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drrobbysbabygirl · 1 month ago

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2 Hands

A/N: It's finished! It’s already been posted to ao3, which I’ll make a separate post about. I had SO much writing this, and I hope y’all enjoy it as much I do!

Word count: 9.8k (It got a bit out of hand)

Warnings: Masturbation, faginal fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex (f!receiving), creampie. I think that’s it, but let me know if I missed anything! ASFAB!reader, reader is 25-35, has hair, and is described as shorter and smaller than Robby.

It all started with a brush of his hand over yours, as cliche as it sounds. It was a quick thing, his large hand over yours in the middle of intubating a patient whose airway was blocked by blood. It wasn't something you put too much thought into until later, when you were home in your empty apartment, sunk low into your bathtub, stroking over the spot he had touched. Robby was touchy; it was well known within the Pitt. He’d squeeze a shoulder, gently touch a hip to get past, or hover with a hand on your lower back for stabilization when guiding a tricky procedure. It wasn't the first time one of his large hands had touched you, nor was it the first time it had fanned the flames of desire low in your belly. But it was the first time he had looked at you and not through you while doing it. It was there and gone in an instant.

As a third-year resident, you had been giving orders to the interns hanging near the patient, demanding more space and orders for propofol and ketamine for sedation. You couldn’t see, but you had done more intubations than you could count and knew you could do it. However, the patient's blood pressure tanked, and Robby grew irritated and snapped at you to move. You had a stubborn streak a mile wide and were confident in your abilities, but you also knew when to ask for help.

You had shaken your head. “I just need help, but I can do it,” you said tensely.

Then, before you could blink, Robby was beside you, his warm hand on yours, helping you guide the tube down the blocked airway. After the tube was placed and you were pushing more meds, you had caught Robby looking at you from the corner of your eye. He didn’t say a word; he just looked you in the eye before walking out to assist with another patient.

Two patients later, Robby had found you. “You could have cowered and let me do it instead, but you knew you could do it, and you asked for help when you needed it, good job,” he had said, brushing his fingers over your arm. You had shivered, and he noticed, letting his fingers linger just a second longer than he should have, his eyes open and gleaming with something you couldn’t put your finger on.

Then, you were fresh out of the bath, lying in bed, imagining where else those hands could go. It wasn’t something you made a habit of; it was bad enough that you thought about him nonstop during the daylight hours, at work, nonetheless. The last thing you wanted was for your…infatuation with your attending to reach a level you couldn’t handle. But as your hand slid down your body, the only thing you could think of was how Robby’s large hands would feel on you, how hard he’d grip your thighs, or how big they’d look on your breasts, and especially how they would look between your thighs. You threw your head back as you pictured it, circling your clit with a soft moan. Your breath came out in short pants as you imagined just how full two of his fingers would make you feel, or how his larger frame would loom over you. You rubbed faster and slipped a finger inside yourself, gasping as you thought about how deep his voice would get, and how deep he'd bury himself inside of you when he finally sank inside your velvet heat. You cried out into your empty apartment, the thought of Robby’s large hands roaming your body and the deep rasp of his voice as he praised you just enough to send you over the edge. You didn’t make a habit of it, but sometimes the temptation was too great to ignore.

The next time, you didn’t think anything of it. It was weeks later, the ED was at a lull, and you had been catching up on charting, your fingers practically dancing over the computer keys. Every once in a while, you would look down and scribble a note into your small notebook. Eventually, your pen stopped working and wouldn't work again, despite your scribbling in the margins. “Dana, can you toss me a pen?” you asked the older woman. Engrossed in her own charting, she had replied absentmindedly, “Yeah, just give me one sec.”

Robby, who had been leaning against the nurse's station, piped up. “Here, take mine, I have more in my locker,” he said. When you hesitated (pens were personal around the ED), Robby had taken his pen out of his scrub top pocket and physically put it in your hand, letting his hand linger momentarily, all while staring you in the eyes. You glanced down at your lap, uncommonly shy, and when you glanced up, he had still been staring at you, a look in his big eyes that tugged at your heart. You ripped your eyes away, cheeks pink, but before your thoughts could stray too far into not-safe-for-work thoughts, the ambulance bay had opened, and a seizing patient was wheeled in. Robby had tossed a glance at you, and before you blinked, the two of you were over to the woman, going through the checklist to stop the seizing.

The time after that, your suspicions were confirmed. It had been six p.m., two hours before you were both scheduled to be off, which meant at least two hours before you actually went home. You had a massive headache and knew you were dehydrated. Your monogrammed cup had long been left behind at a different station, and you had just been ready to go home and crawl into bed.

“You look like you need this,” Robby had said, materializing out of thin air, your cup in his hand.

“Jesus,” you said, throwing your hand over your heart. “If you do that again, you may be down a resident,” you joked tiredly.

Robby had laughed, and your cheeks heated up. You liked it when he laughed, and enjoyed it even more when it was you causing it. “Well, I’ll be more careful next time, I definitely can’t afford to lose the staff I have, especially one of my best residents,” he said, the corner of his mouth tipping up.

“I’d be careful, praise like that could go to my head and inflate my ego,” you quipped.

Robby tilted his head to the right thoughtfully, slowly reaching out with his long fingers to touch the inside of your knee. You had swallowed heavily, your eyes never leaving his as his fingers stayed there for three long seconds, and then another, and another. “Maybe it should, you deserve every bit you get,” he said honestly.

You swallowed hard, your cheeks heating up once again, and you watched as his eyes tracked the movement of your throat. He moved half an inch closer, and you nearly gasped when his whole hand enveloped your knee. You had stared up at him, water long forgotten, but then you were ripped out of your reverie by Trinity yelling across the ED for Robby. Robby’s hand had fallen away like something had burned him, but the look he threw over his shoulder was enough to make your cheeks heat up again.

By somewhere around the eleventh time, and many months later, you had started to play along and would intentionally seek out his touch. You’d pass by him, ghosting your fingers over his hip, or brush your fingers over his when you passed him something in the break room on the rare chances you got to eat. Occasionally, you would be brave and place your smaller hand on his if he stayed still long enough and no one was paying attention. The most memorable occasion happened on a cloudy day in June, after you had worn his patience thin.

You had been sassing him all day, bantering back and forth like always. At one point, though, he must have gotten tired of it and snipped at you. You had been surprised, but didn’t let it outwardly show. This thing between you may have grown, but you were still first and foremost a professional. So, you finished what you had been doing, swiftly threw your gloves away, sarcastically patted his shoulder, and walked out of the room without a second glance.

Later, after he had finished with that patient, he found you tucked in a corner at a portable workstation. You had been pretending to work for the better part of twenty minutes, glancing at him across the room, when you worked up the nerve. You had jumped slightly at the touch of his hand against your hip, and he made a soft sound of reassurance. He pretended to look over your shoulder, like he was consulting on what you had been working on.

“Did I upset you?” he had asked, his voice hushed but earnest. You didn’t immediately respond, body tense. You were upset but didn’t want him to know it immediately. Some groveling would do him good. He leaned closer. “I know you hear me, I can practically feel your pulse through your scrubs,” he had commented, squeezing your hip gently.

You had shaken your head. “No, I’m fine,” you said curtly. You knew it was ridiculous to be upset about something as small as Robby getting pissy at you. Robby snapped at most people at some point throughout the day; you just happened to have drawn the short stick for the day.

“I know you better than that by now, whether you realize it or not. I see the way you look at me; look at my hands,” he had said, giving another slight squeeze to get his point across before continuing. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I’ll try not to let it happen again,” he assured you. Your spine was ramrod straight, and you had felt the tension radiating from him behind you. He went to pull his hand away, and you could see his panicked, shuddered expression from the corner of your eye. Before he could pull away, you had reached behind you and wrapped your small fingers around his wrist, keeping it in place.

You slowly let your body relax, the thought of him entirely pulling away from you more than enough to encourage your mind to slow down. “You didn’t read this wrong,” you had assured, already aware of where his brain went.

“I didn’t,” he asked, voice small. “Because you can tell me to fuck off right now and I swear to god I’ll never touch you again,” he swore.

“No,” you said, dropping your hand as someone walked by, “you didn’t,” you finished.

“Good.”

Robby had wrapped his long fingers around the curve of your hip, squeezed with his whole hand, pulled away, and walked off, his calm exterior back in place like he had never lost it.

After that, it turned into a game: How many times could you get his hands on you in one shift without it being glaringly obvious? It turns out there were quite a few; you just had to be more subtle about it. But, much to your frustration, it never evolved into anything more than the brief touches. You were wary of making a firmer move, even though you had somewhat of a confirmation that Robby felt something for you, he was still your superior. Over the months his eyes had gotten softer towards you, but he still had a guarded aura around him, like he was afraid you would change your mind and tell him to fuck off at any moment. You had no intention of doing that, but your frustration was starting to reach its peak.

