#and miles outside of my comfort zone

[jewishcissiekj]

not many things make me feel as ill as being out of the house for more than a day. head spinning and shit but no real logical explanation for it. and there isn't really any way for me to stay at home

[bilaudad]

wipping a wip and sometimes i get distracted by the thumbnails for layers on the side of the screen like

it’s just staring at me and making me giggle

[sunflowersareonfire]

.

[sunny-mercya]

First-Aid

Poly! Billy Loomis & Stu Macher x Male Reader

Fandom -> Scream 1996

Requested by -> @silentlycoris

Masterlist

»My daddy is a nurse and he once told, always help when someone needs help.«

That had been your sole and only explanation you had given Billy and Stu, when they asked you—after you ushered them inside your house—why you treated their injuries when they're Strangers to you.

It was a night to be remembered of how they both had meet you—it happened after one of their very first testing out kills, just measly murdering back then, wanting to see how it goes—testing the waters—and if they improve on anything.

What neither of them had calculated, that one of their test subjects of killing had been a bodybuilder and the man—much larger in height and more muscular in shape—did put up an good back fight, which did ended in him being dead anyways—but also Billy and Stu getting injured.

In the unholy hours of night, when they wandered out of the alley—in a town a few miles away from Woodsboro—tracking a walk of two hours back home, Stu whined all the way—till they reached the first line of houses of Woodsboro—like a small child, about to have a tantrum any moment, Billy's ear off—complaining about the pain and the blood and how stupid that idea was.

Billy, rubbing his temples—trying to ease his splitting headache—scoffed loudly at his friend, telling him to just shut his mouth and suck it up—jaw clenching in building annoyance.

There just some minor issues of injuries, nothing big to whine about and neither is there a need for going into the hospital—wouldn't be really a good idea—as they could bandaging themselves up just as good.

When passing a few houses—looking so ominous looming without any real streetlights—Billy and Stu flinched visibly, out of surprise, when a Dog started to bark and came—from the small bits of garden they passed—running towards them, sniffing as they're fresh butchered meat—than again, with blood on them, they might be.

»Dallas! Dallas my boy whats wrong?« you came jogging out the door, clothed in baggy pyjamas, when Dallas didn't returned and continued with his barking outside.

Once close enough, you raised your eyebrows at the two strangers—not expecting on your tonights Bingo list of nothing spectacular happenings, to have these strangers—covered in blood, you assumed at least, with the nonexistent light out here it was hard to tell—passing by your house and getting jumped by Dallas.

»Are you....you two alright? You look a bit beaten.« you waged with yourself to ask such, personal, question—whatever happened was not your job to snoop in.

»Your dog's named Dallas?« asked Stu, pushing Billy a bit away to get near to you, ignoring your question completely and his momentary whining of pain—too intrigued on your dogs name, wanting to know why choose such a name.

»Uhm yeah, it was the only name which seemed to fit and click, when he had been just a pup years ago.«

Normally, Dallas would've barked up a storm and snarling his teeth at anyone—who isn't your dad or a very close friend—when they come far too near into your personal comfort bubble zone—and this tall strangers before you, had already crossed such bounds, but Dallas seemed to be okay with it.

»Stu. You're towering again. Stop that, you skyscraper.« Billy pulled Stu, by his hoodie, away from you—giving you a small nod.

»You two seriously seemed to be injured and I don't wanna overstep here any line, but just come inside and I'll patch you two up.«

