#I’m self soothing to the point of it being harmful | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trippinsorrows · 3 months

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looking through your eyes + four

authors note: hi! thank you so much for everyone who has left such kind words for this story! i'm so appreciative for the support and interest!

this one, i think, depicts a lot of contradicting thoughts and feelings for our two favorite characters. that's intentional.

i also take some creative liberties with medical and wrestling shit. let's just go with it, friends, por favor.

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

cw/tw: language, violence, sexual harassment, hints at past self-harm, allusions to past suicide attempt, references to traumatic pasts

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

words: 10k

Roman has spent years coming home to a dark, empty house. It’s been his preference for just as long, enjoying the isolation following day after day of shit that needs to be handled. Because that’s usually how shit plays out for him. Roman’s always calling the shots, always figuring out how to navigate difficult, sticky situations.

It's just what he does.

It’s why he’s been able to advance the Bloodline as much as he has. Because Roman is a man playing professional chess among a group of elementary checker players.

And he’d never voice or admit it to anyone, but the weight does sometimes get to him in one way or another. So, he’s learned to appreciate solitude.

But he’s not met with solitude upon entering his home, which is both surprising and irritating considering it’s pushing 2 o’clock in the morning.

The only sound he should hear is the sound of his heavy footsteps from the front door to the bedroom. Instead, his feet carry him into the source of said sounds that are more pots banging and dishes being washed.

That’s how he immediately knows who it is without needing to check. But, Roman is more curious as to why she’s in the damn kitchen at this time of night instead of sleeping than the noise itself.

And he goes to ask as such when he gets even closer and realizes there’s more to the sound than clanging pots and running water. A soft, melodic, almost soothing voice singing in a language he doesn’t understand but recognizes as Spanish.

Solana is singing, and she’s singing well, beautiful even. So much so that he finds himself leaning against the wall closest to the kitchen, watching as she moves about, earbuds pressed in her ears making her oblivious to his presence.

There’s a sense of relaxation to her, an almost smile as she sings. She doesn’t seem nervous nor skittish….just at peace.

That is she turns around and realizes he's standing there, watching her.

She snatches her earbuds out and immediately jumps on the train of unnecessary apologies. “I’m sorry! I didn’t—-you said you’d be back late.”

He chuckles, calmly pointing out, “it’s almost 2am.”

Her face is flushed red with unnecessary embarrassment. “I thought—I guess I figured that meant you’d come back in the morning.”

“I sleep in my own bed, if I can help it.” It’s a comfort thing, a nod to his preference for solitude. He’s never even stayed the night with Samantha, mostly because he knows her ass would see that as a damn marriage proposal.

Well, maybe not anymore.

“Why are you still up?”

“I—I couldn’t sleep.” It’s a simple answer he’s certain also includes a very real, dark backstory as to why she can’t sleep. He’s been there.

He gets it.

“I’ll be done soon—"

“You can stay up as long as you want. I don’t care.” And it’s true. The house is big enough for her to be making as much noise as she needs, and he probably wouldn’t hear anything from where his room is. He also recognizes the misery that comes with wanting but not being able to sleep, so if being in the kitchen is her distraction, then he’s good with that.

Of course, she continues with the apologies. “I’m sorry about the music—I just—the house was too quiet. I—I don’t like the quiet.”

“Solana.” He has to interrupt her. Roman’s not in the mood for her apology tour. Granted, he does hone in on the part of not liking the quietness of the house. Of course she would be the opposite of him. “I don’t care. Do what you want. Shit doesn’t impact me.”

Roman can see she’s unsure of how to take his words, most likely wondering if there’s some catch, if it’s followed up with a stipulation. But, there is none. As long as it doesn’t impact him, she can do what she wants.

“You have a nice voice,” he compliments, because again, it’s the truth. He’d never taken her as the singing type, but gradually, Roman is starting to see there may be more to Solana than meets the eye.

Her unsure expression remains unchanged with the exception of her blush deepening as she mumbles a quiet, “thank you.”

Compliments of any sort seem to bother her, or maybe it’s less they bother her and more she’s unsure of how to respond because she’s not used to them.

He’d lean more on the side of that being the case.

Nevertheless, Roman decides to leave her be. “I’m going to bed.”

“Okay,” she says almost sheepishly, adding a quiet, “goodnight.”

Roman takes her in, the quietness and passiveness no longer as irritating as he once thought and believed it to be. It might still irk him, but the level of irritation isn’t as high as it used to be.

Whatever that means.

“Goodnight, Solana….”

————

From day one of moving into Roman's mansion, Solana has noticed the watch dogs that occasionally patrol the premises along with the armed guards. And while she’s always been tempted to ask to pet one, she’s also always decided against it. These dogs, like their handlers, are trained killers, not emotional support animals.

They’re not there for her to treat like objects.

But it’s when she walks outside, ready to head off to work, that she notices one guard with a dog Solana hasn’t seen before, a puppy, that she finds it in her to approach. With a couple minutes to spare before she has to leave for work, interacting with a dog seems like a nice way to start off the day.

Hand on her purse strap, she shoves back her anxiety about approaching this strange man, asking in a soft voice, “i–is he new?”

The guard sizes her up and down, answering with a gruff, “yeah.”

Solana looks down at the dog who’s also staring up at her with just as much curiosity. Smiling gently, she carefully crouches down and waits for him to move closer. There's a generous leeway of his leash that would allow him to do so.

Sure enough, the dog walks over to her, ears down. Giggling, she cautiously moves to pet him. “You’re so sweet….” And he is. Solana wonders if he’ll retain that sweetness once he undergoes his training. Unlikely. “Good boy…”

“He’s not a fucking pet.” The guard harshly scolds, giving a tug on the leash that makes the dog start to growl. Solana frowns, recognizing he’s annoyed with her interruption.

“I’m sor—”

But before she can finish her sentence, there’s a flash before her that seems almost too quick for her vision to process. But, when she does, she realizes Roman is now present, directly in front of the guard, hand wrapped around his throat.

“Speak to her like that again, and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out your mouth.” His voice is as menacing and terrifying as the fire in his eyes. Roman shoves the man forward and demands. “Apologize. Now.”

The man is coughing, struggling to regulate his breathing but still manages to cough up a muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Solana feels and probably looks stumped at hearing such a thing. She can’t recall the last time someone has ever uttered those words to her. Understandably, she doesn’t know how to respond or react.

“Leave,” Roman demands. And Solana isn’t sure she’s seen a man haul off as quickly as he does, guiding the dog along with him.

Roman takes in her appearance as she stands up, nervously brushing any invisible lint off her pants. “You good?”

She nods, still not quite knowing how to take this. How to take Roman seemingly defending her. Or maybe he’s just defending what belongs to him. It has to be the latter of the two, because why would he care about defending her?

Red-faced, she tries to explain her actions. “It—it was my fault. I just—I saw the dog, and I just—I wanted to pet it.”

“Why are you apologizing for someone being rude to you? Does that shit make sense to you?” When he says it like that, no, it doesn’t. But it’s clearly meant to be rhetorical, as he then asks, “you like dogs?”

Nodding, she clarifies. “Small dogs, mostly. Big ones, umm, they kinda scare me.” As do most things. This, she’s sure, he’s noticed by now. “Uhh—what time do you want dinner ready?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll be back late tonight.”

“Oh.” Solana is unsure why there’s a strange sense of disappointment in her belly at this. Late….

In her experience with her dad and brother, that usually means they won’t be back until the next day, most likely in the morning.

This should make her feel a bit relieved, not having to be on edge, feeling worried about upsetting him.

Even if the only thing regarding her that she’s seen upset him is when he perceives she’s being disrespected.

She’s not quite sure what to make of that either.

“Ayo, Lil’ Soso.” A new voice enters the conversation, one she’s gradually growing comfortable and used to. Jey walks out with a rubbermaid container in his hand, chewing obnoxiously as he approaches Solana and Roman. “What are these things? They’re pretty good.”

There’s a couple of things to process in that one interaction, starting with the nickname Jey has used to refer to her in the times she’s run into him in the house. The twins, along with Paul, seem to be at the mansion often. The interactions though, have allowed her to feel less tense around him. Around Jimmy too.

She hasn’t had enough interaction with Paul to feel that way about him, and she’s certain that won’t change. He seems only concerned with Roman and no one else, which is valid and fair considering his role as Roman’s chief advisor.

Going back to his question, she answers, “conchas.”

“Con what?”

His expression and delivery make her smile. “Conchas. It’s a Mexican pan dulce. Sweet bread.”

“I don’t know half of what you said, but this shit good as hell. You got any more?”

“Don’t you have fucking food at your house?” Solana would never show or admit to it, but it’s sometimes funny to her how Roman seems almost always annoyed with his eccentric cousins. There’s no doubt in her mind though that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill for them, that he’s probably done so. And vice versa.

But they also seem to get on his nerves just as much.

“Man, Nicki on that shit again, talking about she ain’t cooking until I start treating her right. Me and the kids been eating out.”

Kids? That surprises her. She didn’t know Jey was a father.

“Solana! When you train with Naomi, can you exchange some recipes with her or something?” Jimmy also joins in the conversation, walking over while rubbing his stomach. “Cause I don’t know what that meal was in the blue container, but shit slapped.”

It takes a minute for her to remember which one that was. She’s always been a bit meticulous about separating her meals accordingly. “Carnitas Huevos Rancheros.”

Jimmy hesitates. “Yeah sure, that.”

“Am I running a fucking food pantry?” It’s hard to tell if Roman is genuinely annoyed. Something tells her it’s that type of irritation he naturally gets with the twins but won’t actually do anything about. “It’s not her job to feed you idiots.”

“I don’t mind,” she offers, adding. “I–I like to cook.” And it’s the truth. It reminds Solana of her mom, of all the times she’d spend in the kitchen learning from and spending time with the one and only person on this planet who ever loved her.

“See, Uce, she likes to cook,” Jey points out, wiping the crumbs off his fingers on his pants and tucking the now empty container under his arm. “I’ll just take this off your hands.”

Solana’s watch vibrating, reminding her that her shift starts in half an hour, is the perfect reminder that while this conversation is comical, it’s also interfering with her schedule. She’s also certain Solo is waiting patiently, or impatiently, by the SUV for her to jump in so they can get a move on. “I—I’ve gotta get to work, but I can have the food ready by tomorrow. I’ll just come home and cook after training.”

“If you feel like it,” Roman adds, and she knows better than to push back and tell him cooking is one of the few escapes she has. It’s become even more of an escape without the anxiety and pressure of her dad and brother demanding the food always be ready in sometimes unrealistic time frames and lashing out when that doesn’t happen.

To Roman’s credit, if he’s ever been annoyed with waiting a few extra minutes for meals, he’s done a perfect job not showing as such.

She simply nods, acknowledging his stipulation, offering a quiet ‘bye’ as she jogs off to the SUV with Solo ready to escort her to work.

It’s when she’s gone that Jimmy walks up beside Roman. “Man, she can cook, she don’t got a smartass mouth, and she got a body? Shit, Uce, ain’t you glad I told you to go with her?” Roman doesn’t offer a reply, but he definitely gives Jimmy that look that lets his cousin know to get away from him. Roman’s always been big on personal space.

“Does she cook every night?” Jey comes up, asking with an almost level of excitement. “Shit, me and the kids finna start coming over here.”

“Shut up.” The hell they will. Roman is still adjusting to living with someone. The last thing he needs is his cousin and his spawns running around his place, making noise, breaking and touching shit. Not going to happen. “Is Paul already at the office?”

“Yeah. He’s got the updated figures for you to go over. And the RKO proposal was sent over as well for you to review.”

Nodding, Roman starts to create a mental agenda for tasks he needs to complete for the day. And it goes without saying that he’s forever impressed how his cousins are easily able to slide back and forth between professional bag and bumbling morons.

It’s one of the reasons he keeps them around and as high up in command as they are.

“Good,” Roman acknowledges, sliding his sunglasses over his eyes. “Let’s go.”

————

“Hey!”

Naomi’s smile is just as bright and genuine as the first time Solana met her, and that’s something she doesn’t know how to take. A part of her figured Naomi was just being nice to her because Roman was around, because she was given an order, and no one defies the Tribal Chief’s orders.

And maybe she could even chalk this up to being an order as well, Roman tasking her with training Solana on how to fight, hence the continued kindness.

Regardless of the motivating factor, this woman is clearly a capable and trained fighter. A killer.

Solana would do well to stay on her good side.

“It’s good to see you. We didn’t really get a chance to talk much, but obviously, I’m Naomi. Jimmy’s wife.” For some reason, Solana can see it. Can see these two together, even if she’s only been around both less than a handful of times. “I train a lot of the new recruits, mostly women, some men.”

“Men?”

Naomi chuckles. “That’s typically their reaction too. Right before I remind them who I am and what I can do.”

Solana isn’t sure she wants to know the answer to either of those.

“Just out of curiosity, do you have any kind of combat training? Fighting knowledge in general?” It’s a valid question that only has one embarrassing answer. Solana guesses that Naomi picks up on this embarrassment, adding gently, “it’s okay if you don’t. It just gives me a baseline on where we should start.”

“No—I—I’ve never done anything like this before.” And she’s still not sure if she wants to, not sure what Roman thinks she will get from this. Him, along with everyone else around her, learned how to shoot a gun at the same time they learned how to walk. She doesn’t think she’s ever even held a gun. There’s no way humanly possible she could ever be even a fraction as good at this.

And Roman has to know this.

So, why is he making me do it?

Again, either Naomi is insanely perceptive or Solana is much worse at hiding her emotions than she initially believed.

She’d bet on the latter of the two.

“He doesn’t want you to be like us. He just—”

“He wants you to stop being so damn weak,” a new voice interjects. Solana recognizes the tall, intimidating woman from before when Roman had taken her to the Warehouse. She hadn’t had any direct interaction, but just the mere fact alone that she’d simply looked at Solana with disgust told her all she needed to know. “Wants you to grow a backbone.”

“Nia.” Naomi’s smile is dropped, traded for an intense stare. “Lay off her, okay? You heard what Roman said.”

“Oh yeah, we have to be nice to her.” Nia’s smile is mocking, her unimpressed gaze taking in Solana from head to toe. But Solana focuses on what Nia just said versus her judgmental countenance. Did Roman really tell them to be nice to her? Why? Why would he do that?

Nia walks over, crossing her arms over her body. “Well, here’s some kind advice, I can tell from one look at you that life hasn’t been very nice to you. But that doesn’t make you special.”

Naomi steps in. “Nia!”

“Bad shit happens to people all the time. At some point, you have to stop allowing yourself to be a victim.” If not for the fact that Solana knows Nia can’t stand her, she’d almost think Nia is offering what she believes to be genuine advice vs judging her. “You’re here. You survived it. Make that survival worth something.”

Naomi pushes Nia away from Solana, saying something to her that appears to be in defense of Solana, which she’d appreciate if not for the fact that she’s now in her head.

Nothing Nia said is inherently wrong. The world is undoubtedly both good and bad, perfect yet imperfect, wholly and incompletely balanced. These are all facts she’s well aware of, but what Nia doesn’t know or understand yet is that a person still being here doesn’t mean they survived.

Solana is already broken.

There is no survival.

There’s just existence.

“Don’t listen to Nia,” Naomi advises. Looking around, Solana sees that at some point in her dissociation, Nia departed. Naomi continues with that same warm smile. “She can be a bitch sometimes, but she does mean well…..occasionally.” Hands on her hip, Naomi brings the attention back to the whole reason Solana is even at the Warehouse. “How about we just start with flexibility and mobility? Most of us are smaller than the men, and you definitely are, girl.”

Small……

That’s a word Solana has never thought to use to describe herself.

“Being smaller means we can move around faster, can navigate around an attacker in a bit of a quicker way. But, you also have to be able to move in a way that’s lithe. Don’t worry. I gotchu, girl.”

