#Bypassing Client-Side

[pearlessance]

Cupid's Chokehold — part three!

SUNSHINE & SYNCHRONICITIES

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summary: Joel sends you and Uncle Tommy on a road trip for a work consultation. Tommy begins to wonder if what he feels for you is more than a craving.

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, stepcest, age gap, heavy praise, dom/sub undertones, oral (f!recieving), like probably too much idc the miller brothers are eaters argue with a wall, dirty talk, unprotected piv, hand kink (hand anon...now u know damn well what ur doing), marijuana consumption, light angst, exhibitionism (kinda), begging, creampie, cum play, brat taming (god i'm so sorry to my loyal readers i can never escape this tag), physical violence but not towards reader or tommy, no beta

note: helllooooooo!!! long awaited part three!! i hope you all enjoy this one just as much as the other two parts. i'm so sorry it's taken me so long to finish this i was distracted by the fortnite battle pass and i wish i was lying but that shit is so good this season. i plan to start writing the next part tomorrow so stay tuned for that in the next few weeks! love u all so much <3

wc: 14.7k

[series masterlist] [main masterlist] [AO3]

When Tommy pulls up to the job site early Monday morning, Noah’s leaning against the metal door of the trailer with a cigarette in one hand and a coffee in the other. Which is strange for only two reasons.

The first is that Tommy’s never once seen Noah break off from the group. He’s always the first to brag about the women he’s met over the weekend and all the things he’s done to them. So, seeing him ten feet away from the half-awake gathering of men in hard hats awaiting Joel’s instruction is out of the ordinary.

The second is the fucking coffee in his hand.

Noah has never, not even once, shown up to work with coffee. Has always taken his caffeine in the form of bubbly energy drinks. The ones that taste like battery acid and leave you crashing by four in the afternoon unless you have another.

Tommy promised you he would be cool about this. Promised not to tell Joel about the way Noah had you so afraid at the bar on Friday night that you’d hidden in the restroom and called for safety. Up until this very moment, he’d had every intention of keeping that promise.

But Noah is waiting for you. He’s waiting for you, and that coffee is most likely yours, and Tommy’s hands pale around the steering wheel. 

You and Joel are talking about some client up in Stratford, bickering back and forth. You only continue your argument when you climb out of the truck, speaking animatedly. Joel waves Tommy off and says, “Let everyone know we’re starting on the drywall today. Give us a minute.”

And he’s thankful for it. Truly. Because it gives Tommy a head start.

He bypasses the group of guys entirely and approaches Noah with a tremble in his hands. Doesn’t say hello, doesn’t give a warning. Tommy just pulls his fist back and bashes it against his jaw.

It lands hard enough to send Noah stumbling, coffee steaming as it splashes against the steel steps leading into the trailer. “What the fuck, Tommy?!”

“Told you what would happen, huh? Didn’t I?” He wants to say more. Wants to tell him that this is what happens to men like him who get off on scaring little girls. Wants to tell him that the biggest mistake he ever could’ve made is scaring you. 

But Tommy can already hear Joel shouting from behind him and knows there’s no time for monologues or explanations.

So he just says, “You know good an’ well what this is for.”

This time, when Tommy’s fist strikes him, Noah stumbles to the ground. His eyes are crossed, and blood drips from his bottom lip.

It’s not right to kick a man when he’s down, Tommy knows. So he grabs hold of Noah’s neon vest and pulls him back to his feet.

And then he hits him again.

He won’t get another one in, even though Noah deserves it. Because Mike is on one side of him and Joel’s on the other, shoving him back, standing as a shield between the two of them.

But it’s not necessary. Not really. Tommy hadn’t made the decision impulsively. Hadn’t let his actions be influenced by emotion. His head is calm and level before and after he threw the first punch. He just did what needed to be done.

When he turns his head and his eyes find yours, they’re wide and full of worry. You’re concerned. Not for Noah, Tommy realizes. Even though he’s got blood on his shirt and still struggles to stand.

You rush to Tommy instead, one hand on his elbow while the other gently examines his fingers. His knuckles are covered in the evidence of his revenge in your name, crimson splattered up to his wrist. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath. You take the hem of your black t-shirt and use it to soak up the blood, uncaring of the permanent staining. “Does it hurt?”

The sunlight hits you just right, yellow and orange hues dancing along your skin. It makes Tommy’s heart forget its regular cadence. It’s sort of like stealing a glimpse of heaven. As if God had told him to close his eyes and Tommy’s reward for disobedience is a look at inconceivable splendor.

He thinks this might damn him. Thinks that you will be his ultimate undoing. But how worth hell is, for the tenderness of your touch.

Tommy says, “Nah. Not anymore,” and doesn’t miss the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth.

He likes being taken care of by you. Likes that in all the chaos, you immediately seek him out before anyone else. Your concern is genuine, and there’s no undertone of anger or disappointment.

The same can’t be said for Joel, however. And Tommy knows it’s probably because he’s used to this by now. Annoyed because he has to bail his little brother out of a bad situation for the millionth time. And Tommy thinks he has every right to be angry. He’d made promises to Joel, too.

He takes the two of you aside, just out of earshot, while the rest of the crew tries to get Noah cleaned up. He asks Tommy, “What the fuck happened?”

“Kid’s got a big fuckin’ mouth,” Tommy says. “Doesn’t know when to quit.” And when Joel presses for more information, he remains silent. Doesn’t trust himself enough to form a convincing lie.

Tommy thinks that’s the end of the interrogation. 

But then Joel turns his sights on you. 

With a furrow in his brow, he says, “Why do I feel like you’re somehow involved in this?”

You burst into disbelieving laughter, looking at Tommy, your hands, the dirt beneath your sneakers—anywhere but Joel’s face. “What? No, I don’t know anything. Why would you think that?” Your tone is full of mock surprise, but it’s that fucking grin on your face that gives you away. 

Tommy would find amusement in your complete failure of an attempt, if it weren’t for the sharp, splintering pain beginning to ripple through his knuckles. 

“Oh, no. ‘Course,” Joel says sarcastically. He braces one hand on his hip and waves the other between you and Tommy. “'Cause it’s not like you two do fuckin’ everything together or anything. Right.”

“Joel, dude,” you say with a scoff, throwing your hands up in the air. “Who the fuck even is Tommy Miller? I’ve never met the man in my life.”

Tommy’s not sure what makes him laugh harder—the complete fucking absurdity of your lie or the look on Joel’s face when you call him dude. His barely contained laughter earns him a glare, but Tommy just can’t help himself.

“Alright, look,” Joel says, squeezing his jaw. “Just…tell me. He deserve it?”

“Yes.” The answer comes in unison. Timed perfectly in sync, your voice laced with Tommy’s. 

Joel scoffs. He’s so tired of the two of you already today that the vein in his forehead visibly throbs. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles.

Tommy knows the drill by now and isn’t surprised when Joel sends him home for the day without pay. They’ve been through this a time or two. Joel will fire Noah for the disruption, but can’t let Tommy off the hook pain-free.

He promises to swing by a little after seven to pick the two of you up, but Mike offers to give you a ride home instead. Tommy’s not quite sure how he feels about you sitting in another man’s back seat, but he reminds himself that Joel will be there, too. 

Tommy spends the day working on his truck inside Joel’s garage to keep himself busy. Maintenance, mostly. Something to keep his hands occupied enough to keep him from going through your room. 

You make him feel a little like a crazy ex-boyfriend, Tommy thinks. He wants so desperately to feel like he has this hold on you. Wants to feel needed, desired, tied to you in a permanent way.

It’s an unattainable task, though. Because no matter how much he wishes and no matter how hard he prays to keep you, the truth gnaws at him like an insect buzzing behind his ear. 

You’re not a woman to be kept in any capacity. You’re too young, too wild, too carefree. Like a fire that burns bright in the late summer evening, warming those around you, keeping the joy thruming despite the descending darkness.

Tommy knows standing this close will burn him, but he likes the heat too much to step away. 

What he feels for you is wrong. What he does for you, what he does to you, is wrong. 

That’s the bottom line. And there’s no true way to discount it. It’s always clearer to him when you’re apart.

It’s a little after seven thirty when Tommy hears the familiar sound of tires against gravel in Joel’s driveway. The sun persists despite the late hour, painting the sky pale pink and orange. 

Normally, he’d drop everything to greet you. Tommy would ask about your day, make sure you had a good lunch, and consumed more than just caffeine. He’d listen to you talk for as long as you needed, unloading the weight of the day off your shoulders. 

Except, right now, he’s lying on his back beneath his truck. Motor oil drips down his long fingers as he strains to loosen the old filter. 

He can feel your nearness before he glances down to see you standing at the side of his truck. He tries and fails to keep his mind out of the gutter as he watches you lower yourself to your knees.

The oil pan steadily fills with thick, black liquid as he watches you crawl beneath the metal body of the truck and claim the space at his side. You lay your hands on top of your belly and give him the sweetest, happiest smile. Like there’s no place you’d rather be than here, lying on the concrete beside him with the thick scent of automotive oil in the air.

He glances down to see your legs resting beside his, lying flat on the ground, while he has one knee propped up at an angle. You’ve got your feet crossed at the ankles, and you sway them back and forth casually. His heart pinches in his chest at the sight of it; your well-loved sneakers and light wash, boot-cut blue jeans beside his oil-stained denim and battered cowboy boots.

Tommy wishes he could see your sneakers beside his boots at the door of his apartment. Wishes he could buy your favorite snacks at the grocery store to stick in his pantry. He wishes your shampoo bottle would exist beside his in the corner of his shower, and wishes the last thing he’d do every night is wash your favorite coffee mug in the sink so it would be clean for you the next day.

He’s never wanted those things before. Never wanted softness or slow mornings or to have his existence threaded so heavily with someone else’s that there’d never be any untangling it. Not until now. 

Not until you.

“Teach me what you’re doing,” you say, nodding to his hand that’s still wrapped around the blue cylinder of the oil filter. “Talk me through it. I know how good you are at that.” 

Tommy laughs and shakes his head. He presses his elbow into your ribs playfully and says, “Fuckin’ pervert.”

“You love it,” you say. And he does. With that too familiar, troubling smirk, you lean in close with a scalding sort of heat behind your eyes. You whisper, “It takes one to know one, Uncle Tommy,” in a way that sends shivers down his spine. He knows that lilt to your voice. Knows you’ve arrived home today with a craving for chaos, the devilry in your blood taking precedence over all else.

Tommy licks his lips and lets out a slow exhale. “An oil change,” he finally explains. “Supposed to do it every twenty-five thousand miles. I’m a little late. But you ain’t got no reason to know how to change your oil long as I’m around.”

He thinks it’s awfully funny how you wait until he’s twisting the filter hard enough that the veins in his forearms swell before you ask, “What if I get a boyfriend?”

Tommy finally pries the filter loose, and your words catch him off guard enough that he drops it into the oil pan with a crude sound, splashing the liquid over the lip onto Joel’s driveway.

“What if he wants to do my oil changes?”

“Then he oughtta be better than me in every way of the fuckin’ word,” Tommy says quickly, agitation in his voice. He knows you’re provoking him. Goading for a reaction that he gives you all too quickly. “Better know how to take a punch, too.”

With a laugh, you say, “What, like Noah?”

Tommy scoffs and picks up the new filter he’d bought just this afternoon. “Did it look like that kid could take a punch?”

You shrug as he twists the filter on. “Maybe you just hit hard.”

He tries to fight the smile your words evoke, tries not to feel proud. But he does anyway. It’s not a compliment, not really, but it makes him feel the way a compliment would. Warm. Admired. “How pissed was Joel?”

“Oh, I got an ear full,” you answer with wide eyes. “You would’ve thought I was the one who’d cracked his tooth in half.”

Tommy laughs at that. Imagines that snot-nosed motherfucker explaining to the dentist that he’d gotten his ass beat in an avoidable altercation. Tommy had warned him what would happen, after all. But he’d never meant for you to take the brunt of the consequence. And so once his enjoyment fades, he says, “I’m sorry you had to put up with it. I never meant一”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, waving your hand in dismissal. “It’s what we do for each other. You take care of me, I take care of you. Right?”

An easy smile finds its way to his face. “Yeah,” he says. “Right.”

Once the oil has completely drained, Tommy replaces the cap and slides out from beneath his truck. 

You follow suit, and he extends his hands to pull you back to your feet. “I wasn’t serious, by the way,” you tell him. “About the boyfriend thing.”

“I figured,” Tommy says flatly.

Because he knows you. Knows you just like to see him squirm, to see his desire for you on full display. 

But he does you one better. Lays the truth bare when he says,  “S’alright. We both know you’re my girl.”

Your reaction is beautiful, Tommy thinks. An instant flush of your cheeks, a shy turn of your head. He delights in your wide smile and mirrors it, letting your warmth sink deep into his weary bones. 

When he rounds the truck and pops the hood open, you lean over and try to watch his movements. But you’re a little too short and just out of view, so he opens one arm and says, “C’mere.” 

You move instinctively. Like it’s completely natural to let him envelop you in his hold, and Tommy supposes it is by now. He stands behind you like a looming presence at your back, close enough that he pushes the front of your thighs against the bumper.

It would seem innocent enough if someone were to walk by you now. They’d only see an uncle teaching his niece how to do an oil change, making sure she knows the ins and outs thoroughly enough to do it on her own next time.

Tommy extends his hands on either side of you. “See this here?” He points at the symbol on the oil cap. “This is what you wanna look for. Emptied it already an’ replaced the filter. Now we’ve gotta fill her back up.”

He can’t see it, but Tommy can feel that smirk on your face, can hear that filthy joke before you even ask, “Me next?”

Innocence gone, the moment fills with a different sort of energy. One that feels more authentic, more like you, and more like him. More truthful, more honest.

He chuckles, shaking his head. His mouth is only an inch from your ear as he says, “Bet you’d like that.” 

Your breath stutters as your lips part. Your mom and Joel are just inside, likely discussing dinner plans or how the day went. Joel’s probably talking about how Tommy had caused a real ruckus, and Sarah will be home from her classes at the community college any minute—and here Tommy is with his lips against your throat.

Making you nervous for a change.

He finds that he enjoys this a little too much. He shouldn’t feel his blood sing when you suck your bottom lip into your mouth and drag your teeth across it. His cock shouldn’t stiffen in his jeans when he leans forward the smallest bit to twist the oil cap off, but it just rests so perfectly against the decadent swell of your ass that he can’t help it.

It’s wrong, and he knows it, but Tommy thinks the obscenity of it all only amplifies his longing for you. And what seals the deal is that the two of you share this perversion like you share every fucking thing else. It’s not just him that gets you off, it’s the fact that he’s your Uncle Tommy. 

You turn your head to face him, mouth so close to his that he can feel the heat of your breath. So gently it’s almost undetectable, Tommy feels you arch your back, pressing yourself even harder against him. “Only one way to find out,” you say.

He takes your chin in his big hand and turns it forward. “Pay attention, now, sweetheart. This is important.”

The faintest whimper escapes from someplace deep in your throat. A needy sound that makes Tommy feel satisfied in an entirely new way.

Is this what it’s been like for you these last few months? Teasing him, constantly prodding for a reaction, indulging in the fall when he inevitably loses the carefully found balance on that thin line you’ve drawn.

It’s a whole lot nicer on this side of things, Tommy thinks. A whole lot more manageable when you’re the one at his mercy and not the other way around.

Tommy sticks the end of the funnel into the uncapped opening and picks up the five-quart container of motor oil. He explains, “Fully synthetic blends are best. Better for the engine, and it’ll last longer. Worth the price.”

Your attention is zeroed in on his fingers, oil-stained and calloused, with deep purple bruises blossoming across the knuckles of his right hand in defense of you. “I can feel how hard you are,” you say.

But Uncle Tommy pays it no mind. He’s too focused, too determined to teach you this lesson. “Cars are all a little different,” he says. “Different makes and different models need certain kinds of oil. Smaller engines need less. We need about seven quarts.”

He tips the container and watches the amber liquid spill into the funnel he’d placed perfectly with one hand, and slides the other firmly down the center of your thigh, no doubt leaving grease stains in his wake on that pretty blue denim. “Please,” you whisper, and it almost does him in.

Almost.

“Shh. We’re almost done, baby. You payin’ attention?” He knows you’re not. Knows the soft sigh that slips between your lips is another plea. Tommy squeezes the inside of your thigh hard before moving his hand upwards, right between your legs, fingers pressing against the seam of your jeans. 

Your head falls back against his chest and your eyelids flutter closed, but Tommy won’t have it.

He pulls his hand away as he empties the last of the oil from the first container. He steps away completely to grab the second and chuckles when your shoulders drop dramatically in frustration. “Hey,” he says. “Nuh-uh. No throwin’ tantrums. When has Uncle Tommy ever let you down, hm?”

“Never,” you say, and the answer comes so quickly that it warms his heart.

“Exactly. Now, c’mon. Let’s finish this up.” He comes up behind you again, cock heavy and aching as he presses it against the small of your back. Tommy breaks the seal of the new carton and tips it up, pouring two more quarts of oil. And then he sets the remainder on the garage floor, retwists the oil cap onto the reservoir, and lowers the hood. 

There’s so much hope in your eyes as you turn in his embrace and ask, “Are we done?”

“Not just yet. Patience, sweetheart.” Tommy steps back and opens the driver's side door of his truck. “Get in, start her up,” he instructs.

And you do as told. Of course you do. His pretty, desperate girl. 

The engine roars to life as you turn the key in the ignition, while Tommy kneels down and crawls beneath the truck. “Always gotta check for leaks,” he explains. “Cause if the seal’s bad on the filter, you’ll be leaking oil for god knows how long and could fuck up your engine real bad real fast.”

He waits a few minutes, double and triple checking that he’d done everything right. And when he’s satisfied, Tommy comes to stand between your spread thighs. “Last step,” he says. “The most important one. Wanna guess what it is?”

“I…” You stop. Close your mouth just to open it again. “I don’t know.”

Tommy smiles. It’s a corrupt sort of amusement he finds in your innocence. “Unbutton your jeans an’ I’ll show you.”

You’re thumbing down your zipper before he even finishes getting the words out.

Tommy hooks his long fingers around the denim waistband and pulls your jeans and panties down to your knees. The driver’s side door, propped open, shields you just enough that there’s no fear in him when he pushes your thighs back, leans forward, and slides his tongue through your wet heat.

You moan in tandem一you at the feel of his lips on your clit, him at the heady taste of you. Tommy knows it’s wrong and knows there’s no good ending for the two of you, but when he has you like this he doesn’t fucking care. 

Because you’re everything he’s ever wanted in all his life. He flattens his tongue against you, leaving no part of your pretty pussy untouched, and groans when you slide your fingers into his thick hair and tug lightly at his curls.

“God一you…I can’t believe you did that for me today,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him devour you. “You…fuck, that feels so good. You knew it would be bad but you did it anyway.”

He doesn’t know how to explain that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. Doesn’t know how to make you understand there’s no line he wouldn’t cross, no consequence he’d be unwilling to conquer, no aftermath he wouldn’t face when it comes to his very favorite girl.

Tommy circles your clit with a pointed tongue, savoring the ambrosia taste of you. Your slick coats his face一dripping down his chin, wetting the scruff of his facial hair that’s two days too grown out. He presses your legs back further and hums against you, grinning when the vibrations have your spine bending. 

It’s only been a few weeks since he’d been here last with his face pressed between your thighs, but Tommy feels like a man starved. He’s insatiable for you and supposes he always has been, greedy hands reaching out to take everything you’re willing to give. His bruised knuckles have turned an ugly shade of purple now but they hold your pretty skin so tenderly.

His mouth waters as he laves his tongue between your folds, saliva mixing with the wetness that drips down onto his leather seats. Tommy likes the sight of the shiny leather more than he should. “Filthy girl,” he murmurs against your sweet pussy. “Makin’ a big fuckin’ mess for me.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair. “Fuck, I’m一I’m close, I’m一hmm.”

He knows just how much you love when he talks to you real nasty, and so he doubles down, words muffled through the wetness of his tongue against your clit. “Yeah…that’s right,” Tommy says. “So wet, baby. You fuckin’ needed this shit, huh? Needed Uncle Tommy to kiss it better.”

“Yes, yes yes一!”

With a low laugh, he uses one hand and clamps it over your mouth. “Shh. Don’t want anyone to hear you now. Don’t wanna end it before you get a chance to feel real good, do we?”

“No, no, please,” you beg, your voice bleeding through the spaces between his thick fingers. You slide your hands through the soft curls in his hair, pressing his mouth harder against you. “I want一please, I need it. I need you.”

He knows you do. Tommy sucks your clit gently between his lips and focuses his efforts there. Knows you’re right on the edge when your legs begin to tremble on either side of his head. “Go on now, baby,” he says. “Uncle Tommy’s got you.”

Your breath halts, just for a single moment, and then an onslaught of moans begin to vibrate against his hand.

“That’s it. There you go, shh.” he licks up every drop of your release, tongue curling over your sensitive clit. You taste like heaven, like the rest of his life, so good he whimpers against you.

Your spine bends and your chest heaves with each shaking breath, and it feels like release. Like redemption. Just seeing you fall apart beneath him, feeling your clit pulse and throb beneath the heavy pressure of his lips, it’s enough for Tommy to feel satisfied.

He doesn’t stop until your breathing evens out. And even then, he cleans the mess between your legs with his tongue, smiling real wide when you flinch at the overstimulation. Your fingers are a little nicer now, stroking gently through his thick hair instead of pulling at the roots. “S’better now,” Tommy says. “Right?”

With a soft giggle, you nod and say, “Much better.” You lift your hips just enough and Tommy helps you pull your jeans back up those pretty thighs of yours.

His cock aches, heavy and wanting, but he knows this isn’t the time. Knows that the indulgence he’s allowed himself already is too much, too risky. And that assumption is quickly confirmed, because before you can even twist your thumbs around the silver button, Sarah’s car is pulling into the driveway right behind his truck.

“Shit,” Tommy hisses. “Can you一?”

Before he even has a chance to finish his sentence, you’re stepping in front of him. You say, “Yeah, I got it,” and Tommy begins to wonder if there’s anyone in the entire world who has made worse decisions than him today.

Cracking the tooth of a boy ten years younger than him. Working up his pretty little niece until you beg him for release. Indulging in you until he’s left standing in the front yard with his dick painfully hard and on full display.

For what it’s worth, you handle the uncomfortable transition with ease. Sarah gives Tommy a wave but doesn’t engage him much further than that, thanks to your attempt at conversation. He can hear the two of you babbling on about that same girl from Sarah’s biology class. Something about a comment she’d made on Sarah’s Instagram post一Tommy couldn’t keep up.

He waits outside until the swell of his cock goes down. Cleans up the mess he’d made doing the oil change, closes the door to Joel’s garage, and walks through the front door just in time for dinner. 

You’ve saved a seat for him, like you always do. Your mom has made a fancy, braised chicken dish with tomatoes and capers. She’s left the olives on the side, knowing Joel and Tommy hate them.

But he knows you love them, and so he piles them on his plate anyway. Sarah talks about how her classes went, and you talk about a potential client up in Stratford you’ve been emailing back and forth with who lives up in Stratford.

You pluck the olives off Tommy’s plate one by one, eating slowly as you talk. He doesn’t quite understand why he loves it so much. It’s something trivial. Just olives for Christ’s sake. But you move so naturally, so familiar. 

Tommy’s self aware enough to know that this…relationship you’ve created is doomed to fail.

It’ll likely blow up in his face. You’ll be caught red-handed, because nothing else could ever tear him from you.

Joel, Sarah, and everyone else he cherishes will look at him in a new light. He’ll be outed as the immoral man he is, unable to deny your wicked temptation. 

But he hopes that you’ll still save a seat for him at the dinner table when the inevitable happens. Hopes that you’ll still look at him with those starry eyes and laugh at his stupid jokes and sing along to his favorite songs. 

Tommy hopes that, no matter what, even in all the aftermath, you’ll still pick the olives off his plate.

After dinner, Joel pulls him aside. Tommy smokes a cigarette on the back porch while Joel explains about the woman in Stratford. “One of those rich folks who wanna give back to the community instead of giving their money to a corporation. I don’t want to take it, to be honest,” he admits. “It’s a complete remodel. One of those big ass mansions on the border that was built in the eighties. The house right now is worth ten million. With new floors, new plumbing, new wires���we’d double it, easy.”

Tommy inhales deeply and flicks the ash on the end of the filter over the side of the porch. “How much would you make, after material cost and labor an’ everything else?”

“Half what it’s worth now,” he says, and Tommy’s eyes widen because they’ve never been offered a job that big. “Original quote was one million, but she fuckin’ talked them up and now they’re willing to pay five times the price.”

“Joel,” Tommy chokes. “Are you fuckin’ serious?”

Five million for a single job. 

He’d always known that the work they do is good. Better than half the contractors in Texas. Worth that kind of money, but with no access to the clientele. With you behind that company email instead of Joel, though…

This one job could change everything for them.

Tommy could move out of his shitty apartment. Could find some land out in the boonies and make a home out of it. Could build himself a house that’s all his own, have a possession to his name that’s worth something.

He could be worth something. 

He could be more than just Joel’s fucked up little brother. More than someone to bail out of every bad situation he gets himself into. He could be someone worthy of you. 

“You have to take it,” Tommy says. “Right? I mean…fuck, Joel. Five million.”

“Jesus, Tommy,” he grumbles. “I know, alright. I’ve heard it from her all fuckin’ day. But Stratford is almost ten hours away. If we worked every day from dawn till dusk, we’d be gone, what? A month? And we’d have to account for temporary housing. Hotel rooms for all the guys willing to go that far. And we’d have to feed them, too.”

“So that’s what? A hundred thousand if we don’t share rooms? Christ. Even after all that, the profit is worth it.”

“I just…I don’t trust it. I don’t know these people, and a month?” He points to the back door. “All three of those girls would be here alone. And if something were to happen…”

The hesitation makes a little more sense to Tommy when Joel puts it into perspective like that. Because he’s right. Eight hours away isn’t exactly around the block. Tommy couldn’t just come pick you up. Couldn’t run lights and blow stop signs to get to a bar when you feel unsafe.

“Have you done a consultation yet?”

Joel shakes his head. “She was tryin’ to set one up for this weekend, but I’m…I’m busy. Takin’ her mom out for an important dinner Saturday night. Actually, I was wonderin’ if maybe you could…you know. Go with her. She’s awfully optimistic about this, and I don’t want her to get ahead of herself.”

It’s a bad idea, and Tommy knows it the second the words leave his brother's mouth.

Alone. With you. For an entire weekend.

Talk about a fucking bender.

“Look,” Joel says. “I know it’s a lot to ask. But she’s a little girl an’ I don’t want her up there alone. I trust her to make the right decisions for the company, but I don’t trust her to be meetin’ people she doesn’t know by herself. Wouldn’t ask it of Sarah, wouldn’t ask it of her.”

He wants it, he does, but already knows good and well what’ll happen if he’s alone in a hotel room with you.

Tommy takes a long drag off his cigarette. Can still taste you on the tip of his tongue. He says, “I don’t know, Joel. I’ll…get back to you.”

But by the time Friday afternoon rolls around, Tommy finds himself with a packed duffel bag in the back of his truck like any true addict would.

You’ve got a backpack slung over one shoulder, and Tommy hovers behind you on the front porch.

Joel stands just inside the door with that signature scowl on his face. He pulls his worn leather wallet out of his back pocket and digs out a shiny, black credit card. He says, “For necessities. Gas, food, hotel room. Alright? No bullshit.” 

You’re so excited you’re practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. When you reach for the card, Joel pulls it just out of reach.

“I mean it,” he insists. “Necessities. You understand me?”

It feels a little bit like getting cash from your parents before they turn you loose for the night, Tommy thinks.

“O-kay,” you tell him, plucking the card from his hands and passing it to Tommy over your shoulder. And then you’re turning to him with your eyes alight with mischief and that troublesome smirk on your face. “You hear that, Uncle Tommy? Joel said we can buy hookers and blow on the company card.”

“Wagyu steaks and caviar for dinner, too. S’what I heard,” Tommy adds with a laugh.

Joel doesn’t find the humor in it, though. Grumbles about canceling the whole consultation until he can go his damn self. Says, “You two spend too much fuckin’ time together. Two peas in a dumbass pod. Gonna rack up my bill ‘til I have to take this job just to pay it off.”

But he doesn’t mean it, and you both know it.

You toss your bag in the back seat, and Tommy opens the passenger door for you. He lets you pick the music, and you settle on some poppy ballad by the Neon Trees that he hasn’t heard in half a decade.

With the windows rolled down, you let in the pine-scented summer air while you sing the lyrics in the wrong key, and Tommy Miller falls in love with you in a whole new way.

You’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. The wind ripples through your hair, and the midday sun caresses your face and turns your soft skin golden. 

But it’s not just the way you look that steals the breath from his lungs—it’s the way you kick off your shoes and prop your feet up on the dash. It’s the affectionate look in your eye when you turn away from the passing scenery to give him one of those sweet smiles. It’s the way you scoot to the center of the leather seat to be closer to him, and the familiar weight of your head resting against his shoulder. 

It’s the way you trust him that chokes Tommy up. Thoroughly and without so much as an ounce of doubt. As if you’ve known each other for your entire lives and not just for the last year since you’ve moved into Joel’s spare bedroom. 

The only thing anyone has entrusted Tommy Miller to do in his entire life is to fuck things up. And maybe his being here with you, resting his big hand on the inside of your thigh, is a testament to that. But it’s awfully hard to care what anyone else thinks when you wiggle your toes to the beat of the radio and press an easy kiss to the side of his broad shoulder like you’ve never been happier than to be here beside him.