When your best friend, Dr. Samira Mohan, slid up next to you, you had been looking up at the board, scanning for a new case, and occasionally glancing at Robby across the room. “So, has that happened yet?” she said casually.

Your eyes had instantly snapped away from Robby to glance at her, and your cheeks heated when she raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at you. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” you hummed.

She smirked, and you glanced across the room reflexively, just to find Robby already staring at you. You forced yourself to turn towards Samira, whose smirk had grown. “So?”

“No. Apparently, he’s determined to drive me insane,” you sighed.

“You should be straightforward. Invite him out for drinks, or if you’re feeling saucy, just invite him back to your place,” Samira had said, shrugging.

It was your turn to smirk. “Is that how you got Abbot?” you asked slyly.

Her cheeks had pinked, but she smiled. “That is exactly how I got Abbot,” she responded.

“Robby is a bit different than Abbot, in lots of ways. I think he’s a bit worried I’ll change my mind, which is ridiculous because we haven't even done anything for me to change my mind about,” you grumbled.

“Dr. Robby is more reserved, maybe, but he’s still a man. I would just use that, bend over in front of him, or something,” she had said, eyes focused on the board.

You laughed. Samira was nothing but direct. It was something that you appreciated about her. “I think I’ll wait just a bit longer, I’m sure I’ll think of something, or who knows, maybe he’ll surprise me,” you said.

Samira had looked doubtful about your approach, but your conversation was cut short when Robby called her to assist with a patient.

It all came to a head exactly a month after your conversation with Samira, and four days before you, half the residents, a handful of interns, and most of the attendings were due to be in Boston for a fundraiser gala.

All the months of touching, of longing for Robby’s hands on you, led to now.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down,” you said firmly, attempting to shine your pen light into the man’s eyes.

“I’m not calming down, you need to calm down,” your patient jerked away as he shouted, slurring his words.

He was drunk, so much so that his buddies decided to drop him off outside the ambulance bay, unconscious, for Dana to find on a smoke break.

Now, he was wide awake, and pissed.

“Are you in any pain…” you asked, glancing at his chart, “Mr. Wade?”

“No,” he snapped, rubbing at his arms aggressively. “Get these fucking bugs off me,” he complained loudly, scratching at his arms.

“Bugs?” You said, slightly alarmed. The last thing you needed this week was another lice treatment. It was only Wednesday, and once was enough. You glanced down, but his arms were bug-free, and a quick glance at the rest of him told you so was the rest of his body.

“Yeah, bugs! Jesus fuck lady use your eyes,” he said agressivly, now scratching at his arms so hard blood was starting to appear from unhealed scabs.

“Perlah, get me fifty of Benadryl and two of Lorazepam,” you called to the Filipino nurse. Alcohol induuced hallucinations were common, especially the closer it got to summer.

“On it,” she said, walking away.

“Okay, sir, I am so sorry about those bugs. I’m going to get something to help you calm down and take care of the bugs,” you said, trying to soothe the larger man.

“I told you, I am fucking calm,” Mr. Wade yelled, attemptig to rise from the gurney.

You placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to ease him back down, but that made him angrier. “Get your hands off me dammit, fuck, they are everywhere,” he exclaimed, now wobily standing on his feet. You heard Perlah’s tennis shoes across the room, and a quick yell for security.

“Sir, please sit back, do-”

The larger man cut you off by screaming. “Get them off! Get them off!

“Sir, I’m just trying-” Once again, he cut you off, only this time, he used his weight against you, and pushed into you.

The world went sideways, and you felt the thunk of your head against the linoleum. You had just enough time to cry out in pain before Robby was above you, cradling your head in his hands.

“Don't move,” he said, voice uncharacteristically soft.

“It hurts,” you groaned.

“I need Neuro down here, and order an MRI, no contrast,” Robby barked. You heard the shuffling of feet and Mr. Wade being hauled away.

“How bad does it hurt, one to ten?” Robby asked, shifting so that your head was cradled in his lap.

“Three,” you said, grimacing.

“Don’t bullshit me right now,” Robby said seriously, a shadow passing over his face.

“Five, final answer,” you groaned again.

“Okay, okay, we can work with a five, he said, running his hand over the crown of your head. His lips twitched when you pushed your head further into his hand. “Any blurry vision or spotting?” He asked.

“No, Dr. Robby,” you told him, cheeks heating up. He looked at you like you were going to disappear, and you could see the desperation lurking in his deep brown eyes.

“Robby, they are here to take her up to the MRI,” Dana said, resting a hand on the older man’s shoulder.

Robby closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Okay, come on, sweetheart, I’ll be here when you get back,” he said gently, helping you up off the floor into a wheelchair.

Your heart fluttered at the nickname. Inconspicuous touching was one thing, but him calling you a term of endearment in front of other people was entirely different.

“I can walk, I’m fine,” you tried to assure your attending.

Robby shook his head. “Nope, you fell and hit your head for Christ’s sake, you could have a concussion. Sit your ass down, and we’ll talk when your neuro work up and MRI is done,” he said, placing a hand on his hip.

You sighed and let the medical assistant wheel you away. You knew a losing battle when you saw one.

Later, after being cleared by neuro and being assured that you did not have a concussion, you walked back into the ED.

Samira found you first. “Well, I said get his attention, but I didn’t think you'd go that big,” she laughed and nudged your shoulder with hers.

You giggled and rolled your eyes. “I can promise that was not the plan, but I guess it worked,” you told her.

“Oh yeah, it worked for sure,” she said, nodding in the direction Robby was approaching. You sucked a breath in at the instense look on his handsome face. “Good luck,” Samira sang before walking away.

“You didn’t come and get me,” Robby stated as he stopped before you.

“I’m fine, no concussion. Neuro even said I could stay for the rest of my shift,” you told him.

He made a sound of disbelief. “Absolutely not,” he said.

You ground your teeth together. You should have guessed he’d be this way. The way he had looked at you when he held your head in his hands…something changed for him. You could see it in his expression now.

“Neuro said-” He held a hand up.

“I don't care what Neuro said; I’m your attending, and you need rest,” he said.

“Is that your professional opinion?” you asked tersely.

He squeezed his eyes shut, took his glasses off, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I mean it, go home, and don’t come back tomorrow. I’ll see you Friday when we fly to Boston,” he said, eyes burning.

“Dr. Robby,” you said, attempting to regain control of the conversation.

“Home,” he said, voice raised.

Your whole body was tense, even when he deflated and reached out to touch your elbow gently. “Please, go home. Rest, it’s going to be a long weekend,” he told you, rubbing gentle circles into your elbow.

It took everything you had to pull away from him. You snatched your arm to your body, and his eyes widened. “Hey, I-”

“I’ll see you Friday, Dr. Robby,” you told him before walking away.

You drove home in silence, and once home, you mechanically removed your scrubs, showered, and crawled into bed. It wasn't even six. You fell face forward into your pillow and screamed. Damn Robby and his big brown eyes. You knew he sent you home because he cared, but it still upset you. You really were fine. Really. You only closed your eyes because your pillow was so soft.

Hours later, your doorbell ringing woke you up. You blinked awake and slipped on your slippers. The doorbell rang again. “I’m coming,” you called. Door-to-door salesmen were the worst in your neighborhood.

“I’m not interested in what-” Your mouth snapped shut when you saw Robby standing on your porch, a bag of takeout in his hand.

“Dr. Robby,” you said primly.

“Sweetheart,” he said gently, eyes fond.

“Oh, we are back to sweetheart?” you asked.

Robby grimaced. “I was an ass, but god honey, you scared the hell out me,” he told you, eyes shining.

You felt the tension bleed out of you. “At least you see me now,” you joked weakly.

Robby shook his head. “I’ve always seen you. Always. I-” he cut himself off, pinching his nose in frustration. I got you some food, it's just some soup, but you didn’t eat anything today, so…” he trailed off, offering you the bag.

Your stomach flipped at his observation. “Do you want to come in?” you asked hesitantly.

Robby shook his head jerkily. “No, I shouldn’t, can’t actually, I uh, I have to get home, but I’ll see you Friday,” he said, stepping back.

“Oh. Okay, um. Bye,” you said, closing the door as he turned away.

Once inside, you opened the food container to find warm matzo ball soup. You smiled and brought it into your room to eat. After you ate, it didn’t take long for you to fall back asleep, a smile on your face.

The next day passed in a blur, as you used the unexpected day off to run errands. You picked up your two formal dresses early, made a last-minute hair appointment, and even had time to get your nails done. By the time you got home, you were exhausted. You might not have had a concussion, but the excitement of the previous day, plus the anticipation of Robby seeing you in your gowns, was enough to have you going to bed early.

Friday came early. Your phone rang on your bedside table, and you blindly picked it up. “You're packed and ready, right?” Samira questioned.