They are reassuring words, words that Solana is grateful for, especially as they begin and she feels completely out of her element. Because she is. Solana isn’t the least bit lithe, and she’s certain her hand eye coordination is straight up shit.

But regardless of all that, Naomi remains kind, patient, and even makes conversation with her.

It doesn’t feel like she’s being made to do this, but more like something she gets to do. And Solana is grateful for that interaction, for the space to not feel like she’s burdening someone. That feels nice. So, so nice.

But equilibrium is a hard thing to achieve and even harder to maintain, so while one safe space is being created, another unsafe space is gradually forming in the midst of her oblivion.

Austin Theory and Grayson Waller, two upcoming, arrogant, fighters and wannabe heads have used the Warehouse for their training space for the past few months after finally proving and gaining access to the elite training grounds.

And while the initiation and acceptance process was brutal and would ward most off from fucking up their membership status, Austin and Grayson have always been hardheaded, too blinded by their own hubris to recognize when they’re about to shoot themselves in the foot.

And shooting themselves is the least of their worries when Grayson is casually surveying the gym to see who’s present, his eyes landing on a woman in particular who catches his interest almost instantaneously.

“Well, who do we have here?” Austin is confused initially, Grayson motioning across the way to where Solana completes her cooldown with Naomi.

Immediately, Austin scoffs. “Since when does this place offer a weight watchers class?”

Chuckling, Grayson still pushes back. “Hers is in the right places though, mate,” Grayson again advises Austin to watch Solana as she happens to be leaning back, palms flat on the ground making her top hug against her chest.

Austin makes a face. “Decent.”

“Who is she?” Grayson asks again as Austin notices a semi-familiar face walking nearby.

“Melo.”

Carmelo shifts his Beats headphones so they’re no longer covering his ears. “Whassup?”

Austin subtly gestures to Solana, asking, “who is that?”

Carmelo follows the line of vision and almost immediately snatches his eyes back to the duo. “Yo. You fuckin’ crazy?”

“What?”

Carmelo repeats himself, a sense of urgency in his voice. “Do you know who that is?”

“Pretty sure that’s what we just fucking asked you, dumbass,” Austin slaps him upside the head. “Now who is she?”

“Solana Miller. Well, Solana Reigns now, I guess.” Carmelo lowers his voice, as if speaking too loudly will attract too much attention. And he’s not entirely wrong. “Roman’s wife.”

Grayson makes a face, looking between Carmelo and Austin for elaboration. “Reigns got married? Bullshit. That bloke is the last man to ever walk down the aisle.”

“You two would do well getting your head from up your asses every once in a while. It’s a recent thing, but still a thing. So unless you want your insides literally ripped from out of you, it’d be best to leave her the fuck alone.”

Austin, the most smug of the two, is the first to protest. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those. Everyone makes Roman out to be this big bad who can’t be touched. He defends, what, once every six months?” Austin scoffs. The fear that the “Head of the Table” seems to have over everyone has never made sense to him. Sure, he’s heard things, even seen some things, but that’s always been because Roman called the shot. He’s not the one actually taking or making them. “Everyone knows he has his heron boys do his dirty work for him.”

“Plus, isn’t the guy pushing 40? What the fuck is he going to do?” Grayson laughs.

“Break his fucking hip trying to chase us.”

Carmelo shakes his head as the two dipshits laugh at their unfunny humor. “I’m telling ya’ll. Messing with her is a death wish. Plus, I heard she’s not even like that. That’s she’s like….shy and shit.”

If intended to ward the two off, it does the complete opposite. Theory smirks. “Those are always the freakiest.”

Carmelo backs away, lifting his hand in a surrender motion. “Can’t say I ain’t warn you. Dig your own graves.” With zero interest in having any part of what these two are clearly planning, Carmelo puts his headphones back over his ears and jogs off to start his training.

And it’s a wise decision as Austin and Grayson, forever the patient predators stalking their prey wait for Naomi to walk off, time it well so that there’s an appropriate enough time for Solana to walk off to the showers, get clean, and walk out at the same time they happen to be lurking in the halls that lead to the locker rooms.

That’s exactly how it plays out too, Solana looking down in her bag to grab her phone and text Solo that she’s done and ready to leave when a voice nearly knocks the wind out of her.

“Hi there.”

Solana gasps as loud as the sound of her back colliding with the brick wall behind her from how startled she is.

Instantly, she’s met with a set of cold blue eyes and wicked smile. “Solana, right?”

Breathing feels like it’s an optional thing, her hands still gripping the brick wall behind her. She can only nod her answer.

“Austin.” He then nods to the other man that Solana realizes is leaning back against the wall opposite her. The anxiety intensifies. “This is my buddy, Grayson. You must be new around here?”

Solana doesn’t want to speak, doesn't want to be near these two who have her practically cornered. But, she also doesn’t want to piss them off either. “Y—yeah.”

Austin’s eyes twinkle with nothing that seems good. “You really are shy, huh?”

“They make the best.” Grayson comments from his propped up position. Solana doesn’t allow herself to think too much about what he’s implying. She just wants to get the hell away from them. One look, and she knows they’re up to no good.

It makes her sick to her stomach.

The idea of walking past these two brings a visceral, physical response that has her mouth watering. She feels like she’s going to throw up, but she also knows she needs to get the hell away from them. “I—I have to go.” From where the next thing to come out her mouth stems from, she doesn’t know, but it’s blurted with all the nerves in her body. “R-Roman is waiting for me.”

He’s not. She actually has no idea where he is, but there’s a part of her that wonders if reminding them of who she is, who her husband is will make them back off.

“Of course,” the one with an accent speaks, motioning with his arm for her to leave. “Don’t want to keep the Chief waiting.”

The mockery in his tone unease her even more. Does he not realize just who Roman is? What he’s capable of.

Regardless, the second Austin backs away a bit, she’s darting through the hall, trying to put as much distance between herself and the two men, but she’s not far enough to miss the ominous departing statement from Austin.

“See you around, Solana.”

Something tells her this won’t be the last time she runs into them, and it leaves a deep, disturbing feeling in the pit of her stomach.

This isn’t good.

It’s not good at all.

————

Dear Mom,

I’m still alive.

That’s a good thing, I guess. Life with Roman has been….a strange experience. The most important thing is that he hasn’t hit me yet, but I’ve been trying really hard not to upset him or get on his bad side. I do my best to make sure all of his meals are ready and on time, which I guess helps.

But to be honest……he kinda confuses me.

He hasn’t been unkind, and I don’t think I’ve ever experienced him really yelling at me. Not like I’ve seen him yell and scream at others. So, that’s also good. It’s a bit of walking on eggshells, just waiting for him to snap and hit me, but not as much as I was thinking.

I don’t know….it hasn’t been as bad here as I thought it would be. For the most part, he just leaves me alone. We don’t even eat dinner together, which is fine, cause I can’t see why he’d want to spend time with me anyway.

But, he confuses me because it feels like sometimes he’s defending me or something, which doesn’t make sense because why would he do that? That would mean he has to care to some extent, right? I keep trying to remind myself that it’s probably not me he’s defending but his pride and standing, because I think being mean or disrespecting me is like disrespecting him? I’m not sure, but it’s definitely a new experience.

I haven't spoken to or heard from Wes and dad. Roman made me get a new phone with a new number that I’m not sure either of them have. I don’t know if I want to think too much about how bad it’s going to be when I finally do see them again…..

Wes made it clear I was supposed to be keeping in contact with them, but that hasn’t happened. Truth be told, I try not to think about that. Think about the fact that I’m somehow supposed be figuring out a way to…..to kill Roman. I could never do that. I could never kill anyone. You know that, mama.

Even more….I feel like Roman is growing on me, like maybe he’s not as bad as I thought, like maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye.

I think….I think that I could learn to like living here.

—------

“WarGames?”

To Solana, it’s a simple question, because it’s definitely not an everyday term. But that’s clearly not the case given the startled expressions on both Bayley and Naomi’s face.

It’s becoming something she is slowly starting to enjoy. Not necessarily the training part, but the socialization. It’s something Solana has been deeply deprived of over the years, so to have someone to talk to, someone who wants to talk to her means a lot.

Even if it’s technically a job she was assigned by Roman, Naomi has never made her feel like their interactions are forced.

Moreover, it was just in last week’s training session, Solana was thoroughly and pleasantly surprised to find out Bayley is also a member of the Warehouse and friends with Naomi, that reunion almost giving Solana a sense of giddiness.

She’s wanted to reach out since the wedding but never followed through based upon her fear that she’d be bothering Bayley.

Clearly, that’s not the case.

Solana is certain she’ll never forget Bayley’s kindness on a day where she really needed to believe in something, believe that there is always at least one reason to keep breathing, to be alive.

But, it’s when Solana asks about this topic Naomi and Bayley were discussing that attracts confounded expressions.

“You’re kidding right?” Bayley is the first to speak, glancing between herself and Naomi. “He didn’t tell you?”

Still confused, Solana presses, “tell me what?”

“I’m not surprised Roman didn’t, but someone definitely should have.” Naomi shakes her head, shifting into an explanation.. “War Games. It’s an annual match. Super big deal. It’s a show of strength and dominance for the Bloodline. Kinda hard to explain. You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

It sounds….intense. “I—I don’t think I’m invited.”

“Your hubby has clearly been a bachelor for way too long for him to realize that he has to tell you these things.” Bayley rolls her eyes but protests Solana’s belief that she would somehow not be invited to one of the Bloodline’s most important yearly events. “You’re definitely invited. As Roman’s wife, you have to be there. It would be seen as a sign of great disrespect to him if you didn’t.””

Disrespecting Roman…..never a good idea.

“When is it?”

Naomi seems to hesitate before answering. “Tomorrow night” And before Solana can panic at such short notice, Naomis is reassuring her that it will all work out. “Don’t worry. Bay and I will help you get ready.”

“Hell yeah.” Bayley already goes into strategizing mode. “I’ll handle your hair and makeup, and Naomi can find you a kickass dress.”

“Red, of course. That’s the only non-negotiable. Bloodline thing, ya know.” Solana figured as such. She also briefly wonders if that’s why Roman has been coming back home late the past few weeks, because he’s been training? “But, I will say we usually dress….well, like we’re going clubbing for these kinds of events, so it’s gonna be short, tight, and a tad bit revealing.”

That is something that gives Solana pause. None of those things scream appealing to her at all. She doesn’t have the body to dress like that. Not with the rolls, stretch marks, and scars that mar hers.

“I—I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she finds it in herself to voice her opinion. A rarity. “I don’t—I don’t think I’d look good in something like that.”

Both Bayley and Naomi cast her confused expressions, Naomi being the first to speak.

“Why?” Naomi presses, gesturing up and down. “Girl, you have a nice ass shape. You would fill out a bodycon dress nicely.”

Solana has a hard time digesting what Naomi is saying. She would look great in a dress like that. Naomi is both fit and curvy, the perfect amount of curves in the right places without unnecessary fat. Same for Bayley.

For Solana, the less skin she’s showing the better, though she wonders if the kind of attire they’re describing is some type of dress code, meaning there is no room to protest.

The last thing she wants is for it to get back to Roman that she’s being “difficult.”

Defeated, she murmurs an ‘okay’ as the two of them engage in more conversation about this WarGames as well as fashion options. To be fair, they try to include her in, but Solana is too into her head about what this alleged night is as well as what it could include.

—---

Naomi wasn’t lying when she said that Solana would have to see WarGames for herself to understand it. That’s the absolute truth.

It’s a spectacle, to say the least.

For one, it’s a ton of people packed around the ring, the massive room where fights take place. The noise is boisterous, almost deafening, people drunk, swearing, placing bets, most of which are on the Bloodline.

And thankfully, Solana and Co. are seated in the upper area, a VIP box of sorts, away from the unruly crowd. She’s thankful for this for a lot of reasons, one of the biggest being the fact that she feels extremely uncomfortable in her dress. And just in general, but mostly with how much scarred skin is showing.

The dress is exactly as Naomi said it would be: short, red, and a bit revealing. Thankfully Naomi picked out a dress with a halter neckline that prevents any cleavage from showing, but there’s a split high up on the thigh that she finds herself trying to constantly adjust.

“You look great, Solana.” Bayley wears that same friendly, encouraging smile from Solana’s wedding day. “And I get that you’re self-conscious about your body, but I can guarantee these men would line up by the dozen for a chance to go home with you if not for your psycho-killer husband.”

Bayley playfully nudges her shoulder, and while Solana can emit a chuckle, she can’t bring herself to laugh. That line of men would be just as disappointed as she’s sure her psycho-killer husband was on their wedding night.

But, this isn’t the time and place for that.

“You look nice,” Solana compliments, partially a deflection technique but mostly the truth. Bayley, Naomi, and Nicki, who she met earlier that night and learned was Jey’s wife, all look exceptional in their numbers. Bayley is the only one not wearing red, for obvious reasons, but the jade green compliments her complexion well.

“We all look nice,” she says loud enough for the other two to hear.

Nicki opens her mouth to respond when the lights in the arena start to shift. “Ugh. This bitch again.” Nicki’s scowl and expression of irritation draws Solana’s attention to the woman in the ring, who now has the spotlight on her, a woman she immediately recognizes as being there that night Roman woke her up from a nightmare.

The woman is tall, curvy in the right places, beautiful, bouncy curls cascading down her back. If she has a lot of makeup on, Solana can’t tell because it’s painfully obvious she’s been blessed with natural beauty. Everything about her is just so gorgeous.

At the time, she didn’t think anything of it, too caught in the haze of trauma. But now, curious and believing she can receive an answer, Solana asks, “who is she?”

“The most annoying person ever,” Nicki answers, taking a swig of her drink. In only knowing Nicki for less than an hour, Solana both does and doesn’t understand the compatibility between herself and Jey. They seem very much alike yet dissimilar. It makes sense why they fight as much as they do.

“That’s Samantha.” There’s no way to misinterpret the disgust in Nicki’s voice even as she pronounces Samantha’s name with undeniable distaste. “She does the announcements for events, but her daytime job is being a professional hooker.”

“Nicki!” Naomi shakes her head. “I think she’s a paralegal for a lawyer or something, but she’s mostly known as a pain in everyone’s ass. Always has been. Ever since we were in high school. She thinks because she’s light skinned with ‘good hair’ that she’s better than everybody.”

“Don’t forget about Roman,” Nicki chimes with her nose upturned. “She really thinks she’s hot shit though because she’s number one on his ‘I want my dick sucked’ list.”

This causes Solana to pause for a second. “What?”

She’s not stupid. Why else would this Samantha have been over at the house that late at night? And with Roman? Solana figured early on that if he isn’t getting any from her, then he has to be getting it from somewhere. Truthfully, even if their marriage did involve sex, she’s not sure he still wouldn’t find his way in between the legs of another woman.

But, there’s something about having it confirmed, hearing for herself that he gets around, that he clearly has a high sex drive that adds a whole new layer of insecurity.

She’s known from day one she could never be anyone he wanted or needed, and he expressed as such that day at the library, but this conversation makes it feel more…..real.

And she’s unsure why or just what makes this bring on a sense of sadness.

“Come on, I get you’re quiet and innocent and shit, but everyone knows that man is a hoe. If you’re black or black–ish with a vagina, fat ass, and big titties, he’ll fuck you. Cause none of them fools fuck with white girls.” She glances at Bayley, almost sympathetically. “No offense.”

“I’m Mexican.”

This serves as a brief, nice distraction for Solana. She suspected that Bayley wasn’t entirely white, but hearing that she’s Hispanic, Mexican, makes Solana feel a small slice of excitement. She makes a mental note to ask her if she speaks Spanish.

Solana hasn’t been able to communicate in the language her mother made sure to teach her in secret given Xavier’s protest since her murder. So, the idea of being able to communicate with another person in that language makes her feel a bit excited. Maybe more than a bit.