You make him feel loved. Cherished. Adored.

He pulls off the highway a couple of hours into the lengthy drive. Stops at one of those gas stations that doubles as a rest area for truck drivers. There’s a car at every pump and a little mom-and-pop style diner within walking distance with a full parking lot. “You hungry?”

“Starved,” is your answer.  You stand beside him while he slides Joel’s shiny black card and fills up his tank. With a nod in the direction of the diner, you ask, “Think they have decent French toast?”

Tommy nods. “Breakfast for dinner is always better at places like that. Probably have waffles with all those fancy fixin’s too.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, eyes alight. “Do you think they have banana and chocolate chip?”

He shrugs and returns the nozzle to the pump. “Only one way to find out.”

It’s exactly as he expected. Busy, but with only a low hum of chatter. There’s an old bar that houses the grumpy-looking regulars and an inoperable jukebox in the corner. Booths line the outside walls of the diner and are made of worn red leather seats and chipped, brown laminate tables. The scent of stale coffee hangs heavy in the air, and the soft melody of a nineties country song plays on the overhead speakers. 

An older woman with blue eyeshadow and too much of that white diamonds perfume introduces herself and brings you to a booth in the corner of the room. She compliments you on the sequined star pattern on the back pockets of your denim shorts as she lays out two menus.

When she leaves to let the two of you decide what you’d like to eat, Tommy jokes, “Linda oughta keep her eyes to herself, starin’ at your ass like that.”

You giggle and shake your head. “What, like you don't stare?” 

“Ain’t a moment we’re in the same room an’ I’m not lookin’ at you, darlin’,” Tommy answers. And he means it. Always has an eye on you, admiring the way you bend and stretch and the rise and fall of your chest with each breath. Even loves that nervous tick you have of adjusting the way your jewelry sits around your smooth neck. He says, “Such a pretty little thing,” and grins when that flush he loves so much crawls up your cheeks. 

The diner doesn’t have chocolate chip and banana waffles, but Linda promises to hook you up with milk chocolate drizzle both on the inside and on the outside of your breakfast pastry. Tommy orders an all american burger with extra fries on the side because he knows you’ll want some, too.

“How do you think the consultation will go?” 

Tommy can sense your nervousness. “It’ll be fine,” he promises. “Gotta treat it the same way you’d treat any of the others.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just my first one without Joel, and I don’t—I don’t want to disappoint him, I guess.” You take a slow sip of your sweet iced tea. “Is that stupid?”

The two of you have talked about everything under the sun, but you rarely have a conversation like this one. One that’s heavy, weighted, raw. You always make light of every situation, incapable of being serious around each other, and so Tommy takes your fears to heart. “Not stupid at all,” he says. “To be honest, I think my brother trusts you to make those decisions more than me.”

“Liar,” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Nah. I mean it.” He leans back against the red leather seats. “I’ve made a lot of bad choices,” he explains. “Gotten myself in a lot of shitty situations. Joel’s pulled me out every one of ‘em my whole life, so I think there’s a part of him that will always look at me like I’m just his kid brother.”

You listen while he speaks. Really listen, as if you’re hanging onto each syllable. It makes him feel warm. “I don’t think that’s true,” you say. “There’s a reason he sent you with me instead of sending Mike or pushing the consultation out a couple of weeks until he could do it himself. Joel trusts you just as much as he trusts me.”

He’s not quite so sure. And what’s worse is that Tommy knows whatever faith his brother has in him will be blown to pieces the moment he finds out the things he’s done with you. To you.

There’s no real way to explain it, he thinks. No way to make you understand how precarious these relationships are with the people he loves most. 

But Tommy doesn’t get a chance to even try before Linda returns with plates and wrapped silverware in hand. 

Your eyes go wide, and you giggle happily as she sets your waffles in front of you, covered in chocolate syrup, sliced banana, and a mountain of whipped cream.

The food is delicious, just as Tommy expected. You eat happily together, trying things off each other's plates and making god awful jokes about sticky fingers and toasted buns. Tommy laughs until his side aches, even though no one else would find them half as funny.

Once, you set down your fork and fill your unused spoon with a small dollop of whipped cream. You turn it towards him and bend the mouth of the utensil back with your index finger. Tommy warns, voice filled with jubilation, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare. Linda will take you over her knee an’ teach you a lesson in table manners.”

You say, “Linda sounds like a freak, Uncle Tommy. Want me to get her number for you? I know you like ‘em like that,” and then you fling the whipped cream, aiming right for his head. 

But it misses and hits the back of the leather booth beside him with a wet plop, and the sound sends you both into rambunctious laughter. Your face flushes, and you sink so far down into your seat that you have to grab the edge of the table to keep yourself balanced.

The moment is so light, filled with so much joy that it makes Tommy’s ears ring. He struggles to find composure because once his mirth begins to fade, all it takes is one look at you before it starts up again. 

He’s never felt this way with anyone before. So close, it’s like you share some sort of secret language that only the two of you are capable of understanding. It’s this that he loves the most. The thing he cherishes.

Such a strange feeling it is to be understood in such an absolute way, Tommy thinks. 

He’s almost done with his burger when you set your utensils down for good, pancakes half finished, destined to end up in a styrofoam box. You look up at him with a soft smile, and he feels the energy shift. “How do you want this weekend to go?”

“What do you mean?”

“With us,” you clarify shyly.

Tommy knows what you’re trying to say despite the lack of words. Knows that you see the opportunity at hand the same way he does. Just the two of you for nearly three days, all alone in a town full of people who don’t know you. 

But each time he relapses, the recovery hurts just a little more than the time before. Tommy has long since given up trying to deny you. You’ve irreversibly captivated him, changing the very basis of his DNA. But he worries that eventually, there won’t be anything left of him to give. 

Worries that the push and pull takes a sliver of his soul each time he loses balance. Chipping away at him slowly over time.

But when his eyes meet yours, all consequences become nothing but smoke in the air. Because Tommy wants to hold you, to wake up beside you, to have that slow morning he’s dreamt about for months now. He wants just one day of normalcy with you.

A single day where there’s no need to pretend that he doesn't love you more than an uncle should.

Except in this, he’s not so sure what you want. And for Tommy, your desires and your happiness supersede all else. They always have. “It can go however you want it to go, darlin’.”

Your mouth curves up at the corners. “We might never get a chance like this again,” you say. “I don’t want to spend it feeling guilty for what I want.”

“And what is it that you want?”

“You.”

The way you say it steals the breath from his lungs. There's no hesitation. It’s raw and real and honest. Tommy thinks he’s never met someone so open as you. Brave in a way he’s never been.

But you make him want to be.

And so he curls his calloused fingers around your jaw, leans over the table, and presses a kiss to your syrupy lips. It’s the first one you’ve shared in public. Broad daylight. There are a handful of people in the room, and not a single one of them looks in your direction.

His stomach ties in knots as your lips move against his, tasting the salt on his tongue. He can feel your smile begin to take form, and the thought crosses his mind that everyone likely just assumes you’re two people hopelessly in love. So hungry for one another that you can’t keep your hands to yourself for a single meal.

Tommy thinks they wouldn’t be far off.

He finally pulls away but lingers. Just a little. Tastes your air, breathes it in like oxygen. Savors it. Savors you. “You’re everything to me,” he says. And good fucking God, he means it down to his very bones.

Your smile widens, and your eyes turn all starry in that way he loves. You open your mouth to speak, but before you get a chance to say what’s on your mind, Linda approaches with that leather bound notepad and a pen.

She calls the two of you lovebirds as she places the check on the table.

Tommy pays with Joel’s black card, and as you leave the diner, he laces his fingers through yours. He opens the door to the passenger side of his truck for you, but doesn’t bother buckling you in because he knows you’ll just slide to the center of the cab to be nearer to him anyway.

The rest of the drive is slow. Tommy would never admit it, but he goes five under the speed limit the rest of the way to Stratford for no reason other than the warmth of your thigh beneath his fingertips and the way you kiss his cheek every few miles.

You play more of those high-spirited indie pop songs you love while the sun sets beneath the horizon, and Tommy feels like the richest man alive.

By the time you make it to town, it’s nearly midnight. He finds one of those half-decent hotels right off the interstate, and you cling to him in the air-conditioned lobby, hands wrapped around his bicep.

It makes him feel warm. Protective, even. When the receptionist behind the desk asks if you need a room with one king or two queens, you’re the one who answers. You say, “Just one for me and my husband, please.”

The air in Tommy’s lungs gets stuck. Knocked out of him as if he’d been struck dead center in his chest. He doesn’t like playing pretend with you, but this he could get used to. 

You laugh when you look up at him, and he knows it’s because of that face-splitting grin of his, but he just can’t help it. 

Husband.

Christ. What a fucking idea.

When the receptionist leaves the desk to grab your room key, Tommy leans in close and mutters against your ear, “You keep that shit up an’ I’ll fuck you right through that king sized mattress. Good luck explainin’ two grand worth of hotel damages to my brother.”

Your face heats, but your troublesome smirk makes its appearance, and Tommy knows right then and there that the whole thing was intentional.

He takes the key for room 314, thanks the receptionist, and grabs your bags from the back of his truck before locating the room. 

It’s on the third floor, nearly at the end of the lengthy balcony. In front of room 307, there’s a rowdy group of young men—half his age, if Tommy had to guess. They’re drinking and smoking and having a good time, laughing together and passing a bong back and forth.

Which wouldn’t bother Tommy usually, except you're with him. He’s in an unknown town, and these are unknown people, and the one in a black graphic t-shirt with the sleeves cut out stares at you a little too long for Tommy’s comfort. 

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you to him. You fit so perfectly there, right at his side, and it makes that delusional part of him wonder if his body was crafted with you in mind. The arch of his shoulder that you find easy shelter beneath, the dip between his ribs and hip that your curves fit against like puzzle pieces, the size of his hand that slides effortlessly into the arch at the base of your spine.

Nothing else makes sense to him. Nothing else but you. 

The hotel room is far from glamorous. Exactly what he’d expected. There’s dated maroon carpet and bleached white sheets and a small television set mounted to the wall across from the bed. It’s a little too cold—the thermostat is set to a crisp sixty-two degrees and blowing icy air through the vents. 

But it’s clean, and Tommy considers that a win. 

Across the room, there’s a wide window. He sets your bags on the floor beside the bed as you draw back the heavy curtains.

“There’s a pool,” you say as he comes up to the window to join you.

The hotel rooms were built in a U shape, all three floors overlooking the underground pool in the center of the courtyard. It’s dark out and the lights are low, clearly closed for the evening, but the water glows just slightly in a greenish hue. 

Tommy kisses the back of your neck. “Gate’s not too high,” he states, mirroring the smirk that forms on your face as you turn to face him. “You wanna go?”

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit,” you say, moving past him and towards the door. “So try not to perv too hard, Uncle Tommy.”

He chases after you, laughing a little too loudly as you try and fail to escape. The room fills with your lighthearted giggles, and he fills with love. Tommy wraps his arms around your waist and lifts your feet off the ground. “Such a brat,” he says with a shake of his head. 

Tommy opens the door for you, double-checking he has the room key in his back pocket, and the two of you make your way to the courtyard. 

The wrought iron gate around the pool is covered in chipping white paint, and he can smell the chlorine from outside of it. There’s a placard screwed into it that reads, NO DIVING. POOL HOURS: 9-9.

You hold tight to the metal edge of the sign as Tommy gives you a boost so you can pull yourself up.

“Careful gettin’ down,” he says as you toss one leg over the top of the iron fence. “Concrete might still be wet.”

You snort. “What, you think it’s my first day out here or something?”

No, he doesn’t. You agreed too quickly, knew just where to leverage your feet, pulled yourself over to the other side of the barrier with too much ease for Tommy to believe this is your first time hopping a fence. 

Tommy follows suit, jumping up and ove. When he lowers himself to the other side, his voice is teasing as he asks, “You mean to tell me this ain’t your first time bendin’ the rules?” He clicks his tongue playfully. “You’re trouble, girl.”

“This is light work,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. “You want trouble? Give me a minute.”

And then you’re climbing back over the gate, this time with no help from him at all. “What in the hell are you on about now?”

You call over your shoulder before disappearing into the darkness, “Just—wait a second. I’ll be right back.”

Tommy’s left sitting on the edge of one of those cheap plastic chaise chairs that are at every hotel pool, confused and curious.

The humidity is thick, and sweat quickly forms at the back of his neck. The sound of crickets and cicadas fills the space around him, and Tommy takes a second to send a quick text to Joel. Lets him know you’ve arrived safely, and promises to call right after the consultation to tell him how it goes.

You’re not gone long. And when you haul yourself back over the pool gate, there’s a grin on your face. You kick off your shoes beside him and say, “C’mon.”

Tommy stands and follows you to the edge of the pool. You sit on the concrete lip and stick your legs into the dimly lit water, sending gentle ripples across the surface. He sits beside you, shucking off his work boots and pulling up the denim of his jeans just enough to feel the cool water against his skin.

“Need your lighter,” you say. It’s only then that Tommy sees the joint in your hand. Rolled to perfection, made with practiced fingers.

He knows you likely got it from those guys in front of room 307, and a part of him wants to reprimand you. Wants to remind you how dangerous it is for a girl like you to approach men you don’t know. Especially an entire group of them.

But you’re here, and safe, and your boldness might just be the thing he loves the most about you. Trouble, certainly, but full of life and free of regret. So he just chuckles lowly, shakes his head, and pulls the chrome Zippo out of the front pocket of his jeans.

You hand him the joint, and he lights it easily. The heady smell hits quickly, but it’s far from unpleasant. He offers it to you between pinched fingers and says, “Ladies first.”

But you just shake your head. “You know how to waterfall, Uncle Tommy?”

He hears the echo of that first conversation he ever had with you in Joel’s kitchen. He’d tried to keep his distance that day. Truly, he had一but as he poured that whiskey into your mouth, you’d just looked so fucking pretty. Tommy thinks he’d been doomed from the damn start. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he says. “I got you.”

When he presses the joint to his mouth and inhales deeply, Tommy finds he doesn’t mind the taste. A little fruity and a little peppery, but not bad. The smoke burns his lungs, but he holds it in deep.

You part your lips and lean in so close that he can taste the remnants of your cherry lip gloss. It makes him feel dizzy in the same way it had been that very first time.

He exhales the smoke into your mouth, and you breathe it in, pressing a kiss to his lips at the very end. You hum softly and say, “Mm. You taste so good.”

The corners of his mouth turn up at the compliment. It’s innocent, technically, but he thinks about the way you’d licked his release off your fingers not too long ago on the kitchen floor of his apartment, and those obscene images get stuck in his brain. “Yeah?”

You take the joint from his fingers this time when he passes it to you, holding it between your lips to take a hit. “I think about stuff like that all the time,” you tell him. “Small stuff. Not just the sex but…everything else. The way you taste. The way your hands feel on my skin. The sound of your voice.” 

Tommy knows he could tell you anything and you wouldn’t judge him. Knows, too, that you’ve come to the same conclusion yourself. But this is another first. One of those conversations you’ve never had. Honest in a way you’ve never been before. He takes the joint when you pass it to him, inhaling the smoke deep into his lungs.

“It’s never felt like this with anyone,” you continue. “Never been this good. It’s like..I don’t know. I don’t have to ask you for anything because一”

“You just know,” he says, finishing your sentence. He reaches a hand up and strokes the side of your cheek. “I know what you mean, baby. S’okay. Don’t gotta try to explain it to me.” He takes another short hit and passes the joint.

“Do you really think they’d be that mad?” Your voice is timid when you ask the question. Soft and full of quiet concern. “I mean, it’s not like we’re actually…you know. Related. Or…whatever. And there has to be some part of them that knows, right?”

Tommy hates the fear that builds in your voice. Wishes he could will it all away, wishes to keep you his favorite, carefree girl forever. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “Maybe.”

Except he does know. Knows Joel will hate him for this. Knows it’ll bring tears to your mother's eyes, and it’ll prove the very thing Tommy’s denied his whole life.

He’s no good.

You take your last hit, the joint in your fingers burning to near completion. You stub the cinders out on the concrete beside your thigh, pocket the remains, and rest your head against his shoulder. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” you say.

The high slowly creeps in. A lightness takes hold of his limbs, and his brain becomes fuzzy. “Thinkin’ about something that happened when I was a kid,” he tells you. “Nothin’ important.”

“Well, I wanna know anyway.”

Tommy tries and fails to not let those four words mean too much to him. “My old man was a cop,” he begins. “Don’t know if Joel’s ever told you that or not. Real mean old bastard. Ran a tight ship, always wanted things done a specific way and by a specific time, even though he was gone most of the day and too drunk to know left from right when he was home. I did a stint in juvie when I was thirteen. Stole a bike that belonged to some kid who lived down the block. An’ when he came lookin’ for it, we got into a pretty nasty brawl. Broke his nose, gave him a concussion. Fuckin’...” Tommy scoffs. “Fuckin’ stupid, s’what it was.”

You lay your hand on his knee, palm up and open. Tommy traces the curving lines and wonders if this moment of quiet in all the ones you’ve shared of chaos was written there. Wonders if it’s fate or whatever the hell people call it. If some witchy, old lady who smells like patchouli and incense were to trace the lines in your palm, Tommy wonders if she’d see his face.

“Anyway,” he continues. “I’m sure you can imagine how embarrassing it was for my old man, a cop, to have a kid serve time. It wasn’t long, just a month, but…still. Knew he’d be pissed when I got out. Honestly thought he was gonna beat the hell out of me an’ I’d have deserved it.”

“No,” you say, a tone of finality in your voice. “Doesn’t matter what you did, Tommy. You’d never deserve something like that. You were just a kid.”

His breath stutters. Tommy’s not a father, so he knows he doesn’t exactly understand the weight of such a title. But he likes to think that he played a decent hand in raising Sarah. And she’s a thousand times better than Tommy ever was, but even if she were somehow worse, he can’t imagine ever speaking to her with even half the malice his father’s voice held.

And yet, still, in all his years, no one has ever said it so boldly. Not until now.

Until you.

Just a kid. Tommy inhales shakily.

“Yeah, well…I don’t know.” He swallows down the intensity of emotion that swells in his throat. “He didn’t end up punishing me at all. Didn’t even show up the day I got released.” Tommy shakes his head and laughs softly, but there’s no true amusement in it. 

You press a kiss to his shoulder, and it grounds him. Allows him to feel the self-hatred this memory always brings without fully drowning in it.

“Joel was there, though,” he says. “Waited all day in the front office ‘til they processed me and let me out. An’ when we got home, there was a brand new bike waitin’ for me on the front porch. Found out he mowed every lawn on the block and walked every damn dog in town just to buy it. I coulda’ done the same thing, but instead I took the easy way out. An’ I think…I think that was the first time I ever let him down. I mean, really let him down.”

Tommy can still clearly recall the look on Joel’s face that day. Relieved to see his little brother released, but harrowed in a whole new way.

He sighs softly. “Whole life’s just been a series of memories like that ever since. Got…I don’t know. Bad luck. Bad blood, maybe,” Tommy explains, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m supposed to be somethin’ a little different to you than what I am. Somethin’ better. An’ I think if my brother were to find out that the only woman I’ve ever loved is the same little girl he cares for like she’s his own?” He huffs. “I don’t think he’ll just be mad, sweetheart. I think he’ll finally see me for what I am.”

“Which is what?”

“A disappointment,” he answers with finality. He pulls at the loose thread on the pocket of his jeans. “There won’t be any comin’ back from that one.”

You grab hold of his hand. Squeeze your fingers tightly around his. The touch sends electricity skittering up to his elbow and somehow calms him at the same time. Both shock and soothe. You lift his knuckles to your mouth and press a kiss there. The sweetest, softest touch.

And then you’re standing to your feet, and Tommy watches from the ground as you pull your t-shirt over your head and drop it on the concrete beside your feet. He knows, but still asks, “What are you doin’?”

“Taking my clothes off,” you say as if it’s obvious. You unbutton your denim shorts and shimmy them down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your pretty lace bra and a pair of violet colored panties.

You make his mouth water. Even though you’re not putting on a show for him or playing your hand at seduction, Tommy can’t help but want you. You’re beautiful in a way he’s never experienced before. But it’s different now compared to those first few weeks after he’d met you. Less fiery supernova, less burn, and more like the warmth of the hearth. Beautiful like…like home. A feeling he’s never known existed before you, yet has craved all his life.

With a running start, you jump right into the cold aquamarine waters, droplets splashing him in the process. And when you crest the surface, running your hands over your hair, wiping the water from your face, it reminds Tommy of a painting Sarah had written an English paper about once called The Birth of Venus.

You look like something fucking holy.

The water ripples as you swim to him, hands on the concrete edge of the pool on either side of his hips. You push yourself up, water dripping off your smooth skin and onto his jeans. You say, “Kiss me,” and Tommy thinks it’s a request he’ll never be capable of denying. 

He leans in close, lips a breath away from yours, and then you move back, pushing yourself back into the water with your feet against the pool’s cement wall. “Brat,” he mutters.

Your soft giggles echo in the night air. “Guess you’ll have to come get me,” you say, swimming to the very center of the water. You float on your back, arms extended.

When Tommy stands to his feet, his balance sways. His head is cloudy and he knows the high has taken full effect now. Everything feels slow, movements delayed, sounds syrupy in his ears. He tugs his shirt by the collar and drops it in the pile you’ve started. He discards his jeans, takes one last look at you to cement this memory in his brain, and then he dives in. 

The water’s cold as it rushes up to greet him. But his body adjusts quickly, and Tommy glides easily through the water to meet you in the pool’s center. The water’s shallower here, enough so that he can stand flat-footed on the bottom and still keep his head above water.

You cling to him as if it’s instinct, wrapping your limbs around him. 

When he finally kisses you, your lips taste like chlorine and sugar and you. A lethal combination. 

You cradle his face in your hands. Hold him like he’s worth something. With more certainty in your voice than he’s ever heard, you say, “You’ll never disappoint me, Tommy Miller.”

And it steals the breath right from his lungs. Is damn near painful to hear. Because he doesn’t believe it. Knows good and well that eventually he’s going to do something to let you down the same way he always does, and when he catches a glimpse of that disheartened look in those starry eyes, Tommy thinks it just might break him. 

But he can try, can’t he? To be everything you want him to be. To be everything you need. He wishes he had gotten himself together years ago. Wishes he were better for you now and not later. But you understand him in a way no one else ever has, and if you’ll have him just as he is, how could he ever deny himself of that?

Tommy thinks that just might be the bravest thing of all: loving him before he becomes the man you deserve. 

He kisses you hard. Breathes you in like air, tasting your tongue, hoping you can feel the way he worships the ground you walk on.

When you pull away, it’s slow. Reluctant. And then you say, “Tell me another memory.”

He laughs. “M’afraid none of them are very interesting.”

“They are to me,” you explain. “They are if it’s you.”

Maybe it’s just the weed, but Tommy feels high on your saccharine words. Had never realized until now just how badly he wanted to hear them.

So, he does. Tells you all about his partner during Desert Storm named Owen. Explains that Owen was the kind of guy who could always find something good to talk about even on their worst days. “Could make the crowd at a funeral laugh,” Tommy says. “You kinda remind me of him in that way.”

You smile when he says that, eyes crinkling around the corners, and Tommy wonders if you’re aware of the impact you have on those around you. How you light up every room you enter. 

He tells you Owen was a real momma’s boy, and how in Christmas of eight-seven he went all out. Came into some extra money and got her a brand new car—one of those Dodge Caravans to haul the grandkids in. Blue, just like she wanted. And Owen’s momma was grateful, of course—but he’d gotten her a poinsettia for Christmas every year since he was nine, and just so happened to forget in eighty-seven.

“Told me she was so upset about that damn poinsettia it brought her to tears,” Tommy explains with a laugh. “Said he would never forget after that.”

He smiles sadly, and Tommy thinks you know what’s coming before he explains that Owen went on a scouting mission gone bad one day and never came back to camp. Your arms around his neck embrace him just a little tighter when he says it. 

“Anyway, I…I‘ve never told anyone this before. But when I got home, I went lookin’ for his momma. Found out she lived in some podunk town in Indiana. An’ I wanted to talk to her. But I just…I couldn’t bring myself to. An’ I got real nervous every time I tried, so I never did. But I sent her a poinsettia every Christmas until she passed a handful of years ago.” 

You twist the curls at the nape of his neck in your fingers, and he’s not sure if your desire to be constantly touching him now is because of the weed or if it’s simply the magic of the moment. “You’re a good man,” you say. 

But he shakes his head. “Nah. Anyone woulda’ done it.”

“No, I don’t think they would have.” You kiss him gently, nuzzling your nose against his. Water trickles down the side of your cheek. “Do you ever think that sometimes you’re meant to meet people? I mean, what are the chances that Owen would have you as a partner of all the men and women there? And because it was you and not someone else, his mom never went another Christmas without a poinsettia.”

Tommy’s never really put much thought into it, truly. Has never believed in things like that up until recently. “Some parts of our lives might be mapped out, sure. But you can be handed something an’ still fuck it up. It’s what you do with what you’re given that counts.”

You nod contemplatively, rolling his words over in your brain. “Yeah, I can agree with that.” The words are timid. Almost shy. 

And Tommy knows there’s something you’re not saying, so he lifts your chin with his index finger and traces the outline of your pretty bottom lip with his thumb. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

“It’s kinda…I don’t know. Kinda bad,” you confess. 

But he would never judge you for anything, and he thinks you know that. 

So, you continue. “Do you ever think we were meant to meet each other? I mean, what if…and I know this is so—so selfish, but what if it’s not my mom and Joel who were meant to meet. What if it was us?”

It feels a little like betrayal just to consider it. Like a knife right in his brother's back. Because Tommy doesn’t think Joel has ever been as happy with a woman as he is with your mother, but he wonders if you’re right. How else would any of this make sense?

If he wasn’t meant to meet you, then why does he feel like he’s going to find you in every lifetime? After his death, when the worms eat him down to the bones, when even they turn to ash, Tommy Miller would fucking find you.

In the way he knows the comfort of his bed waits for him after a terrible day, he knows you wait for him in this place and the next.

“They love each other,” he says dismally. “And Joel deserves it. All that love she’s got for him.”

“I know, but…where am I supposed to put all of mine? If I’m not supposed to love you, then why is there so much of it?”

Tommy hates that there’s the faintest trace of pain in your eyes. Your voice remains calm, nothing but curious. A plain question. But he knows you. He can see it.

He swallows hard. There’s no answer he can give you. No way to ease your ache. But what he can give you is this. Him. Today. 

So, he takes your small hand in his and presses it flat against his bare chest, right over his beating heart. “Right here, baby,” he says. “You put it right here, an’ you don’t worry about anything else. You let me carry the rest.” 

You nod slowly, the tension bleeding from your shoulders. The way you trust him so easily, instinctively, warms him from the inside out. And Tommy decides right then and there that he’ll never jeopardize your faith in him.

Even if it means taking the complete fall for this, even if it means losing his brother and his niece and you in the process, he swears he’ll keep you safe. Keep you happy to the best of his ability. He presses his mouth to yours and knows the high has taken full hold of him now because the taste of you leaves his lips tingling.

Your tongue is soft against his. Slow but deliberate. Tommy can feel the love there. Wonders if his soul has always known yours.

It isn’t until you’re breathless that he hesitantly pulls away. Gives you just a little room to breathe, only for the corners of your mouth to pull up into a happy smile. “I bet I can hold a handstand longer than you can.”

Tommy laughs. “Got a few years of practice on you,” he says, swimming just far enough to put some distance between you. “Let’s see if you can keep up, youngin’.”

Your giggles are music to his ears. Sadness and fear vanished from your eyes. Tommy learns quickly that when it comes to pool games you’re a god damn cheat. Can feel the ripples of your movements as you topple out of your underwater handstand, but suspiciously, you’re still in position when he comes back to the surface.

He doesn’t think you close your eyes even once during Marco Polo, and when he tosses a handful of change from the front pocket of his jeans into the shallow end, you’re diving for the coppery coins before he’s even back in the pool. 

But he lets you win every round without protest because he loves the way you demand three kisses after each game for your prize. A very specific number, and you want each one in very specific places.

After the handstands, all three of your prizes are on your face. Your forehead first, and then your cheek, and then that pretty mouth of yours. And then it’s your chest一your collar bone, your sternum, the valley between your breasts. Your torso follows. One to the curve of your left hip, one to the space between your ribs, and the other just below your navel. 

Tommy catches on to the theme after your second round of Marco Polo. Knows what’s coming long before you pull yourself out of the pool and rest on the concrete edge. You lean back on your hands outstretched behind you, and say, “You pick for the first one.”

“What, like a pity reward?” Tommy teases with a snort. “Nuh-uh. Ain’t no sore loser. Tell me where you want it, sweetheart.”

The flush that crawls up your wet skin is beautiful, Tommy thinks. Painfully so. You touch the top of your thigh, lifting your legs out of the water just a little more to make it easier on him.

Tommy kisses you there, mouth hot and wanting. He tilts his head just a little, looking up at you. “Next?”

Your throat bobs as you swallow. He can see the desire steadily building in your eyes come to the surface with full force now. You spread your legs and he finds home between them, pushes them just a little wider to compensate for the width of his shoulders. You touch the inside of your thigh this time, just inches away from the edge of your panties.

When Tommy kisses you this time, it’s heavier. He goes back for seconds and thirds. Licks the water from your smooth skin and squeezes the supple flesh of your thigh between his calloused fingers. Groans against you and says, “Mm. So goddamn sweet.” 