“Samira, it is,” you checked the time, “it is seven A.M. Our flight isn’t until one,” you groaned.

“Right, but I wanted to check on you,” your friend told you.

You smiled. “I’m okay. Robby came by after he got off yesterday and brought me food,” you told her.

“Oh my god, shut up,” Samira responded.

“Yeah, don’t get any funny ideas, though. He didn’t stay,” you said.

“Oh, I’m not worried. I know what your dresses look like, he doesn’t,” she said confidently.

You laughed. You and Samira had gone shopping almost immediately after getting your invitations to the gala.

“If you wait until Saturday night, I’ll split the pool with you,” she said kindly.

“The pool,” you exclaimed, laughing.

“Oh yeah, did I not tell you? It's up to about five hundred dollars,” she explained.

“Oh my god, who has bets in?” you wondered, still giggling. You genuinely thought you and Robby had been better at hiding whatever was happening between you.

“Like, everyone. Trinity bet on tomorrow, in the bathroom. I think Jack bet on tonight, but on the balcony or something like that,” Samira said gleefully.

“Abbot bet,” you gasped in between giggles.

“Oh yeah, he was the one who created it,” she told you. You heard murmuring in the background of the call. “He says no pressure, by the way,” she informed.

“I’m hanging up now, I’ll see you both in a few hours, you responded.

After arriving at the airport, you slid onto a bar stool and ordered a drink while waiting for boarding.

“Nervous flyer?” Robby asked, sliding onto the stool beside you.

Your heart rate spiked, glancing at his fingers as he flagged down a waiter.

“Scotch, neat,” he told the man.

It had only been two days since you had seen him, but you had missed him. Robby glanced at you, and your cheeks heated at being caught watching him.

“No, I thought I’d just wind down a bit, it’s going to be a long weekend, after all,” you said, echoing his earlier words.

“Ah, not a bad choice,” he responded, bringing his glass to his lips.

“What about you, Dr. Robby, are you a nervous flyer?” you asked, looking into his eyes as you sipped your drink.

The older man shook his head. “No, not at all. But I think you can call me Robby now, sweetheart. After all these months seeing you watch my hands the way you do, I have a strong hunch it’s what you call me in that pretty head of yours anyway,” he said casually, taking another sip of his scotch.

You sucked a sharp breath in and he smirked. “Well then, Robby, I’ll see you on the plane,” you said, tossing the rest of the drink back as Samira and Abbot approached.

“Just the person I wanted to see,” you told your friend, reaching out to link your arm with hers. “I have to use the ladies' room,” you said, looking Samira in the eyes.

Her eyes sparkled, glancing from your face to Robby’s. “Oh, perfect, me too, we’ll see you guys later,” she said, steering you away from the older men.

“Oh my god, Mira, he’s trying to drive me insane,” you gasped the second the two of you stepped into the ladies' room.

She giggled. “Hopefully, Jack will talk some sense into him,” she said, looking into the large mirror to fix a stray hair.

“God, I can only hope so, because I’m telling you, he started this thing, he can finish it,” you said.

“Oh, it will be finished,” your friend paused to wiggle her eyebrows, “by the end of the weekend, of that I’m sure. Like I said, I know what those dresses look like,” she said.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed her hand. “Come on, I think it’s almost time to board,” you said, dragging her out of the restroom.

You noticed Robby had an empty seat beside him as you boarded, but you just brushed your hand on his shoulder as you passed. You and Samira went for two empty seats a few rows ahead. The two hours passed quickly. It had been a while since you and Samira had uninterrupted time to talk, and it was nice to catch up with her. You didn’t see Robby again until you arrived at the hotel. He was just putting his key card into his door slot when you got off the elevator. He paused and watched as you rolled your suitcase down the hallway, stopping a few doors from where he stood.

He watched you for a moment, multiple emotions flitting across his face as you stood there and stared back.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Robby,” you said, slipping inside your room.

You sighed happily as you walked in. The hospital was too cheap to hire more nurses, but obviously not too cheap to put all the doctors in a nice hotel. You carefully unpacked your things and hung up your two evening dresses in the closet.

You laid on the bed, sighing as the cool sheets touch your skin. You glanced at your watch, deciding that you had enough time for a quick bath.

You had just wrapped a fluffy towel around your body when your phone lit up with a text from Samira letting you know she, Cassie, Trinity, and Mel were coming to your room to get ready. You had just enough time to slip into your robe before a loud knock sounded on your door. You opened the door, and all four women filtered in, their intermingling conversations filling the ample space in your room.

“Okay!” Samira clapped. “We have two and a half hours to get ready. I,” she paused, pointing to her travel makeup case, “will be in charge of makeup, Cassie is in charge of hair, Trinity is in charge of the tunes, and Mel will assist with hair,” she finished.

“And me,” you asked your best friend.

“You, my gorgeous friend, are in charge of raiding the minibar. If the hospital is dumb enough to pay for a bunch of stressed-out doctors to relax for a weekend, that’s on them,” Samira said, shrugging.

Cassie laughed. “We are here to bag donors, actually,” she said.

Samira waved her hand. “Samantics,” she said as she opened up her makeup case.

Trinity turned the music on, and Cassie got her hair tools plugged in.

You turned to the mini bar, and felt Mel come up next to you. “Do they have juice in there? I don’t really drink,” she explained.

You smiled and pulled out a bottle of sparkling grape juice. “Even better,” you told her. She smiled, and you smiled back.

“Do you think you could do my hair in a twist?” you asked as you poured the drinks.

“Oh, definitely, I can do most basic styles, my sister loves it when I play with her hair, so I have learned all sorts of tricks,” Mel explained as she sipped her drink.

“I love that,” you told Mel.

Two hours quickly passed, and you thought the five of you looked radiant by the time jewelry was being put on.

Trinity was wearing a red, tight fitting dress with a corset top and a small slit in the bottom, Mel was wearing a soft lilac colored dress that had small sleeves, and she had curled her hair. Cassie had straightened her hair and was wearing a deep emerald floor-length gown with a tasteful cut-out in the back. Samira’s dress was a deep, jewel-toned purple with a bust that went straight across.

You stepped out of the bathroom, and Trinity whistled. You were wearing a deep navy, floor-length gown. It had a deep neckline, and it fit you perfectly. “Damn, is it too late to change my bet,” Trinity wondered.

“Yes!” Cassie said emphatically.

You glanced at the older woman, and she shrugged. “It is,” she said.

“Mel, did you bet?” you asked, giggling.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But I think Frank did. Oh, I was going to meet him downstairs to look at the garden,” she said, grabbing her bag.

“I actually brought Mateo as my plus one, and he’s waiting in our room,” Cassie confessed.

The other two women made similar comments, Trinity saying that she wanted to find Yolanda, and Samira saying she wanted to ‘show Jack something’ before they went downstairs. Your friends trailed out of your room, and Samira turned to face you, the door propped open with her black heel. “You gonna be okay? I can go find Robby and smack some sense into him, bets be damned,” she said, eyes sparkling.

“No, I’m going to go ahead and head to the ballroom. I think I need something to calm my nerves, just a bit,” you laughed.

Samira nodded and paused, looking you in the eye. “You’re going to knock him dead,” she assured you before letting the door shut behind her.

You smiled and turned to look at the floor-length mirror against the wall, smoothing over your dress once more before walking out the door, your wristlet tucked under your arm.

“Fuck,” you heard.

You turned to find Robby staring at you. Even a few feet away, you could see how his eyes darkened. He was wearing a simple, fitted black suit that hugged him in all the right ways.

You smiled and made your way to the elevator, Robby close behind you. You pressed the ballroom button, and Robby stood next to you. “You look, fuck, you look gorgeous, sweetheart,” the older man rasped, hand rubbing as his flushed neck.

You tracked the movement of his hand with your eyes, and he smirked just as the elevator doors opened. You both stepped into the empty elevator, standing side by side, and you watched his expression in the mirrored walls as you reached your pinky out just enough to trace over his larger one.

Robby made a slight noise in his throat before surprising you by grabbing your hand and threading his fingers through yours, his grip firm. “You have no idea, no idea, how much self-control it is taking for me not to press you up against the wall of this elevator,” the older man said, eyes staring into your soul through your reflection.

You sucked a breath in, pulse fluttering wildly as you stared at your intwined hands. His hand practically swallowed yours.

“I read an article once that said letting yourself lose control in a contained environment can be good for self-development.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Self-development?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

Your cheeks heated up. “It’s a real article, I could send it to you sometime,” you said, aiming for casual. You rubbed your thumb against the taller man’s hand, and he made a low sound.

Before he could respond, the elevator opened. You both stepped out, hands still intertwined. He glanced at you. His jaw was clenched, and he was looking at you like he wanted to eat you. He took a deep breath, dropped your hand, and walked away, but not before you noticed the slight tremble in his hands.

