote this…might not be a full me tho fic but I will be writing blurbs about them.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭- 2,770+

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆

Thanksgiving Weekend, Los Angeles – 2024

The November air had that soft bite that only showed up once a year in LA — cool enough for long sleeves, warm enough to eat outside.

Keith’s house smelled like cinnamon and butter. The kind of scent that hugged you at the door. Music played low through the speakers — a “Black Folksgiving” playlist looping artists from Stevie Wonder to Ari Lennox, Frankie Beverly and the likes with no skips.

Sade, who only lived a few houses down, was running late — not unusual — but Keith knew she’d show up with a fresh bunt cake and something sarcastic to say. She always did. A woman on routine. Though she had changed a lot in the past year, due to reasons he knew were obvious but never pointed out. She was still quick with a joke, still sarcastic as hell, but something had softened around the edges. Her heart was a little less cold. She was still Sade, but more rooted now.

The baby had done that.

Her son, Zion, was everything. To her, to him, to their family, but most importantly and most definitely to her. Keith wasn’t just the cool uncle — he was the emergency contact, the godfather, the “you better tell him I said no” backup. He and Sade were like family, so that made him family. Not by blood, but by a bond that was so solid, Keith could’ve sworn the boy was starting to look like him.

And though their family and dynamic were a little unconventional, they made it work like some nuclear arrangement. Seemed to be the cute, Black American dream if you were just looking at them with no insight to who there were.

But things then got unexpectedly tricky then Damson had called out of nowhere last yesterday — said he was going to be back in town for a bit, no press, no cameras, just trying to reconnect — Keith figured this Friendsgiving was the perfect time.

A little reunion. No pressure.

Expect that Damson didn’t know about the baby. Well, not many people did. The only people Sade told, were the people closest to her. Her mother, Keith, and her best friend, Tati. Sade’s just really secretive and private as hell. Even people close to her didn’t know until the baby was already crawling. She didn’t want anyone to know, because by the story she told them, the father wasn’t in the picture and she didn’t want the pity of being a single mother when she could’ve just gotten rid of the baby if she wanted to. She wanted the baby, she just didn’t want the questions from everyone else.

Keith never told anyone — not out of malice, but because it just never came up. And Damson had been gone and out the loop for a minute now. So him showing up at his door was a nice shock.

The knock on the door was easy, very polite.

Keith wasn’t expecting anyone new. Everyone was either in the house or on their way. Tati had just texted a “ten minutes out” and Sade said she was waiting on her mother to come her house to watch Zion. Ryan was somewhere in the kitchen being effortlessly fine, already side-eying everyone’s macaroni with a sharp tongue and a subtle smirk.

So when Keith opened the door and saw Damson standing there with his hands in his coat pockets, a fresh cut, and that trademark lopsided grin — his first instinct was to laugh.

“You were serious?” Keith said, squinting like the sight might dissolve. “You really pulled up?”

Damson grinned wider, stepping into the cinnamon-and-butter air. “Aye, if I was going to celebrate the holiday in the states, there was one place I knew to go.” He grinned.

“Yeah well, welcome to the crib.” Keith said, daapping his boy up. “You know if I told anyone you was coming, half the city would’ve shown up. The other half would’ve FaceTimed Lori.”

Damson smirked. “Man, stop. We’re not doing that today.” He grumbled, casing Keith to let out an amused laugh. He then waved a hand, already turning back toward the living room, where Algee, Martin, and Brett were posted up near the drink table, arguing over whether or not cranberry sauce should even exist.

When Damson walked in, the room shifted like it always did when someone famous-famous entered. Not because anyone was surprised, but because Damson just had that type of presence. Like he walked in wearing whatever invisible crown people imagined he had.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Martin said, grinning.

“Yeah, man, we thought you were still in London.” Brett called from across the room.

“I had to come celebrate while I was here.” He grinned as he called up his fellow London brethren. “See what the hype was about.”

“Oh, you’ll see for sure.” Martine grinned, already accustomed to the American holiday with great food.

Damson gave out handshakes, hugs, and that smooth charm he kept holstered like a weapon. And while he did that, Keith accounted his girlfriend in the kitchen, who looked over all the food while he was away.

“I know this isn’t everyone.” Damson said, following behind the man and looking at the food laid out around the kitchen island.

“Oh, no, not at all. Tati is sliding through in bit and Sade still getting ready or something like that.” He shrugged. And speaking of his best friend as he stood over the food reminded him of something. “I actually got a quick favor to ask.” He said suddenly, piquing the other man’s attention. “Before she gets here.”

