#both of them experience regular horrors

[goosewithagun]

saw something that reminded me of them

[suddenly-frankenstein]

so uh i just drew some random modern!AU (university AU maybe) Clerval and Frankenstein design???

(i hate myself so i did it in acrylic yeah, better click on pic for slightly better quality)

[reiderwriter]

Little Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid × virgin!fem reader

Genre: SMUT, some fluff, a little tiny smidge of angst. MINORS DNI 18+

Summary: As the youngest and most innocent member of the BAU, they all take care of their little angel. When they find out just how innocent you are, though, one member takes his possession to the next level. You're his little angel, and he's determined to have you.

Warnings: loss of virginity, loss of innocence, degradation, pet names, oral sex, thigh riding, fingering, cum marking, love bites, Spencer is territorial and possessive, Dom! Spencer Reid, PinV sex, mentions breeding, but he pulls out.

A/N: We've reached Day 8 of kinktober! It's our second "long" fic, meaning there's a bit more plot to this, and the smut scene is longer too (WC is almost 7k!) I hope you love this one just as much as I did... The kinktober masterlist can be found here, and my regular masterlist is here too! If you want something specific, my requests are open ❤️

Your first three months with the BAU were a blur, and for good reason. Endless cases, back-to-back, interrupted only by the slight hint of a weekend or the ever possible death row interview. You were tired, stressed, and afraid to walk home alone at night, and absolutely satisfied. As far as you were concerned, it was all worth it to get these monsters off the streets, to help save their victims and to find out what made them tick. There was nothing else you'd rather be doing. 

The team had helped you settle in well, too. You'd joined the team after Alex Blake had left - she'd recommended you actually from the college seminars you'd taken with her. You were obviously lacking a bit of experience, so they took on two team members, and you and Kate Callahan had the great opportunity of both being the newbie. But you had a slight disadvantage of age, coming in as the youngest member of the team. You thought that might be why you'd settled in so well, in all honesty. 

Hotch and Rossi were both protective in a fatherly way. Hotch pushed you and Rossi encouraged you and that was everything you needed from them. A strong pat on the back at the end of a case and a "you did good, kid," and whatever hell they'd pushed you through, it was worth it. Morgan's tough love was brotherly, but he did a great job at getting you to relax on and off the case, reminding you to not take the work home. JJ and Kate were great mentors. It wasn't easy being women in the FBI, let alone the unit that specifically looked into some of the most misogynistic killings, rapes and abductions in the world. They both gave you tips about how to handle condescending officers, and JJ had held your hair back after you'd puked your guts up on a particularly harrowing day in the field. With Penelope, friendship was easy, and you loved talking to her about whatever hyperfixation you were on that week, loving that there was someone on your team that had filled their life with genuine joy in the face of so much horror. 

And Spencer. Honestly, you were beginning to think that you'd used Spencer as a human stuffed toy a bit too much. 

You don't know how it happened at first, just that after one of your first few cases, you'd been so elated to find a victim alive, safe but traumatised, that you'd thrown yourself into his arms the minute you got back to the precinct. 

"We did it, I thought she was going to be dead, Spencer but she isn't." Your head was pressed into his chest, you were almost surprised he even heard them, muffled as they were. If you weren't so elated, you'd have noticed the way he'd stiffened at your touch, panicking slightly before awkwardly wrapping his arms around you, too. But you pulled away before you could notice that he wasn't really used to any physical comfort, bouncing off to write up your case report. 

Spencer noticed, though. Noticed how the heat of your body made him feel comforted, the way his heart rate increased to 125 BPM from it's base rate and didn't fall back to normal for another half hour. He noticed that you smelt like jasmine and patchouli, and more importantly, he noticed that he didn't really care if you touched him, and that was new. 

It became a kind of ritual for you, finding him after a case and folding into his arms to celebrate. They were friendly hugs, after all, a sign that you'd been through hell together, and you'd made it through like avenging angels. They only lingered longer when the cases went badly. You turned to crying in his arms after you'd discovered the body of a dead street girl, Veronica, in pieces in the house of an unsub who'd committed suicide by cop moments earlier. 

"I told her she'd be safe if she talked to us, Reid. I told her we'd protect her, that I'd protect her." You were so hurt by that failure that he'd had to drive you home that night, holding your hand the entire way so you didn't feel so alone, left to fester in your guilt. 

The rest of the team had begun teasing you about the hugs, but you'd brushed them off. You hugged everyone else too, and you knew for a fact that Penelope hugged every member of the team, so there was nothing special going on between you and Spencer. No one had deigned to inform you of Spencer's germophobia and aversion to touch. 

"Gonna tell me what that's all about?" Morgan asked Spencer as you bounced away from a hug one day, leaving to remove your FBI vest. 

"What what's all about?" He replied coldly, turning away to remove his own vest, replacing it with his blazer. 

"What, you don't have a statistic for how many germs are passed between people during a hug, Kid, come on, you were practically smelling her hair." The older man's eyebrows raised in a question again, but Spencer continued to blow him off. 

"I hug people all the time, it's not a big deal." He shrugged. 

"It took you four years to return one of Penelope's hugs, and you still only do that on special occasions. That's not all the time." 

"Derek, just drop it. There's nothing going on, she just… She just does it sometimes." 

It was when you'd hugged him in the middle of the office, without a case to use as an excuse, that you noticed an underlying tension in the office. You were all celebrating, of course, Callahan had just announced her pregnancy, and you were all so happy for her. You'd heard the happy news and instantly turned and thrown yourself into Spencer's arms. Even you weren't sure why, not even questioning it until you saw the awkward glances on the other profilers' faces. You brushed it off by rushing to give each of them hugs, and running out in a mad flush, needing air, or water or something to get you out of what was looking more and more like an interrogation room. 

A few cases later, the entire team headed to O'Keefe's to celebrate. 

"To another case successfully solved," Morgan toasted, and you all joined him, lifting your glasses in triumph. 

"To the wonders of non-alcoholic beer," chimed in Kate, leaving you all laughing together. The booth was small, and as usual, you'd found yourself sat right in the arms of Spencer Reid. You hadn't intended it, honestly, having slightly avoided him recently, but you'd followed Penelope into her side of the circular table, and Reid had followed you. You were sat squished between them, your arms resting awkwardly on your lap between drinks. 

"Okay, a night of drinking is slightly boring without some games to spice things up, what do you say, hot chocolate?" Penelope said, addressing Morgan who was on her other side. 

"I'm all ears, baby girl. What were you thinking?" 

"How about twenty questions? We already know a lot about each other, let's see what we don't know?" Kate suggested, thriving off of the knowledge that as the sole sober member present, she'd hold all the cards tomorrow. 

"What, how is asking questions a game?" Reid questioned jokingly from beside you. "That's just an interrogation or a therapy session, there's no winner or loser."  

Already slightly buzzing from your drink, you turned to him and out your fingers in his lips, shushing him. 

"No time for logic in matters of the bottle, Spencer. Let's play." He pulled your fingers off him, but nodded, holding them in his grip still as you turned back to the table. 

"I'll start! JJ, are you and Will thinking of having more baby LaMontagne's?" Penelope jumped at the chance to probe her teammate, and you laughed at her enthusiasm. 

"There have been discussions, but I'll not confirm or deny yet." JJ said, taking a sip of her drink as she slyly avoided a direct answer. 

"I always forget why you were so good with the press, Miss No Answers. Okay, your turn to ask a question." 

"Okay, Morgan. Are you thinking of popping the question to Savannah anytime soon?" 

"Did she send you?" He laughed and took a drink. "If I do, she'll be the first to know." 

The game went back and forth like this for a few rounds before Penelope turned the spotlight back to you. 

"Okay, Y/N. You were a college student recently, I know you've got some wild stories. Where's the craziest place you've ever done it?" You knew Penelope didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. She was just an open person. 

But you shifted in your seat nonetheless, trying to figure out if you could answer or even if you would. Your tongue was a bit looser than you expected though, because before you could even finish thinking you just blurted it out. 

"Nowhere." 

The others blinked at you slightly before Penelope dived in with another question. 

"Is that Nowhere, Oaklahoma, or you're just not having sex in crazy places?" 

"No. I'm not… I'm not having sex. Period. Never have." You felt yourself shrink as the other members of the team awkwardly apologised for probing you so much. Really it wasn't that big of a deal, and it wasn't as if you were saving it for religious or moral reasons. But you'd not been the most popular teenager, and you'd started studying serial killers and sociopaths so early that you really hadn't wanted to get so intimate with someone else like that. 

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer's grip on his own drink had tightened ever so slightly, his heart race had picked up again, and suddenly the hand that was holding yours suddenly let you go, quietly dropping your fingers like they were glowing cinders, and he was dripping in gasoline, waiting to ignite. 

Lust. He felt sick with himself for the images that were suddenly flashing through his mind now that he knew you'd never been held in that way, trying not to fantasise about you underneath him, holding him, begging him, feeling all of him. He took another swig of his drink and politely excused himself to get another as he let himself catch some air, as the sudden realization that he wanted you - and had wanted you for quite some time now - finally hit him.

The next couple of weeks were normal, and you were thankful to have that discussion behind you. No one treated you differently, acted like you were more of a child than before, asked you how your dating life was or set you up on blind dates, which was really refreshing actually. You'd let some friends know previously, and that's all they'd done, surprised that you could live ignorant to wonders of sex without shrivelling up and dying. 

The only thing that was different was Spencer. And that wasn't really difference so much as growing more comfortable with each other. He'd rest his hand on the small of your back now in support sometimes, or have a hand slung over the back of your chair when sitting together. He was constantly at your side, especially if you were around male suspects or officers who'd taken a bit of a ballsy approach. 

You liked it, probably a bit too much. You gravitated towards him in a room filled with people, and found yourself hugging him more often, when you left a room, when you entered one, when he looked like he needed it. Which, recently, was all the time. A month went by with this increased comfort level, and soon you found yourself feeling wrong if his hands weren't on you. 

He stood close to you all the time, and you noticed the stares you were getting from everyone else. A few officers who'd approach you would apologise to him when they noticed him at your back, hand on your hip as he pulled you away. 

After one case, you could even swear that you felt more than him than you were expecting. He'd moved away slightly in between one of your hugs, but you'd pulled his arms back around you and stepped closer, pressing your back against his chest, letting your head rest on his arms. Something hard and long wedged up against your ass, and in a split second he was pulling away before you could ask him about it. He excused himself, and you felt your body burn up. It was Spencer, it was just Spencer and that wasn't because of you, it was some other reason. 

Spencer didn't know what he was doing. He grew more possessive over you by the day, and he'd honestly nearly bitten the head off an officer who asked him for your number. 

"Sorry, she doesn't have a phone." 

"But I saw her with one earlier. Look I get it she's FBI, and you guys are-" 

"Okay, so she's not interested."

"Hey, why don't you let her decide that wise guy?" 

"Oh sure, get angry I'm sure she'd love that. She's not interested, she has me." He couldn't help himself from getting in the officers face at that, and Morgan had to pull him back from the edge. 

"Wow, wow, hey, calm down." The officer stormed out, and he felt triumphant for only a second before Morgan rounded on him. 

"Whatever this thing you've got going on, Spencer, you need to get it out of your system as soon as possible." His voice was low and stern, throwing a glance over his shoulder to where you were sitting, staring confusedly through the glass at Spencer, whose eyes refused to move from your own. 

" I just wanted him to back off, she doesn't like him like that."

"No, you wanted him to back off because you've marked her like some animal marking its territory. She's not your prey, Spencer, she's our team member, now you're gonna have to get your act together and leave her alone, because we've got work to do." 

Sighing and throwing his hands through his hair again, he finally looked away from you and gathered his breath. He wanted to stop this too, this horrible perverted feeling of needing his hands on you, wanting to possess you day and night. To protect you. He just wasn't sure if he was strong enough to do that. 

The next time you all went to O'Keefe's he certainly tried. You expected him to follow you into the booth again - he didn't, sitting opposite you next to JJ. You expected him to talk to you or look at you for more than a second at a time - he didn't, avoiding most conversations entirely and keeping his eyes fixed on the bar. You certainly expected him to still be sat at the table when you returned from the bathroom, ready to slip into the seat beside him, force him to talk to you. Instead he was gone, and you scanned the rest of the bar trying to locate him. 

Something green and vile jumped you when you finally locked onto him, stood at the bar, surrounded by other women. Surrounded was maybe an exaggeration, as there were really only two of them, but they were practically draping themselves over him, and for some reason that set something alight inside of you. 

You watched them for a moment, how one of them trailed a hand up his arm as he shuddered away from their touch, the other pressing herself against the bar so her chest pushed up dramatically. The green bile in your throat carried your feet forwards, and before you knew it, you were clearing it from your throat to grab their attentions. 

"Spencer, there you are!" You brightened your tone specifically, as you locked eyes with his panicked ones. The two girls looked you up and down as you moved closer, brushing past them to climb up right into his lap on the barstool, pulling his arm around you as you pressed your ass into his crotch. 

"Are you going to introduce me to your new friends?" The smile didn't reach your eyes as you let your back rest against his chest comfortably, watching the women to see their reactions. The one touching him pulled her arm back instantly, and the other readjusted her dress before they both left silently, carrying their glasses back to wherever they came from. 

You watched them leave a little triumphantly before the green faded, and you realised what you had done. 

"Y/N…?" His voice was hesitant in your ear, and you shivered slightly before pushing off of him. 

"I'm so sorry, Spence, it just- it… looked like you were hard." You panicked again, pushing closer to him. "No, like you were in a hard situation, not that you were," your hand accidentally dropped to his crotch as you spoke your final words: "Hard."

He twitched beneath you as you finally looked down to where your hand was, as his mouth opened to say something. 

"Y/N…" was all you heard before you turned around, and fast walked to the entrance, picking your bag up quickly on the way, and then sprinted the second the cold air hit your face. 

You cursed yourself inwardly as you ran the three blocks more to your apartment, thankful that you were at least in walking (or apparently running) distance. What the hell had you been thinking? Practically sexually harassing one of your coworkers like that, grabbing his dick, albeit accidentally. 

You slammed your door shut behind you, leaning against it and sliding to the floor as you finally accepted that whatever this was with Reid, it wasn't friendship for you anymore. And you weren't sure if it had ever been. 

With your head between your legs, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, you started replaying each moment with him, each touch from the very first. How even the memory of a brush past you could excite a fire in your heart, a heat between your legs growing by the second. 

You wanted to crawl pathetically into bed and not think about him until the next morning at work,  but fate, or Doctor Spencer Reid, had other plans. 

The knock at your door was sudden and incessant, the banging starting loud, and staying consistent until you tentatively pulled it open. 

He was stood there, chest heaving, looking down at you, sweat coating his forehead. 

"Can I… Come in?" He asked, and you nodded, too stunned at his sudden appearance to tell if this was real or just your fantasy becoming a little too realistic. 

He thanked you for letting him inside, and you showed him inside, guiding him to he couch, where you took a seat opposite him. 

"I wanted to make sure you were okay, you left in a rush and…" He trailed off, eyes flicking down to your lips. His Adam's apple bobbed with his swallow, and you watched it yourself, trying to avoid meeting his eyes, as if you were a schoolgirl about to get in trouble with a disappointed teacher. 

"I'm okay." 

"Okay, that's great, that's… Great." His breaths caught up to him, and he took another deep breath and a swallow before continuing. "How about we continue that game from last time. Twenty questions?" 

You'd do anything to stop him walking out of that door, but you felt too shy to touch him again, even in the friendly ways you were used to, so you eagerly accepted. 

"Yes, that… That sounds fun, thank you." 

"Okay. Question one. Do you know why I'm here?" He asks as he shifts closer to you, still not touching, but at a proximity where it would be natural to accidentally brush against one another. 

"N-No. But I might have an idea." He nodded at your response before moving on to his next question. 

"Question two. Are you a virgin?" He didn't trip or stumble over the words, pushing them out slowly and delicately so as not to offend. 

"Yes." The lump in your throat was thick, almost as if he'd put something there that you couldn't help but choke on. 

"Question three. Do you want to remain a virgin?" 

You shook your head no, following it with your voice seconds later as he stood up from his seat, putting some distance between you. 

"Question four. Do you feel intoxicated or drunk right now?" He held himself still as you sat on the very edge of your chair, desperate to feel his hands on you now. 

"No, I only had one sip at the bar before…" He held up a hand to silence you, and you did. 

Question five. Answer me honestly. Do you like it when I touch you?" 

"Yes." Your breath was a whisper, but it was breathy, sounding almost pornographic in your neediness. 

"Question six. Do you like it when other people touch you?" 

"Do you?" His head snapped back to yours, and you froze under his gaze. "Not as much." You answered and relaxed again, pouting slightly at his lack of answer. 

"Question seven. Do you like me touching other people?" He took a step closer to you again with this question, but you continued pouting as you shook your head. 

"No. I don't." His lips quirked upwards before he could stop them, but he gathered himself together again. 

"Question eight. Do you want me to leave?" You met his eyes at that question, taking one good, hard, long look at him. You noted the tensed jaw, the clenched fists, his stiff body language, trailing your eyes over him before looking him directly in the eyes. 

"No." You let the word hang on your tongue, pulling it out a bit longer than was necessary as you watched him take in a shaky breath. 

"Question nine. Do you want me to come over there and kiss you?" 

"God, yes." He was on you in seconds, restraints gone, throwing himself back at you as his lips collided with your own. Virgin you may be, but you'd kissed men before, and it had been nothing like this. 

His hands trailed up to your hair, tipping your head back slightly so he could gain better access. He bit your lip and thrust his tongue into your mouth when you gasped, so eager to consume every part of you whole. 

You'd never felt like this before. 

He pulled away, and you tried desperately to chase his lips, even as your lungs begged you to stop. 

"Last question," he whispered in the space between you, holding the sides of your face at a distance so neither of you could be tempted to dive in for a second kiss, or a third, or fourth. "Do you want me to fuck you?" You whimpered at his words, nodding furiously as you tried to lunge at him again, but he held you firm. 

"I need you to say your answer, baby. I need to hear your consent, okay?" You nod again and open your mouth, eyes never leaving his lips as you moan out a definitive "yes."

Instead of letting your lips fall against his again, he lunges for you, grabbing your legs and hauling you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style all the way back to your bedroom. 

"Gonna do it right," he mutters to himself as he throws you down on the bed, pulling back to take off his jacket and unbutton the cuffs on his shirt, rolling the sleeves up meticulously. 

"I'm going to take care of you, Y/N, okay?" You nod at him and flush, suddenly feeling the strength of his need for you as he holds himself back. He puts his hands on you again, gently coaxing your legs apart, pushing your skirt up over your hips. Reflexively, you move your hands over yourself, covering your sensitive places with your hands. 

"Don't cover yourself." His voice is strong, deep, as he orders you, and you let your arms drop back to your side. He traces his hands up and down your legs, almost as if he were memorising every inch of your skin, how you felt under his hands. 

His hands make their way up to your panties, and you watch with baited breath as he moves you, pulling your hips up so he can let them fall down. The lace material tickles you as he pushes them past your thighs, over your knees and finally off your legs entirely, balling them up and putting them in his pocket. 

"I'm going to touch you now, okay?" He asks it like a question, but he doesn't wait for your answer, unable to hold himself back before diving straight between your legs, so desperate to taste you that he's deaf to everything else. 

His tongue connects with your sensitive area first, tracing up and down at a steady pace as his legs half-heartedly push your legs open. It's almost as if he's enjoying the pressure of your legs wrapped around him, suffocating between your thighs as he feels your pleasure build, and build. 