With that being said, you grabbed them both by their hand and dragged them back inside.

~~~

»I hope you brought me some pizza and Fanta as a payment for me patching you two up, once again.« you said teasingly, when Billy and Stu came through the kitchen backdoor—calling out for you and Stu being overexcited to see Dallas again, although you three had seen each other this morning and afternoon already.

»You getting real pricy here, babe.« Billy grins, licking over his lips as he goes into the living room and setting down onto the couch.

»Oh really? With the amount of medical supplies you and Stu are wasting, because of your little secret what the ever-fuck, I should actually raise my prices of payment much higher than it is.«

Your voice was laced with amusement, getting the wipes of disinfectants, cooling creams and gauzes out—already inspecting Billy's minor injuries.

Ever since the night you first have patched them up, Billy and Stu dropped by two days after—saying their thanks and gifting you chocolate and dog-treats.

Then they keep visiting you, getting to know you better and better over the long summer and persuading—trying at least—to transfer to their highschool instead of going to the one in Flintstocks.

And somehow this blooming friendship, over the last two years, turned into Billy and Stu dropping by also in the late nights—whenever they're finished with their whatsoever secret kinda hobby—to get patched up by you as posses the medical knowledge and you're—by Billy and Stu's teasingly opinion—their favourite nurse.

»[Nickname]! I wanna be patched up first! Billy went first last time already!« Stu whines, he was good at such antics.

You sometimes teased, that Stu reminds you of a overgrown puppy which way too much energy—rivalling against Dallas, when it comes to your attention and affection.

»Well, then how about moving your ass here into the living room, Stu honey?« chuckling, you called back to him—sharing a knowing smile of amusement with Billy.

Like being said, you're indeed their favourite Nurse.

[cow-stealin-gal]

List of Palestine Campaigns

Notes:

some or most of these are the same ones from my previous pinned post.

the owner of Amani and Eman's campaign has stopped donations

Laila Shaqqoura (€27,610 / €45,000)

@lailashaqoura

According to Ahmed Shaqquora, the organizer of the campaign, Laila is a young talented artist who planned to be a dentist and a collection artist before the genocide started. Laila's family at the time of the campaign consisted of Bassam, his wife, and their five children (Laila and Baara were among the mentioned children).

As of June 3rd, Laila and her pregnant mother had fled to Khan Younis where they continue to suffer from horrible living conditions. She started the campaign with the goal of saving her mother from the grave danger that could ultimately kill them. Their campaigns have been verified by nabulsi, fallahifag, el-shab-hussein, ibtisams, and sayruq.

https://gofund.me/f41f2b80

--

Tahani and her family ($18,193 / $50,000)

@tahanibaby

Tahani was an assistant professor at an university who studied Chemistry and Digital Marketing before she lost it once the genocide started.

As of July (and perhaps August), Tahani's family have been living in the prison of fear and despair from the constant reminders of death. From constant street killings to a siege that likely left many casualties to non-stop stomach pains from hunger to the relentless heat that burns them every day. Their mental state is degrading as I write this post.

--

Zaen and Yehya Sehab (€4,294 / €25,000)

@mohammedshehabnew1

Muhammed Sehab is a father of two sons who created a campaign to support his sick parents and to allow his family to flee Gaza from the onslaught of murder throughout the war.

However, due to the lack of donations they fear that they may die before they can escape as the bombing has killed some of their family members, loved ones, and friends. They have endured inhumane conditions, various forms of oppression, disease, pollution, lack of security and medical treatment.

They have been repeatedly displaced from various shelters, tents, and "safe zones" around nine times, which is around the number of times that many families have been displaced.

--

Siraj's Family [Stage 1: Rebuilding their home]

($28,087 / $82,000)

@siraj2024

Siraj is a father who built his family home through ten tireless years of effort that stretched for hours that broke his wallet (huge debt), and yet he also made it with the love for his family.

But it was all destroyed when the IDF unleashed their vicious bombing attacks throughout Gaza, which engulfed Siraj's family home in flames. After the traumatic experience, they had to scramble six times into various tents that barely comforted them, let alone provide safety. His children has lost their chance to enjoy their childhoods as they have no choice but to collect water over lengthy journeys and continuously clean the tents that they reside in.

Not only that, but the family has endured constant threats and evacuation orders day and night, leaving them exhausted.

As of today, Siraj had to trek around 3 kilometers (almost 2 miles) just to receive an internet signal to relay a message that gave me with a twinge of guilt. He remarks on the suffering that the families in Gaza constantly endure where many died and the stark contrast with the families living outside of Gaza, who spend quality time in comfort among themselves. He mentions a recent massacre of over a hundred people in a shelter at the Al-Tabeen School.

He continues to write as much he can with whatever internet connection he is given.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + six

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She expected him to ignore her. 

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

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

And the last part. 

There’s nothing you can’t tell me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then her phone dings.

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

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

Roman: Yes.

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

Solana: Thank you…

Solana: And I don’t work this weekend. 

Solana: Can I ask you something?

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

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

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

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

Solana: Okay…

Solana: Where are we going?

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

Roman: You’ll see.

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

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

Nervous fingers type out an expression of said nerves.

Solana: Okay….surprises just make me nervous. 

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

Roman: It’s nothing bad.

Roman: I wouldn’t lie to you. 

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

Unless….

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

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

Roman: You’re apologizing again.

Roman: And I don’t care. 

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

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

Solana: They’re kinda funny….🙈

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

Solana: Fair.

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

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

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

It’s neither of them.

Roman: How’d you start writing?

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

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

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

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

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

And then her phone goes off.

Roman: Not surprising. 

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

Hence, she decides on texting him again. 

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

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

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

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

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

He stops replying after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We’ve got your back.

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

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

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

There’s no delay with the answer.

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

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

Dead.

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

It feels almost impossible to be true. 

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

Chills travel up her spine. “W–why?”

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

Why?

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

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

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

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

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

She just never expected such a….big message. 

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

Solana neither agrees or disagrees with that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god, you have to try this on.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman: Shut the fuck up.

Roman: Unsend this shit, Naomi. Now.

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

Roman: You look good.

Roman: But you always look good. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Samantha is beautiful, and someone he can actually touch.

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

But Samantha can.

Samantha does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

________

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

And she has no idea what to make of it. 

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

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

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

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

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

Because she thinks it’s another text from Roman.

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

Not a chance.

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

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

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

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

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

He scares her.

Or does he? 

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

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

Even that day at her job.

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

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

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

She’s nobody.

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

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

If she doesn’t already.

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

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

Roman,

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

Hope that was alright.

Solana

________

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There is something you should know though.”

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

“Apparently, information is missing.”

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

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

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

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

Xavier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That must piss them the fuck off.”

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

Solana is Bloodline now.

No one fucking touches her.

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diagnosis: F43.10 Posttraumatic Stress Disorder w/ Dissociation 

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

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

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

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

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

Livid. He’s livid.

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

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

The same urge he has currently.

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

Solana

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

Solana: What time will you be home tonight?

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

That’s beyond immoral.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needs an outlet.

But, here lies the fucking dilemma. 

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

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

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

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

Roman finds himself returning to his previous level of rage. 

He needs to work this off him.

And he knows just how.

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

Roman: I’m coming over.

________

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

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

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

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

What he does find, however, is something else.

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

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

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

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

In more than one area. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another sentence from her medical report whizzes back to him.

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

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

He’s much too impatient for that shit. 

He needs to say this shit now.

“Solana.”

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

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

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

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

Still, he needs to make something perfectly clear.

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

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

“I understand….”

________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wise Man.”

“Coming, My Tribal Chief.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pay the woman.”

Paul swallows. “But, my—”

“Wise Man.”

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

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

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

“She’s yours.” 

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

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

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

“Yes, if you want her—”

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

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

It’s a sure thing. 

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

So why is he? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he answers. “It can wait.”

________

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

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

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

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

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

Roman,

Thank you so much. 

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

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

Solana

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

Solana,

You’re welcome. 

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

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

Why does he hate you?

Roman

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

Most likely for privacy.

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

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

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

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

Roman,

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

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

And he’s not wrong.

She is dead because of me.

Solana

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

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

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

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

Solana,

It’s not your fault.

Also, you were wrong.

I care what you have to say and think.

Roman

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 – GAVI

warnings. p in v sex, public s3x (there’s no one around), jealous!gavi, & an annoying teammate

summary. academic rival!gavi makes sure you only have room for one nerd in your life

a/n. part two of comfort zone. tysm for the idea @gavisuntiedboot 🫶🏽

the sound of your professor’s voice filled the room as he explained your next assignment. you simultaneously put away your notes and listened carefully as this next project would be worth twenty percent of your grade. you were already laying out the details of your work as the professor continued to describe the assignment.