“Who?” Damson asked.

“Sade,” Keith said, already halfway out the door. “Forgot to grab sugar this morning. She’s right down the street. You mind grabbing some?”

Damson blinked. “You’re sending me to borrow sugar?”

“Yeah, it’s an American thing, keep up.” He said, causing the other man to scoff. “You sound just like her.” He mumbled, referring to the woman they were currently speaking about. Neither grinned was he waved him off a bit before continuing. “C’mon man, it’s for the milkshakes. It’s our tradition!” Keith said with a grin. “Plus, you get to see her face when she realizes it’s you.”

Damson chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright. Lemme grab my jacket.”

“Don’t need it. It’s L.A. cold, not London cold.”

Keith handed him a mug of something spiked, pointed down the sidewalk, and said, “Blue house with the wisteria. Go knock.”

“Aight, I’ll be back.” Damson said before walking out of the front door, earlier than he originally anticipated.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

And inside dark blue house with the haint blue door, a frantic woman ran around with a giggling weight on her hip and a phone held between her shoulder and her ear. “Yo, before you come over, can you do me a quick favor?” Keith’s voice asked the woman through the phone speaker. “I ran outta sugar and I know your sweet tooth-having ass has some. Slide me a lil cup? I’ll owe you.”

Sade responded with a sarcastic laugh as he rolled her eyes. “You better have wine waiting.” She demanded more than asked.

“You know I do.” He said, and she could practically see that stupid grin she knew he wore. She then scoffed softly. “Yeah whatever. Get off my phone boy.” She said, and didn’t even give him time before she hung up in his face.

Sade was in her kitchen with Zion propped on her hip, babbling at a plush giraffe with one chewed-up ear. She had one hand on the baby, the other balancing a half-covered sweet potato pie as she moved around her place — barefoot, overalls on and her curls pulled into a wild bun with a silk scarf wrapped around the base.

“Now where are my glasses?” The woman mumbled as she moved around her home, squinting to see better in the permanent blur that covered her retinas. After a few more minutes of moving a looking, she finally stopped in the living room, letting out a sigh as she adjusted the baby in her hip. “You are getting heavy, puddin’.” She said, looking down at the boy. The deep skinned baby just looked up at her, silent as always before a grin spread across his face as he made eye contact with his mama. Sade couldn’t help but smiling back at him, his face filling her with pure joy. “Oh, my handsome baby!” She gushed in an exaggerated tone, moving forward rubbing her nose against his

In doing so, the glasses she’d spent what felt like forever looking for, fell down from her head and onto her nose. “Uh.” She said in surprise, and if Zion could talk, he would’ve done the same as the mother and son blinked at the glasses in sunrise. “Well would you look at that.” Sade mumbled to herself. She then let out a sigh before she sat herself on the couch. It was silent for a minute, Zion still playing with his stuffed animal while Sade looked at him. The she remembered.

“What am I supped to be doing?” She asked herself. She looked around for a bit before catching sight of the pie she sat on the table. “Oh, Keith’s!” She said, moving to stand up with the small boy on her hip again.

She didn’t hear the knock right away.

Zion did, though. His head perked up, that goofy little smile falling from his face as he turned curious at to who was at their home.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear it,” Sade muttered, shifting him to the other hip as she padded toward the door.

She didn’t look through the peephole. Should’ve.

She opened the door with a “Keith, I swear if you don’t start grocery shopping like an adult—”

And froze.

The man on the other side was not Keith.

Tall, clean-cut, dark skin catching the sun just right. Dressed in all black, with that signature and slight slouch to his shoulders and softly downturned eyes that somehow looked older than the last time she saw them.

Damson.

Sade’s lips parted but no sound came out.

And Zion, similarly to his mother, stared at the stranger on the porch, grabbing at the edge of his mother’s overall buttons.

Damson stared at her for half a second.

Then at the baby.

Then back at her.

“…I’m not Keith,” He said, and though his tone was flat, he held a small smirk on his lips, more so out of shock, through Sade could see the question running through his mind.

Sade’s throat tightened. “I—Damson.” Was all she could say as she started at the man.

“Whose baby is that?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her hand instinctively pulled Zion a little closer, her body blocking most of him from view — like that would change what was already spinning out. “Uh..Damson.” She begun, blinking as her eyes flickered all over the man, just trying to make sure he was actually before her, on her porch. “Damson.” She said again, her mind not quite piecing together a coherent sentence just yet.