Eventually he pushes your hips further apart, letting himself push his face into even more of you, his tongue entering your hole as he begins fucking it in and out of you, fingers coming back up to your clit to keep up the pressure there. 

"Spencer, please, please, fuck." 

"I love it when you beg for me like a needy little slut," he whispers, holding your legs apart as he looked up at you, face slick with your arousal. Your mouth drops wide at his words, and he immediately begins to retract them. 

"I'm sorry, Y/N, if that was too far, I just got caught up -" 

"I liked it." You said, quieting him as you spread your legs a bit further apart, begging for him to continue. He smiled and dived right back in, bringing his other hand up under your dress, all the way to your chest as you kept your legs open yourself. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth, lapping up all the juices you were releasing as you moaned underneath him, bucking into his face at the memory of his degradation. 

You were a needy little slut, and you needed him to make you cum. He was more than happy to oblige. 

He kept you there for what felt like forever, drinking you in for as long as he could. You orgasmed twice before he finished, completely overstimulated by the way he was desperately fucking you with his mouth. 

He was obsessed with you, with your scent, your taste, with being the first ever person to ever touch you like this, to fuck you, to make you feel so good. Without him even realising, you're pushed to the brink for a second time, shuddering under the heat of his mouth as he drinks you in. 

He finally pulls his head up again, coming up for air as you're twitching under him. 

"Perfect, baby, so perfect for me." His lips fall down to your own, and suddenly you're tasting yourself on his tongue. It's hypnotising, and despite the pleasure you've just received, you need more, desperate to feel him on you again. 

When he pulls his mouth away, he replaces himself with his fingers, pushing them into your mouth. 

"Suck," he says and you listen, as he watches the way you lick yourself off of him. 

He unzips your dress with his free hand, carefully pulling your arms out of the sleeves and pushing your dress off your body. You trace your tongue around every ridge of his fingers, leaving no inch undiscovered. He moved you to pull the dress of, and you graciously followed, letting him do whatever he wanted to you. 

"Nice little slut, tasting herself on my fingers?" He whispered when you were finally bare, pulling his fingers from your mouth, letting the trail of spit hang between you as you moaned. 

He removed himself from over you, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. 

"Come here. Come and sit on my lap." 

You cautiously followed his directions. You'd thought that he'd fuck you then, after spending so long getting you ready, but apart from his tie, which he was in the middle of discarding as you crawled over to him, he hadn't derobed any further. 

"That's it baby, come and sit yourself down right here." He pat his thigh and you crawled over, lowering yourself down onto his clothed leg. 

"What now, Spencer?" You stuttered the words out, heart beating as you awaited his instructions. 

"Now, I want you to rock your hips back and forth. Just like this." He grabbed your hips and started moving you against his leg, pushing you down to grind into him. 

"Spencer, wait, I don't know-" 

"I do. I know you can do it, so please try. For me." You pulled you in for a kiss, and then removed his hands from you, leaving you to rock against his thigh. 

You were unsure of the movements at first, moving slowly as you dragged your aching cunt up and down the top of his pants, watching as you saw the wet patch you were making. You moaned with each movement, growing faster and more confident as you continued. 

"That's it baby, use me to get yourself off, okay? Let me see you." He whispered in your ears, pushing your sweat-slicked hair ou of your face, holding it up for you. 

"Spencer please," you don't even know what you're asking for as you beg him, feeling that familiar bubble in your stomach grow. 

"No, you can do it. You look so beautiful like this, Y/N, so desperate for my cock, huh?" You start trying to unbutton his shirt, desperate to see more of him, to feel more of his bare skin on your own. But he stops your hands and holds them against his chest. 

"You need to ask nicely first, before trying to undress me like a needy little whore." The words should sound violent, should humiliate you, but his voice is so soft you simply move faster, moaning and desperate to cum one more time. 

"Fuck, Spencer, I'm gonna… I'm gonna…" 

"No, you're not." Before you finish, he pulls you off his leg, hauling your body back onto the bed, and laying you back down on your back. You moan in disapproval, so frustrated with the lack of release that you feel tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

"Don't cry, baby. I'll give you what you want soon." He practically rips his clothes off, pulling his vest over his head, stumbling over each button and removing his belt and pants before climbing over to you. His cock finally free you take your first glance at it. 

You'd never entirely been sure how it was that the male appendage fit inside something as small as your pussy, and you were doubly unsure about how Spencer's was ever going to fit inside you. You stared at it wide eyed, as you took in the length, the girth, and the heat of it as he stroked it in one hands, pushing on top of you. 

He let go of it as soon as he was between your legs, letting it fall onto your stomach as he crawled between your legs. He trailed a finger over your lower abdomen just around where his cock was twitching against you as his other hand came up to stroke your hair. 

"You look worried, Y/N, what's wrong?" 

"Will it, um, will it fit?" You asked, knowing how cliché you sounded. 

"We've spent the last thirty-seven minutes loosening you up with foreplay. It should fit, but I can't promise it won't hurt."

"Right, if my hymen is still intact you have to…" 

"That's right. And then it's going to reach all the way in you to here," with each word, he stepped his fingers up from your clit to where the tip of his dick sat on your stomach, letting you come to terms with exactly how full you were about to be. 

"I'm going to fill you, and you're going to be mine, and I'm going to be yours. My sweet angel." He stroked your face, catching his thumb on your lips on the way down, tempted to thrust it into your mouth again, to see just how much of a whore you could be, given the chance. 

Instead, he lined himself up with your dripping core, and, making sure one last time that this is what you wanted, slowly pushed in. 

It was uncomfortable at first, having something so wholly alien inside of you, you weren't sure how to react. You wrapped your arms around him, digging your nails in, deep, as he pushed in further. 

"Y/N, I need to move more now, and it's going to hurt a little, you just have to trust me, okay?" He kissed the top of your head, but you were so lost in the sensations to answer. With one swift jerk of his hips, he pushed through your hymen, and fully sheathed himself inside of you. He pressed small kisses everywhere on your face, while whispering to you how beautiful you were. 

"You're doing so good for me angel, I'm going to take care of you. Going to make you feel so much better than this. You're so beautiful." His lips were distractingly sweet, as were his words, and soon you found yourself relaxing into him, the sharp pain of earlier fading to an electric buzz inside of you. 

You jerked your hips up to meet his, and with that, he knew you were ready. From his words, you'd assumed that he'd move slowly in you. But with one final lingering kiss to your lips, he lifted his chest up, pinned your legs tightly down, and started thrusting hard and fast. 

"Sorry, just couldn't help myself baby. Needed to see you looking ruined underneath me." Moans spilled out of your mouth with his every movement, and the orgasm you'd built up earlier hit you like a ton of bricks, blackness hazing over your eyes as they rolled back in your head. 

"Fuck, fuck, Spencer, don't stop!" You screamed at the top of your lungs, unable to control your pitch or volume as he slammed into you desperately. He was so turned on by the sight of you beneath him, so proud of having fucked away your virginity, to have given you your very first penetrative orgasm that he wouldn't have heard anything that came out of your mouth. 

His eyes were fixated at the place between you, where you joined, where he was entering you, defiling you, claiming you, using you, breeding you. 

He knew he wouldn't cum inside of you, not the first time, but it was tempting. Instead, he chose to move his lips back to your skin. He marked you with love bites and hickeys across your neck, chest and shoulders as you moaned with every roll of his hips, shuddering on his cock. He was close. And seeing you like this, displaying all the signs that you were his and his only, he finally lost it. 

Pulling his dick out of you, he stroked it through his release, spraying his seed over the parts of your skin he hadn't bruised with love. Your stomach, your breasts, hell, one spurt even landed dangerously close to your lips, he was everywhere. You. Were. His. 

He fell beside you, panting for a few moments as you finally cracked your eyes back open, realising what the two of you had just done. You wiped the cum from your face with a stray finger, staring at it for a second before licking it off your finger. 

"As hot as that was, I think we should get you cleaned up properly, angel." He spends forever cleaning you up, carrying you to the bathroom, washing your entire body with hot water and a fresh cloth, running you a hot bath to relax your muscles. You snuggle into his chest at some point in the bath, relaxing so much into him, that you drift off to sleep. 

You feel him carry you to bed, semi-conscious, tucking you in and climbing in next to you. He holds you through the night, the way he holds you after your bad cases. He holds you until he doesn't. 

You're blindsided by the cold bed the next morning. You knew he would be there, you'd felt him inside you and next to you, and you'd needed his warmth, but he was gone. You looked for him in every other part of your home, looked for a note or an explanation, but there wasn't one. 

Through tears, you got ready for work, ready to face him and make him answer why he was suddenly gone. You wanted him to apologise, especially since he'd marked you so badly the night before you looked like a car crash victim from the neck down. 

Dark lavender blossomed along your collar bones as you looked at yourself in the mirror, trailing a finger along every place that he touched the night before. 

"How could you be so stupid?" You cursed yourself. If you'd have listened to what he was saying last night, really listened, you'd have known he wasn't going to be here in the morning. He wanted to ruin you, to possess you, to take away your virginity, and he'd done just that. 

You almost wanted to keep the bruises on display going into work, to make him confront the pain he caused you by leaving. In the end, it was the inevitable stares from everyone else that convinced you otherwise. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction. 

You pushed through the doors to the bullpen and didn't bother putting your bag down before you started scanning the room for him. 

"Where's Spencer?" You practically shouted the words at Morgan, unable to hold back your anger. 

"Y/N, what's wrong?" 

"Where is he?" You demand, and there must be something in your eyes that speaks to your devastation because Morgan shuts up and just points to the top of the stairs, where Spencer is exiting Hotch's office without a care in the world. 

You don't realise that something is tears until you're beating a hand against his chest in frustration as they spill down your face. 

"Where were you?" You demand, sobbing into his chest, as he pulls your hands away. The entire office is watching your commotion, but you don't care, you're not letting him move you out of the way. 

"Y/N, I need you to sign this." His voice is calm, and you hate him for that. That he can stay so neutral when he's just broken your heart. 

"No, not until you tell me why you left." 

"Sign the papers, Y/N, trust me." He pulls your chin up so you can look him in the eye, and you catch a glimpse of the man who has been holding you, comforting you for the last four months. You snatch the pen from him and sign the papers, thrusting them back at him with a scowl. 

He smiles as he looks down at them, placing them back on his desk before pulling you in for a long, deep kiss. You're shocked at first, but you melt into it, pulling him closer so he can't leave again. 

"I'm sorry. I had to come into the office to declare our relationship, Morgan sometimes tells me I have a one track mind, and when I woke up this morning, the one thing I wanted to do was get it in writing that you were mine." 

Your push the tears out of his face, and attempt to pull him down for another kiss. You don't get the chance, as the sound of several throats clearing around you burst your bubble. 

"Public space, no canoodling." Rossi shouts down at you from the balcony, a soft smirk on his face. 

Penelope runs in from her office, and stares wide-eyed at the lack of space between the two of you. "You! And you! Security cameras….. You!"

"Now, I'm sure there's a story here, but from the state of our little angel's neck here, I'm sure I don't want to hear it." Derek laughs, smacking Spencer on the back in praise as he walks up the stairs to the meeting room. 

You slap a hand over your neck, trying to pull the turtleneck further up to hide the mark you evidently missed. 

"She's my angel, now." Spencer calls up to him. "I have the paperwork to prove it."  

[rotten-contemptible-heart]

I will simply never understand people who say they don't like Nona or call the plot of Nona the Ninth uninteresting. I saw someone describe the book as "cold" and I've been turning that over in my head because?? did we read the same book?? Nona is about love and warmth and about finding those things in the coldest of places and knowing that when things are bleak and dark you will always have love to fall back on. Nona is the soul of a misused, abused and ancient planet who was never treated right, even by the people who claimed to love her, but she doesn't know that! she has endless, unlimited capacity for love!

she is perhaps the only character in the entire series who will never experience the horrors of love because her love is pure and uncomplicated and limitless.

Nona is the soul of a planet, and yet she is so human. She is so desperately human, she wants to live and love, and she is terrified of the idea that both could be taken from her. Alecto loves John but Nona loves everyone.

She is the soul of a planet who wanted nothing more than to love and be loved, and now for the first time in her vast and ancient life, she is a six-month-old who loves and is loved by people who didn't even know who she was! they took her in because she was in the body of their friend, and then when she was nona, they loved her for her, without forcing any of their demands or expectations onto her!

And she contrasts so beautifully with Harrow. Nona, who never knew who she was until right at the end, who didn't have access to her memories of those who used and abused and emptied her, is the opposite of Harrow, who is 200 dead children, who has always known she is 200 dead children.

Harrow and Alecto are chained in so many ways -- Harrow metaphorically, and Alecto physically. Harrow's body is the memory of 200 souls, and Alecto's body is a prison for the soul of the entire earth. Neither lives for themselves and neither is free. And yet Nona, who is both of them, is free. She is the love that couldn't be taken away.

And I could talk forever about the importance of the world that Nona exists in, and how crucial it is for the story that we see her friends and what their lives are like, and how important it is that the reader is confronted with the reality and the cost of John's empire. The book places so much emphasis on the value of these regular human lives, directly contrasting the first two books, in which impossibly ancient beings simply do not care about average humans.

Nona is six months old and she cares about everyone, and for the first time in the earth's ancient life, everyone cares about her, and doesn't expect anything in return for it.

God I love Nona so much.

[dostoyevsky-official]

Letter to President Biden and Vice President Harris

We are 99 American physicians, surgeons, nurse practitioners, nurses, and midwives who have volunteered in the Gaza Strip since October 7, 2023. Combined, we spent 254 weeks volunteering in Gaza’s hospitals and clinics. We worked with various nongovernmental organizations and the World Health Organization in hospitals and clinics throughout the Strip. In addition to our medical and surgical expertise, many of us have a public health background, as well as experience working in humanitarian and conflict zones, including Ukraine during the brutal Russian invasion. Some of us are veterans and reservists. We are a multifaith and multiethnic group. None of us support the horrors committed on October 7 by Palestinian armed groups and individuals in Israel. [...] This letter collects and summarizes our own experiences and direct observations in Gaza. The letter is accompanied by a detailed appendix summarizing the publicly available information from media, humanitarian, and academic sources on key aspects of Israel’s invasion of Gaza. This letter and the appendix show probative evidence that the human toll in Gaza since October is far higher than is understood in the United States. It is likely that the death toll from this conflict is already greater than 118,908, an astonishing 5.4% of Gaza’s population. With only marginal exceptions, everyone in Gaza is sick, injured, or both. This includes every national aid worker, every international volunteer, and probably every Israeli hostage: every man, woman, and child. While working in Gaza we saw widespread malnutrition in our patients and our Palestinian healthcare colleagues. Every one of us lost weight rapidly in Gaza despite having privileged access to food and having taken our own supplementary nutrient-dense food with us. [...] Children are universally considered innocents in armed conflict. However, every single signatory to this letter saw children in Gaza who suffered violence that must have been deliberately directed at them. Specifically, every one of us who worked in an emergency, intensive care, or surgical setting treated pre-teen children who were shot in the head or chest on a regular or even a daily basis. It is impossible that such widespread shooting of young children throughout Gaza, sustained over the course of an entire year is accidental or unknown to the highest Israeli civilian and military authorities.

[umbrelladripdrop]

DPxDC Idea 2

This one I've actually attempted to write at one point but only got a lil over a chapter done before I moved on and while I do want to write it, I'm also being realistic when I say I probably won't so for a compromise I'll post it here:

Basicly after DP canon has run its course (sans phantom planet obviously) Danny is just chilling with Sam and Tucker when suddenly there's a snag in the conversation that Danny just can't handle. They've all been working together and been there for each other through all the crazy that's happened after the 'portal incident', but at the same time, Sam and Tucker, and even Jazz, can't quite be there for Danny for everything. More specifically, when it comes to the fact that Danny actually died and the effects that has on him.

In my attempt at a fic it came up with Danny complaining to Sam and Tucker about Jazz being overprotective, even if she has been getting better at not being so bad about it all the time, and Sam ends up actually agreeing with Jazz. The friction comes from Sam and Tucker saying how they wish Danny didn't have to be a hero which hurts Danny because he needs to help, he needs to protect the town, and yet his friends are saying that they wish he didn't. It's a bit of a miscommunication sure, but it's also that Sam and Tucker just can't get it and Danny does eventually realize this but not before he storms off and flies all across town.

And on that flight, is where he says those dreaded words:

"I wish that I could just- just talk to someone who understands for once!"

And *boop*! In a sparkle of green dust pops out a real confused Red Hood stranded on a rooftop that has now been thouraly left in Danny's dust as the teen said the words while flying at least 100 miles an hour and therefore did not see the sudden appearance of a person who was not there five seconds ago.

Yep, Desiree is here but literally only for plot stuff as she's the jumping-off point for this fic. She's like the 'big bad' if you want to call her that, but only because they need to fight and defeat her to undo the spell but other than that this would be a pretty chill fic with some nice Jason and Danny (and even Tim and Danny) bonding and shenanigans.

The premise is that, after this wish and first instance of Danny accidentally summoning someone, it keeps happening. After Jason finally meets up with Danny (Red Hood finds himself in a new area so after like a day or two of research and no contact with the bats [ghostly/GIW caused radio black out or something] he does the smart thing and seeks out the towns resident hero) he gets flashes of why he's here and now he knows he's here cause both he and the kid share the experience of death so yeah he's helping this kid now. After that he and Danny (and Tucker and Sam cause they all made up now) find out that anytime Danny states a fact about his life that's weird or slightly traumatizing, he ends up summoning someone who shares that experience with him. Some examples/possibilities I came up with are:

"Who else fights eldrich horrors and what are essentially God's on the regular?" Cue John Constantine popping up, taking one look at Danny, and giving an emphatic fuck this and teleporting out.

"Well- uh- I bet no one else has had their DNA stolen by a freaky billionaire who's weirdly obsessed with them and then cloned them!" Cue Clark showing up frazzled until he sees Jason and just sighs in acceptance of the Weird Bat Shit.

"No! I refuse! There's no way in hell that someone's had to go and fight their future evil self because they came back in time to stop me from making it so their timeline never comes to pass!" Oh and now Tim is here, now him and Jason can start planin on how to fix this mess (and Tim and Danny can start to be friends too. All the bat bonding).

Those are just the first few back to back ones that Danny spews out in his denial that this is even happening after that initial meet up and explination with Jason. Clark ends up dipping with a promise to tell Bruce that Jason and Tim are alright an are just on a mission now I guess, they're not stuck since both Clark and Constantine could leave but it's not like they were just gonna let this shit slide, so yeah they're staying to help out.

Cue plot/shenanigans/accidentally trauma dumping since the spell makes Danny more suseptible to spewing his guts that way the spell can work more by summoning more people. The summons are based off proximity in a sense because they pull in the person closest that can relate to whatever Danny said.

This leads to Jason and Tim end up getting re-summoned again with a few other points like:

"Getting kidnaped by some old creep on the regular is not a fun time." Tim gets teleported back to Danny and they just... stare at each other because didn't this already happen? Aka this is when they figure out the summoning can apparently stack.

"Yeah like I was supposed to know that getting kidnapped by a ‘father figure’ for ‘my own good’ and wanting to strangle said father figure on multiple occasions was a universal experience." Jason who was sitting in a chair ten feet away is now only two feet away and no longer sitting in a chair and falls to the ground with a waterfall of swears.