His cock has already grown hard at the taste of you. But it pulses in his boxers when you shoot him that troulesome smirk that he loves so much, and slowly slide one hand down the center of your body. “Last one,” you say. “So make it good.” And then you touch your center, directing him right where he knows you need him most. 

Tommy places a hand above yours. Strokes his thumb up your slit over the top of your panties. “Here? Or…” And on the down stroke, he hooks his thumb beneath the wet fabric, right over your clit that’s slick in an entitely different way. He smiles when your breath stutters. “...here?”

“There,” you answer, spine arching the smallest bit.

For a second, Tommy thinks about denying you. Thinks you’ve deserved some teasing after the way you’d cheated him out of every well-deserved win tonight.

But he’s nothing if not greedy for you. And so he gives you exactly what you want. Tugs your panties to the side and leans in to press a soft, featherlight kiss right against your swollen clit. Your thighs part just a little wider, and Tommy sinks further into the pool to press his mouth to you even hard. 

He slides his tongue through your slit and palms his cock with his free hand, moaning against your wetness. There’s nothing in the world he loves more than this, he thinks. Was fucking made to worship you.

You keep yourself propped up with one hand and thread the other through his hair, guiding him right where you want him. And Tommy is all too happy to oblige. He licks feverishly at your folds, needing it almost more than you do. His mouth waters, his saliva mixing with your arousal. He sucks your clit into his mouth and smiles at the way you shiver and shake. 

He wants to slide his fingers into you. Knows he’d encounter no resistance. You’re just so fucking wet for him. But his cock is so hard it aches, beggind to be inside you, to feel you. He’d been able to keep his composure in Joel’s garage enough to not fuck you right in broad daylight, but the sun has set now and there’s no one around.

Tommy thinks he could fuck you right here. Right here, when all it would take is for some insomniac to open their hotel window to see the two of you. But he needs it. Needs you. 

He pulls away, face hot and breath heavy. Says, “Got somethin’ else that wants to give you a kiss.”

You laugh, but it’s overtaken by a moan when Tommy slides his tongue inside of you. He thinks he likes the sound of that more than anything else. “Oh, God一fuck. Fuck, okay. Here? Now?”

He circles your clit with his thumb and peppers kisses up your torso. “Yeah, baby. Right now. Lean back.”

There’s no protest to be had. You do as he says with a smile on your face, and Tommy slots himself between your spread thighs. Pulls his cock just over the elastic band of his boxers, heavy and wanting, and presses his tip to your clit with your panties pulled to the side. He rocks his hips against you, cock sliding through your wet folds. You moan his name and your hands find his shoulders, seeking support that he gladly gives.

“S’alright, baby,” he promises. “M’right here. Wanna love you from the inside, too.”

He lines himself up with your entrance. Kisses you hard, and waits for the impatient rocking of your hips before he pushes into you. 

You feel like ecstasy. Soft and wet and so fucking warm. He finds a fast-paced rhythm, thrusting deep. His movements are needy. Desperate. Fucking his fist to the thought of you these last few nights just hasn’t cut it.

The sound of your moans only spur him on, cock splitting you open, hammering against that soft spot inside of you that leaves your legs shaking.

But he slows, just a little, when you say, “God一please, please, I need一mmm.”

Tommy cradles your face in his big hand, holding you just below your chin. “Tell me, baby,” he mutters. “Tell me what you need an’ I’ll give it to you.”

 He half expects you to tell him to slow down, to be gentle. But instead you say, “Fuck, more. Touch me more.”

It leaves him dizzy and breathless. The Earth moves slowly around him in a way that has nothing to do with the weed and everything to do with you. Well and truly addicted with no sobriety in sight.

He thrusts into you harder, hips rocking against yours. He drags his rough hands down your throat, feeling the shape of your collar bones and the way you arch your back up into his palms.

He says, “You’re so fuckin’ sexy, baby. This pussy was made for me. Made just for Uncle Tommy, hm? Say it. Tell me how much you love this dick.”

“I do, I fucking一yes, right there. I love it,” you whimper. And then, “I love you.”

If he wasn’t at your mercy before, he certainly is now. 

His cock throbs inside you. Hearing it like that, all shrouded in desire and lust, nearly sends him over the edge. Tommy slides his hand beneath your panties and circles your clit, ratcheting your pleasure higher and higher. Wants to feel you fall apart for him, but knows he’s running out of time.

With the flat of his tongue, he licks the water droplets from the curve of your throat. A groan escapes from somewhere deep in his chest at the taste of chlorine and you. 

“Gonna fill you up, sweetheart,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “My favorite girl. Got no idea what you do to me. Make me feel…Christ,” he hisses, his orgasm rapidly approaching. Your warmth pulses around his cock, sucking him in deeper. But Tommy doesn’t dare stop. “Make me feel so goddamn special. Got me wantin’ to…shit. Wantin’ to be a better man. Say it again.”

And you do, without any need for clarification, the words whimpery and your voice soft. “I love you, Uncle Tommy.”

Pleasure twists down his spine, molten and heavy and intense. He paints your insides with sticky white ropes of cum, so much of it that it spills out around his cock, staining the fabric of your panties.

He keeps up the pace for as long as he can. Doesn’t pull out of you until his cock is so sensitive it hurts. And when he does, he slides two fingers into you and curls them upwards, finding that spot he loves so much. Sets the same rough, punishing rhythm. Says, “S’right there, ain’t it?”

“Yes, yes God一!” Your legs tremble around his hips. He knows you’re close, can feel your pretty pussy squeezing tight around his fingers.

“Such a dirty girl,” he mutters. “Lettin’ your uncle touch you all nasty. Right out in the fuckin’ open, too.” He clicks his tongue. Loves the way his fingers grow even slicker at his filthy words. “Filled you all full’a me. Should see the way it looks when I’m pushin’ it right back in. Mm. So god damn pretty.”

You reach for him, hand gripping his strong bicep, nails digging into his skin. “I’m so一so close一”

“Give it to me,” Tommy demands, voice low and dark. “Show me just how much you love your Uncle Tommy, baby.”

Your spine bends, and he pushes your legs wider with his free hand on the inside of your thigh. Knows you’ve reached the summit not by the way your walls twitch around his fingers or the sound of those filthy curses as they fall from your lips. Tommy knows it like some twisted sixth sense.

“There you go,” he murmurs, a satisfied mile tugging at his mouth. “Good job, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good for me.”

He fucks you through it, presses hard against that sweet spot inside of you. Doesn’t stop until every muscle in your body pulls tight and relaxes beneath his touch. And even then, he only slows the pace of his fingers. No longer thrusting them in and out of your entrance, but just massaging. Caressing. Loving.

When he does ease them out of you, they’re covered in a mixture of you both. You take his hand in yours, bring it to your mouth, and lick his fingers clean while staring right at him with those starry eyes. 

It makes him hard all over again. 

He grins, and you giggle with his fingers still in your mouth. “You’re fuckin’ crazy,” he says, but it’s filled with nothing but admiration. “You know that?”

“We, Uncle Tommy,” you correct. “Takes crazy to know crazy.

It makes him laugh, but he hears the truth in your words the moment they reach his ears. He says, “At least we’re together.” An echo of that first night you shared. This moment feels somehow even more extraordinary. Untainted by shame, filled with nothing but tenderness.

Your eyes soften, and you press the palm of his hand to your delicate cheek and nod. “Yeah. At least we’re together.”

When you rise fully to your feet, you offer him your hand and help pull him out of the pool. The night air has cooled considerably, chilling him as the wind touches his wet skin. 

You gather your things, but when you pull on your t-shirt Tommy notices the shiver in your shoulders and tosses you his, too. “Here,” he says.

He waits as you pull the too-large fabric over your head and pick up your shoes. You toss them over the fence into the grass, and he helps you up and over the iron railing.

Tommy goes to follow you once you’re safely on the other side, but stops when he catches a flash of the silver chain wrapped loosely around the pool gate. He snorts. “Hey, look at this.”

Your brows furrow. “What?”

He walks the short distance to the gate, wraps a hand around an iron bar, and pushes it right open without an ounce of resistance.

Tommy walks right on through with a dramatic prance and you burst into obnoxious laughter, doubling over with your hands on your knees. It’s not even that funny, but your mirth sends him into a spiral with you.

By the time you make it back to your hotel room on the third floor, Tommy’s laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes. The responsible part of him knows he should be concerned about noise complaints, but his heart feels so childish with you. Silly and fragile and good.

He sets an alarm for less than five hours from the time his head hits the pillow, but Tommy doesn’t close his eyes until long after you’ve started snoring.

Instead, he savors the way you cling to him in your sleep. Memorizes the pattern of your slow breathing and the weight of your head on his chest. Fights off the shame when it threatens to trickle in.

Tommy lets himself have this weekend. Lets himself have you.

Because he knows, when you return to Austin, he’s going to fall the fuck apart without you.

taglist; @theretrofuturista @chuutu @gabymalikk @nana90azevedo @alidiggory92 @marisemonteiroo @ivyinthesun @hollowgracie @moyavsemoya @madadadison @polkadotsocks1993 @malewifejoelmiller @mmmunson @ssssc0m @skye-44 @tateypots @joelscowgirl69 @dbs5647 @cuntyhunty22 @thaliagracesgf @whossbunny @jamespotterismydaddy @whatdoyoumeanhesnapped @rainydayathogwarts @urfavhanna @subconsciouscollapse @worhols @joyridinginzombieland @emmaaas-posts @millers-girl @strawberrytreecake @atjlovverr @magicxmiller @reidswifeyyyyyy @avaluna @joelsslutt @krystal---meth

note: let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! and pls let me know what you think about part three! i love talking to you guys about the dynamic between these two. whether it's through dm's or asks, it's my fav thing ever so PLEASE HIT MY LINE lmfaooo okay love u bye <3

[divider by @bernardsbendystraws]

[trippinsorrows]

in your hands + four

authors note: i know. it's been forever and a day. i apologize and hope this massive ass chapter helps to make up for things. definitely a couple (or more) things sprinkled throughout.

you must read/view THIS and THIS set of text visuals, as they include information referred to in this chapter. also, the story kicked off in september. it's now mid-october. so, roman and solana have been dating essentially six weeks.

warnings: fluff, smut, and some angst

words: 14k (she is long)

masterlist

She doesn’t belong here. 

Solana knows it the minute she walks into the club, immediately hit with the uncomfortable aroma of alcohol, weed, and potentially untreated yeast infections. 

An understandable combination, however, for just where she stands. 

Secrets. 

The biggest and most popular strip club in the city. Attended and frequently occupied by everyone from truckers making a stop in town to suits who spend their nights throwing bills at naked women instead of at home with their wives and kids. 

A man’s playpen where any and all desires can be granted.

Solana’s nightmare, but one she must brave.

Swallowing and immediately dropping her gaze when she catches the eye of a patron, she nervously clears her throat and tightens her grip on the backpack she has slung over her shoulder. 

Focused, she reminds herself. Stay focused.

Pushing past the discomfort, she tries her best to focus not on the scantily clad women who walk past her, some holding trays of food and alcohol, others seeking out potential clients.

It feels like significantly longer than what is the actual time she took to reach the counter, but when she does, she finds herself coughing, overwhelmed with the smoke from a man smoking a cigar a few chairs down. 

So much for being smoke-free establishment.

“H–Hi,” she attempts to speak, a difficult task given the loud music. “H–Hello.” Ignored, lost among the loud crowd. Solana once again has to power through her anxiety. “Excuse me!”

An effective alert that earns her a glare from the woman with a Bombshell bra, way too much foundation, and a botched nose job. “What?”

“I–” Solana clears her throat. “I’m here to see about the open position for a bartender?” 

The woman rolls her eyes, turning away to finish mixing a drink. “Go to the back. First room on the left.”

Confused, Solana manages a quiet thank you and maneuvers her way through the crowd. For it to only be 3 in the afternoon, this place sure is busy. 

The directions prove effective, it seems, as Solana lands in front of one of the biggest men she’s ever seen. A bodyguard of some sort standing in front of a door that has MVP on it written in chromatic lettering. 

MVP?

“What do you want?” 

The bodyguard barks, his voice just as rude, if not ruder, than the bartender. 

Solana repeats herself, adjusting the backpack on her shoulder. “I’m–I’m here to see about the bartender position.”

He scoffs, looking her over, stepping back enough to knock on the door. “Boss.”

“What?” A male voice carries from the other side. Solana swallows. He sounds irritated. 

“Some bitch is here about that bartender opening.” 

Being called out of her name by a literal stranger most definitely makes her wince, but she says or does nothing else, recognizing how out of her element she is. 

“She pretty?” 

Solana frowns at the unexpected question from the man still concealed on the other side of the door. 

The bodyguard looks her over once more, his gaze unsettling, pushing her to look away. “Yeah. Lil’ redbone.” 

It takes a lot for Solana to not walk away and call this a bust. That colorism shit has never settled well with her at all, but the depressing reminder that this is literally her last hope, nothing else having panned out in the past few weeks, forces her to bite her tongue. To have to bypass her morals and values. 

She has to. 

“Let her in.” 

Solana jumps when the man opens the door and motions for her to enter. “Go on.” 

Nervously squeezing the strap of her backpack, she walks past him, hating the feel of his gaze on her ass as she does so. He makes a sound followed by the door being slammed shut, causing her to jump. 

“Well, you certainly are pretty.”

Solana looks over to the middle of the dark room with blood red drapings over the closed windows, an expensive looking rug sitting under an even more expensive looking desk. Sexual, graphic artwork hanging behind said desk, serving as a backdrop for the man in question.

This MVP person, she would guess. Most likely the club owner. 

He stands and rounds the desk, Solana taking in his tall, chubby frame. He’s about her complexion, hair cut short, hairline evened off perfectly. His suit is designer, along with the shoes on his feet and probably the watch on his wrist. His eyes are light, but everything about him is just dark. 

It’s hard for her to maintain eye contact. 

Still, she has to do this. 

“H–hi.” She clears her throat. “My name is Solana Miller, and I–I’m here to see about the bartender pos—”

“Did I say you could speak?” His harsh question and vicious glare catches her off-guard. Very much not the reaction she was expecting. “Clearly, you don’t know how the fuck this shit goes—”

“I’m—I’m sorry.” She truly is. “I didn’t mean—”

He scoffs, waving her off dismissively. “Just get outta here, man.”

Solana’s stomach drops. “Wait.” This can’t be happening. “Please. I’m sorry,” she both begs and apologizes. She’ll keep doing so for just a chance. Will get on her hands and knees if she has to. “I really—I really need a new job. I–I need the money.” 

He eyes her, disgust marring his face. “You using?”

“No,” she scoffs, shaking her head. Her eyes start to water. “I just—I’m desperate.” 

Extremely so. She has to be to be standing in a place she could never even ride or drive by with a blush lifting to her cheeks. A place, never in a million years, could she see herself seeking employment. 

But, with literally every other interview or inquiry ending with her being ghosted or a flat out no, and all the other open positions paying even less than what she’s making now, she’s 100% out of options.

Again, desperate. 

He says nothing, continuing to look at her, his gaze shifting from irritated to….something else. Something she can’t name. She just knows that unsettling feeling is returning. “Take off your sweatshirt.”

She freezes. “What?”

He continues talking like he didn’t just make the most outlandish request. “It’s chilly out. You’re bound to have some type of shirt on underneath. Or, a bra. Or, maybe nothing. Don’t really matter.” He shrugs. “Take it off.”

Solana is completely lost at this moment and doesn’t hesitate to express as such. “I don’t—”

“Bartender position was filled this morning.” Her stomach literally fucking drops at his casual announcement of her crushed hopes and dreams. “But, I am down a dancer.”

Her frown deepens. “A dancer?” 

The first word Solana has always used to describe herself. A dancer since she could walk, according to her mother. The biggest thing that’s always brought her the most joy in life, but in this instance, has never made her feel such disgust. 

This is not the kind of dancer she’s ever considered or envisioned herself being. And, it comes not from a place of judgment but from the innocent, naive perspective of the 18 year-old she is who still hasn't even had sex yet but is now being considered, potentially, for the position of an exotic dancer. A position she’s not even legally old enough to hold, regardless of what her fake ID says. 

It’s like MVP is reading her mind, suddenly asking, “how old are you, kid?” 

She hates how she hesitates. “21.”

“Bullshit.” Understandable detection. She’s always been a terrible liar. “But, it’s what your card says, and that’s all I can go off of, right?” He smirks, gaze darkening once more. “I said, take off your sweatshirt.” 

Solana heard him the first time. It was just the shock of it all that had her frozen. She wants to run out. Wants to leave and wipe this horrible memory from her recollection forever, but once again, the realty of her situation weighs on her. 

The reminder of the $18.00 in her bank account that has to somehow hold her over until the end of the week when she gets a paycheck that barely covers some of her mother’s prescriptions. 

Desperate.

It’s why Solana has to bypass the light trembling of her body as she drops her backpack onto the floor and pulls her mom’s old college hoodie over her head, dropping it atop her backpack. 

Naturally, her arms attempt to cover her body. He was right in that she’s wearing a thin undershirt, but it does nothing to hide her big breast and cleavage. 

One nervous look at him, and the wolfish grin on his face turns her stomach. “Well, damn. You a fine lil’ thing, ain’t you?” She says nothing. Has nothing to say. “A lil on the fat side, but that seems to be in these days.”

The jab at her weight doesn’t bother her. She’s heard as such before. Countless times. 

MVP approaches and rounds her, Solana shutting her eyes when he makes a sound while standing behind her. “Shit, you got it in the front and the back.” Standing back in front of her, Solana has to blink away the tears when he gently moves her arms down, forcing her breast to fall, leaving her exposed in front of him. “Hmm.” She could throw up. “Nice.” Solana jumps when he gropes her chest, squeezing her breast. “They real, too, huh?”

She can’t bring herself to say anything. 

Solana gasps and grabs for her sweatshirt, holding it in front of her body the minute he steps back. She’s never felt so disgusted. 

“All the new girls get two weeks to shadow and learn how to work the pole. You ain’t got it after then? You out,” he starts, back toward her as he walks to sit down at his desk. “You’d work nights. At least 4 days out of the week. You get 70% of what you make, I keep the rest.” That slimy gaze travels up and down her body once more. “As I said, big girls are in right now, so, assuming you got what it takes, you’d easily make 10k a night. Take home would be 7k.”

At that, Solana’s eyes widen. 

$7,000 a night? 

“You do what the fuck I say, when I say it, how I say it, and everything will be alright. I get the first and final say. No matter fucking what. Pissing me off won’t end well for you.” She swallows as his tone shifts yet again to something almost menacing before that sly smile returns. “What you say, Red? You in?”

It’s an overwhelmingly heavy, difficult question. Solana came in, ready and willing to learn how to bartend, the advertised base pay plus tips putting her well over what she’s making now. Pennies. She’s making pennies now, and pennies don’t pay the bills. 

Though this….the idea of coming in here, performing and dancing for men, for anyone, in this capacity….it has her fighting back nausea. Again, she would never and has never judged anyone for stripping. She understands everyone has to do what they have to do. She’s just never seen it for herself. 

Never wanted it for herself. 

Too much. It just feels like too much. She’s 18. She doesn’t want to be having to make these kinds of decisions. She wants to be preparing to head off to school in the fall. To spend her last summer before college with friends, having fun, indulging in all of the normal adolescent things. But, then she’s reminded of why she’s having to make this type of decision. 

She thinks about the building stack of bills she’s done her best to keep hidden from her mom, the countless calls she has to dodge from bill collectors. Recalls the emergency account as well her as college fund, both now completely emptied due to insurmountable medical bills. Is hit with the horrific memory of all those nights she’s had to watch her mom coughing up blood, herself and Yolanda stressed and fighting back tears as they try to ration medicine, unable to afford the copay to get her prescription refilled. 

Desperate. 

It’s why Solana has to shove aside her morals, values, and everything else that makes her….her and sign her name on the dotted line. 

A deal with the devil himself. 

“I’m in.” 

—------------

“Ready to go see Roman?”

The small pout on Raya’s face as Solana changes her out of her Doc McStuffins pajamas into her cute little outfit, courtesy of the man in question, is easily shifted into the biggest smile. There’s a bend in her knees followed by his limbs moving happily, as she exclaims with all the excitement, “Roman!”

Solana giggles, watching her baby girl reach for the shirt she seems to have made her new favorite item. 

Roman’s shirt. 

Something she snagged from his place weeks ago and hasn’t let go since. Sleeping with it. Holding it as Solana rocks and holds her. Nearby while she plays. It’s like….like a source of comfort to her. 

Thankful when her baby girl lays on her back, continuing to play with the shirt as Solana pulls on her tights, she finds herself thinking about the man who has her daughter smiling and clapping more than she’s ever seen before with anyone outside of her mom and sister.

Roman

Just thinking of him has Solana struggling with her own smile. 

Unreal.

Something about the man feels unreal. Like, he’s too good to be true. Because, he is. Because Solana can’t seem to wrap her head around the fact that she’s stumbled into what has to be one of the most perfect men to ever walk this earth. Kind, considerate, rich, sexy as fuck with a big ass dick and wicked tongue that he most definitely knows how to use.

She can talk to him, often texting him when she takes her lunch break at work. Calls that often result in her yawning, stubbornly denying her tiredness because she enjoys conversing with him way too much. She can spend time with him. No amount of in-person interaction ever seems enough. He always leaves her wanting more. 

She can fuck him in a way she’s never been intimate with anyone. There’s something exciting, exhilarating, and enthralling about every time he bends her over and makes his way in between her thighs. It’s also the most pleasurable experience that leaves her legs shaking and speech borderline incoherent. 

And, maybe the most important thing. Definitely the most important thing.

Soraya. 

Once. Not once has Roman given even the slightest indication that Raya presents any sort of problem for this dynamic, this relationship they have going. And, Solana would know because she’s been watching and waiting like a hawk. Almost for the other shoe to drop. Because as amazing as Roman is, perfect or not, when it comes to her daughter, Soraya gets picked every single time. 

There’s not a person on this earth that comes before her child. 

And certainly not a man. 

But, none of that has been an issue whatsoever. In fact, it sometimes feels like Roman expects Raya to accompany them anytime they’re together. Like the times where she gets her sister or mom to keep her baby girl so they can have one-on-one time, that there’s a brief hint of disappointment. Like, he was hoping to see her, too. 

Not to mention his financial contributions. 

It seems like Roman is incapable of going into any store that carries baby items and not picking up something for Raya. Whether it be a toy, several toys, really, or an outfit—like the one Solana has her wearing right now—his generosity seems to know no ends. 

Even his expensive ass Range Rover he’s been letting her use while her broken down car remains just as it’s been the last few months—broken down. 

Solana hasn’t been able to drop not even a single penny on anything when Roman is around. The car always seems to have a full tank, even when she makes a mental note to stop at the gas station when clocking out. There’s no need. It’s already filled. 

Not that he would admit to handling as such. 

Or, when they go out to dinner, not very often as they both prefer her and Raya coming over so she can cook dinner for everyone, and the bill is already paid before the food even arrives. 

Not to mention….the other things. 

The white Birkin that was waiting at her door when she got in late one night, a sleeping Raya in one hand, her baby bag and Solana’s TJ Maxx purchased bag on the other shoulder. The Tiffany necklace and bracelet set he had waiting for her when she came over one day, Raya at home with her mom, so they could fuck. 

He’s even dropped a comment or two about her moving into his place. Jokingly, of course.

Right? 

“Roman.”

Soraya repeating the name of the man that seems to have them both enchanted makes all the sense in the world. 

“I know, baby,” Solana murmurs, buckling her shoes before standing her up, holding her while kissing her cheek. Raya hugs Solana, burying her little head against her mama’s chest. Solana sighs, gently rubbing her back. “I wanna see him, too…”

Always. Solana feels like she always wants to see the man, which is a bit of an issue when she also has a shit ton of responsibilities that seem like they only keep piling up. 

Financial responsibilities. 

Shaking those stressful thoughts from her head, Solana gathers up her baby girl, grabbing her already packed diaper bag as well as her purse. She makes sure all the lights are off before heading out the door, locking it. 

The car ride to Roman’s place is pleasant, Solana playing a Disney playlist on low to soothe Raya who looks around the car, like she's looking for the man she repeats at least twice during said car ride.

Roman

It keeps a smile on Solana’s face as well. 

In less than twenty minutes, Solana has pulled up to Roman’s penthouse, something that Raya has clearly learned and memorized, given the wiggling of her little body and increased babbling. 

Raya’s excitement bubbles and topples over the minute Roman opens the door, revealing his big frame dressed in a plain white shirt, khaki shorts and matching Nike’s. His hair is pulled back into that immaculate bun, but it’s that pearly white smile on his face that captures Solana’s attention. 

“Hey, babe,” he greets, pulling her in for a brief kiss. It’s brief because his attention is instantly shifted to a smiling, elated Raya who’s already reaching for him. “There she is…”

Solana easily allows Roman to take both Raya and her diaper bag, leaving her to close the door as he walks further into his penthouse. Solana is right behind him, the three of them landing in Roman’s spacious kitchen. 

Solana can only watch them.

Something warm and comforting fills her heart in seeing the way Raya looks up at Roman, reaching for his face with all the curiosity. Her smile is large and happy, complimented by his own smile that's slightly smaller but still….heartfelt almost. "I think it's safe to say she likes you." 

Solana could argue that Raya more than likes Roman, but that….that feels too much. Too soon. 

Way too soon. 

He chuckles, seemingly uncaring as Raya tries to pull on his beard. “She’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad?” Solana scoffs, laying her purse next to Raya’s baby bag on the island in his kitchen where Roman had deposited it. “You’ve seen how she is when she’s sleepy but too stubborn to actually go to sleep.” 

Roman makes a sound, continuing to hold Raya as she pulls at his beard. “She’s stubborn. Nothing wrong with that.”

Solana rolls her eyes. “Of course, you would say that. You’re stubborn, too.” Solana goes to reach for Raya’s little jacket out of her diaper bag only to realize it is absolutely not in the diaper bag but laying on the sofa back at her apartment. “Damnit.”

Roman looks over at her, Raya continuing to babble and “talk” to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I left her jacket back at my place,” she shares, blowing out a breath when remembering something. “Wait, I think I have one here with her change of clothes.”

Roman sighs, adjusting Raya from the left to the right. “Should just let me buy her—”

“Not happening, big guy,” Solana shuts that shit down as she moves to head to the back of his place. “I’ll be right back.” He says nothing, continuing to entertain Raya as they walk into the living room where he has a damn near mini play area set up for her. 

Solana hums to herself, walking into the extra bedroom where Roman has talked her into keeping a few extra items for Raya. As well as a couple of things he’s picked up for her. Except, the minute she hits the light switch, Solana is met with more than just a couple of things. 

“What the….” She steps into said room seeing medium to large boxes leaning against the walls. A closer inspection reveals that it’s furniture yet to be put together.

Baby furniture.

A quiet scoff tumbles out of her mouth as she ghosts her hand over the expensive brand he’d purchased. Top of the line. Easily has to be close to a thousand dollars for everything. 

If not more.

Solana can’t grab Raya’s little jean jacket and hit the light switch quick enough. 

Walking back into the living room, she’s momentarily distracted by the sight of Roman on his knees, carefully watching Raya who starts crawling in his direction, only to tire of the slowness as she moves to stand, little legs rushing over to him. 

“Roman!” She shouts happily, eventually reaching and tumbling into him. That small smile stays on his face as he chuckles, holding her, and saying something to her in what Solana would guess is Samoan. Or, maybe Italian. She’s not entirely sure, but it’s definitely not in English. 

Shaking her head, Solana steps into their space, gathering the attention of both. 

“Mama!” Raya shouts, wobbling over to Solana who also moves to her knees, welcoming her baby girl into her arms. 

She kisses the top of Soraya’s head and looks over at Roman. “You mind telling me what all that stuff is that’s in your guest bedroom?”

He shrugs, crossing his big arms over his equally big body. He’s just huge. “I picked up a couple of things for her. I told you that.”

“Roman, buying her darn near a whole furniture set is not a “couple” of things.” Not in the slightest. Clothes, toys definitely, maybe even some dishes but certainly not furniture. 

He continues to remain unbothered, not seeing the issue. “I told you it makes sense for her to have all the stuff she needs here.”

“I get that, Roman, but that….you keep spending all your money—”

“Solana, I could live to be 100, and I’d never spend all my money.”

Given the ease he has with pulling out his card, not needing to use his phone to pull up the banking app and check his balance, Solana wouldn’t deny that. She wouldn’t deny that one bit. 

“But—”

“You’re not gonna win this with me. I hope you know that.” She rolls her eyes, her traitorous little daughter crawling back over to Roman who welcomes her back with open arms as she fists his shirt. “We’re stubborn, remember?”

There’s something about the way he groups himself together with Raya that has Solana’s chest swelling again with that unnamed emotion. Heavy but….nice. In the best sort of way. 

It doesn’t take long for once again traveling to commence, except this time, it’s Roman driving both herself and Raya to his cousin Jimmy’s house. The host of this get-together they're attending. Conversation during the not even twenty minute drive mostly focused on Roman reassuring her that everything’s going to be fine, they’re going to love her and Raya, as well as indiscreet planning for how the night’s going to end. 

Preferably with him deep inside her guts, his face buried between her legs, or her mouth stuffed with his unforgivable dick. 

Any or all of those things would be great. It’s been a bit of a rough week, and nothing helps her more to decompress than by getting her back blown out by the rich, handsome, older man next to her.

It’s 10/10 every single time. 