Nicki is dismissive, though there’s a hint of humor there. Like she knows and is just messing with the other woman. “Sure you are, Bay.”

Bayley rolls her eyes and assures Solana. “Don’t listen to her.”

“Ya’ll, don’t lie to this girl.” Nicki seems dead set on stressing this point, and Solana can’t figure out if it comes from a good place, a drunk place, or somewhere in between the two of them. “If it wasn’t common knowledge he don’t fuck none of these bitches raw and makes most get on birth control, I’d tell you to not let that fool touch you with a ten foot pole.”

Bayley is watching Solana, sees the discomfort growing at this conversation and moves to change the conversation. “Why don’t we talk about you and Jey and why I literally saw him flirting with Sasha the other day?”

At that, Nicki drops her drink, cussing loudly, “man, fuck him! I don’t give a fuck about him or that bony heifer! I’ll beat the shit out both of them.”

“Nicki. Shut the fuck up. You may beat her ass, but you gon be right back to drunk spilling about how good Jey’s dick is when it’s all said and done.” Naomi dismisses, and something tells Solana she’s not wrong. Nicki and Jey seem to have a bit of a…..tumultuous relationship.

“I mean it this time!”

“Uh huh, sure sis.”

“And if you don’t give a fuck about him, why are you here?” Naomi challenges.

All eyes on her, even Solana’s slightly curious gaze, Nicki falls back in her chair and mumbles, “cause that’s my man.”

Naomi and Bayley are a chorus of laughter and whooping and hollering, roasting Nicki for her contradictory statements.

Flashing blue lights illuminate the arena as everyone immediately moves to their feet followed by opening music that almost instantly brings chills up Solana’s arms. The lights then transition to a combination of red and blue, the sound of cheering intensifying as she redirects her focus back to where the first group entered.

Solana’s eyes instantly, maybe even naturally, land on Roman. He stands first among the men, shirtless, ula fala around his neck, championship belt around his waist, a look of fierce determination and stoicism painted across his handsome face.

And that body…..rippling muscles glistening under the heat of the lights.

It’s a strange and miserable experience. Feeling all of the sensations and attractions a human typically has to another human being but having an almost inability to act on them. It’s not that Solana isn’t attracted to Roman. She finds him to be sinfully attractive. The issue is that whenever she thinks about what physical acts take place when two people find each other attractive is when her head is swarmed with vivid memories and flashbacks of being violated in the worst way possible.

And the attraction is stumped by fear and trauma. Fear of being touched. Fear of being with anyone in that way.

It’s like Roman said. He can get that from anyone, so why would he bother with her?

When he has someone like Samantha, prettier, smaller, easier, at his disposal?

It brings a wave of sadness over her that she’s grateful isn’t noticed by the other ladies who are focused on the start of the match.

And to her credit, Solana tries to pay attention, grateful and thankful for Naomi and Bayley occasionally pointing out certain aspects of how it works, why the two groups are separated, individual members from each side periodically being sent into the line of fire.

“Roman always goes last,” Naomi explains at one point.

“Save the best for last type shit,” Bayley adds, finishing off her beer and asking for another.

“More like once he gets his ass in there, it’s a wrap. Everyone left getting smashed.” Solana believes this wholeheartedly. She’s just not sure if she wants to see that, see that side of him up close.

It exists, obviously, but it’s hard to compare the killer she knows he is to the man he’s been to in the short duration of their marriage.

Almost….almost kind.

The fighting, brutal and bloody, all occurs in the ring, but Solana constantly finds her gaze falling back to Roman. He remains seated, patiently or maybe impatiently waiting for his turn, never once ripping his gaze from the match. She sees Paul outside the cage, occasionally speaking to Roman, advising as he always does.

Solana can tell he’s completely immersed, focusing solely on the match before him.

And it’s when there’s some type of in-ring argument between the twins and the other member-in-training of sorts, Sami, she thinks Naomi called him, that she turns to the ladies. “What are they doing?”

“Sealing a death wish,” Nicki answers with a shake of her head. “Roman gon’ have all they asses for this.”

Naomi sighs loudly, advising Solana after the bickering results in one of the men from the other group getting the upper hand, landing a particularly brutal looking kick to Jey. “There’s been some….contention between Sami and the twins, mostly Jey, but Nicki isn’t entirely wrong. They should know better than to let that shit interfere with a match. Roman will most likely make them stay after and……yeah.”

Solana doesn’t need a detailed explanation. She has a good idea of what Roman making them pay will look like. It’s also not something she wants to see.

The match, in and of itself, despite the excitement and pure interest of everyone around her, isn’t necessarily something she wants to see. Solana has seen, been exposed, and experienced enough fighting violence to last her a lifetime.

This is entertainment to them, but for her, it’s been her lived experience.

So, she doesn’t feel any sort of adrenaline rush watching grown men beat the crap out of each other, blood, sweat, and bruised, battered bodies putting themselves through hell. It gives her some relief to see that the Bloodline, for the most part, remains with the upperhand. Even with their in-house argument earlier in the fight.

But, it’s when the timer that ends with another man joining the brawl moves to a ten second countdown that her interest grows a bit more. It grows a bit because Roman is finally about to enter the ring.

She watches him, has mostly just watched him this entire time. He’s just as unbothered as he was the minute he walked in. Adjusting his gloves while Paul clearly tries to bestow some last minute wisdom before he makes his entrance.

It feels a bit redundant. She’s certain this man doesn’t need anyone helping him with anything.

And as soon as the timer winds down to zero, Roman gradually making his way to the ring, Solana knows she was right. Knows he doesn’t need help, because he’s been studying and planning for the past almost 45 minutes. Strategizing.

It shows the minute the men, all 10 of them go at it. It’s hard to keep track of all of the mayhem, fists flying, kicks landing in areas that are sure to require a couple days to recover. But, it’s Roman who still manages to catch and hold Solana’s attention. He moves with such precision and accuracy, blows every bit as barbarous and violent as his reputation warrants.

There’s a small part of her that experiences something she can’t quite label or understand when he takes a hit, especially when a member of the other team manages to catch Roman off guard, sending him into the table, the weight of him snapping it in half.

At that, she nervously starts to move her fingers up and down the side of her dress. But, Roman, while clearly impacted from the blow by the blood starting to stream down the back of his arm only seems further enraged. Like being attacked has somehow refueled him, recharged his already pre-existing rage.

“They are in trouble now….” Naomi murmurs, shaking her head, as if she knows what’s about to come. “Roman hates getting hit, and they made him bleed too?”

It’s the blood part, maybe, that bothers Solana. It’s silly given who he is and the fact that he’s clearly holding his own just fine, but Solana wonders why he doesn’t or can’t have that tended to. It has to hurt.

But, then again, it all hurts, so maybe the pain just numbs itself out.

And maybe Roman is clearly caught up and consumed in adrenaline, in the mad rush of the battle, because it seems from the table slam on out, no one is touching him. He’s all over the place, strong blows resulting in grown men crying out in pain. She’s certain those closer to the actual ring can hear the sound of bones crunching, an inevitable thing given the abnormal distortion of limbs she sees on the other team.

He yells and taunts his opponents, one by one, laying them out with the somewhat assistance of the rest of the men. Truth be told, Roman could have probably tagged out the other four men and handled the other team all on his own.

He’s just that effective.

And when there’s only one man standing, barely, Roman moves to the other side of the ring, face turned up in rage, watching and waiting for the perfect moment for him to dart across, laughing into a spear so forceful that it knocks the man unconscious instantly, guaranteeing an instant, easy pin.

The crowd erupts in cheers, Roman’s music sounding as Samantha formally announces the Bloodline as the winners.

There’s a strange sense of relief that Solana has at that, at the fact that this is all over, that the fighting is done. That Roman is done, because her mind keeps going toward the fact that he probably needs some level of medical attention and when said attention is going to happen.

But while she expects the Bloodline to start their exit, she’s instead met with security dragging the unconscious bodies of the losing team outside of the ring.

“What’s happening?” Solana asks Bayley, realizing that the women are starting to pack up to head out. “Isn’t—isn’t it over?”

“For us, yes.” Her eyes set on the twins, Solo, and Sami. “For them, it’s just beginning.” Solana reflects back on their in-ring argument and Naomi’s foreshadowing about this happening, about this punishment.

And one glance at Roman, his hulking shoulders lifting and lowering with his heavy panting. His eyes are flaming with a fury he clearly intends to take out on his team.

“Come on.” Naomi draws Solana’s attention. “I’ll ride home with you, cause Solo ain’t gon be free no time soon.”

None of them will.

Solana recognizes this and agrees, but it’s not without a sense of disappointment at not leaving with Roman.

And that confuses her. It confuses her a lot.

She didn’t arrive with him, so why would she leave with him?

More importantly, why does she care that she’s not leaving with him?

—----------

“I–I can do that for you.”

There are some things meant to be thought and some things meant to be said. This is one of those things that should have stayed in Solana’s head instead of rolling off her tongue the way it does.

She was only supposed to ask him if he wanted her to make anything in particular for breakfast tomorrow, not offer to freaking suture stitches for him.

Well, that’s not entirely true, because as it’s almost damn midnight, she could and should at least be in bed trying to sleep. She’s been home for almost two hours, showered, changed into her oversized shirt and sweats.

She shouldn’t even be standing before him, but there was some type of unease she had at trying to fall asleep without making sure he made it home, without seeing to it that he tended to any injuries he sustained tonight.

Solana almost feels like that’s what she should do, like she should make sure she’s available to assist him with anything he may need. Like it’s just another thing that could keep him from directing his anger from earlier towards her.

And it’s slightly less stressful for her in knowing that he’s more likely to harshly dismiss her, maybe even chastise her for unintentionally implying he’s somehow incapable. However, instead of a rebuff, he simply looks at her, asking, “you know how?”

Solana doesn’t know why, but she takes this as a sign that he’s accepting her offer. Walking over to where he sits at the kitchen island, she sees he already has the supplies laid out. “I—I’ve had a lot of experience.”

Some of it from patching up her dad and brother but most of it from patching up herself over the years, from watching and learning from her mother tend to her wounds after sustaining beatings from Xavier. “My mom was also a nurse. She—she taught me a lot.” Like the proper way to suture. “Did—did you already disinfect?”

Solana is slightly nervous when he says no. That means she’s the one that’s going to have to inflict that brief but potent burning pain.

Lovely.

Nonetheless, she readies the cloth, holding it over the cut before warning, “this—this might sting.”

“I don’t care.” And she believes it. Seeing him in the ring tonight, his prowess, his brutality, she’s not sure if anything could hurt him.

Solana proceeds to clean and disinfect the area before grabbing the sutures to start stitching him back up.

Roman suddenly asks her. “Did you want to go into the medical field?” Roman recalls from the file he read on her that she never pursued any higher education beyond high school, something else he marked against her at the time. Education and knowledge have always been important to him.

But meeting her and slowly learning more about her backstory, he wonders if that was of her own choosing, hence his asking.

Solana, meanwhile, can’t figure out why he’s even talking to her in the first place. He seemed, justifiably, annoyed with and not wanting to be bothered with any and everyone post match. Now he’s asking her questions about things she hasn’t thought about in years.

Still, she answers with the truth. “I—I wanted to be a nurse. Like my mom.”

This doesn’t surprise Roman as he follows up with, “why didn’t you?”

A lot of reasons. Many of which she has very little desire to share, not that she could or would even want to ever voice as such to the man sitting in front of her.

That’d be an instant death wish.

“My—my father. He, umm, didn’t want me to leave home.” It’s a version of the truth, the unabridged version being he didn’t want her to leave home because he wouldn’t be able to control her if she did so.

And Solana has a feeling that she doesn’t need to share all that, that Roman already knows this.

“Why didn’t you just leave?” Roman’s delivery, like most of the time, is insensitive. But, he genuinely wants to know. For what reason did she stay there all those years, in a house of horrors instead of just leaving and never looking back?

It’s a fair, simple question with a complex, layered answer that she greatly simplifies.

“I tried. It—it never worked out.” And it’s when Roman hears the sudden sadness in her voice, sees the way her eyes temporarily shift to her inner forearms, horizontal faded scars that he’s just now able to see from how close she is to him that he gets it.

He realizes that she tried in more ways than one, none of them being successful.

And in a truly coincidental way, Solana notices he’s also cut on the back of his bicep. It’s also in her being so close to him that she realizes underneath the intricacies of the tribal tattoos on his forearm, there are scars. Burn scars, nothing severe, but visible enough for her to notice.

It makes her wonder about where he got them, how he got them, not that she’d ever have enough bravery to ask.

She instead clears her throat and gestures to the cut. “Do–do you want me to do that one too?”

It takes a second for Roman to think about what she’s asking. “Is it deep enough?”

Without thinking about it, she brings her hand to finger to lightly feel the cut that was clearly poorly and in a rush patched up post fight. Nodding, she explains, “it’s deeper than about 1/4th an inch, so yeah, I—you should let me.” And in realizing she’s touching him, like she isn’t doing the same thing while suturing, she snatches her hand back, apologizing quietly.

He doesn’t think he’s ever had a woman apologize for touching him.

“Okay.”

And that’s it, he doesn’t protest, doesn’t chastise her for making it seem like he doesn’t know or understand injuries. He just allows her to work on him, Solana doing her best to ignore the fact that he’s so close to her, his big, strong body, even while seated, overwhelming her.

But while this would typically cause Solana to go into panic mode, being so close to a half dressed man, she doesn’t feel that with Roman. She doesn’t feel anything at all. No anxiety, no fear, just some nameless emotion that doesn’t evoke her typical nervous responses.

“Okay.” Finishing up, Solana moves to clean up the supplies, discarding what is no longer usable. “Just….don’t get it wet for next few hours, and apply the ointment as needed, but—I’m sure you know all this already.” She feels silly for speaking to him as if he hasn’t patched himself up or been stitched up countless time before. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna go to bed now.”

Not wanting to risk embarrassing herself further, she turns on the heel of her foot and starts walking off, only to stop when he calls for her.

“Solana.”

She turns around, and Roman is briefly caught up in how she presses her lips together, trying to suppress a frown. She thinks she’s done something wrong.

One more sweep of her frame from bottom to top, remembering the stunning complement and contrast of the red dress against her complexion. He compliments, “you looked beautiful tonight.”

She looks absolutely taken back by what is an obvious statement. Taken back and confused. “M—me?” She’s pointing to herself, brows arching together. And for a second, there’s a small hint of a growing smile as she asks, as if he could have made a mistake. “Really?”

He didn’t.

Roman doesn’t make mistakes

Solana has a lot of things fucked up about her, but one thing not a damn person can deny is that she’s absolutely gorgeous with a body to match. That’s just a fact, why he felt the need to express said fact is a bit beyond him, but Roman doesn’t allow himself to think too much about it. It’s not a sentimental thing at all, just a plain fact being stated, if anything.

“Thank you,” she finally says as he notices the reddening of her cheeks. “Umm, good night.” Solana’s hand is on the banister, her finger squeezing tighter than the coils in her stomach. “Roman?”

It would be a hell of a lot easier if he would have just ignored her, but he doesn’t. His gaze snaps up to her from the phone now in his hand.

The same hand she witnessed just tonight pummel grown men, just as muscular and intimidating as he is to a bloody pulp. The same hand that could easily take her life, could have her clinging onto life with just one beating. And that’s all she can see at the thought of telling him about Grayson and Theory messing with her, that it’s now happened twice, they’ve caught her off guard and alone, sexually harassing her.

Nia’s words from the other day return to the front of her mind.

“He wants you to stop being so weak.”

He’ll blame her. He’ll blame her the same way her father blamed her for what they did to her. He’ll blame her for being so weak. That’s what Solana knows will happen. Knows he’ll say she was leading them on, that she must have done something to garner their interest in her. And he’ll be angry.

He’ll be angry at her.

And nothing good ever comes out of Roman Reigns being angry.

She’s seen it for herself firsthand tonight.