"None of you get what it's like to have an older sibling as overbearing as jazz!"Jason teleports again and absolutely flips his shit and goes to fucking gag the twirp because this is the third god damned time Danny!

After Jason's 3rd teleportation, they pause the search for what's happening in favor of trying to figure out why he seems incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Literally. Even Danny says that he doesn't know why he's saying all this. They head down to the lab, which leads to this:

"Oh yeah we can go down here all the time, comes with the territory of borderline neglectful parents." Tim who wasn't on the stairs is suddenly now on the stairs (Jazz was leading the way and therefore farther away) and tips head over tea kettle which makes Jason laugh his ass off all while going how does it feel now?!

There's a potential for so many more summonings and accidentally trauma dumping shenanigans/emotional comfort opportunities but these were just all the ones I could come up with.

The day is eventually saved when they trick Desiree back but Jason and Tim end up staying in touch with Danny and end off with everyone being friends cause I'm a sucker for good endings and fluff. Again I might get to making this an actual fic but I'm already working on a big one (and slacking on it a bit my bad) so who knows? But I at least wanted to get the idea out there somewhere in case someone else wanted to play with the idea.

[blackcat-star]

Can you try making Ghostface!Sung Jinwoo x reader? 🥺🥲💓

Behind The Mask.

Ghostface!Jinwoo x Reader.

______________________

A cold breeze entered from the half-open window and its frosty air pierced the space making it feel like the cold was in your body. The cold breeze found its way through an open window while you tried to ignore it because the horror show kept your attention despite gripping the remote on your sofa’s armrest.

You no longer flinched when strange noises reached your window because you had learned to accept them through experience. The regular noise became more disquieting tonight. A chilling feeling built up inside you as you experienced discomfort with your chest. The feeling that unknown watchers watched everything you did made you nervous because they were waiting for you to make a mistake.

You looked at the wall clock which showed the late hour.

Normal daily activities continued but an intense pressure built up inside you. The film soundtrack failed to prevent your awareness of something unexplainable inside you.

A nearby phone began ringing loudly which surprised you suddenly.

The phone screen showed a phone number without a matching contact entry.

You managed to hide your nervousness by taking a deep breath. Spam phone calls repeatedly bother us and this call clearly falls under that category. A bad sensation spreads across your chest although you try to ignore it.

You hold the phone up with a small shake in your hand. "Hello?" Each word you utter shows your tiredness while you try to conceal your concern.

Silence.

The line went quiet with only faint air intake audible at the receiver end. One moment later the voice started speaking but sounded different enough that you could not identify it.

"What's your favorite horror movie?" A voice spoke and the unknown responder made a cold laugh. The laughter felt frozen and creepy as it inspected your answers.

Your body halted breathing while intense panic gripped you.

"Who are you?" After struggling to control your thoughts you repeated the question. Your line of inquiry turned out to be more intricate than you initially imagined.

His voice affected your breathingactivity. His voice acted like a deadly toxin that reduced your self-esteem when he looked at you.

Silence again.

The voice spoke again after a short pause but without asking anything anymore. "Your biggest fan. You have only me as your fan because I know you better than anyone else."

Those words offered no comfort. They were threatening, words that made you feel trapped. The feeling of unease in your heart increased exponentially.

"Do you enjoy scary movies?" He repeated his question with a chilling tone as if he already knew your reaction before you could speak.

The world goes quiet as you hear your own breath and a cold laugh from beyond.

His voice felt both far away and close by at once to create a disturbing sensation that made you scared.

You hung up. Your hands were shaking slightly. But the chill wasn’t from the weather, it was from the feeling of being watched - persistent, heavy.

You had never turned on the lights as much as you did that night.

___________

For the past three weeks, your town has been gripped by fear. Murder after murder has been reported - gruesome deaths, multiple stab wounds, bodies twisted as if the killer were performing a sick dance. The police have dubbed him Ghostface - because of his haunting white mask and tattered black robe.

You never thought he would look at you. Until you realize: each victim has something in common - they went to your school, they knew you. They sat next to you in class. They invited you to parties. They sent you love messages.

And you - the only point of contact.

You start living in fear. Triple lock your doors, change your phone number, even buy a knife for protection. But it's not enough. Because you always feel eyes watching you - from the dark window, from the alleyway when you walk home, from the crowd where no one is standing.

He does not break in or destroy the door to enter. No one entered the house without permission and the perpetrator did not leave any clues behind. Every day he puts a black rose on the balcony with careful precision. He sends a terrifying message.

"You look stunning when you are afraid."

______________

Then one night - you see him.

Not in your dreams. For real.

He stands in the middle of the living room. In the dim light of the nightlight, the white mask cracks slightly on the left cheek, the expression forever frozen in a twisted pain. The black cloak touches the ground, each tattered fringe fluttering slightly in the wind - as if the darkness itself must avoid him.

You scream and run. But he is as quick as a shadow. A cold hand covers your mouth from behind, pulling you to the floor.

"Shh… don't scream. I'm not here to kill you." His voice whispers in your ear, sickly warm.

You struggled, but he only tightened his grip. You could smell the blood on him - iron, fishy, ​​and burnt. But what made you choke wasn't the hand, but the gaze behind the mask.

"Jinwoo…?" You blurted out unconsciously. Your breathing was ragged.

He paused. A silence as if time had frozen. Then a soft laugh broke out, cold, venomous, but unable to hide his amusement.

"Still recognize my voice? How cute."

Sung Jinwoo. The person who used to be your classmate - quiet, almost invisible. The person who used to be weak, always bullied. The person you used to care about.

You remembered the rainy afternoons when you lent Jinwoo an umbrella. The way he blushed when he received the lunch box you gave him. And now, that person was lying on top of you, dressed as a serial killer, whispering.

"No one understands me like you. No one cares about me but you. So, I eliminated all of them."

"You're crazy..." You said, tears falling, not from fear, but from numb pity. The quiet student from before was now covered in blood.

"Yeah, maybe," Jinwoo whispered, taking off his mask, revealing a face that was unreally beautiful, cold as a statue. "But my love is real. You're the only thing that keeps me sane in this rotten world."

You wanted to hate him. But those eyes were still Jinwoo - a broken Jinwoo.

That night, you didn't die.

Jinwoo placed you back on the sofa, wrapped you carefully in a blanket, as if everything just happened was just a nightmare. But the knife was still on the table, the blade stained with fresh blood - the clearest proof that he wasn't a hallucination.

"I'll be back," Jinwoo said as he left the house. "And when you're ready, you'll understand. No one loves you more than me, Y/n."

From then on, you no longer saw black flowers every morning.

Instead, there were drawings - sketches of you sleeping, reading, crying. Placed neatly on the table. Each line was gentle, meticulous to the point of pain. As if he was carving you into his mind - so that no one could take you away from him.

You lived. But no longer free. Every step was watched. Every person who came near you disappeared.

At that moment, you understood, Jinwoo would be the shadow that haunted your life.

Forever.

______________________

I don't really watch the movie 'cause horror is not my cup of tea.

I hope you like this..

It's funny that I wrote this while listening to Levitating =))

[simplyholl]

A Night With The Winter Soldier

Summary: You’re sent to be Hydra’s test subject for a new serum.

Pairing: F. Reader x Winter Soldier Bucky

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI. Dark Bucky. Non con. Oral. Unprotected sex.

See My Masterlist Here

A/N: I know I don’t usually write for Bucky, but this idea has been stuck in my head for a long time. I’m just tagging my regular tag list, if you’re not into dark fics, please skip! ❤️

Fucked. That’s what you were or at least what you were going to be. You shake your head as you cover your skimpy lingerie with the matching robe your mother gave to you.

Your father is the head scientist for Hydra. He had been working on this experiment for years. He had created a serum that would cause Super Soldiers to want to reproduce. The end result would be a perfect Super Soldier baby. He finally perfected it. Who could be a better test subject than his daughter?

You begged him. You pleaded and cried. It was unfair to expect this of you. But he didn’t care how you felt. He said it was your duty to do as you were told. You didn’t want to make Hydra upset with your family, did you? You knew the horrors that awaited you if you refused. Your best friend, Lilly and her whole family disappeared three years ago when her father refused a command from Hydra. They were brutal and cruel. Sadly, you were used to it.

Hydra came first. Before yourself, before your family, your loyalty had to be unwavering. You knew it wasn’t really your father who had suggested it be you. Your mother told you it was one of the higher ups. He had seen you in your new sundress a few weeks ago and thought you would be perfect to carry the first Super Soldier baby.

It made you sick. How could they do this? You didn’t want to know what would happen if you refused. “At least, he is the strongest Super Soldier. This baby’s genes will be impeccable with the both of you for parents.” Your mother reassured you, as if it would help you feel better.

You weren’t naive. You and the baby would be monitored from the moment you got pregnant. As soon as you gave birth, the child would be ripped from your arms and watched closely. It wouldn’t really be yours.

You take the elevator to the thirteenth floor, heart racing wildly. You were scared. You had seen the Super Soldiers behind glass doors where you were protected from them. Now, you were being offered on a silver platter to the biggest baddest one, like a worm on a hook waiting for a fish to jump after them.

Two guards stand outside the door to the windowless room. Their eyes roam over your barely covered body. They smirk at you as they type in the code to let you in. “Good luck, princess. You’re going to need it.” They evilly laugh as the door opens. Slowly, you walk in, your breath catching in your throat as you hear the steel door bang tightly shut behind you.

The room is dimly lit. A leather chair in one corner, a bed pressed against the wall, there’s a table with a half worked puzzle on it. It was so dreary, your heart aches for the poor guy that called this room home. You walk over to the table, running your hand over the puzzle. That’s when you feel it. Even though you couldn’t see him, you’re not alone. He’s in here with you, hid in the dark corners somewhere. You turn around to find him staring at you.

The Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes, you had demanded to know his name before you did this. His dark hair hung in waves by his cheeks, his cold blue eyes focused on your body. He was beautiful. You weren’t used to seeing him without the black mask he usually wore. He was shirtless, his silver, metal arm catching your attention. You studied it. The way it looks like it was forcefully put on, the red star on his shoulder. He was always silent, brooding in the shadows. You had never been this close to him.

You reach for his face, wanting to feel him before all this started. His metal arm stops you, cold hand wrapping around your wrist. You squeak when he twists your arm behind your back, walking you toward the table.

He presses you against it, you feel his erection threatening to burst out of his black pants. One swipe of his free hand knocks the puzzle to the floor. Colorful pieces scatter all around you. He lifts you on top of the table, the cold surface making you gasp when your bare legs land on it.

Bucky holds you with his metal arm, the other one makes quick work of your flimsy robe. He grabs your breast through the thin fabric of your lingerie. You squirm under his touch as he pinches your nipple through the lace.

“You don’t know how bad I need this. Been a long time since I’ve had a pretty girl like you in my bed.” You’re shocked when he speaks to you. You had been warned that he wouldn’t talk to you at all. He takes a step back to look at you, zeroing in on your panties.

He pushes your back to the wall, commanding you to stay there. You obey, you didn’t want to upset him and make this worse for yourself. He holds your top in one hand, jerking the material. The sound of it’s ripping, startling you. He was crazy strong. The thought of being manhandled by him sounded better by the second.

Next was your panties, he stripped you of them quickly, pulling you by your legs to the edge of the table. He got on his knees before you, shoving his face to your core. He licks one fat stripe up your center, moaning as he tastes you. He swirls his tongue across your clit, you buck your hips up to get closer.

Bucky pushes you down with his metal arm, ensuring that you wouldn’t be able to move. You accept your fate, laying back as he laps at you. He fucks you with his tongue, his nose rubbing expertly against your sensitive nub. The band tightly wound in your stomach snaps as he drags his wicked tongue across your clit, sucking you between his lips. He doesn’t hold back his moans as your arousal floods his face.

When he emerges, his face is glistening because of you. He wipes it off with the back of his flesh hand. Bucky jerks you off the table, pointing to the cold, cement ground. “On your knees.” You sink down in front of him as he sheds his pants. You’re surprised he hadn’t already taken them off.

You shift on your knees, trying to get comfortable. He could at least offer you a pillow to kneel on or something. You look around, and spot the only one on his bed. You’re about to ask for it, when he pulls your hair roughly, jerking your head toward his throbbing cock. It was huge. The kind of big that would hurt. You open your mouth, trying to take all of him inside.

You choke and gag, spit dribbling down your chin onto your breasts as you struggle. He looks down at you, hand still tangled in your hair. Your jaw aches already and he’s just getting started. He thrusts his hips forward, pushing your head down simultaneously. Tears fill your eyes as he hits the back of your throat. You can’t help the sob that escapes you as he pulls out, only to forcefully push his way back in.

His thumbs follow the tears on your cheeks, your mascara pooling under your eyes making you look like a raccoon. “You look so pretty when you cry.” He coos, while looking at you adoringly. He thrusts three more times, your nails dig into his thighs, a silent plea to stop. He finally pulls out, collecting you from the floor and gently placing you on his bed.

He places one leg over his shoulder, lining himself up at your entrance. He pushes inside and it’s too much. “It’s- you’re too big.” You explain. Bucky moves your other leg, spreading you wider. “You’re gonna take all of it.” He grunts, wedging himself inside you, bottoming out with one thrust. He ignores your pained scream, leaning down to lick your fresh tears.

“So tight. So perfect. Just for me.” He praises in your ear. Finally, the pain subsides. Bucky feels incredible, his thick cock dragging against the spot that makes your head swim. A gush of arousal soaks him as he swirls his metal thumb in circles on your clit.

“Look at you, such a good girl, dripping all over my cock.” You moan, clenching around him, your long nails clawing his back, drawing blood as your second orgasm rips through you. His thrusts grow sloppy as you feel him go still inside you. His hot cum, drips down your legs as he withdraws himself from you.

Bucky swipes it with his index finger, rubbing it with his thumb. He brings it to your lips, you swirl your tongue around his long digit, loving the way he tastes. You’re caught off guard when his icy, metal hand collects as much cum as he can, stuffing it back inside you.

You twitch, trying to pull away from the cold hand on your heat. “Ah ah ah.” He scolds. He presses his cool thumb to your clit, toying with the oversensitive pearl. “You have to take every drop.” When he’s satisfied with his work, he makes you lay on your back so it doesn’t drip back out.

You close your eyes, the sweet promise of sleep taking over you. You are almost in dream land when you feel the familiar nudge of Bucky’s cock at your sore center. “What are you doing?” You ask, too tired to fight him. “I’m not finished with you yet, doll.” He smiles wickedly, snapping his hips to fill you again.

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[diamonddaze01]

beautiful fool

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader | wc: 5.1k genre: angst angst angst angst angst | vaguely based on the great gatsby warnings: really really sad (i’m not sorry) a/n: the angst olympics have begun and this one goes out to serena @gotta-winwin 💕 enormous thanks to @haologram and @ylangelegy for betaing this monster for me i love u!!

the angst olympics are live! check out all the amazing authors <3

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summary: Foolishly, Wonwoo let himself hope.

It’s cruel, Wonwoo thinks, how the sound of your laughter feels like both a blessing and a punishment.

The laughter now—it reminds him of the first time he heard it, ringing out like an unintentional symphony in this same café, on a day when the clouds hung heavy outside and the tables were quiet. You’d burst in with the kind of presence that demanded attention, the bell above the door jangling in your wake as you called out a cheerful, “What’s good here, huh? I need recommendations from the experts!”

You’d strode up to the counter, all wide eyes and crinkled smiles, resting your elbows on the worn wood like you belonged there. And Wonwoo—awkward, reserved Wonwoo—could only blink for a moment too long before fumbling for words.

“Um,” he had managed, his voice barely carrying over the soft jazz playing in the background. “The, uh, the matcha latte is… popular?”

“Popular?” you’d repeated, feigning horror as if he’d personally offended you. “That’s the best you’ve got? Come on, barista guy, sell me on it! Give me the rundown—what’s the vibe? Is it creamy, is it sweet? Am I about to ascend to a higher plane of existence?”

The words tumbled out of you like you couldn’t stop them, every syllable bubbling with life. He’d tried to respond, he really had, but his gaze kept catching on the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled. How your lips quirked in amusement even as you teased him. How, somehow, your laughter seemed to make the dull, gray afternoon outside feel brighter.

“It’s… creamy,” he’d said lamely, his face warming. “And… uh, it’s sweet, yeah.”

“Sold,” you’d said with a grin that made his chest ache.

When he handed you the drink, your fingers had brushed his for the briefest second. He remembered how you took a sip, sighed dramatically, and declared, “Barista guy, you were right—I might actually ascend. Thank you for this life-changing experience.”

You hadn’t stayed long that day, just enough to finish your drink and leave a tip in the jar, but Wonwoo had found himself replaying the scene over and over in his head that night. He remembered everything—the way you’d wrinkled your nose at the cold weather outside, the exact cadence of your laugh, the way you’d glanced over your shoulder as you left, flashing him one last smile.

He’d learned later, when you became a regular, that this was just you. Full of energy, full of light. But that first meeting stayed with him, a snapshot of you permanently etched into his memory.

The fifth time you came into the café, the heat outside was so stifling that not even the air conditioner could stop the sweat from rolling down Wonwoo’s temples. By then, he’d learned so much about you in the smallest of ways. Your usual drink had changed once—just once—during a brutal heatwave, and you’d swapped it out for an iced Americano, claiming it “felt like a personality betrayal.” He’d learned you liked your pastries warmed, but not too warm, and that you loved to read but always left your books with bent corners, something that made him wince and you laugh.

And he’d learned your name.

That was the first barrier you broke—offering your name with a playful smile as he handed you your drink. “You’ve been calling me ‘matcha latte’ in your head this whole time, haven’t you?” you teased.

He’d stumbled over his words, his ears turning red, and you’d laughed again, your name falling so naturally from your lips it stuck in his mind immediately.

The tenth time you came into the café, you weren’t alone. It was mid-afternoon, the sun cutting through the windows in golden slants, and you’d arrived with a small group of friends. You were louder than usual, laughing as one of them tripped over the step leading inside, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the space like a melody he didn’t know he was waiting to hear.

Wonwoo had been at the counter, trying not to look too eager as you approached with your friends in tow. You gestured to him with a grin so familiar now that it still caught him off guard. “Guys, this is Wonwoo—the guy who knows everything I like.”

The way you said it was so casual, so effortless, but it felt like a stone dropping into the still waters of his chest. He had to steady his hands against the register, swallowing against the sudden rush of warmth that bloomed under his collar.

Your friends turned to him, smiling, teasing, offering their own introductions, but Wonwoo’s attention was already elsewhere. His gaze flickered to you, watching as you pulled a menu from the holder, furrowing your brows as you skimmed it even though you already knew what you wanted.

One of your friends—a tall, confident woman with a sharp laugh—leaned on the counter, fixing him with a playful smirk. “So, Wonwoo,” she said, drawing out his name like it was something fragile. “What’s your secret? How’d you win her over?” She tilted her head toward you, and your other friends chuckled in agreement.

Wonwoo glanced at you, hoping for a lifeline, but you only laughed, waving a hand in dismissal. “He didn’t win me over,” you said, still focused on the menu. “He just knows my coffee order by heart. That’s all it takes to impress me, apparently.”

You said it so lightly, but something in the way your eyes flicked up to meet his for a fleeting second before turning back to the menu made his heart stutter.

“Still,” your friend pressed, undeterred. “Knowing what someone likes—that’s a skill. So, what’s my vibe, Wonwoo?”