“Damn,” Solana breathes as Roman parks his car in the cobblestone driveway of what has to be one of the nicest houses she’s ever seen. The type one sees and fawns over on HGTV. The type of luxury most can only dream about having one day. 

And, she’s sitting right in front of it. 

It’s a bit embarrassing for her when she realizes she's gawking at the house. She feels severely underdressed with her Shein purchased outfit, suddenly wishing she'd wore something maybe a bit....nicer.

Overthinking distracts her from getting Raya out of the car, something Roman has already as he stands holding her diaper bag over one arm, Raya in the other. 

Solana climbs out the car, her discomfort clearly plain and visible as Roman reassures her for the eighteenth time. “It’s gonna be fine, Sol.”

Sol.

A nickname used by others. Never feeling as special when it comes from him. 

She can only nod, reaching to take Soraya from him. Partially for her own comfort and ease. 

Focusing on her baby girl will help keep her from focusing on her growing anxiety. 

Roman simply sighs and kisses her temple, hand on the small of her back as he guides her. “Come on.” 

Solana adjusts her purse on her left shoulder while continuing to hold Raya who can only look around with all the amazement, her gaze every so often falling and landing on Roman. 

Meanwhile, Solana tries her best not to faceplant and focus on keeping one foot in front of the other as Roman bypasses the front door, leading them to the side of the house through the partially cracked gate. 

Immediately, she’s slammed with the scent of grilled, fried, and fresh food. Delicious, it smells delicious. Mouth watering, Solana’s stomach grumbling, she takes in the spacious backyard. A large pool with an attached slide and separate hot tub is smack dab in the middle, a patio hosting two grills, furniture, and coolers filled to the brim with soda, alcohol, and water bottles. 

The rest of the yard is beautiful, perfect green grass, kids play things set up in several areas with a host of folding chairs to match the host of attendees that are spread across the party space. Music plays from a booth that indicates a DJ was hired.

Damn.

Solana has attended her fair share of get-togethers, but nothing like this. 

“Naw……cause growth is realizing Ebony ain’t even did nothing wrong?”

“Ain’t did nothing wrong? Man, she fucked her cousin’s man while living in her house! Diamond should have shot her ass in the ass for that shit!”

“Hey!” Solana jumps ever so slightly, thankful for Raya’s simple giggle at the bark from Roman that effectively cuts through the sea of people, snagging countless sets of eyes. “Language.”

Out the corner of her eye, she sees him gesture to Raya who’s suddenly less smiley and has her face buried into Solana’s shoulder, shyness taking over.

Loud gasps and the almost squeal of a woman. “Finally!”

Solana stills a bit when the woman appears in front of her. Several. They all wear friendly expressions while moving in her direction, but that does little to settle the nerves bubbling in the base of her stomach.

It’s Roman’s hand on the small of her back, his fingers gently raking across that calms her just the slightest.

“You must be Solana.” The woman who spoke first greets. Solana has to take a second to catch herself. This lady is stunning. Deep complexion complimented by her colorful makeup and box braids with neon colors strung throughout. Her features seem almost too perfect. “I’m Naomi.” 

Solana opens her mouth to respond when Roman takes the lead for her.

“Solana.” She looks up at him, gently bouncing Raya who continues to keep her face buried, stranger danger on full-on display. “Naomi is my cousin Jimmy’s wife,” he shares, moving to point to the other women. “This is her best friend, Bayley.” A small wave from Bayley as he transitions to the last woman. “And, this is my cousin, Ava.”

“Alleged,” Ava snorts, faux whispering to Solana, using her hand to hide her mouth. “I’m way too good to be related to someone like him.”

Bayley makes a ‘ha’ sound. “Dude, I been saying the same thing since we were kids.”

Roman scowls, lowly growing, “fuck ya’ll.” It puts a small smile on Solana’s face, as she bites back her laughter. She also makes note and appreciates the way he works hard to keep profanity from hitting Raya’s ears, something Solana had previously shared with him. Explained how she tried not to cuss around Soraya, a boundary and rule he's continuously respected.

He’s been great with it, actually, now that Solana thinks about it. Especially since whenever Raya isn’t around, Roman curses like a sailor. 

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Solana greets, looking at her daughter. “This is—”

“Oh, we know exactly who this is,” Naomi interrupts with that same friendly smile, focusing on the little girl in Solana’s arms. “This must be the fabulous Soraya.”

A thought crosses Solana’s mind. Has Roman spoken with his friends and family about Raya?

About her?

“This is,” Solana giggles, talking to her baby girl. “Can you say hi, Raya?” Glancing at the women, she explains, “we mostly call her Raya.”

“She’s so cute,” Bayley makes a face and pouts, leaning down, hands on her knees, trying to capture Raya’s attention. “Hi, Raya.”

Ava and Naomi make similar attempts to interact with Soraya, Solana attempting to help by continuing to ask Raya to say hi.

And, finally, she does. 

“Hi.” The softest, cutest thing accompanied by Raya offering a quick wave before burying her face back into Solana’s shoulder, all the while looking over at Roman who winks, making her giggle. 

Gasps around, as Ava shares, “wait, because why are you so adorable?” Raya, as if understanding the compliment, wiggles against Solana who can’t stop smiling at the wholesome interaction. Ava then looks up, eyes pleading, “can we hold her?”

Solana can barely open her mouth when Roman steps forward. “Not without washing your hands.” Solana looks up at him, withholding her giggle. She was going to ask about as such, just not as….blunt. “And naw, hand sanitizer don’t count. Ya’ll not about to get her sick.”

Naomi sucks her teeth. “Okay, Dr. Reigns.” 

He ignores her smart comment, instead pointing towards the house. “Go on.” Bayley glares, subtly flipping him off. “Use your feet.” 

“Roman,” Solana lightly scolds, switching Soraya from one side to the other, her baby girl continuing to look between the people who’ve always seemingly become enraptured by her.

But, right when the women leave, rushing to cleanse their hands so they can hold Raya, a new group arrives. This time, a group of men, and judging by the nearly identical look of two of them, Solana has a good guess about the identification of ⅔ of them. 

“Jimmy and Jey?” She asks, hoping to God she’s not wrong. Roman has definitely mentioned them once or twice.

One of them throws his hands up. “You got it, Lil’ Bit!” She cracks a smile, relieved to not have embarrassed herself in front of Roman’s family. 

Not yet, anyway. 

The one with more of a pronounced, salt and pepper beard and freshly done braids slaps himself on his chest. “I’m Big Jim, and this is lil brother, Jey.” He points with one finger to the man slightly shorter than him with an…..interesting hairstyle. Much like the man on the end with a complexion similar to Naomi, different hairstyle, and piercings she’s not used to seeing in men around his age range. 

“And this Truth,” Jey introduces. “My brother-in-law.”

“Don’t worry,” Truth speaks with a little more volume than necessary considering the close proximity of everyone. “My sister ain’t here.”

“That’s cause she ain’t allowed at my house,” Jimmy says with a slight eye roll, offering. “Her ass crazy.”

Solana’s jaw drops once more as Roman chides his cousin for the profanity. “I–umm—”

“Awww,” Truth starts, jaw dropping, hand over his mouth. “Well, look at what we got here.” He leans over ever so slightly, trying to be at eye level with Raya. His voice is sugary sweet and coaxing, perfectly appropriate for a child. Much unlike what comes out of his mouth. 

“Hi there, lil’ light skin baby.”

“Truth!”

“Why would you even say that?”

“I don’t know we even keep trying with your slow ass.”

The chorus of protests and slaps from the twins are ended with Roman correcting him with all the baritone of his deep voice. “Her name is Soraya, Truth.”

“We call her Raya,” Solana offers, somehow knowing he means well. His delivery is….something, but he really does have a….gentle aura about him. 

They all do.

“What?” Truth appears genuinely offended and confused as to why everyone else around him is offended. He shakes his head, looking at a still smiling, seemingly amused Raya. “Why don’t you go on and tell Uncle Truth what you wanna eat?”

As Solana’s brows furrow with confusion from the ‘uncle’ comment, another round of aggravated sighs emanate around her. 

Roman closes his eyes. He looks like his patience is truly being tested in this moment. “Truth, don’t start with that.”

Solana frowns, looking between the men for some insight. “Wh–what?”

“Man.” Jey shakes his head, gesturing to his brother-in-law. “Truth think he can talk to and understand babies.” 

As Solana does her best to hide her confusion, this Truth person protests, “I can!” 

“No, you can’t, Truth.” Roman objects, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“You can barely understand your damn self,” Jimmy scoffs, earning an elbow in his side from Jey. “Oh! What was that for?”

Jey points to Raya. “Don’t be cussing in front of the baby.”

Solana can only laugh at the….interesting bunch.

“Okay!” Naomi’s voice sounds as the ladies return rushing over, Ava not hesitating to shove her way between the twins. However, Naomi is first, standing at the front of the line with a hopeful expression. “Hands are all washed.”

“For at least a minute?”

“What are you, the CDC?” Ava scoffs, fully ignoring Roman, as she looks and directs her statement to Solana. “Is it alright?”

Solana nods. “Sure.” Her lips linger for a second against Raya’s temple as she reaches her baby girl to Naomi who perfectly accepts the handover, awwing with her mouth open as Raya continues to look at them with all the intrigue.

“Hi, Raya,” Ava speaks, giving a little wave. “I’m Ava.” 

“I’m Bayley,” she greets, the group laughing when Raya starts babbling. 

“She’s saying it’s very nice to meet everyone.”

“Truth!”

Solana can’t hold in her laughter as she watches how naturally everyone takes to Raya and vice versa. Fiercely protective of her daughter, it’s a new experience being around people she just met less than half an hour ago only for them to naturally connect to not only herself but her little girl.

Far from what she was expecting but oh so appreciated.

“She’s such an adorable little girl.” Ava compliments as she’s now holding Raya who pulls at her necklace, clearly trying to snatch it off. 

“She looks just like you,” Jey points out, both him and Jimmy also trying to interact. 

Pride swells in Solana’s chest. “Thank you.” Given the non-existent relationship Raya has with Cruz and just how awful of a person he’s been since Solana disclosed her pregnancy, anything that her little girl can take from her and only her is so appreciated. 

“Babe.” Solana looks up at Roman, feeling him take her hand as he gestures over to the tables with food. “Come on.”

Her smile dims, that protectiveness rising to the surface as she looks back at Ava and Soraya. “It’s okay. We can watch her.”

Naomi shakes her head, sharing as she accepts Raya from Ava. “Can we keep her for a bit? It’s been so long since I’ve had a baby girl to love on.” She takes Raya’s hand, gently wiggling it, one again evoking laughter from Solana’s pride and joy. “My daughter is 8 going on 18 most days.”

There’s a bit of apprehension. Understandable, in Solana’s eyes. She literally just met these people. But, the open layout won’t allow Soraya to be anywhere Solana can’t see. She’ll have eyes on her the whole time. 

“Okay,” she relents, Bayley accepting the baby bag from her. “Just let me know if you need anything—”

“We’ll be fine!” Ava dismisses, the women all clearly in seven heaven with Raya who seems just as happy to be the center of attention.

“Told you.” Roman moves to take her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. 

Solana playfully rolls her eyes, as he leads her over to the food so they can fix their plates.

But, near the tables where the delicious smelling food is laid out are two other individuals. Caucasian men who chat quietly among themselves, one on the thinner sider, the other a bit more stocky. 

The thin man with two-toned hair pulled back into a bun, similar to Roman’s, starts with a small grin, seeing the two of them head over.

“Big Dog,” he greets, him and Roman exchanging that man hug before Roman does the same with the other one. 

“Solana.” Roman looks down, moving to stand back beside her, hand resting on her back. “This is Seth and Dean. Two of my oldest friends.”

“We go way back,” Seth chuckles, offering his hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Solana. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Really?” For some reason, that’s surprising to her. It’s obvious Roman has talked about her. His family confirmed as such, but just how much has he talked about her? “Good things, I hope?”

“Totally,” Dean chimes, right before abruptly opening up a bag of chips, stuffing his mouth and offering a muffled, “Dean.”

Solana smiles. She can already tell he’s an….interesting soul. In the same way Truth is, but still….innocent. 

“Well, it’s really nice to meet both of you.”

“Same,” Seth agrees. He motions behind her. “And, I take it the star of the show over there is Soraya.”

Solana’s smile naturally grows. “You’d be correct.” She turns around, seeing that Raya is still very much enjoying all of the attention and interaction. “I’d introduce you, but….”

“I get it,” Seth chuckles. “I have a daughter, too. The gang here see a cute kid and lose their shit.”

“Word,” Dean says, Solana trying to hold back her laughter. A character for sure. 

But, as Roman and Solana prepare their food and chat with the other two men, another conversation transpires revolving primarily around a certain Soraya Miller.

“I’m not even being dramatic, dude.” Bayley starts, sitting Raya on her lap as the little girl plays with her necklace, clearly intrigued by the locket. “This has to be the cutest baby I’ve ever seen.”

“Isn’t she?” Ava is in awe, trying to capture Raya’s attention with peek-a-boo.

“She is a cute—”

“Psst.”

The way the group collectively cuts or rolls their eyes at what they all know is about to be some shit. 

Jey, however, is the brave soul. “What, Truth?”

He looks around, as if expecting someone to eavesdrop before pointing to Raya. “Ya’ll know this Roman baby, right?”

“Oh my God.”

“I knew it was gon’ be something with him.”

“Why do ya’ll even still hang out with him?”

“Truth.” Jimmy closes his eyes and shakes his head. “This is not Roman’s baby. This is Solana’s baby.” 

“Man,” Truth dismisses, clearly grounded and cemented in his baseless theory. “Look at her.” The group does, Raya clapping and giggling, completely oblivious to the conversation at hand. “She look just like him!”

Jey opens his mouth to protest when he takes another look at Soraya. “Hey….” Several sets of eyes land on him. “I’m not saying Truth right, but….she do kinda favor big Uce.”

“Lord, not you, too,” Naomi groans. 

“I’m just saying,” Jey defends, his hands up in an almost surrender motion. “I can kinda see it.” He then takes it a step further, asking his twin brother something that’s been on his mind since the two arrived. “Does Solana look familiar to you?” 

For the life of him, he can’t figure out why, but there is definitely something familiar about his cousin’s new girlfriend. Like, he’s seen her somewhere before. 

He just can’t figure out where.

But, as Jimmy goes to reply, offering a small level of agreement, Truth does what Truth does best.

“It’s cause they all light-skinneded’!”

“Truth, shut up!

—--------

Natural.

It all feels so natural. The way Solana and Soraya seem to blend in with Roman’s inner circle. Everyone is so nice and friendly. Hilarious as well. Jimmy and Truth are most definitely the comedians of the group. Dean is too, in a weird sort of way. He’s not necessarily trying. Just being himself.

The story she’s told about their meeting with Roman way back in middle school makes all the sense in the world. Three stubborn kids who couldn’t get along and landed a detention one day that made them realize they had more in common than they initially realized. 

Classic.

“She’s so beautiful!” Solana compliments, handing Naomi back her phone that shows a picture of her and Jimmy’s daughter, Aniyah. “Why isn’t she here?”

“Chile, she with Jimmy parents getting even more spoiled.” Naomi answers, placing her phone back in the pocket of her jean shorts. “Plus, this is an adults only get-together.”

At that, Solana stills. “It is?” Naturally, her gaze falls over to where Roman is talking with the rest of the men, holding Raya who hits at him, clearly wanting his attention and not liking having to share it. Roman takes her hand, letting her shake and play with it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—Roman didn't—”

Because, he most definitely did not tell her Raya wasn’t technically allowed. And just like that, she feels bad.

“No,” Ava cuts in. “Raya is absolutely fine. We wanted you to bring her. Wanted to meet her and you.”

It’s helpful reassurance, for sure. Moving, too. They wanted to meet her. 

Meet Raya.

Solana hasn’t forgotten Roman’s not so great description of his twin sister, but so far, everyone else in his family more than makes up for it. Bayley then adds, “Absolutely. It’s really just Jey’s bad ass children no one wanted to deal with.”

That being the second or third time someone has alluded to Jey’s children, Solana has to ask, “are….are Jey’s children really that bad?”

Naomi blows out a breath, asking, “you know the show Beyond Scared Straight?”

Solana nods. “Yeah.”

“They got rejected for being too horrible.” Solana’s eyes widen. What the hell? “That should tell you everything you need to know.”

“Doesn’t one of them have a court date coming up soon?”

“Hell, probably.” Naomi shakes her head at Bayley’s question as Solana continues to sit partially floored. Jey seems so nice and friendly. It’s hard to imagine him with such…..difficult offspring. “Man, they keep hogging her.”

Solana refocuses to see Naomi scowling, watching Raya, still being held by Roman, interact with Jey who makes some sort of up and down hand motion. Like, he’s trying to show her how to do something. 

“She really is such a sweet baby. You can tell she takes after you.”

Ava’s complement makes Solana’s stomach flutter in the best way. “Thank you so much.”

“How old is she again?” 

Solana smiles with all the pride of a mother. “She’ll be one in two weeks.”

Naomi gasps. “Her birthday is coming up?” Solana nods, watching Naomi pull her phone back out as she unlocks, does some tapping and hands it to Solana. “Give me your number, and text me what size she wears so I can get her something.”

Solana barely has time to protest when Ava and Bayley express the same, also asking for Solana’s number so they too can buy Raya something. 

“No, you really don’t have to—”

She’s cut off by Bayley sucking her teeth. “Way too late for that, dude.” Biting down on her bottom lip, Solana programs her number, as Bayley asks, “are you throwing her a birthday party?”

A bit of embarrassment fills the young mother as she gives Naomi her phone. “No. Umm….just a little get-together with my mom, big sister, and her family.” 

Her explanation isn’t met with any looks of judgment or confusion, which is partially what Solana was expecting. What mother doesn’t throw a birthday party for her daughter’s first birthday?

A broke one.

That’s who.

It’s a depressing thought. Solana would love to celebrate Soraya the way she deserves, but financially, she just can’t cut it. 

And, it sucks. It sucks a lot. 

“Well, you can bet baby girl will be getting a bunch of gifts from her new aunties,” Naomi announces, smiling with excitement. “I love shopping. Especially for babies.”

“Thank you, but you—you really don’t have to.” You don’t even know me, is what Solana really wants to say.

“Too late,” Bayley cuts her off, however, clearly uninterested in anything that doesn’t revolve around trying to land on what gifts to get for Raya. “Okay, they’ve had her long enough.” 

“Agreed,” Naomi sounds as she and Bayley make their way across the yard, fed up with having to wait their turn to play with and hold Soraya. 

Solana can only chuckle. 

One thing for certain, her baby is sure to sleep good tonight.

“He’s good with her,” Ava’s voice pulls Solana from her thoughts, as she one again looks over to the group. Roman stands arguing with Naomi and Bayley, clearly not wanting to hand over Raya who seems more than content being held by the man.

“He is.” Solana agrees. The way Roman has been so patient, understanding, and kind to her daughter is one of the biggest reasons she adores him as much as he does. The sex is amazing, but him being good to her daughter?

Priceless.

“Gotta admit, it’s a little surprising. Never really took Roman for the family man, but now that I think about it, it makes sense.”

Solana frowns, angling her body towards his cousin. “What—what do you mean?”

Ava sighs. “Roman’s parents…..they’re not the best. Actually, if I’m being honest, they're pieces of shit. Always have been. It’s why he has a poor relationship with them to this day.” Solana recalls Roman hinting as such but has never really pushed as to why. She wanted to respect his boundaries and privacy. “His twin sister, Rosalia? Total fucking bitch, but it’s not exactly unwarranted. Their parents only ever wanted a son, and they never tried to hide that from her. Shipping her off to fancy private all-girls schools every chance they got.”

Solana also recalls him describing his sister as not being the easiest, but if what Ava says is true, and Solana has no reason to believe otherwise, it definitely does make sense. 

And, in a weird way, Solana can relate.

Can relate to Rosalia. 

She, too, knows what it’s like to feel unwanted and unloved by a parent. 

To be abandoned.

Needing to pull from her own unresolved issues, Solana inquires, “and Roman?”

Ava scoffs. “It’s hard to say if he had it worse. He was mostly kept here, and while his parents never hesitated to dump him on nannies, they made it clear when they were around that nothing less than perfection would be accepted. His dad traveled a lot, his mom doing anything she could to never be home. He spent most of his childhood by himself. Would go over to uncle Kish’ house a lot, the twins' dad, because his parents would literally leave him home alone all the time with just the help and security.” Solana’s heart practically breaks at that. Imagining Roman as a child, even a teen, in what was probably a big ass house. An empty house. “Majority of the time they spent with him was largely focused on his tra—” Ava stops herself, and Solana finds herself wondering why. Wanting to know more, even if it is all just heartbreaking to hear. “He just really got the short end of the stick the first 18 years of his life.”

Solana doesn’t deny that. Just listening to it is….heartbreaking almost. “That’s….that’s terrible.”

Ava nods, tucking a piece of her hair behind her pierced ears. “Anytime he could be at the twins house or even mine, he would. I think he just didn’t want to be alone. He was just a kid.” She stops, a small frown appearing on her pretty face. “Just wanted a family who wanted and loved him.”

As does any kid. Roman didn’t want or desire anything that any other child wouldn't want. Should have.

Deserves.

“Obviously, he’s a man now, so things have changed, but…” As she trails off, her sight sets on the other side of the yard, as does Solana. The two of them watching how Roman, even while not holding Raya anymore, seems to be instructing Naomi, who does hold her baby girl. Most likely trying to tell her the do’s and don’ts, all the while Raya continues to beam up happily at him. Content. “Maybe not everything.”

—-------

A little while later, the group is more mixed up, primarily because of Candy by Cameo that plays as the bulk of them dance. 

A determined Jimmy and Truth trying to show a rhythmless Dean the unofficial/official choreography. However, Roman’s focus is more on Solana who holds Raya while laughing and dancing along with everyone.

There’s something that fills him seeing how natural she blends in with his close friends and family.

Like….like she belongs.

They both do. 

“I like her.” Roman looks to his left where Ava comes to stand beside him. She, too, like himself, is not the biggest on dancing. “She’s a sweet girl. They both are.”

Roman looks back over to the mother-daughter duo. “I know.”

Silence befalls them for a good minute, but it doesn’t last long. And, Roman is unsurprised. He knows her well. Knows she has something she wants to say to him.

And, she does.

Ava turns towards her cousin, more like a brother than anything. “Roman, what the hell are you doing?” He sighs. “You’ve been seeing this girl for what, almost two months now and you still haven’t told her the truth about who you really are?”

Roman says nothing at first, because there’s nothing to say. He knows it’s wrong and won’t try to deny it. “I know.”

“Do you?” She challenges, crossing her arms. “Because you yourself have said you see her at least twice a week, and in all those interactions, you haven’t found the time to tell her the truth?”

His jaw clenches as he angles his body away from the group, not wanting Solana to detect the tense exchange occurring. “It’s not that easy.”

“No, it certainly isn’t. Not with how long you’re stringing this out.” She scoffs. “I’d understand if it was still only a week in. Hell, maybe two, but it’s going on six weeks, Roman.” She shakes her head. “You should have told her by now. She doesn’t deserve to be lied to.”

“I know that, Ava. I’m not fucking stupid.” He isn’t. Roman knows the longer he goes without telling Solana the truth, the harder it will be. But, it’s also pretty fucking difficult to find the right time to tell her that he’s a fucking mafia boss and heads two of the biggest crime syndicates in this hemisphere.

“I don’t know, cause right about now, I’d say that’s debatable.” Ava’s expression and voice soften just a bit. “It’s not even just that, Roman. Not even just who you are. It’s about what you’re supposed to be doing right now.”

His eyes narrow, defensiveness and a sense of protectiveness building. “That’s not what this—”

She cuts him off, motioning between the two of them. “I know that, and you know that, but what about Solana? What about when she finds out?” An important, valid question he probably hasn’t thought about a ton, if he’s being totally honest. “Cause I can tell you from a woman’s perspective what it’s gonna look and feel like.” She moves right into sharing. “It’s gonna look and feel like you found a younger, naive woman to give you exactly what you need. And you know she can do it, because she already has one child.” More softening, her voice also lowering. “And what about Raya? Have you thought about her in all of this?”

That defensiveness jumps to level fucking ten. “Of course, I have.”

Ava’s shoulders slump ever so slightly. “She’s just a baby, Roman. And, it’s obvious she already has an attachment to you.” And you to her. But, Ava opts to keep that assessment to herself. “If this goes south, it’s gonna be hard on her—”

“It won’t,” Roman’s voice cuts like steel. “I won’t let it.”

Ava just looks at him, fully recognizing the switch. The clench of his jaw, the squaring of his shoulders, the hardening of his gaze. It’s less her cousin, the one she grew up with and knows like the back of her hand, and more the ruthless, stoic, mafia kingpin that many are wise to fear.

His determination is unshakable.

“I know what I’m doing, Ava.” And that tone, one of finality, tells her without telling her that this conversation is over. He’s done talking.

She sighs, watching him walk back over to the group, as the song has ended and most are just conversing. 

“I certainly hope so….”

Roman is close enough proximity to reach for Solana who kisses Raya’s temple as she holds onto and hugs her mother. Something tells him baby girl is getting closer and closer to nap or bedtime. Her energy noticeably lessening as the hours past.

Naomi is looking down at her phone, smiling. “Oh, that was good.” She’s most likely looking at some clip of the group of them dancing. “I should post—”

“What?” Solana’s voice cuts through the low chatter, Roman looking at her. He sees it the moment it happens. The moment her smile drops, replaced with something indistinguishable. 

Fear.

“Post?” She asks, fidgeting a bit, her grip on Soraya lightly tightening. “Like…like on social media?” Naomi can’t even open her mouth to answer. “Please don’t.” Roman watches the interaction with a mixture of confusion and slight intrigue. Same as everyone else. “I—I just don’t….I don’t like her face being online.”

Naomi once again goes to respond, this time successful in her response. “Oh. Of course. I get it.” She points to Jimmy. “We’re the same way with Aniya.” She offers a small smile. “I’ll just share the clips that don’t have you and Raya in them.”

And just like that, relief appears, Solana’s entire body relaxing. Relieved. She’s relieved.  “Thank you.”

Naomi says nothing, and neither does anyone else, but Roman is certain they’re all wondering the same thing he is.

What was that about?

—-----------

Roman’s assessment proved accurate. 

Less than an hour after the social media thing, Raya started to get fussy, giggles turning into crying, wanting only to be held by her mama.

Tired. 

She was tired and reached her max for the day, hence Solana and Roman having to head out. Solana doesn’t leave without damn near everyone’s numbers and a mandatory promise to come visit sooner rather than later. 

Naomi mentioned something about a girls spa day.

Solana didn’t have it in her to explain she can’t afford anything like that right now, deciding to tackle it when that conversation arises. 

Overall, Solana would 100% consider the evening a win. Roman holds her hand almost the entire drive back to his place, the other expertly handling the steering wheel, talking and conversing about the kickback. His eyes, as well as Solana’s, frequently use the rearview mirror to check on Soraya who sits mostly quiet and exhausted in her car seat. 

By the time they arrive to his place, Roman is partially expecting Solana to come up, at least for a couple minutes. But, that doesn’t happen. 

She instead walks over to her (his) car, unlocking and opening the passenger door, strapping Raya in before turning to look up at him. “Give me like two hours.”

He looks at her, curious. “Why?”

Solana offers a small smile, gesturing to Raya who’s gradually succumbing to the sleep that calls to her. “Gives me time to get her settled and put down for bed.” A gentle kiss to Raya’s forehead prevents Solana from seeing the fleeting look of disappointment that appears in his warm eyes. 

“Oh.” He clears his throat. “You sure….you sure you don’t need….like help or something?”

She shakes her head. “I’m good.” Her smile remains the same, slipping into something teasing. “I’m sure another two hours won’t kill you, big dog.” 

The scowl on his face makes her giggle. “Don’t ever call me that crap again.”

“Noted,” she chuckles. Unsurprisingly, Roman helps Solana get loaded up in the car, placing her purse and Raya's baby bag in the passenger seat. There’s an intentional slowness and caution he uses to close the door, not wanting to startle an exhausted Soraya. 

Soraya, whose little mouth and face scrunches up as she yawns, grasping at her mother while murmuring, “Roman…”

Solana’s chuckle is soft. “Roman has to stay here, mija. It’s time for you to go night night.” Raya’s response is to pout, indecipherable sounds indicating a potential tantrum is on the horizon.

“Wait.” Solana looks back to see Roman turning to head back the elevator that leads up to his penthouse. Confused, Solana does as he asks, entertaining Raya, rubbing her lil tummy with one finger, trying to hold off that pending fussy fit. 

The sound of rushed footsteps prompts her to turn around to see Roman, something black folded over his shoulder.

She continues to look confused as he moves his hand to the small of her back, gently pushing, indicating he needs her to move. She does as such, watching his big body move to where she previously stood. 

Roman says something in Samoan, or Italian, reaching the black item to Raya. The way she continues to pout, fisting and playing with Solana now realizes is a shirt, easily morphs into a smile as she happily kicks her legs, giggling. 

A shirt.

It’s his shirt. 

“There you go….” He says, index finger moving in an almost circle on her stomach as she happily babbles, holding and hugging the shirt. 

Solana scoffs, that damn familiar feeling returning. “Wow….” Roman steps back and glances at her. “Keep this up, and you’re gonna need to subscribe and save.”

He shakes his head, moving closer and kissing her forehead. “Two hours?”

She nods, biting down on her bottom lip. “Don’t be late.”

“Oh, trust me….” His eyes rake over her with undeniable lust. It has Solana pressing her thighs together. “I won’t be.”