Determine to find a way to deal with this on her own, she shakes her head, “nothing. S–sorry.” She’s turned back to the steps when he says her name this time. His tone clear and authoritative.

She jumps, immediately turning back around to face him. He’s now standing near the steps where she stands, halfway between rescue and ridicule.

Something flashes in his gaze at her obvious nervousness, but he quickly refocuses on the topic at hand. “You have something to say, so say it.”

A deep layer of regret and anxiety settles in at the realization that there is no lying to Roman. He’s adroitly skilled in reading between the lines and seeing through bullshit. Or maybe she’s just that bad at lying.

Hopefully not the latter because another lie is about to roll right out.

“I was just—I was gonna sleep in tomorrow, but I have to make your breakfast, so I’ll just—”

“You don’t have to do anything, Solana.”

Roman knows she’s lying. Knows she just pulled that out of her ass instead of sharing whatever it is she initially wanted to say. It’s probably something stupid too, something he won’t give two shits about, but something she thinks he gives two shits about. And he’d push her if not for the fact he can tell she’s getting all nervous and shit on him again. The last thing he needs is her having another panic attack.

“Sleep in,” he directs. This is a conversation, much to his chagrin, that will have to take part in sections. And it’s too late in the evening to hash out one of those sections. And to be fair, there is a part of him that recognizes she probably does feel like she needs to be up at the ass crack of dawn like him to have his first meal of the day ready to go. And his lunch. And his dinner.

Granted, Roman can’t and won’t complain about all of it, because the girl can cook her ass off.

But, it’s not necessary.

He’s more than capable of taking care of himself.

He’s done so since he was 10 years old.

“Thank you.” She does that thing again where she smiles like he’s just told her she’s won the lottery or been given the cure to world hunger. It’s the simplest things that seem to make her happy. Considering the bar has already been set so low, it makes a bit of sense.

It makes a lot of sense.

“Goodnight.”

Roman is certain she’s intentional in the way she turns on the heel of her foot to move up the stairs, putting as much distance between the two of them to avoid a follow up question. Her avoidance behavior is a bit impressive, irksome, but still impressive, nonetheless.

And it would be remiss of Roman to not sneak a peak of her retreating form moving up the steps, his eyes glued to the sway of her ass, again remembering that short, red dress that momentarily distracted him when he laid eyes on her at the match.

Roman would never deny his physical attraction to her. That’s just a fact. She’s shaped in a way that makes his dick hard at the thought of having that body underneath his, writhing, begging for him to not stop fucking her in all the ways he would if he could.

But, that’s a fantasy. It’s a fantasy because the reality is that he can’t even touch this girl without her freaking out on him, something that would annoy him greatly if he didn’t realize there’s a reason behind her jumpiness.

Something that’s beyond just her shitty father and brother.

Roman doesn’t allow himself to travel down that path, to see what it might lead to because just the thought of what might be the reason she doesn’t like being touched has his fist forming at his side, nostrils flared, and anger brewing at an accelerated pace that doesn’t make sense.

It also doesn’t make sense when he grabs his phone, navigating to the desired thread, sending a text he doesn’t think much about.

Roman: Get me a list of dog breeders. Small dogs. Preferably local. We can travel if necessary.

Paul: Sir?

Roman: Just do it.

Paul: I’ll have it to you by tomorrow morning.

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

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zorosdimples · 2 months

Text

THESE LITTLE DEATHS OF MINE ꒰ okkotsu yuuta x reader ꒱

minors do not interact—i will block you. cw: angst. reader’s stream-of-consciousness and emotions regarding yuuta’s line of work. ambiguous ending (hope is alive). brief sexual descriptions. reader is gn and implied to be shorter than yuuta. wc: 1031. notes: fingers crossed that this makes sense :’-) it’s a little all over the place.

A piece of you dies each time he recklessly throws himself in harm’s way.

Caring for others to the detriment of his own wellbeing is as natural to Yuuta as breathing. He won’t ever admit it (not in words, at least) but you know his heart better than your own. You have held it bloody and beating in your clammy palms, felt the muscle contract and expand, contract and expand; you have seen the truth buried within its chambers, vessels, and valves.

Yuuta believes his suffering is deserved—a cyclical debt he must repay for unwittingly chaining his childhood love to this realm.

Each little death is painful. Gasps of air clatter in your throat, unable to reach your screaming lungs. Violence rends your spirit and severs your very being, its splintered fragments crumbling to dust. You’re a vessel of who you once were, your boyfriend’s life your only concern, his medical updates the gospel.

It’s a basic trick of the mind—a twisted form of self-preservation—convincing yourself that your own injuries aren’t serious. Tattered nerves and a frayed psyche simply need stitching; what is ripped can always be mended.

Though every time you think you’ve grown accustomed to seeing him bear another senseless scar, you’re proven wrong.

═════════════════

Two hands can’t count all the conversations you’ve had like this, his body rigid and prone, your tears threatening to carve crimson rivulets down his wan face. There’s a cruel voice that whispers in your ear: from a distance, he looks like a corpse. A new wound weeps profusely on his abdomen, a weary smile tugging at his split lips.

“I’m going to be okay,” he soothes before you can say anything.

It’s unconvincing. Maybe it would be easier to trust him if you hadn’t been in this exact position over a dozen times before. Yuuta soaks up your expression, honing in on the furrow between your brows. If he had a little more strength, he’d smooth over the wrinkle with his thumb—there, all better.

“I’ll be good as new in a couple days.” He tries to keep his tone breezy, but you hear a coarse rattle when he exhales. “Then we can laugh about this, yeah?”

Sniffling, you rub your puffy eyes with the heel of your palm. Your mouth curves into a pout, your lips the delicate petals of a flower curling shut. “Don’t make promises that you can’t keep.”

“I could never break a promise to you.”

You find the pulse point on Yuuta’s wrist, taking comfort in the dull lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.

═════════════════

He decides to tell you now.

You’re crammed together in the shower, wet skin slipping and sliding, soap suds swirling across the tile and down the drain. The water is hot, steam fogging up the vanity mirror. (You both like to write your initials in the condensation, drawing a heart around them like lovesick teens—a silly way to reclaim some of your lost youth.) Yuuta diligently washes your body, nimble digits working at the knots in your shoulders before lathering your back.

“Tomorrow morning, I have to leave for an assignment. I’ll be gone before you get up for work.” His voice is muted—a ghost of whisper—and you suck in a breath. His touch trails down your spine, lingering over each vertebra before he reaches your hips and grips the fat, thumbs stroking your softness. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone…”

It takes you a few beats to process the news; you release the breath you’ve been holding. You squeeze your eyes shut, tracing over the crack in your words before you speak. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“I have to, my love.”

“I know you do.”

Deafening silence stretches between you like a void, filling the distance between your bodies.

“Say something,” Yuuta entreats.

He bows his head to smear a kiss against the nape of your neck. While the water is scalding, his lips are cold, and you tremble. Crystalline droplets blur your vision as you turn to your boyfriend, seeking solace in his embrace. A lithe arm wraps around your waist while the other cradles your head.

“You don’t get to leave my side at all tonight. Not once,” you mumble into his chest.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I can’t risk disappointing you, can I?”

His irises are too deep, too blue—mournful as the twilight sky.

═════════════════

It always plays out the same, the evening before he leaves. You’ve made a ritual of it, a sacred, holy rite. There’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you that this could be it—which is why you must devour each other wholly.

Loving and being loved by Yuuta is usually honey-slow and tender. But when everything is at stake, you can’t get enough of one another. It’s reminiscent of your first time together: sloppy kisses that wet your chin, blooming marks that litter your bodies, stuttered confessions in the rare moment that you part for air. You finish around his fingers and tongue until you’re dizzy and pliant. And by the time he enters you, a flame engulfs his movements, everything brutal and incandescent with passion. It’s his declaration of love. Of possession. Of yearning.

“Don’t leave me,” you cry, clawing at his shoulders—your lifeline.

“I’ll be back,” he promises. “I’ll come back to you. Always.”

Eventually, you collapse in a heap of damp sheets and sticky flesh, your limbs inextricably tangled, your lover still buried inside you. Moonbeams slip through the edges of your curtains while you drift off as one.

═════════════════

The trill of the alarm startles you awake. The room is empty—save for your lone figure, nude and sore. You roll to Yuuta’s side of the bed and nestle beneath the covers; the herbal scent of shampoo clings to his pillow. If you close your eyes, you can pretend he’s beside you, gazing at your profile with disarming adoration.

I’ll be back.

You revisit that moment, play it frame-by-frame, memorize his insistent stare and the decisive set of his jaw. A stray tear pearls at the outer corner of your eye and rolls down your temple, wetting his pillowcase.

I’ll be back.

Hopelessly, you wish that Yuuta didn’t have a habit of making promises he can’t keep.

═════════════════

#yuuta x reader #yuta x reader #tw angst #cw angst #yuuta <3 #༄ kae writes

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nomoreusername · 3 months

Text

Not Proud

⚠️ Self harm ⚠️

Pairing:Newt x female reader

Summary:As you're ready to give in again and cut, Newt catches and comforts you.

Requested by @newts-limp

I wasn't proud of it. Not in the slightest bit. If anything, I was ashamed, but I didn't know how to stop. There's just something about the blade that seems to call to me, telling me that it was the only thing that would ever understand me.

And maybe that’s true. Maybe I’m so addicted to this thing that it truly is the only thing that matters. Maybe it's the only thing that can take the pain away. If I focus on this pain I don't have to think about the other kind. The kind on the inside that makes me want to close my eyes and not wake up.

I’m not suicidal. I don't think so, but I wouldn't exactly mind if something happened to me. I just don't have it in me to care anymore. I don't have it in me to have hope that anything good will happen soon or at all. Getting out and being actually happy and meeting other girls all feels like some dream that I’ll never get to reach.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath as I held it over my waist. It wasn't healthy. It wasn't good for me. It wasn't a solution, but I had to. I needed to do this. I had already gone a week without it, and if I didn't cut soon I was going to go crazy. I was going to lose it. I was going to do something worse than even this.

They itch. The cuts itch the most when they're healing so I just won't let them heal. It's as simple as that. Just like it's so simple to drag a blade across my stomach until I don't want to die.

I was desperate. I was really, really desperate.

I know it's wrong. I know it's an addiction, but I won't quit. I can't, but I don't need to. This isn't going to kill me. This isn't hurting anyone, and it's like I have something to fill the void inside of me. It's fine. It's fine, it's fine, it’s fine.

Taking a breath, as I went to do it my hut door opened. Frozen in disbelief, I stared at Newt who stared at me, holding my shirt up and placing a razor on my stomach. That also meant fresh cuts and old scars were on display, revealing to him just how messed up I actually am. Even though I was the best at hiding it, there was no way to brush this off.

“Hi,”I got out, managing to put my shirt down. Then, before either of us could say another word, I broke down. As I was shaking I heard my razor clank to the floor, gravity taking my biggest curse and worst blessing. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I kept mumbling incoherent apologies.

“It’s okay. It's okay, love. It's okay,”He said quickly, shutting my door and sitting beside me. Shaking my head, I kept wiping my eyes just for more tears to follow.

“It's okay. It’s okay. You're alright,”He repeated. As I buried my face in the crook of his neck the lump in my throat, along with the guilt in my stomach, seemed to get worse as he rubbed my back.

“I’m sorry,”I repeated.

“It's going to be okay. I promise. It’s all going to be fine,”He soothed. With my harsh sobs turning to sniffles, I kept my eyes close as I clung to him. Not even about to speak, I essentially shut down. While this usually happened when I was done feeding my mind and body's demand for pain, I was just so drained from it all. Knowing I had been caught was surreal, but I also knew that some things would probably change. Things I probably didn't want.

“Y/N, let's go to sleep?”He suggested. Not seeing the point in saying no, I nodded my head. I mean it wasn't like I was going to be getting any words out anytime soon. It wasn't like I even wanted to.

Laying down, I kept my head in his neck. With his arm still around me, he traced hearts on my skin, making sure his hands didn't touch my waist.

“I do love you. I will always love you. Nothing anyone says or does, even you, could ever make me stop,”He whispered. Keeping my eyes shut, I took a breath as I accepted that right now was the most peaceful I had felt in a long, long time.

I could never bear to lose him. Ever, ever.

But if I do in the future, I have him right now. He’s with me, and that has to be enough to make everything just a little less terrible.

#newt x y/n #newt x reader #newt tmr #newt maze runner #maze runner newt #tmr newt #the maze runner #tmr #one shot #hurt/comfort #angst

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ghostssweetgirl · 4 months

Note

Hii!! I just wanted to say i love your work and i had a request 😋

could you write a fic (or hc) where ghost finds the fem!readers sh scars? like she’s sitting in between his legs and he’s holding her thighs and he feels the scars. he asks her to show him and she explains (she’s a little insecure cause she thinks he’ll judge her but he doesn’t) them and he makes her promise that she’ll come to him for help??

(if this makes you uncomfortable please don’t feel the need to write it🙏🏼)

Omg thank you sm <3 also on another note to those reading this (followers or not), I’ve been on and off on here. I’m getting to a point where I can start writing semi-often again. If you go a little further down my blog, I’m also about to start another series (it’s planned and 0% written).

It’ll be short-ish, but yeah, I’ll give it a shot.

If you didn’t read all of the above, this will contain mentions of self harm and bodily scars and mentions of non-specified trauma.

Minors do not interact

You were unwinding with Simon at the end of the night, in between his legs on the ground looking up at the night sky.

It’s been comfortably silent. Not needing much words to help each other decompress after the recent missions you’ve been assigned. Your back against his chest, his calloused fingers softly rubbing against your arm that rested on his leg.

“Y’ a’right, luvie?” He spoke softly. “Anythin’ goin’ on in that pretty lil head?”

You smile, and think about it. You take a deep breath. In all honesty you couldn’t even think of where to start. You don’t know if you’re okay. But you feel okay right now. That’s all that matters. You finally decide, and quickly shake your head. “Mm-mm. No, I’m good. And you? Are you okay?”

He sighed, his hands tracing the top of your thighs. He plays with the fabric of your shorts for a moment and rests his chin on your shoulder. “No, ‘m fine. Fine right here.”

You close your eyes and your thumb rubs small circles against his wrist, his hands’ movements slow as you feel him gently soothing over an arrangement of scars on your thigh. Some deep and overlapping each other. Some light. You shudder and hold your breath for a moment.

It was part of the reason you joined the military. The hell you had to face in your former life essentially pushed you over the edge. And it was the only thing that felt like a proper release.

You didn’t want to talk about it, really. Even though you were safe with Simon. You didn’t want to feel the shame of being judged. If anything, you knew if anyone understood, he definitely would.

But it’s still not your favorite conversation.

Ugh.

He studied them for a while, tilting his head. Not in a judging way, you managed to take a look and saw his once stoic gaze become soft, almost pained. His brows furrowed as he cleared his throat.

“Can…” he gently scoots away from you, caressing your shoulders as you lean up and hesitantly meet his eyes. “Can you show me?”

You sigh, holding your hands over the area. “I… I don’t really…”

You stutter and ramble, unable to get the words you want out.

“It’s a’right, I’ve got you,” he cupped your cheek.

You turn more towards him, enough to where he can see, thank god for the dark sky, the moon light was enough for him to get a general idea and look over without him seeing the anxiety on your face. He held your thigh, and leaned down to press a gentle kiss against your scars.

You were completely froze at this point, not in a bad way. His reaction was a lot less… well, you don’t know what you expected because you would have avoided this if you had the choice.

“It’s… from my past, and—”

“You don’t have to tell me what you don’t want,” he comforts you, pulling you to his chest.

“But what I do want,” he looks down at you. “I need you t’promise me you’ll come to me when you need help or anything. Anything. Anytime. Okay?”

“Please.”

It wasn’t like him to beg. But he needed you to be safe. Safe from bad people, from the horrors of the world and from the horrors of your own demons.