He barely heard the question. His eyes stayed locked on you as you laughed at another friend’s joke, your smile softening as you leaned back in your chair. You looked so at ease, so at home in this tiny café, and for a brief, unguarded moment, something in Wonwoo let itself imagine.

Not the café, but a quiet kitchen. Not you at a table with friends, but you sitting across from him, your head tilted as you teased him about his plain food choices. He imagined mornings with you in your pajamas, evenings with you curled up on the couch, the easy rhythm of a life spent together.

It was absurd, of course. He barely knew you, beyond the drinks you liked and the way you always tucked your hair behind your ear when you laughed too hard. But the idea lingered, like the scent of your perfume, sweet and impossible to ignore.

Your friend was still talking, still trying to catch his attention, but Wonwoo only nodded politely, his gaze drifting back to you. You caught his eye and grinned, holding up the menu. “I’ll just have my usual, Wonwoo,” you said, your voice lilting with familiarity.

He nodded, retreating to the safety of the espresso machine, where he could steady his hands and pretend he wasn’t imagining a life that wasn’t his to dream of.

A year after you’d first stepped into the café, you weren’t just a regular; you were the regular. Everyone knew your name, your order, your quirks, but somehow, you’d made it a habit to linger at the counter and talk to him.

It had been a slower afternoon, a rare lull in the usual rush, and you were perched on one of the stools by the register (a part of Wonwoo wondered if you left your usual seat in the corner for him). You twirled your straw absentmindedly in your drink (“surprise me,” you had stated matter-of-factly as you dropped a tote overflowing with papers at your feet. Wonwoo made you a caramel brulee latte, just as sweet as you), a slight frown tugging at your lips as you stared at your laptop screen.

“Another paper?” Wonwoo asked, glancing over as he wiped down the counter.

“Dissertation,” you groaned, dragging the word out dramatically. “The Implications of Procedural Justice on Environmental Law Compliance. Doesn’t it sound riveting?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. “It… sounds like a lot.”

“You can just say it’s boring,” you laughed, your eyes crinkling at the corners. “But it’s not, really. It’s actually pretty interesting once you get into it. You know, how people are more likely to follow laws when they feel like the process is fair? I’m focusing on corporate compliance in environmental policy.”

He nodded, genuinely intrigued. “That actually sounds… important.”

You paused, blinking up at him, and then smiled. “See, this is why I like talking to you. You don’t just nod and tune me out—you actually listen.”

Wonwoo felt his chest tighten at your words, his fingers gripping the edge of the cloth he was holding. He ducked his head slightly, focusing on the counter. “Well, you make it easy to listen,” he said softly.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment before leaning forward on the counter, a playful grin spreading across your face. “Okay, your turn. I always tell you what I’m up to—what about you? What’s Wonwoo’s big dream?”

He hesitated, caught off guard. “I, uh… I study literature,” he admitted finally, his ears burning. “I want to teach one day. Maybe at a university.”

Your face lit up. “Wait, that’s so cool! What kind of literature?”

“Modern, mostly,” he said, relaxing slightly under your genuine interest. “I’ve been working on a thesis about the intersection of memory and identity in postwar fiction.”

Your eyes lit up, the exhaustion slipping from your features for a moment. “No way! Okay, you’re officially not allowed to judge me for being a nerd anymore.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever judged you,” he replied, his voice quieter now.

You opened your mouth to reply, but the sudden weight of his words hung between you for just a moment too long. Your lips quirked upward, something unreadable flickering across your face, before you leaned back. “Thanks for the drink, Wonwoo,” you said softly, brushing your fingers over the counter before packing your bag.

It wasn’t until later that night, long after you’d left, that Wonwoo let himself linger on the memory. You’d never said his name like that before, soft and deliberate, like you were testing how it felt. He couldn’t help but replay the way your lips had curved around the syllables, how you’d looked at him like he wasn’t just another barista in another café.

For the first time, the thought crept in, unbidden but relentless: This could be something.

It was absurd, of course. You were you—full of life and light, with dreams bigger than the small confines of this café. And he was… just him. But he couldn’t stop the quiet ache that spread through his chest, the flicker of a hope he knew he had no right to hold.

He glanced toward the window, where the neon café sign reflected against the glass. It reminded him of a lighthouse, a beacon in the dark, and he wondered if you could feel it too—that pull, that something unspoken lingering between you.

It had been a slow evening at the café, the kind of night where the clock ticked louder than the murmur of customers, and the air was thick with the scent of coffee grounds and faint traces of sugar. Wonwoo was wiping down the tables, his mind half-focused on the task, when the chime of the door pulled his gaze upward.

It was you, of course.

You always showed up at odd hours, just as the café was starting to empty, like you knew he’d have more time to talk to you then. Tonight, you were bundled in a scarf that swallowed half your face, your nose pink from the cold. You waved at him as you approached the counter, your eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that made his heart do that stupid fluttering thing he wished he could control.

“Hi, Wonwoo,” you greeted, pulling the scarf down. Your breath puffed out in little clouds. “I swear it’s colder in here than it is outside. What’s a girl gotta do to get some hot chocolate around here?”

He smiled softly, already reaching for the cocoa powder. “You could ask nicely.”

“I could,” you said, leaning against the counter. “But it’s more fun to whine about it.”

Wonwoo chuckled, shaking his head as he worked. He knew your drink by heart now: extra whipped cream, a dusting of cinnamon, and just a hint of vanilla. It wasn’t on the menu, but he made it for you anyway, the way he always did.

“Late night studying again?” he asked as he set the mug in front of you.

You groaned dramatically. “Dissertations are evil, Wonwoo. Did you know that? If I don’t turn into a husk of a human being by the time I finish this, it’ll be a miracle.”

“What’s the topic again?”

“Corporate compliance in environmental policy.” You said it like the words physically pained you. “Which, by the way, sounded way cooler in my head when I picked it.”

Wonwoo nodded, leaning against the counter as you took your first sip of hot chocolate. He’d heard you talk about your dissertation before, but he never got tired of it. There was something about the way you got so animated, even when you were complaining, that made him want to listen forever.

“You’ll do great,” he said quietly.

You looked up at him then, your smile soft, almost shy. “Thanks, Wonwoo. That means a lot.”

The café was nearly empty now, the last few customers filtering out as the night dragged on. But you stayed, your mug cradled between your hands, talking about your classes and your professors and the funny thing that happened on the bus earlier. Wonwoo didn’t care that his shift technically ended ten minutes ago. He didn’t care that he still had cleaning to do. All he cared about was the way your laugh filled the quiet spaces around him, the way your eyes sparkled when you told a story.

He felt it again, let himself imagine it —something more. Something real.

It was a dangerous thought, one that he tried to push away as soon as it surfaced. But he couldn’t help it. Not when you were sitting there, looking at him like he was someone worth talking to, someone worth spending time with.

The sound of your phone buzzing broke the moment. You glanced at the screen, your expression softening as you read the message.

“Gotta head out,” you said, standing and wrapping your scarf around your neck again. “Thanks for the hot chocolate, Wonwoo. You’re the best.”

He watched as you walked toward the door, his heart sinking just a little. And then, just before you left, you turned back, flashing him one last smile.

“See you tomorrow?”

He nodded, his voice catching in his throat. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

The door closed behind you, and for a long moment, Wonwoo stood there, staring at the empty table where you’d been sitting. The mug was still there, half-finished, a little smudge of whipped cream on the rim.

Foolishly, Wonwoo let himself hope.

The crash of dishes from the kitchen startles Wonwoo out of his daze. You’re sitting in your usual spot, tucked into the corner by the window, but the air around you feels different now. Electric. It’s him, of course—the man sitting across from you, the one who pulled him aside earlier with a conspiratorial grin and a velvet box. The one who makes your smile light up in ways Wonwoo knows he could never match.

His fingers tighten around the edge of the counter as he watches you laugh, your head tilting back slightly, the sunlight catching in your hair just so. It’s the kind of moment he’s witnessed a thousand times before, but now, there’s someone else at the center of it. Someone who isn’t him.

The ache in his chest feels almost physical, and he forces himself to look away before the bitterness creeping up his throat can take hold. Instead, he busies himself with the mundane—wiping the counter, rearranging sugar packets, anything to keep his hands moving. But it doesn’t stop the sound of your laughter from reaching him, soft and bright and devastatingly familiar.

It’s unfair, he thinks, how easily Minghao fits into your world. The way he leans across the table to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, or the way you reach out instinctively to steady his coffee cup before it tips. These little moments, so effortlessly intimate, feel like tiny fractures in the armor Wonwoo has spent years building around his heart.

When Minghao glances over, catching Wonwoo’s eye with a small, polite nod, Wonwoo musters a tight smile in return. It’s not the man’s fault, after all. Minghao seems kind, thoughtful, genuine. Everything you deserve.

Wonwoo turns back toward the espresso machine, letting the whir of the grinder drown out the sound of your voice. He doesn’t want to hear it—not when it’s directed at someone else.

But before today, there was another moment. The first time you brought Minghao to the café—a moment that still plays in his mind like a film reel stuck on loop.

It was raining that afternoon, the kind of heavy downpour that made people huddle under umbrellas and rush through the streets. You’d come in with someone trailing behind you, your laughter cutting through the sound of raindrops pelting the windows.

“Wonwoo!” you’d called out, shaking water from your coat. “Two coffees, please—my usual and whatever this guy wants.”

Wonwoo glanced up from the register, his gaze landing first on you, and then on the man at your side. Minghao, you’d introduced him as, your voice warm and easy. A friend, you’d said. Just a friend.

But even then, something about the way Minghao looked at you—like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing—set Wonwoo on edge.

As he worked, he could hear snippets of your conversation, your voice rising and falling in that familiar cadence he’d come to associate with comfort. Minghao was quieter, his words measured, his tone soft, but there was something about him that made Wonwoo’s stomach twist.

When he brought the drinks to your table, you’d looked up at him with that smile, the one that had always felt like it was just for him.

“Thanks, Wonwoo,” you’d said, your fingers brushing his briefly as you took the cup.

But then Minghao had thanked him too, his voice kind and unassuming, and Wonwoo had felt the ground shift beneath him.

For the rest of your visit, he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting toward your table. You and Minghao talked and laughed, completely at ease with one another, and for the first time, Wonwoo felt like an intruder in the space he’d always considered yours and his.

When you left, you’d waved at him from the door, your grin as bright as ever. Minghao had followed you out, holding the door open with an easy grace that only deepened the pit in Wonwoo’s stomach.

It was the first time he realized that he wasn’t the only one who could make you smile.

The café had been alive with its usual mid-morning hum—quiet chatter from the tables, the clang of dishes in the kitchen, and the steady hiss of the espresso machine. Wonwoo had been at the counter, lost in the familiar rhythm of his work, when he heard it.

“Iced americano, please,” Minghao had said, his voice calm, self-assured, the kind of voice that felt effortless.

Wonwoo’s hand had faltered mid-pour, his grip tightening on the milk pitcher as the words registered. Iced americano? For you?

He had risked a glance toward your usual table, tucked into the corner by the window, and his chest had tightened painfully. You were there, as always, smiling, leaning forward with your chin resting on your hand. But it was different this time. The warmth of your smile wasn’t aimed at him. It was Minghao who was sitting across from you, soaking it all in. Minghao who had ordered for you.

Wonwoo had turned back to his work, trying to focus on the drink in front of him. It didn’t make sense. You hated iced americanos. He remembered the way you’d scrunched your nose the first time he had offered you one, teasing him mercilessly. “How can you drink that stuff, Wonwoo? It tastes like regret.” Your voice had been playful, your laugh easy, and he had stored that moment away like a keepsake.

But now, here you were, nodding along as Minghao ordered for you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Wonwoo had finished pouring the latte in front of him, but his hands had felt mechanical, detached from the rest of him. He had barely registered the weight of the drink as he placed it on the counter.

When Minghao set the iced americano in front of you, his hand had brushed yours briefly before he sat down. Wonwoo had watched as your smile softened, as you wrapped your fingers around the cup like it was something you had been craving. And then you’d laughed, the sound light and melodic, and said, “You know me best, love.”

Wonwoo’s heart had plummeted. He had gripped the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles turned white, the world tilting beneath his feet. The words echoed in his mind, sharp and unforgiving.

You know me best.

He had turned away, pretending to busy himself with the next order. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of you smiling at Minghao, couldn’t unhear the way you had said those words with such tender conviction.

The latte he had poured earlier had gone untouched, forgotten. Wonwoo had stood there, rooted to the spot, the weight of his longing pressing down on him like a lead blanket.

It was in that moment he had felt it—the quiet, gut-wrenching realization that he was losing you. Or maybe, he thought bitterly, he had never really had you at all.

It had started gradually, so slowly that Wonwoo hadn’t noticed at first. But one day, it hit him all at once, an unbearable weight that left him breathless.

The café wasn’t yours anymore.

It was yours and Minghao’s.

Wonwoo had watched from behind the counter as the two of you settled into your usual corner table. It had been your favorite spot for as long as he could remember, tucked away by the window where the sunlight streamed in just right. But now, it wasn’t just yours. Minghao was there, always, his presence seamless, like he belonged there with you.

You were sitting closer to him than you ever had to anyone else. Your shoulders almost touched, your hands occasionally brushing as you talked. Minghao had leaned over at one point, whispering something in your ear, and you had laughed—soft and sweet, the kind of laugh that used to belong to Wonwoo’s mornings.

He had turned away, pretending to be busy wiping down the counter, but his ears had caught every word of your conversation.

“Do you think we’ll need more space if we get two dogs?” Minghao had asked, his voice playful, teasing.

Wonwoo’s hands had stilled, the cloth hanging limply in his grasp. His heart had tightened painfully in his chest, but he couldn’t stop himself from listening.

“Maybe,” you replied, your laughter light and carefree. “But only if you’re okay with them taking over your meditation spot.”

Minghao’s voice warm and steady. “Guess we’ll have to buy that house on the prairie sooner than later, huh?”

Wonwoo had turned his back to you then, his breath coming in shallow bursts. He had clutched the counter like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground, trying to drown out the image of you and Minghao planning a future together. A house. Dogs. A life so vividly painted that it felt like a cruel joke.

The café had always been a sanctuary for him, a place where you existed in the quiet corners of his life. But now, it felt foreign, a space where he no longer belonged. It was your spot now, not his.

He had overheard snippets of your plans, dreams spoken aloud with an ease that tore at him. Every word had been a reminder that he was on the outside looking in, that he was just the quiet boy behind the counter who made your coffee exactly the way you liked it.

The café had once been the place where you smiled at him like he was the only person in the world. Now, it was the place where he watched you fall in love with someone else.

He had stood there, surrounded by the hum of conversations and the clatter of dishes, feeling like a ghost haunting his own memories.

It’s cruel, how easily Minghao trusted him with this moment. How he asked Wonwoo, like it was nothing, to hide the ring in the dessert he’s delivering now. As if his hands weren’t trembling as he plated it, as if his chest wasn’t heavy with the weight of knowing this is the last piece of you he’ll ever get to hold.

The plate feels heavier than it should as he carries it to your table. He’s aware of every step, of every breath, as if his body is moving through molasses. The dessert—a slice of tiramisu, your favorite—rests delicately in his hands, but it feels like a cruel joke now. A symbol of everything he’ll never be.

Your laughter rings out as he approaches, light and melodic, and he wonders if it’s the last time he’ll hear it like this—so free, so untouched by the gravity of the moment about to unfold. Minghao’s hand rests casually on the table, his fingers inches from yours, and Wonwoo can’t help but notice the way you lean into his presence like it’s second nature. Like it’s home.

He sets the plate down in front of you with practiced ease, though his hands still shake when he pulls away.

“Here you go,” he says, his voice steadier than he expected. “Enjoy.”

You look up at him then, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you smile. “Thanks, Wonwoo.”

His name on your lips is both a balm and a wound, and for a moment, he thinks he might shatter under the weight of it. But he nods, retreating to the counter where he can watch from a safe distance, where he can fall apart in silence.

You don’t notice the ring at first. You’re too busy teasing Minghao about stealing a bite before you’ve even had a chance to dig in. But then, your fork clinks against something, and you pause, your brows knitting together in confusion.

“What’s this?” you murmur, carefully pulling the ring free from its hiding place.

Minghao is already on his feet, rounding the table to kneel beside you. The café seems to hold its breath as he takes your hand, his eyes shining with a mix of nerves and affection.

Wonwoo looks away.

He doesn’t need to see it. The proposal. The way your face lights up as realization dawns. The way Minghao’s words tumble out in a rush, practiced yet trembling with sincerity. He doesn’t need to watch you say yes.

But the sound reaches him anyway. Your gasp, the hitch in your voice, the soft “Oh my God, yes,” that shatters the fragile cocoon he’s wrapped himself in. He doesn’t need to watch as you throw your arms around Minghao, your laughter spilling over like sunlight breaking through a storm.

Wonwoo keeps his eyes fixed on the counter, his hands clutching at the edge like it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground. He busies himself with wiping a nonexistent stain, scrubbing at the surface with the ferocity of someone trying to erase something far more permanent.

The café erupts into applause, a ripple of congratulations that echoes around him. He forces himself to glance up, just once, because some part of him craves the closure, even as it twists the knife deeper.

There you are, in Minghao’s arms, your face pressed against his shoulder as you laugh through your tears. The ring glints on your finger—a promise, a future, a life that will never include him. He looks away again, but it doesn’t help. The image is burned into his mind, an afterimage of something he never truly had but still somehow feels like he’s lost.

Wonwoo wonders if this is how it will always feel. If he’ll spend the rest of his life haunted by the ghost of what could have been. If every slice of tiramisu he plates will carry the faint echo of this moment, of your laughter and Minghao’s smile and the unbearable weight of knowing he helped make it all possible.

He hears you call his name, bright and warm and unknowing, and he turns automatically, his heart betraying him even now. You’re holding up your hand, showing him the ring, and your joy is blinding.

“Wonwoo, can you believe it?!” you exclaim, your voice ringing with the kind of happiness that should be infectious, but only makes his chest ache.

His smile is reflexive, a practiced thing, and it feels like it might crack under the pressure. “Congratulations,” he says, the word catching slightly in his throat. “I’m really happy for you.”

You beam at him, and he thinks, not for the first time, how cruel it is to love someone who has no idea they’re breaking you - your smile is everything he ever wanted but could never have.

Later, when the café is empty and the lights are dimmed, Wonwoo sits at one of the corner tables, staring at the spot where you and Minghao had sat. He imagines you there, still laughing, still radiant.

And for a moment, he thinks he sees it in the reflection of the glass—the ghost of a love he never had, far off in the distance. It glows brightly, just out of reach, always just beyond his fingertips. And he, the fool, has spent what feels like his whole life chasing it, pretending he could make it his.

The tiramisu was perfect. The moment was perfect. Everything unfolded exactly as it should have.

And yet, Wonwoo sits there, alone, with the unbearable weight of knowing that some dreams were never meant to be more than that—dreams.

The café feels colder now, emptier somehow, and for the first time, he wonders if he’ll ever be able to find warmth here again. He feels the truth settle over him like the weight of an old, forgotten grief:

You were never meant to be his.

Not really.

Not ever.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + ten

authors note: i think ya'll will be pleased with majority of this chapter. as far as the ending scene, let me know what ya'll think roman should do. i have it already planned, but i'm always so curious reading other perspectives. btw, they've been married almost four months, for context.

also, to those who want to know about the subplot of solana's bitch ass daddy plotting to kill roman....it's still a subplot. stay tuned.

passages from 'the courage to heal' do not belong to me.