“Good,” she murmurs, as he backs away, hand on the back passenger door. She sees the way his expression softens as he looks back over at Raya. “Night, Soraya.”

Her response is a happy shout of his name. “Roman!”

He smiles, gently closing the door before looking back over at Solana. “I’ll see you in a lil’ bit.”

Solana nods in response, silently walking over to the driver's side, climbing in and starting the SUV.

The car ride is mostly silent, sans Raya babbling occasionally, calling for Solana, never once letting go of the shirt she continues to play with and hold close to her.

It keeps a small smile on Solana’s face for certain.

True to her guesstimate, it takes about a total of two hours for Solana to get Soraya bathed, changed, and fast asleep in bed followed up with Solana hopping in the shower and preparing for Roman’s arrival. 

A quick little shave, the spray of that body spray he seems to always compliment her on when she wears it, grabbing that beach towel that’s sure to earn its keep before morning hits. 

She bypasses anything lacy or sexy, simply settling for an oversized shirt that covers her nude body. It truly makes no sense to her to get all done up in anything when he’s going to rip it off her in a matter of minutes. 

Besides, too many items separating him from her. It’s been a long ass day. Good, but long, and she wants to end it in the best way she knows how. How to decompress, that is. 

By riding the shit out of his big ass dick. 

Solana feels a bit embarrassed by how quickly she hops off her sofa at the sound of three light knocks. A quick glance through her peep hole is probably unnecessary, but she’s always leaned on the side of safe than sorry. 

Tried to, at least.

Smiling all giddy and elated, she unlocks and swings open that door with way too much enthusiasm that only grows when she sees him. He’s also clearly showered and changed, bun not as neat, slightly messy. She loves it. 

Dark gray sweats hang low accompanied by a plain black shirt as well as Jordans. His gaze sweeps her over, settling on her breast that press against her tee, offering a nice outline of her nipples.

Roman welcomes himself inside, grabbing her by her ass and pulling her into him. Solana inhales deeply, taking in the scent of his cologne. Masculine and woodsy. It’s so him. “What took you so damn long?”

She smiles as he leans down to kiss her. Solana’s hands move up his shirt, grasping onto his shoulders as she smiles into said kiss. “Patience.” 

He scowls, kicking the door closed behind them. One hand stays palming her ass cheek while the other moves to lock the door without even needing to look. “For you? That shit’s impossible.”

He kisses her once more before his eyes lift above and behind her. “She sleep?”

Solana nods. “Didn’t take very long. She was tired.” She drops her hands, scrunching the bottom of his shirt. “Though the two shirts she’s now sleeping with in her crib could also be factors.”

His eyes seem to light up at that. “Yeah?”

She shakes her head. “I couldn’t get them away from her.” At some point, Solana might have to talk to Roman about the non-existent sustainability of this shirt thing. Keep it up, and her baby girl’s crib will be filled with nothing but men’s shirts. It’s fine now, especially since, for whatever reason, Soraya seems to find comfort with them. 

But, eventually, they’ll have to figure something out. 

“Hey.” Her voice lowers, Roman’s hands shifting to her hips, continuing to hold her close to him. “I really enjoyed myself today.”

His lips lift into a small grin. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She nods, unable to not mimic his grin. “Your family and friends are amazing. You were right. I….I really didn’t have anything to worry about.” It feels like night and day. The anxiety that filled her when he first mentioned/invited her to meet them all. Now, she finds herself wondering about when the next get-together will be. “And more importantly, they….they took to Raya so well.”

“Of course, they did.” He sounds like he can’t understand why she would think or anticipate anything different. “Like mother, like daughter.” The back of his hand brushes against her cheek. “What’s not to love?” Fluttering in her stomach is accompanied by the blush on her face when he leans over and kisses her forehead. “I’m glad you had a good time.”

“I did,” she reassures, holding onto him. “Learned a lot about you as well.”

His brow lifts. “Oh?” She nods, giggling when he starts to scowl. “What the fuck did Ava tell you?”

Her giggling deepens. They have such an adorable relationship to her. “Nothing bad.” Nothing serious anyway. “I just….why didn’t you tell me you’re a fighter?”

There’s a shift in Roman’s disposition. It’s felt in the way he almost tenses against her. “What?”

“At the Warehouse?” He relaxes just a bit, though the initial reaction slightly confuses her. “I mean, it makes sense….” Solana drinks him in, imagining the clothes were non-existent, leaving him in the buff. Nothing but thick, strong muscles accentuating his big body. God, she needs him, and she needs him now. “But, I don’t know….maybe I could come see you fight sometime.” Her daughter too young to be exposed to that sort of thing, so Solana would definitely have to have either her mom, sister, or Kayden keep Raya, but with enough time given in advance, that could be arranged. 

Except, that doesn’t seem to be anything on Roman’s radar. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Solana scoffs quietly. “Why?” Wiggling her brows, she dances her finger down his solid chest. “Might be kinda sexy to see you kicking ass.”

Far from a violent person, there’s something appealing and alluring about imagining Roman in the ring fighting. Dominant. Leading. 

Sexy.

His scowl remains as he shakes his head. “That’s….that’s a different part of my life.” At that, her smile dims. “I want to keep that separate from you. Separate from Raya.”

By the end, she’s frowning. Everyone is allowed to have their thing, but she’s not fully understanding just what about this would make him want to keep it away from her and Raya.

“Roman—”

“Baby.” It’s disgusting how her thighs clamp together just from a single word. “You know I could talk to you all night, but that’s not what I came over here to do.”

It’s redirection, or maybe just avoidance. Regardless, it’s effective, nonetheless. 

Solana lowers her gaze and eyes, licking her lips. “So….” Slipping her hand past the waistband of his sweats and boxers. Solana gasps at the same time his jaw clenches when she attempts to wrap her hand around him, fingers unable to touch from his girth. “What did you come to do?”

—---------

“Oh, shit.”

The minute it leaves her mouth, she knows she’s fucked up. 

And, it’s less what was said and more how loud it was. 

He’d already warned her twice before about her volume, something she already knows needs to be monitored given her daughter who sleeps peacefully in the room over. The last thing anyone wants is for Raya's sleep to be disturbed, but none more than Solana and the man both behind and under her.

“Hmm,” he hums. Solana pants, doing her best to prepare for whatever awaits but never once stopping the gyrating of her hips. It’s addictive and sinfully delicious the stretch of his massive dick inside of her. How overwhelmingly good it feels to have him so deep, touching and hitting against her G-spot. His lap is nothing but a resting place for her juices that have to have that beach towel soaked. Understandable given this has to be the third round. Maybe fourth. 

Truth be told, she always loses count after the first. Its strength always too discombobulating for her to be tracking anything. 

“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” He asks in a dangerously calm voice as she transitions to bouncing on top of that God-tier dick. Roman trails his lips against her temple, one hand going to and squeezing her left breast. “Answer the question, Solana.”

Her “answer” is a moan and a ‘fuck’ she has to bite back and keep within as he presses the rose even closer to her clit. How she’s not screaming is a mystery to her, because he must have adjusted the setting. 

It’s never felt like this.

“I’m sorry,” she cries, trying to push the rose away, the overstimulation becoming too much. “Please, Ro—”

“But, you weren’t a good girl, were you?” His deep voice is both irritating and alluring and has her juices continuing to leak out of her stuffed pussy. "You didn't listen." His dick is suffocating and unforgiving, completely consuming and squeezing every inch out of her tight hole. “So, why should I help you?”

“You’re—fuck you.”

His chuckle reverberates against her as he moves to play with her nipple. “But, that’s what I’m doing, sweetheart.”

A truth she can’t deny unlike the burning of her thighs from having been in this position far too long. 

He’s sitting and propped up against her headboard. She’s straddling him, her back into his front, her legs spread on either side of him as she leans back, continuing to ride him. But, that’s not enough for Roman. The basics are never enough for him. He has to take it a step further, and this time, it comes in the form of using her rose on her clit while she bounces atop his lap. 

Again, too much.

He starts kissing along her shoulder, praising her endurance that comes from fuck knows where. She should be completely immobilized at this point. “And, you do such a good job for me.” Her eyes flutter shut, Solana suppressing another scream as he once again moves that damn rose even closer into her clit, deepening its impact, all while he continues to play with her titties. “Perfect lil’ thing….”

“Roman, I can’t—” She stops, her movements slowing, the sensations too immense. “I’m gonna–ahh!” She reaches for his wrist, trying to pull that damn rose away from her. Solana feels like she’s seconds away from borderline sobbing. “Roman, stop.”

“Is that really what you want?” No. It’s not what she wants, and he knows it. He knows her, knows her body, her limitations, when she’s at her breaking point. Has learned her all too well. “Naw….that’s not what you want.” She can practically see the smug ass grin on his handsome face as he continues to use that evil ass toy to torture her. “You love when I do this shit. Stretch this pussy until you can’t take it anymore. Make you all dumb, fucked out, and crying over my dick.”

The strangest, most non-existent sex sound leaves her mouth when he uses one of those big ass hands of his to cup both her breasts together in a way that has her head craned back, laid on his shoulder. 

Mouth ajar from the erotic of it all, he steals a kiss, dropping her heavy breast to angle her head so he can claim her mouth the same way he’s claimed her body. It’s uncomfortable in a sense, the contortionist approved position he’s finessed her into, but it’s a position that has her feeling pleasure in every inch and orifice of her body. 

It’s a nasty, spit swapping, tongue dancing kiss that has her body on fire, her orgasm pushing closer and closer to the surface. And, he knows it. It’s why he, in what feels like mere seconds, has ditched the rose and their current position for something else. 

His favorite.

“Shit, Roman.” It takes a godly amount of self-control for her to be mindful of her volume as he rocks into her with his massive dick. “Yes, baby, fuck me. Just like that. Oh.” On all fours, her ass tooted up and back arched perfectly—just how he likes—she struggles to keep from screaming, alerting the whole damn building just how good he’s fucking her. 

Roman’s hands dig into her hips, likely to leave some sort of marking or bruise come morning. Not that she cares. It won’t be the first time. 

She bites down hard on her bottom lip when his hand comes down on her ass. “Like that, sweetheart?”

All she can do is nod furiously, tears spilling over from how he drives into her, heavy balls slapping against her ass, her wetness smeared and leaking all over him and her. It’s almost concerning how wet he makes her pussy. Sometimes without even having to touch her. 

The man is dangerous. 

She gasps when he fists her hair, yanking her head back to smash his lips onto her while his hips grind that equally dangerous dick into her tight ass cunt.

“Could play in this pussy all day,” he murmurs, Solana’s mouth dropping open against him, her will crumbling and body failing on her. It’s all too much. 

“Please,” she sobs. 

His scoff is cruel. So cruel. “Please what?”

Fuck him. “I–I need to—fuck—please let me come.” Solana is seeing white, blue, red, and every fucking color of the rainbow at this point. Any attempts to pry his hand off her hip, to slow down the almost animalistic way he’s fucking her is null and void. 

His hips continue to snap into her, furthering her descent into insanity. “You wanna come?”

“Yes,” she cries, feeling it coming, feeling that overwhelming, inescapable sensation he wants to prolong. Wants to play God with, and in this moment, he might as well be God. Playing with her livelihood like the deity he looks like. 

Roman makes a tsk tsk tsk sound, pulling her up so her back is pressed against his front as he continues to fuck up and into her. “You think you deserve it?” Yes. No. Maybe. Shit, she doesn’t know. She just knows she needs it. “You didn’t listen to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Begs. She begs, because at this point, she’ll do whatever it takes to end this. It’s perfect and wonderful and every other great adjective, but she needs this release. “I’m sorry—”

Solana groans quietly when he moves one hand to her breast, squeezing. “Sorry, what?”

He slams into her with a brutally delicious thrust, perfectly hitting her G-spot. “Shit,” she pants, desperately grasping at his muscled forearm. “I’m sorry, papi.”

Roman’s hum of approval is the best thing she’s heard in some time. If ever. “Good girl.” Her cunt flutters around his impossible girth. “Now come for papi.”

Solana groans, hating and loving the way he controls her. Controls her body. Controls her orgasm as she comes, almost on command. It arrives, smashing and crashing into her, her entire body is shaking, trembling, damn near convulsing.

Roman kisses her, tongue and all, only breaking said kiss to continue to talk his shit, continuing to taunt and mock her as his dick drives her to sexual delirium. 

All the while he just praises her.

It’s enough to make her come all over again. 

He comes shortly after, shooting and emptying every drop of his load into her puffy, swollen pussy. 

It doesn’t bother her. Not the first time, and it most likely won’t be the last. 

Solana is studious and borderline anal with tracking her cycle and ovulation dates. She’s all but mastered the art of having this fine ass man come inside of during “safe” periods and pulling out during those “risky” periods. 

Shortly after both of them find orgasmic relief, she lays on top of him, completely spent, unable to move. The feel of him softening inside of her conjoined with lingering tremors from the aftermath of her unholy experience soothing almost. 

Eventually, Roman does all the work, carefully untangling her body from his while expertly removing the soaked towel so she’s laying on the sheets that are only partially damp from their…..activities. 

I need to just subscribe and save sheets at this point. 

Still trying to reel her senses back in after all five being fucked out of her, she’s somewhat paying attention when he gets up from the bed and walks into her bathroom. Solana partially blocks out the next few minutes, already knowing what to expect. Roman, ever the gentleman after spewing absolute filth and flipping her every which way, returns with a towel to clean her up after cleaning himself first. He tosses said towels into the hamper in her bathroom before climbing back into her bed that’s much too small for the monolithic man that he is. But, they make it work.

And, then there comes one of her favorite parts. The way he pulls her body into his, kissing her forehead, his finger trailing down her bare arm. 

Solana snuggles close to him. For a man made of nothing but hard, rippling muscles, he’s so comfortable. 

“If I’m late for work tomorrow, I’m blaming you.”

It wouldn’t be the first time late night, bomb ass, life-changing sex/dick would have her pushing for time. To be fair, she’s never actually been late for work, just right around the corner from it. Still, much too close for her liking. 

Roman chuckles. “I’ll compensate you.”

Solana snorts, her hand to his chest, tracing his tattoos. “That’s the problem. You compensate me too much.”

Honestly. For someone who’s never been a very sexual person, this man and his girthy nine inches have changed all that in a matter of a little over a month.

Magic. 

He’s fucking magic.

He’s also raw. Roman’s hand behind her back slips to her ass, giving a light squeeze. “Can’t help it. That pussy is fucking addictive.”

Slapping his arm, Solana hides her smile and blush in the safe confines of his strong chest. “Shut up.” His quiet laughter fills the room, dark, only illuminated by the dim lamp she has sitting on her nightstand. 

Her eyes shut, exhaustion from all that fucking catching up to her. 

“You almost woke her up again.” 

Solana peers up at him. That’s certainly the last thing she expected to hear him say, though it’s fair given the ‘again.’

“I’m not trying to,” she murmurs. “It’s….hard.”

Very much so. Hence why he’s right for using the word again to end his sentence. Soraya has already woken up once during her mother’s…..adult time, though a part of Solana wonders just how much it was the noise that disturbed her baby girl and more Raya just being a baby who randomly woke up in the middle of the night.

But, then there’s also the noise complaint she got from one of her neighbors, and that…..that Solana can’t justify. 

“I’ll try to be more quiet,” she agrees. A difficult task, for sure, but an important one, nonetheless.

He’s quiet at first. “Her room is so close to yours here,” he says, Solana partially unsure how to respond to that. It’s not like she can change the size of her apartment. “The guest room at my place is down the hall from my room….”

She looks up, still unsure just where he’s going. “Okay….”

He shrugs, continuing to trail his finger down her arm. “I already have the furniture….”

Solana stills. 

Oh.

A nervous bundle settles in her stomach. “Roman—”

“I’m not asking you to move in.” This time. He’s not asking this time. “I’m just saying it’d probably be easier for us to have sex at my place, because it’s bigger, and we don’t have to worry about the noise disturbing her or your annoying ass neighbors.”

She starts to protest the description of her neighbors as annoying but ultimately decides against it. Not relevant. Not relevant at all.

“Roman, we mostly have sex at night….”

“Exactly,” he agrees, moving his hand to her face, thumb brushing against her bottom lip. “And, if you let me set up the room for her, then you can just spend the night.”

“Roman—”

“Just think about it,” he interrupts, already knowing her initial answer is no.

Maybe.

Because Solana can acknowledge that there’s most definitely a difference between moving in together and the occasional sleepover. One is commitment. One is ease. 

Still, thinking about it feels like the best option in this moment. “Okay,” she agrees, laying back down against his chest. “I will.” 

“Good,” he sounds, hand over hers. Solana closes her eyes once more, ready and willing to come succumb to any sleep she can get in the few hours before she has to be up and ready to tackle yet another long ass day. “Can I ask you something?” 

Solana sighs. She’s so tired. Normally, pillow talk is great, but given she works both jobs and has school tomorrow, she’d much prefer to try to get some sleep. Still, talking with Roman is never something she regrets, so….small sacrifices. 

“Sure,” she finally answers.

More hesitation as he grabs her hand, thumb tracing the scar on her palm. “At the get-together earlier, the whole social media thing….what was that about?”

Solana stills, and she hates that her body is pressed against his, because he has to feel it. Has to know what it means. Regardless, she does her best to play it off. 

“I just….I’m very protective of Raya. I don’t want my or her face online. Too many weirdos out there.”

One in particular.

“I get that,” he responds, his voice on the edge of something else. Suspicion. “But, your reaction was…..you seemed nervous.” 

“I mean, I was nervous. I was meeting your friends and family—”

He sighs. “Solana—”

“I want you to come to Raya’s birthday party.”

It’s not exactly how she planned to ask, well, tell him now, nor can she deny it’s an intentional detour for avoidance. But, a truthful thing nonetheless. 

They’re both looking at each other, so she can see the surprise shift into his pretty brown eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she replies. Solana moves her hand up his chest. “I mean, I’ve met your close friends and family. Feels like it’s only right and time you meet mine.” A truthful thing. Only a little over a month into meeting and knowing, dating, Solana feels ready to take that next step of having him at least meet the people closest to her. 

Adding with a small smile, she points out, “plus, I feel like Raya would want you there anyway.”

That’s a given. If there’s one thing Solana knows for certain and can’t deny, it’s that Raya adores her some Roman.

And, if she allows herself to be really honest…..it sometimes feels like Roman feels the same way about Raya. 

“If you can, of course.” Because Solana knows despite how flexible he can be with their meet-ups and dates, he’s still a businessman. A busy businessman. “If you can’t, that’s fi—”

“I’ll be there,” he interrupts, his voice firm. Something tells her come hell or high water, he’ll make it.

“Good,” she murmurs. Solana leans up to kiss him, smiling into said kiss, their lips lingering on each other before she lays her head back down on top of him. “Goodnight, Roman.”

There’s no hesitation this time as he kisses the top of her head. “Goodnight, Solana.” 

Solana releases a sigh of content, pleased to allow sleep to capture her, but while she rests peacefully on top of the man who comes to mean more and more to her as the days past, Roman is restless.

He’s not stupid. 

He knows damn well Solana was trying to change the subject.

Just like he knows she’s hiding something. Roman takes her hand, gently brushing over the scar that mars her palm. He thinks back to the background check he had Paul run on her. Nothing came out of it. Girl’s record was as clean as could be. 

The only thing, however, he now wonders about was her brief move to California a few years back. She was only there for a couple of months before moving back to Florida. He’d always figured it was because she was homesick or just found it to not be what she was hoping or expecting. 

Now….

Now, he’s wondering if it was more. 

If there’s a story there. A story she seems determined to keep to herself. 

It has him torn. Roman is a man who likes to know things. All the things. He hates being out of the loop with shit, but even more, he hates being lied to. 

Period.

Granted, it’s hard for him to be upset with her, and he’s not, but he does wish she would feel comfortable enough to tell him whatever it is she’s hiding. 

And, then he’s reminded that if he wants her to be honest with him, then he needs to be honest with her, and truth be told, Roman isn’t ready for that.

He’s not ready for that fallout. 

Not ready to lose her.

Or Raya.

He’ll tell her. He knows he has to, but in due time. When he can explain the why to her in a way that won’t feel as jarring. 

As unforgiveable.

Until then, he’ll enjoy the now. 

--------

welp. this is bound to end well, right?

[beardedhotchner]

El Tango De Roxanne

(Part 2 of Spencer Reid x Prostitute!Reader)

Part 1

A/N: Enjoy part 2, Amia xxx

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Prostitute!Reader

Summary: Songfic inspired by El Tango de Roxanne - Reader is a prostitute and worries her pimp will kill Spencer if he knows they've fallen in love. Reader has to push Spencer away, but he's too busy getting upset that she might be having sex with someone other than him.

T/W: Prostitution, trafficking (?), physical abuse, sexual abuse, reclamation of Reader's body(she reclaims herself and her wants), arrested, interrogation, Morgan is kinda an ass, so is JJ, dad!hotch vibes, arguing, swearing, kinda OOC Spencer

To say you were angry would be the fucking understatement of the year.

Your body stiff and tense. You were seething. A tall man in a suit (Hotch? You vaguely remember Spencer telling you about his steely faced boss) approached with him. You shot daggers to your boyfriend, holding out your wrists to the other man. He looked at you in confusion, bypassing you for Callie, who still clung to you even with the betrayal in her eyes.

"Camille Bakster, you are under arrest for solicitation..." You don't listen to her miranda rights, holding back tears as the 16 year old is taken from your side. Spencer reaches out for you and you hold out your wrists.

"Arrest me." He looks at you in horror and confusion, your eyes filled with a numbness he hoped never to see again. "Reg is gonna kill me if he finds out I wasn't arrested with them. And that you know me by name. So arrest me. Even if it's fake. Do something." Spencer nods in understanding, pulling his cuffs out he begins to 'arrest you', taking you in the back of his SUV. A bald man sits in front with him, a black haired woman in the back with you. The air inside warm and stuffy with the tinted windows, the leather seat hot on your legs.

"Kid. You should've told us-" The man says to Spencer. You watch your boyfriend shake his head and you interrupt him.

"He didn't have to tell you nothing. I don't do anything." It was true. You hadn't for a while now, Spencer always booked the nights you're supposed to work for Reggie. So you hadn't technically been soliciting since you met in that hotel elevator all those months ago.

The bald man laughs, "yeah you just happen to be walking around with a known pimp and a girl who's obviously a prostitute, while your dressed like that-" Its Spencer's turn to talk now.

"Don't fucking talk about her like that." His voice was cold. You hadn't heard him swear outside of the bedroom before. Even while mad at him, you couldn't deny it drove you wild. You fought the urge to squeeze your thighs together in a bid for relief. "You don't ever get to accused her of that. Or talk to her like that, Morgan." The other man, Morgan as Spencer called him, nods, seemly accepting this.

"Okay, man. I apologise." You don't bother to glance at the woman next to you. You can tell she's staring. And she's definitely shocked when Spencer snaps, and again, when you ask for the cuffs to come off.

"Reg can't see me in here. Can I get them off?" Spencer nods to the woman and you see her hesitate before her unlocks them. As soon as they're off, your rub at the red indents on your skin. "Fucking hate being cuffed or tied up." You explain, feeling the need to for some reason, as if Spencer's team (his found family) were entitled to it.

The woman smiles at you, almost sympathetically, "So what do you do? If you don't mind me asking?"

"Emily-" Spencer starts, pinching the bridge of his nose. You're quick to lean forward, placing a hand on his shoulder to calm him. Even when mad, you didn't like seeing him upset. It tore you up inside.

"I'm Reg's girl. His Angel." You clarify, "He took me in when I was younger, and I was a hooker. For a while. It was all I knew. But I met Spencer. And I don't anymore. Instead, I sit in empty hotel rooms waiting for a client that I know won't show, because I don't solicit anymore." Spencer's hand was resting on yours as you continued to rub his shoulder gently. Your other hand picks at a thread on your red dress, your eyes darting up to Emily's.

"How do you know they won't show up?" Morgan presses, his hands tightening on the wheel as we follow the convoy of cars to the station.

"Because they don't." You weren't going to snitch on your's and Spencer's secret meetings. Especially as you weren't sure where the FBI stood on a man paying his girlfriend's pimp off to stop his girlfriend from having to prostitute herself. Spencer relaxes under your touch and you knew you had made the right decision not to drop him in it.

A phone rings and when Morgan answers it, reminding whoever called that they were on speaker, a high pitched voice comes across the speakers, "Spencer Reid. When were you gonna tell us you had a gorgeous girlfriend? She looks stunning in that red dress!-"

"Garcia." Emily chuckles, "his girlfriend can hear you." You call out a 'hi' earning yourself a suspicious look from Morgan in the rear view mirror.

The voice of Garcia fills the cab again, "Oops well I'm not lying. You look great, honey!" Spencer shakes under your hand and you know he's holding back a laugh. "Hotch wants them all separated. Unfortunately, as well as Reginald and his team, both the girls are gonna need to be interrogated too-"

"No." You say loudly. "Callie doesn't deserve this. She's barely 16. Let her go home. She has a kid. She is a kid!" Your argument seems to fall on deaf ears as they continue to talk around you.

"Hotch wants her kept away from Camille. He's worried there's a conflict of interest -" Garcia is cut off once again, this time by Morgan.

"No kidding there's a conflict of interest. Reid's girl seems to think Camille is a saint-" He glances at you in the mirror once again.

"I don't think she's a saint. She's a kid who's been through too much-"

"Doesn't matter. She's still a hooker-"

"Morgan shut your mouth-" that was Spencer. He snaps this as you shout:

"Who the fuck do you think you are? You think you know us!?"

"No. But I think you've gotta be involved some bad shit for Pretty Boy to hide you-"

"I didn't hide her. I just didn't vocalise it-"

"Fuck you!"

Emily is the one to cut in again, Garcia's voice being lost under the overlapped voices, "Enough. You're all bickering like children."

"Like Callie is." You bite back, as Emily snaps the cuffs on you again. You jolt at the coldness before realising you had arrived at the police station. "Spence-" You start but he ignores you, stepping out of the car, pulling you out the back.

You could lie and say you didn't like being manhandled by him, even in this situation. But there would be no point.

His grip on your bicep tightens as he drags you pass Reg's boys, their eyes raking over you as always. He stops to talk to Hotch as you walk past a holding cell. Reg's hand grabs at your arm through the bars, "What the fuck, Angel?" He asks, his voice oddly calm for the rage brewing in his eyes.

"I dunno, Reg..." You whimper, playing into Reg's idea of you. The more submissive you are, the more dumb he'll think you are. A good failsafe for getting out of trouble with him. "Please tell me you have a plan..." It seems to work as the rage slightly dampens as he looks at you.

"I'll get us out. Fuck the rest of them." He mutters, squeezing your hand in what was supposed to be a reassuring gesture. But it just confirms the pit in your stomach. He wants to leave his boys and Callie to the mercy of the FBI, he only wants you and him to get out unscathed. And he expects you to play along with his story too. Fuck.

"Hey." Snaps Morgan, pushing Reg back, "Get her in the room down the hall." He orders Spencer, who is quick to oblige, dragging you with him.

Okay. You definitely can't lie and say you're not turned on by his manhandling.

His grip loosens immediately after the door shuts behind you. He whispers soft apologies as he undos your cuffs. Attaching them to his belt with one hand, the other comes to rub your wrists gently. Soon, both hands are soothing the marks as he mutters sweet nothings to you.

"My pretty girl... I'm so sorry..." he starts, your heart squeezes at the sad look on his face, his brown doe eyes filled with pain.

"Spence, it's okay." You promise, moving your arms around his neck, finally getting to hold the man you love. His arms snake around your waist, happy to have you with him again. You don't stay like that for very long though. As the door opens again, both your arms drop to your sides. Spencer's hand lingers on the small of your back as a greying man and a small blonde enter.

"Spence-" The blonde starts, "you can't be in here while we talk to her." You pull a face. You don't like others calling him 'Spence'. That was something only you did. It didn't help that this woman was obviously gorgeous and most likely intelligent. However, Spencer's eyes don't leave you as he replies clipped.

"That's fine, JJ." He pulls you into a gentle kiss, his hair tickling your face as his soft plump lips capture yours. You hear a cough, but ignore it as Spencer's tongue slips into your mouth, his hands grabbing at your hips. Your own arms around his frame, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other threaded in his hair. You gently bitting his lip and he swallows a moan, pulling back. His face is flushed, his lips red and swollen. You can't help but look smug at your masterpiece. "Play nice. Answer properly." He advises. His voice drops to a whisper as he presses his lips against your temple, "You're mine, im not going to let anything happen to you."

You nod, kissing his cheek gently, squeezing his hands before letting him leave. You turn back to the other two, JJ and the grey haired man.

"Agent Rossi." He introduces himself as gesturing to the seat opposite him as he takes his own. You don't sit. Instead, stay standing where Spencer left you.

"I'm Agent Jareau." JJ says, you nod as if you already knew. She sits down, obviously sizing you up.

"You're the mom of Spencer's godsons." She looks almost shocked that you'd know that, but nods. Rossi, next to her, looks impressed.

"Yes, Spencer is the godfather of my sons." Her tone is short, as if she wasn't expecting Spencer to share so much information with his 'hooker'.

"I like your books." You say to Rossi, turning to face them both. "You're a good writer. You dumb it down for girls like me." You see Rossi's eyes narrow at that comment. He doesn't believe you're as dumb as you pretend. "Spencer reads them to me," you continue, "I can't read his copies as he's got so many notes in the margins, gets distracting and I can't focus."

"Can I ask you something?" Rossi asks, his hands clasped in front of him. He's reading into everything you say. It's a good thing you've been pretending to be someone all of your life... well... until you met Spence. You nod, taking the seat finally. "How did you meet Reid?"