Later, after multiple flutes of champagne and more schmoozing than you had anticipated, a younger donor approached you. He looked younger than Robby, though not by much, and had kind eyes. “Would you like to dance?” he asked.

Your eyes scanned the room, and when you didn’t spot a particular doctor to come to rescue, you smiled and accepted the stranger’s outstretched hand. “I’d love to,” you told him.

He kept his hands in the appropriate spots, and you talked as you danced. He told you he was from the area, that he was an attending, and that he specialized in cardiac surgery. In return, you told him your hometown, that you were a third-year resident, and that you planned on specializing in emergency medicine.

Pleasant conversation flowed until the song ended, and then you excused yourself to get a glass of water. Samira found you at one of the small tables in the room. “I don’t know what you did, but Robby looks like he’s about to lose it,” she said conspiratorially.

“Huh? I thought he went back up to his room. I haven’t seen him in an hour,” you told your friend.

She shook her head. “Nope. He’s been down here the whole time, see,” she said, pointing over to a shadowy corner where Robby was talking to an older woman in a mauve dress.

You looked over and felt your knees go weak at the way he was looking at you. His eyes glinted in the ballroom's low light, and his jaw was clenched. His hands were balled into loose fists, and you could see them twitching occasionally.

“I danced with a potential donor, but it was all very PG,” you assured your friend when you saw the look on her face.

“Well, I guess that was enough to make the green monster come alive in Robby. Look alive,” she said before slipping away. Just as the live band was getting ready to play a new song, you looked up and saw Robby making his way across the room.

It was the second to last song of the night, and Robby practically swept you into his arms. “Dance with me,” he demanded, voice low. You nodded rapidly and let your hands fall into position just as he wrapped a firm hand around your waist. “Having fun,” the older man asked, voice laced with double meaning.

You ignored his jealousy and fluttered your eyelashes at him. “I am, Robby, are you?” you asked innocently.

“Oh yeah, lots. Meeting up with old acquaintances, enjoying the free champagne, watching you look for me while another man’s hands were on you, all hallmarks of a great evening,” he said.

“I thought you left, but I’m glad you didn’t,” you confessed, squeezing his hand lightly. Some of the fire in his eyes died down at your confession.

“I wouldn’t have left without telling you, sweetheart,” the older man said as he spun you around.

“Good, I was hoping to get at least one dance out of you before the night was over,” you admitted.

“Do my hands feel better than his?” Robby asked as he squeezed your hip.

“Robby,” you gasped as he pulled you closer.

“Answer me, sweetheart,” he told you.

“Yes, a thousand times better, I only ever want your hands on me,” you groaned.

“Damn straight,” he said before pulling you in for a kiss.

You gasped, and he gripped you harder, letting his big hands fan over your hips.

He seemed to possess you, mind, body, and spirit, and you let out a tiny moan when he pulled away.

“I know our friends are going to a bar, but I suggest you go up to bed and go to sleep for the night, because the second you step out of this ballroom, there is a very strong possibility that I won’t be able to control myself,” he growled.

Your breath came out quicker, and you let yourself lean into him. “What if I don’t want you to control yourself?” you asked, voice low.

He shook his head. “Because I promised Gloria two full nights of ass kissing, and God only knows we need whatever resources she is going to send the ED’s way if I fulfill that promise,” he explained, eyes never leaving yours.

“Well then, in that case,” you said, pulling away, “ I’ll just take care of myself.”

Before you could entirely pull away, he pulled you flush against him, and you could feel the outline of him pressed against your hip. “You just love testing my patience, don’t you?” he groaned into your hair.

“It’s quickly becoming one of my favorite pastimes, yes,” you quipped. He groaned again and pressed a single kiss to the space below your ear.

“Go, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, releasing you.

You grabbed his hand, placed a chaste kiss on his palm, and walked away.

When you got to your room, you fell back on the plush bed and squealed. “Holy shit,” you said into the empty room. It took way less time to undo the evening's preparation than it did to do them, and soon you slipped under the cool sheets. You knew you’d be too wound up to sleep, but it didn’t hurt to try. Right before you closed your eyes, you pulled your phone out and sent Robby the article you had referred to earlier in the night, in the elevator.

The next morning, it was your turn to wake Samira up.

“Wha?” She mumbled.

“Good morning to you, too!” You laughed.

“Too early,” she complained.

“What, did Abbot keep you up all night?” you asked.

“Something like that. I made him come twice last night,” she said, voice smug.

“She did not need to know that,” you heard Abbot complain.

“That’s actually pretty impressive, on account of him being an old man,” you teased.

You heard him mumble something. “He said, just wait, you’ll understand,” she giggled.

Your face heated up just thinking about Robby. “The girls want to go shopping,” you told her, attempting to change the subject.

“Don’t think you are out of talking about whatever happened last night. I can be ready in fifteen,” she told you.

Later, after a nice breakfast and a pit stop at a cute coffee house, the five of you wandered around the shopping district.

“Jack told me about a lingerie shop I wanted to stop by. It’s supposedly higher-end stuff, but well worth it,” Samira said, switching her armful of bags to her other arm.

“I could use some new panties,” Mel agreed.

Trinity made a face. “Mel, you know I love you, but please just say underwear,” she said.

“Panties is not a bad word,” Mel responded, glancing at Trinity when the younger woman made another face.

“I think that sounds great, it’s been a while since I’ve splurged on myself,” Cassie interjected.

“And you need something for Robby,” Samira said, pointing the group in the right direction.

“You guys are horrible,” you said, a smile on your face. “I don't even know if anything is going to happen,” you said, trying to tamp down the excitement of the thought of Robby seeing you undressed.

“Please, we all saw that kiss last night,” Trinity said, sipping her iced coffee.

“It was a nice kiss,” Mel said kindly.

“It was a nice kiss, thank you, Mel. And it was just a kiss,” you told your friend ass you walked into the small shop.

“I’ll believe that only if the pool goes uncollected,” Samira said seriously.

“Hello ladies,” the shop attendant said, smiling. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asked.

“Yes!” Cassie said. “Our friend here needs something that will blow her man's mind. Her older man,” she emphasized.

“I see,” the woman said brightly.

“I just want something nice,” you shrugged, cheeks warm from your friend’s encouragement. “My dress is a deep wine color, if that helps,” you supplied.

“It does, I have a few sets in mind. Ladies, my associate Angela will help you while I help your friend here,” the woman said.

Thirty minutes later, you stepped out of the secluded changing room, cheeks pink as your friends whistled at you. There was no such thing as modesty with ER doctors. A jet black teddy clung to your body, with a single thin ribbon settled between your cheeks.

“Girl, if you don't buy that and send that man a picture, I’m going to do it for you,” Trinity threatened.

“You could always send him that one, but buy a different one to surprise him,” Mel suggested.

“Ooh, send him three different ones, so then it’s really a surprise,” Cassie said, sipping her coffee.

“Oh, that’s good too,” Mel agreed, nodding.

Samira held out the next set for you to try on with a smirk.

“That might give him a heart attack before I get to kiss him again,” you joked as you slipped the teddy off behind the curtain. (but not before taking a picture).

“He’s surrounded by doctors,” he’ll be fine,” Cassie said, giggling.

You stepped back out, feeling more confident as your friends cheered. You wore a sheer, white lace suit with matching thigh highs and garters attached.

“Oh, that one is beautiful,” Mel said, her cheeks matching yours.

“If that doesn’t make him lose his mind, I don't know what will,” Trinity agreed.

“One more,” Samira sang, dangling the hanger at you.

You snapped a nice picture before shimmying into the next one, a deep red slip that had lace detailing on the breasts and a slit through the delicate chiffon.

“That one is great, but it’s up to you,” Samira said.

You nodded and slipped back into the booth to snap a quick picture and change back into your clothes.

“We have enough time to get lunch before we head back to get ready,” Mel pointed out as the five of you walked out of the shop, arms even more weighed down with bags.

“Good, I’m starving,” Trinity said, groaning.

You: Attachment: three photos

You watched as the three bubbles appeared and then disappeared.

Samira laughed at her phone from across the table. “Jack said he dropped his phone,” she said.

You smiled.

Robby: What the fuck is that

You: I tried a few things on, do you not like them?

The bubbles appeared and then disappeared. Then, repeated the process.

Robby’s name flashed across your screen a few seconds later, signaling a call.

“Shit, he’s calling,” you said, standing up.

“Go! You better answer that thing,” Cassie told you with a grin.

You rushed to the bathroom and stuffed yourself in a stall before hitting the answer button.

“Hello?” you asked breathlessly.

“Sweetheart,” Robby groaned.

“Hi,” you said softly.

“Hi? That’s all I get after you show me how pretty you are all wrapped up in lace,” he asked.

You laughed, but he continued. “You wear one of those tonight, and I guarantee my hand will end up making a necklace around your throat,” he growled.

“Robby,” you gasped, a flash of heat going through you at his words.