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

cw/tw: violence against women, references to csa, character briefly discussing csa, fluff, angst, language, and suggestive themes

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

masterlist

words: 10k (no comment)

Learning to be intimate is rewarding, but it is not always comfortable. As one woman said, “I kept myself safe, but I also kept myself alone.” Becoming intimate means peeling back the layers of protection to let someone in. It means going to the place where you’re comfortable and then taking one step more. One step, not twenty.

Solana must read the passage at least half a dozen times, sitting with the words, meditating with them and doing her best to cope with the discomfort she’s experienced at various points while working her way through the book that’s brought an equal amount of questions as it has answers.

She knew right away going into this section, Healthy Intimacy, that it would most likely be the hardest chapter for her. But not even for the reasons that she initially thought, reasons that would have been the case before a certain Roman Reigns entered her life.

Every day that passes with him seems to bring about a new level of comfort, a new slice of happiness, a new type of contentment. 

She enjoys talking with him and being around him. She looks forward to his meeting her at the end of work and struggles with endless worry when he doesn’t make it back home until the wee hours of the night.

His touch, whether that’s his hand on her back or both hands on her waist as he holds her against him, no longer triggers an automatic tense, uncomfortable feeling. Somewhere along the way, the need to identify his touch as ‘safe’ waned and was replaced with an automatic knowing. Like she knows that it’s okay for him to touch her, because she’s safe. Because she’s safe with him. 

That, along with her continued and also growing attraction, has caused her to think more and more what it could be like to be with someone in that way. The thoughts have been fleeting, far and few over the years, typically followed up with abject horror. But lately….lately she’s been less and less scared and more and more hopeful.

Optimistic that maybe….just maybe, she could one day know what that’s like. To have that experience in a healthy and non-traumatic way with a safe person. With someone who truly desires her in said healthy way.

Someone….someone like Roman.

It’s scary and terrifying and exciting and nerve racking and moving and every other emotion to exist, but on top of all that, for the first time in her life, it’s a possibility for Solana. 

And she wants to take that chance, even if doesn’t work out, even if it’s not what she thought it would be. To be able to say she at least tried, to say that she overcame her fears…it would be monumental.

It would feel like the breaking of mental and emotional chains. 

And it starts today.

Closing up the book, Solana untangles her legs and marks her spot in her book. She gives Dulce a light pat on the head and walks into the bathroom. Opening up the drawer, her eyes land on the pair of scissors. Nothing fancy. Just a pair of regular scissors.

Solana takes a deep breath and grabs them. 

Using one hand to let down her hair from the messy, half-effort bun, she gives her head a good shake. Once, twice, and then a third time. For a brief second, she hesitates, her father’s constant belittling returning to the surface.

“You don’t need short hair. You’ll look even fatter with it.”

Solana shuts her eyes as she thinks of all the times Roman has called her beautiful, has made her feel beautiful. The endless support from Bayley and Naomi. The borderline inappropriate comments form the twins almost every time she sees them.

It all brings an emotional smile to her face as she takes another deep breath.

One step, not twenty.

And she cuts.

________

Samantha can count on one hand in all of the years that she’s known Roman Reigns the times that he’s surprised her with a visit. 

Zero.

He’s always always given her a heads up for his arrival or plans to visit, solely for the mere fact that Roman is a man who doesn’t like to wait. When he wants pussy, he wants it then and now. And she’s never been one to deny the Head of the Table anything he’s ever asked for. 

So when she finds him sitting at her desk, feet propped up with an unreadable expression, it takes her off guard. 

Only for a minute. 

“I knew it was only a matter of time.” Samantha is quick to kick the door shut behind her, locking it right as she tosses her purse on the nearby chair. “You can’t go too long without me.” This fact alone is enough to make her cum right then and there. The fact that even with his roster of women he rotates through, she remains number one. 

Roman knows where it’s at. 

And him coming to her, at her job of all places, just proves it.

Eye dropping to his crotch, she licks her lips at the thought of that thick, beautiful dick in her mouth. Fuck, she’s salivating at just the thought. “You want me on my knees, daddy?”

Samantha starts to kick her shoes off when he finally breaks the silence.

“I want to know what you said to my wife.”

Samantha’s smile drops in under a millisecond. Instantly, she’s scowling. “What?”

Roman doesn’t hesitate to repeat himself, every word perfectly enunciated with his heavy, baritone voice. “What did you say to my wife, Samantha?” 

This….this isn’t how she was expecting this to play out, and it shows in the sudden stuttering, “I—I don’t—”

“She came back from that bathroom upset, and I don’t like seeing her upset, so I’m only gonna ask you one more time—” Samantha nearly jumps back into the door when he suddenly bangs his fist on her wooden desk and growls, “what did you say to her!”

Stammering, she answers with a combination of fear and desperation, “I just—I told her the truth.”

It seems to be the wrong answer, as Roman looks 5x angrier. “And what the fuck is that?”

Samantha gathers herself a little better, voice more even as she answers with misplaced confidence. “That she could never please you. Not how I can.” And with foolish bravery, Samantha steps toward him. “That you’ll always come back to me.”

“You fucking bitch.”

That makes her still with her movements. He’s called her all kinds of names when they’ve fucked, and she’s loved it, loves being fucked hard and rough, his preference. But there’s something about this that she doesn’t love. 

It’s because he sounds legitimately upset with her.

And that, in turn, upsets her, because he cannot seriously be upset that she said some shit to that little girl.

“Why does it matter? It’s not like she means anything to you.” Samantha has to actually laugh. In no universe can she see someone as strong and powerful as Roman caring about a girl like that. But, it’s when he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t voice some type of agreement that her confidence dwindles a bit. “R–right?” Still, nothing. And it’s with that nothing she realizes with all of the anger and shock in the world why he’s so upset.

“Oh my god. Are you serious right now? Her? You really have feelings for her?” Even saying it aloud sounds ludicrous. “What the fuck, Roman? What the hell is so great about her?”

There is absolutely nothing that girl brings to the table for her to have someone like Roman Reigns interested in her. It doesn’t make any goddamn sense. What the hell is attractive about a scarred, sliced up, fat bitch?

He finally speaks, warning her in an almost menacing tone. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“That girl is weak, Roman. You can’t be the head of the Bloodline and have someone like her at your side. She doesn’t deserve it.” By now, Samantha has moved over to him, her hands planted on his chest, his eyes closed. “You need….someone strong at your side. Look at what you’ve done just by yourself. Imagine…imagine having a queen to rule with you.” She licks her lips, going in for the kill. “I can be that for you. I can give you an heir. Look at how long it’s been and still nothing, no baby. She’s broken, Roman. That bitch—”

Samantha is silenced by him jumping up from his chair as he shoves her against the wall, hand on her neck. It’s not the first time they’ve been in a similar position. She loves to be choked during sex, and he’s adept at doing just enough to get her off without her passing out. 

But this time, there’s no pressure, no sexual aspect, no foreplay.

This….this is different.

Because this is the first time she’s ever actually been afraid of him.

“If you ever in your fucking life speak on her again, I’ll kill you.” Samantha’s eyes are wide, hand grasping at his. He’s still not actually applying any sort of pressure, probably more so placement  to evoke a level of fear. A reminder that he could end her life in a matter of seconds if that’s what he wanted. “If you ever speak to her again, I’ll kill you. Fucking look at her, and you’re a dead bitch.”

Samantha barely has time to process his threats when he says something in Samoan and steps back, releasing her as she dubs over and gasps loudly from the shock of it all. 

Seconds later, she’s on the floor, laying on her side after fucking Nia has landed her big ass foot in Samantha’s head. 

Nia is looking down with a wicked smile that promises a level of pain. “You talk too fucking much.” She can’t tell if it’s directed to herself or Roman, regardless, he looks unbothered, outside of staring down at her with disgust.

Samantha has no idea where the hell that bitch came from, but her unexpected blow nearly has her seeing stars. She’s writhing on the floor, on her side, cradling her head when Nia yanks her up by her extensions.

“Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” Nia kicks her a second time, in her side, and Samantha is almost certain she heard the subsequent cracking of her rib from the impact. Tears fill her eyes. “I’ve wanted to kick your ass since we were kids.”

Helpless and feeling so confused as to how he could do this to her, Samantha sets her teary gaze onto him. She does her best to generate as many tears as she can. “Roman, please—”

“You’re fucking delusional if you really thought I would ever make you anything more than what you were to me.” Samantha sniffles, vision blurred and stomach aching from both the physical and emotional impact of his words. “Nothing.”

A sudden anger fills her, meshing with the growing physical pain. She did this. That fucking bitch has taken Roman from her, her Roman.

“You wanna know what she is to me?” He crouches down and reaches for a lock of her hair, answering just as icily as the disgusted look in his light brown eyes. “Everything you’re not.”

Samantha snarls almost, not even angry at his words as much as her mind is trying to navigate any and all ways to make that little troll pay for this. Pay for stealing her man.

But it’s as Roman is walking out, that he barks his last order to Nia. Not necessarily a necessity given the fact that he’s certain she’s dreamed exactly of how this very moment could and should go down. Granted, this is the one symbolic thing he needs to ensure takes place. 

“Break her fucking jaw.”

________

Handling the Samantha situation is just one of many things to be checked off of Roman’s to-do list for today. He’s got meetings, contracts to review, spreadsheets to update, shipments to see sent off, and a million and one other things. Most of which he’s far from thrilled about but also know needs to be done, regardless if he’d rather say fuck it all just for today. For just a couple hours, even.

Delegate, perhaps. But these are things that can’t be delegated. He, as the Head of the Table, needs to put his signature on to make it official.  

And he’s got his Wise Man fresh on his heel to remind him of such responsibilities.

“And if my Tribal Chief can find it in him, we should also review Nick Aldis' proposal.” Roman’s instantly scowling. He fucking hates Aldis. The bastard is smug and thinks himself more important than he is. That Roman won’t end his fucking life with one snap of his finger. 

Roman is halfway listening to Paul when he walks past Alicia who stands up from her desk. “Sir—”

His dismissal is swift and brusque. “Leave me alone.”

“But—”

One murderous look, and Alicia is back in her seat. Roman briefly overhears Paul chastising his secretary for her insubordination when he opens his door and immediately realizes why Alicia was most likely trying to speak to him.

Roman sees Solo standing almost awkwardly in the corner out of his peripheral vision, but his attention is solely on the other unexpected guest.

Focused on the way her almost flesh toned dress hugs every curve that drives him fucking insane sometimes, the way she bites down on her bottom lip in that way he’s learned she does when she’s unsure of something. And he’s especially focused on her hair that’s chopped down to where it lightly grazes her shoulder.

“I tell you, good help is so hard to find—” Paul is silenced as he finally walks in and sees Solana. “Oh, it’s you.” Roman shoots him a look that would absolutely kill if it had any sort of physical impact. “I mean, Solana, what a surprise—”

Roman easily moves back to focusing on his wife who looks absolutely fucking stunning. He directs his command though to Solo and Paul. “You two, out.”

Solo doesn’t need to be told twice, but Paul seems to meander, even as Roman walks over to Solana. And it’s when Roman has his hands on Solana’s hips and the room is still not cleared, he repeats in a calm voice that’s solely because of Solana’s presence.

If not for her, he’d be screaming at his Wise Man.

“I said get out.”

Roman can practically hear the nervous gulp. “But, sir, we have work—”

Solana frowning pisses Roman off in a way he has to keep from showing. But it’s when she finally speaks and it’s an offer to leave that he really has to reel in his rage. “I can go—”

“No.” That’s the fucking last thing he wants. “Paul is leaving.”

It’s not a suggestion, not a request, not a preferred action.

It’s a fucking demand.

And his Wise Man must realize this, because he’s quickly following in line with Solo and finally leaving Roman alone with Solana who seems still unsure about her presence.

“You have work to do—”

“You really expect me to get anything done when you come in my office looking like this?” He motions to her outfit and sees the way her cheeks tinge reddish as she bites back a smile. “Not happening, sweetheart.”

“I thought it looked nice.” The bashful way she says as such, as if she’s unsure it was an accurate assessment blows his mind. She looks down at the dress as if it’s not the woman wearing said dress that has him pushing back unholy thoughts.

“It doesn’t look nice. You look nice, Solana.” Another one over of her curvy body, and he mutters, “more than nice.” He brings his hand to her hair, brushing his fingers against the ends. “You cut your hair.”

She nods, an almost look of determination in her soft expression. “It was time,” is all she says, and Roman doesn’t need to ask for clarification. This meant something to her. Cutting her hair has a deeper meaning than just wanting something new, and whatever the reason, he’s proud she found it in her to follow through. 

He hates when she asks him, still unsure, “does it…does it look bad?”

He’s not sure he could ever use Solana and ‘bad’ in the same sentence. Ever. “You could never look bad.” 

She smiles, clearly pleased by his compliment. Good. He likes seeing her smile.

“Come here.” Roman takes her hand and leads her over to his desk where he sits down in his chair and doesn’t think twice about guiding her onto his lap. Roman feels her tense for only a couple seconds before she relaxes against him.

“As pleasant a surprise it is to find your fine ass in my office, I know you came for a reason.”

Roman is extremely perceptive. Always has been. He’s noticed the increased comfort Solana has developed and continued to develop with him. The way her discomfort at being looked at too long or even touched in any sort of capacity has shifted into bashful smiles and an almost light in her eyes at being complimented. At someone finding her to be anything but every lie she’s ever been fed.

Her confidence is growing, slowly but surely. And he likes that shit.

So he’ll do whatever he needs to do to keep it growing. 

“It’s nothing serious.” It doesn’t have to be. She could come to his office every day if that’s what she wanted. He’d have zero complaints. “I just…I was baking Sopaipillas, and I know you like them and I felt bad because I’m bringing Jimmy and Jey some—”

It’s not until that moment he sees the Tupperware container on his desk. Her thoughtfulness is so unfamiliar but very much appreciated. He chuckles as his fingers carefully tap against her hip. “Thank you, but you know if you keep feeding they asses, they gon’ keep coming over.”

She’s smiling almost, defending them to a certain extent. “They’re really not that bad.” And she’s not entirely wrong. His cousins can be entertaining at times, but beyond that, he likes seeing her comfort level with them increasing as well. 

For her to be as comfortable around them as she’s become, especially with them being men, is extremely significant given her trauma.

He’s proud of her for that just as well.

Still,Roman shrugs and calmly points out. “I spend most of my day with them.” Her other hand lays on his chest as he admits, “I don’t want to come home and see them. I just want to see you.”

Solana gives an expected almost shocked expression followed up with a slight confession of her own. Her voice is soft, like she’s unsure about what she’s about to say but is going with it regardless. “That’s why I wait up for you to get home…because I want to see you too.”

He believes this to be true, but he also knows there’s something else to it. “You worry about me.”

She nods, nervously licking her lips. “I’m trying to work on it though.” She’s been working on a lot of things, a lot of difficult, most likely mentally taxing things. And as proud of her as he is, Roman also recognizes the importance of pacing oneself.

He gently grazes the back of his fingers over her cheek. “Just focus on you, alright?”

The corner of her lips lift into an almost playful grin as she asks innocently, “what if I can do both?” Roman studies her, sees and hears the playfulness. It’s unlike her, but he fucking loves it. She squeals and almost giggles against him as he brings her closer to his chest, her hand squeezing his shoulder as he remains mindful of the placement of his hand on her hip.

Growing comfort or not, he still wants to be respectful of her boundaries.

Still wants to maintain her trust.

“I got me. Always.” Her gaze is on him, softening by the second as he adds on almost quietly. “Just need you to be okay too.”

Okay is such a big word, so layered. She’s not sure she’ll ever be fully okay. Too much trauma. Never enough healing. But there may be some level of okayness she can achieve, and it does feel like that’s something that’s in progress. “I’m getting there.”

And a large part of her healing journey is largely due to the man underneath her, staring at her with almost a sense of fascination, like he’s so enraptured by her. Like he’s smitten with her. The person she once believed no one could ever want has a handsome, powerful man like Roman Reigns holding her, looking at her, wanting her.

A line from the book resurfaces to the front of her mind.

One step, not twenty.

With that as a motivating and supportive mantra, she slowly moves her hand from his shoulder to his face, his beard prickling against her skin.

“Solana…..” She’s not sure she’s ever heard him sound so pained. “Baby, you can’t touch me like this and expect me to not want to kiss you.”

The butterflies in her stomach grow exponentially. Baby. She’s not entirely certain, but she feels like he’s called her this before, that he’s referred to her as such on a different occasion. So, it’s not a mistake, not a one time thing. It’s yet another sign that there wasn’t a dishonest bone in his body when he said he wanted her.

That he wants her.

Her heart is beating a mile a minute as she pools together all of the courage in her body and again chips away another tiny section of her wall of protection. “So kiss me.”

It’s not until this moment that Solana sees Roman actually appear genuinely surprised at something. He asks, maybe as if he needs to make sure he heard correctly, but Solana would bet it’s less that and more him ensuring consent. “Are you sure?”

He’s been so good at that. Consent. And it’s meant the world to her. His patience with all of her baggage.

Nodding, she quickly remembers his preference for verbal acknowledgements. “Yes.”

Solana doesn’t really remember her kiss with Roman at their wedding. She doesn’t really remember much from the actual wedding at all, to be honest. It was….it was more traumatic than anything, which is why she does her best to keep it stored away with the other too difficult to sit on memories.

But this….this she is certain she will never forget.

There’s an almost hesitancy when his lips touch hers, a space he’s leaving open in the event that she changes her mind. She’s grateful for that, but it’s not necessary. Her ‘yes’ was as genuine as his apparent interest in her. 

And when he picks this up, picks up the fact that she truly wants this, he deepens the kiss, his hand moving up to her lower back as he pulls her closer to him. Roman’s full lips are soft and warm, and the way he moves his mouth against hers is both reserved and hungry, a strange but well balanced thing only he can manage. Like only he can achieve. He kisses her with a passion  that she feels is only a fraction of everything he feels toward and for her. 

Solana’s hand slides to the back of his neck, her fingers brushing up and across the skin, teasing the strings of hair that refused to mold down. She’s not sure if this was the right move because he makes a sound against her mouth, an almost mixture of a moan and groan, and pulls away. The separation and her subsequent light panting makes her suddenly aware that they’d been kissing longer than she realized. That she’d gotten so plunged in the experience that time seemed a nonfactor.

Her eyes flutter close when Roman brings his lips back onto her, this time peppering kisses along her jawline. Her head tilts back, an unconscious thing that grants him full access to the nape of her neck, which he easily makes his way down to. It’s a different, pleasant sensation that has her nails scraping against him.

“Roman….”

“So fuckin’ beautiful….” He says something else, something she can’t understand because it’s said in Samoan, but it unintentionally triggers something for her. A new level of bravery, an ability to ask something that makes her insides light afire and heart rate exceed what’s probably safe and healthy. But, it’s a hill she wants to eventually be able to get up and over.

And he’s made her feel safe enough to be the one to do it with.

“Roman.” Her voice must give away her need to say something because he pulls away from her and is focused directly on her. She licks her slightly swollen lips. “I want….I want to try—”

“Whatchu mean he busy? Man, you trippin. Uce always got time for family.” Jimmy’s loud unexpected voice is enough of a disruption and mood killer that Solana quickly jumps off Roman’s lap and moves away just enough to adjust her hair and dress. “Soso!”

Solana brings herself to look at her husband’s cousin as he finally walks in the office after dismissing Alicia’s warning. The first thing she notices is the tupperware bowl in his hand and white substance on his fingers. “I hope you don’t mind. When I saw your driver, I figured you had these little sugar things in the back so I just grabbed em’ all.”