You nod your head in agreement. “Okay.”

He grunts approvingly, his grip on you even tighter now and it goes back to silence just like before. The least you could do in return is offer him the same he does to you, so you cup his cheek, cradling his face as you whisper to him.

“And you come to me for anything. Okay?”

His eyes close in relief as he rests his forehead against yours and if his embrace wasn’t tight before, it’s almost a death grip now as both arms squeeze your whole body, a silent ‘thank you’.

—

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost cod #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley cod #Simon ghost Riley comfort #simon ghost riley x fem reader #simon riley x fem reader

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propertyofwhitney67 · 3 months

Text

You're such a fucking idiot

M!Whitney x F!Reader

Words: 842

Tw: Self harm, Blood, Scars

Note: For @yurilovesyuri :)

I played with my old razor blade, flipping it around in my hand while staring at myself in the mirror across the room. Through the grime and cracks, I could see my hollow face and dead eyes. I looked like a corpse, just dead inside.

Sighing, I stood up and took off my clothes, leaving me in only my underwear. I stared down at my scars, some old and some new. Tracing the scabs, I wondered it anyone actually gave a fuck. I knew everyone in swim class has seen them, but they never say a fucking thing. I know Kylar’s seen them, but they like it. Whitney…I don’t think he’s noticed. He doesn’t spend too much time staring at my arm but my thighs, he spends a lot of time there…I shook my head angrily, he wouldn’t give a fuck either way. I’m just some toy for him to use.

Sitting back down on the bed, I picked up the blade, hovering it over my right thigh. I took a deep breath and dug the blade into my scarred skin, blood spilling out of the cut. It wasn’t deep enough…

I was about to dig the blade into my skin again before my door was practically kicked in, “There’s my slut!” It was Whitney, flanked by his gang. He stopped in his tracks, seeing what I was doing. Without hesitation he yelled back at his followers, “Fuck off.” They started to talk back, but it only took one look from Whitney to shut them up. They filed out and he slammed the door shut, looking over at me with a look I couldn’t quite decipher. It was a mix of anger and something else. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He took the blade from my hand and tossed it across the room.

“Like you give a fuck.” I grumbled, standing up before being pushed back down. “Fuck off, Whitney.” I didn’t bother trying to physically fight back, I was too tired, too empty.

He rolled his eyes and asked, “Does that fuck give you bandages?” I nodded and pointed him in the direction of the bathroom. Once he was gone I groaned and leaned back onto the bed, blood trickling down my thigh and staining my sheets further. Of all the times to kick in my door, he chose now.

Whitney came back within a few minutes with an armful of bandages and other supplies. “A bit excessive, no?” He glared and set everything out on the bed beside me. “Are you my nurse now?” I tried to make a joke out of the whole thing, hoping he wouldn't start asking a million questions and yell at me.

“Would you just shut up! Fucking hell, I’m trying to help you.” Whitney was quickly growing angry with me. “You’re such a fucking idiot…” He whispered when he finally saw my thighs up close. Normally, he’s paying too much attention to your cunt to look at them.

He quietly traced the old scars, being careful with the scabbed and healing ones. I kept quiet, the feeling was nice, soothing even. “Why are you being nice and helping me?”

Shaking his head, he continued to softly trace my scars. This was out of character for him. Sure he was nicer to me when we were alone, but this felt different. It felt intimate. He shook himself from his trance and started opening up bandages to cover my new cut. “I’d ask why, but I already know the answer.”

I hummed and dropped my head back onto the bed, “Oh yeah?” He hummed quietly and nodded, focusing on his work. “It’s partly because of you, ya know?” I tried to guilt him, let him know how much this was actually his fault. That he had a hand in all this.

Whitney nodded, “I know, I’m not as stupid as you think. I can put the pieces together pretty easily.” He wiped away the blood with a clean rag, applied some cream, then applied the bandage. “I’m the cause of a lot of your problems. I just never gave a fuck about how it affected you.” He was quiet for a moment as he gathered the trash, “Seeing it is different…” Sitting up I touched the bandage, but he slapped my hand away. “Don’t fuck with it.”

I rolled my eyes but stopped, “I know you’re not gonna change-”

“Shut up, slut.” He grumbled, throwing the trash away in my bin. “Lay down.” I sighed but complied, laying down on my bed and waiting for him to use me. “Move over.” I scrunched up my brows, “Just do it.” I made room for him beside me and he manhandled me onto my side and pulled me close to his chest.

“What are you doing?” I asked, confused why he wanted to cuddle with me.

He started to rub small circles on my scarred hip, “I’m trying to be nice, so shut up and enjoy it.” I sighed but relaxed in his arms, I needed this.

𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

𝘒𝘰-𝘍𝘪

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daboyau · 3 months

Text

I am reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and WOW I am getting extremely emotional over Reaper specifically. He has such a comparatively small role, and I’m not sure if we ever “hear” him even speak at any point, but there’s something about this boy that’s been pegged as a killer and the most likely winner of the Games from the start just being so extremely gentle all throughout it. He apologizes before the Games even begin for what he might have to do inside the arena, which may have just been a strategy to scare the others into staying away from him so he doesn’t have to fight or hurt anyone. I don’t think he actually harms a single person once the Hunger Games do begin. Instead, he spends the entire time keeping to himself and tending to the bodies of the other children with so much compassion and care. He collects them as they die. He covers them and lines them up and he keeps vigil over the bodies, guarding and protecting them. The only time we see him engage with anyone in a way that could be considered aggressive is when people try to mess with the bodies, and even then it seems like it’s just to chase them off.

This sweet boy spends the whole time in the arena, aware he’s most likely going to die, caring for the dead. He wraps a piece of flag (the same flag that he’s using as a funeral shroud for the others) around his shoulders like a cape and he runs around in it just to feel it flapping behind him. (Maybe he just wants one last moment of joy, a final chance to feel happiness.) He rocks himself to self-soothe once it all starts to be too much. In his final moments, once he knows he’s going to die, he uses the last of his strength to drag himself over to lay side by side with his fellow tributes, joining the other children he’s been taking care of all this time. Reaper is breaking my heart and this is the first time in a while that a book has made me cry.

#The ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #The ballad of songbirds and snakes spoilers #The hunger games spoilers #Genuinely he is my favorite character #I’m getting so emotional over him #I don’t even want to finish the book now that he’s gone #Reaper Ash #Also lowkey i’m like “wow autistic rep in thg series lets gooooo”#I love him and i wish to read 5000000 more words focused on him specifically

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frogs00 · 3 months

Text

It hurts me that you’re hurting

Summary: Janis goes wandering out in the night, Regina locates her, what happens after that? Warnings: MDNI- Self-loathing, crying, underaged smoking (cigs), slight reference to self-harm, shitty home-life mentioned, general just angst! Let me know me know if missed anything. Pairings: Slight Regina + Janis??

Listened to this while making it, I dunno:

Janis wandered along aimlessly, eyes flicking around the street. The light that lighted the street lit her path.

She had gotten into an argument with her father, not even remembering what it was but it had ended up with her mother and father screaming.

She just had to get out of there. Was she a coward for leaving?

She was lost in her thoughts, when a shadow from a dead tree made her jump.

It sucked she was afraid of the dark.

Even as the passing cars headlights and street lights her path, the dark still made her sick to her stomach.

(Or maybe it was the fact she couldn’t bring herself to eat anything and was living off of caffeine and water the last two days.)

She was exhausted and scared but she felt alive. Adrenaline coursing through her veins at the simple act of rebellion, the simple act of freedom.

She wasn’t even intoxicated just sleep deprived and a tad wired. It was probably past midnight at this point.

Her mother was probably worried but why should she care?

Where am I? She wondered. It looked familiar, she squinted and read the street sign.

She was a few blocks from Regina’s street?

Why I’d her feet take her here? She shook her head and tried to navigate her way to a potential gas station. She could get a snack or potentially…

She wouldn’t drink right now. She knew that was stupid.

She wouldn’t go home though either, she hated it there sometimes. She pulled out her phone, snickering at her wallpaper as she always did, she sat down on the curb, Maybe she could text Damian…

A car pulled up in front of her, panic seized her instinctually and immediately shot up to leave.

“Janis?” A annoyed voice rang from the car, her eyes widened and she turned to see Regina.

“Regina?” “Janis, what the fuck are you doing out here? It’s after 12am.” Regina opened her door, hopping out of her jeep.

“All the fun happens after midnight.” She attempted to joke, Regina wasn’t buying it, she tried to change the subject, “Uh, how did you find me?”

“You have your location on and Damian sent me to get you, are you drunk?” she crossed her arms over her chest as she approached the brunette closer.

“Oh.” Janis muttered, “No I’m not.”

Janis laughed dryly and swayed slightly in place, looking down at her feet with tired eyes. She just now realized how cold she was, she wrapped her arms around herself.

“Uh huh,” Regina clicked her tongue, staring at her, the moonlight making her eyes sparkle, “get in the car, I’m taking you home.”

The blonde grabbed the smaller girls’s arm, tugging her towards the car.

“No, you aren’t.” Janis snapped and tore her arm away. She didn’t want to go back there. Was the lack of sleep making her irrational? Yes. But she couldn’t word why she didn’t want to go back. “Yes, I am, why are you being so stubborn about this?” Regina groaned, stamping her foot. She looked tired as well, bout nothing compared to the heavy bag under Janis’s eyes.

“I’m not getting into the car if someone who hates me.” Janis scoffed bitterly, rubbing her eyes and holding back a yawn, her head pounding,

“I don’t hate you! God! I get it, I do, but please! So many people are worried!” Regina raised her voice, making Janis flinch slightly, Regina instantly noticed this change in behavior and took a few claiming breathes.

Her and Regina weren’t on the best terms but better than they had been in a long time. Janis was trying to forgive her and Regina was trying to be better.

But she couldn’t handle it right now.

“Janis, what happened?” Regina sighed, coming up to her and rubbing her back in a soothing manner.

“Nothing, stop asking me so many questions!” She rubbed she temples, letting out a soft, shaky breath.

“Okay, okay,” Regina whispered, stopping her talking.

They stayed like that, with Janis slightly hunched over, letting the pain in her head ease away slightly while Regina rubbed her back.

“You’re freezing, you know that? You’re killing yourself, Jan.” Regina whispered, her voice laced with emotions Janis’s tired mind couldn’t analyze.

Janis just continued to squeeze her eyes shut, rubbing her temples, her breathing centering as well as her ticking heart rate.

“Wanna stay at my place?” Regina finally asked, Janis nodded yes and straightened her posture, clearing her throat.

She couldn’t bring her to meet Regina’s eyes, she’d feel to bad for doing this to her, ruining her sleep schedule because she’s an idiot.

“Want me to call Damian over?” Regina pulled out her phone, Janis paused to think about it.

“Y-yeah, kinda.” Janis admitted. She wanted her best friend. Shit, now she felt like even more shit.

She swallowed hard, “Sorry.” She whispered. Regina looked up from texting, raising her eyebrow.

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry, I ruin everything for everyone, I just-“ her voice cracked, she felt those tears coming up, she wiped her eyes. Looking away.

“Janis,” Regina murmured, shaking her head, “you don’t do that, it’s just-“ Regina grunted in frustration, “You’re just tired, get in the car.”

“M’kay.” She breathed, climbing into the car she had pulled up in, it looked like her mothers, she pressed her head into the window and sniffled.

Regina climbed into the driver side, turning on the ignition and pulling out form the spot, the heat blasting in making Janis’s hands not feel so numb.

They drove in silence, Janis eyelids drooped but she couldn’t bring herself or sleep.

“You don’t ruin everything, okay?” Regina said suddenly, making her jump,

“Sure.” Janis muttered, “I ruined shit for you.”

“I deserved that,” Regina sighed, her grip on the steering wheel tightened as she turned the corner,

“No- well, you did in a way. Still, you didn’t deserve the fact that I fucked up your eating habits and-”

“Janis, I get it, but we’re both getting better.” Regina argued, cutting her off.

“Not really. I’m a fuck up, but it’s fine.” Janis breathed on the window, and drew a frown face, saying that self-hating statement so casually, “sometimes I just feel like I deserve to bleed.”

“Stop telling yourself that, fuck! Just stop saying that.” Regina seethed, gritting her teeth and turning another corner roughly.

“Why?” Janis laughed bitterly, “my parents seem to think so.” She added in a whisper.

“Because I love you! And you’re hurting yourself.” Regina pulled into her driveway, putting the car in park, pulling the key put of the ignition, and banging her forehead don the steering wheel.

“You what?”

Regina went silent, she froze. Lifting her head and staring out the window.

“I love you.” Regina repeated after awhile of awkward silence, she unbuckled her seat belt.

Regina couldn’t love her, could she? She was going to cry, fuck she felt it. She was going crazy.

“It hurts to watch you self destruct so casually, and you just act like you don’t want any help.” She opens the door and got out of the car,

Janis stayed where she was, and felt the same tears from earlier well in her eyes. God, she always felt almost nothing but all the emotions just rose up from her core and-

“Fuck.” She sobbed, lifting her legs from the floor and wrapping her arms around her legs, and crying into her knees softly. God she was so tired.

She knew Regina wouldn’t have just left her like this, old Regina maybe but not now, she was right outside the car, leaning on it and waiting for Damian.

But she knew better to interfere, she knew Janis didn’t trust her.

Janis lifted her head to catch a full breath, she smelled cigarette, she peeked out the window to see Regina taking a drag, lighter in hand.

It hurt to see, she looked back down.

The car door opened and she faintly heard Damian’s voice, she unbuckled her seat belt and practically fell into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder and he cooed to her.

She looked over her shoulder to see a blurry Regina staring at her with a sad expression.p, she flicked her cigarette and stomped it out.

“Let’s get you to bed?” Regina approached carefully, looking at her as she forced herself to stand.

“Sounds like a plan.” Damian agreed, rubbing Janis’s hand soothingly.

Damian guided her into the mansion Regina called home, and had her settle down on the couch, she kicked off her shoes and wrapped herself in a blanket, staring off.

“Want to stay here?” Regina muttered to Damian as if they were talking about their child together. More civil than her parents ever were, though.

“Nah, I drove here in my Mama’s car, I’ll get going, take care of her, she probably hasn’t slept for days by the looks of it. She’s going nuts,” Damian glanced at her and drowned, “I’ll be here in the morning, ‘Kay?” Regina nodded and saw him out.

“I think something happened with her parents again.” Regina said to him before he left, he whispered something back that Janis couldn’t care to catch.

She nearly passed out instantly after that but before she was fully unconscious she felt a kiss on her forehead and heard the lights being switched off.

I don’t really know what this is but I wrote it so might as well post it? I hate it. It’s hella half-assed.

#mean girls 2024 #mean girls #janis imi'ike #regina george #rejanis #regina x janis #damian mean girls

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norrisscented · 1 year

Text

A Little Help

Daniel Ricciardo x Autistic!Fem!Reader

warnings:: ~shutdowns and meltdowns~, reader has a hard time communicating verbally. mentions of harm during a meltdown, talks sensory overload, ngl this is very self indulgent-

(a/n):: ANOTHER BLURB <3 motivation was poopy but i’m back i think!!!

You could feel your own skin, taste your saliva, and hear yourself blink. The comforter that you and Daniel had to search for in stores now felt too much, even though you couldn’t feel it on your skin. He wasn’t home, yet. He hasn’t seen you like this in a while.

By this you mean, the aftermath of a meltdown. You were hyper aware of it all. Your face red from your emotions and feelings. It all felt as though you only understood it fully but you knew if Daniel were to walk in, there’s no way to tell him how it felt.

You really tried to calm down, use the coping skills you have learned. You couldn’t though. Nothing was going right and you had reached your breaking point when you opened up a package that contained your safe food, it is what you are used to. Except it wasn’t, you are certain they changed the recipe. It all came crashing down on you then.