“Babygirl, I can promise you, when I get my hands on you tonight, they aren’t leaving your body until you are begging me to stop,” he promised darkly.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered.

“Now, back to lunch. I’m going to take care of a little problem that you created. I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart,” he said before hanging up.

You cursed and let your head fall back against the stall. How did a few innocent touches end up with your attending spewing filth at you over the phone? You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You sighed and rubbed your thighs together briefly before returning to your friends.

Hours later, after going through the hair and makeup process once again, the five of you were ready. Mel had already left to find Langdon and looked beautiful in her soft pink, floor-length halter dress. Cassie had left not long after, her long black dress trailing after her.

Samira was putting the finishing touches on your makeup as Trinity quickly straightened her hair.

“I know we have been teasing,” your best friend started, brushing lipstick over your lips. “But whatever happens, or doesn’t, it’s clear to everyone that Robby cares for you,” she said, pulling back. She looked radiant in a light green mermaid dress. Jack Abbot was a lucky man.

“True,” Trinity agreed. “Even though I’m salty about not winning, you guys are obviously over the moon about each other,” she said, setting the straightener down. She stunned in a royal blue dress with a slit in the side, very similar to her dress the night before.

You checked yourself over one last time, fixing a stray hair as you looked over your wine-red gown. It had a soft neckline and a slit in the thigh.

“Should we walk down together? I think the attendings are already down there,” Samira said as she grabbed her purse off the bed.

“Absolutely, " you said, taking hold of Trinity’s hand. The younger girl smiled and rolled her eyes fondly.

Once in the ballroom, Trinity made a beeline for Yolanda, while you and Samira went to the open bar.

“Two glasses of Merlot,” you told the bartender.

“You think I might have to give Jack mouth-to-mouth when he sees the thong I bought?” your friend said, smirking into her wine glass.

“It’s in the realm of possibility,” you laughed as you searched the large room for Robby. You spotted him before he spotted you. He and Abbot were both in deep conversation with a group of donors, and you admired how animated he was. He was laughing and waving his hand in the air, clearly in the middle of a story.

You sipped your wine as you watched him, and then, as if sensing your eyes on him, he looked up. He stopped midsentence before catching himself and resuming his conversation, glancing at you occasionally as he spoke.

An older woman approached you, and you lost track of Robby as you talked. The music started, and you were pulled into a dance with a much older gentleman, whom you delighted with stories from the ER. The night went on much the same, and you kept a genuine smile on your face as you talked and danced with prospective donors. You were having fun at the hospital's expense, but securing the funding your department desperately needed was still important. You caught Robby’s eyes from across the room once more as he danced with a donor, who was obliviously chattering away at him while he stared at you. His eyes were heavy, and you could see the fire in them as he danced.

You snatched a flute of champagne from a passing tray, mouth suddenly dry.

The song ended, and you felt yourself going to him, as if drawn by a magnet.

He caught you by the hips as you fell into him.

“I’ve been watching you, sweetheart,” he murmured into your ear as the next slow song started.

“Yeah?” You asked breathily.

“I’ve been so damn hard all night, watching you be so good and talking to everyone, I’ve seen the way the others have been looking at you. Have you felt their eyes on you?” he asked as he dipped you.

You whimpered at his praise. “No, I’ve only been watching you,” you confessed like a prayer.

Robby’s mouth twitched, and he pulled you closer. “I can’t stop thinking about how wide your eyes are going to get when I finally get my hands on you,” he whispered roughly into your ear.

You moaned softly, and he squeezed your hip. “I think it’s time for us to go, don’t you think?” he asked, eyes full of desire.

You nodded your head as the music came to a stop. He grabbed your hand and practically swept you off your feet, leading the two of you to the bathrooms.

He crowded you into the empty bathroom, hands already squeezing your hips.

“What about Gloria?” you asked with a gasp.

“Fuck Gloria, Jack can handle the donors, he owes me one,” Robby said as he tangled his hand in hair. He gently pulled your neck back to attach his lips, and you groaned as he sucked a mark into the tender flesh.

“Robby, please, don’t make me wait,” you begged.

The older man moaned lowly and pressed himself against you, moaning again when his cock made contact with your hip. “I’m done waiting, sweetheart. Watching you tonight made me lightheaded, and I barely had a single sip of alcohol. Fuck,” he groaned, hand tugging at your hip, trying desperately to bring you closer.

“Please, I want to touch you,” you whined.

“Not here,” he said, pulling away. You whined at the loss of contact, and he took your smaller hand in his. “The first time I get my mouth on you is not going to be in a bathroom, no matter how nice it is,” he said, pulling your body back against him.

“Take me to bed, Dr. Robby,” you said, looking up at him.

Robby shuddered. “That has no business being that sexy,” he said, sticking his head out of the bathroom, hand never leaving yours.

“Come on, if I don't have you naked under me in the next ten minutes, I might not be able to be held responsible for what happens,” the older man said, tugging you along to the elevator.

Once safely behind the elevator doors, Robby pressed you into the wall and gently peeled away the strap of your dress, revealing the white lace that lay underneath.

“Goddamn babygirl, you’re trying to kill me,” he said, pulling your dress down further to wrap two think fingers around a nipple, causing you to cry out.

“Robby!”

He pulled back to look into the eyes. “When I have my mouth on you, or you’re in my bed, it’s Michael. Let me hear you say my name, pretty girl,” he said, pinching.

“Michael,” you groaned as he attached his mouth to your other nipple.

“That’s it, let me hear you,” he encouraged against your skin.

Just as you cried out, the elevator came to a halt, and Robby quickly covered you back up. You stepped out first and wrapped a finger around two of his thicker ones, leading him to his room. He fumbled for the key card before inserting it and shoving you inside the room, lips on yours.

“I could kiss you for hours, sweet girl,” he moaned into your mouth.

“Just kiss me?” You asked as you pulled his tie off.

“I’m going to do more than kiss you, of that I can assure you,” he said darkly as he rid himself of his jacket and undershirt.

“Turn around,” he murmured. You did as he said, and he slowly pulled the zipper down the back of the dress, his breaths coming out in harsh pants. Your dress fell to the floor, and just like that, his hands were finally on you.

He ripped the panties right off your body, and you cried out in surprise.

“Those were new,” you gasped as he pressed you against the bed.

“I’ll by you another set, shit, I’ll by you four,” he said as he attached his lips to your skin.

“You want to know why I didn’t come in when I brought you dinner?” he asked, running his hands along your body.

“Why,” You whimpered as he sucked a mark onto your breast.

“Because I knew the second I got my hands on you, I’d never want to take them off,” he said, rubbing his beard against your sensitive skin. His hand went lower, and your fingers gripped his bare shoulders as he ghosted his fingers over your core.

“I need, fuck, I need,” you whimpered as the older man ran his fingers along theoutside of your lips.

“Tell me, tell me what you need, honey. I’ll give you anything you want,” Robby cooed against your lips as he stroked your core.

“You, your fingers. Your fucking pants off,” you cried in frustration, tugging at the older man’s dress pants. He breifly pressed his thumb to your clit and you cursed as he pulled away, divesting himself of his pants, underwhere, and sock.

He crawled back onto the bed and propped himself up so he was eye level with your pussy.

“Fuck I can’t wait to taste you,” he groaned as he threw one of your egs over his shoulders. The very next second, his tongue was pressing into you. His big hands held you open as he tasted your slick.

“Michael,” you gasped, hand flying to hold onto his hair. Robby groaned into you and slid one long finger into you.

“You taste so fucking good honey, you’re doing so good for me,” he praised.

“Fuck, fuck,” you screamed, arching into his mouth.

Before you could catch your breath, he slid another finger, causing you to moan at the stretch.

“More,” you begged, pleading.

“So fucking greedy for me,” he growled as he slid a third finger inside of you. “Come on, sweetheart, just give me one and I’ll give you what you want,” Robby said into your skin. He curved his fingers just right, and you arched off the bed, mouth shaped in an O as you silently screamed.

His lips were instantly on yours, and you gasped into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his lips.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby girl, you think you’re ready for me?” he asked, teasing his tip over your entrance.

“I need it,” you panted, hair stuck to your forehead with sweat.

He leaned down and kissed you one more time before pushing in as gently as he could.

“So big,” you gasped into his shoulder.

“Shh, just breathe, baby, you can take it,” he soothed.

After what felt like forever, he bottomed out, and you gasped, walls fluttering.

“Fuck, I need-” You felt his whole body twitch. “I need just a second,” he groaned.

You whined and wiggled your hips.

“Michael, please,” you begged, tears forming at your waterline.

He cursed, and his hips reflexively twitched against yours.

“I’m not going to last if you keep doing that,” he warned.

You clenched around him, and he huffed out a laugh before pulling almost all the way out, before quickly pressing back in.

“Fuck! Please, more. Michael, I need more,” you gasped as the tears fell.