If not for the fact that Solana is still trying to settle herself, she’d point out how the other bowl was supposed to be for Jey. But that seems irrelevant at the moment. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Jimmy seems completely unbothered by Roman’s threat as he plops down on the sofa, kicking his feet up on the glass coffee table and asks with all the obliviousness in the world. “So what ya’ll doing?”

When Roman shoots up from his desk and starts toward his cousin, Solana places herself in front of him, hands on his chest. His attention is immediately down, focused once again on her.

“It’s okay. I—I’ve got training with Bay and Naomi anyway.” Swallowing her nerves and pushing back thoughts of how….how nice it felt kissing him, she quietly offers a hopefully acceptable alternative. “We can talk tonight.”

This doesn’t seem like Roman’s preference but something he can live with. “Fine.”

She knows he’s obviously annoyed at being interrupted, and she is too, to a certain extent. But, Jimmy meant no harm, and she hopes Roman can at least recognize as much. Solana says bye to Jimmy and is near the door where she sees Solo waiting for her when an idea, more an urge, becomes too prominent to push away.

She turns back around and leans up, pulling Roman down by his shoulders and kisses his cheek. He gives her a look that tells her he’d be pulling her back for more if not for her cousin, and it makes her stomach somersault all over again.

But, she doesn’t give him the opportunity, just a small smile as she walks out for good this time. 

And it’s after she’s gone, the Wise Man back in the room to help minimize the chances of his Tribal Chief killing one of his cousins that Jimmy uses the distraction to pull out his phone and send a text in the group chat. 

Group Chat: Operation RoSo

Jimmy: Ya’ll! Code red! Code fucking red!

Jey:?????????

Bayley: Is Solana okay?!

Naomi: ^^^^^^

Jimmy: Man, I just got to Uce office, and good thing I walked in when I did. They acting all weird and shit. Soso just ran out of here but not after telling him they’ll ‘talk’ tonight!!!!

Jey: I’m too high for this shit right now.

Naomi: Babe, how exactly is that a code red???

Jimmy: They was obviously arguing before I got here! And ‘talking’ tonight??? That ain’t nothing but part two!

Bayley: Jimmy, that seems like a bit of a stretch.

Jey: A big ass stretch. Man, leave them two alone.

Jimmy: Naw. We gotta expedite this plan. I can see the writing on the wall. If we don’t move fast, they never gon fall in love. They might even be starting to hate each other now!

Bayley: Now you’re just being dramatic.

Jey: Agreed. How I get out this chat?

Jimmy: I don’t wanna hear it! I’m the master strategist so let me do my thing! 

Jimmy: Babe. You and Bayley have SoSo all done up and nice this evening. Make her think ya’ll are going out or something.

Naomi: Why?

Jimmy: Damnit woman, because I said so!

Naomi: 🫤

Naomi: I’m trying to figure out who the fuck you think you talking to. Don’t get your ass beat.

Jey: I’m muting this shit. Ya’ll not gon get me killed. Roman don’t like people in his business.

Jimmy: Just have her ready, and I’ll text you the location and the time she needs to be there.

Jimmy: We gotta save RoSo from themselves!

________

Solana misses the blow from Naomi by only a fraction of a second, but before she has time to think about it, another one is coming, forcing Solana to quickly jump to the side.

“Nice,” Naomi compliments. “Try more offensive positions though. Try to hit me.”

Solana knew that was coming, knew that Naomi would be pushing her today, as she has the last couple times. It only makes sense. Solana recognizes that she’s improving, that she has improved a lot since she started. It seems only natural that Naomi would continue to push her to further the progression of her skills.

“Don’t be afraid, Solana! Naomi can take it,” Bayley encourages from the sidelines, drinking some of her Gatorade.

Solana does her best to not get too distracted, knowing that can be quite literally fatal if this was a real situation. 

Naomi lunges at her again, and Solana manages to block it with her forearm but also lifts her foot, managing to kick Naomi away.

“Nice!” It’s such a weird thing to be applauded for. “But remember to retract your foot faster next time. I could have twisted it and grounded you.”

Solana commits that to memory just as Naomi steps back and Bayley walks back over. She then compliments, “I know I said it already, but the haircut looks amazing on you.” She quickly adds in a manner that’s more telling than asking. “Just have to even some areas off.”

Solana half smiles. She expected Bayley to need to go in with actual shears to shape up some areas given the fact that Solana’s impromptu haircut was literally just her taking some regular scissors and chopping at least five inches off. 

But before Solana can say anything else, she sees why Bayley ended her break to get back into the training. 

It’s evident by the knife in her outstretched hand.

“This is a Benchmade Bailout. It’s a folding knife. A little bigger than what we’d like you to carry on you, but a good place to start.”

Carrying….Solana hadn’t even allowed herself to think about that part. Of course they’d want her to start keeping a knife on her once teaching her how to use one.

Naomi then advises, “we’re not gonna do any fight training with it today, but we do want you to get used to the feel and weight of it.”

Solana can feel her heartbeat increasing. She can’t remember the last time, if ever, she’s held a knife of this nature. Her left hand is against her shorts, tapping against the spandex, a continued nervous habit.

Bayley sees this and offers assurance. “It’s okay. We just want to go over the basics.”

Solana does her best to focus not on the past, but the present. The here and now. Another recommendation from her book. She also strangely remembers the countless times Roman has asserted he won’t let anything happen to her. 

“I’ve got you.”

The safe feeling she has when he’s around. He’s not physically present, but the recollection of his words anchor her.

Taking a deep breath, Solana takes the knife from Bayley, its coolness taking her by surprise. She never takes her eyes off the blade. 

Meanwhile, Naomi goes into basic tips and information. “Right off the bat, if you ever need to use it to defend yourself, go for the major arteries.” She then begins pointing to the various body parts as she lists them off. “The neck, stomach, chest area namely. It’s your best bet at getting someone almost entirely immobilized.”

“And this might be graphic, but don’t be afraid to go for it twice. Sometimes people can still be standing with just one hit.” Solana is grateful for the fact that Bayley is trying to be careful with her words, vague to a certain extent but clear enough so she can understand.

“If you just wanna get them away and not potentially kill them, maybe go for the hand or foot, depending on how they’ve got you pinned.”

“But by the time we finish your training, no one will get the chance to pin you.” Naomi gives a comforting smile and squeeze of her shoulder. “Not to mention Roman would never let you be in that position in the first place.”

Solana doesn’t doubt that one bit.

Bayley suddenly clears her throat, almost awkwardly. 

Solana frowns, looking lost by the otherwise random in interjection. “What?”

“We’re not supposed to tell you, but Roman is taking you out to dinner tonight.” Naomi’s answer is appreciated, but it doesn’t make sense. 

“He what?” Solana is confused because she literally just saw Roman this morning and came straight from his office to the Warehouse to train without him mentioning a word of this. “He didn’t say anything to me.”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” Bayley adds, but there’s something almost unsure about her answer. “So, I’ll take you to my salon afterwards to touch up your hair now, and then we can also figure out glam while you’re there.”

“Yes.” Naomi claps and carefully removes the knife from Solana. The knife she completely forgot she was holding. Naomi comments on that. “See? You forgot about it for a minute, didn’t you?” Solana nods. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you there.” 

The encouragement means the world to Solana as she offers a quiet but meaningful, “thank you.” They’ll never know how much their support means to her. 

Ever.

Bayley comes and stands beside Solana, sliding her arm around her with that infamous sly smile.”You never have to thank us for being your friends, Solana.” Words have never hit so deeply, Solana having to hold back tears. Friends.  “Now let’s figure out what the slay is gonna be for tonight.”

________

The minute Solana walks into the restaurant, she realizes that something is off. 

And not even in a dangerous sort of way, more so, there’s something she’s not being told sort of way.

It’s a beautiful upscale restaurant that has decor that probably costs more than some people’s mortgage payment. 

But it’s barren. Not a customer in sight. 

Walking up the three steps that lead to a higher level, she looks around, confused as to the fact that a restaurant that probably requires reservations six months in advance is vacant. 

Digging in her small purse, she pulls out her phone to text Roman. Bayley and Naomi encouraged her to continue to play dumb, but this isn’t right. 

She needs to talk to him.

“Solana?”

Her head snaps up to see Roman who also just walked up the same steps she did minutes prior.

“Roman?”

He seems surprised to see her, an unexpected expression for someone who allegedly planned this dinner. “I—I don’t know what’s going on.” He walks over to her as she explains. “I was told—”

“Probably the same thing I was told,” he finishes for her and takes in her appearance, Solana’s hands smoothing over her dress. Looking just as captivated as he’d looked at her this morning in his office, Roman ghosts the back of his hand against her cheek. “Sei uno splendore….”

She hasn’t a clue what he’s said, but something tells her it’s a compliment of some sort. Still, Solana asks with that same bashful smile that seems to always fall on her face when she’s around him, “are you gonna tell me what you just said?”

Roman winks and answers, plain and simple, “naw.”

Smiling even harder, before she can say anything else, another voice enters the conversation.

“Soso, girl, what you doing here?”

Both Solana and Roman turn to a smiling Jimmy who's wearing a poorly feigned look of surprise. 

“Jimmy?” Solana is genuinely confused while Roman looks like he’s genuinely considering murdering his cousin for the second time today. “What—what are you doing here?”

Roman is completely uninterested in the why and more so on the how he’s going to end the other man. “I’m going to fucking kill him, Solana. I don’t care anymore.”

Jimmy completely ignores Roman and answers her question with an answer that makes no sense. “Ahh, you know, I was in the neighborhood.”

He gives Solana a side hug as she answers his question as well, hoping to avoid witnessing a familial crime. “Bayley and Naomi told me—”

“You know what, it don’t even matter. You here. Big Dog here.” He gestures around them. “Looks like this nice ass restaurant has been rented out by some coincidence. Might as well enjoy a nice dinner.”

Roman closes his eyes, seemingly trying to count off. “I’m literally going to snap your fucking neck if you don’t get lost. Now.”

Solana moves over to Roman just enough for him to reach and gently tug her into him. He doesn’t need to be getting this upset. She naturally lays her head against his chest, fingers grasping the sides of his shirt.

Jimmy lifts his hands in a surrender manner. “Hey. I can tell when I’m not wanted.” Solana smiles at the look she can imagine on Roman’s face at that. “Ya’ll be safe now. Soso, I’ll be at the crib in the morning for breakfast.”

“Why the fuc—” 

Solana reaches up and redirects his focus onto her. “It’s okay.” Solana looks over at the table that’s beautifully decorated with a stunning centerpiece. “It’s….it’s sweet.” Her diversion also, thankfully, a long enough distraction for Jimmy to depart, leaving the two of them alone.

Her preference.

Roman’s as well, clearly.

Solana then takes in the situation, a little relieved to finally know what’s going on. It’s obvious she was set up. Roman too. But regardless of the deception, it’s deeply appreciated. Her friends going to such lengths to set up something nice like this. 

Roman, calming down a bit, doesn’t necessarily disagree with her, but instead asserts, “they’re interfering, and I don’t like that shit.” 

Her smile dims a bit as she offers, “we can leave—”

“No.” He shoots it down immediately, hands on her hips. “Just hate that I finally get time alone with you, and it’s because of fucking Jimmy.” Her eyes shut when he kisses her forehead and murmurs, “been thinking’ bout you all day…”

And the smile is back as she takes his hand and leads him toward the table, Roman pulling her chair out for her. 

Having the restaurant entirely rented out is a luxury she’s not used to but appreciates, especially with how catered the service is as well as the fact that they don’t have to wait long for the food. Conversation flows easy between them, more Roman asking questions about how she’s doing, if she needs anything.

He’s always so attentive, and she’s so grateful for that. 

Grateful for him.

It’s the same type of attentiveness that causes her to comment after the waiter comes and takes their plates, clearing the table. “You seem stressed.”

And not just because of the date setup.

He shrugs, partially dismissing but not outright denying. “Just a long day.”

It seems to be a recurring theme with him. Solana has noticed for a while now how his early days always bleed into late evenings that sometimes spill over to the next day. It doesn’t seem sustainable to her. “You have a lot of those.”

“I’m the Tribal Chief.” He says it with pride, as he should, but there’s something else there. Something she can’t outright identify. “Comes with the territory.”

And Solana recognizes as such, but as large of a man Roman is—in many different ways—he’s still just a man. “Is it ever too much?” She crosses her arms across the table, leaning forward almost. There may be no other attendees present, but there are still workers, so she’s mindful of her volume. “I mean….”

“Do I ever get exhausted?” She nods. “Sure.” That wasn’t the answer she was expecting. Roman does such an excellent job always wearing that mask of calm, cool, and collected. Outside of his obvious temper, he’s always so well put together. It’s something she envies, to a certain extent. “But someone’s gotta do it, and as it’s my birthright, the responsibility falls on me.”

She sits on his words, understanding where he’s coming from but also wondering just how he manages such a weight. She knows he’d headed the Bloodline for some time now, since he was 18 years old. That’s a large burden to carry at such a young age and for him to do it so long and as well as he has, it’s impressive.

He certainly lives up to his reputation.

Solana nods and does her best to ease into what she’d really like to tell him, to have him know even if he never in life takes her up on it. “You always say that I can talk to you…”

Roman doesn’t hesitate to reaffirm it too. “You can.”

She knows this. He’s….he’s made it abundantly clear that he wants to speak with her, to know what’s on her mind. “That goes both ways.” Something speedily flashes in his eyes, briefly affecting his otherwise neutral expression. “You can talk to me too.”

For a second, she regrets saying anything, regrets second guessing his abilities to handle things. The last thing she wants is to insinuate he’s somehow incapable of taking care of business. But, if he’s insulted by her offer, he doesn’t show it, just says a simple, “thank you.” She offers a small nod when he seemingly changes the subject. “How’s training?”

There’s a bit of a sting at what feels like a slight form of rejection, but she understands better than anyone that opening up can be hard, so she respects his wishes.

“Good. I….I think I like it.” It’s the truth. While initially terrified of being put into such a foreign situation, Solana has found herself growing increasingly content with this new part of her weekly routine. Training has assisted, to a great extent, in her growing confidence and surety with herself. There’s something comforting about learning how to defend herself, how to keep herself safe. “Today was a little hard though. They’re teaching me how to fight with knives. It’s…..uncomfortable, but that’s how I know I need to do it.”

If there’s anything she’s learned in the past couple months, it’s that nothing about working to overcome trauma is easy. That doesn’t, however, make it any less important.

Or beneficial. 

“Not if you absolutely don’t want to.” To be fair, Roman wasn’t even informed that this was something the girls were starting with Solana. He makes a mental note to remind them that while they handle her training, the specifics of what she’s taught needs to be run by him at all times. He probably would have shot down the knife training.

Solana was literally present and witnessed her mother be stabbed to death. Solana herself was also stabbed. 

That seems almost cruel to make her learn how to wield the very weapon that took so much from her.

“Wes used to use knives to hurt me.” It comes out more quiet than she intended, a natural effect of sharing something so painful. She points to a small scar on her neck, the exact date and nature of how it happened, something she’ll never forget but has little desire to elaborate on.

“And I know….I know you won’t let him hurt me anymore, but….I don’t want him to have that power over me anymore either. He knows I’m scared of them, and he’s always taken advantage of that fact. I don’t….I don’t want him to have that anymore.”

“Then he won’t,” Roman agrees. He can understand her logic, and he respects the hell out of her wanting to take back that power. He supports the hell out of it too. “Not if you don’t let him.”

She gives a sad smile, shaking her head. “As strange as it is, I think….Wes and I are both victims.” Before Roman can press her for clarification, she explains, “my father always kept his contact limited with my mom. He said she would make him weak like she made me.” Just saying it takes Solana back to countless times and occasions where her father would talk down on her mother, talk down on Solana. It’s a weighty memory. “Having my mom…having her love for the time that I did made a big difference for me. Wes never got that, so I always wonder how things could have been different if he did.”

Solana has a big heart. Pure. A mind-boggling phenomena to Roman considering everything she’s been through. “It still doesn’t make what he’s done to you right.” Kind heart or not, it’s imperative she knows there’s never a good enough reason or excuse for anyone to do what he’s done to her.

She nods, “I know.” It’s still a work in progress, Solana learning to unlearn the victim blaming she’s placed on herself for so many years. But, that much, she’s come to accept.

She never deserved any of Wes or her father's abuse.

Roman can see the way memories might be coming back to the front of her mind and moves to redirect again. “You wanted to talk to me about something earlier.”

Oh.

For a second, she wants to lie. To make up something. To come up with a story that’s hopefully believable enough for him to not poke holes through. And then another line from her book resurfaces.

Calculated risks are different—you weigh your chances and step out onto the ice only when you’re relatively sure it’s solid.

Solana is certain she’s never met a more solid person than Roman.

Scooting back in her chair, she feels his watchful gaze around her as she moves around the table and is only inches away from him when he realizes what she's doing and beats her to it, gently pulling her onto his lap. He’s always so careful around her.

Solana moves her arms around his neck as he rests one hand on her hip.

She takes a deep breath. “I was...I was working out of my book this morning, and it was the chapter on…on intimacy and—” She has to pace herself, knowing that if she doesn’t, she won’t get through the conversation. And she has to do this. She almost feels like she needs to do this. “I think I always thought I couldn’t have that because of what happened to me, but…..but I think I can.” 

And this has been such a powerful and moving revelation to walk into. For so long, Solana has lived in fear and trauma, haunted by the horrific memories of her sexual assault. It’s inaccurately painted her views of what should and could be something beautiful and special with the right person. She never thought that could be possible for her though, believed that her chance had been destroyed by two sick individuals.

But if the past few months have taught her anything, it’s that there are decent people in the world. Decent men in the world. Jimmy. Jey. Solo.

Roman

She’s still very much nervous, and even talking about it has her pushing back a level of anxiety, but the desire to overcome that trauma, to be able to experience that as a woman, to not be held down by the shackles of her past, is stronger than it’s ever been before.

“And I want to try.” She licks her lips, nervously adding on and explaining as best she can, “but, I can’t do it right away. I need….I need to build up to it, and I know—that has to be frustrating for you—”

“Solana.” His interruption is quiet but firm. “We’ll go as slow as you want.” His finger is moving in slow circles on her hip, an action that provides her a strange sense of comfort. “Whatever you need is what we’ll do.”

Solana releases a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding in. Him agreeing isn’t something she necessarily didn’t see coming, she just didn’t realize it’d come so easy. 

She almost feels it’s too good to be true.

Suddenly unsure, Solana double checks. “You’re….you’re okay with that?”

He doesn’t miss a beat with his answer. “Only if you’re sure this is what you want.”

It’s a profound statement. There’s a lot of things she’s not sure of that she’s been making herself do, regardless. 

But this……

This is something she wants.

Something she maybe even needs.

Solana is careful with her answer. “I’m gonna be 29 this year, and the only sexual experience I’ve had is being raped as a child.” There’s an equal combination of emotion and conviction as she affirms, “I don’t want that to be my story anymore.”

And it won’t.

Because she won’t let it.

Not anymore. 

“Then we’ll do this.” She nods, still nervous but also comforted by his support. “You know I won’t make you do anything you’re not ready for, but I also need you to be good about communicating with me.” His eyes move up and down over her, resting slightly longer on her chest, which is understandable given the revealing nature of her dress. “And you also know how attracted I am to you, to all of you, so I need you to stay clear with me on what you are and aren’t comfortable with, okay?”