Other people would call it childish but you have few things you can rely on as a normal thing. This includes packaged foods that usually always taste the same, movies you’ve seen 50 times, and Daniel’s love and support. You could really use the last two things right about now.

Click.

Speak of the devil- or angel? You don’t know at the moment.

“Hun? You in the bedroom?” Daniels voice echoes throughout the home. You can’t find it in yourself to reply just yet, you know you should but the words are stuck in your chest.

You know he’s taken off his shoes by the softness of his footsteps, memorizing footsteps and the emotions or actions behind them was easy for you. The footsteps grow closer. You watch him slowly fully open the bedroom door, it being almost closed.

“Hey, you okay?” You notice the little things in his voice, how his voice lowers and softens when he sees the state you’re in. You don’t have enough energy to hide the fact that you had a meltdown just some time ago. You just don’t have energy now.

He sits on the edge of the bed, near you. Pressure, you need pressure on you. That’s all you can think, but once again you can’t verbalize it.

“Is there anything I can do for you right now, hun?” He keeps his voice calm, you nod.

“Are you able to tell me right now?” He’s so understanding you could cry if you weren’t dehydrated right now.

“Pressure.” He smiles at your reply, happy to help.

“Ok,” He scoots over to you and pulls you into his chest. Fully wrapping his arms around you and squeezing just the right amount.

“Might have to get you one of those weighted blankets, ey?” He laughs but you know it’s a real suggestion. You’ve talked about it of course, for when he’s gone. You just nod in his chest.

“When you're able to, wanna tell me what happened?” You sigh, the words stuck in your chest start moving upward.

“Built up. They changed the recipe in (your safe food) and that’s what threw me overboard.” Short and sweet, that’s the only way you know how to communicate after anything that has drained you.

“I know how much you liked that.” He draws light circles on your back. He takes a deep breath before continuing “You gotta let me know if you hurt yourself, I know how hard it can be to express your emotions especially when you're by yourself.”

A quick shake of the head is good enough for Daniel. He knows that you would’ve told him if you did harm yourself, accidentally or on purpose to try to soothe yourself.

“Can we watch (your favorite movie).” You ask.

“Of course.”

#f1 fanfic #f1 x fem!reader #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #daniel ricciardo x fem!reader #daniel ricciaro fluff #daniel ricciardo x reader #f1 fluff

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doumadono · 11 months

Note

this is an emergency request

i think?? i’m not sure how they work,,,,

but i just relapsed after 7 months of being clean from self harm and i’m just looking for comfort.

could you write twice (mha) comforting and cleaning the reader? if you don’t write for him then aizawa or dabi?

thank you for taking time out of your day to read this, i hope you’re doing well and taking care❤️‍🩹

Warnings: mentions of self harm, mentions of blood, gn!reader

A/N: Relapses can happen, but remember that your progress over those months is still a significant achievement. I'm proud that you've navigated this period without harming yourself. I'm sure you're strong and capable, and you can overcome this setback.Take it one step at a time, and remember that there is hope and healing on the horizon. I'm certain that brighter days are on the horizon, my dear Anonnie. If you ever need to vent or just talk to a sympathetic ear, don't hesitate to reach out to me

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Twice

The neon lights of the city painted the bathroom with an otherworldly glow, but you were lost in the depths of your own darkness. The emotional turmoil had reached a breaking point, and you found yourself in a small, run-down apartment, struggling to cope with it all. On this particularly difficult evening, the feelings of frustration and despair became too much to bear, and you resorted to a harmful way of coping. You sat on the bathroom floor, tears streaming down your face, as self-inflicted wounds marred your skin, the blood dripping down your forearms.

As you sat there, tears in your eyes, the door creaked open. You looked up to see Jin standing in the front door with a concerned expression. He had known something was wrong and had rushed over to check on you. His wild, disheveled appearance contrasted with the softness in his eyes. "Hey there, Y/N," he said gently, kneeling beside you. "God, little one… What have you done?" He carefully took your hands and examined your injuries, his touch surprisingly gentle.

Twice, despite his chaotic personality, had a way of being incredibly nurturing in times of need. He fetched a first-aid kit from your bathroom and began to clean and bandage your wounds with a surprising level of expertise. All the while, he kept up a soothing stream of chatter, talking about the most random, yet oddly comforting, topics.

Once your wounds were properly tended to, he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close as if he could protect you from all the pain. "You're not alone in this," he whispered, his voice full of sincerity. "I'm here for you, okay? You don't have to go through this by yourself. And please, I'm begging you, don't you ever do that again, ok?"

With his arms around you, Twice stayed by your side, sharing stories of his own struggles and how he found strength in unexpected places. He didn't offer solutions, but his presence and his willingness to listen were immensely comforting. Jin enveloped you in a warm embrace, his arms encircling your shoulders. Both of you sat on the cold bathroom floor, and he began to sway with you gently, back and forth, humming a soft, comforting melody while his hand moved in soothing circles on your back. "It will pass, it will pass, Y/N," he whispered, his voice filled with reassurance.

You soon realized that behind the mask of chaos, there was a man who truly cared about your well-being, offering a unique kind of comfort that made you feel less alone in your struggles.

Dabi

The world had grown darker with every passing day, and the weight of your own demons had become unbearable. The darkness was consuming you, and you couldn't escape its grasp. In a moment of despair, you resorted to harming yourself as a twisted form of release. You found yourself in a secluded hideout, your trembling hands clutching a blade that had caused your pain.

Dabi, had been growing increasingly concerned about your well-being. Finally, he found you in that desolated place he knew you liked to visit. He saw your distress and the wounds that marred your skin, and his expression shifted from its usual stoicism to one of genuine concern. "Damn it," he muttered, kneeling beside you. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. Cut that out," he muttered, reaching out to take the blade gently from your trembling hand, and threw it aside. His touch was surprisingly gentle, considering his reputation of a villain.

Dabi proceeded to clean and bandage your wounds with a careful precision. The silence was oddly comforting. Dabi didn't fill the air with meaningless words; he let the sound of your breathing and his concentrated actions speak for themselves. You watched him work, the pain slowly subsiding under his careful touch. As he worked, his burning hand emitted a controlled, soothing warmth that helped ease your pain.

In this moment of vulnerability, you poured out your frustrations, letting the tears and words flow freely.

Dabi listened, his expression never changed, yet his turquise eyes often were locking on yours.

Once your wounds were taken care of, Dabi reached out, running his fingers through your hair, a rare display of tenderness. "I can't stand to see you hurt like this," he admitted. "You're stronger than you realize, but you don't have to carry this burden alone. I'm here, like you were here for me back then, and I won't let you fall."

Dabi stayed with you, his presence a source of comfort. Dabi gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs tenderly caressing your cheeks, still damp from the tears you had shed. "Listen to me," he murmured, his voice low and filled with concern, "Instead of resorting to such actions, next time, come and talk to me, okay? Self-harm won't lead you anywhere, and even if it provides temporary relief, it always casts a darker shadow afterward. You understand?"

You gave him a nod. Despite his fiery exterior, you could see the depths of his compassion and his genuine desire to help you find your way through the darkness.

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romana-after-dark · 1 year

Text

The Wrong Way: Bonus Chapter

Tommy Miller x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summery: You are sold to Joel to clear up some of your fathers' debts, and he takes you back to his house where him, Tommy, and high ranking members of his raiding trope stay. Joel is mean, cruel, and hash, but had small moments of softness that confuse you in your venerable state. Over time, you get to know him and Tommy, and see different sides of each, an both are hiding secrets. Was it possible to fall in love under these circumstances? Or was that just another way Joel was fucking with you?

WARNINGS FOR FULL FIC, NOT CHAPTER BY CHAPTER UNLESS SOMETHING NEW IS ADDED AFTER MASTER WARNING LIST: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Fic contains graphic depictions of sexual assault, rape, molestation, dubcon/non con. Blow Jobs, PIV sex, lose of virginity, sex trafficking, past incest, death/people dying everywhere, Stockholm syndrome, falling for your rapist, victim blaming, torcher, branding, physical abuse, rape (not Joel), somno, graphic depictions of violence, being turned on by violence, pregnancy, self-harm/depression/suicidal thoughts (not a lot)but fair warning, major age gap

This is a reader fic, reader is early 20's, Joel is 40's at this point, reader is small enough that the men can lift her, but these are strong men. Reader is also referred to as little one, little girl ETC, but that's more in reference to her age/innocence than physical size.

Please reread warnings, as they have been updated. Also for this fic specifically, heavy on the self victim blame. I'll have a a note at the end about it.

Additionally for this chapter, dub-con for Tommy, bordering on non-con. He is not into it. If that angle of this srt of thing disturbs you, don't real this chapter. I'ts not neccecary for the plot, but I had people asking.

*************************

“You can never tell anyone, or we are both dead.” Tommy tells you before instructing you to lay on the bed and take off your pants, and you did as you were told, nervously exposing yourself to him, but you keep your legs closed. “You’re gonna haveta open up if we’re doing this, I ain’t pry’n your legs open.”

You knew Tommy wasn’t a fan of this proposition, but was trying to help you. You wondered how the brothers ended up so different… It was Tommy who tried to stop Joel from fucking your face, trying to stop him from buying you. It was Tommy who convinced Joel not to deflower you last night, Tommy who brought you food and amenities and finally, Tommy who was taking your virginity now for the sake of easing you into whatever Joel had in store for you.

You open your legs, and Tommy placed his hands on your hips. “Take deep breaths, I’m going to do my best to make this easier on you.”

“Okay” you whisper, trusting him for no other reason other than he was kind to you.

Tommy tried to touch you between your legs, and although it felt a little good, you pushed his hands away. “Just do it.”

You weren’t looking at him.

“C’mon, let me make this easier, warm you up.” Tommy spoke softly, trying to calm you. His voice was soothing, that was for sure. It wasn’t like you trusted him completely, you still felt that if you made the wrong move Tommy would hurt you, especially if it was under Joel’s orders, but you felt fairly confident that with this at least, he would take it easy. Joel wouldn’t show mercy.

You shook your head, still facing the wall. “Joel won’t make it easier, I shouldn’t get used to it.”

Tommy sighs. “He might. But either way, it’s going to hurt less if you are relaxed. Or, I guess more relaxed.” You still refuse his touch. “Okay, can I start?”

You nod, and Tommy carefully slips a finger inside you, and you whimper, wishing you could swallow your pride and let him make you feel good, but you refuse. You refused to find any pleasure in any of this, you could hold onto at least that bit of pride.

You were tight already around his one finger, and Tommy realizes you might be more innocent than he thought a 20-year-old would be. “Honey, have you ever touched yourself before?”

“No” You choke out. You had touched around between your legs, experimented a bit, but never put anything inside, and never brought yourself to an orgasm. You didn’t even know women could until your friend explained it last year.

“Fuck, okay” Tommy wanted to end this, but if anything, this was more reason to do this. Tommy's comfort wasn’t important, and he put his feelings aside. “Another?” With your permission, Tommy puts another finger in.

And to your embarrassment, a small moan slips out of your mouth, making you immediately blush and shut your eyes.

“It’s okay.” Tommy reassures, thick fingers stretching you and fucking you as your grew wetter despite your best efforts. “It’s okay if it feels good, it’s supposed to.”

Shaking your head, you refuse his words. “No.”

“Joel’s got a lot of pride, honey, depending on the day, he might want to make you cum.”

“I won’t. I won’t let him have this.”

Tommy put his free hand on your thigh, and you welcomed the comforting touch, but you wince at the third finger. “You can let me have this, if you want to. It’s natural for your body to react to this, even… even like this…”

The warmth in your stomach was growing harder to hold back, so all you trust yourself to do is shake your head.

Tommy took his hands out of you, and you couldn’t help feel just a little empty. You look at him, and you can see how hard he’s gotten from touching you, his face and neck slightly red under his dark skin. “We can stop here. Might be better. You didn’t bleed…”

When you looked at him with confusion, he elaborated. “If you bleed with Joel, there won’t be any room for suspicion.” Tommy looked at you more intently. “I need you to understand that if he has any reason to doubt you aren’t a virgin, he will fucking kill you.” Tommy might be dead too, but if he was being honest, Tommy didn’t think Joel would kill him; he spent too long keeping him alive. He’s make him suffer, though.

“Tommy, please…” You beg. You were scared, and Tommy was the only option to prepare you, to keep you from going madly insane.

Tommy did not want to do this, but if this was something that could help you, he would.

“Okay, but you have to promise to tell me if you want to stop.”

You wanted to stop now. You never wanted to start, but this is where you were at, and this was the best option for you. “Okay”

Tommy took off his jeans, placing them under you to prevent the dead give away of the blood on the mattress. When he took off his boxers, you were still intimidated by his sheer size; he wasn’t as big as Joel, but bigger than the three fingers that were previously inside you. He lined up at your entrance, and slowly pushed in, holding back a moan as your warmth enveloped him. Tommy couldn’t lie; you felt good. When their raiding groups went somewhere that didn’t have established relationship with and, as the name implies, raided, Tommy wuldn’t participate in the rapes that the other men did. Joel didn’t either, which Tommy couldn’t understand. Sex was paid for, in which consent was dubious at best, but not like the brutal gang rapes of the other men. Joel wouldn’t stop them, however. Tommy wouldn’t have sex with someone he didn’t feel was willing, leaving him with a dry period. There was someone he was seeing, but this was under Joel's nose, leaving him with little contact. Oh fuck, what was she ging to think abut this? That was Tommy’s burden to bear, not yours.

When he was fully seated inside you, Tommy couldn’t help but groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as he stilled, waiting for you to adjust to him. “I’m going to start moving, okay?”

“Okay” you whisper. When Tommy began moving, it hurt, the initial pain dulling into a ache all around your lower body, you kept finding yourself holding your breath and being unable to get enough air in; your chest was tight. Even as your panic began to shoot up, the slight burn began to subside just a bit, replaced with something good. There was discomfort still, however, a feeling you couldn’t tell if it was good or not, and definitely pain.

“I need you to relax, honey. Deep breaths.”

“It’s going to hurt no matter what.” You choked out, tensing up even more as breathing felt like it all but stopped.

“It’ll hurt less if you don’t fight it, I promise.”

Tommy was talking about Joel, you knew… he gently rubbed your arms, massaging up your shoulders, whispering to you breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out, until you regained your ability to breath. When you found you could again, you realize the pain was all but gone, leaving you with th bubbling warmth again, and the general discomfort of such a foreign feelings inside you.

“There you go, good job, you’re doing good.” Tommy praises as he continues thrusting, having talked you down from panic. “I can make you come, if you’ll let me.”

You almost said yes, you felt close again but who comes under these circumstances? You would feel even more dirty, more wrong, more used than you already did. “Please don’t” you said with a small cry.

“Okay, I won’t” Tommy wished you’d let him, let him ease at least a little of the guilt he felt, but he couldn’t really argue with you. You did, however, allow yourself to revel in this just a bit. It was the first time you had been touched in kindness in a long time, save for a few hugs from your friend and even rarer from your brother. At the very least, Tommy was gentle, he was soft, and he tried to make this as easy as possible. You were just happy to feel kindness. When he came, Tommy pulled out and spilled onto his pants, and you almost wanted him back. You were so lonely, even this connection felt like something.

Tommy, however, was glad it was over, ready to get the fuck out of this room and scrub this day off him, and hopefully be somewhere else when Joel comes back so he didn’t have to hear what Joel would do to you. He pulls the blanket over your exposed bottom; you were too shaken to dress yourself.

You sit up, pulling the blanket over your chest even though you were still wearing Tommy’s shit he gave you last night. You still felt exposed. “Thank y-”

“Don’t” He couldn’t look at you, scrambling to get his clothes on. Tommy Miller wasn’t an asshole, he didn’t just fuck girls and leave them, but he couldn’t stand the thought of being in this room and around you any longer. He felt guilty, he felt perverted for being with someone so young, even if you had practically begged. He needed to get out of there; he felt sick. “Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, I just- I have to go, I need to go”

You watch in silence as he pulls on the pants with your blood, and you can see the guilt on his face. “I’m sorry, Tommy”

Tommy avoided looking at you and left without a word.