“Shh, I have you, baby, just let go and feel,” he said before setting a brutal pace.

You cried out as the tip of his cock hit that spongey spot inside you.

Robby didn’t let up, groaning when you scratched down his back.

He pulled your leg up to rest against his hip, and you screamed at the change in angle.

“I feel so full, oh my god,” you whimpered..

“You’re taking me so fucking well honey, fuck, you should see yourself. Next time I’m fucking you in front of the mirror so you can see how pretty you are when you fall apart,” Robby mumbled, almost to himself.

“Michael, I’m close,” you gasped, clutching his arms.

“I love you, fuck do I love you” he gasped, snapping his hips.

“Michael,” you said, eyes wide and full of emotion as you fell apart under him.

“Come on, sweetheart, come for me, let me feel you squeeze me,” he begged, eyes desperate.

“I’m so close,” you whimpered. Robby leaned down, pressed his lips to yours, and gently wrapped his hand around your throat, applying just the slightest pressure.

You saw white as your orgasm tore through you, and Robby groaned loudly, hips stilling as he spilled into you. The older man fell forward, landing next to you. You shivered, and he pulled you closer, arranging you so your head was on his chest. He wrapped his arm around you, and you relaxed into his embrace. You both lay there, catching your breath and basking in the afterglow.

“Did you mean it?” you asked softly, some time later,

He turned to look at you, and you grimaced at the sticky feeling between your legs.

“I did, and you don’t have to.”

“I love you, too,” you said, cutting him off with a kiss.

He melted against you and pulled you closer. “I’m so glad,” he confessed against your lips.

“Will you shower with me?” you asked, looking into his eyes.

“Of course, let’s get cleaned up, sweetheart,” he said, helping you stand, gently laughing when your legs didn’t hold you.

“I have you, honey, come on,” he said before scooping you up into his strong arms.

The next morning, as you and Robby boarded the plane, you made eye contact with Abbot and slightly nodded at him. He smirked and whispered to Samira, who stood up from her seat to loudly annouceto the plane, “Jack won the pool, suck it losers!”

Half the plane groaned while Robby simultaneously looked at you with confusion. “What pool? These fuckers bet on us?!”

#dr robby #michael robinavitch #robby robinavitch #robby robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby smut #the pitt #the pitt smut #smut #my writing

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burntoutdaydreamer · 2 years ago

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Weird Brain Hacks That Help Me Write

I'm a consistently inconsistent writer/aspiring novelist, member of the burnt-out-gifted-kid-to-adult-ADHD-diagnosis-pipeline, recently unemployed overachiever, and person who's sick of hearing the conventional neurotypical advice to dealing with writer's block (i.e. "write every single day," or "there's no such thing as writer's block- if you're struggling to write, just write" Like F*CK THAT. Thank you, Brenda, why don't you go and tell someone with diabetes to just start producing more insulin?)

I've yet to get to a point in my life where I'm able to consistently write at the pace I want to, but I've come a long way from where I was a few years ago. In the past five years I've written two drafts of a 130,000 word fantasy novel (currently working on the third) and I'm about 50,000 words in on the sequel. I've hit a bit of a snag recently, but now that I've suddenly got a lot of time on my hands, I'm hoping to revamp things and return to the basics that have gotten me to this point and I thought I might share.

1) My first draft stays between me and God

I find that I and a lot of other writers unfortunately have gotten it into our heads that first drafts are supposed to resemble the finished product and that revisions are only for fixing minor mistakes. Therefore, if our first draft sucks that must mean we suck as writers and having to rewrite things from scratch means that means our first draft is a failure.

I'm here to say that is one of the most detrimental mentalities you can have as a writer.

Ever try drawing a circle? You know how when you try to free-hand draw a perfect circle in one go, it never turns out right? Whereas if you scribble, say, ten circles on top of one another really quickly and then erase the messy lines until it looks like you drew a circle with a singular line, it ends up looking pretty decent?

Yeah. That's what the drafting process is.

Your first draft is supposed to suck. I don't care who you are, but you're never going to write a perfect first draft, especially if you're inexperienced. The purpose of the first draft is to lay down a semi-workable foundation. A really loose, messy sketch if you will. Get it all down on paper, even if it turns out to be the most cliche, cringe-inducing writing you've ever done. You can work out those kinks in the later drafts. The hardest part of the first draft is the most crucial part: getting started. Don't stress yourself out and make it even harder than it already is.

If that means making a promise to yourself that no one other than you will ever read your first draft unless it's over your cold, dead body, so be it.

2) Tell perfectionism to screw off by writing with a pen

I used to exclusively write with pencil until I realized I was spending more time erasing instead of writing.

Writing with a pen keeps me from editing while I right. Like, sometimes I'll have to cross something out or make notes in the margins, but unlike erasing and rewriting, this leaves the page looking like a disaster zone and that's a good thing.

If my writing looks like a complete mess on paper, that helps me move past the perfectionist paralysis and just focus on getting words down on the page. Somehow seeing a page full of chicken scratch makes me less worried about making my writing all perfect and pretty- and that helps me get on with my main goal of fleshing out ideas and getting words on a page.

3) It's okay to leave things blank when you can't think of the right word

My writing, especially my first draft, is often filled with ___ and .... and (insert name here) and red text that reads like stage directions because I can't think of what is supposed to go there or the correct way to write it.

I found it helps to treat my writing like I do multiple choice tests. Can't think of the right answer? Just skip it. Circle it, come back to it later, but don't let one tricky question stall you to the point where you run out of brain power or run out of time to answer the other questions.

If I'm on a role, I'm not gonna waste it by trying to remember that exact word that I need or figure out the right transition into the next scene or paragraph. I'm just going to leave it blank, mark to myself that I'll need to fix the problem later, and move on.

Trust me. This helps me sooooo much with staying on a roll.

4) Write Out of Order

This may not be for everyone, but it works wonders for me.

Sure, the story your writing may need to progress chronologically, but does that mean you need to write it chronologically? No. It just needs to be written.

I generally don't do this as much for editing, but for writing, so long as you're making progress, it doesn't matter if it's in the right order. Can't think of how to structure Chapter 2, but you have a pretty good idea of how your story's going to end? Write the ending then. You'll have to go back and write Chapter 2 eventually, but if you're feeling more motivated to write a completely different part of the book, who's to say you can't do that?

When I'm working on a project, I start off with a single document that I title "Scrap for (Project Title)" and then just write whatever comes to mind, in whatever order. Once I've gotten enough to work with, then I start outlining my plot and predicting how many chapters I'm going to need. Then, I create separate google docs for each individual chapter and work on them in whatever order I feel like, often leaving several partially complete as I jump from one to the other. Then, as each one gets finished, I copy and paste the chapter into the full manuscript document. This means that the official "draft" could have Chapters 1 and 9, but completely be missing Chapters 2-8, and that's fine. It's not like anyone will ever know once I finish it.

Sorry for the absurdly long post. Hopes this helps someone. Maybe I'll share more tricks in the future.

#writing #creative writing #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #writing tips #writing advice #writers block #novel writing #fiction writing #writer #writers of tumblr

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skiesuconn · 3 months ago

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Scream First, Flirt Later | ONE-SHOT

pairing: paige n azzi notes from author: hey! it took me a while to get satisfied with how it would go, but i'm really happy with how it turned out. i'm working on the laundry mat mix-up idea i had, but it's going to take a bit of time. i'd love if anyone sent me some prompts; i already have a few requests, but it’s okay. you can also expect chapter 3 of ''wdftl'' soon. happy reading. wc: 6k

The cold wind whipped against Azzi’s face as she stood at the entrance of the corn maze, shivering just enough to make her wish she'd put on something heavier. She tugged at her cream beige hoodie, pulling it tighter around her body, wishing she could find some warmth in the chill of the evening. Her white cream cargos swished with each step she took, and the sound of her Uggs crunching against the gravel was oddly comforting, grounding her in a moment that felt so different from the controlled routine she was used to.

Azzi tucked a curl behind her ear, feeling the weight of it against her cheek. Her hair was wild and chaotic, and she knew the moment she walked into the maze, all those untamed curls would probably draw a few too many glances. Her natural brown curls, the ones she tried to tame and hide under beanies and hats, always seemed to have a life of their own, and she hated the way they looked like they were trying to rebel. But tonight, they stayed out. Tonight, she’d let them roam free, just like her mind.

Madeline was bouncing around in her thick scarf, giggling with Rory, who was adjusting her glasses for the third time. Azzi caught the end of their conversation, the sound of their laughter mixing with the cold air.

“You’re going to love it,” Madeline said, grinning at Azzi, her oversized glasses slipping down her nose. “A night away from all your studying? You deserve this.”

“I think you both have more confidence in me than I do,” Azzi said with a dry smile, shaking her head. “But fine, I'll give it a try. This whole thing does seem kind of fun.”