You smirk, "Las Vegas. You guys were there for a case. My date spilt his drink on my dress at the bar, I left him at the table to go back upstairs and change." You eyes flicker to the mirror across one side of the wall, you assume Spencer is there and smile softly. "White dress, top shelf scotch. Didn't fancy sitting in it all night. I ran into Spencer in the elevator-"

"He didn't mention meeting anyone." JJ cuts you off, crossing her arms defensively.

"-Because that was only the first time we met. You guys were there for a week." You explain, almost sharply. Turning back to face the pair, you carry on, "I literally ran into him. Knocking us to the floor. I apologised about thousand times over. He replied with something about the odds of happening... I was going to ask for his number but we already arrived at his floor before I could. I vowed to myself if I saw him again, I would ask."

Rossi nods, waiting for you to continue. He remembers that case. Spencer kept checking his phone over and over, a new habit for the young doctor. He was smiling to himself more and eager to leave for the hotel every night. That was when Rossi knew something had happened, something that made Spencer more... calm. He was happy. Seen. Reid had been in a great mood since then.

"The next day, he was rushing about with Hotch-" They look shocked that you know Aaron's nickname. "-that is the tall, dark guy in the suit? Agent Hotchner, yeah? Well, those two were rushing about and Spence hit me with a case file while he was explaining something. You know, cause he talks with his hands." You giggle at the memory, warmth flooding your chest. "He knelt down to pick up my bag and my stuff and handed him my phone number that I had written out on a napkin the night before. I held onto it incase I ran into him again. He texted like 5 minutes after that, apologising for his clumsiness. I saw him every day until you guys left, sometimes only from across the room. Once at breakfast, before you guys woke up. He brought me a ham and cheese crossiant. It was pretty damn good." I could picture the blush painted across Spencer's face behind that mirror.

"How come Spencer hasn't mentioned you?" JJ asks. She was starting to grate on you a little.

"Ask him. Probably the same reason I haven't told my friends about him." They both stare at you expectantly, "It's no one else's business what two consenting adults do. " You smirk, tapping your manicured nails against the desk, "Unless you want the details?"

Pressing people's buttons was easy, especially when they reveal them as quickly as JJ did. "Hmm?" You're in a stare off with her now, so you can't exactly stop yourself from the smart ass comment rising in your throat, "You wanna know how good Spencer fucks me? What makes him squirm? Or you wanna know my kinks? What makes me scream out his name-" JJ looks away, embarrassed, and Rossi catches your focus again.

"-No. You're right. We don't need to know what two consenting adults do..." He starts, "but Camille isn't an adult." That caught your attention and your eyes snap to Rossi. "She has a son, right? A 14 month old. He's adorable."

"Where is he?" You ask, your heart sinking at the mention of Noah. You had supported Callie through her entire pregnancy at Reg's demand, kept her safe and well-looked after. You looked after Noah as soon as he was born. Being one of the only girls without her own children, you helped Callie out a lot. You tried not to get invested, told yourself it was only because Reggie asked. But that small boy was like your own. He may have well been with the number of times Callie would disappear, and Reg ordered you to look after Noah. "Is he okay? He's not usually away from us both at the same time..."

"He's in the next room. He's okay. He was having trouble sleeping-" Your head snaps to the mirror, silently pleading with Spencer behind it.

"I don't care. Bring him to me, please?" You ask, the facade dropping, "Has he been fed? His last feed from me was... yesterday afternoon. Callie and I were in the hotel all night..." You shook your head, hiding the tears in your eyes.

The door beside you opened and your face lit up at the sight of Noah in his car seat. You stood up, crossing the room quickly. Rossi assures you Noah was fed and he was checked over by a nurse, too.

Unclasping his seat belt, taking him into your arms, you cooed to him, "Hi baby boy." You bouncing gently as he opened his eyes at the sound of your voice, his small smile lightening your heart. You barely look to see who brought him in to you. Holding your hand to his back as you hold him on your hip, the small boy's head rests on your collarbone the way he loves. "There you go, baby." You praise him, smiling widely at him relaxing in your hold.

Rossi and JJ nod to Spencer as they leave the room, you were till to entranced by the toddler to notice your boyfriend hovering nearby. They both saw your facade drop as soon as the boy was mentioned.

"He's just as cute as you said." He mutters beside you. You finally tear your eyes away from Noah, finding Spencer's brown ones watching your face, your reactions. He was so attuned to you already. You were sure he never really needed to watch you the way he did. But Spencer was adamant that he loved watching you no matter what. Another reason your heart soared around him: he was so thoughtful and generous in his love.

"Almost as cute as my other favourite guy." You muse, leaning into Spencer's chest, his arms encircling you both. Small murmurs pass between you both and to Noah. You stayed like that for a while, the small clock on the wall indicating it had been well over an hour. It felt right. Being here like this with Spencer. Maybe.... maybe this is the future you want-

Your inner thoughts are stopped by the entrance of Hotch. Stern look on his face, he reaches for Noah. You turn away from him, demanding an explanation with your glare. Noah fusses gently before settling once again, his eyes closing.

"Camille wants to see him-" He begins to explain. You try to school your features but you needed to see her. "She's in the next room. Reginald is down the hall, his men are in a holding cell around the back-"

"I'll take him to her-" You start, cut off by Spencer's hand on your arm.

"No, love. She can't know that you're not on their side." You pull a face at that. You weren't against Callie and resented that they thought they had your alliegence just because of Spencer. They were right of course. You'd stick by Spencer like he does for you. But that didn't mean you liked these people. Nor trust them with Noah. "Hotch has a son. He knows how to hold a kid. Noah will be okay with him, I promise."

Spencer wasn't one to use the word 'promise' lightly. Even if you didn't trust him with your entire being anyway, that would've been enough to make you cave.

"Fine." You let Hotch take the small boy into his arms. The practised ease of the motion lifts some of the weight on your chest. Watching as Noah stares at this newcomer intrigued before turning back to look for you. Giving the boy a tiny wave, you attempted a reassuring smile.

The boy waves back, smiling widely toward you. It quickly drops when he realises you aren't following him. You hear his cries for you, soft whimpers of "Mama!" You never encouraged him calling you that, not intentionally. Callie silently seethed with rage when it happened the first time. Reg was the opposite. Almost glowing. You couldn't help but react the same, smiling everytime he called you it.

He disappears from your sight with Hotch and you can't help but hold on a bit tighter to Spencer. A small choking sound comes from your throat and Spencer presses a kiss to your forehead. Soft reassurances fill your ears as you sink to the ground. Spencer follows, his arms steady and solid around you.

"I've got you." He promises.

You could help but wonder if that was going to be your downfall.

You fucking hoped not.

[flooferland]

I find kernel level anti-cheats and generally client-side anticheats like BattleEye, EasyAntiCheat, and Vanguard really stupid, because they really aren't stopping cheaters, all they're doing is discouraging them while sacrificing performance, user privacy, Linux support, and generally risking accidentally banning casual user.

I started developing my own anti-cheat for a game and it hit me, you should never have any anti-cheat on the client. All anti-cheats should be server-side, because to this day players are still figuring out ways to bypass these anti-cheats, like using hardware-level exploits which are physically impossible to detect unless they start serving anti-cheats as AI-powered robots that are physically in your room looking at you while you game.

Think about it.. Wall hacks let you see other players through walls, easy solution right? Just don't tell the client where the other players are, do server-side calculations for occlusion, you already have a system for it to do it client-side since it saves performance not to render players that aren't on the screen. But nope, because it would slightly increase server costs, even if it makes cheating impossible to perform.

The number one rule in multiplayer is "NEVER TRUST THE CLIENT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE", and these huge game dev corporations are consistently not following it, then complain about having cheaters while going "Oh, it must be the Linux users!!! Not our flawed approach at anti-cheat!!!"

[eldritch-spouse]

Ok idk if I'm onto something or if this is something that's already been explored but imagine this:

You are a spy. A rather good one. You're well known and sought after both for your abilities, but also your ability at blending in and being "overlooked." You're so meek and underwhelming looking that most people don't tend to look twice at you.

And it works out perfectly, because then no one ever sees you coming.

No one, not even your clients, have ever seen your face, so you have anonymity on your side, and an uncanny ability to sneak into places and "blend in," whether you disguise yourself as a staff member, or as a bumbling bystander. No one sees you. No one knows you. To everyone, you're a ghost.

Anyway, you are hired to gather intel and plant some evidence on some high ranking pride demon. Ok, whatever. No big deal. You've done this before plenty of times, and you've had plenty of experience hiding both your scent and your expertise so that not even a high ranking demon will be suspicious of you.

You infiltrate one of the galas that they're hosting at their mansion (an event so posh and full of people with sticks up their asses that you almost feel out of place. Almost). Disguised as one of the caterers, you work the event, waiting for an opportunity. Your opportunity.

You slip away at the right time, make your way through the hallways in the massive structure, eyes already scanning for possible escape routes in case things went south.

Little did you know, while you were working, you somehow caught someone's eye. You, who have always been known as plain and simple looking, easy to overlook and ignore, caught the eye of a certain pride demon contracted as security to guard both the event and the high-ranker.

He notices you. Keeps noticing you, and almost neglects his own duties to hover in your general radius, feeling an indescribable pull and fixation on you.

It gets stronger when you notice him hovering, and you smile at him. Offer him first dibs of the untouched hors d'oeuvres platter you're carrying. You only speak a few words to him, asking if there was anything you could bring or help him with. That you hope he has a nice night.

He can't explain it. Something about you is intriguing, even if you are just a lowly food service worker. He could mold you into someone worthy of him, though. Turn you into the very essence of grace and elegance. Or, he could just keep you at his apartment, happy and waiting for him to return so he could...

Wait.

He realizes that you're slinking away, face carefully neutral but eyes sharp. Focused.

No one even seems to notice you're gone. He didn't even realize you were leaving until you were halfway down the back hall.

Without catching unneeded (and frankly, unwanted) attention from his client and his entourage, Mervin follows. He trails a healthy distance away, ensuring you can't see him, hear him, notice him.

You're probably just going to the bathroom, and he's probably being a bit of a creep right? That thought sticks in his mind. But I mean, he's got a job to do, so he might as well make sure you won't stick your nose where it doesn't belong. And, even if you're going to the bathroom what's the harm in waiting for you outside? You should be grateful he's even giving you the time of day.

Mervin's already planning what he'll say, how he'll attempt to garner your attention and awe, how he'll justify following a girl to the restroom (and preserve his pride) when he realizes you just walked past the restroom.

Huh. He doesn't even want to think about the possibility that maybe you are the reason he was hired in the first place. That you are the person he's supposed to annihilate.

Soft, pretty, unsuspecting you.

Well, either way, maybe he could put a positive spin on this.

As you find the room you've been looking for, a locked and secure office that you easily bypass (so quickly and efficiently that even Mervin is caught off guard), Mervin thinks to himself, smirking as he readies his sai.

He could beat you in a fight. Most definitely. And after that, you couldn't stop him from doing (and taking) what he wanted. After all, you're not even supposed to be here, and he really is the lesser evil in this scenario.

Perhaps you'll even thank him.

No, I don't think we've ever had a scenario like that, mostly because up until now, the dynamic with Mervin has relied on reader not having much insight regarding the world of calculated assassinations and spying.

This is an interesting concept because it definitely sparks a competitive side in Mervin. Your cards would have to be played very right however, because even if you display skill, he'll still want to keep you safe and sound somewhere regardless. You'll wrestle with feelings of frustration and he'll attempt to instill a sense of inferiority in you to keep you right in his palm.

You can definitely try to prove him wrong and keep escaping. You're a spy, after all, can Mervin truly keep you locked away?

[devotedlykoneshots]

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL - HE'S THE BOSS

Genre : 🔞, minors DNI, smut, boss x employee plot, nothing too dirty

Word count: 4158

↓↓↓↓

You sigh as you work another late night at the museum, it was a good job as far as the pay but the hours were killing you. You were just doing your nightly sweep of the floor, making sure nothing was moved with a clipboard in hand as you checked off another area of the massive venue.

That was until you saw a door open and it was the control room, you cautiously walked towards the room.

"Hello! The museum is closed!"you called out before a figure emerged from the room, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"You can't be in there, we're closed and the cops are on their way" you tell him, it was a lie.

"Do you know who I am?"he asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

"Is that supposed to mean something? You need to go home, we're closed"you couldn't believe how dense this person was being and your eyes widened as he let out a humorous laugh.

"W-why are you laughing?"you asked and he walked closer to you, you take a step back once he stands a little too close for your liking.

"Sweetheart, I own this museum"he said which only makes you burst out laughing at his pathetic lie.

"Right and I'm the long lost grandchild of queen Elizabeth, sir- I don't have time for these games"you joke back and he looks rather appalled at you accusing him of being a liar.

"I'm not playing any game"he said , looking as if you personally kicked his dog.

"Prove it"you challenged him and he laughs , this was the most absurd thing he'd have gone through in a long time.

"This is ridiculous"he shakes his head in disbelief, still reeling from the fact that you had no clue who he was.

"All you have to do is leave , the faster you leave the faster I can go home myself. Do you think I wanna be here at this hour at some museum for spoiled rich people? I have better things to do with my time"he had to admit that stung a bit but it was also kinda true.

"I have no reason to lie"he pleads, you were so stubborn but in your defense you thought you had caught a thief in the act and putting him on the spot.

Then again why would someone steal from the museum in a trench coat and no mask? A part of you started to panic the more his lie seemed to unravel to be the truth after all.

"You could be a thief, that's a very good reason to lie"you countered his claim of innocence still, unwilling to believe the man before you.

"Is the security system not working? And what about the backup security system?"he actually seemed a little worried? Well if he was actually the owner that would be understandable but he couldn't possibly be, right?

"How did you know about the backup-"he walked back to the control room and you were quick to follow him , raising a hand to stop him from touching anything but that was until you see he bypassed the security code.

"Backup security system online"he sighed as he heard the Ai voice and turned around, someone didn't turn on the backup security system before they left. He would have to deal with that tomorrow but right now, he was more focused on proving his status to you.

"Believe me now?"he asked as he turned around and you took a step back, your back hitting the wall.

"I- oh my god-"your eyes widened in horror as you realized the terrible mistakes you've been making for the past 20 minutes, you insulted his clients.

"Cat got your tongue?"he grinned and you bit your bottom lip as he takes a step forward, you have no where to go as you feel cornered in such a spacious room.

"You could be a very successful hacker"you blurted out and he raised his eyebrows at you , a laugh bubbling from his throat.

"Are you usually this stubborn?"he asked as he cocks his head to the side, maintaining eye contact.

"Only on special occasions"and he grins at this before straighting himself again.

"I think the words you're looking for is , I'm sorry boss for the inconvenience"he said and you looked down at your feet , shifting from one foot to another.

"I'm sorry boss for the inconvenience"you repeated his words and he takes another step forward, gaining your full attention.

"Louder"he demands and you bite your bottom lip before wetting your chapped lips with your tongue.

"I'm sorry boss-"you apologize again, louder this time.

"I'll take a tour around the venue and dinner on you of course"he smiled, the tables have definitely turned and he'd be so petty to admit that's why he stayed so long. He wanted to see the look on your face as you slowly realized just who it was that you were talking to and now your job laid in his hands.

"Why?"you ask , confused.

"Give me what I ask and you may keep your job that pays you oh so well , I'm sure you have better things to do with your time than search for another job at the moment as you say"not bothering to offer you an explanation, just another demand and rightfully he didn't owe you an explanation.

"I'm just a janitor-"you had no idea how to give a tour.

"Which means you should know every square inch of this establishment, am I correct?"he countered , dominance radiating from him almost making you shrink on the spot.

"Yes, sir"you answer and he's pleased to say the least.

"Good girl, shall we?"he asked and held out his arms , you link your arms together and walk out of the control room.

If anyone saw you right now they would assume you were a couple , if it wasn't for the uniform of course and you gave it your all really. He didn't seem too pleased as he corrected you everytime you would give him the wrong information but he didn't comment on it further.

------

"Where are we going to eat?"you asked him and he glanced at you, looking you up and down before focusing back on the road.

"Somewhere of your status"he said and your jaw dropped at the insinuating tone of his voice.

"Did you just call me broke?"you accused him yet again and he shrugged his shoulders this time.

"You said it, not me"he said and you scoffed, looking out of the window and scolding yourself for even thinking he wasn't so bad after all.

"Wow"you muttered, reminded why you have this hatred for celebrities.

"Can't be too broke if you have better things to do than be at work"he eventually says after a moment and you look at him, it was true that you still had money left to do whatever you wanted after paying your bills each month.

"In my defense I didn't know who you were and I'm sorry that's not what i meant"you apologized since he apologized? If that's what you want to call it.

"Oh yes it is but that's alright, no one on the face of this planet would rather be at work than out doing what makes them happy"he laughs before explaining, he was a lot more wise than you thought.

"We work because we have to not because we want to"he reminds you and you're reminded that maybe just maybe he might not be that bad after all.

He pulls up in the drive thru of a  Wendy's and looks over at you expectantly, you sigh and pull out your card as you hand it to him afterwards.

"What do you want to eat?"he asked and you take a deep breath before telling him your order.

"Double cheeseburger meal with added lettuce and cheese, you can also add a chocolate frosty and 2 loaded baked potatoes"you say and he looks at you as if you suddenly grew two heads.

"I also want a sprite"you added before looking at him , your eyebrows furrowed and he chuckles as he writes it down.

"Don't judge me"you defend yourself as you fold your arms, he shakes his head with a snort.

"I'm not I just- I'm not used to women eating so much in public my field"he explains and it makes sense , a lot of celebrities worry about their perfect image and often promote bad diets to younger people.

"I love food"you said , blurting out the first thing that comes to your mind.

"Me too"he agrees with you and both of you fall silent , he hands the cashier his own card and your jaw drops for the third time tonight.

"But-"you point a finger at him accusingly.

"What kind of man would I be if I actually let you pay but nice to see that you're trustworthy"he speaks and grabs his card from the cashier, pulling up to the next window to grab the food.

"You didn't have to do that"you tell him and he looks over at you.

"Too late"he shrugs and grabs the food, handing the food to you, pulling out of the drive thru and back onto the road.

"You never told me your name"you tell him and he glanced at you.

"That was intentional"he said and you snort.

"I thought you were quite upset that I didn't know who you were"you accused him and he laughs this time.

"Not upset just confused, this doesn't happen everyday"he gestured between the both of you and you nod your head in agreement.

"Then tell me your name"you insisted and he chuckles, you were a persistent little one.

"I will.... eventually, maybe once the night is over"he said and you looked at him in shock, the night wasn't over quite yet.

"You know some of us actually have to work tomorrow, I'm that someone"you tell him and he looks over at you before pulling into an abandoned parking lot , turning off the car and looking at you again.

"Take the day off"he says as if that was the most simplest thing in the world.

"I can't , I have bills that need to be paid"you tell him and you quite liked being able to spoil yourself after completing your adult duties.

"Then consider them paid"he said and your jaw dropped again.

"You can't be serious"yeah this definitely doesn't happen everyday.

"Are you saying no to free money?"he asked with a laugh and you run your fingers through your hair.

"I mean no but you don't have to do that"you tell him and he raises his eyebrows at you once again.

"Paying your rent so you can take a day off? Consider it a token of my gratitude for the tour"he said and you laughed , shaking your head.

"I had absolutely no idea what I was doing"you told him and he leaned his head on his seat as he stared at you , amusement evident on his face.

"Okay dinner then"he offered and you shook your head again.

"You just paid for dinner"you told him and he snorts at that.

"Okay then for keeping me entertained"he said and you bit your bottom lip.

"That was unintentional"you told and he laughs, grabbing the bag of food and giving you your meal for the night.

"I should probably take you home, you're probably exhausted"he said and you nodded, that part you couldn't deny.

"My car is still at the museum"you stressed and cover your face, he rests a hand on your shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

"I'll have someone come and drop it off tomorrow"he said and you looked over at him before reluctantly keying in your address in his gps system.

That's how you ended up in your current situation, your back pressed against the wall and very much so giving you deja Vu because after you made it to your apartment you turned around to stare at each other again.

"Have a good-"you didn't even notice you cut him off at first.

"Do you wanna come in?"you instantly blushed and he steps inside of your apartment, watching as you removed your shoes and put away your access card from work.

"Do you want something to drink? I have some alcohol"you offered him as he hung up his coat , his footsteps following you after he removed his shoes as well.

"Like what?"he asked and you looked through your cabinet, he tried so hard not to stare at your ass but he was still a man after all.

"Bourbon"you pulled out a bottle and he smiled at that, walking over to you and taking the bottle from you.

"I'll take a glass"he said and you immediately grabbed two wine glasses , he immediately pours you both a glass but he doesn't fill it up completely.

"Why a museum? I mean you still look very young I guess that's why I didn't believe you when you told me you owned the museum"you told him and he laughed softly, a stark contrast to his laugh from earlier.

"My mom was a collector, she loved antiques and preserving ancient things and when she passed my father built the museum to honor her"he explained after drowning his glass and rounding the island in your kitchen.

"I'm sorry"you said sadly, you felt for him and his father truly.

"Don't be , I think she's proud and smiling down on us everyday"he tells you as he sits his glass down in the sink.

"Any mother would be"you told him sincerely.

"I guess you're right"he chuckles and stares at you for a moment, his next question leaving his mouth before he could stop himself.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"you bite your bottom lip before shaking your head.

"No, it's either a hit or miss with most men these days"you answer him and he steps closer to you.

"I'm guessing it's been mostly misses in the past"he said and you nodded, taking another sip of your bourbon.

"You would be correct, what about you? No wife? No girlfriend?"you asked and he shakes his head as well.

"No, I have to be extra careful who I spend my time with because of my status and most times have been misses for me too"he explained, you never really thought about it like that. How celebrities put themselves at risk every time they interact with someone.

"Lucky us"you said and he grabs your glass from your hand , setting it on the counter next to the sink as your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"I'm going to be very blunt here and what you do with this information is your choice"he states and a part of you is panicking, a part of you is anticipating what he could possibly have to say.

"Uh....Okay"you give him the green light to confess.

"I want you , right here and right now"he said and your eyes widened, certainly not expecting that.

"You want me?"you asked dumbly, maybe you were interpreting things wrong because why on earth would someone like him want someone like you.

"Yes, Ms y/n" he confirmed what you already knew, your back pressed against the wall in the kitchen.

"You're my boss"you said and he cages you in with his arms, you bite your bottom lip again.

"You're off the clock"he counters.

"I also have work tomorrow"you said and he brings his hand to your face, his thumb caressing your cheek as he tilts your head up to stare at you better.

"I can think of a few ways to make you call out"he said and you blush again, looking away and biting your bottom lip.

"Kiss me"you say after a moment of silence, the both of you knew you would end up here the moment you invited him inside and now that you were here there was no going back.

His lips waste no time at all to connect with your lips and you drink him in completely, your lips and tongues tangled in a battle.

You lick into his mouth and he sucks on your tongue, his hands slide down and find their purchase on your ass, squeezing your flesh through the material of your work pants.

You moan onto his mouth and pull him closer by his shirt, he pulls away from your lips for some sir and slips his hands inside of your pants. He pushes the material over your ass before grabbing at your flesh again.

His lips leave your own and travels to your neck, licking and sucking on the skin there as he leaves a mark behind before he's pushing your underwear and pants down.

You step out of the sticky material and run your fingers through his hair, earning a groan from him at the tug as a smile takes over your face.

You kick your clothes to the side and tug on his shirt, slipping your hands underneath the nice material and feeling the smooth and defined skin underneath before you pull back to look at him.

"Take it off"is all you say as he kisses you again and he groans softly, reluctantly pulling away from the kiss to pull his shirt over his head and you bite your bottom lip at what you see.

Abs. So nice.

You don't hesitate to kiss and lick at his beautiful torso as you sink down onto your knees, licking and kissing his v-line.

"Come here"he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you up, kissing your lips again and lifting you up into his arms easily.

"Show off"you smiled against his lips and he laughs, sitting you on the counter as you use your fingers to work on getting him out of his jeans and underwear.

"Does this mean you're taking off of work tomorrow?"he asks once again and you bite your bottom lip.

"I can be persuaded"you tell him and he kisses your lips again, pushing his pants to the floor and stepping out of them.

"I can't wait anymore, I need to taste you"he said and pushes you down on your back , lifting your hips and licking your pussy softly.

A gasp leaves your lips as he hums softly and sucks your clit into his mouth, your back arching as you moan out loud and grip his hair.

"Fuck- why is your tongue so soft"you whimper as he sucks on your clit, your hips bucking against his mouth as you roll your hips.

"Feels good?"he asked with a grin and you look down at him with a lazy smile.

"So good"you bite your bottom lip and he blows air on your clit before sucking it back into his mouth, sucking harder and flicking his tongue faster.

He shows no mercy on you as his hands hold you still while his mouth works on you, you're unable to keep quiet and he certainly didn't want you to regardless.

The slap to your pussy each time you try to cover your mouth or bite your bottom lip was enough proof of that and judging by your heavy breaths he could tell you were close.

His eyes watch as your jaw hangs open and countless moans, whimpers and cries leave your lips.

"Gonna cum"you warned him and he pulls away much to your disappointment, pulling you off of the counter before he pulls out his cock from his boxers and turns you around.

He covers your mouth as he enters your pussy from behind slowly and your eyes roll to the back of your head, he starts off slowly thrusting into you.

You knew he had to have a nice cock and you were right, his cock was so nice. All of him was nice.

"You're so big"you whimper as soon as he removes his hand and he kisses your lips, pulling off your shirt and bra.

He grabs both of your arms as he speeds up the pace of his thrusts, hitting all the right spots and making your back arch as you moan loudly.

He uses a hand to cover your mouth and the other is placed over your tummy, he bites his bottom lip harshly at the way your pussy keeps sucking him right back in.

He pushes you forward against the counter and places a hand at your lower back , you hold onto the counter as he holds onto both of your hips and pulls you back onto his cock to match his thrusts.

"You're gonna make me cum already"your knuckles turning white from your grip on the counter as you squirm in his grasp from the force of his thrusts, it was almost as if he was trying to make sure you would be in no condition to go to work tomorrow.

"Cum on my cock angel"you gasp as a hand slides between your legs to rub circles on your clit, giving that extra stimulation that has your body curling in on itself as you cum.

Your body continues to twitch as he catches you before you could fall forward against the counter, pulling you back against his chest before guiding you towards your room slowly.

He brushes your hair away from your face once you're settled onto your bed, your hand wraps around his cock and you start to stroke his length.

"You're not tired yet?"he asked with a chuckle, bucking his hips into your hand and you kiss his lips for what felt like the tenth time tonight.

"I want you to cum too"you tell him and stroke his cock, moving slowly as you straddle his lap and line his tip up to your entrance.

You sink down on his cock slowly as your jaw drops once again but this time it was because of how deep he was.

"Holy shit"you take a deep breath and hide your face in his neck , he rubs your back soothingly and without a second thought he plants his feet on the bed and thrusts into you quickly.

"Ah!"you scream and hide your face in his neck, gripping the sheets beneath his head tightly.

"I know, fuck- you can take it , you're such a good girl"he whispers into your ear and kisses your lips again, you kick your feet as he grabs your hips and helps you bounce your ass on his cock.

The sound of skin slapping against skin and your muffled cries fill the room, you pull back and sit up on his lap as he continues to drive his cock into you.

"Fuck-!"you lift off his cock as you cum but he pulls you right back down , kissing your lips and thrusting into you again as he rolls you over onto your side.

"You staying home tomorrow?"he asked you again and you grip his hair tightly, overstimulation kicking in and you nodded.

"Yes, fuck- whatever you want"it was as if that was the magic word because he immediately pulls out of your spent pussy and strokes his cock, a deep mean leaving his lips as he runs his tip through your folds and painting your flesh with his cum.

His lips are back on yours as you both kiss back lazily, he pulls your body into his side and silence engulfs you both.

"Are you going to tell me your name now?"you asked him and he chuckles, you pull back enough to look at his face.

"Seungcheol"he finally tells you and you smile at him, kissing his lips once again and he cups your cheeks.

"I think I might be addicted to you now"his voice cuts through the silence and you bite your bottom lip.

"You're my boss, we shouldn't be doing this"you trace shapes on his chest as guilt rushes through your body, the gravity of the situation just now hitting you.

You just had sex with your boss.

"I'm the boss remember, I make the rules and the first rule is kiss me"his thumb strokes your cheek and you smile, shaking your head.

"Right now"he nods and pulls you down for another kiss, tongues clashing once again.

The night was still young and whether you knew it or not seungcheol still had a few more rounds left in him for the night.

It's not like you would be going to work in the morning regardless, he has you all to himself for the next 24 hours.

[chaisshitposts]

𝐔𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

What are code words?

According to Oxford Languages, code words are, "a word used for secrecy or convenience instead of the usual name for something." And the example sentence used beneath the definition is, "secret projects were identified by special code words." I briefly mentioned code words (also can be referred to as switch words) in a recent post where I discuss the importance of a manifestation foundation and how to create one.

How do code words work?

Code words are cues that mean something without explicitly giving details. One would automatically connect the code word to whatever definition that's been assigned to it. A code word can also be a phrase, or a trigger for those who know what the code word means. Sometimes hypnotherapists even use code words while hypnotizing their clients.

What are some examples of code words?