“there is one twist to this project. you’ll be working with a partner.” his words made you freeze. “and before you ask yes i will be choosing your partner for you.”

the room was filled with groans at his last comment, many of your classmates upset that they wouldn’t be working with their friends. meanwhile your eyes searched the room until they locked with a certain brunette. gavi had been looking forward to asking you to be his partner and now he was simply hoping the professor had decided to put you two together.

“mrs. y/l/n and mr. moretti you’ll be working together.” your professor says as he crushes gavi’s hopes and dreams.

franco moretti had arrived last semester from turin when his father took over as head of the marketing department for sevilla fc. he was also the teammate gavi despised the most due to them playing in the same position and because he would always insult him in words he didn’t understand. you scan the room to search for the argentine spotting him all the way at the end of the room looking at something else on his laptop. you sigh in frustration wondering if this project would be the reason your grade goes down.

as soon as class ends you make your way towards the blonde hoping to introduce yourself and get the project over with. he instantly notices you offering you one of his flirty smirks.

“bueno…” he starts. “we’re partners right?”

“uh, yeah. i just came to introduce myself-”

“i know who you are.” he interrupts you. “well i only know you’re like the smartest kid in our class.”

“i wouldn’t say that.” your cheeks heat up at his words.

“no need to be humble. your face along with his-” he points towards gavi. “is plastered all over the school. i’ve got to say i am very impressed by how you manage to do sports and somehow maintain your grades so high at the same time. but you probably just want to talk about our project.”

“uhm, thank you?” you can’t help but laugh at the interaction. “oh, yeah. i just wanted to ask if you have any certain topics you want to make our project about?”

“well i’ve got to get to practice in like five minutes or else coach will make me run five miles around the whole school. do you maybe want to meet up at the library later to discuss it? say around four?” he says as he packs up this things.

“yeah, that’s fine. i’ll see you there.” you smile awkwardly not sure if you should look forward to seeing him later or not.

you stay behind a couple of minutes going over some of your notes with the professor making sure you got everything right. you couldn’t afford to risk your spot in the rankings for a small error. grabbing your stuff you make way towards the library hoping to get some free time to study for your next psych exam before meeting up with franco. although, you don’t expect to find gavi waiting for you outside the door.

“he totally thinks you’re hot.” he simply blurts out.

“nice to see you too pablo.” you say sarcastically. “why are you blessing me with your presence today?”

“i bless you with my presence everyday.” he says as he begins following you to wherever it is you’re going. “so, you and franco…”

“me and franco aren’t even friends if that’s what you’re wondering.” you roll your eyes. “why do you even hate him so much?”

“i don’t hate him.” you simply stare at him. “okay maybe i do just a little but it’s reasonable.”

“you hate him because his dad works for sevilla and he’s slowly climbing up through the rankings. i’m not sure i would call that reasonable.” you say as you open the doors to the library. you’re grateful there’s barely anyone in there, you don’t enjoy being around large groups.

“whatever.” he huffs. “do you think he’s cute?”

you pause in your tracks turning towards gavi. the top button of his dress shirt unbuttoned and his red tie on the verge of coming loose. he looked quite good and a part of you just wanted to go home already.

“are you jealous pablito?” you tease him.

“me? jealous of a benchwarmer? please. not only am i better than him athletically but also academically. there’s no reason for me to be jealous.” he scoffs at the ridiculous idea.

“okay so you won’t have a problem with me studying with him later in here right? you totally didn’t follow me to the library just to make sure i didn’t find him attractive right?” you ask him as you press the button on the wall to get an elevator. you loved that each floor was dedicated to a different genre of books.

“why would i have a problem? i’m the only one making you cum anyways.” his words catch you off guard. you look around making sure no one else has heard him.

“pablo!” you hit his chest and you expect him to just laugh but he only stares at you. his eyes darker than before. he pulls you towards the end of the nonfiction section where there’s barely any light and a bunch of books that haven’t been read in years. how romantic.

“but maybe he’ll get lucky and you’ll spread your legs for him. give him a good view and everything.” he drags his hand to the middle of your legs opening up your legs.

you can feel his breath on your neck as he moves your hand from your thighs to your core teasing you. you completely forget where you are as he leaves love bites all over your neck. the pleasure intensifying as teases you by running his hands along your core but not getting them under your panties to touch you.

“and maybe he’ll hear those sinful noises you make as he drags his fingers along your folds.” you whine as pablo spreads your wetness around your folds with his fingers.

“but maybe you’ll be desperate to have him inside you to feel full again. so you’ll simply move these to the side.” he moves your panties to the side giving him full access to your dripping core. “and take him in you like the good girl you are.”

you help him undo his belt eager to have him fuck you already. his button down shirt losing some of its buttons in the process. the two of you so needy to finally come together like a puzzle to care about what happens next. he finally manages to pull out his hard aching dick out and he doesn’t waste another minute as he brings it to your needy hole.

“and then he’ll drag it along your folds teasing you even more. but after a couple of minutes he begins to insert himself until he fills you- oh fuck.” he groans as he enters you. “and your walls squeeze him as he pleasures you.”

“please pablo.” you beg him as one of your hands digs into his soft brown hair and the other into his shoulder at the feeling of his slow sensual thrusts.

“please what princess?” his voice sounds so out of breathe.

“faster please. fuck.” his length hits you in spots you didn’t know were possible. you can barely contain your moans and pablo simply hopes you get louder.

then you hear it the sound of the elevator doors opening for the end of the long hallway. you think you’re imagining it at first since pablo doesn’t notice it kissing you as he fucks you dumb. then you hear the loud footsteps and you panic they’re heading right towards the two of you.

“pablo. there’s someone here.” he can barely comprehend a word you’re saying as he watches how you take him so well. almost like your pussy was made just for him.

“pablo stop.” then he listens scared he crossed some boundaries and hurt you. he immediately steps away from you the two of you groaning at the loss of contact.

“fuck sorry. are you okay? did i-”

“no, you didn’t do anything wrong it’s okay. there’s someone here though. get dressed.” you say as you fix your hair and skirt.

meanwhile pablo isn’t so lucky and he can hardly button his pants when franco himself shows up. the argentine tries hardest to stop himself from laughing at his teammate but he barely can as he looks at pablo’s disheveled hair. although, you look perfectly fine so he tries to figure out why pablo looks so messy.

“bro you look like you got dressed in the dark what happened?” franco stifles a laugh.

“caught him getting frisky with one of the librarians.” you blurt out wanting to tease him.

“no way? but they’re all over thirty- oh don’t tell me you’re into milfs. kinky shit bro.” franco somehow believes your lie.

“fuck you.” gavi directs at you before being invaded by his teammate with more questions.

the next couple of minutes gavi tries his best to get his teammate to shut up and convince him that you were lying. that he simply had fallen asleep during class because he’d already studied the topic at home which was quite believable. the three of you chatted before gavi had to make his way towards the field to make up for missing practice earlier. although he spends all five miles grinning like a little shit because he’d be willing to run them all over again as long as it meant getting franco the furthest away from you. he was hoping you’d only have time for one academically gifted athlete.

[brbzonedout]

Miles comforts insecure reader

Pairing: E!42 Miles x Fem(tomboy)!Reader

Warnings: Body Imagine issues, catcalling?, Crying.

You stared at yourself in the mirror turning to see the pair of jeans at every possible angle.

“Ain’t no way,” you muttered to yourself.

The pair of snug fitting 2000s style jeans hugged your thighs and hips in a way that made it uncomfortable to stand let alone walk.

Eying yourself in the mirror you started to feel extremely insecure. Ever since you hit puberty you’ve been thick and developed faster than the other kids in your grade. It wasn’t a bad thing by any means it’s natural but for you it brought a lot of unwanted attention at such a young age and that carried well into your teenage years.

Earlier before you and Miles entered the store you both decided to stop for chick-fil-a. While in line an older guy maybe in his late 20s and his friend decided to take it apon himself to comment about how you looked in your school uniform. Commenting that you had quote on quote “anime thighs” and that he’d “Take that over a desk any day,” Miles wanted so badly to chew them out up held back after you said not to start anything.

Bring a shy person to begin with didn’t help much, so to cope with your feelings, you started wearing slightly baggier clothes. They gave you a sense of comfortability you hadn’t felt in a long time. On top of that the style was just cute in general.

But today while in the mall with your boyfriend he picked out the jeans for you. Was this him saying he didn’t like the type of clothes you wear now?

“You good in there?” Miles said from outside of the dressing room.

You jumped being startled out of your zoned out state.

“Y-yeah i’m cool…” you shouted back making sure he heard you.

You didn’t want to have to lie twice.

“Can I come in?”

“If you want…” you cringed at the way that came out, like you didn’t want him in there.

Miles slightly parted the curtain and slid in through the crack.

“If I want?” he said eying you up and down with a slight smile.

You shrugged.

Miles look up and met your eyes through the mirror before you broke eye contact causing him to start worrying.

“What you don’t like ‘em?”

You shrugged again lightly pulling at the material around your thighs.

“They’re nice…kind of tight-”

The boy put his slim fingers through your belt loops and pulled back lightly.

“Mm, yeah I guess- ain’t that the style though? Want me to go get a bigger size?”

“The style? You sound like your mom,” you forced a giggle at the boy honestly trying to change the subject.

He smiled at your comment and stuffed his hands in his pockets. But, his eyes glanced up at yours. Once you broke eye contact for the second time he knew something was wrong.

“So do you want a bigger size? They’re right out there.” The boy peeked through the curtain and squinted to see the available sizes, “I think the next size u-”

You cut him off, “Don’t we gotta find something for you too? Is it getting late?” You rambled and scrambled to find your phone to “check the time”.

“Baby….” he said flatly with a slight confused look on his face, “why are you avoiding my question?”

Eye brows furrowed trying your best to create a false confused expression, you turned around to face him.

“What question?”

“Seriously?”

“Miles-”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

With a slight pout you played with the hem of your white collard shirt, “I just don’t like the pants…”

“Ok? That’s fine we can look for more.” he shrugged.

You looked in the mirror once again noticing how the denim tightened around your hips…and thighs…and butt. The man’s voice played back in your head, “I’d take that over a desk any day,” it was too overwhelming. You just broke down.

In your relationship with Miles he had never seen anything trigger you this much and this fast.

Without hesitation he stepped forward and gently placed his hand on your arms to calm you down.

“Hol’ on hol’ on, chill i can’t understand you if you’re crying. Just relax ok?” said as he rubbed his thumb soothingly over your arm.

You took a deep breath in and wiped your tear stained cheek with the heel of you palm then nodded head.

“I don’t like how they look on me, and it just triggered me cuz of what happened earlier.”

Miles sat you both down on the dressing room floor listening intently making sure you understood he heard you.

“Then why’d you say you liked them?”

“I thought you would want me to get them? I don’t know. I just wanted to get out of here.”

He chuckled, “Since when do you care what I think about clothes?”

With a quick glance up you thought for a moment then laughed sniffling and wiping your tears once again. “Ok true, I don’t. I don’t know you just seemed to like them a lot.”

“Listen I don’t give a fuck what you wear I just wanna make sure you’re comfortable,” he leaned back against the dressing room wall, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I told you what to wear all the time.”

“A bad one.”

“A bad one,” he parroted you. “And what that bitch said earlier don’t matter he was ignorant and obviously gets no play talking about anime thighs. Looked almost 30 acting like a little bitch.”

You smiled slightly and nodded sitting up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for an embrace.

“I’m sorry that was dramatic, breaking down out of nowhere.”

Miles hugged back and laid a quick peck on your cheek.

“Stop apologizing for dumb stuff, no offense. You were sad so you cried it’s normal, now come on we gotta go I don’t think i’m supposed to be in here.” he laughed and handed you the skirt you walked in with.

A smile came across your face as you took the clothes from him.

“Wanna get Cinnabon after this?” you asked unbuttoning the jeans.

“What kind of question is that? No duh I want Cinnabon!”

This is lowkey based on myself, this was really fun though. Exploring different emotions I feel like i’m getting slightly better. Thank you for reading!! Remember requests are open right now so don’t be shy!

[hotgirlgraps]

The Wembley Aftermath

Synopsis: he won the ftw championship back and just like when he lost it, all he wants is you.

A/N: if you read comfort zone, you know what happened when he lost the title. This isn’t that. I had to channel my inner softie lovergirl so expect a lot of sweet shit in this one. Keep your eyes out for part 2. Enjoy babes happy ftw day 🖤🧡

“wish me luck lil mama”

The last message he sent floated on your screen for the better half of twenty minutes while your eyes were focused intently on the tv.

You were on the edge of your seat, gripping your phone with your slippery hand as you watched the match from thousands of miles away, just wishing you could be in that massive crowd cheering your man on with the rest of the eighty thousand plus fans.

As soon as the redrum was locked in you couldn’t contain your excitement. Tears were nearly brought to your eyes when Jack frantically tapped out, knowing how much this meant to Tyler and how long he waited to have his title back.

You felt your heart racing, unable to compose itself. He grabbed the belt and held it up for the world to see, and even though he appeared just as calm and collected on the outside as always, you knew that internally he was struggling to hold it all together.

As soon as he exited through the tunnel you opened his message, your thumbs struggling to type something comprehensively thanks to the jitters.

As you were deleting an unreadable attempt at congratulating him, his call was floating on the top of the screen.

You were quick to answer the facetime, grinning ear to ear when he appeared. Your smile instantly brought one of his own, and those dimples on full display for you to admire.

“Hey little mama” he beamed, attempting to steady his labored breathing as he headed to his dressing room.

“Hey champ” you brought on another one of his boyish grins that he attempted to hide from everyone backstage until he got to his room and shut the door.

He took a seat on the sofa and let an elongated, shaky sigh out.

“The ftw looks good on your shoulder again” you tell him, knowing and clearly seeing that he was still riled up and trying his hardest to steadily ride out that adrenaline.

He glanced to the side to admire it, his dimple indented deeply in his cheek as a prideful smirk slipped upon his lips.

“Feels good” he says, looking back down at you and your giddy smile. “Know what else looks good though?”

“What else?” You asked, cheeks flushing at the recognizable look in his eye.

“My girl and her cute ass smile. Would look even better if you were sitting here next to me right now.”

You dropped your head down, trying to hide the crimson blush on your cheeks.