*************

Despite what Little One is saying, being turned on and cumming from assault or rape happens more than you'd think. It happened to me and that doesn't make it any less rape. I don't want to take this fic super seriously bc if we're applying real life morals to it then I shouldn't be humanizing Joel at all, but it will be romantic later on. But I do want to say at the end of all this that this is fiction, all this is wrong and bad.

I also feel bad for Tommy, as I was writing it I'm like.... damn if consent is only given enthusiastically and freely, Tommy isn't really consenting either is he?

Anyway, any guesses as to how Joel finds out, or what joel does when he learns?

real fast self promo, if you like Triple Frontier and dream about getting fucked by all of the boys, HERE YOU GO

Thank you so much for your comments! They absolutely keep me writing, it's good to know your writing makes an impact. Also thank you for the support after those nasty anons, and thank you for being so anxious for more! That being said, just know that finals are coming for me. I have a 12 page paper due next week, and a 5 page paper due a few days later, and my oral final for Spanish. I am..... stressed. But this chapter was mostly done so i decided to finish it today and give it to you bc ill be honest, chapter 3 probs won't be out for a few weeks. If you are anxious for a new chapter, i love hearing it! but please dont ask when, only bc i dont know ahaha!

Wish me luck! just found out ill be taking 12 credits this summer oh god.

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @howaboutcastiel @tidlewav3 @bunnnyy-dummy @slutfortimotheechalamet @foggymoonbanana @dinsbaby @miraclesabound @jenna-ortega @primosworld @marclovers @threeheadedlamb @secretwriterpp @the-fox-den

some of the tags just don work! lmk if theres a way i can fix this, but if theres nothing to be done, you can sign up for notifications when this blog posts! It dont post very much here so you wont get all kinds of notifications

#Tommy miller #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller reader #tommy miller you #tommy miller smut #tommy miller reader smut #tlou smut #dark tlou #dark fic #dddne #dead dove #non con #dub con #the wrong way series #dark joel miller #fem reader #fem!reader

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joaofelixsgf · 2 years

Note

Rough Gavi smut? 🤍

QUE TE PEDI//

18+ smut, rough, blowjob, angst.

3:00 am, crying. Pouring rain and my eyes had been burning from the amount of tears. I hesitate but I grab my phone and go to Pablo’s contact before pressing the call button. My heart stops but it’s soothed by the sound of the call not picked up, the thumping stops but starts up again when I press voice mail.

“Yo sé que, con mucho esfuerzo voy a poder conseguir todo eso que te conté que quería para mí,Esos sueños tan lindos que tenìamos Espero, pues, que si escuchas esto, tengas presente que desde lo más profundo de mi corazón siempre vas a estar en mis oraciones”(I know that, with a lot of effort, I will be able to achieve all that I told you that I wanted for myself, those beautiful dreams that we had. I hope, then, that if you listen to this, keep in mind that from the depths of my heart you will always be In my prayers)”

I press send and put my hands into a fist, the thumping end and the rain calms down.

2 years, 5 days, and 8 months.

Not together, without each others touch and each other’s presence. Pedri was hosting a party and I was hesitant to go, a fear that Pablo would be there, I had no idea why I had been avoiding him, but I think it’s because of that voice mail I had sent him, he had definitely heard it.

We never dated, and that day that he found out I liked him, he completely ghosted me, I didn’t want to see Pablo because I felt embarrassed.

Those two years I had found my way into many footballers DMs. I was a famous model of course, I could bag any man at this point, but I wanted Pablo, did he want me though?.

“Your gonna be fine” Angie adjusts my makeup a little bit “go find another man!” We both laugh and go our separate ways, i try to act tough around her but she knows I’m just lying she can see it, like how her eyes soften when I smile, she feels bad for me, but todays the day I’ll proof her wrong, I’ll show her I’m over Pablo.

Since me and Pablo stopped being friends, well since he dropped me. I hadn’t been wearing such short skimpy dresses, but that day I felt changed. I hear some flashing cameras but I immediately hide in the crowd of people making sure I don’t get squished. A few minutes in I began feeling two arms on my body, sort of a loose grab, it felt uncomfortable, I didn’t push him off thinking I’d show my dominance by doing so.

Sensual music begins playing and he slowly makes his way up to my neck to press a kiss but I’m stunned and immediately push him to see hector with his stupid smirk my ex he snickers and I can somehow hear, he had cheated on me twice and left my heart broken “what’s goin on ma? Not gonna continue grinding on your ex?” He says pulling me in whispering in my ear with his annoying hot breath.

I didn’t know what to do. I was frozen. “Don’t touch her??” Pablo smacks hector. I had became unfrozen due to the act but soon frozen again when I saw the familiar face, my heart dropped and I was back to not over Pablo, my world stops and I can only hear a faded argument in the background.

“Are you okay?” Pablo asks. My face begins to tear up and i push him out of the way running outside, “fuck this can’t be happening” I knew he would be at the same party but not right infront of me!!!. I kneel down to open my bag to try and find my phone but soon realize I had left it in inside Pedri’s room, I groan a small fuck and bite my lip out of the old self harm instincts.

“Que haces aquí?(what are you doing here”), I feel my heart beating and my face becoming red “gavi” I whisper and i hear a small confused yes “why’d you ghost me?” I say biting my lip once again holding back tears not like there already wasn’t any streaming down my eyes at the moment.

He dosent answer he only walks up behind me to pick me up “Estas bien?(are you okay?”) “answer my question gavi” I say pulling my hand away from his grip. His face softens just like how my friends face does, he won’t be honest. “I- just” he doesn’t finish his sentence he only mutters a small fuck and kisses my lips.

It was a stupid awkward kiss, eyes open. I gasp but I can’t anymore, I sense approval and push my lips back onto his, the kisses speed turning faster and his hands snaking around my waist. We pull away gasping for air, we don’t say anything to each other he pulls my hand and we make it upstairs, “Pedri doesn’t mind us using the guest room” he says out of breath.

The room is soon filled with loud moans, there’s party music booming making it practically soundproof, he’s hungry, he rips my short red dress off and begins to kiss my neck, in between kisses he lets out breathy sentences “you don’t know how much I fucking missed you baby” I let out a small moan signaling him to continue, “use me baby”, we continue “I’m sorry” he mutters against my neck.

I began to pull on his hair as he goes downer, “fuck!” I moan, his tongue swirling my clit, he speaks in between licks. “I never wanted to leave you, it was that bitch Katherine, I was blinded in to doing the right thing instead of doing what I actually wanted” my moaning is my forgiveness.

Finally. I cum all over his face, him licking my insides for extra credit, sweaty, I pull up to stare at him “i forgive you baby just please fuck me first” i mutter into his ear hungrily and he turns(tosses) me around, ass front, he smacks it and pulls his dick out “moan as loud as you can baby” he prepares his dick before shoving himself inside “fuck!!” I let out a loud moan, his hands snake around my waist as a strap.

His arms push in and out, it practically being a workout, his dick is shoving in and out of you, “I can’t believe you made me wait this long” you say in a weak voice “your so stupid you know Pablo” you speak once again knowing how it drove him crazy when you degraded him, despite him being the one pounding into you. He was completely pussy drunk.

Your about to speak when you accidentally spill cum everywhere earning a sound visible smirk come from Pablo’s mouth, “I need you to shut your mouth or else I’m gonna have to punish you”.

“I don’t think I’d mind it sir” you mutter when you had already turned around knowing what was going through Pablo’s mind, you could tell when he was going to cum his tip would become a unbelievable shade of red and his dick would be pulsating, his pants were already off and you were on your knees, bruised already.

“Fuck” he groans when you begin to lick his already fucked up dick, his dick was ready to cum the moment your lips were applied on there, he moans loud as your entire mouth wraps around his veins “puta mia” he says pushing your head down with his hands, finally, he cums inside of your mouth letting out breathy moans “fuck,fuck,fuck”.

“We really need to talk Pablo” you say covering your sweaty body.

#pablo gavi #barcelona #futbol #joao felix #jude bellingham #neymar jr #pablo gavi smut #joaofelix #messi #messi𓃵

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drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 7 months

Text

A Safe Place: Part 6

Summary: Jake has one happy place. His pride and joy and comfort. When things go south, this is what he turns to.

Marc has started to rely on Jake to be his solid force. The unshakable rock that keeps them all stable.

Steven knows better. They are all delicately balanced on a thin wire.

What happens when one of them takes a spill?

Pairings: Layla x Marc, Layla x Jake, Layla x Steven

Universe: MCU

Warnings: Dissociation, Depression, DID, Habits of self destruction, discussion of mild self harm, talk of child abuse, depictions of eating disorders (in relation to depression), PTSD

Word Count: 5211

Previous Chapter HERE.

Part Six - What is a safe place? Will Jake ever have one again? How does Steven feel about his new role and responcibility in the system? Can Marc finally realize that he can bring his own comfort to the system?

They slept through most of the day.

True to their word, Steven had been the one to decide to crawl out of the blanket fort to go to the bathroom, have a drink of water, or snag a snack before he crawled back in and curled back up in his comfort pile of pillows, blankets, and Layla.

When Marc and Jake were close to the front, neither one of them was willing to try moving without Steven’s approval.

They drifted in and out of consciousness and dreams faded in and out, some stressful and others just a faded haze that flitted through the stress and anxieties that they had not yet worked out.

On more than one occasion, Layla had gently woken them up when their breathing increased and she could see the tension building on their face. Each time, they had buried down and reached for her hand.

At some point, Steven had woken and frantically kicked off all the blankets and complained of being too hot until Layla brought them a glass of cold water to sip on before he had rolled over again and slowly re-buried himself in the discarded blankets.

Finally, night fell and Steven woke with his face smushed into Layla’s stomach and the soothing sensation of her fingers stroking through his hair.

He blinked up at her and glanced around. “Did we sleep the whole day?”

“More or less. I’d say you had plenty of stressful dreams too.” She looked down at him and gently placed her hand against his forehead. “I’m pretty sure you were running a mild fever too. No sleep and wandering around in the cold and wet… I’m surprised you weren’t sicker.”

Steven groaned and nuzzled into her stomach for a moment before he slowly sat up. “How were the other two? Today is pretty blurry. Have you spoken to them at all?”

Layla watched him sit up, his hair an absolute mess and his forehead still covered with sweat. “A little. Marc didn’t talk much. He mostly just wanted to cuddle.” She smiled a little to herself. “I’ve never seen him get sick, you know. He’s a bit of a baby…”

“One good benefit from Khonshu, I suppose.” Steven rubbed at his forehead, wincing at the stiff joints and headache forming there. “And Jake?”

Layla hesitated then sat back. “I think he was dealing with the bad dreams. Fever dreams can be stressful. He didn’t talk much either, but he asked that I check on the car at least once.”

“Did you?” Steven looked up at her apologetically.

“I did. It’s still there in one piece.”

Steven relaxed a little then sighed and closed his eyes against the headache. “This is going to be a regular thing, isn’t it? This anxiety now… Constant worry that it might be gone. That we’ll go out and find an empty spot again.”

“He could get a better parking spot. You have the money for it. He could even pay for a parking garage or something with security. Or just upgrade the car with a security system or something.” Layla reached for the cup of water and held it out for him to drink.

Steven sipped the water slowly. “It doesn’t matter. The damage is done. The trauma is there. I can feel it. Each time we turn the corner we’ll see the empty spot. We’ll feel that anxiety as we realized it wasn’t there. Any time we go anywhere… I don’t want this. We don’t need this new trauma. We have enough anxiety about other things!”

Layla looked at him and felt her stomach clench. They came with trauma. It was a fact that she had learned to deal with. They came with things that she would never be able to understand or comprehend. They had anxieties over things that sometimes she couldn’t predict. They had triggers that snuck up on her.

But she was learning. She was starting to figure out how to handle things and deal with things. She could navigate nightmares with comfort. She could navigate flashbacks with promises of security. She knew anxiety attack solutions that calmed them down. She could talk them down from panic attacks.

The sudden idea that they were not immune to new trauma was deeply unpleasant. Outright unfair. Hadn’t they been through enough? How was she supposed to keep up if the maze of trauma kept changing?

“Old trauma made new.” Steven muttered. “Trauma I didn’t even know we had and now it’s slipped out of containment and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Layla bit her lower lip. “Jake normally keeps those things away, doesn’t he?”

Steven groaned and set the glass down. “Yeah. This isn’t something Jake can just make us forget. I think he’s starting to realize how much it hurts us when we don’t know where the pain is coming from… But we still need to have a long conversation about what we can handle.” Steven glanced to the side and Layla realized someone else was talking to him. “Yeah. I know. Marc isn’t as ready to share in things as I am.”

“What about you, Steven?” She took his hand gently and he squeezed it back tightly. “You don’t have to feel pressure to face everything either.”

“I’ve been lucky.” Steven shook his head. “I’ve gone my whole life not knowing things. I can’t be that simple naive guy anymore. I have to know what makes us who we are.”

“I worry about you… Trying to take on too much.” She looked at him, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “I know you are more than capable. I’ve seen you do amazing things! But… We all have our limits. Even me. If you spend all your time trying to take care of Marc or Jake or even me… When will you have time for Steven Grant?”

Steven’s hands worried at one of the blankets. “I have plenty of time for me! I do self care all the time! I’m doing self care right now!” He sneezed and pulled the blanket up over his head as he winced so she wouldn’t see.

Layla reached up and pulled the blanket down to look at him. “That isn’t what I mean and you know it.” She held out a tissue box to him.

He took it gratefully and mumbled his apologies as he blew his nose. “I don’t have any trauma, Layla. I’m the one that got away with all the good times! Most of them even real.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Steven…”

He gave her a slightly petulant look then sank back down under the blanket. “How am I supposed to help if I don’t know what’s going on? It doesn’t matter if I like it or not. It didn’t happen to me. Why should I be upset by it? I just need to know so I can help.”

“You can be upset because it happened to your friends. You can be upset because it shouldn’t have happened at all. You can be upset that it was so unfair to all of you.”

“Upset that it was so bad that it caused me to exist in the first place.” He muttered.

Layla let out a slow hiss through her teeth. She had been dreading this. This was something she had known was coming ever since she had learned about their condition. Really learned, and not taken Marc’s pitiful attempt to explain it.

This was something she had thought about over and over again. “I am always angry that those horrible things had to happen to give me the three men that I love and care about so deeply that I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m angry that the person you were supposed to be was taken away but I am so happy that it gave me you.”

“I can’t be happy that I exist because a little boy was hurt by the people that were supposed to protect and love him.” Steven sniffled and she suspected that it was not only because of his stuffy nose. “How can I enjoy being alive when I’m alive because someone else died?”

Rather than pull the blankets away, she let him keep his comforting shield and instead she moved to crawl under the blankets with him. If it had been Jake, she would worry about invading his space. If it had been Marc she would have brought him to her. With Steven, she went to him.

Steven rubbed the tears from his face with the back of his sleeves as she curled up at his side, her head on his chest gently and an arm draped across his waist.

“You are Steven Grant. You are kind, caring, compassionate, brave, and so very smart. You are a gift to this world and a treasure to me. You find the beauty in a world that has offered you so little.”

Steven sniffled again then gulped hard. He snagged a few tissues and wiped at his face till it was red and still wet. “I’m sorry… The sickness has got me all worked up. I’m a real mess.”

“Take your time.” She smiled and hugged him close. “You can be upset now and then, Steven. It’s okay to demand time to be vulnerable. You can ask for time to process things. You don’t always have to be the one to immediately step up to hold the world up.”