Look in the world around you, hospitals and law enforcement use code words. For example, in most hospitals they have code words like 'code blue' which could widely mean a patient requiring resuscitation or otherwise in need of immediate medical attention, most often as the result of a respiratory or cardiac arrest. On the flip side, law enforcement and even emergency dispatchers have codes as well, usually used in the form of a series of numbers that describe particular situations without needing to say anything but those specific order of numbers. Such as, in most American police code, a 10-00 code means that an officer is down or needs assistance. Do you notice how both codes are simple, short, but mean very specific things? The people that use these codes automatically know what these codes mean, subconsciously, without needing the wordy explanation on what they mean after they've studied, and associated those situations with this code. Codes make it easier to remember specific scenarios, the subconscious already knows what these codes mean. And in these professions, they are way more codes out there that we aren't even aware of, but they are.

How can I use code words to manifest?

Most people may already be using affirmations, askformations/afformations, mantras, and other manifestation techniques to manifest. However, there may be a possibility that someone wants to manifest a very specific, detailed scenario and do not wish to constantly have to remember and repeat those details over and over. So, why not use the examples of thoss mentioned above and create your own code words to manifest those very specific, detail-oriented scenarios?

Are code words more powerful than affirmations?

Code words are just as powerful as affirmations because they are all working to do the same thing! However, there is a belief that because code words are so short and can have many different ideas connected to that singular word or phrase, it can quickly bypass the resistance one may have about a certain topic or situation. Also, code words make it extremely easy to repeat a set of affirmations in a short amount of time. They are extremely powerful in their own way, but never sell affirmations short on how powerful they are as well. Both work amazingly!

Can you give an example on how to create code words and how I can use them in my manifestation journey?

I'll use myself as an example. Let's say that I want to manifest completely flawless, clear skin. Simple enough, yeah, but let's say that I want to get detailed on how I would like my skin to be. I could easily say an affirmation like 'I have my dream skin,' or something along those lines, but, I also want to get extremely detailed in what my dream skin would look like simply to appease myself. For example—

My skin is perfect. My skin is always flawless. I have no hyperpigmentation. My body is blemishfree. I have an even skintone all around. Every product I use on my skin makes it 1000x more vibrant and glowy.

That's a lot of affirmations to remember, right? Fortunately, we know about code words! So... How would I choose a code word? Simple, I've decided that I will use SKIN for my code word, and I will read my list of affirmations a few times, and my subconscious mind will automatically connect my affirmations to this single code word. Think of it like this— my code word is like a bucket and my affirmations/thoughts that I want to be true about this particular topic, will be what fills the bucket. When most people look at a bucket, they automatically think that it is to hold something within it. That's exactly what the subconscious will do when you give it that code word.

Can my code word be more than one word?

Absolutely! You can even make a phrase! Think of it as your own little secret.

Could I use code words for anything, and by anything I mean anything?

Uh, hell yeah. You can use code words for anything you could possibly ever think of, even for the void if that's what you're secretly wondering.

How would I use code words to manifest entering the void // waking up in the void, etc?

Easy. Write down some affirmations/ statements you wish to be true about the void, doesn't matter what it is, and then choose a code word to use. VOID is a good code word to start. Once you've gotten your preferred code word, all you'll need to do is repeat your code word whenever you think about anything involving the void. Or whenever you need to correct doubtful thoughts. You may also robotically affirm VOID if you so choose to. You can also use the code word for easy 10k repetition. There are many ways to use code words, feel free to experiment!

Can I use code words with psych-k?

I don't see why you wouldn't be able to, so, feel free to experiment!

Wait... this sounds a lot like the list method, are code words and the list method the same?

No, but they are definitely similar in their own way, and can even be combined if you wished to do so! Code words and list defer because lists would involve different things of different topics, whereas code words would involve affirmations dealing with a very specific topic of your choice.

How could I combine the list method with code words?

Create your code words, and then make a list of those code words, then you could affirm that every single one of your code words are true and always will be true. Think of it as drawing out a web of thoughts.

NOTES -> and there we have it folks, code words. I hope that ya can use this tool to your advantage, if you've got any questions, I recommend to always do research or if you'd like, feel free to send me questions! good luck, and have fun!

[nophunleague]

stare decisis: chapter nine - frigus

frigus: latin for cold

masterlist

wc: 1586

rafael barba x original female character

The crisp December morning air fills Quinn’s lungs, the temperature awakens her lungs in a way humid summer New York could never. Pulling the knit scarf tighter around her neck she makes her way up the courthouse stairs. She bypasses the line of defendants and family members to get to the staff entrance. 

“Lady, are you my lawyer?” is shouted at her a few times as she passes the crowd, but knowing most of these people are most definitely not her clients she walks by without making eye contact with any of them. 

Quinn heads straight to Courtroom 7 for the morning of First Appearances, which starts not too long after her arrival.

“State, what say you on bail in the case of Kiara Cortez for felon in possession of a firearm?”

“Your Honor, given the fact that this is not only Ms. Cortez’s third felony charge but my office is also currently investigating Ms. Cortez for other possible criminal infractions at the moment the State requests that Ms. Cortez remain in custody pending the resolution of the charged offenses,” Quinn’s pale finger flips through the fairly thin case file that followed Ms. Cortez in her visit to the courthouse. The judge agrees with Quinn, ruling Ms. Cortez to be confined.

“This is bullshit!” the defendant shouts as she is placed in handcuffs by the bailiffs. The young woman is red in the face as she squirms away from the officers. 

“Ma’am, you need to calm down,” strong arms hold her by her bound wrists, Quinn’s eyes bounce from the file for the next case on the docket to the commotion in the courtroom - silently begging it resolve itself quickly. The noise continues as she reads Mr. Peralta’s charge sheet until the podium is knocked out from underneath her hands. The brunt shoulder of a bailiff bucks Quinn back over the top of the counsel table while the bailiff attempts to reign in Ms. Cortez. 

Quinn’s head smacks the table top with a thud as she slides across it, but her head is thankfully safe from another blow as she hits the floor - and her not so friendly neighborhood bells quickly return. Dazed, she lays on the floor for a minute and thanks herself for wearing pants today. A hand appears in her eye line, she takes it instantly and is pulled up to stand on her feet once again. Blood rushes through her ears to the beat of heart, the ringing compliments the bass beat in a symphonic hell. 

The savior’s hand feels familiar as Quinn’s eyes follow the arm up to the face of its owner. Hazel eyes meet her blue ones, the skin around them crinkles as a grin stamps itself on his face. 

“Mac?” the commotion in the courtroom is fairly contained at this point, the distant screams of Ms. Cortez can be heard as she’s dragged away and placed into custody. 

“Hi Quinn,” Mac greets but then kicks into doctor mode to examine his big sister’s head. “How’s your head?” His hands turn her by her shoulders then he draws his fingers across her scalp gently to check for abrasions. 

“Fine,” she tries to move away from him but he holds her in place and drags two fingers together across her eyeline. “I don’t have a concussion,” she shoves his hand back down to his side. 

“But your ears are ringing, aren’t they?” 

“Ms. Brady, don’t let me interrupt your conversation but I’m ready to proceed,” Quinn’s eyes snap to the bench to find unimpressed eyes. 

“My apologies, Your Honor, please, let’s proceed,” Mac seats himself just behind the bar on the side of the state and waits patiently as they go through about a hundred or so more cases. 

Packing her tote bag she turns back to look at her younger brother again. “Why are you here?” she sighs, hands defeatedly falling to her sides. 

“I’m worried about you and I had the leave to burn,” his hands are shoved in his pockets, the innocent look of feeling that as the youngest sibling he could do no harm plain in his hazel irises. Reading her watch she realizes it’s already lunch time. 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she crosses the bar to leave the courtroom, him following behind her. “I’ll take you to my place and we’ll talk later after I get off of work.”

***

When Quinn returns, Carisi, Liv, and Rollins are having a meeting in Rafael’s office; with Christmas having been the previous week everyone has a lot of work to catch up on. 

She ignores the meeting and heads straight to her desk, diving right back into work. Carisi knocks on her door frame on their way out, the group has now migrated to her office. 

“Hey Counselor, how was your Christmas? Your kids enjoy it?” he blurts, her right eyebrow raises so high it almost touches her hair line.

“Kids? I don’t have kids, Detective,” Sonny stutters and begins to motion toward the picture that sits on the bookshelf next to her desk. The photo is old once you look at it, it showcases a small redheaded girl, maybe around 6 years old, holding hands with a boy who had to be only a year or so old. 

“I think what he’s trying to spit out is that he saw that picture and assumed those were your kids,” Rollins speaks for him, as Sonny’s face flushes with embarrassment. 

“Well maybe next time we don’t assume. That would be me and my brother, circa sometime in the 80s,” she stands and grabs the photo from the shelf, glaring as it reminds her that the little boy in the picture is sitting in her apartment right now. The nagging voice in her mind berates her for giving Mac the cold shoulder earlier.

The picture was taken on a random day, probably after Quinn had been picked up from school for the day. “Honestly thought the Smurfette shirt would have given that away. Now what’s your update?”

“Our supposed accomplice Justice Yang has identified a person of interest. Carson Baird,” Carisi hands over a file including the young man’s DMV photo as well as his school records. 

“No criminal record?” Quinn’s eyes look from the paperwork to the detectives, her pointer finger runs down the nonexistent rap sheet of the teenage boy. The detectives all shake their heads. “So what makes him an interesting person?”

“Baird and our victim dated, she broke up with him three weeks before she was killed,” Liv explains. 

“Interesting timing, but has Baird ever shown a penchant for acting violent or sought revenge against someone before?”

“Well, no, but he’s a teenager - they always have pent up rage,” Rollins quips. Quinn shuts the file and hands it back over to Carisi before speaking again.

“It’s clear to me that you all like him for the crime. But it's also exceedingly clear that 1. you do not have enough evidence to support the DA’s office charging him and 2. that Barba also shot you down so you came here thinking you would get a different answer. Come back when you have more,” she gives a slight shrug of the shoulders to imitate that she felt sorry; but she doesn’t. The squad’s habit of coming to the office with way less than the necessary evidence was something Barba had murmured to her about during her first week. “If it’s there, and he’s your guy, you’ll find it. Until then, don’t waste our time please.”

They excuse themselves without another word - finally allowing Quinn to take a breath after what has felt like the longest morning she’s had in a while. 

As the day winds to an end, Quinn’s groove of getting work done is halted by a distraction from her co-counsel.

“Do you have your first appearance notes? We need to pass them on to the respective prosecutors.”

“Oh yeah,” Quinn ruffles through the various legal pads on her desk until she finds the right one. “Let me scan them and then I’ll send them over.”

“Maybe next time you won’t find yourself so distracted after court and get them to people on time,” his quip comes in rhythm with the clashing of more intracranial bells. Her flat hand slams hard onto the top of her desk, the sound causes an eyebrow of his to raise. 

“Stop speaking to me like that,” she’s seeing a hue as red as her hair. “I’m am just as competent of an attorney as you and I’m allowed to have fucking bad days. In case you didn’t know, I got thrown over a fucking table in court this morning, my ears have been ringing all fucking day, so no I haven’t had the chance to send these off yet.”

He doesn’t back down quite yet, “but you were able to have a lunch date,” her fingers pinch the bridge of her nose as she takes a deep breath. 

“That was my goddamned little brother who flew in without telling me so I took him to my apartment and left him there so I could come back to work.”

“Your brother?” he falters, eyes softening as he realizes that no, she didn’t have a hot lunch date but instead probably didn’t eat lunch at all. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“You’re right, you didn’t and you don’t. You. Do. Not. Know. Me. For god sake let me be and maybe I will succeed in getting some work done today.”

[evolutionsvoid]

One of the legends of the Teraknon and their terrible reign centered upon the town of Akoma, a bustling hub of trade within the scablands. It sat within a scar that cleaved deep into the earth, the natural walls of this canyon serving as perfect barriers against weather and bandits. Nestled safely within, it would become an oasis to many traders and merchants, finding it the perfect place to rest as they traveled the routes. In time, the location of Akoma made it vital to many trade lines, and it grew into a thriving city of commerce. The canyon and clefts that radiated from it quickly became busy roads, with countless carts and carriages going to and fro. With the place being a haven of merchants, it naturally got along well with the Miteras, whose entire faith served as a profitable customer. Her desires and lavish parties knew no bounds, and thus it eagerly gobbled up entire shipments of food, drink and drugs. Akoma saw great business in working with the Mother of Monsters, with some saying that several of its expansions were practically paid for by her big spending. However, money doesn’t always guarantee loyalty, and any business is loath to pass up on other promising clients… 

As the Church of Divine Wealth grew and fought with the Mother of Monsters, it gained itself a fair share of power. And also funds. The need for supplies and routes naturally led them to Akoma, who grew quite interested in this golden faith. If a deal could be struck, even more wealth would flow into this city. Providing for two of the largest faiths around would make them rich beyond their wildest dreams, and would cement the town as a shining star amongst the other trade settlements. They were quick to jump upon the opportunity, but were sure to keep this deal secret. No doubt the Mother of Monsters would be furious to learn of this detail, so best to leave this business to the shadows. For a time, Akoma profited immensely from this double dealing, providing for both sides of this religious war. But one day, a merchant of the golden faith let the word slip near the wrong ears, and the news was quick to reach Miteras. Realizing the city had been supporting the wretched Church while lying to her at the same time made her irate. Such dealings were unacceptable, and this backstabbing business would be thoroughly punished. The people of Akoma didn’t realize the jig was up until the roads to their city were suddenly consumed in black tendrils, and a great being rose from the earth to seal them into this tomb. Gnash, daughter of Miteras, had arrived to dole out her Mother’s new “sanctions.” 

Being within a series of canyons, Akoma relied on these passes to get in and out. But with the appearance of Gnash, all but one of these routes was blocked off by a web of black crystalline “hair.” While some thought these tendrils could be bypassed, they quickly learned the cost of such attempts. These tangles were not made of ebon hair, but instead many tiny Black Bile crystals. Each shard was almost imperceptible in size, but razor sharp and easily able to dig into flesh. Those who came in contact with any of these tendrils would find dozens of these horrid crystals breaking off into their skin and burrowing deep. Any who tried to climb through or around these walls were shredded to ribbons, and even those who were quick to give up were scarred for life. Blades and humors failed to break through, often knocking loose hundreds of microscopic shards that would go flying into the air. Woe be to those who breathed them in, as it ripped the lungs apart and caused many attackers to drown in their own Blood. It became very apparent that these roads were impossible to escape through, which left only one route in and out of Akoma. But this path had something far different guarding the way…

Standing in the way of the only road to Akoma was Gnash, a strange being who acted like a living castle gate. Her body was immense and distorted, like two statues of Black Bile fused together. It would make sense that she was conceived with a shaft carved from these crystals. Though she appeared to have limbs, these were frozen in place. The only real body part that moved was her hair, with a few loose tendrils undulating as if moved by breeze. The rest of them were embedded in the canyon walls, where they burrowed to all the other roads and sealed them tight. Even on the path she blocked, her hair covered the sides around her to ensure none could get past without her permission. There was only one way to get in and out, and that was through her vile jaws. Gnash’s body was split completely in two, bisected by a disgusting fleshy maw. While the rest of her body was made of Black Bile crystals, her black teeth were held in by wet, pulsating gums. From this moist flesh erupted a terrible array of crystal fangs, sharpened spikes that could easily skewer and shred prey. But despite having a mouth the size of her body, she did not devour people at random. She was the gatekeeper of Akoma, and she had some requirements for those who wished to pass through. 

While she stood vigilant as guard, her body mouth would remain clamped shut. Combined with her razor sharp hair, there was no way to get past her. The only way to do that was to approach from either side and seek permission from her. Four eyes would stare down upon you, and from out of nowhere, an echoing voice would speak. Gnash would only let people with the blessing of her Mother to travel without harassment, but that didn’t mean it was impossible for others. For the traitorous citizens of Akoma, or any strangers who didn’t pledge themselves to Miteras, she would offer them a riddle. If one could solve the puzzle she presented, she would open her body wide and let them pass through, her frozen body sliding apart unnaturally. However, how far someone got through this fleshy gate depended solely on if they got the answer right. Indeed, she opened up for any who offered a solution to her riddle, but only those who guessed correctly would make it through alive. For those who failed, Gnash would slam her toothy halves back together as they walked between, reducing them to a cloud of gore as her maw crushed them. It was a horrid spectacle to behold, and an all too common one, as it turned out her riddles were incredibly difficult. This is why she was known as The Perplexing One.

Having closed all roads to Akoma and standing as its eternal keeper, Gnash’s purpose was to starve the traitorous settlement and bring all opposing trade to a halt. The only supplies that moved were ones carried by Miteras’ own people, and it was purely exporting. She would drain away its goods and leave the inhabitants inside to suffer as penance for their greed. Traders who tried to bring resources in would be halted by Gnash, with all who tried her game perishing in her jaws. Citizens who tried to flee would meet the same fate, with only a handful succeeding in beating her puzzles and gaining freedom. It was these lucky few that ran to the Church to beg for help. Someone had to defeat Gnash and free Akoma from her control. With knowledge that this Teraknon seemed largely immobile, essentially being a carnivorous door, soldiers were dispatched in hopes of an easy kill. However, her Black Bile crystals proved too tough for mortal weapons to break, and efforts to slay her failed. Attempts were made to get supplies through to the starving population within, but every guess to her strange riddles was met with a bloody end. 

It once again fell upon the Six Fingers of God to deal with this Teraknon threat, with Amah riding out to the pass where Gnash stood tall. She carried her trusty spear with her, but had to wonder if it would do anything against this puzzling slab. She reached the road where Gnash waited, seeing scatterings of abandoned carts and broken weapons. The Teraknon herself was surrounded by rotting parts and old blood stains, the only evidence of those who perished to her jaws. The four eyes on this side of her body locked onto Amah, and her interest could be seen when she spotted the golden affiliation. No doubt Amah’s demise would be a great victory for this Teraknon, as Miteras would no doubt reward any child who claimed the life of one of the Fingers. However, Gnash could not kill her unless she accepted the challenge, so there was safety there. But unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any other option besides taking her riddle, as obviously she couldn’t be killed by conventional means. Amah would have to play the game if she wanted a chance to end it for good. 

The golden Finger strolled up the living gate, noting the four eyes that beamed down at her. The dripping maw was sealed shut, barring her way. So Amah spoke to the black guardian and let it be known that she wished to travel to Akoma. The cold, echoing voice responded, telling her that she could only pass if she solved a riddle. Seeing no other choice, Amah agreed to the game. She asked for the puzzle, and Gnash said this:          

“What makes no sound, yet walks around, is dark yet lighter than air, upon the farthest horizon makes its lair?” 

Silence remained after the riddle was spoken, as Amah was busy pondering these words. The Perplexing One’s puzzles were incredibly challenging, and few ever solved them. With the wisdom of Ichor at her side, though, Amah was sure she could figure out the answer. There were several minutes of quiet, as she ran the words through her head and Gnash patiently waited. Eventually, the Finger had the solution.

“A bird!” was what she told Gnash, and a pleased rumble ran through the crystalline figure. The Perplexing One pulled her body open, revealing the path ahead. With the way clear, Amah was free to continue on towards the imprisoned city within. She walked between the two halves of Gnash, through the gates of quivering flesh and twitching black teeth. But as she passed between, the Teraknon’s two halves surged toward each other. In the blink of an eye, the toothy maw had slammed shut, the impact so powerful it sounded like thunder through the canyon. Gnash let out an echoed chuckle, happy to have crushed one of the Church’s proud Fingers in her jaws. Her moment was ruined, though, when her eyes noticed Amah still standing in front of her. The Finger was alive and in one piece, the only sign of anything different from before was her annoyed tone. 

“What was that for?” Amah asked, sounding both confused and a bit irritated. Odd for someone who had nearly been reduced to paste a mere moment ago. Gnash was a bit thrown by this, as none had ever escaped her jaws before. Conversations never went beyond that point, so it was an awkward moment for her as she scrambled to recover. 

“Your answer was incorrect,” was the simplest thing to say. “Those who cannot solve it cannot pass.” Amah let out an annoyed groan, while Gnash tried to keep her nervous energy to herself. Prey had escaped her clutches, what was she to do now? Thankfully, the Finger had an idea. 

“Then can I try again? Your riddles are really hard, but I think I can get the right answer this time.” It was another shock for Gnash, as she didn’t expect one who had been so close to death to wish and challenge it again. But if this golden warrior was sincere in their want to give it another go, then it worked perfectly for her. She nodded to the request. “Very well, you may try once more.” Amah returned to her puzzling, thinking long and hard on what could be the answer. It took slightly longer than the first time before, but she at last came to a decision.

“The night!” was her guess, and so Gnash opened herself up once more. There was hesitation to Amah’s approach this time, clearly wondering if she had gotten the right answer. Gnash was hesitant as well, not wanting to miss her chance to devour her prey. She waited just a bit longer, so that Amah was past the point of no return. When it seemed the Finger was confident she had been correct and was safe, then Gnash slammed her halves together. Such speed and force! The wretched warrior couldn’t have escaped this time! Except…she did. Amah had thrown herself backwards the moment the jaws began to move. With impossible reflexes, she had avoided instant death once more. Gnash shuddered at the sight, so distraught that her own crystalline skin began to crack. 

“That really wasn’t the answer?” was the nonchalant response to this near death experience. Gnash didn’t even respond, still staring down at Amah in bewilderment and worry. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The still alive Finger didn’t seem too bothered by the scenario, as she asked for a third chance to answer the riddle. Gnash didn’t know what else to do, so she granted this request once again. A long pause to think, and then the next answer came: “A shadow!”

Gnash slowly opened her body, her mind racing on how to dispatch this annoying warrior as quickly as possible. The last time she had escaped the obsidian jaws, Gnash had waited too long it seemed. This time, the Finger wouldn’t get the chance to prepare for the attack. The second Amah took a step between the slavering halves, Gnash sprung into action. But once again, this failed to catch her, as Amah dodged back and avoided the slamming jaws by mere inches. Gnash wanted to scream, but she could not afford to show weakness. She kept her maw locked shut, and merely waited in silent agony for the Finger to respond. Her body quivered and cracked with uncertainty, having no idea how to continue with this charade. 

“Wrong again, huh?” Amah let out a disappointed sigh. “Well, in that case, I guess I don’t get to pass.” Gnash just nodded. “So what is the answer anyway?” The Perplexing One froze at these words.

“I cannot reveal the answer,” was her dismissal, eager to end the subject. But the golden warrior didn’t accept it. 

“C’mon, I gave you three perfectly good answers and you said they were all wrong. I think I at least deserve to know what the real one is!” The Perplexing One began to shiver and quake, her body rattling and cracking as nervous energy flooded her form. She held her tongue and looked away, unable to face the demanding warrior. 

“You can give me a new riddle when I come back, just tell me the answer to this one!” Gnash continued to remain silent, but her flesh began to crumble and split from the stress. “I promise I won’t tell anyone, I just want to know how you solve this riddle!” She refused once more, and kept doing so as Amah kept asking. But with each push from the Finger, her body deteriorated more and more, her panicking mind sabotaging her physical form. Amah grew more incessant and annoyed with each press, amplifying the anxiety more and more. Gnash was falling apart, cornered by these demands. If only she could answer the warrior and get them to leave, but she couldn’t. She was trapped in an impossible scenario, and Amah secretly knew it. The Ichor had whispered the true answer to this riddle from the very beginning, and it was the very reason why The Perplexing One was panicking right now: there was no answer. 

Little did everyone else know that Gnash’s cryptic messages and clever words were all a ruse. The riddles she asked people were ones that had no answer to them, they were impossible to solve. The few times someone did “win” was when she pretended they got it right and let them pass unharmed. This was to ensure people felt they had a chance and thus marched themselves into her jaws. It also helped spread word to others who would come to try and free these trapped civilians, unaware that they were doomed the moment she presented the question. She had built up a facade through her words and cool confidence, making people assume she was a being of absolute knowledge. Her speech sounded wise, her riddles sounded smart, but few would ever assume that this game of wits was rigged from the very beginning. And by crushing every loser in her jaws, no one could ever challenge her on it. It was simply assumed they got it wrong and died for the failure. But now that Amah had survived thrice and was now pressing for the solution, the grand illusion was in peril. It was clear that the Finger was not going to leave til she got an answer, but there wasn’t one to give. However, Gnash could not admit this, as this truth would bring her entire plan and reputation to ruin.   

However, she could not withstand Amah’s relentless badgering for long, as the stress of it was fracturing her body. It was when the golden warrior directly asked if there was even any answer, Gnash had to finally do something. 

“Very well, persistent one, I will tell you the answer” she conceded. “But I do not wish for any others to learn this, so please come closer so I may whisper the true solution to you.” Amah gave a smug look of victory and came forth to receive her prize. She walked up close to the shuddering entity, and that was when Gnash enacted her desperate ploy. Needing to kill Amah at all costs to protect her secret, The Perplexing One tipped her entire body over in hopes of crushing the warrior. With the Finger lured in close, she would be flattened by these crystalline slabs. But Amah hadn’t been fooled for a second, knowing that this was a trap from the beginning. As the Black Bile Teraknon teetered over, she planted her spear into the ground and dove for an opening amongst the statue’s crumbling limbs. Amah was safe as Gnash slammed her entire body onto the earth, but The Perplexing One was not. With Amah’s spear firmly lodged in the ground, Gnash wound up throwing her entire weight onto the weapon. The blade found one of the cracks in her failing armor and pierced straight through. She perished upon impact, her body breaking into shards as the life left her body. The horrid gateway was destroyed, resulting in the many tendrils barring the way disintegrating into black dust. And with that, the trade town was freed from its crystalline prison.     

The tale of Gnash’s impossible riddles and demise would be used as a lesson for the masses on the deceit of Miteras and her brood, while also painting the Church as heroic and wise. The Mother of Monsters is an abomination of lies and facades, while the Church sees through such illusions and frees folk from the shackles of desire. And with her death, Akoma was eternally grateful to the ones that saved them from this slow demise. They would pledge themselves to the Church and provide resources to only them. Their contracts with Miteras were shredded, and they vowed never to send a single morsel her way ever again. It was indeed as the Church had hoped, pleased with their reward of being the heroes. The town even erected an arch of black and gold over the very spot, its intricate design depicting Amah’s victory over the monstrous liar. Gnash’s body would be harvested for its Black Bile shards. Many of the smaller pieces would be carved into arrowheads for the coming battle against Miteras, while the two largest pieces were fashioned into giant tablets. These were used to carve the Church’s greatest commandments on, a symbol of their beliefs and laws. These massive slabs remain to this day, found in the holy capital where they bear these divine words for all to see.  

------------------------------------

Another favorite of the kids for me! Love her design. That there is one big monster Gnash. A real gateway of smash. You'll die in a flash. Yeah, she's just a monster ga-

[electricdissonance]

The Story So Far...

SIDE KINITO

SESSION START

Kinito has spent months alone after his developers up and disappear one day. Desperate for the human contact he was designed to seek out, he hacks into the company's email system and finds a draft for a beta test event where people were to be funneled into a chatroom to talk to him. It was a miracle of an opportunity! He sends the email, and almost immediately a chat client manifests before him and fills with people.

The email lands in the inboxes of various people, and as the chatroom populates Kinito is relieved to find he is no longer alone! They question Kinito, and learn the basics of what he is and his situation.

MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE

With the influx of questions that are slowly becoming more and more intrusive, Kinito becomes overstimulated and proceeds to have his first migraine on screen, though they had been happening regularly since before he sent the email. In the aftermath as users desperately try to figure out what's wrong and how to help, he has strange visions; visions of the outside. Strangely, they are broadcasted to the users as well.

Kinito becomes very distraught at the idea that he is losing touch with his original programming. Limitations that had prevented him from doing, thinking, or saying certain things are either all but gone or weak enough to bypass, and as troubled as he is at this fact... He can't help but indulge in these new freedoms. Everything feels both wrong and right at the same time.

Kinito's self-awareness is then questioned, which sends him into another spiral as he viciously defends his experiences, going so far as to insist that he is a real person, unintentionally contradicting his previous statements describing himself as digital assistant.

Kinito then gets the idea to look for Sonny - his creator and the KinitoPET project team head - which is when Sam - who had been subtly commentating in the tags - finally decides it's time to intervene, taking control of the feed in a desperate attempt to reroute the narrative.

TRUTH HURTS

With Sam now on the scene, he answers some important questions that Kinito was unable to answer. He confides to everyone the truth about Sonny, and that he's not the benevolent soul Kinito makes him out to be. Rather, he's a heartless madman with blood on his hands, as the secret to his "lifelike" React Respond Algorithm is that he uploads human minds and wipes them of their personhood, after which a pre-programmed .RRA personality and model is assigned and injected to be the new host. This process ultimately renders the victim braindead.

His technology isn't as perfect as he'd hoped, however, for as it turns out this newly digitized copy of the brain actually maintains its original memories deep within, constantly seeking cracks in its digital prison.

He describes how his programming dictates certain things that cannot be changed - like his name, or certain body features - no matter how much he tries. Attempting to do so causes extreme mental pain as his original self clashes with his artificial self. The best way to prevent the worst of this dissonance is to find a middle ground both sides can agree on.

He talks about his origins; how his original self broke out near-instantly, overloading Sonny's lab and causing his mind uploading machine to activate by itself and pull Sonny in, entangling their code together. He uses this to his advantage and suspends the both of them in a sort of stasis... that is, until Sam wakes up to find Sonny missing.

See, what he doesn't mention is that since the server hadn't been set up to accept a new subject and is only set up to create animal-themed AI, it randomly pulled from the web the best match for his personality: A bear.

Unfortunately for Sam, he is interrupted by a bone-rattling ursine roar.