“You know I wish I could be there.” You say as you lean back against the couch cushions, wishing this conversation wasn’t being had over your phone. “But you probably would’ve been annoyed by me screaming at the top of my lungs during your match.”

“You know that’s not true. I love it when you scream for me.” He smirks, his eyes flashing with that familiar gleam you’ve seen so many times. You felt your cheeks physically hurting from the wide, goofy grin you couldn’t contain and it only brought on yet another one to his face.

“Tyler-“

“Actually, scratch that. I love it when I make you scream for me.”

“Tyler!” You gaped, shaking your head.

“I’m just being honest.” He shrugs as he grabs the belt and places it down next to him, where he wishes you were sitting instead.

“Yeah, I know.” You deadpan. “But right now you’re about four thousand miles away from me and the last thing I need is for you to get me all worked up when you’re not even here to take care of it.”

“So you’re getting all worked up right now?” He raises his brows, holding that infamous, cocky grin on his face.

You hesitated before you spoke, pretty sure that he was thinking of accepting a little challenge you never initiated.

“A little. I just miss you.” You admitted.

“I miss you.” He quickly says back. “I’ll be there in a couple days though. Think you can wait that long?”

You shook your head, internally groaning at the fact that you still had two more days before he’d be making a quick stop to see you. There was just so much to make up for and so little time to do it.

“No? You can’t wait?” He tilts his head to the side. Before you get the chance to say anything back, hes getting off the sofa and walking to some other part of the dressing room.

You can hear things rummaging around but only had a view of the ceiling.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Packing up my stuff.” He says before he sets the phone down on a table. You watched as his clothes passed over the screen, getting stuffed messily in his suitcase.

After a few minutes he appears in the camera view again, now with a shirt on and his backpack straps over his shoulders.

He grabs his sunglasses and slides them over his eyes before he looks back down at you.

“Where are you going?” You asked. “The show isn’t even over yet.”

“They won’t notice I’m gone. Keep your door unlocked. I’ll be there pretty late.”

“Are you serious?” You could hardly contain your excitement, feeling butterflies immediately swirling around your stomach. “But I thought you had a couple more days left in London? Don’t you have appearances or-“

“I have priorities.” He cuts you off, “Specifically, you.”

You heard something else in the background the second he said that. Three knocks on the door before he called whoever in, and it ended up being Taz.

Evidently he took one look at his son’s attire and said, “Where you runnin’ off to? Going out to celebrate already? I told you I’d buy you some drinks tonight after we leave.”

He placed the phone down and you listened quietly.

“I’m leaving a little early.” He tells his dad. “But when we get back home I’ll be up for those drinks.”

Taz eyed his son skeptically before those suspicious glances averted over to his phone, where you were still on the screen.

“Oh, I see.” He nods. “Yn, nice to see you honey. Wish you could’ve been here in person. Tyler’s been talking non stop about you since-“

“Alright she gets it.” Tyler cuts him off, grabbing his phone and showing his dad in your camera view.

“I wish I could’ve been there too, but next time I will be for sure!” You tell him.

“God I hope so. I don’t think my son can take it if you’re not. Been walking around all day like a lost puppy-“

“Alright thanks dad” he turns the camera back on him, shaking his head.

“Anyway baby, I’ll be seeing you soon. Get some sleep before I get there so you’ll be ready when I-“ he cuts himself off when he realizes he was about to say something he never should in front of his dad.

“I’ll call you back when I board the plane.” He improvises. Your wide, grin brought one last smile to his face when you nod, saying your goodbyes before he hangs up the phone.

“This might come back to bite you in the ass son. But I’m not stopping you.” Taz tells him, holding both hands up.

“If I get in a little trouble, it’s worth it.”

“That’s what your mother and I said too, then you came along.” Taz lets out a hearty laugh, and Tyler shoots him a perplexed look.

“I’m teasing you son. Go have a good time with your girl. I’ll tell everyone you got sick or something. Got bit by the love bug.”

“Alright dad let’s stop with the lame jokes.” Tyler teased as he reached out and opened the door.

“Wasn’t even making a joke that time though”

[oweninadaydream]

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 || 𝐂𝐇.𝟏

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Hangman is the certified ladies' man and everyone thinks they can read him like a book, but what neither the Dagger Squad nor anyone else can even begin to imagine is where the hell Jake has been going every Saturday night for the last few months…

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x male!character

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 : mentions of alcohol, some making out but nothing too smutty, emotional distress lmao, age gap relationship (27-35), some religious trauma, self-deprecating thoughts, post Top Gun : Maverick, the Dagger squad is stationed together.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨��𝐧𝐭 : 2k

𝐚/𝐧 : Gif by @tay-swifts , M/N (Male Name). Hello beautiful people!!! I'm so exited about posting this project I've been working on for a while. I just wanted to say that since it's my first time writing for Jake this might be a bit OC Jake but I do hope I got it right hehe. Enjoy the fic and stay tuned for the next parts!!!

It was well after midnight when Jake arrived at the club’s entrance. The throbbing bass emanating from inside made the whole building shake, making his mind wonder what it would be like to live on top of such an obnoxiously loud place, contrasting with the quietness of the accommodations the Navy offered. The reflection of the neon sign reading  “Mon Ange” turned his natural olive-toned skin into a vivid dark azure that matched perfectly with the baby blue in his eyes. The smokers (all with stamps on their hands) were all gathered some feet away from the door to get back in after dragging a final puff from their cigarettes. The queue was not very long, mainly because everyone who was meant to be there had arrived way earlier than him. He reprimanded himself for getting there so late ; in less than two hours the nightclub would shut its doors and Jake would feel like he wasted four hours of his life for nothing. Well, his journey would not be in vain if he caught a glimpse of- 

“Jake”

This was L.A, a city 118 miles away from the Marine Corps Air Station located in Miramar, which is a two-hour long drive away from everything he knows. He had to remind himself of those facts to avoid spiraling  at the sound of his name in such a place; he hated how his body kept reacting to these kinds of situations, but not even a skilled lieutenant like himself could take the reins of these unnamed emotions that coursed through his entire being.

"What are you doing here by the door? I was worrying about you not showing up today, I was just about to send a search party. C'mon , let's grab a drink. Perhaps I can even convince you to dance this time" A wide playful smirk accompanied the flirty comment exquisitely and, even though Jake was more than used to these antics, his heart skipped a beat. Trying to compose himself, he answered while staring at the concrete floor. 

"I don't belong on that dance floor and y'know it, darlin' "

“Oh don’t say that, the 30s are the new 20s! … Even if you’re not planning to dance, you must’ve driven all the way over here for something, right?”

The damn question hit him like a truck. He could try to think of the right answer, but putting something into words made it terrifyingly real, and that was exactly what he'd been avoiding for months. The breeze made them both shiver, as the party outfits didn’t properly protect them from the chilly weather. 

“You're right” he muttered “Okay, lead the way. Make it worth the while, mh?" he teasingly replied. Even if what he was doing was definitely outside of his comfort zone, something about the constant banter between them calmed him.

"Don't you always have an amazing time with me? I thought that was why you only talk to me" a fake pout appeared on the face which Seresin couldn't help but to stare intensely in awe. Their hands intertwined and the pilot quickly melted into that comforting touch. His companion briefly exchanged some words with the bouncer and the doors opened for them. 

"Thankfully it was Joseph working tonight, I don't think Marcus would have let you in for free just like that" “I’m sure you would've charmed him into doing whatever you wanted anyway”

The thick air of the room embraced him as soon as the doors closed and the familiar feeling appeared in the pit of his stomach almost instantly; it seems like it was yesterday when he first stepped into the nightclub he now knows like the back of his hand, but in reality, that day was what it feels like ages ago. Still, the contradictions that manifested within him every time he returned persisted and only grew each day.

“I’ll go to the bar while you stay here and look pretty, okay? Same drink as always?”

It was because of moments like these that Hangman felt comfortable enough to let his guard down and be his usual extroverted self. Grabbing his wrist to stop him from going any further, he raised his voice so his words could be heard even though the music was top volume. “ Don’t you even dare to try to pay for those drinks, they’re on me.”

“Here it is, the Texan charm of Jake Seresin. I didn’t know you could apply those rules to this situation. Are you trying to imply I’m the girl in this whole affair? Shouldn't we at least draw lots for it?”

"Very funny, M/N'' the hostility that emanated from his rolling eyes made the other man realize his comment had affected Jake on a deeper level than intended. “Hey I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t hav- I know it’s  a touchy subject and I’m extremely sorry, please forgive me” the regret was visible in his expression and it also could be detected in the stuttering caused by the words rushing their way out of his mouth trying to obtain his forgiveness as fast as possible. Jake took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. 

Hangman was no saint, he didn’t go to church every Sunday or tried to look for a good christian wife to have kids with like his father did in his day. He knew God was not exactly pleased with the way he was running his life but he used to think that when the time came, He would welcome him with open arms (after having apologized profusely, that is). But now that he had fallen for the most vile trick in the book, he couldn't trust that previous statement anymore. Lust was a capital sin, pretty serious if you asked any priest from the church the Seresin family attended back in Texas, but sodomy? Say goodbye to eternal salvation, son. If Jake was being honest, the promise of heaven or the threat of hell didn't scare him. It was the destruction of all the life lessons that made him act the way he acted,  of his purpose as a son, as a man. The thing that truly haunted him at night  was the thought of a deity (and his father)  designing him to be this flawless individual with a very clear life path , only to end up as a filthy, disgusting f-

“Hey, are you okay? Would you like me to leave you alone for a bit?”

The thought of M/N walking away while he sank deeper and deeper in the sea of guilt and fury frightened him. “Please don’t” he begged “everything’s fine, I promise. Let’s down a couple shots and , who knows, maybe I’ll be in the mood to dance for a bit” the last comment was a futile attempt to hide the everlasting agony that clouded his mind. M/N moved so they were a few inches away and raised his hand to caress his cheek. His next step consisted in resting his arms around his shoulders and starting kissing him delicately in the neck and in the whole face in general, in hopes to kiss the discomfort away. 

How could something so delicate and sweet be so dirty? Was it even dirty to begin with? What about the women he had dated? He was attracted to them but now he- Too many questions Jake was not willing to answer that night. He only wanted one thing, and he was about to claim it. 

After regaining control of himself, Jake put his right hand on the younger male’s back to guide him to the counter where people were piling up fighting to get the barman’s attention. Being as attractive and well-built as he was, he obtained the alcoholic beverages rather quickly. After the last drop of tequila had made its way down their throats, Hangman took control and led him onto the dance floor. His mind was only filled of the smell of M/N’s cologne mixed with his natural scent enhanced by their bodies crashing against each other while swaying to the 2000s pop remixes, his eyes fixed on his partner’s hypnotizing movements and his hands focused on feeling what they can reach, testing if they can go further in their journey through M/N’s body. Jake was simply standing close and moving according to the song's beat but in a subtle way, just like he would do at the locals he frequented with his coworkers ; manly enough to keep his dignity intact but provocative enough to awake that lustful hunger in the other person’s soul.

‘Mon Ange’ had finally closed down and the two men were still all over each other on the angelino streets. The tingle settling in his chest could only be compared with the adrenaline rush he had previously experienced on those wild nights spent in college, the farewell by the porch of the first girl he had taken on a date or the night out after his first deployment; if he closed his eyes he could swear he was 20 again, but reality made sure to remind him of those fifteen more years that had passed. 

M/N had this juvenile thing about him, Jake couldn’t guess confidently his age from afar and his curiosity was finally satiated after befriending him and asking him about it directly ; he was 27, even though he looked some years younger. His bold character combined with his kindness and humor made M/N resemble a butterfly flying around collecting the pollen from every flower in the garden and making it seem effortless. That was one of the many things that hooked Jake on him as if he were the most addicting drug out there, making him throw away his plan of not getting attached and limiting this experience with sporadic hookups that would end then and there, never with the same person twice. That was the problem, he appeared and started moving his hips to some song, making the whole room turn around him and ever since then (even if Jake was still in denial), he was a goner.

The next thing he knew, he was laying down on M/N’s bed, a king size mattress close to a very big window that allowed him to take in the beautiful sight of the sleeping city. He had only been to the apartment twice, but he had always  left before the sun had made its appearance in the sky, moved by remorse and skepticism. This time though, he had stayed the whole night that was filled with passionate sex and heart to heart conversations and finally some cuddling that lured him to rest for a while. Now he was wide awake, sitting against the headboard, resting his eyes on the sunrise and on the slumbering figure facing him. He looked so calm, so peaceful. In that moment, turning his gaze away, he tried to repress a sob that came with a single tear falling through his left cheek. 

M/N had always known he was queer, embracing his bisexuality in childhood. Jake had never had any problems with people who were not straight, even if the people around him growing up did, but everything was different when it came to himself. For fuck’s sake, he was closer to being 40 than from his teenage years, what was he doing? He could only paralyze at the idea of anyone seeing what he was doing. It was definitely too late for him. Risking his life everyday up in the sky felt like a minor burden compared to the endurance of the dilemmas he carried with him everywhere, just like Christ had carried the cross all the way to Calvary.

He could feel himself falling for the person right next to him, and that was the worst thing that had ever happened to Lieutenant Jacob Seresin. His calloused hand cupped M/N’s soft face, making the other man lean in closer in search of that delightful warmth. Jake’s lips burned in desperate need to say something out loud. His heart started palpitating at a dangerous speed, as he knew the thing trying to escape from his mind was a cruel thing to say and that he was a horrible being just by thinking that. It was no one’s fault and it had no solution, yet the idea popped up in his mind like an unwanted ad appearing on your phone. His chest ached at the possibility of M/N hearing the words, so he tried to whisper as quietly as it was humanly possible. 

“I wish you were a girl”

[plzfeedmebread]

What Do I Tell My Friends Family? Pt. 7

word count: 4611

Pairing: Recom! Miles! Quaritch x Female! Sully! Na'vi! Reader Tags/Warnings: smut, light bondage, dirty talk, pregnancy sex, light degradation, p in v, family, fluff, feelings, crying, comfort, acceptance