Damson’s eyes didn’t leave her face. But she could see it — the storm brewing behind them. A thousand thoughts he wasn’t saying.

“Keith sent you here?” She finally asked, quietly as she adjusted the weight of her son, that now felt ten times heavier as she stood before a man she never seemed to know how to talk to.

“Yeah.” Damson nodded. “Yeah, he said something about the sugar. I’m sorry, this may seem weird, but are you babysitting?” He asked, tilting his head at her, brows furrowed as his eyes junked between her and the baby that laid his head on the woman shoulder.

Sade paused again. Her mouth gaping as she tried to form an answer for the man. “Uh..no.” She said. “No, I’m not babysitting. Damson…this is my son, Zion.” She said.

And that bomb didn’t quite go off how she expected it to. She wasn’t even sure if it detonated.

Damson just started at her.

“You have a baby?” He asked, and his tone was eerily calm. And his heavy blinks didn’t help.

“Yeah.” Sade said. And it was silent for a long time, the pair just staring at one another.

“Let me go get you that sugar.” Sade suddenly spoke up, and even with the weight of another human, though small, in her arms, she was quick on her feet and was in her kitchen in no time. She moved with ease and precision as she walked over to her pantry and grabbed the small bag of sugar that just so happens to the rest she got from Keith two weeks ago.

Damson trialed into her home not far after she walked away, silent as ever as he subconsciously followed after the woman.

Sade turned around and jumped a bit, seeing the man standing near the kitchen interface now, his face still blank but his eyes as curious and questioned as ever. She quickly fixed herself and sat the bag down in the counter, avoiding the man’s eyes. “Here’s the sugar. If he needs some more, I have some.” She said with a small and nervous smile.”

“Sade.”

Um, tell Keith I’m gonna be a little late because I waiting on my mom-.”

“Sade.”

“She’s gonna watch him—.”

“Sade!” Damson shouted to get the woman to stop taking. His tone caused both the woman and the baby to jump, their eyes snapping up at him, the lights glinting off three deep brown orbs. His heart clenched at the sight at the startled pair, but that unexpected feeling wasn’t his main priority

“Don’t yell.” Sade stated softly. And Damson nodded once, staring at her. He then let out a short sigh. “Sade.” He repeated, hoping to get some sort of clarity or answer out of the woman.

“Damson…” She started, but it came out more like a breath than a word, feeling the conversation easing into one she’d been dreading for ages. She blinked, feeling the back of her eyes beginning to sting as she started at the man. Damson opened his mouth, his gazed locked in her as he tried to collect his thoughts. “You…you have a baby?” He asked breathily, taking a step closer.

Sade blinked back tears, nodding her heard as she looked up at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me this?…How old is he?” He asked. And his voice didn’t carry any anger. Or anything for that matter. It was just hollow, but his eyes were filled with so may emotions, they both felt that they would begin to overflow.

Sade looked down at Zion, who blinked up at them both like nothing was wrong in the world, gripping onto his giraffe stuffy.

She lifted her chin, jaw tight.

“He turns one in January.” She said softly. And there knew that that had to be the straw that broke the caramels back.

Silence.

No birds. No music. Just the weight of a moment too big to ignore.

Damson didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He just stood there, his eyes flickering with something too complicated to name. Anger? Hurt? Confusion?

“Is he…” He trialed off, only unlocking his eyes from her, to look down at the baby in her arms, that looked up at him at the sound of his voice. Sade visibly gulped, avoiding glancing at Damson as she looked down at her son, licking her lips before she nodded her head hesitantly. Damson could feel his heart drop at the subtle movement while the woman sniffed. He blinked, letting out an airy, humorless chortle, caught in complete disbelief. “You weren’t even gonna tell me?” He asked, voice still low.

“I didn’t know how,” Sade admitted, looking back up at him as her voice cracked for the first time. “I didn’t even know if you remembered that night.”

His eyes narrowed. “Of course I remembered.” He said firmly, his eyes beginning to water as he looked down at her. She looked away again.

“I thought maybe you didn’t. You were drunk. We both were. I left before you woke up and… after that, I didn’t know what to say. And when I found out, it felt too big. Like if I told you, I’d ruin your whole life. I didn’t want to do that to you, you were with Lori.” She let out a dry laugh. “I wasn’t even sure you’d believe me.”

“I believe you now.” He muttered, staring at the boy in her arms.

Zion yawned, his little head dropping against Sade’s shoulder.

For a moment, Damson looked like he might step back. Like he might turn around and walk away.

But then, something in him shifted.

He took a step forward.

“Can I hold him?”