It’s fair and completely understandable. Roman is still a man. A man with needs, and he strikes her as being an otherwise handsy man, so him wanting and needing to know where her red zones are is important.

“I understand.” And she’ll make an active, concerted effort to be on top of that. To practice saying no and cutting things off when she needs to. “What—what about you?” He gives her a look. “Is there….is there anything you’re not comfortable with?”

Again, he takes her in, head to toe. His tongue leaves his mouth to slowly gloss over his bottom lip. “Baby, you can do whatever you want with me.”

Her smile is bashful as she looks away. Him being so….outspoken about his attraction and desire for her is still a new thing she’s trying to navigate, but it’s not unwanted. Nor does it feel bad to have a man like him want her so badly.

Not at all. 

Deciding to continue to stay on the ledge she’s already started to trail, Solana brings her hand to his chest. “So….so if I asked you to kiss me again….”

He chuckles, Solana’s eyes shutting as he brings his mouth to her jawline, “whenever,” her nails claw against his chest as he moves his lips to her nose, “however,” finally he’s teasing the corner of her mouth. “Wherever you want.” 

And it’s at the exact moment their lips connect again that a phone ringing once again steals away another groundbreaking moment. 

Solana can feel the irritation in his muscular body and smiles against his lips. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” She doesn’t necessarily doubt it as he kisses her cheek before pulling his phone out and answering as she lays her head in his neck. He barks out an unkind, “what?”

It doesn’t deter her as he keeps his grip on her hip, Solana enjoying the feeling of being in his arms. She’s starting to realize being this close to him makes her feel safe. His presence alone gives her that feeling, but this is something different, something almost…deeper.

She doesn’t try to listen in on his phone call, but it’s made virtually impossible not to, given the fact that she’s literally on his lap. However, that’s ended when he switches to speaking in Samoan. Still, it’s not hard to pick up on the fact that he’s growing more annoyed with every second that passes. 

He then gives a heavy sigh, switching to English, “I’ll be there in a bit.”

Her stomach drops, a frown appearing that she does her best to quickly push away. She had a feeling the call would end that way. 

Before he can explain to her the obvious, she lifts her head and assures, “it’s okay. I should probably get back to Dulce anyway.”

“Damn dog is so needy.” Solana smiles at the scowl on his handsome face. For someone who doesn’t care for dogs, she’s noticed he seems to interact with her puppy more and more as the days pass. He brings his hand to her chin, ensuring she keeps her gaze on him. “Don’t wait up, alright?”

It’s an expected request, one he should already know she’ll do her best to, but most likely won’t, abide by. 

“I make no promises...” 

________

Having such a small dog means that he or she can be in the most random of places and blend in seamlessly because of said smallness. It’s why in looking for Dulce after getting out the shower, Solana damn near searches every corner and crevice of the first and second floors of the mansion. Outside of a room that’s been locked and closed off the past two weeks, Roman not really giving her a reason why nor has she pushed.

She’d never been in it anyway.

It is, however, out of the norm though for Dulce to not be nearby. She typically likes to stay close to Solana.

Or even Roman.

So for a moment, Solana starts to get concerned. But after searching her room, the kitchen, the dining room, and even the backyard a second time, Solana is finally able to locate Dulce in the least expected place.

Roman’s room. 

She didn’t even realize Dulce’s bed was still in there, still in the original spot on the side of his bed.

The side she had slept on that one night.

“Dulce, you can’t stay in here.” Solana knows Roman isn’t a huge dog person, and Dulce being in his room is probably the last thing he’ll want to see when he gets back. But it’s in reaching over to pick up her puppy that something unexpected happens. 

Dulce nips at her.

Solana gasps, momentarily taken off guard. That’s the first time Dulce has done that. “Dulce, no.” Again, Solana goes for the grab only for the puppy to plant her bottom and back legs into the bed. Now Solana is just straight up confused. “What is wrong with you?”

Thinking maybe she can lure the puppy with a toy, Solana turns to leave, almost to the door when Dulce’s whimpering and the patter of her little feet stops her. Solana turns around and moves to grab her when Dulce scampers right back over to her bed, plopping her little body down.

It’s when she does that, Solana starts to catch on.

“You want to stay in here?” Dulce’s reply is a bark followed by the wag of her tail. Solana frowns. “We can’t…..this is Roman’s room.”

And yet even as the words leave her mouth, she thinks about that. Thinks about the fact that a part of working up to being intimate with Roman includes being close to him, touching him, in his bed perhaps. And though she still doesn’t remember everything from the night she got drunk, she remembers waking up in his bed and falling asleep again in the same bed with zero issues.

She felt….she felt comfortable. 

She felt safe.

“We can stay for a little while.” Deep down, Solana knows Roman won’t be upset with her. If anything, he’ll be more annoyed that she didn’t listen and decided to wait up, but her laying in his bed for a few minutes won’t generate anger.

Solana puts her phone on the nightstand, making sure the ringer is still on. The likelihood of him texting or even calling her is slim to none, but still….she doesn’t want to miss it if he does.

Laying on his bed is the initial plan, but there’s a chill in his room that has her moving under the covers just to provide her that slight warmth. It’s not intended to increase her comfort and definitely not intended to lead to her falling asleep.

But that’s exactly what happens. 

It’s also the last thing Roman expects to find when he makes it back home a couple hours later. 

Solana asleep in his bed. 

He knew she would try to stay up, knew she would end up falling asleep in trying to stay up, but he didn’t know she would end up doing all of that in his room, in his bed.

It’s unexpected but far from unwanted, a strange sense of satisfaction at seeing her sleeping so comfortably, so peacefully in his space of all places. 

He’s careful in his movements around the room, gathering clothes to change into post shower. Roman doesn’t want to disturb her, to wake her up, especially since he has a good guess that she didn’t intend to end up in his bed and would be unnecessarily apologetic. 

Apologetic for something he’s halfway considering asking her to make a permanent thing.

Roman manages to finish his shower without Solana so much as moving an inch. If only her damn dog was the same, because he’s barely able to open the bathroom door when Dulce is at his feet, whimpering.

Small ass dog with an even smaller ass bladder. 

Before she can progress to barking, he’s got her up in his arms, guiding her out the room, down the stairs and into the backyard where she thankfully wastes zero time in doing her business. Roman is grateful, not wanting a second to pass where Solana could wake up, freak the fuck out, and leave.

He wants her to stay right where she is.

And it’s in sliding into the bed with her, moving his arm over her body and gently pulling her into him, he realizes another reason why he doesn’t want her to leave. There’s an unfamiliar almost instant peace he has at the feel of her next to him, like this is how it should be, like she should be with him.

Like she’s supposed to be with him.

But he clearly wasn’t thinking straight when he moved her, because she’s suddenly stirring in her sleep, eyes slowly blinking open.

Fuck. He didn’t mean to wake her up. 

Roman’s half expecting her to freak out, to panic at being this close to him, at being in bed this close to him. But she again surprises him with a quiet murmur that’s more an acknowledgment than anything. “You’re back….” He watches as she frowns almost, an indication of worry, asking in a voice full of sleep. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He brings his hand to her cheek, recognizing that even though she’s talking, she’s very much still half-sleep. “Go back to sleep.”

Solana gives a little nod and the moment he pulls his hand away, she inches closer to him. He shifts their positions, so he’s on his back, and she’s tucked safely into his side. In what feels like seconds, she’s fast asleep. 

Yeah….

A discussion about her moving into his room is definitely on the table, preferably sooner rather than later. It makes sense to him for a lot of reasons, namely the fact that she’s clearly comfortable sleeping with him in this way but also the fact that she’s expressed a desire to work up to being intimate.

Roman’s had sex in a lot of different places, but there’s no way in fucking hell he could ever have his first time with Solana be anywhere but a bed. 

His bed.

He plays around with a few different ideas on how to broach the subject before sleep prevails over him too.

It’s the fastest he’s fallen asleep in years.

And he’s certain it has nothing to do with the long ass day he had but everything to do with the woman besides him.

But his sleep is short lived by the vibrating of his phone on the nightstand. Irritated at the interruption of his sleep, he’s not surprised. Roman’s always been a light sleeper.

He peers down to make sure Solana remains undisturbed in her slumber, and seeing that she’s still sleeping as peacefully as before with her body somehow more over his than he remembered, he grabs his phone.

Paul: Sorry to disturb you so late, sir, but I got the files you requested for Miller. Emailed. As we already know, he’s almost a million in the hole. Has been in debt over the past twenty years. Never in the green. The bulk of it was accumulated in 2005. 500K. Summer 2005. Strangely, in that same month, it was cut in half to 250K. Then mysteriously zeroed out in late 07.

Roman sits on the brief summary provided by his Wise Man. It doesn’t add up. He already knew Miller was in the hole. The man is a fucking idiot when it comes to finances, so him being that deeply in debt isn’t surprising, but him somehow getting rid of a quarter million debt is. The fucker isn’t smart enough to pull that off.

Roman: Who was the creditor?

Paul: Still looking into that. 

Roman: Anything significant about 07’?

Paul: Not that I can see. Still digging though.

Roman doesn’t like mysteries. Can’t stand unanswered questions. They’ve always driven him fucking insane. It’s why he finds himself unable to fall back asleep, an inconvenient thing given the fact that he’ll need to be up and out of bed in a little under three hours. Still, he can’t get the dates and information out of his head. 

How the fuck did a dumbass like Miller clear his ledger to that extent? It’s not unheard of. Roman could have done it. Easily. But, he’s also significantly smarter than his wife’s dumbass father. 

Even more, what the hell did Miller need or have done for fucking half a million dollars? 

Was he moving product? Weapons, maybe? Human trafficking? Just the thought of that last one makes Roman want to place his fist through the nearest wall. 

But it’s Solana stirring on top of him that serves as the unintended trigger that helps him fill in the rest of the gaps.

He’s quick with the text to the Wise Man.

Roman: When was Solana’s mother killed?

Paul: Sir?

Roman: Answer the fucking question.

There’s a brief delay followed by those three dots and an answer.

Paul: 2005. August. 

Wheels start turning as Roman begins putting the harrowing pieces together. Miller went into half a million dollar debt in August of 2005 that somehow got slashed in half at the end of the same month. The same month that Solana and her mother were attacked, and only one of them made it out alive.

Half…..

2007….

Roman does some mental math. Solana was born in 95. She’ll be 29 this year. That puts her at age 12 back in 07’.

12.

The same age she was when she was raped.

The same year the largest chunk of her father’s debt suddenly zeroed out and disappeared like it never happened in the first place.

And just like the night he found out Solana was a survivor of childhood sexual assault, the unbridled horror and disgust that filled him in knowing the truth, Roman is starting to wish he wasn’t so good at connecting the dots. That he wasn’t able to put two and two together.

Because the picture is more fucking horrifying than anything he’s encountered in some time. If ever.

Because he’s now faced with the dilemma of just how in the hell he’s supposed to tell Solana that her father is responsible for her mother’s murder but also her being raped.

Because now he’s faced with the dilemma of if he should tell her at all.

Roman closes his eyes.

Shit just got infinitely more complicated.

[thegameartist03]

been rotating the Tin Woodman aka Nick Chopper from the Oz books in my brain for weeks and i finally got the gumption to draw about it

lil ref i made for myself, heavily inspired by The Woodsman (a spectacular play you should absolutely go watch right now)

bonus comic + doodles and some thoughts below

i have. SO MANY thoughts about this character.

if you don't know the lore from the original Wizard of Oz books, basically the Tin Man was a Munchkin named Nick Chopper who was a woodsman by trade. one day he finds this woman Nimmie Ammie who's trapped working for (in the first book it's some old lady but changes depending on the story) the Wicked Witch of the East. Nimmie says she'll marry him if he can build her a house and take her away, he agrees and starts to do so.

The Witch doesn't want to lose her servant, so she curses Nick's axe to (trigger warning from here on for injury n sorta body horror) cut off his leg next time he uses it. down a leg, Nick goes to the tinsmith who makes him a new one out of tin and then he gets back to work. the curse continues to take Nick's limbs and the tinsmith continues to replace them. there's a point where Nick loses his head and gets a new one made of tin, he thinks the Witch can't do anything else to him, and then the axe cuts his torso in half. the tinsmith rebuilds him, but since he doesn't have a heart anymore Nick claims he can't feel love and leaves Nimmie Ammie.

then he goes into the woods to chop more trees and rusts solid for A FULL YEAR and while he can't move and no one is around to help him he mourns the loss of his heart and ability to love.

i've got my own headcanons about his and Nimmie's relationship (personally i think he's aromantic) but i won't get into that right now. what i really wanna talk about is HOW BADLY HE GOT THE SHORT END OF THE STICK IN EVERYTHING

Nick was just a regular guy!!! just a normal dude going about his life as a woodsman. he happened upon this girl and offered to help her escape a bad situation, and POOF all of a sudden he's getting cursed! and he goes to this tinsmith who he thinks is offering to replace his limbs out of charity, but what he doesn't know is this guy is collecting his body parts in a barrel in the back of his shop to perform illegal Frankenstein-style experiments with!! then Nick loses his entire body and gets rebuilt as this tin abomination and he's so traumatized that he straight up LEAVES HIS FIANCE AND GETS TRAPPED ALONE UNABLE TO MOVE FOR A YEAR

and here's the thing. Nick Chopper is a Munchkin. canonically in the book, Munchkins are about the height of a 12 year old child (Dorothy). THE TIN WOODMAN IS THE HEIGHT OF AN AVERAGE FULLY GROWN ADULT. the tinsmith really DID Frankenstein's monster him, cause that man was absolutely shorter before, and now he probably can't even fit in the house he built!! he's too big for standard Munchkin architecture!!! he's gotta adjust to the extra two feet of height the tinsmith gave him for what reason??

he doesn’t even have his own face!! every part of his body is completely foreign and unrecognizable to the person he was before, he can’t even look in a mirror and see something resembling himself!!!! HIS HEAD’S A FREAKIN’ PAINT CAN

both he and Nimmie Ammie deserved better, and i'm glad they get their happy endings. Nick is life partners with the Scarecrow and has his own tin palace, and Nimmie Ammie is married to the homunculus combined body parts of Nick and another guy that offered to marry her.

[creatingblackcharacters]

For a while, I've had a Black OC involved in a supernatural possession narrative. He's possessed by a being from another dimension, and it essentially replaces him; he's "unconscious" and not aware of what's happening to him while this being is controlling his body. His main narrative starts when the being leaves after multiple years, and focuses on him putting his life back together, making new relationships, and figuring out what happened in the years he's not aware of.

I was reading your lesson about Black horror and violence, and I started thinking a narrative like this happening to a Black person could be really insensitive. I wasn't thinking about how it might evoke the (past and present) actual experiences of Black folks when I started putting it together. Beyond treating it as the life-ruining event it is - are there any pitfalls I need to avoid in this story, or things you would want a white writer to specifically be aware and cautious of? One thing that jumped out to me in the lesson was "is the villain supposed to also be suffering", because the possessor needs a host body to live, though still callous to the consequences. I worry that detail comes off as a tasteless justification.

I mean it sounds like you got it. You said it's a life ruining event; make sure that you consider that all the life ruining events will be both affected in story and outside of story by their Blackness. Like one example; let's say the villain inside of the Black character decides they're gonna pop off on a white woman at the store. That's gonna go worse for them as a parasite in a Black body than it is for them in a white one for all the regular reasons. So not only is it life ruining because it's making the Black character do something precarious, but it's precarious even more so due to the Blackness.

My advice here- and again, it sounds like you're on your way- is to not take the potential this has to ruin their life in different ways lightly. Coming back, there might be things that they can't crawl out of. You're gonna have to acknowledge race and racism in your story, on this one. Consider how the Black experience on its own is already Othering, and to then even lose control of your own autonomy amongst that is even more violating. I'm sure you've seen Get Out? That one's a real easy, on the nose example of this sort of fear. Sinners, even 🤣 Folks were upset by me and The Delectable Negro but it really did discuss how the Black body has been cannibalized and parasitized, and how violating an experience that is. Being aware of why it's a fear will help you understand how to write it respectfully.

The villain is a parasite- treat them like it. We can understand that they have reason, doesn't mean we have to pity them for it.

[lilacxquartz]

part 2 of 19 of kinktober: medical checkup

nurse kenjaku x reader

plot: something’s a little bit off about your doctor’s appointment… — themes: mildly dubious consent, f!reader, forced orgasms, sensual yapping — w.c: ~1.3k

kinktober masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

You were supposed to be getting a regular old check up, or at least that’s what you were expecting when you first walked into the doctor’s office.

However, something in the air didn’t feel quite right and then your vision soon blurred, quickly dimming your senses into sinking darkness. By the time you had finally come back around—something had changed—but what exactly?

Your eyes squinted at the harsh overhead lamps; blinding you into forced wakefulness and revealing a somewhat familiar silhouette looming over you, their features ever so slightly obscured.

“No way,” you scoffed in realisation, attempting to sit up in an attempt to strangle the guy and yet, finding that you weren’t able to do so at all due to being entirely strapped in, “what are you doing here?”

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the buzzing ambience but their arrogant demeanour could never be hidden away for too long. Stepping forward, Kenjaku revealed themselves, flashing you a beaming grin. “That obvious was I? Worry not, I’ll be sure to find out what’s really wrong with you.”

You sulked in response as you helplessly writhed around, trying again and again to free yourself from the restraints. “It’s just a yearly check up—“

“—ah, ah, ah,” they half scoffed, eyeing you up and down. “You really thought that I would allow for you to be checked up by someone else in that sort of way? Think again. Just call me doctor, or nurse, or whatever helps make it easier~”

“Never mind that… what are you even wearing?” you jabbed, finally noticing their attire. It seemed to be an old fashioned nurse’s uniform, tightly fitted over their vessel’s broad shoulders.

Kenjaku simply leaned forward, the buttons of the straining shirt threatening to pop right off and potentially blind you. Their voice was laced with endearing mockery and the hum in their tone betraying no doubt that they enjoyed teasing you, “Oh this? Don’t worry about that. I just wanted to make the whole experience more fun and dare I say… realistic? You know, I actually used to work as a doctor a couple of centuries ago, so I am technically more than qualified to check you over. The times haven’t changed that dramatically, surely?”

“Well…” you trailed off, suddenly feeling uneasy.

Kenjaku rolled their eyes, waving off your concerns with the flick of their hand. “Don’t give me that look, it’ll be fine. Trust me, why don’t you? Besides, I’m not one to shy away from a good challenge in the name of research. Together, may we both find out what’s potentially troubling you.”

Once again feeling nervous, you couldn’t help but wonder what potential horrors awaited you. “Ch-challenge…? What are you planning now, you perverted fossil?”

Snorting at your remark, they rummaged through a duffel bag they had waiting by the door. They then pulled out a ball gag before securing it over your protesting mouth, clipping some of your hair into the buckled leather straps.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” they teasingly murmured, “just a diagnosis of sorts, nothing too… invasive…”

The emphasis on the last word betrayed their attested promise, leading you to believe that they in fact were actually planning something dubious instead. You tried to tell them off some more, but your words could only come out as hopeless, muffled grunts. Such a display of desperately scolding protest only made them laugh even more, as though finding your helplessly fretting state to be amusing.

Quickly adopting a serious attitude however, they prodded and poked at your incapacitated body with clinical precision. With careful ease, they flicked and tweezed at your protruding nipples through the thin fabric of your top, causing your eyes to narrow in rising annoyance. Kenjaku paid you no mind however as they appeared to be deep in thought, scribbling away some nonsense onto an empty clipboard.