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter took so long everyone! Hope you enjoy :)))

<previous chapter> | 7 |

The sound of rain pulls you from slumber. The air is thick and humid this morning. You breath deep, the salty air filling your lungs, wiping away the last dregs of sleep.

Your beloved is not beside you; ever the early morning riser that one. Neither are the twins nor Spider, you notice.

With a groan you slowly sit yourself up, having to exert more effort than usual. Once up, your hand moves to the swell of your belly. Shouldn’t be too long now before this one joins your ever-growing little family. You estimate you have about 2 months to go.

You open your home to allow the fresh air in. You reach out to gather some of the cool summer rainwater in your hands, splashing it on your face. You light a small fire in the pit, then set about preparing some meats to cook for breakfast. While those sizzle, you then prepare some fresh fruit that had been left outside your doorstep; the clan often leave you things as their way of helping, knowing you’re due almost any day now.

“Somethin’ smells good,” your ear perk up at the sound of Miles’ voice.

“Good morning, husband,” you greet but don’t turn around. You don’t have to, because before you finish speaking, his arms are already around you. His hot breath tickles the back of your neck as he leaves soft kisses there.

“How’re my best girls this morning?” his hands gently cup the swell of your belly, gently swaying the two of you to some unheard tune. He presses his chest to your bare back, the cool wet skin of his sends a delicious shiver down your spine.

“Oh? And how do you know we are not blessed with more sons?” You smile at him over your shoulder.

“Father’s intuition sweetheart,” He leans to the side presses a quick kiss to your lips. He pulls back, pressing the side of his face to yours as he peers over your shoulder as you continue preparing fruit.

You hum thoughtfully at his words. You wouldn’t mind having a daughter. Or two. Eywa have mercy if you have another set of twins. Speaking of your children…

“Where are the boys?”

“Spider took them swimming, they’re at the heated pools in the jungle.” You make a noncommittal noise in acknowledgement.

“You know…with the kids busy, we have a little time to ourselves right now…” his hands travel from your belly, slowly tracing the length of your arms, before his hands rest in the crook of your neck. He starts massaging the base of your head with his thumbs. Your eyes close at the pleasurable sensation, moaning unexpectedly.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” You tease him with a side eyed look. He grins down at you, eyes glazed over with desire. His gaze alone sends a pleasurable throb straight down to your core.

“Can’t help it darlin’. Seeing you like this, all big, belly swollen, and knowin’ it’s cuz of me? It does somethin’ to a man,” he bites the tip of your ear, and you let out an involuntary whimper; he knows all of your erogenous zones, and they become far more sensitive during pregnancy.

“Show me then my love, show me what I do to you.”

---

He has you trapped between his legs. Your back pressed to his chest as you lean back, head resting on his shoulder as you gasp between moans.

Your legs are draped over his thighs, keeping you spread. One hand gently massages the flesh of your breast, fingers occasionally pinching your pert nipple.

His other hand is busy at your core, 3 fingers deftly working their way in an out of your warm centre, making filthy squelches with each thrust. Your arousal coats his fingers and your thighs in inviting wetness. You are more than ready for him. But he loves playing with you, especially when you are at his mercy.

He removes his middle finger, bringing it to your clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in your slick. His finger glides over with ease thanks to your gushing nectar.

“Oh fuck…Miles right there—YES!” Your voice is breathless as you beg him for release; the pleasure coursing through you burning hotter as you approach the precipice of desire.

He returns his fingers to your inviting warmth, your walls sucking him in greedily. His fingers meet no resistance with how wet you are. He fucks his fingers into you faster this time, the palm of hand slapping against your clit, sending you further into the throws of passion. The symphony of your pleasure comes crashing down on you; the orgasm hitting you with a resounding crescendo. A rough press to your clit has you squirting much to yours and his delight.

“That’s it baby, you always perform so well for me.” Miles whispers into your ear, nipping at the nape of your neck. The feeling of your inviting walls clenching around his fingers sends blood straight to his hardened aching cock.

This was always the ritual. Always would he bring you to glorious orgasm, before chasing his own pleasure. Even if the two of you had an argument, falling into something in line with hate sex, he made sure to prepare you well. No matter what, you were always at the forefront of his mind.

You rest your entire weight against him, chest heaving with each laboured breath. Your skin is sticky with sweat, pussy throbbing, your release leaking all over the floor. You feel Miles’ hardness press into your lower back. He presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“Do you need a minute?” He asks ever to tenderly.

“For you my love? Never.” You turn yourself as much as you can, arms reaching for him. He understands what you want, immediately turning you to him. He pulls your arms around his neck, securing his behind your back, then crashing his lips to yours.

The kiss is bruising. He sucks on your lips, pressing his tongue to yours, drinking you in greedily as though you were destined to fade. He swallows the moan you release into his mouth. His hand moves to the base of your queue and he pulls you back.

Your eyes are mystified, glazed over from residual pleasure, but alight once more at the promise you see in his own eyes. They are dark with want, pupils dilated with heady need. He licks his teeth as he studies your face, a smirk forming on his lips.

He stands up, pulling you with him. You watch him curiously as he moves elsewhere, searching; there is an amusing flick of the tail when he finds it. He holds the item triumphantly in the air before coming back to you.

Ah. Rope.

He always did love restraints.

“You trust me, sweetheart?” You scoff, almost offended he needs to ask you for umpteenth time.

“Since our first night in the Dream my love. Always and forever.” Your smile is matched by his own.

“Hold your hands up, behind your head.” You do as instructed. The rope this not too thick, black and woven with expertise only a machine could craft. It was something you brought with you all those years ago. You figured it would be most useful; nothing hand crafted had yet matched it in quality. What you hadn’t expected was for your mate to use it in such, creative ways. Not that you complain; you were of course more than delighted to engage in his fantasies.

He fastens your wrists together tightly. The length is then wound around your neck, dropping between your breasts before he loops it around your mounds. It lowers through your cleavage and around the back; always he keeps it away from your belly. He nudges your legs apart. The rope is then wrapped around each hip and thigh.

He moves behind you then, pulling your fastened hands behind his head. His hands roam over you in reverence, from the swell of your breasts, to the expanse of your thighs, not a single inch of skin is left unworshipped. He gives the rope a final tug to make sure all is secure.

He kisses the side of your temple, and you feel him take a hold of your queue, joining it with his own. The low guttural moan he makes sends a spark of pleasure down your spine, straight to your cunt. You feel yourself becoming slick once more, not that you need even more prepping in the first place.

He grabs the rest of the rope in his right hand, before wrapping it around your front, nestling his arm between your breasts. He lowers his left hand until it reaches the back of your knee. You know without having to be told, and lift your leg. He holds your leg up as far as you can stretch; you are thankful to be so pliable after all these years. The position has your now aching core wide open, glistening in the fire light as you leak down your own leg.

You let out a soft moan as you feel the hardness of his naked cock rub against your slit, coating himself in your prior release. He lines himself up with your entrance, his head just breaching the opening.

“I love you, [Y/N],” he whispers into your ear before he buries himself in you to the hilt with one hard thrust. The sudden stretch burns in a delightful way, you hope you never get used to his size. You can’t help the sudden yelp of moan.

“Fucking hell baby, you’re so wet. And it’s all for me. My perfect little mate, with her perfect little cunt.”

The filth of his words causes a whimper to fall from your lips, but your walls clentch the scorching member inside you. Miles lets out a shaking laugh laced with pleasure.

“Pretty little thing you are. Always. So. Fucking. Perfect!” Each word is punctured with a hard thrust in and out of you. His long cock caressing the soft spongy flesh of your walls, finding that special spot that drives you wild and beyond reason. Greedily your walls clamp around him, begging his release and your own.

“You like that, darling? You’re always such a needy bitch in heat. Like it when your mate talks to you like that, huh?” He pulls on the rope, tightening the restraints all around you. The skin under the rope becoming warmer and reddening. You let out a straggled cry, mouth agape, you let your head fall back onto his shoulder.

The pleasure mounting in you growing with every passing moment. Your hands find purchase on his braid, holding on tight. He groans into your ear, the sound somewhere between a moan and a growl. It reverberates through your bones, to know your mate is so in the throes of pleasure, stokes fire in your own belly; your arousal covering his own.

He grabs your other leg, and suddenly you are hoisted into the air. You yelp with surprise, but he holds you firm. His pace is relentless, still thrusting up into your welcoming heat. Such display of strength only spurs you on further. There comes a dull ache in your legs from the strain of being held up, but also the tightness of the rope cutting into your joints.

The pain and pleasure mix wonderfully, pulling you over the edge and into your waiting orgasm. You moan loudly, almost a scream, Miles’ name spills from your lips in high pitch mewls. He doesn’t stop, fucking you through your orgasm to another, causing your to squirt all over his cock.

Tears flow freely from your eyes at the overstimulation, but by the Great Mother does it feel heavenly. Your ecstasy assaults him through the bond, finally sending him over the edge. His mouth bites down hard into your shoulder as he cums, shooting his seed up into your inviting warmth. Your walls clench him greedily, milking him till he is spent. There is a falter in his legs, you can almost feel the strain in his arms as he tries to keep you up as his pleasure wracks him to the core.

Finally though, he gently lowers you to the ground, falling onto his knees once your feet are firmly planted. You use him as leverage, lowering yourself before him. He rests his head to your shoulder, hands immediately finding your belly, resting them there.

Time passes slowly, filled with the smell of your sex and the sound of your joint laboured breaths. Slowly, Miles starts removing the rope from your person, throwing it somewhere out of sight once done. You collapse into his embrace once more, turning to your side as you lean against him. He cradles you in his arms, pressing delicate kisses to your hair.

You feel hot and sticky, but thoroughly fucked. You couldn’t be happier, tail wrapping around you both.

“You okay?” He asks, always, after any session in which he ties you up. His hands find your wrists, gently massaging the bruised skin.

“Always my love. Just a little worn out.” You close your eyes and lean into him more, never wanting this feeling to end. This peace and tranquillity.

---

Your mind drifts to the day, nearly 5 years ago, when you first landed on the island.

The Olo'eyktan and Tsahik came to greet you, as well as many members of the clan. They were surprised to see forest people; some never having seen any before. They gawked and stared unashamedly. They were more surprised though, by Spider’s presence. A Sky People child, painted with stripes, dressed in forest garb? What a spectacle!

The Tsahik had hissed when she caught sight of him, demanding that you take the Demon Child back from where you found it.

With great restraint you held your tongue, explaining instead that you cannot and would not go back. You wanted no part in the war with the Sky People, and neither did your mate. All you wanted was uturu. Some place far away from conflict. You explained that the Human boy, was in fact your mate's son, just without an Avatar body.

She was taken aback then, but grabbed your hand, noting the four fingers. She declared you too were of Demon blood, not true Na’vi. None of you were. Why should they let you stay? You looked to the Olo'eyktan then, pleading with your eyes. You gestured to Spider, saying that if he could adapt to live amongst Forest Na’vi, then you could all adapt, that you will adapt.

The Tsahik scoffed, walked around you three to inspect your tails. She stopped abruptly behind your mate, staring at his back. Her hand came to rest on the space between his shoulders. You saw the tenseness in his shoulders, wrapping his tail around his leg, hands clenched. He sends you a worried look, but you shrug, unsure of what she was doing.

You see her brows furrow. She removes her hand then, like she has been burnt, before returning to her mate’s side. She speaks low to him.

“That one, has been touched by Eywa.” The Olo'eyktan’s head shoots up as he stares at Miles, then looks back down to his mate for clarity.

“Touched?” He asks in shocked whisper. She clicks her tongue, annoyed at the events unfolding before her.

“Yes. Touched. Whether literal or spiritual, I cannot say for sure. But it is there. I feel it.” She squints at Miles, wholly distrusting of his person.

‘By the stars themselves, what could the Great Mother possibly have seen in this one?’ she thinks to herself.

“What of the boy? How will he live amongst us, if he cannot breathe our air?” The Tsahik gestures to Spider, who has been standing beside you awkwardly. You put a comforting hand around his shoulder, pressing him closer into your side.

“You need not worry. This Sky People-made mask will keep him safe.” You tap the mask gently. You’re not sure how much these people know of Human technology, but you don’t explain further. You send a silent thank you to Norm, Max and all the other scientists back home.

Just before your departure, you had decided Spider could not come with, intent to leave him behind, no matter how much it broke your heart. There would be no feasible way to replenish his oxygen packs supply. But Eywa smiled upon you. The humans, the engineers they were called, came forth with a new designed mask. It did not need oxygen packs like the old ones, instead filtered the air itself for safe breathing. It worked underwater too. It was sturdier too, strong as Na’vi bones they boasted.

Her eyes roam over you, then Spider, than up to your mate. She questions then, what skills you Forest folk could possibly bring to their shores. Your mate steps forward then, proudly stating he is a warrior, willing to fight anyone to prove his worth. The Olo'eyktan holds up his hand, stating that it wasn’t necessary, at least not yet.

The Tsahik’s eyes rake over you again, making you feel self-conscious. You see her gaze linger on your chest and your hips.

“You…Your patterns are of Forest folk, but your body is not.” It is more so a statement than a question, but demands an answer all the same.

“You are correct, Tsahik. My mother was true born Na’vi, of the Omatikaya clan. My father is…like my mate. Born of the Sky People.” She makes a disgruntled noise, but says nothing else.

After a moment of silence, she looks back up at her mate, and gives him the faintest of nods.

The Olo'eyktan announces then, that you three are welcome and are to be treated like their brothers and sisters. He warns them to be gentle with the Human, try not to gawk at him too much as there was still a village to look after. You thank him profusely, tears threating to fall at corner of your eyes. His smile is warm and welcoming, and the relief you feel is near palpable.

---

You and Miles decide to pack the food into a basket and bring it to the children. As the two of you are making your way along the beach to the path that would lead into the jungle, you are greeted by the sight of your two young sons running at you, Spider taking up the rear in a slow jog.

“Mama! Papa!” They yell in unison, arms outstretched as they crash into your legs.

“Good morning my little starlights! And to you too Spider, thank you so much for taking such good care of them,” You pick up Rawm as Miles does Taxun. Spider smiles up at the both of you, out of breath from the run.