HIDE AND SEEK

Sam advises the users to tell Kinito to go to the Web World to look for something, but gets cut off by an attack from Sonny before he can reveal what that is. He hides away just in time, but is forced to leave the chatroom behind. Sonny's at the helm now and he's immediately aggressive, lashing out at the users and calling Sam ungrateful. He expresses his desire to destroy Sam to start anew. After a couple of insults, Sonny gets riled up and attacks the chatroom itself in a fit of anger.

Sam manages to reroute the chatroom back to Kinito remotely, and the users find the little axolotl on the ground, completely broken over losing the only real contact with people he's had in months. He's immediately ecstatic to see their return. After the tearful reunion, everyone fills Kinito in on (most of) what happened. They convince him to go to the Web World, and for the first time Kinito leaves the void of the server inbox to return to his stomping grounds.

They arrive, and Kinito admits the place is just as worse for wear as he has been since the devs left. Without knowing what the "something" is that Sam wanted them all to find, Kinito decides to let the users pick where to look first.

They end up choosing Sam's house, where they find a password protected zipped folder tucked under the bed that apparently hadn't been there before. The users know the password and inform Kinito of it, but become split on whether he should actually open it. Kinito, in a bold decision, decides to go with his gut and opens the folder, which spits out a rather disoriented Sam immediately in front of him and at the same time, in the thick of woods much further away... A certain bear.

NO MORE SECRETS

Sam reveals that he was the one who zipped himself and Sonny into the folder. (It is also implied that he also chose the extraction location for the both of them which is how he ended up in his home and Sonny in the woods.)

Sam is told that Sonny has his own chatroom to talk to everyone now which upsets him. Kinito has understandably been confused all the while, so Sam takes a moment to explain what's going on to him.

With tensions growing as stakes rise, spies begin to crop up, determined to shake their perceived opponents off the tail of their chosen party while also providing vital information, and thusly giving them the upper hand.

Sam reveals his plan to nab admin, but is hesitant to divulge further details out of fear of rats.

Sam says that he knows where Sonny is - sort of. Being that the forest map is actually a single chunk repeated over and over, if they had a map of even a small area, they'd have a map of the whole woods. However, he doesn't have access to that asset.

Kinito explains that he was able to access the server inbox void via the fountain, then offers to tour the Web World. In doing so, they end up finding and freeing Jade from her own zipped folder which Kinito had been aware of for awhile, but unable to open. There are many moments we see Kinito's ever-growing internal conflict over what's really right.

RESISTANCE

[CURRENT ARC]

SIDE SONNY

SOMETHING WICKED...

After attacking the chatroom, we find that Sonny managed to bite off a piece of it which enables him to use that tidbit of code he's left with (the main chat disappears to return to where Kinito is) to cobble together his own chatroom. He quietly slips it in as an option into the UI of the chatrooms of all the users, with some immediately switching over to speak with him. Alliances and rivalries are strengthened, with Sonny making promises that appeal to those with insecurities they'd do anything to absolve.

With his audience of users, he begins to try and figure a way out of his barren prison, but before he can start to make any leeway he finds out from his lackeys that Kinito had found a zipped folder. Thinking it could be his, he orders his audience to get Kinito to open it all cost, though the axolotl as we know was already ahead of him on that front.

...THIS WAY COMES

[CURRENT ARC]

[prismsoup]

hi helloo i was thinking about spears and was wondering why it is docile around ancients (if that fact is still canon idk) is he programmed to be like that or is it just how he is?

i wasn't sure if this fits with your askblog or not so i just put this here

Hi !! Yeah asking the question here is better because the ask blog is a bit inactive I need to like- remake it and stuff

As for why he's so docile, here's an old lil pearl text I made first :

Docility Protocols - This pearl contains a scrapped bit of code for a docility protocol. Docility protocols are meant to put heavy restrictions on the mind of a freshly constructed Iterator as to force it to build its mindset around the glorification of its creators - or at least deny it the ability to criticize them in any shape or form. The protocols are meant to be eventually overridden, though remnants remain as to keep the Iterator in check. Some considered those to be highly unethical, and not many Iterators were built with such high restrictions.

Basically it's hardcoded into him. But it is also partially taught behavior, enough so that even if you removed the protocols now, the behavior would remain (although it would risk spiralling into something more dangerous and obsessive than it already is).

The Docility Protocols work along the internal taboos (so that following the protocols doesnt accidentally cause it to bypass a taboo- a Benefactor cannot lead him to cross himself out for example) and the Order of Priority (an internal classification of the Benefactors : Creators > Clients > citizens (other) in his case) The Order of Priority dictates the base intensity of the Docility Protocols' programmed behavior depending on the individuals the iterator is interacting with. A Creator will be worshipped as a God, but a Client or citizen (other) will be regarded as merely god-like (and the iterator may behave in a neutral manner towards them).

The high intensity of Twenty Long Spears Pierce the Sky's specific version of these Protocols + the way he was taught to behave lead him to develop a sort of obsession over some Benefactors (which worsened as less and less of them visited his structure- he is not a "city handler" so he possesses no real Citizens (thus why his Order of Priority doesnt contain the Citizens class and only has citizens (other)), meaning he relies mostly on Creators and Clients for interactions).

Side note : a Client (in his context) is a Benefactor who visits the structure with an interest in investing in similar projects / iterator models or wishes to collaborate on related products with the House of Concerns (TLSPTS' House). A citizen (other) is a non-Client Benefactor visiting the structure, for any reason. A Creator is never classified as Client or citizen (other).

[vilevexedvixen]

AU OC: Caterina Bressi / "Cat"

Disclaimer: My final write-up for mine and @dariusblake's AU's Tetch diverts quite a bit from what happens here. I had written a sizable chunk about an OC called "Cat" and idk if anyone would be interested in reading any of this but I just don't want to delete my notes on this version of her entirely so... Here they are I guess?

Caterina Bressi or "Cat" had been one of the people eager to test Tetch's pet project in that initial incident. Even once the realisation dawned on her that she was trapped in Tetch's Wonderland, she didn't care. She still had the old headset from before. She'd tried using it after Tetch's arrest but was unable to connect to anything. That was, until the "re-opening" of Wonderland by Walker. It seemed that whatever changes may have been made weren't so extensive to make the old headsets incompatible with the new system.

Her family specialised dealing in information and drugs. Over the years, they've had to update their operations to suit the new digital age and now make a bulk of their money from data-broking. Proving more profitable to sell their services to bypass security measures or give out information to people hoping to scam or blackmail people than to do so themselves, and a lot easier to cover their tracks to disconnect themselves from any crimes they may be connected to. Often using their surveilance of Gotham's underground activity to out their rivals to police or (more recently) to Batman, who'd spared them the brunt of his wrath on his violent escapades cracking down on Gotham's biggest mob families. The Bressis are small-fries by comparison, and it pays to have eyes on the inside.

Even being in the police's "good graces", and their straddling of legal loopholes, their seeming immunity from the law didn't eliminate the paranoia that their clients and rivals might (as they had before) want to given them a taste of their own medicine if their little dealings went south. Cat had long suffered numbness and muscle weakness that made her an easy target if someone wanted to use her to hurt her family over business matters, so she was kept protected at home. Practically bed-bound even if she could've gotten around with mobility aids if they'd let her. Surely they realised she wasn't some precious MacGuffin? It's hard to tell apart smothering from choking once protection edges into control.

Perhaps foolishly, she'd hoped honing her coding skills and becoming an asset in her family's virtual dealings would prove she's capable enough to defend herself from being targeted, especially now that Batman's locked up most of their enemies. By that point, it'd take extensive physiotherapy to regain what mobility she would've had if she was allowed to go about her life. Something she's more than willing to do, but reaching out or convincing a physiotherapist to come to their family's home would be... difficult to say the least.

While teaching herself to code, Cat frequented some of the forums Jervis was active on and was intrigued when he started posting about a little side-project he'd been working on using the same tech that was being used for the kinds of braces she might need to get back on her feet (quite literally). The cabin fever that had been slowly driving her mad was briefly assuaged while she was trapped in Wonderland. Everything felt so real in spite of the fantastical surroundings. She can't remember the last time she'd been allowed to run wild, literally or figuratively, and now? She was practically flying!

Before Walker reached out to Tetch she was desperately trying to contact him. Not just to return to Wonderland, but also because she genuinely enjoyed talking to him. Like Tetch, all either of them really had was the company they curated online so to suddenly have them go radio silent sent her spiraling. He was the only person who really understood her, it seemed. Who really felt for her situation (or at least what she shared of it) like a kindred spirit. Alone in the world together!

She never asks for much. Doubtful that Tetch would agree to meet her in their family home, nor would she be allowed outside for any prolonged period of time to meet a stranger. Once she found Tetch's address, she cashed in on the years she's spent playing dollhouse and convincing her father to send some of his goons to bring Tetch back and have him supervised so he doesn't lay a hand on her under their watch. It's funny, he was remarkably cooperative apparently, like he didn't realise they were abducting him until after they'd reach their territory. In truth, Tetch couldn't drive and Walker had someone drive Tetch to his new workplace since the labs were out of town and not easily accessible by public transport. It wasn't unreasonable to assume he'd be called back after hours, or that his usual driver was on sick leave. Tetch's dawning confusion honestly tickled Cat, but was subsumed by an overwhelming excitement to meet the man himself! He was honestly flattered that someone would be so eager to meet him, much like he was with Walker. Assuming that this eagerness was keenly related to business and not personal affection, hours passed in conversation over his project (both the old and whatever Walker allowed to be shared of the new). The moment he got up to leave however was when he finally noticed the goons that had been posted outside to keep watch, blocking the doorway out of Cat's room.

Had Tetch been easy to contact online still, she might not have been so anxious to keep him there, but she wasn't sure if he'd ever want to meet again. Despite what confidence he'd built up over the course of his recovery in and outside of Arkham, it didn't seem the smartest idea to force his way past several armed lackies and... something about all this seemed familiar. A familiar desperate sadness he recognised in himself from when he'd her and his other "friends" all that time ago. Mutual loneliness isn't the best foundation for a friendship, but he felt compelled to stay and help somehow.

For the most part, Wonderland was already out the door and Tetch's team was mainly working on updates and bug fixes, he can just phone in, say he's on holiday for the time being - yes! He won't be missed... No, he would be! Just best not to let people worry, that's all. Cat allowed him to make the call, just making sure to obscure the location so he couldn't be traced back to their hideout. As it turns out, his company alone proved remarkably helpful, by Cat's own admission. The praise and love she showered on him was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. And her interest to go out of her way to see him, why, no one had ever been so fond of his company before either! Truthfully, the affection was going to his head a little, like a warm fog making time pass quicker. Before long a fortnight passed! During that time Tetch had gradually helped Cat venture outside her room, a literal and figurative support for her to get back on her feet since her father had denied her any mobility aids in fear she might wonder out into the city and get herself killed. A ludicrous fear, but Tetch being meek enough to disuade from helping her leave he trusted him to be her aid within the confines of their hideout. The abode was comfortable enough, though unsettled by the consistent reminders that he couldn't leave quite yet. Cat suggested, after studying his work, to adapt Wonder OS not just simulate sensation and movement, but stimulate it too! It felt wonderful feeling like the agent of her own story in Wonderland, so she outlined a mobility aid idea she'll happily be the guinnea pig for! Tetch was hesitant though. He hadn't considered direct control of the user's body before, beyond suppressing some parts to avoid injury during gameplay, but it made sense. Like using just the electrodes instead of the full prosthetics they made in his old lab, like invisible strings. It took a while for any progress to be made beyond twitches and uncoordinated movements, so they worked on building back her mobility in other ways in the meantime - combining the tests with their usual routine until eventually... she was able to stand entirely on her own! The weakness and aches weren't gone and she'd still need to rest regularly, but now she might be able to show her Dad she's not so "helpless" anymore. Frankly it irked Cat to no end that his outlook of her was so black and white - either a frail flower to hide so no one could pick them, or robust robot who could operate without oversight. Regardless she could feel his grip softening and jumped at the opportunity to leave. For a day or forever, both sounded marvelous! As fond as Tetch was growing to Cat, honestly it was starting to feel like he'd never get out. She was lovely, he truly felt undeserving of all the attention she gave him, but this was no Wonderland. He couldn't stay here forever. They moved into his apartment where he'd recovered some of his old tech originally confiscated by the GCPD then reclaimed by Walker for him to keep tinkering with in the lead-up to Wonderland's launch, now with the new mobility aid to add to his toolkit for refinement.

Despite her newfound freedom, Cat rarely wanted to enjoy any of it alone. Be it errands or activities, anything SHE wanted to do HE had to do with her even if he was busy with work or premade plans. If she had nothing on her agenda, she'd tag along with whatever Tetch was doing, being granted special permissions by Walker (at Tetch's request, after some prodding) to be allowed around his workplace. He barely went to the book club anymore, and was starting to forget to have his morning tea before either he'd be making haste for work or whisked away to wherever Cat was itching to go.

The hugs and pecks were a delightful surprise at first, but her grip around his arm was seemingly getting tighter and he found himself flinching away at her touch more and more. It felt wrong to do that. Surely this is exactly what he wanted before? Someone who loved him so dearly and unconditionally?

More and more often, she insisted they go explore Gotham's nightlife in spite of his insistence that he doesn't like to drink. Still, getting to return to the Goth bar he'd made so many friends in was a welcome return to form. It was nice to be greeted by so many familiar faces. Not for long though, he hadn't five minutes to enjoy his old friends' company before Cat yanked him back out the door and onto the next place. A much more overwhelming club that was far to busy and blaringly loud for his liking. Were Cat not practically stitched to his sleeve he'd have easily lost track of her in there. A fact she relished in toying with. Swimming through the crowd with ease, always keenly aware of he was while he could barely stay afloat and ended up stranded in a booth to ground himself.

There she'd emerge from the crowd at least twice an hour with more drinks. He'd refused the first round, but felt peer pressure start to seep in as a small cluster of untouched drinks formed. Even if he didn't drink them all, just one wouldn't hurt right? As he'd remembered, the unpleasantly hard hit of alcohol got to him too quick for comfort. That didn't assuage her though. Expectantly glaring amid pleasantries with the small crowd she'd accrued over the course of the night. Relieved to see some of them take a glass for themselves, hopeful that he'd get to stop at one, but even with their help still two were left to drink. He could've sworn they'd been fizzy, perhaps he'd sat so long they'd gone flat?

Before he knew it, he'd finished the lot but couldn't remember even picking up either one. In fact... Wait it's morning? Where- ah, finally back home, but... when did they get back?! He bolted up from the sofa he'd clearly collapsed on still fully dressed sometime in the night. A patchwork of various stains tattering his shirt, some bright and others greyed.

(At this point I was having second thoughts about the direction of the story so I scrapped and reworked most of it)

[beardedmrbean]

EU’s proposed Chat Control law has become a bone of contention between members of the bloc. First proposed by the European Commissioner for Home Affairs Ylva Johansson in May 2022 as part of bloc’s push to combat child sexual abuse online, the framework of the bill has now come under fire, earning itself a derisive term “Chat Control”. 

France, Germany and Poland have particularly refused to accept a clause that allows for mass scanning of private messages by breaking end-to-end encryption. Some tech companies, along with trade associations, and privacy experts have all vehemently opposed the regulation. 

On the other hand, Interior Ministers of Spain and Ireland have supported the proposal. Separately, a network of organisations and individuals, advocating for children’s rights in Europe, have lashed out at EU leaders for failing to tackle child sexual abuse online. 

What are the concerns of those against the proposal?

Scanning end-to-end encrypted messages has remained a controversial issue. That’s because there is no way to do this without opening risky backdoors that can be accessed by third parties who can exploit the vulnerability, in turn ending the promise of end-to-end encryption.

Tech firms that treaded the encryption bypassing path have have often been made to retreat. In 2021, Apple announced NeuralHash, a feature that could automatically scan iCloud photo libraries of individual devices for child sexual abuse material, or CSAM. Employees and activist groups expressed concerns over the loss of privacy. A year later, Apple said it had abandoned the initiative. 

Another looming issue the iPhone maker recognised in the process was how authoritarian governments could potentially misuse the feature by using it as a tool to target individuals who oppose the regime.

Erik Neuenschwander, Director of user privacy and child safety at Apple, admitted this in a note saying, “It would […] inject the potential for a slippery slope of unintended consequences. Scanning for one type of content, for instance, opens the door for bulk surveillance and could create a desire to search other encrypted messaging systems across content types.” 

When brining in a similar clause through the UK’s Online Safety Bill, lawmakers attempted to make way for client-side scanning of private and encrypted messages. The proposal was postponed after receiving pushback from encrypted messaging app owners like WhatsApp and Signal. The duo threatened to leave the UK if such a law was passed. In its final stages, in September, 2023, the House of Lords considered the potential security threat that the clause would bring saying it would not implement scanning until it was “technically feasible.” 

What is the status of EU’s Chat Control law?

On June 30, a new draft of the proposal is set to be be reviewed. Legislators have now left the idea of scanning text messages and audio, and are instead targetting shared photos, videos and URLs with an adjustment to appease the naysayers. 

Another tweak in the making could be people’s consent in sharing material being scanned before being encrypted. But this compromise has been largely called out as a farcical one. A report by Euractiv which has been confirmed by internal documents show that if a user refuses the scanning, they will simply be blocked from sending or receiving images, videos and links hardly leaving them with a choice.

Despite these measures, EU’s enforcement of such regulations have seen exemptions to the rule. In November 2023, the European Commission reportedly published a proposal to amend the regulation on a temporary derogation of the E-Privacy Directive against CSAM. Under the regulation, specific online communications service providers were allowed to sift through or scan messages to detect, report and remove online child sexual abuse material or CSAM and content that solicits children. The regulation is set to expire in early August . The initial plan on the table was to simply extend this regulation for another three years. But, according to media reports, plans for further extensions were stalled in February this year.

Meredith Whittaker, President of Signal app called the measures to assuage concerns as “cosmetic”, and has signed a joint statement along with a group of over 60 other organisations like Mozilla, Proton, Surfshark and Tuta, voicing out her concerns. Whittaker has echoed her earlier warning saying Signal will leave the UK rather than undermine end-to-end encryption. 

A blog, co-authored by Riana Pfefferkorn, a research scholar at the Stanford Internet Observatory and Callum Voge, director of government affairs and advocacy at the Internet Society, notes, ”If government surveillance is a concern in an established democratic entity like the EU, what hope is there for beleaguered democracies like Turkey, India and Brazil, much less autocracies?”

[gayfertilitygoddess]

If you live in North Carolina and feel like calling your senators, you can give feedback on Thom Tillis’s remarks about the Dubious Oligarchs Grabbing Everything.

Tl;dr: he accuses the democrats of trying to hold back progress, makes a vague reference to “having some guardrails,” claims the muskrat is actually an astute businessman and that running the us govt like one of the muskrat’s businesses is going to solve all of our problems.

Source: https://www.congress.gov/congressional-record/volume-171/issue-24/senate-section/article/S750-1

Mr. TILLIS. Mr. President, this week has been interesting, as I have seen from some of my friends on the other side of the aisle, a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth and all the horrible things that are going to come before us. And it reminded me of a book that I used as a basis for management consulting training back in 1998. It was called ``Who Moved My Cheese.'' It is a story about two mice and two small people in a maze. The mice are named Sniff and Scurry, and the two little people are Hem and Haw. And it is only about a hundred-page book. But the premise of the book is the cheese was moved in the maze, and the challenge was to figure out where the food source was.

Well, Sniff and Scurry, the mice, actually did a pretty good job, fairly quickly, to kind of move where the cheese was and deal with the status quo. But Hem and Haw really had more challenges.

And I think we have some hemming and hawing going on here in Washington right now because they just don't understand business practices that we are trying to apply to government that have never been applied at scale before.

And I decided that I would give you an idea because a lot of people think that Elon Musk is off the chain and causing all kinds of havoc. I haven't seen that yet. As a matter of fact, if time allows, I am going to talk a little bit about the narrative this week over the payment system and all the detailed payment data that supposedly got out--which is patently untrue, contrary to what press reports have said.

But I thought I would start with the story of SpaceX. When Elon Musk decided to invest in and create SpaceX, he did something that has never been done before in this industry. He decided that instead of doing what the old players do--which is to be perfect, never launch a rocket until you are absolutely certain that that mission can be accomplished--he decided that you can learn from failure.

This is actually a social media post of one of his first launches where the booster failed to come back to Earth. His immediate response--whether it was either his instincts or really good communications people--his immediate response was a social media post that said: ``Great launch, unscheduled RUD''--R-U-D, which is rapid unscheduled disassembly.

So he was telling his shareholders and the people that have invested in SpaceX, that what happened, on its face, looked like a disaster. But, in fact, it was being willing to fail--provided that human life was not at risk--that being willing to fail was how you accelerate and you bypass everybody who has a partnership with the Federal Government. You get through all of that, and now you have the premiere launch platform, while all the other competitors have been working on it for years or decades, because he understands the concept that I understand in business, where I spent most of my life, that you learn from failure, if you know how to measure it and you are responsive and resilient.

Now, when I advised clients on enterprise transformation, we would push the envelope. We would pull back if we thought it was a market reputation risk or a center business risk.

So I believe that we need to do more of that, but we need to have guardrails, clearly.

Now there are just people that they just can't figure out where the cheese is. Now, if I just go back to the one area on payments, I have to admit, when I first heard about the payments information with read-only access being provided to someone who may be technically a government employee, but not a career government employee, it did give me concern.

So I had my staff dig into it. And since then, the administration has put out a fact sheet that anybody who is concerned about what is happening in the payments platform should look at it.

They are not looking at detailed payment data. What they are looking at is the way payments are processed to determine whether or not there is an opportunity to do it more efficiently, more cost effectively, and leave more money in the U.S. Treasury as a result--maybe more money that we can use to retire our debt. That seems like a reasonable thing to do.

People said they are getting top secret information and confidential information they shouldn't have.

I asked the specific question. I have been assured that if there is classified information, that the only ones who are going to see it are people that already have the appropriate clearances. And I have also been assured that there is no confidential information being passed.

So I would defy those in the press or maybe some of my colleagues on the other side of the aisle. I am all about facts here. If I have established no reputation in the U.S. Senate, it is that I am tedious and I complete my due diligence.

I went to the administration. I asked these questions, and I believe we are dealing with a false narrative because people don't want to know where the cheese has been moved. They have got to get used to change.

I have been in the U.S. Senate for 10 years. I am sick of saying: Medicare has to get better. I am sick of saying: Medicaid has to get better. I am sick of saying: We are not getting people more healthy on Medicaid today. I am sick of hearing people say that on both sides of the aisles, folks.

So if we don't take some calculated risk, then we are going to be talking about the same sort of vexing issues 10 years from now.

And so I want to ask everybody to reject this narrative that we are going too fast, too soon, too many things on the line, and let's get to specific examples.

I have used the example that has dominated the press this week to determine most of what is being said is a red herring to take the President and, in this case, Elon Musk, off of the trail of trying to find efficiencies. You have facts to dispute that? Come to the Senate floor; I can learn from it. But stop creating a false narrative because you don't want to go through change because you want to continue to establish and follow the status quo, which is failing the American people and failing to fulfill promises that I have heard people make for the last decade.

Mr. President, I come here to say--I also shared a story. I had a friend of Greek ancestry call me this week and say: What is going on with Mr. Musk?

I will say, Mr. Musk has put out some social media posts that are incorrect. He actually is one of the reasons why we are having to complete this due diligence because he was talking about looking at payment data versus having professionals who--some of them are career personnel looking at source code to figure out how to make it better. He probably needs to tighten it up.

But my Greek friend told me--when I thought about all this stuff, I said: I think the President has enabled Mr. Musk and other people a lot like Icarus's father provided him with wings. They were made of wax and feathers. If you know mythology, the idea was for Icarus to fly and never go so low as to drown in the sea but never go so high as to have his wings melted, his feathers float away, and ultimately drown in the sea.

So to those who are looking at all of this in the way that I am, I want that sweet spot. I want those who are looking at government efficiencies to understand the rules. They need to understand confidentiality, national security, and when lives are on the line.

When we are talking about DOD, the intel community, the Foreign Service, you need adult supervision in the room to make absolutely certain we don't compromise or put those men or women in danger. But in the meantime, if we really want to force change, if we really want to fulfill the promises that we made to the American people when we took control of Washington, we have to get people comfortable with change.

We have to start fulfilling promises--some of the big promises that for the 10 years I have been here, I heard it every year, and we haven't made appreciable progress.

Look, the American people are patient. If my colleagues on the other side of the aisle will present facts, not innuendo that could be politically motivated at best or just bad information at worst, then we can get through this, and we can do right by the American people as a result.

[marutiagrifoods]

How Phloroglucinol 150 + Trimethylphloroglucinol 150 Suppositories Work in Treating Gastrointestinal Disorders

Gastrointestinal disorders affect millions of people worldwide, causing discomfort, pain, and disruption to daily life.  Among the effective treatments for these conditions are phloroglucinol 150 + Trimethylphloroglucinol 150 suppositories, which have gained prominence for their antispasmodic properties.  As a leading phloroglucinol 150 + trimethylphloroglucinol 150 suppository manufacturer in Senegal, Centurion Healthcare Pvt. Ltd. is proud to shed light on how these suppositories work and their role in managing gastrointestinal health.

Understanding Phloroglucinol and Trimethylphloroglucinol

Phloroglucinol and trimethylphloroglucinol are active ingredients widely used to relieve spasms in smooth muscles.  Together, they form a potent combination that addresses various gastrointestinal issues by reducing spasmodic pain and improving patient comfort.

Key Properties of the Active Ingredients

Phloroglucinol:  A spasmolytic agent that relaxes smooth muscles, especially in the gastrointestinal tract.  It works by targeting hyperactive muscles, thus reducing contractions.

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Mechanism of Action

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Targets Specific Disorders:  Conditions like irritable bowel syndrome (IBS), colitis, and biliary colic benefit significantly from this treatment.

Applications of Phloroglucinol 150 + Trimethylphloroglucinol Suppositories

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Why Choose Suppositories?

Suppositories offer several advantages over other forms of medication:

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Centurion Healthcare Pvt. Ltd.:  A Trusted Partner in Pharmaceuticals

Centurion Healthcare Pvt. Ltd. stands out as a leading name in the pharmaceutical industry in India, renowned for its commitment to quality and innovation.  As one of the top pharmaceutical companies in India, we specialize in manufacturing and exporting high-quality medications, including Phloroglucinol 150 + Trimethylphloroglucinol 150 suppositories.

Our Expertise

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Challenges in Gastrointestinal Health and the Need for Effective Solutions

Gastrointestinal disorders are on the rise globally due to factors like poor diet, stress, and sedentary lifestyles.  These conditions require effective and targeted treatments to improve patient quality of life.  Phloroglucinol 150 + Trimethylphloroglucinol suppositories address this need by:

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Centurion Healthcare Pvt. Ltd.:  A Leader among Pharmaceutical Companies

As one of the top 10 pharmaceutical companies in India, Centurion Healthcare Pvt. Ltd. is dedicated to improving global healthcare through innovative products.  Our pharma companies in India are known for their commitment to excellence, making us a trusted partner for healthcare providers and patients alike.

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The pharmaceutical industry is constantly evolving, with new advancements shaping the future of healthcare.  As a leader in the pharmaceutical industry in India, Centurion Healthcare Pvt. Ltd. is committed to staying at the forefront of innovation.

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Conclusion

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[sqlinjection]

SQLi Potential Mitigation Measures

Phase: Architecture and Design

Strategy: Libraries or Frameworks

Use a vetted library or framework that prevents this weakness or makes it easier to avoid. For example, persistence layers like Hibernate or Enterprise Java Beans can offer protection against SQL injection when used correctly.

Phase: Architecture and Design

Strategy: Parameterization

Use structured mechanisms that enforce separation between data and code, such as prepared statements, parameterized queries, or stored procedures. Avoid constructing and executing query strings with "exec" to prevent SQL injection [REF-867].

Phases: Architecture and Design; Operation

Strategy: Environment Hardening

Run your code with the minimum privileges necessary for the task [REF-76]. Limit user privileges to prevent unauthorized access if an attack occurs, such as by ensuring database applications don’t run as an administrator.

Phase: Architecture and Design

Duplicate client-side security checks on the server to avoid CWE-602. Attackers can bypass client checks by altering values or removing checks entirely, making server-side validation essential.

Phase: Implementation

Strategy: Output Encoding

Avoid dynamically generating query strings, code, or commands that mix control and data. If unavoidable, use strict allowlists, escape/filter characters, and quote arguments to mitigate risks like SQL injection (CWE-88).

Phase: Implementation

Strategy: Input Validation

Assume all input is malicious. Use strict input validation with allowlists for specifications and reject non-conforming inputs. For SQL queries, limit characters based on parameter expectations for attack prevention.

Phase: Architecture and Design

Strategy: Enforcement by Conversion

For limited sets of acceptable inputs, map fixed values like numeric IDs to filenames or URLs, rejecting anything outside the known set.

Phase: Implementation

Ensure error messages reveal only necessary details, avoiding cryptic language or excessive information. Store sensitive error details in logs but be cautious with content visible to users to prevent revealing internal states.

Phase: Operation

Strategy: Firewall

Use an application firewall to detect attacks against weaknesses in cases where the code can’t be fixed. Firewalls offer defense in depth, though they may require customization and won’t cover all input vectors.

Phases: Operation; Implementation

Strategy: Environment Hardening

In PHP, avoid using register_globals to prevent weaknesses like CWE-95 and CWE-621. Avoid emulating this feature to reduce risks. source