Steven laughed softly. “No… That’s Jake. Holding up the world. I’m just there to keep us from flying apart. But… Maybe I’m the one that needs to cry too… I’m not sure Marc knows how to grieve or that Jake knows how to handle loss.”

Layla thought about that for a moment. Marc absolutely didn’t know how to handle grief. He hid from things that threatened that level of pain. Usually behind Steven. Jake often acted like the pillar that kept them up and running. He was the one that knew and understood their past… But he had so little personal input on any of it. A man that set out to have no real stake in the game had nothing to lose.

“I think you are right.” She turned to look up at him “But it also doesn’t mean that you’re the one that needs to cry for them.”

Steven wiped his face with his sleeve again then nodded. “How’d you get to be so smart?”

She laughed softly and buried her face in his chest. “I’m not much better, Steven. I could use a few pointers on how to take care of myself too.”

He shifted and gently stroked her back. “Marc has some suggestions, but I’m going to refrain from repeating them. I’d also like to remind him that we are sick and those acts are often frowned on while in this state.”

Grinning, she looked up at him. “That’s never stopped him before.”

“Yeah…” Steven gave her a look. “That’s what he just said too. You two are far more alike than you realize. It’s scary, really.”

“Well… This is nice too.” She sighed as he brushed her hair to the side and stroked the back of her neck gently.

“Mnh.” He played with her hair for a moment, deep in thought. At last he looked at her seriously and she braced for the worst. “If you were on a boat in the Duat and Tawaret was driving it and you wanted to get back to the land of the living, would you really have helped Marc take her out and stolen the boat?”

Layla opened her mouth then closed it again and stared. Sometimes it was best not to ask where his questions came from. “Setting aside the fact that Tawaret is lovely and I would never do anything to hurt her…even if I could… Yeah… I’d probably help Marc steal the boat.”

Steven managed to give her a look that showed pure disappointment in her judgment skills but also be just a little impressed at the same time. “With you, I think anything is possible. …But please don’t help Marc fight any gods. At least not in that sense.”

“We’ll leave all the negotiations to you.” She grinned up at him.

“As you should. Someone has to make sure we aren’t getting screwed over.” He looked to the side and raised his eyebrows in mild surprise then scoffed. “Well I didn’t have all the pieces then, now did I? Whose fault was that?”

Layla realized how rare it was for everyone to be present at once. How rare it was for them to all willingly communicate with Steven. Even more so, how rare it was that Jake showed his hand that he was lurking.

Marc often scoffed that Jake was usually lurking just below the surface and watching things, but that he could never really tell.

“How is everyone doing?” She hugged his waist a little and looked up at him curiously.

“Um…” Steven glanced to the side. “Marc says he’s fine. We all know that’s a lie. I’d say he’s about mid for usual Marc behavior. He’d be out right now but he really doesn’t like feeling sick so he’s giving it a solid pass.”

“Big baby.” She sat up a bit. “Guess I can’t lovingly dote on him and comfort him.”

“Yeah no. He’s not buying it.” Steven grabbed a tissue and blew his nose. “Jake isn’t taking it either. Says the body’s all mine. Some protector.” He sank back into the blankets. “Thank you for doing all this, Layla… I don’t know what we would do without you.”

“You’d do the same for me.” She smiled and moved to give him room. “I had the flu a while back and Marc took amazing care of me. He fussed over me like a mother hen, honestly. Even made me soup from scratch.”

Steven blinked then frowned. “Marc says he can’t cook soup. Best he can do is open a can.”

“Certainly wasn’t a can.” She laughed. “Homemade chicken soup. It was amazing. Really hit the spot in clearing my head too.” Her laugh tapered down and she stared at Steven. “Oh. …Oh.”

“Weren’t me. I’d have remembered making soup for the most beautiful woman in the world.” He fussed with the blanket a bit. “Jake’s being pretty quiet about it, though…”

Layla thought back. She’d been running a pretty high fever so it was a little blurry but there was something off about the memory. ‘Marc’ had been so quiet, humming softly as he made the soup and then gently rubbing the vicks vapor rub on her to help open up her sinuses.

She thought back on the way he’d smiled as she sipped the soup carefully and the way he’d helped prop her up with extra pillows so she could eat easier in bed.

The way he’d dabbed at her forehead with a soft and cool wash rag and the way he’d made her tea just the way her mother had when she was small.

Layla looked at Steven, who kept his gaze down as he picked at the edges of a blanket. She watched the way his fingers paused for just a fraction of a second before he flexed his fingers and smoothed the blanket back out.

“You really are good at hiding in plain sight.” She sat back and pulled her legs up to give him extra space. “You also like to put up these big barriers between you and the world… But you break your own rules a lot, don’t you?”

Jake looked up at her, looking miserable with his red and irritated nose and his damp curls sticking to his sweaty forehead. He shrugged and let out a small cough as he looked away.

“I don’t know that you really know what you want.” She found herself twirling the fringe of a blanket between her own fingers nervously. “It’s easy to pretend nothing matters to you and tell yourself that all you want is to be alone and locked up away from everything.”

Jake shifted and cleared his throat a bit. “I did. It was easier alone.”

“You can picture a pretty lonely life, Jake. A big empty flat all to yourself. Filled with your own things. A simple quiet life away from people. Your own rituals to follow. Come and go as you please.”

“Not exactly something I can do, now is it?” Jake scoffed. “Marc might mind his own business but Steven has running commentary on everything.”

“An ideal perfect life for Jake Lockley.” She sighed. “Safe away from the world… But then you would be away from the diner. I hear you have plenty of friends there. No one to drive around and chat with, either.”

Jake brushed his hair back out of his face in irritation then looked at her. “I didn’t ask to hold all the bad memories. I didn’t ask to be the protector. I didn’t ask to be the one that they lean on and that keeps us standing tall.”

Layla nodded. “No… I don’t think anyone would ask that. But I see you trying so desperately to make and keep a safe place and all I see is a man that doesn’t know what makes him feel safe.”

Jake frowned and his lips pulled tight as he clenched his jaw.

“It’s okay if you need to be in your own space. It’s okay if you want to sit in your car with the radio on or off and let yourself pretend that nothing else exists. It’s okay to hide in the closet when you have bad dreams. It’s okay to say that you don’t feel safe sometimes.” She held out her hand. “But maybe your safe place needs to be something that can’t be stolen or broken or invaded. You could build a fortress and lock yourself away in it, but there will always be a moment where it isn’t enough. Where the fortress becomes the thing you need to escape. Where do you go then?”

Jake gently took her hand and let his fingers slide over hers slowly. “I’m not trying to lock you out… That was never the intention.”

“I thought it was because you weren’t used to being around me. But… You took care of me. You’ve been around me longer than I even knew.”

He sighed. “Letting you in… It’s harder than making friends or going to the diner or chatting up people on the street. I can walk away from those things. I can go home and forget about it. I like being around you, Layla. I love being around you. I’m not used to… If I love you, I have to protect you. If I love you, you have the ability to hurt me. To hurt us.”

“You know I wouldn’t.”

“You can’t promise that forever. You could hurt us so easily. We’ve hurt you plenty of times. It happens. You can’t keep bad things from happening all of the time. Things have a way of happening. A car gets stolen. A house burns down. A person dies… Things happen. And for just a few moments… When I’m in the car and in my own space, those things don’t happen. I can control my time. I can control what I experience. I can control who I let in.”

“So what do you do now? Do we go back to how it was? Do you go and sit in your car and sometimes you let me join you? Or is that space tarnished with the idea that it could disappear so easily?” She squeezed his hand gently, afraid for a moment that he might pull away.

He wove his fingers in hers and gave a gentle squeeze back.

“Sometimes… It’s still my space. The fear of it disappearing will never go away now. But… I can make it my space again… But I think you’re right. I think safe for me is making a situation that I can control. A place where I can decide what’s happening and who is there. And maybe… Sometimes that’s me locking you out or closing the door of the closet. If that isn’t something you can deal with…”

“And sometimes feeling safe is you making me chicken soup despite the fact that it risks us all finding out about you.” She brought his hand up and kissed his knuckles softly.

Jake looked at her for a moment then reached up and gently caressed her cheek. “And sometimes feeling safe is you making a giant blanket fort for us to hide in all day while we sit out a cold.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. She felt him shift on the couch and slowly he moved closer till he was leaning against her. “When you need space, I will always be willing to give it to you.”

His head leaned against her shoulder and he moved to hook his arm around hers till he was cuddled up against her full. “When you need to be close and reminded that you are loved, I will always be willing to give it to you, too.”

She wrapped her arm over his shoulders and gently stroked his hair, moving it off his forehead gently. “Thank you…”

“Mnh.” He sniffled and sighed. “I’m going to give the body back to Steven now… As much as I appreciate this and you… I really can’t handle the stuffy nose.”

She laughed and kissed his forehead. “Go ahead. I’ll take care of you all.”

Steven made a sound of displeasure and nuzzled into Layla as if that might somehow make all the pain of the cold disappear. “Those two seriously owe me.”

“Poor baby.” She let him snuggle in. “Get some sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I could sleep forever like this with you here.” Steven mumbled. “I think we all could.”

He drifted to sleep with a small smile on his face and for once, he didn’t seem to have any nightmares.

–

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep anything a secret from him?” Steven muttered.

It had been two weeks since the car was stolen and recovered. Jake had stopped going out to check the car at night after they had gotten sick and they were slowly working up to leaving it alone in the street for a full day without checking.

There was still a great bundle of anxiety every time they left the flat to go anywhere. A little pain of fear that said the car might not still be there waiting for them.

In that time period, Steven had woken up in the closet only once and Marc had agreed to let Layla pull all his hidden alcohol out and get rid of it. Steven suspected there was still a bottle hidden somewhere in the wall, but he was willing to leave it alone for now. Though if he ever woke up puking into the toilet again he was going to rip every board off the wall and ceiling till he was satisfied that the place was free of the hard stuff.

“Yeah. I can imagine.” Marc sighed. “Hiding two whole people from you was way easier than this was.”

“You ass.” Steven grumbled but he accepted the jab in good humor. “And it was three people if you count Layla.”

“I missed two people that I lived with.” Layla spoke up. “I even held conversations with one of you!”

Layla couldn’t help but smile as she walked down the familiar street with them. It had been a while since Marc and Steven had felt comfortable enough to share the body. It was a wondrous thing to watch as they seamlessly handed off the conversation and found a way to include her in what was normally very much a one sided conversation.

She could only hope that this meant that things were starting to settle down inside and proper communication was opening up again.

“Do you think he suspects anything?” She ghosted her knuckles across the back of their hand as they walked and Steven responded instantly, gripping her hand tightly till Marc nudged and wove his fingers between hers properly.

“He was pretty pissy yesterday.” Marc muttered. “I think Steven had the right idea to hand it off to you.”

“He’s not used to being the one left in the dark, I suppose.” Layla shrugged and patted her pocket to make sure the key was still inside. “Is he around? It would be a waste if we got there and he was out.”

“You say that like he’s stepped out for a smoke. Where the hell is he supposed to go?” Marc snipped then flushed and looked away. “Sorry. I know. I know.”

She waited for Steven to finish whatever he was saying to Marc in private. Marc was still very sensitive about certain things and it was sometimes hard to tell what might rub him wrong, but he was at least making an effort to be aware of when he took things the wrong way.

“No need to apologize.” She squeezed his hand gently. “It was a poorly phrased question. I suppose he’s always around, but sometimes he doesn’t show up for days on end from my point of view.”

“He’ll show up.” Steven looked around as they got closer. “I’m getting pretty good at all this system stuff, you know. I think Jake’s finally letting me have a bit more wiggle room. Becoming a bit more trusting that I’ve got things. Not like some people.”

“You want to do this alone?” Marc shot back. “I’ll be more than happy to give you full reign.”

Layla wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him in, stopping them in their tracks. “Marc…”

He gave her a stubborn look that said he was ready for a fight then he sighed heavily and put his face in his hands for a moment to recompose himself. “Sorry. Just… What if he doesn’t like it? Maybe reminding him of that time is in bad taste. Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“I think you should trust that sometimes you know more about the three of you than you think you do.” She kissed his forehead gently. “Come on.

Marc nodded and followed, the worry lines on his forehead giving away his nerves.

At last they stopped outside of a building and she waited while Steven ‘fished’ for Jake. It took more than a minute and she wondered what it must be like to look for a person inside your own head.

She watched their blank face until the creases disappeared and jaw shifted forward.

“What are you all doing? Why is Steven blocking me out?” Jake looked around instantly, taking in his barings and looking more than a little annoyed.

“How else are we supposed to surprise you?” Layla offered him a smile.

“Surprise? What for? I don’t need a surprise.” He instantly gave her a suspicious look.

“Marc hates surprises too.” She laughed softly. “I won’t draw it out.”

He watched as she fished out a set of keys and held it out to him. His eyebrow shot up as he looked at the keys.

His attention shipped to the side as he listened to one of them say something then his eyes darted up to the building.

“Are you kidding?” He closed his fist around the keys.

“It was Marc’s idea.” Layla shrugged. “He said he thought he remembered that you might have an interest in this sort of thing.”

“How much did this cost?” He stared at the large door before them. “That money is-”

“It’s yours just as much as it’s mine.” Marc cut in. “You earned it the same way I did. I don’t fucking want it and Steven doesn’t need any more books. If you don’t like it then you can-”

“What do you mean I don’t need any more books. I can’t help it if I enjoy reading.” Steven stepped in. “Jake, if you don’t stop fussing and just go look at it I’m going to go buy a bloody library.”

Jake looked down at the keys then nodded and moved to unlock the smaller side door. Reaching in, he took a moment to find the light then hit another switch that activated the automatic door.

The large garage door slowly rolled upwards and the lights all flicked on to reveal their car. All along the walls were tools and some equipment meant to be used to handle basic car maintenance.

Layla stepped inside as Jake slowly moved around the equipment, looking it all over with a critical eye. His hands ghosted across a few tools as he took inventory. He even paused to open a few drawers and shift around some smaller bolts and parts.

“Do you like it?” Layla looked at him nervously. “Marc mentioned he thought you used to do mechanics in the army. We thought it might give you a chance to fix up the car and also keep it safe.”

Jake stopped before a work bench, his fingers slowly tracing a wrench. He nodded just enough for her to notice. “Yeah.” He got out at last. “I… I like it a lot.”

Layla relaxed and moved to stand beside him, looking at the bench. “If you need anything, Marc says he’s got a guy.”

Jake nodded again then reached up to slide a hand through his hair. His fingers trembled just a little.

“Oh, hold on.” She moved to a rack on the wall where a new hat hung. “Steven didn’t want you to get your good one dirty. In fact, Steven is pretty insistent that you wash up before going home. I think he’s worried you’ll get grease on his books.”

Jake let the corner of his mouth twitch upwards in a small smile as he looked the hat over then pulled it on securely. He took a moment to slowly roll his sleeves up, noting how they had gotten dressed in one of Marc’s old coats. Steven was not about to let one of his sweaters into a garage.

“Hey, Marc? Want to teach Steven how to change the oil?” He glanced at the various pans and containers that were set aside.

Jake tilted his head to the side for a moment then smiled at Layla. “Steven has politely declined.”

“I’m sure he was a proper English Gentleman about it.” Layla grinned. “It’s been a while since I had my hands in anything mechanical but I might still remember a few things. Do you mind if I stick around? I’ll just watch if you don’t want me to touch anything.”

“I think things have been broken long enough.” Jake hesitated then handed her a wrench. “I’m ready to fix things.”

He moved to his car and popped the hood, opening it up securely then looked over at her, gesturing for her to come closer with a small motion of his hand.

She pulled her hair back in a tie then moved to stand beside him, gazing down into the inner workings of his world.

He looked up at her with a smile. “Let’s get to work.”

-End

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight fic #Marc Spector #Steven Grant #Jake Lockley #Layla El Faouly #Sorry this one took so long to get out everyone #I had a very Jake month #Hope you liked it though #This one was hard to get out

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