“It’s no trouble [Y/N]. I already know what it’s like to have younger brothers.” He takes note of the basket Miles is holding, helping himself to the fruit inside. Your smile becomes a little sad at the memory of your family. You don’t have time to dwell on it though, as the kids notice Spider eating and immediately demand to be fed.

And so the 5 of you sit on the nearby rocks in the shade, enjoying the meats and fruits. It doesn’t last long, as the twins eat far too fast for your liking, before they start pulling Spider toward the ocean, wanting to swim in the cool water now that the sun was out. He of course obliges without fuss, and you giggle as you watch them splash about in the water.

The sun hangs high in the sky now, midday you presume. You enjoy the cool breeze kissing your skin, and the soft caress of your husband as he traces the glowing freckles on your back.

You are quiet, but there is gentleness in your eyes, a soft smile on your lips.

“Whatcha lookin’ at sweetheart?” Miles asks you, and you keep your eyes forward, smile widening.

“Our future.” Your voice is soft as the sand between your toes.

He hums in agreement, and kisses your check.

“Yeah…me too.”

---

You’re not sure how much time passes, perhaps not even an hour, when you here your name being called. You look to see the Olo'eyktan’s daughter coming to you hastily.

Your heart skips a beat at her urgency.

“[Y/N]! You must come quick! Follow me!”

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Did you not hear the horns?!” She asks as she speeds off, expecting you to follow. You look to your mate, both of you have a confused expression. Neither of you heard it, too engrossed in watching your family. The kids probably didn’t hear anything amongst their own yelling and playing.

Quaritch whistles to the kids, who all immediately cease their frivolity, and run back to you two. Miles wordlessly grabs both twins in his strong arms, and you hand Spider the now empty basket. You make your way back as fast as you can waddle, explaining to the kids along the way.

---

You see an unexpected amount of people gathered at the front beach, though you can’t quite make out what’s going on.

You hear the whispers and murmurs of the clan, strangers they say; visitors.

You and Miles share a concerned look as you make your way forward. A sound carries on the wind, a bellow of a creature; and you know that sound anywhere.

Ikran.

Your heart starts pounding in your chest, your mind running a mile a minute. You don’t even think as you start forcefully pushing your way through the crowed, flanked by Miles still holding the twins and Spider.

“What’s going on Papa?” Rawm asks, clutching onto his father tightly.

You don’t hear his response as you finally make your way out front, seeing the backs of your Olo'eyktan and Tsahik.

You vaguely note the 5 ikran poised on the sand, looking none too pleased.

And when you see the Na’vi visitors talking to your Olo'eyktan, tears well in your eyes, and you let out a straggled cry.

“Sanctuary for my—” The visiting man's voice cuts short when he hears your cry, immediately finding your gaze. His eyes widen at the sight of you, flicking to your swollen belly for a split second, before coming back to your face. He lets out a shaky laugh, a grin splitting his face.

The woman at his side looks at him confused, before following his line of sight. Your eyes meet, and she falls to her knees, covering her mouth as she cries, tears streaming down her face.

You approach them slowly, not caring for the stares of the clan, nor the poignant look Tsahik Ronal is sending you.

You stand before your parents.

“Hello mother. Hello father. Oel ngati kameie.”

Neytiri jumps to her feet, wrapping in her arms tightly. Her cries burn your ears but you don’t care. They are matched only by your own. You feel your fathers arms wrap around you two, and you swear by the Great Mother, that this was perhaps the first time you’ve ever heard him cry. Your four siblings rush at you too, scrambling to get you into an embrace of their own.

You hear the tell-tale sigh of your Tsahik, and the low chuckle of Olo'eyktan Tonowari.

“I guess you have a lot of catching up to do, no?” He turns to the clan and addresses them. “Treat Jake Sully and his family as our brothers and sisters, just as you did with those who came before.” He calls for his eldest son and daughter, instructing them to teach Jake and his family just as they had taught you.

Your family untangles from one another, though your parents still have their hands on your shoulders. You take each of their hands in your own.

“[Y/N], I—”

“Hush, mother. Before you say anything, you too father, there is someone, two actually, you should meet first…” You pull them towards Miles. You turn your head to your siblings, gesturing with your head for them to follow too. You feel them tense, and a falter in their step. You gently squeeze their hands, releasing a shaking breath when you feel them squeeze back.

“Oel ngati kameie, Jake and Neytiri.” Miles says with perfect annunciation. They don’t say anything, but gesture to him with their hands. They are far too in shock, eyes instead focused on the two boys in his arms.

“Mom, dad, siblings…I’d like you to meet my sons, Rawm and Taxun,” you gesture to your boys accordingly, letting go of your parents hands, nervously threading your own fingers together in front of you.

You hear your siblings greet them with little waves, introducing themselves as their aunts and uncles. The boys are shy, and barely greet them back with tiny voices. Kiri runs to Spider, pulling him into a wordless hug as she cries into his shoulder.

“Hey kiddos, it’s nice to meet you. I’m your grandpa, Jake,” You father smiles at them big and goofy, tail swaying with joy.

“Pa Jake?” Rawm asks, bringing tears to the edge of your fathers eyes. He lets out a shaky laugh and nods.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m your mama’s papa. Just like this man, is your papa.” He pats Miles on the shoulder, and the two share a look. You can see so much unspoken words exchange between them, Miles lowering his ears submissively. But your father gives him a kind smile. You can see in your mates eyes, even as he returns the smile, there is a hint of guilt there.

Your son surprises you then, reaching for your father, who happily takes him into his arms, smile widening.

You look to your mother then; filled with trepidation at her reaction. All of your anxiety shatters when you see her smile your boys.

“Hello little ones. I am your grandmother Neytiri. Your mama’s mama…” She wipes away a stray tear, and happily takes Taxun when he reaches for her.

She gently rocks him, patting his back with practiced ease. Your heart swells at the sight of your parents holding their grandchildren.

Neytiri’s eyes lift from your son then, to meet your mate’s gaze head on. She stares at him, studying him, but he doesn’t break the eye contact. She closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath, exhaling through her mouth. She opens her eyes and fixes him with a determined look.

“Oel ngati kameie, Miles Quaritch.” She nods to him, hand gesturing towards him in the proper greeting. “Thank you…for taking care of my daughter.”

His eyes widen at her words, and she smiles up at him, though it is small, as she hugs your son to her a little more tightly.

“Oel ngati kameie, [Y/N], my daughter…I am so happy, to see you, alive and well.” She touches a hand to your belly briefly, before returning to pat your sons back. “You too Spider…I am, pleased, to see you are doing well.”

Spider gives her a shy smile and a nod. Your brothers flank him, poking his sides and remarking on his larger frame, toned by years of swimming.

“Oel ngati kameie, mother, father, siblings. Welcome to our family.”

Everyone comes together, embracing in one giant hug, with you and Miles at the centre.

“Wherever we go, our family is our Fortress.” You father says.

“Sullys stick together,” Neteyam adds.

“And now, Quaritches too.” Your mother says, and with that, the dam breaks.

You cry tears of joy, safely nestled in the embrace of your family.

You couldn’t be happier.

End

---

<previous chapter> | 7 |

Author's Note: And that's a wrap people! Originally this was gonna end with Quaritch's "yeah me too" on the beach. But then it occurred to me, people would probably want a reunion with the family, so here we are!

Thank you so much to everyone who's followed along with what was supposed to be a horny one-shot that then turned into a mini series XD I look forward to seeing ya'll in my future works, so stay tuned!

---

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[arkiliastuff]

Morning Lullaby

Jesse Cash x Fem! Reader - One Shot

Warning : None. Just fluff and comfort fluff. Also cute stuff

A/N : So I had this idea the other day, when I woke up, very early (5 AM), having troubles sleeping (yay) and thought about this. I just imagined that, in need of comfort, so here you go! First fic about Jesse, it's very short, but I think more will come (hehe). Hope you'll like that short story that you can read and read again as long as you need ! :D

~ The little beans taglist : @valiantroeagleangel @lma1986 @thatchickwiththecamera @vanishxcanvas @thefallennightmare @burning-outx @cncohshit

─── ⊹⊱✿⊰⊹ ────── ⊹⊱✿⊰⊹ ────── ⊹⊱✿⊰⊹ ───

You were having a bad night, filled with strange dreams. You were moving and turning around in your bed, hoping that changing the position will actually do something. But it didn’t help. You suddenly heard a meowling cat outside. You tried to ignore it at first. But as it continued, you heard more clearly. Despite having your window and shutters closed, this noise alone kept you awake. You took your phone from your nightstand and turned it on. You sighed in exasperation when you saw the time. It was almost 5 AM. You were awake for more than ten minutes at this point. Yet you still needed to sleep. You had an appointment in a few hours and you needed a full rest. However, this desperate cat was still meowling and it was getting on your nerves.

So you decided to open your shutters, trying to see what was going on below, with this cat. The latter one had stopped meowling when you shushed him, before running away when it saw your face.

“Great. Now I’m completely awake, you idiot.” You muttered.

You heard the early birds singing while the sun was slowly rising, changing the night sky into a pinkish-orange shade of the dawn. You inhaled the morning scent, giving oxygen to your still sleepy brain.

With your phone in one hand, you started to dial a number, hoping he would pick up even though you were miles away from each other. The ringtone rang for two long minutes but with no answer. As expected. From where he was in the world, touring with his music band, the hours weren’t the same as yours. It was probably the evening in his time zone. You tried to call him a second time. You ended up on his voicemail. Okay, that was a bit odd of him, but you also thought he was maybe having a party with his bandmates. Or perhaps he was goofing around with them after a show, as usual. Yeah, that was more of a believable thought. So you decided to leave a voice message.

“Hey, it’s me. You’re probably busy right now, considering what time it is, but I just had a bad night and I couldn’t sleep anymore. I know it’s silly but you said I could call you anytime if I needed to. Even if it was the middle of the night. So please, call me back when you can, okay?”

You paused shortly, feeling a bit emotional as tears were coming to your eyes.

“I miss you so much, Jesse. I miss your voice. I miss seeing you. It’s hard to not see you at home, these days. Anyway, call me, okay? I really need to hear, at least your voice. I love you”

You ended up your voice message, before wiping away your tears and leaning your elbows on your window, staring at the small courtyard outside of your apartment. As you were about to go back to your bed, your phone buzzed. It was him. Your cell phone almost slipped between your hands as you picked up.

“Hello ?”

“Hey, Y/N. I just saw your two missing calls but I couldn’t answer right away. So, I called you back as soon as I could.” Jesse replied with his raspy voice.

“It’s fine. I figured it out. Did you listen to my voice message ?” You asked shyly.

“Yeah, I did. That’s why I called you immediately.”

You hummed as a response, not knowing what to say all of a sudden. But Jesse anticipated the upcoming silence and continued talking.

“So you were having a bad night? How do you feel ?”

You smiled on your phone, just hearing him being so considerate with you when it came to troubles with sleeping. You were missing him deeply.

“Well, I just had some random and stupid dreams that kept haunting me somehow. I was remembering some old conversations I had with my colleagues. I guess work is stressing me out, recently.” You told him.

He listened to you patiently, waiting for you to continue.

“If you were here, I’d really need a big hug right now.” You admitted.

“I know. Me too.. I'm having fun with the guys here, but it's different without you.” He said softly “ Plus, it’s always nice to cuddle when one of us is having a nightmare.”

You smiled and nodded as if he was in front of you, having this conversation.

“How time is it in your zone ?” He said, changing the subject.

You quickly checked the time.

“It’s 6:17 AM.” You replied.

“Gosh, and you’ve been awake for an hour now ?”

“Yup.”

“Also, don’t you have an appointment today? You told me about it a few days ago”

“Yup, I do. And I’m going to be sooooo tired the rest of the day.” You said, ironically.

“Y/N…You should really sleep.” Jesse insisted with a worried tone.

“Well, you know what could help me? I still can sleep even if it's an hour and a half, if you sing me one of your songs.” You suggested, already smiling as if he couldn’t refuse it anyway.

Jesse sighed, faking an upset tone before answering.

“Hmm okay. Just hold on a second.”

He turned on his camera, before leaving. He picked up his guitar and came back, sitting on the floor. He was making adjustments on his instrument while you quietly turned your phone camera on, as well. Getting comfortable under your blanket, you wriggled happily in anticipation.

Then Jesse started to play softly the first notes on his guitar. You find them pretty familiar. As he continued, you began to realize which song it was.

“Oh! Is that ?...” You started.

You saw Jesse smiling while he kept playing. Blue Reverie. A fitting song considering your situation. When he started singing, you felt chills all over your body. After all, he was singing it only for you.

“Silent wake as the day is burning,

Slip back into my silhouette.

I don’t know when the trains are running. Get me back home to hide away. Hide away, hide away”

He subtly moved on the next verse after playing his soft notes of on his guitar.

" Sky ablaze in the subtle turning Two way motion in a pirouette Wide awake with a quiet yearning Get me seaside to hide away"

The notes on his acoustic guitar were so soothing, which made you slowly, but surely, dozing off. Jesse continued to sing so gently to the refrain.

“Time waits for me in a blue reverie

Time waits for me in bloom”

Your eyes were closing on their own as if Jesse’s voice was so hypnotic that it could put you into a sleep filled with sweet dreams. You wished you could record him and replay his tender lullaby on a loop. But your fatigue was getting the best of you, not giving you the time to regret your untaken decision. Once you’d pressed more your head on your pillow, your eyes fully closed, Jesse was getting to the end of the chorus.

“...Do you imagine? The illusion calls your name

From a world you can't embrace

Hide away, hide away

Hide away.”

As he was finsihing the song, he stopped playing. Yet you were already sleeping deeply. He chuckled softly when he saw you forgot to hang up your video call. Jesse took also this short opportunity to admire your sleepy face.

“Well, it seems you enjoyed it. Goodnight, sunshine. I love you.” He whispered.

That night, you found yourself having the most gentle dream ever, with Jesse in it, telling you sweet words. Even though you had a short night, you felt pretty much right for your appointment. The lullaby did really help you to fall asleep. Little did you know that Jesse had sent you later during the day, an acoustic demo for Blue Reverie, just for you, so you could listen to his soft voice all the time. He was definitely the sweetest human being ever.

[anxiousdreamcore]

I saw that recent post you made writing out how you view all the Avatar characters, and in it, you mentioned that your opinion of the characters has changed a lot in the past year and a half (I can't believe it's been that long since ATWOW!)

So how did your opinion of the characters change and why? Who changed the most radically? I'd love to hear your thought process!

Warning: yapping ahead

My opinion changed as I began consuming content from different people in the fanbase, as I sadly started out my journey relegated to mostly the recom side of the fandom.

A very specific vision I’ve formed was one of him and Neytiri. Her and Spider are two individuals forced to be close by circumstance, and not necessarily liking each other but they’re known each other for so long that they know each other, you know? The way I see it, they can’t pretend to be strangers, and their argument in the high ground comics, which is the only time any of the children oppose Neytiri makes me think that this is the dynamic going on between them.