With a series of whirring hums and oohs and aahs, they swept their hands all around the your body, soon reaching just below your lower legs, testing just how responsive you were when teased at your somewhere a touch more sensitive.

“My professional diagnosis is…” they purred, trailing off his words into a grand announcement, “…that you, my dear, are stressed. The good news is that I’m selflessly going to help you release all of that tension, like a good doctor-nurse should.”

You sighed, steeling yourself for whatever that could possibly mean even though you had a good idea. “And the bad news?”

They shrugged. “That you don’t have a choice in the matter, but you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Rolling your eyes, you supposed that this was better than the time they tried to make you wear the shock collar, so perhaps this would go better.

Wasting no time, Kenjaku snaked their hand down to your heat, their warm fingers trailing around your tender skin. Despite your initial protest, your lips gasped out a rasping moan as the pleasure built. Their thumb pressed into your clit harder, producing soft whines from your quivering lips.

“Who’s the real pervert here, anyway?” they asked you, slipping two fingers into your slick hole, pumping them at a languid pace before curling them against the roof of your cunt, kneading just hard enough to push painfully against your pelvic bone.

“Y-you, clearly,” you gasped, writhing slightly under their pressuring touch. It wasn’t excruciating, but the discomfort wasn’t pleasant either.

They tilted their head slightly off to the side, momentarily letting the sharp light hit directly at your unprepared eyes. “You anticipated it though, that’s on you—not me,” they were quick to point out, sliding a free hand over to your thigh and squeezing it in their clamping grasp. The ache was dull, arousing a pleading cry to roll off your tongue.

They smiled as they watched you squirm under the inflicted soreness before angling themselves back to blocking out the light out again. “Admit that you like this for once, why don’t you?”

The longer the words hung in the air, the harder they squeezed, causing your body to recoil in flinching complaint. Your hands sprawled over the armrests as your fingers cinched hard over the plastic.

Finally, you admitted it, giving into what they wanted, “Fine, I—I like it.”

They sucked at their teeth, pressing harder. “So reluctant. Let’s try that again.”

“I like it,” you replied with more confidence that time.

“Better,” Kenjaku praised, easing the pressure off your body. They then resumed their pleasuring motions, running skilled circles over your now swollen clit. “You’ll come for me like a good pet, won't you?”

You nodded this time with a needy blushing expression; your hair draping over your face as the sweat dampened it. With a whimpering hum, your body squirmed around despite your incapacitated state in an attempt to urge him to continue.

“I will,” you promised.

With a pleased smile, Kenjaku continued to smooth rushed circles over the bud, watching with fascinated eyes as your body (involuntarily at this point) reacted to their pleasuring touch. Your legs shook violently against the confines, the friction rubbing raw against your exposed flesh. It didn’t take too long after your promise for the anticipated rising tension to build and bloom and finally settle after reaching your peak.

In rapid, ragged spurs, your body convulsed as they finally brought you into much sought after release, letting you recover for a moment before at long, long last unstrapping you.

Still flustered and hazy, you were momentarily surprised that they weren’t just leaving you there.

Kenjaku, noticing your confusion, simply just shrugged once more. “What? I’m not going to leave you here. Besides, I have further plans with you for when we get back,” they explained, helping you stand upright, “now, come along before they figure out that we’re up to no good in here…”

[fivveweeks]

twitter holds me back from writing essays but here are my list of Dante HCs and their reasonings:

1) I vaguely portray Dante with top/bottom surgery scars alongside their neck scars. Not because they're trans (trans Dante hcs are great btw) but it's more so to imply that either Limbus Company or their past self deliberately did the surgery to their body in order to keep their post-clock identity a secret. A second layer to the dehumanisation and loneliness Dante feels with regards to their current self. I'm keeping it vague on who made the decision for them because it adds to the mystery:

If Limbus Company management did this to them, it adds to the horror of capitalism and loss of bodily autonomy.

If pre-clock Dante chose to do this to themselves, it's intriguing as it implies that their past self does not care about such minor things such as gender as they pursue their goals. The end ultimately justifies the means.

I feel Dante is comfortable in their current skin however! The scars itches sometimes but it doesn't bother them much, though they do wonder where they come from.

2) Dante with androgynous, black skin as a side effect of the Golden Bough, or even the head replacement surgery. It is to also add to the dehumanisation and separation they feel after taking the bough into themselves. It doesn't hugely bothers them, but they sometimes subconsciously compare their appearance to the sinner's regular human appearances

3) Relating to the above, Dante prefers covering themselves up tightly with almost zero to no skin showing. I also like to think clothes are one of the ways they use to feel a sense of control over their identity, since they can style and experiment however they like.

4) Has severe chronic pain and incredible pain tolerance, due to the rewinds. They're pretty much used to it at this point and the level of which they can tolerate amounts to them not reacting when getting a hole punched out through their guts.

They wear gloves because they're very touch sensitive due to the chronic pain.

I also considered that they get seizures occasionally. Turns out the constant feeling of phantom pain stemming from fatal incidents WILL still fuck up your nervous system and brain.

5) Relating to Verdante - funny thing is that I don't actually see them having sex often. Not with Dante's chronic pain and workaholic tendencies vs Vergilius' undiagnosed depression, passive suicidal thoughts and his incredible guilt. They're both often than not exhausted and I like to think of them just napping together in bed.

6) I ping pong between Dante having intake holes on their clock so they can take in liquid via straws, or they go the more serious route of having a feeding port via enteral nutrition.

7) Workaholic, workaholic, workaholic. I very much enjoy portraying Dante giving their all into being the manager of Limbus Company Bus. Part of it is because it's the only identity they ever know post memory lost so they subconsciously cling to it, another part is that they just get dopamine from being productive. They can and WILL give you a 3 hours essay for every Mirror Dungeon team and strategy they cooked up

8) It's not concrete but I like portraying Dante as mostly greysexual (sex and romance isn't a priority or need to them, but they're not disgusted by the idea. It fascinates them somewhat) and sort of demisexual (they like people who respects their humanity and not just a mute object...)

They have a Competency Kink. They enjoy seeing people being confident and good at what they do.

Totally was not ogling at Vergilius when he wiped out the monsters in canto 6 like nothing. Heh.

9) Learning Sign language in their downtime to increase efficiency in communication, but they're still a beginner. Vergilius is way better in this over them but he indulges in their sloppy attempts with nothing but an amused sigh.

10) They wear their sleep cap as they can't turn off their fire, so at least it blocks out the light. Also wears socks to bed like to a loser. They have a collection of socks that they accidentally collected over the course of the cantos.

[fashionteahouse]

🌸🌸 me again 🌸🌸

First off I blame my unhealthy twilight obsession partly on you but don’t ever stop! 911 was so sweet! I love the day to day regular life imagines 🥹

How would Seth respond to his imprint miscarrying like let’s say after they told their parents and pack. Maybe both their perspective/Seth being there for her every step of it, and make it long if you feel inspired? Of course like no minors as Seth is now early to mid 20s.

If you don’t feel comfortable I’ll request something different 🩷

You always make the stories so real. Much love 🌸

aw omg thanks so much and i’m glad you liked 911 ! much love to you🥺💜 hope you enjoy :)

save your tears - seth clearwater x reader

It was scary. Seth reassured you.

“We will be great parents.” his smile shined bright. He was excited. You were nervous.

“Are..Are you sure? Are we ready?” you ask with uncertainty. He takes a look at the positive pregnancy tests, “Of course. Why wouldn’t be.”

His words made you feel confident. A family was something that he had always wanted. You wanted it as well, but the stages in life made you second guess the time. You just wanted to not make any mistakes. Each day, Seth treated you as a china doll even though you weren’t showing quite yet.

The news broke out to his family and the pack. They were ecstatic. Arguing who is the soon to be godfather. Making plans of who is going to be the favorite uncle.

Leah sat smug as she was going to be the aunt. She had plans to love the baby with so much love that she could produce.

You and Seth sat and bounced names back and forth. Even giggling to each other as the names started to get wonky for fun.

His hands never stayed away from your stomach. You didn’t mind.

Something that was never wrong was your instincts. You sat worried as you waited for Seth. You tried not to but something was eating at your brain.

Seth gave you a big kiss and a big kiss on your stomach. Your lip quirked a smile as you watch Seth’s happy and carefree face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you carefully, pulling you in close.

“I don’t feel them moving.” you whisper.

“I’m sure it’s normal.” he says with a smile. You nod, “Yeah..” you say shakily.

A sharp pain shoots late into the night. Seth’s eyes widened in horror as he flicked the lamp on. So much blood soaked the sheets as he pulled the covers back.

Your cries almost brought him to tears but he wanted to be strong for you. He knew he had to be strong.

“As long as the baby is okay.” he says to himself as his leg bounced. The doctor, stepped out into the hallway, and brought him into the room. The same room that had your thick cries.

“What’s wrong? Y/N?” he says calmly but shakily as he hugged you. You couldn’t speak. You were too distressed.

“Y/N..Calm down please? It’s not good for the baby, okay?” he coos softly. You cried harder.

He turns his head. Seeing the look on the doctor’s face, he was scared. Really scared.

“Just tell me what happened.” he says after nobody couldn’t say anything.

“She lost the baby…I’m sorry…We do have resources-“

“Wait..Wait…Wait.” Seth says, “You mean…” his breaths became heavy. He crumbled and the doctor felt bad to have been the barrier of such bad news. All they could do is offer their sorries and what resources they can provide.

You couldn’t speak, so you didn’t. Seth held your hand. Four parents sat as Seth broke the news. Leah was devastated, she never experience such loss like that before. She just couldn’t imagine how you felt and you were the mother.

“How did this happen?” Leah kept questioning in her head. There was nothing one could do. It just wasn’t fair.

Sniffles filled the room as he himself had his own silent tears falling.

Breaking the news to the pack was hard. He wasn’t used to being the barrier of bad news. It was always the other side for him.

He couldn’t look anyone in the eye.

The pack stole side glances to each other as the news broke. They immediately huddle around Seth. They all look to you. You don’t look to them. You dissociated to the point where you didn’t even remember this moment taking place.

“Will you two be okay?” Sam asks. It was more than tense.

“I don’t know….” Seth says with a slight furrow of his eyebrows.

“We’ll be here for you, Seth and Y/N. Whatever you need, I got you.” Jacob says. Seth nods. He always looked up to Jacob. It meant a lot.

The others join in, offering their tokens of support.

Seth looked to you. You weren’t yourself. You felt like a piece of you was missing. Just gone, just like that. The thing that was evidence of you and Seth’s love.

You lay lifelessly as Seth opened the curtains in the bedroom.

“Y/N?…” he asks. You haven’t spoken or acknowledge him.

He sits down, he rubbed your shoulder and placed a sweet kiss.

“I’m making breakfast…I will make your favorite.”

You only blinked. He waits for a while before he rises up.

The fork was in your hand but the plate only blew steam. Untouched.

“Can you please eat?” he asks quietly and encouragingly.

Your chapped lips from not speaking in a long time opens, “I’m not hungry.” you say dryly.

“For me?” he asks desperately and quietly.

You swallow on nothing. You stand. You walk. Seth heard the bedroom door close. Back to the bed is where you lay.

“Y/N…You look like a vampire.” Seth tells you at night.

You don’t say anything.

The shell of your body was there, but your state of mind wasn’t.

“Do you want to join me?” he asks with a towel in his hand.

You look. A reaction. He softly breaks a smile and holds his hand. It took you a while, but he patiently watched as you reach and take it.

You both sat in the bath, your knees were to your chest as both naked bodies were wet from water. As soon as he aimed the handheld shower head to your back, water came out of your eyes like a shower head.

He rubs your back, placing a kiss on the back of your shoulder.

“Just get it out, Y/N.” he says, bringing tears to his own eyes.

The sobs synced with each other. It was intimate. It was needed.

“It’s all my fault.” you whispered as a stray tear is on the side of your nose. Seth held you tight in bed.

“It’s not. Don’t say that.” he whispered.

“I should’ve love it more. I was scared in the beginning…I should’ve been like you.” you whisper and felt yourself choke up again.

“Whatever be will be. It’s not your fault. I don’t want to hear you say that again. We’ll get through this together.”

“I love you.” he says after moments of silence.

“I love you too.” you say.

The daylight made things more painful. You slowly circled around the soon to be room for the baby. The crib that you and Seth set up. It was a gift from Sue and Harry. You heard the laughs as you read the directions to him and him taking it out of your hands, “I don’t need directions. I got this.”

You slowly sat on the rocking chair that Leah had bought. Rocking back and forth, you keep your eyes out the window. You didn’t know how things could just change like night and day like that.

You became angry. Angry at the fact that such unfairness could happen to people like you and Seth.

Seth was in his wolf form more often. He brushed it off as putting in his helping hand for patrol.

“Seth, go home”. Sam told him.

“W-why?” Seth asks. It was completely off guard.

“Y/N needs you at home. I’m not letting you overwork yourself because you want to drown it out.” he says to the young wolf.

“I’m not drowning it out.” Seth says in complete denial.

“Seth-“

“Just leave me be! Please? I don’t need your input.” Seth says and leaves in a huff of his snout. Sam watched as the wolf ran off deeper into the woods.

The images took over his mind. The blood, you crying, the hospital room, the doctor’s face, he snarled at it all. Raising his paws as he snarled at the air as he continued to run.

He came home late into the night. He used his footsteps to make his way through the home. You weren’t in the front of the home, not even in the bedroom. He breathed in sharply as he pushed on the cracked door.

It seemed forbidden to be in. He let out a breath.

You were curled on the floor, the blanket that was for the bundle of joy was clutched to your chest. You were asleep.

He scooped you up, not bothering to take the blanket away from your grasp. You muttered his name in your sleep.

Legs were folded as the pen was firm in their hands.

“Losing a child can be hard. Very hard. Seth, you caught sight of the blood. Can you please break down what happened and how you felt?”

Seth swallowed as he sat on the couch.

“Um…I heard her next to me…I woke up. She was in pain. I turned on the light to see her face. I felt something wet. I pull back the covers…..It was a lot. A lot of red.” he says.

The therapist nods slowly. Examining Seth’s frigid body language.

“And Y/N..As the mother, you blame yourself. Why is that?”

“Seth was happy. I wasn’t.” you reveal.

“You were too.” Seth says correcting you, “She was just scared.”

“You were scared Y/N?” the therapists asks.

You nod as you look down at the floor.

“Why do you feel like you weren’t happy about the news?”

“I didn’t…I didn’t want to mess anything up…I kept telling Seth how scared I was….I wanted to be the best parent I could be.” you say and punch the bridge of your nose as your face showed an emotional state.

The box of tissues were extended to you as you pulled some tissues out, holding it to your face as you tried to fix your face.

“I feel like you both are experiencing the normal emotions. Even if you blame yourself. You shouldn’t.” the therapist says to you, “It’s okay to feel sad for your loss. But also, be happy…That the baby felt what it was like to be loved before leaving this Earth.”

You and Seth nod as tears rolled down your face as you clutch your tissue.

Time had passed before you could even begin to feel normal. Same with Seth.

“Thank you for being my rock.” you whispers to Seth as he brushed his knuckles across your face. You two were pressed skin to skin and you both clutched to each other.

“Thank you for loving me always.”

You two stayed like that silence. Seth says, “It’s crazy…I just thought of the perfect name…” he rolls away and on his back as he lets out a breath. His voice was shaky and you watch as he choked out, “They would’ve been beautiful.” His hands cover his eyes as he let out a quiet sob. You hold him as he let it out.

You don’t say anything but rub on him as you look up to the ceiling in sorrow. Such loss was great, but it brought you two together stronger.

You and Seth sat in the doctor’s room as both faces were scared. You both squeeze each other’s hand.

The doctor comes in with a straight face.

You and Seth’s shoulders slump.

“I hope you two are ready to be parents. You are indeed pregnant.” they say.

Seth and you looked at you with shocked faces.

“A-are you sure?” you ask. The doctors says yes.

After the doctor leaves out, you and Seth hug each other passionately. He felt your shoulders shake. He wiped your face with a smile.

“Save your tears for another day.” he says. You smile despite the tears. You nod. Lips pressed to each other.

“Another chance.” you say as you look up.

“Yeah…Another chance.” Seth confirms with a content smile.

[wynsummers]

felt like combining two of my biggest interests so this is my ranking of buffy characters by how much they would enjoy the rocky horror picture show

honorable mention - anya. i can't decide if anya would love or hate rocky. the more chaos-loving anyanka side of her would have a lot of fun with it, but i think she might also hate the idea of going to see a movie only to have it talked over by a bunch of hecklers. especially if she went to a theater where they throw/spray props. so i guess it would depend on whether she went to a showing for the experience or the film itself.

9. angel would walk in, sit in the back row, stare with an intense face at the screen for the entire hour and forty minutes of the film and then stand up and leave without saying a word. he would never come back.

8. xander - xander would enjoy rocky for all of the wrong reasons. he is the cishet man who only goes to see the lingerie-clad women. i've met so many xanders in my time. they always have that smug laugh when someone tries to interact with them, but they're too cool to do anything that they can't use to (attempt to) impress a woman

7. cordelia - i don't think rocky is really cordy's scene, no disrespect intended. i think she could have a good time but some of the more extreme traditions might put her off (especially if someone threw/sprayed something at her, i think she would hate that). she would look at it as that fun thing she did once, probably because someone invited her. that being said, though, if she ended up in a shadowcast, she would put her entire heart and soul into playing janet.

6. oz - i can't explain it but oz is both too cool not to be at rocky and too cool to be at rocky. like, oz has been going to rocky every week for two years but the scoobies only find out when they go as a group and everyone in the theater knows him already. i don't think he's ever said a callback in his life but he definitely has a bunch of them memorized

5. buffy - ok now hear me out. buffy needs something like rocky in her life. she needs a place where she can unwind, yell loudly, dance around, and just have fun. i don't think she'd be super into it right away, but i don't think it would take long for her to get into the rhythm of it. i can't see her going so far as to be in a shadowcast, but i can totally see her being a frequent audience member who tells all of her friends about this awesome thing she found

4. tara - listen, tara is a lesbian witch in college. rocky was made for her. season 4 tara is too shy to participate, but i can see it being a place she returns to a lot, and season 6 tara is definitely in the front row of the theater every friday gleefully yelling at the screen. she might even dress up as janet or magenta (shoutout amber benson for performing toucha touch me)

3. willow - this may be controversial, since early seasons willow is kind of reserved and seems like she would be really overwhelmed by rocky. but often that's the exact kind of person who thrives in rocky the most because it gives them a chance to come out of their shell. at her first show, she probably wouldn't participate at all, but something would compel her to come back, and slowly but surely, she'd start doing more. cut to a few months later and she's going full vampire willow in a theater full of people. i think later seasons willow wouldn't have as difficult of a time at first but i still don't think she'd get into it right away. but once she got it, she'd be a regular for life

2. spike - i think spike has been going to the shows for a long time; it's definitely his scene. it wouldn't surprise me if he invented some of the callbacks. yelling stupid snarky shit at a movie screen is so him. i don't know if i can see him dressing up as a character though.

giles - obviously. fucking obviously. in his ripper days he was frank at his local theater and he still goes to the shows all the time. maybe on special occasions they bring him back as frank for a special show. it wouldn't surprise me if he saw the rocky horror show before it was a movie. if buffy and the scoobies found out about his double life they would faint. (if you haven't seen anthony head as frank, do yourself a favor and look it up)