Rory nodded solemnly, her plaid coat swaying as she adjusted her scarf. “Trust me, we need this. A bit of chaos to shake things up. You know, like real life.”

Azzi laughed softly, but her eyes scanned the maze again. The event organizers were there, wearing creepy costumes to set the spooky vibe for the maze, and they were handing out pamphlets to each group. One of the organizers, dressed like a grim reaper, waved them over, the cold moonlight reflecting off his white, skeletal face.

“Welcome to the maze!” he said in a voice too deep and ominous for Azzi’s liking. “You will find clues along the way, some hidden, some very much in plain sight. Beware of the monsters though—they’re tricky. Oh, and we’ve had a few… surprises before. Stay alert.”

Azzi’s stomach tightened. For a moment, she considered turning back to the warmth of Madeline's apartment. But she didn’t.

“Okay, okay, we got it,” Madeline chirped, her eyes sparkling. “We’re going to find those clues, I’m telling you. Come on, Azzi, let’s go! I think there’s a clue to the left.”

Azzi nodded and gave Madeline a small smile, walking with them into the maze. The three of them wandered through the twisting pathways, their voices mixing with the rustling of the dry corn stalks. Azzi’s eyes flitted over the terrain, but she couldn’t seem to relax. This wasn’t her world, not really. She liked control. She liked order. She liked knowing what came next.

But something about the maze, with its towering corn and winding paths, made her feel like she was on the edge of something… new. And that thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Eventually, Madeline and Rory disappeared around a corner, leaving Azzi standing in the soft, shifting light. The wind tugged at her beanie, and she brushed her curls behind her ear again, but her mind was elsewhere—distracted by the eerie quiet. Then, she saw it: the scarecrow, standing tall in a patch of moonlight.

The scarecrow’s presence made her heart skip a beat. It was too lifelike, its eyes too real in a way that felt unnatural. She took a few steps forward, curious, but her feet were hesitant, as though something was urging her to keep away. The paper stuck to its chest seemed like an invitation—and her mind, always overthinking, couldn’t help but reach for it.

Her fingers brushed against the edge of the paper, and that’s when the scarecrow moved.

Azzi gasped, stumbling backward, the wind picking up as the scarecrow jerked, its head snapping toward her in a way that felt far too human.

But before she could react, something strong and solid gripped her waist. The warmth of the body that pulled her back against it sent a jolt through Azzi’s chest.

“Whoa, hey, I’ve got you.” The voice was low and teasing, and Azzi immediately felt the strength of the arms around her. She was pulled against the chest of someone tall and broad, and for a second, she just froze.

When she looked up, her heart did an uncomfortable flip.

The woman grinning down at her was tall—so much taller than Azzi—and she carried herself with an athletic confidence that was hard to ignore. Paige’s blue eyes twinkled in the dim light, her lips curved in a cocky grin. She was wearing a tight flannel shirt, rolled-up sleeves revealing toned forearms. Her arms, muscular and strong, held Azzi steady, and it took everything in Azzi not to notice how solid her body felt.

"Got a little scared there?" Paige teased, her smirk only widening. She let go of Azzi slowly, just enough for Azzi to regain her balance but not enough to feel like she had any space.

Azzi blinked, disoriented, her pulse quickening. "I… I wasn’t expecting that." Her voice came out shakier than she'd intended.

Paige chuckled, giving her a half-shrug. “Yeah, that’s kind of the point of a scarecrow, right? Thought I might as well do a little bit of scaring.”

Azzi stared at her a second longer than she should have, her mind scrambling for a response. Her gaze flickered over Paige’s strong arms, the way her muscles shifted beneath the flannel, the faint hint of a tattoo peeking from under her sleeve. Confidence radiated from her in waves.

Paige tilted her head, as if she could read Azzi’s thoughts. “You alright?” she asked, her voice softening just a touch.

Azzi blinked, momentarily lost in the way Paige looked at her. “Yeah,” she stammered, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Just... startled. That’s all.”

Paige chuckled, but this time, it was quieter, more self-aware. “You should’ve seen the look on your face. I’ve scared people before, but you—" She waggled her eyebrows. "You really got me thinking I went too far.”

Azzi’s heart skipped. “I’m sure you have some wild stories,” she said, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” Paige grinned, leaning in just a little. “Like the time I made this guy scream so loud, he dropped his entire drink.” She lowered her voice dramatically. “Not my fault he didn’t see the creepy skeleton behind him.”

Azzi snorted despite herself, the tension in her shoulders easing. “I’m sure you’re so proud.”

“Hey,” Paige raised an eyebrow, “I’m a professional. It’s a gift.”

They stood there a beat longer, the maze spinning around them, but Azzi couldn’t help noticing how alive Paige seemed. It was like she didn’t care what anyone thought—she was just here, and she was going to have fun. Azzi wasn’t sure what that did to her chest, but the pull was undeniable.

“So, what happens now?” Azzi asked, suddenly more aware of how tightly she was clutching her paper.

Paige smirked. “Well, for starters, you don’t need that paper anymore. Trust me,” she said, her grin widening. “I can show you the way out.”

Azzi hesitated, her fingers still tight around the paper before she finally let it drop.

The cold air bit at Azzi’s cheeks, but she barely noticed, still replaying the way Paige had smirked at her like she had all the answers to the universe. They walked toward the exit, the dim lighting of the maze casting long shadows that flickered with their movement. The warmth of Paige’s presence next to her made Azzi forget the chill in the air. Or maybe it was the way Paige carried herself—like she wasn’t just walking, but sauntering. Confident. Azzi couldn’t help but steal glances at her.

Paige was talking, her voice playful. “You should’ve seen this guy. Six foot five? Built like a linebacker. I pop out from behind the corn, full scarecrow stance—arms stiff like this.” She demonstrated, making Azzi giggle. “I let out this awful groan, like—” Paige dropped into a deep, eerie growl that made Azzi jump, before she burst into laughter. “Dude screams. Not just a little yelp, like he’s in a horror movie. Drops his phone, turns around, and just bolts. Leaves his girlfriend behind.”

Azzi gasped, covering her mouth. “No way. What did she do?”

“She straight-up dumped him on the spot.” Paige’s grin turned wicked. “Told him if he couldn’t handle a haunted corn maze, he couldn’t handle her.”

Azzi shook her head, grinning. “I mean… valid.”

Paige chuckled. “Then there was this guy who tried to fight me. Swung his arms like he was battling a demon. Had to break character and go, ‘Dude, I work here.’”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “Wait, do you ever feel bad scaring people like that?”

Paige tilted her head as though pondering the question. “Nah. That’s what they’re here for. The only people I don’t scare are kids. I love those little guys.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You? A six-foot-tall menace in flannel? You like kids?”

Paige smirked. “What? You don’t think I look like a ‘likes kids’ type?”

“Not even a little bit,” Azzi admitted, watching Paige carefully. “I figured you’d say you scare them for fun.”

Paige placed a dramatic hand over her heart. “You wound me, woman.”

Azzi ignored the flutter in her chest. “So what do you do instead?”

Paige shrugged, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Make sure they’re having fun. High-fives for the ones who make it through. If they’re scared, I just wave 'em past.”

Azzi didn’t mean to stare, but it was... kind of adorable. A tall, cocky scare actor with a soft spot for kids? That contrast was unexpectedly endearing. Paige caught her looking and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Azzi said too quickly, biting back a smile. “It’s just... cute.”

“Oh, so now I’m cute?” Paige shot back, leaning in just enough to make Azzi’s breath hitch. “Wasn’t so cute when you were clinging to me like I was your last hope for survival, huh?”

Azzi shoved her lightly, heart racing. “Shut up.”

They reached the exit, and Paige slowed her steps. “Alright, here’s the deal. I need to change out of this.” She gestured to the scarecrow getup. “If I walk around like this, someone’s gonna rat me out. And I’m probably not supposed to be escorting guests through the maze.”

Azzi smirked, her dark eyes glinting with playful amusement. “You think?”

Paige grinned, completely at ease. “I need about five minutes. Meet me by the coffee van?”

Azzi nodded, a faint smirk still lingering. “Five minutes.”

Paige jogged off toward a small booth near the staff area, peeling off the scarecrow jacket as she went. The jacket dragged behind her, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t trying to look cool—she was just trying to get out of the costume. All she could think about was the way Azzi’s smile made her chest feel tight, a kind of tightness that made her wonder just how long this connection was going to haunt her.

She changed quickly, swapping the scarecrow outfit for something that felt more... her. Ocean-blue jeans that fit perfectly, hugging her thighs and tapering down to her ankles. A dark coat with deep pockets, filled with everything she needed—snacks, her phone, maybe even a rogue basketball for later. The beanie she grabbed from a random table completed the look. Paige didn’t care that it was messy. It only added to her charm.

She glanced at her reflection in a car window before heading back outside. Not bad. Maybe even... kind of good?