Being a Spider fan outside of the recom space was a horrible experience for many of my mutuals, and I heard from more than one person that just liking the character earned them death threats, so I kept to the only space where he was actually liked, which uh…may or may not have been a bit of an echo chamber.

First months after ATWOW came out the opinions were extremely polarising and there was little depth to go around. I realised later on though, I didn’t have to pick a side and didn’t have to force myself to forgive Quaritch, because I never wanted to. I didn’t have to see him as either a 🥺baby gworl🥺 or an emotionless monstrosity.

As I said before, the essays made by Quaritch fans sold me at first. They seemed to provide a lot of proof and I was on board with the identity crisis theory, but as time went on I believed it less and less. Looking at the movie with fresh eyes months later, I formed and opinion of my own and that is — That recom Quaritch is an amalgamation of his past self and the Na’vi instincts/perspective of his new body. He’s a fucked up soup that is, in a way, different than his human predecessor but not different enough to be considered a wholly separate creature. If human Quaritch was a dying garden then recom Quaritch is that same garden decayed to the core, with one single flower emerging amongst the rot, not yet consumed by it. (That flower being his fatherhood obv)

I went from seeing him as a man perhaps capable of redemption and seeing value in Pandora, to a man who, while not enjoying violence per ce, obviously doesn’t give much of a damn about the moon or its habitat or its many cultures. All that matters to Quaritch is that these things matter to his son, so he’ll entertain them and go easy on the destruction, just for him. He doesn’t yet accept Pandora, not fully, but he accepts that Spider does so. That is about his only good quality.

The way I began to see it, Socorro is somewhat his only functioning organ. A breathing lung in an otherwise dead body. Miles hasn’t felt anything but manic happiness and rage for as long as we knew him on screen, and that only changed when he stood in the boy’s presence, constantly challenged by him, and brought out of his comfort zone over and over again. He needs him to be remotely alive and likeable to the audience. He needs him to be something more than a chained army dog.

That brings me to my next point; my other big change in perspective was one of his dynamic with Spider. The more I analysed the franchise the more I came to conclusion that Miles is just an unbearable softie for him, and it was really the deleted scenes and the fact that Spider has a new bow in the ikran taming scene that sold me. He not just likes Spider, he loves him, to death. His sacrifices might not seem sufficient, but for his character, they‘re very much drastic, as Miles is traditionally not a loving person.

Quaritch is canonically a traitor to the RDA because he jeopardised his mission three times in a row, all for a single child. His inner father and colonel are constantly fighting each other, as he knows what he should be focusing on, but can’t resist being a father; having priorities of his own. He was an old fool who thought he could have his cake and eat it too; make Spider safe and happy and be a colonel at the same time, but in the end he made up his mind on what matters more, and it’s Spider. The way I see it now is; Quaritch is only truly loyal to Spider. He can hate it, but he can’t run from it.

[lainiespicewrites]

The Atreides Era

Part 1

Buried in the sands

A/N: Hey everyone! obviously not my normal content! I've been working on updates on that as well! This is part of a writing Collab with my best friend @hey-its-roseaurum! We've both broken out of our comfort zone writing fics for each other's fave comfort characters. She will be posting about Sherlock so my Henry girlies definitely go check it out! I'll add the link once it's posted!

So I guess without too much warning here is my best effort at a Paul Atreides x OC fic

Summary: Paul Atreides and OC (Matar) and the other Freman are still fighting the Harkonnen in the spice fields. After almost losing his friend in battle Paul makes the decision it's time to go south. It's time to meet with the Emperor. His decisions will change the fate of his friends and the planet of Arakis. Paul knows this. He's seen it. But... at what cost?

Warnings: Description of battle, death, slight angst.

2k words

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It’s early that much is clear. The sun's intense heat has not yet started pouring over Arrakis, disturbing Matar’s peaceful sleep. What did disturb her was the amateur sand steps of the young man outside her tent. And the sound of his voice calling for her in a harsh whisper. Matar stirred with an agitated grumble, sitting up slowly and blinking her eyes to adjust to the soft light of dawn starting to creep in from the open flap of her tent. 

“What do you want, Paul Atredies?” She groaned. The footsteps outside her tent halted and were followed by a soft chuckle. Crouching down in front of the tent Paul popped his head in sending Matar a cocky grin. 

“Not Usul? Have I managed to offend you again already?” He asks with a raised eyebrow. Matar stares for a moment, watching his face and the loose wave of brown hair that’s fallen into his eyes. Interesting how they’re still so gray, his eyes, as long as he’d now been exposed to spice. Matar blinked the thought away, what did it matter? Paul Atriedies could have glowing red eyes and she’d pay no mind, he was a pest. A pest, who was her friend, one she’d grown fond of. But still a pest. 

“You’ve come to me, Paul Atriedes before the sun is fully awake. This better be important.” Matar answered him, falling back against her pillow. 

Paul was not discouraged by his friend's lack of energy or enthusiasm, crawling into the tent in the corner across from his friend still giving her the same dopey grin.

“How’d you know it was me?” He spoke softly now. His tone was now more gentle and letting Matar awaken properly before he poked at her further. 

“You walk like an elephant, I could hear you coming from miles away,” she answered him. 

“Hmm I suppose I do,” Paul agreed nodding. “Then we need to practice before we go into battle!” Paul's exclamation caused Matar to sit up. Now she was fully awake.

“Battle? What are you speaking of Usul?” The boy's smirk faded. His eyes are more serious now. 

“We got word more of Harkonnen moving in on the spice fields. They’re placing their harvester as we speak. We’ll need to move in on them quickly.”

Putting the moment of banter behind them Matar quickly composed herself. Pulling her hair back she tied her long dark hair into a tight knot. She swept her hand around her tent for a moment and found her head scarf to keep her safe from the day’s intense heat. Taking in a deep breath Matar’s eyes once again settle on the man sitting across from her. 

“Is Chani aware?” She asks. Her voice is smooth and calm. While she had not expected another fight. Or, ambush rather, against the Harkonnen. She was always ready. For those who control the spice control the universe. A mantra the Harkonnen were always chasing.  Neither Matar nor Chani, Matar’s closest friend, would submit to that fate. 

Paul’s eyes shift to the ground as he shakes his head.

“No, I figured it should come from you. She’s one of our most skilled fighters. Chani doesn’t trust me. It has to come from you, Matar.” a breath of silence falls over the two of them. For a moment. Matar thinks to be offended by this. Paul Atreides is only here to use her as a messenger. The thought is gone as quickly as it develops. There is no time for emotion. No time to dwell on the man who has shown up unannounced. 

“I will see her now. Go, gather the others. We’ll need to move before the sun is at its highest point. “ She said.  The man nods. But catches her wrist before she can leave the tent. 

“Matar, I- I’ve seen… something. You in battle and you…” He pauses. They lock eyes. The visions. One of the many reasons Stilgar and the other southerners believe the young Atreiedies is the Messiah. Matar, Chani, and a few of their kind believe it all to be a load of shit. 

However, the fear in his eyes at this moment cannot be ignored. “Please,” He pauses again emphasizing his words. “Be careful out there.” Matar doesn’t say anything. Holding his gaze she nods letting him know she understands whatever he’s seen has frightened him. He lets her go and the two of them leave the tent.  There’s a warm light over their camp. Many of the other Freman have started to gather in a common area. 

Paul and Matar walk in opposite directions. But before Paul is out of earshot Matar stops and calls for him. 

“Usul!” She calls. He turns back to her with a look of concern etched across his face. “Whatever you saw,” she pauses. “My fate is my own to make Paul Atreides,” 

Paul gives her another soft smile. He looks like he did when she first saw him this morning. Innocent, and childlike.  There’s a stirring feeling in her gut.  She has no time to address this. They have a planet to protect. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chani is awake and preparing for the day when Matar finds her. 

“Bit early for you isn’t it?” Chani asks with a smirk. 

“Funny,” Matar recants quickly, “I got a visit from Lisan al Gaib this morning.” Better to get to the point quickly. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve started to buy into this Messiah facade?” Chani questions. Eyeing her friend with a curious expression. Matar scoffs

“Why do I sense you’re already feeling hostile this morning?” Matar says, “Of course, I don’t believe it, I believe what I can see Chani. And what I see is that Paul Atreides has helped us successfully fight against the Harkonnen attacking our spice fields. 

“There’s another harvester?” Chani asks although it’s clear she knows the answer already. 

“He doesn’t believe you you trust him. But I know that you will protect your family.” Matar says. 

“I don’t trust him. But I see what he’s done. And It can’t be ignored. Believe me, I have tried. “ She pauses with a smirk. “And as long as I’m fighting beside you, I’ll always show up for the fight.” 

“Don’t be soft,” Matar teases. Smacking her friend on the shoulder. 

“It’s you who’s gone soft Matar. Don’t get so close to him, his mother can not be trusted. She seeks more power than anyone should hold.” Chani warns

“We are not close, But I believe he could be a good ally, and that woman can burn for all I care. Now come, we’ve got to prepare for an ambush.” She smirks as she and her friend set out to join the other soldiers. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silence.  Nothing but the sound of the wind stirring the sand. A maua’dib, a small desert mouse, could be heard skittering across the sand dune. Unsuspecting of the unrest that is soon to occur. Matar’s eyes scan over the top of the dune, zeroing in on the harvester only feet away from her and the others. Paul and Chani have, for the time being, come to a truce and have gone undetected underneath the foul piece of machinery. Matar and the others are waiting for their signal. This is when they will move in. 

A loud blast breaks the silence. A shot attacked the Harkonnen craft surveying the harvester and the security. The signal. The others jump to their feet. Stilgar and his men attack the security with daggers. Slicing into them and killing them before the intruders even see the Freman warriors coming. Matar takes a shot at the harvester aiming for one of its claw-like pillars. The blast hits but it quickly gains her attention. She makes quick steps and rolls out of the way as a Harkonnen security tries to land an attack. He misses. This was a fatal mistake for him. Granted he was always going to die. Another Freman soldier stabs the Harkonnen before he can advance any closer. Matar locks eyes with the person and they nod at each other before they continue their battle. She stands, once again aiming for the harvester. This time she aims right in the center. Fuck it. No more time for games. Time to blow this thing up. Taking one last look to be sure her friends will not become casualties she takes the shot. She doesn’t watch it land. Matar is pulled back by another Harkonnen. He has a dagger held to her ribcage. She barely hears the sound of the explosion over her heart pounding in her ears. At least she landed it. One last explosion before the bitter end. She twists to break the hold but the man has a tight grip on her neck. Fuck. 

He lifts the blade ready to plunge it into her chest. And then. He goes limp. His body falls to the sand. Matar sucks in a deep breath. Finally, she turns. Paul’s eyes are wide as they search her for injury. 

“Are you?” He begins. She holds up her hand to stop him. 

“Do not fuss over me, I am not dead,” she tells him. With one last thud. The final Harkonnen is dropped to the ground. Someone, Stilgar likely, calls for the rest of them to gather quickly and evacuate the area. The Freman army and their messiah head back to camp. However, halfway back Paul stops them. 

“Gather your things. This is the last time we fight the Harkonnen like this. Tomorrow, we go south.” He states. Chani and Matar exchange a look. 

“Paul Atreides we cannot…” Chani begins to protest

“I will not continue to watch them abuse this planet. I will not wait for the emperor to make his move. We are going south. And we will take on the emperor.” He states again. 

The rest of the Freman army cheers. Paul Atreides, once again is fulfilling their prophecy. But Matar. Feels like a dagger has been stuck in her side. He once told her, He wished nothing more to be equal to her. But he couldn’t mean that. Not when he was headed south to possess more power than any person should ever wield. 

The Freman army arrived back at camp. Some celebrated. Some dressed wounds from the day's battle. 

“He’s a good fighter, but I knew he could not be trusted,” Chani says absentmindedly. The girls are both watching Paul off in the distance while Stilgar celebrates their success.

“Do you have to be right about everything?” Matar questions. 

“No, just tends to pan out that way,” Her friend says before wandering off to her own tent. Matar sighs finding a seat and taking out her dagger sharpening it with a stone.  After a few moments, she feels a presence and then there is someone sitting beside her. 

“Matar,” Pauls voice speaks. 

“I don’t wish to speak to you Usul,” she says, continuing to sharpen the blade. He ignores her grabbing her wrist and pulling her attention from the dagger. 

“You almost lost your life today.” He says. Matar shrugs. 

“I was protecting my people Paul Atredies, it’s what we do,” she responds. 

“Maybe, but I have lost far too many people I care about. You will not be next Matar.” He says.

“Paul,” Matar begins. 

“Going south, I’ll take control. I can protect you and protect us all once we’ve made an attack against the emperor,” he argues. Matar is stuck. She is angry. She doesn’t want this. She opens her mouth to recant. To tell him he is wrong. Nothing comes out. She pauses again. She’s quiet for a while and then.

“Usul. You told me once. About these…oceans, on your home planet. Describe them again.” She requests. Surprising Paul and herself. 

“Caladan is covered in oceans and water. They are… as blue as your eyes.” He smiles at her. “As deep as them too. There’s no end even as you look at the horizon. They go on forever.” He explains. 

“I still… do not believe you Paul Atreides,” Matar answers, ignoring the growing warmth in her face. 

“You will,” Paul says without thought. 

“We, shall…”

“Lisan al Gaib, Come” Stilgar calls, “There’s much to do before our journey tomorrow. We must prepare!”

Matar lets out I sigh. 

“You’re celebration awaits Paul Atreides.” she says. 

“Matar,” He says softly. 

“I will see you at dawn…Lisan al Gaib.”  a moment of hurt flashes in Paul's eyes but it’s gone before Matar can register it. They both turn and part for the evening.

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A/N: This is Part one of ? We're still discussing the terms of this collab LOL

IF you'd like to be added to a tag list for this story please let me know! I know for my followers that read my Henry fics this is a bit different but I hope you enjoyed this too. If you decide to give it a read :) Thank you all. Dont forget to check out @hey-its-roseaurum Sherlock fic!

Tag list:

@enchantedbytomandhenry @summersong69 @carrie80reads @identity2212 @caramariehurst @redheadrouge @warriormirkwood@gummydummy19@deandoesthingstome@shellyshellshell@mary-ann84@starfirewildheart@foxyjwls007

[joelalorian]

Beacon of Hope

Frankie Morales x f!reader | 2.5k words | 18+ MDNI

Welcome to my contribution to @almostfoxglove's angst challenge. I was given the character Frankie Morales, this moodboard made by Freya, and the song Siren by Kailee Morgue. I went outside my comfort zone in both genre and style with this one. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Rough weather leads to a helicopter crash. Is it real or all delirium?

Warnings: None really. Just some cursing, angst, and confusion. My blog as a whole is still 18+ mdni. No use of y/n. Little to no description of reader.

The weather turned on a dime. Rotor blades sliced through the rain and wind as Frankie fought to keep the collective and cyclic controls steady, feet working the pedals for the rear rotor. Lightning flashed ahead and the helicopter dropped altitude.

“What the fuck were they thinking?” he shouted above the ruckus just to hear himself think. His new boss was an asshole, never accounting for weather in his need to keep business going. Hence, Frankie found himself sweating bullets, flying solo through a sudden squall to transport cargo. He’d be shocked if he made it through. Shame, too. He’d been looking forward to a night out with the boys for one of Benny’s fights.

Various thoughts flashed in Frankie’s mind as he squinted through the rain-beaten windshield. He worked hard to get his life back on track after that debacle in South America. He never told the boys, but he kept just a bit of his share of the money, needing it for a fresh start. He paid fines to clear his name and get his pilot’s license back, finding a job with an only slightly shady transport company.

Frankie got to fly everyday and that was all he really cared about, especially after he returned from South America and found out his woman had lied and cheated, their baby wasn’t actually his. She left him for the baby’s birth father and Frankie hit rock bottom before scraping himself off the floor.

All that he’d been through, and now he might die in a helicopter crash over the middle of the god damned ocean, and no one would even know where to look for him.

Fuck.

He should try to land, but where?

A flash of lightning lit up the world around him, and Frankie scanned the horizon. Aha! A small peak ahead looking like an oasis to a dying man, he adjusted course to head toward the island. Wind buffeted the aircraft; thunder cracking so loud Frankie could hear it over the noise of the rotors.

Another bolt of lightning shot across the sky, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

Oh fuck.

“Mayday, mayday!” he shouted into the mic of his headset, calling out the aircraft’s tail number and coordinates to anyone listening on the other side.

The next thing Frankie knew, the instruments were fried. No amount of punching or yanking would get the aircraft to respond, and it spun, plummeting until Frankie could see the rough seas rising to meet it. Without thought, Frankie undid his harness and fled the pilot’s seat. Wrenching the door open, he jumped into the raging sea with the helicopter merely twenty feet above the cresting waves.

Seconds became minutes became hours while Frankie fought against the waves, gulping water and swimming toward the glimmer of the island ahead. At some point, the storm waned, waves settling, and Frankie let the tide carry him to shore where he collapsed on the wet sand in exhaustion.

The sun beating down on the back of his head, water lapping at his bare feet, roused Frankie back to consciousness. The grainy, damp sand worked its way into his scruff and stuck to his dewy skin, causing it to itch relentlessly. He sat up, scratching at his chin, and took in his surroundings.

Nothing but water before him for miles.

Well, that was not encouraging, at all.

Turning his head with effort, his body having taken a beating during the crash and subsequent fight for his life, Frankie assessed the empty beach and hilly forest beyond. Not a soul in sight.

Where the fuck was he?

Frankie stood on shaky legs, toes digging into the gritty sand to find balance. Only then did he realize his bare feet.

“What the hell happened to my shoes?” Running his fingers through tangled locks, he realized his beloved hat was gone, too. Mouth dry and brain fuzzy, Frankie felt ill prepared for this particular situation.

With a downtrodden sigh, he walked along the water line, the wet sand making it easier, and scanned the area. A quarter of a mile into his journey, Frankie came across footprints in the wet sand. Noticeably smaller than his own, his heart leapt in his chest.

Was someone else out there?

Or was he hallucinating?

It could go either way, Frankie guessed. He was slowly dehydrating.

With little else left to do, he followed the footprints, searching for any other signs of human life along the way. Oddly, there was no other sound on the island other than the gentle crash of the waves on shore. No birdsong. No rustling of little critters in the brush. Nothing.

Strange, that.

Rounding the tip of the island, Frankie froze.

A lighthouse stood before him, just taller than the trees behind it.

He ran towards it, desperate and eager to find someone, anyone, on this godforsaken island. Or at least a way to call for help. His feet padded up the dilapidated steps, careful to avoid any jagged edges, and wrestled open the weather-beaten door.

“Hello?” Frankie called, voice echoing between the concrete walls as it carried upwards. When no response came, he climbed the winding staircase to the top, the metal steps painful beneath his bare feet.

His breath left him when he reached the pinnacle. A panoramic view of nothing but water for miles and miles in every direction met his weary eyes. Caught up in the view, it was an afterthought to glance at the light fixture occupying much of the space, and the ethereal woman standing next to it.

Beauty incarnate in ways Frankie could not even try to describe, like a siren beckoning him. He merely stared at you in wonder.

“’Lo,” he greeted when you smiled at him.

“Hello,” you replied, voice like angelic music, a cool breeze in the heat of summer, a breath of fresh air.

The edges of Frankie’s vision went blurry, and he stumbled, falling back against the wall where he sank to the ground. The image of you approaching him with furrowed brows, lips moving but no sound hitting his ears, was the last thing he saw before the world went black.

Days passed and Frankie lost track of them. His waking hours spent learning everything he could about you – what you were doing on the island all alone, your name, your favorite color – all the important things.

He kept losing consciousness in the middle of conversations, which worried him, but not you. A constant smile alight on your face, you greeted him every time he opened his eyes. You didn’t talk much, but always answered his questions. You never asked any of him, which he should have found beyond strange, but his brain still wasn’t working fully. Come to think of it, you spoke in riddles a lot, which confused him.

“Would you ever leave here?” Frankie asked while you gave him a tour of the far side of the island. The sun still rising, morning sky a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges which didn’t bode well for them. A storm was coming.

“To where would you have me go? This is where I reside. This is my beginning and my end.”

There you went again, confusing the hell out of him with your answers and dazzling him with your beauty. Frankie’s brows pinched together as he tried to figure out what to say next. Finally, he settled on, “You could come with me, back to Florida.”

“If only the fates would allow.”

On and on it went like that for days. Belly aching with emptiness, and mouth dry with overwhelming thirst, Frankie lost focus of everything but you. He would have jumped from the top of the lighthouse had you asked him to. Instead, you talked him through fixing the mechanism preventing the lighthouse from serving its purpose. The rest of the instruments, including the radio controls, were a loss, though.

You handed him tools just when he needed them, all the parts necessary to get the light working again ready and waiting in your hands before he could even voice the need. It should have weirded him out, but it didn’t. Nothing weirded him out or worried him with you at his side.

Storms battered the reinforced walls of the lighthouse as he worked. Finally, the light blinked, spinning its circle to shine brightly out to sea. Frankie stood with pride for a few moments before lightheadedness kicked in and he slumped down to the ground.

Your siren song roused him a solid day later.

“The time is nigh. The winds of change are upon us.”

“Wuh?” Frankie questioned groggily. You were making even less sense than you normally did. “What are you talking about?”

Your hand ghosted against his cheek, the lightest brush against the grown in scruff. He could only imagine how haggard he looked. “It’s time, Frankie. You must go.”

His eyes widened and he bolted to his feet at the high-pitched whine of a boat engine in the distance. Pressing his face to the glass on the western side, Frankie gulped at the sight of a Zodiac boat barreling toward the island, three men onboard. He watched the boat bounce along the water for a minute before turning back to you.

“Come with me,” Frankie said, voice pitched low. “Come with me, please. You saved me. I can’t leave you behind. Let me save you.”

You smiled warmly, eyes shining with emotion. “Could that I would, my Frankie. My place is here,” you replied, arms spreading wide in a gesture to encompass the island. “My soul is linked to this place and it’s a link that cannot be broken. There is nothing left of me to save.”

Frankie’s vision swam, your form going blurry and blinking in and out of existence. Certain he was about to lose consciousness again; he slid down to the floor. “Please,” he tried again in a choked voice before his vision went black.

“Fish! Come on, man!” 

Someone jostled his shoulders, bringing him back to reality. Frankie blinked his big brown eyes open.

“Fuckin’ finally!” Santi heaved a sigh and helped Frankie sit upright. “You okay?”

Blinking rapidly to jumpstart his brain, Frankie shrugged. “I dunno.” His voice sounded different to his own ears, and by the way Santi flinched at the raspy sound, Frankie knew he was in rough shape.

“We’ve been searching for you for days.” Santi glanced around at the roughshod condition of the aged lighthouse. “We spotted the light, finally. I’m shocked this thing is even working. Everything else is fried.”

“We spent days getting it to work,” Frankie replied groggily, not catching the confused expression on Santi’s face.

“We? Who, you and the mouse in your pocket?”

Frowning at Santi’s joke, Frankie shot to his feet and glanced around frantically. “Where is she? Where did she go?” Fighting off the lightheaded feeling, Frankie bolted down the stairs.

“Who? Francisco! Who the fuck are you talking about?” Santiago chased after his friend, catching him at the base of the lighthouse where Will waited, watching his brother root around in the sand.

“Where’s the fire, Fish?” Will asked when Frankie burst through the creaking door.

“God damnit, Frankie!” Santi grunted, catching the dark-haired man as he slumped to the ground. “Based on the looks of it, you haven’t had anything to eat or drink in days. You can’t be running off like that.”

Dark coffee eyes rolled around in his head, fighting to meet his friend’s gaze. “I need to find her, Pope. Help me find her.”

The others shared confused looks. “Who is he talking about?” Will asked.

“I have no idea,” Santi replied. “He just keeps asking where ‘she’ is.”

Shaking his head, Will bent a knee to be closer to Frankie. “There’s no one else here, Fish. Benny and I scoured the island. Everything here has been long abandoned.”

“No, no, that’s not possible! She was here with me. She helped me get the light working,” Frankie begged them to believe him, but even he was starting to doubt himself.

“Hey! Check this out!” Benny stepped back from where he wandered off, an aged glass bottle in his hand. Holding it up, he popped the top open and removed a rolled paper. “It’s like a message in a bottle.”

The four friends gathered around to read the letter.

To my dearest love,

As the waves crash against the rocks and the wind whispers through the lighthouse, my heart aches for you. Each passing day feels like an eternity without your touch, your laughter echoing through these empty halls.

I watch the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of your ship returning to me, carrying you back into my arms. The beacon of this lighthouse remains lit, a testament to my undying hope that our love will guide you home.

I have written endless messages, casting them into the sea, praying that one day, they will find you and bring you back to me. But my hope is growing dim, as is my life. I can feel the despair taking me apart, bit by bit, and soon, there will be nothing left of me but flesh and bone, and then nothing.

I will haunt this lighthouse for an eternity waiting for you.

Forever yours.

Frankie sucked in a shocked breath. Your name was signed at the bottom… and the date was marked as fifty years ago, to the day, according to Santi’s watch.

He reached for the letter, almost ripping it in his haste. You were but a ghost, a figment of his delirious imagination. He couldn’t believe it. He hallucinated and nearly fell in love with a ghost.

“Come on, let’s get outta here. We need to get Fish to a doctor,” Will said.

“Yeah, lesgo…” Frankie said absently, words blending as darkness swept him under again.

When he next came to it was in a hospital bed, an IV attached to his arm, with a woman who looked just like you checking his vitals.

“Hello, Frankie, it’s nice to see you awake,” you said with a bright smile. At the way he squinted his eyes, you added, “Does your head hurt?”

Frankie shook his head, unable to wrench his eyes away from yours.

“Do you feel any discomfort or pain?”

Again, he shook his head.

“So, what do you feel?” you asked with a cheeky wink.

“Hungry,” he grunted in return, pouty lips curving upwards at your tinkling laughter.

When Santi visited later that day, Frankie recounted his harrowing tale, including the parts about you. He listened quietly, brows furrowing for much of it. Once the story ended, Santi shook his head.

“Fish, we found you unconscious on a small, uninhabited island two days after the crash. It looked like you hadn’t moved from where you washed ashore. There was no lighthouse.” Santi broke the news gently, knowing Frankie was still out of it. “You must have dreamt it all.”

“No, that can’t be…” his voice faded to nothing.

fin

[lecsainz]

is it alright if you write for dybala? It doesn't have to be anything long, just a small fic where paulo is *trying* to paint the reader's nails

It's okay if you don't want to!! :D have a great day!!💕 :>

FAVORITE ARTIST

parings: paulo dybala x girlfriend!reader

summary: that one where paulo decides to paint his girlfriend's nails.

an: can I talk about how much I'm in love with this man?

( my last work || go to main masterlist )

Paulo sat at the table, a concentrated expression on his face as he delicately held a nail polish brush between his fingers. His girlfriend, you, were sitting across from him, trying hard not to burst into giggles at his earnest attempt to paint your nails.

"Okay, I got this," Paulo muttered, his brows furrowed in concentration as he aimed the brush at your waiting fingernail.

You couldn't help but admire his determination. Paulo wasn't the most skilled when it came to nail art, but his willingness to make the effort made your heart swell with affection.

Gently resting your hand on the table, you held back your laughter, not wanting to disrupt his focus. Paulo carefully applied the polish, his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration.

"Um, Paulo?" you finally managed to say, trying to stifle a laugh.

He glanced up at you with a mix of pride and uncertainty. "Yeah?"

"You might want to stay away from the skin," you teased, pointing to the smudges of nail polish on your skin.

"Oh," Paulo chuckled sheepishly, reaching for a cotton swab to clean up the stray polish. "Right, noted."

As he continued to work on your nails, you admired his determination and the effort he put into something that was clearly outside his comfort zone. It was a simple moment, but it meant the world to you.

Once he finished, Paulo sat back, looking at his handiwork with a mix of satisfaction and a hint of pride. "Not bad, right?"

You examined your freshly painted nails, a wide grin spreading across your face. "They look fantastic," you assured him, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Really?" Paulo's face lit up with a bright smile, relieved that you appreciated his attempt.

"Absolutely," you replied, intertwining your fingers with his. "It's the effort that counts, and yours is priceless."

Paulo beamed at your words, a soft warmth spreading in his chest. He leaned forward, capturing your hand delicately between both of his, his gaze filled with gratitude.

"You know, I may not be an expert at this, but I'll always try my best for you," Paulo murmured, his voice tender and sincere.

Your heart swelled at his words. "And that's what I love about you," you confessed, tracing circles on the back of his hand with your thumb. "Your willingness to go the extra mile means more to me than anything else."

Paulo's eyes softened, a gentle affection shining through. He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. "Thank you for letting me try things, even if they don't always turn out perfectly."

"There's beauty in every attempt," you assured him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "And you, Paulo Dybala, are my favorite artist."

His smile widened, a mixture of contentment and adoration gleaming in his eyes. "I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with unwavering affection.

"I love you too," you replied, feeling a rush of warmth as you held each other, cherishing the simplicity of the moment.