Azzi was right where she said she’d be, standing by the coffee van, hands tucked into the sleeves of her oversized hoodie. She looked effortlessly warm despite the cold, as if she hadn’t just spent hours in a scarecrow costume herself. Paige felt that familiar tug in her chest again. Maybe it was just the night air... Or maybe it was something more.

Azzi looked up as Paige approached, her lips curving into a small, teasing smile. “Took you long enough.”

Paige’s eyebrows shot up in mock offense. “Excuse me?” she said, giving Azzi an exaggerated look of offense. “Had to make sure I wasn’t smelling like hay.”

Azzi wrinkled her nose, the slightest hint of amusement dancing across her features. “Good call. I’m not into hay, personally.”

Paige smirked and closed the gap between them, unable to resist teasing Azzi further. “By the way,” she said casually, “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

Azzi blinked, her smile faltering for a split second. “Oh. It’s Azzi.”

Paige furrowed her brows. “Wait, spell that for me.”

Azzi’s lips curled into a quiet laugh. “A-Z-Z-I.”

Paige squinted dramatically, like she was deciphering a hidden code. “Damn, that’s tricky. Sounds like an old head name.”

Azzi gasped in mock offense, her hand flying to her chest. “Excuse me?”

Paige just shrugged, a grin tugging at her lips. “I’m just saying. That’s an old-school name. Bet you were out here settling the frontier or something.”

Azzi nudged her playfully, but the smile on her face didn’t quite reach her eyes. Paige staggered a little in the cold. “Shut up. You just can’t spell.”

“Listen,” Paige said, laughing, “that might also be true, but I still think you’re an old head.”

Azzi threw her hands up, trying not to laugh. “Bet. I’m officially washed. You figured me out.”

The exchange left Paige with a grin she couldn’t shake. She wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something so easy about being around Azzi. Something so natural. Even the way she laughed felt comfortable, like a sound Paige could get used to hearing every day.

The warm steam from their mugs curled around them, mingling with the crisp night air. The scent of autumn—damp leaves, the earthiness of the season, and a trace of pumpkin spice—lingered, settling in the spaces between them. They stood near a lamppost, its soft glow illuminating their faces, casting a quiet, intimate light over them. Paige caught Azzi’s gaze and held it just a moment longer than necessary, her heartbeat quickening. Azzi’s deep, doe-like brown eyes were magnetic, and there was something in the way they looked at her that made Paige feel like she was falling into something more than she’d bargained for—something too easy to lose herself in.

Azzi broke the silence first, her voice warm with a quiet amusement. “Okay, that was actually perfect. I’m not usually a hot chocolate person, but this... this was surprisingly good.”

Paige raised her mug, her fingers curling around the warmth of it. “Told you,” she said, her voice low but confident. “I’m practically a hot chocolate connoisseur. It’s one of my hidden talents.”

Azzi smirked, clearly amused. “Hidden talents? You’re telling me you’re also a hot chocolate expert?”

Paige let out a soft laugh, a flicker of mischief dancing across her features. “Oh, absolutely,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of seriousness that made Azzi’s lips twitch into a smile. “I take it very seriously. Ready to be impressed?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but intrigued. “I’m not so sure. You’ve got a lot to prove.”

The air between them shifted, just slightly, as their easy banter deepened into something more. The playful teasing hung in the space between them, but the undercurrent of something unspoken—the quiet tug in their chest—was undeniable. Paige took another sip, her eyes briefly meeting Azzi’s, her chest tightening in that familiar way. They didn’t need to speak for the moment to stretch just a little longer than expected.

Then, just as the atmosphere grew heavier, a voice from the coffee van cut through the tension, a touch too casual, like something from a romcom.

The barista, a scruffy guy with a beanie perched too confidently on his head, leaned out of the window, scanning them both with an amused grin. “So,” he said, his voice dripping with teasing curiosity. “Are you two, like... a couple or something?”

Paige choked on her drink, sputtering out a laugh as she quickly wiped her mouth. “What? No,” she said, a little too quickly, her voice stumbling over the words. “We’re just... two people with a mutual appreciation for hot chocolate.”

Azzi glanced at her, the flush creeping up her neck. Her voice was quieter, almost to herself, as she mumbled, “Yeah, definitely not a couple.”

The barista raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but gave them an exaggerated wink. “Sure, sure. I’ll leave you two... lovebirds to it.”

Azzi’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and Paige couldn’t hold back her smile any longer, the teasing edge of it laced with something else—something a little softer. “Guess we’re a couple now?” she said, her voice low, amused but carrying that thread of warmth she couldn’t quite ignore.

Azzi smacked her lightly, her face still flushed with a mix of embarrassment and something else. “Shut up,” she muttered, but the smile tugging at the corners of her lips was telling. She hid behind her mug, still not quite able to cover up the warmth that had taken over her expression. “You’re impossible.”

Paige smiled softly, watching Azzi with a fondness that caught her off guard. There was something undeniably endearing about her—the way she tried to hide the softness in her laugh, the way she lit up over something as simple as a hot chocolate. It was the kind of sweetness that felt rare, and Paige found herself drawn to it more than she cared to admit.

A couple? Paige wasn’t sure about that. But whatever this was between them, it was something that had been quietly occupying her thoughts lately. --

Paige stood, extending her hand with a playful, dramatic flourish. “Let’s go. I’ll show you how it’s really done.”

Azzi hesitated for a beat before standing and following Paige toward the small pumpkin patch set up nearby. The distant crackling of a fire pit added an intimate warmth to the cool night air.

They settled onto a bench, pumpkins scattered between them. Paige handed Azzi a carving knife, her grin a mixture of confidence and something else—something a little more flirtatious.

“I’ll warn you now,” Paige said, settling beside Azzi with a casual ease. “I’m basically a professional at this.”

Azzi chuckled, her voice laced with teasing doubt. “Oh really? I’m sure you are.”

Paige’s hands moved with practiced precision, the knife cutting through the pumpkin effortlessly. Azzi tried to follow her lead, but her grip felt awkward, the knife hesitant. It wasn’t going as smoothly as she’d hoped.

“I swear, I’m the worst at this,” Azzi muttered, frowning as she worked at the pumpkin’s face.

Paige leaned closer, her breath warm against Azzi’s ear. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

The proximity was startling, and Azzi’s pulse picked up when she felt the heat of Paige’s body just behind her. Paige’s hand brushed against hers as she took the knife, the touch brief but electric. Azzi swallowed, her focus momentarily faltering as the space between them seemed to shrink.

Paige’s body leaned in closer, their sides brushing as Paige’s steady hand guided the knife with a practiced ease. Azzi’s breath caught as the warmth of Paige’s body pressed against her back, the sensation far too intimate for a pumpkin carving session.

For a split second, everything around them seemed to fade. The sounds of the night, the crackling fire, even the cold air, all became distant. All Azzi could focus on was the pressure of Paige’s body behind hers, the way her breath seemed to slow and draw in sync with Paige’s.

Azzi’s hand slipped, brushing the inside of Paige’s thigh, and she froze. A wave of warmth rushed to her face as she quickly pulled back, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry.”

Paige’s response was soft, almost amused. “It’s fine, Azzi. You don’t need to apologize.”

Azzi’s cheeks darkened. “I wasn’t—ugh, I didn’t mean to—”

Paige smirked, her voice smooth and teasing. “Accidental hand placement is an art form, really.”

Azzi let out a nervous laugh, but her heartbeat was still racing. She tried to focus on the pumpkin, but it was impossible to ignore how close Paige was—how her warmth lingered just behind her, settling into Azzi’s bones.

Paige’s voice shifted, lowering, taking on an almost intimate quality. “Alright, let’s fix this,” she said, taking the knife from Azzi’s hand. “You’ve got to trust the knife,” she added with a wink, her breath warm against Azzi’s ear. “And trust me.”

Azzi leaned back slightly, doing her best to ignore the heat from Paige’s body radiating into hers. But the subtle brush of Paige’s breath against the back of her neck had her pulse surging again. She could hear the steady rhythm of Paige’s breathing, close and intimate, sending shivers through her spine.

“See?” Paige finally pulled back, holding up the pumpkin with a proud grin. “The secret to pumpkin carving? You’ve got to let go and have a little fun with it.”

Azzi blinked, staring at the finished carving. “That’s… actually impressive.” She couldn’t help but smirk. “I might start calling you the pumpkin whisperer.”

Paige took a dramatic bow before plopping the pumpkin on her head like a crown. “Behold, the Pumpkin Queen,” she declared with exaggerated grandeur, striking a playful pose.

Azzi snorted, unable to stifle her laughter. “Oh my God, what are you doing?”

Paige shot her a cheeky grin. “Starting a trend. You’ll thank me later. I’m basically setting fashion history.”

Azzi doubled over, clutching her stomach as laughter bubbled up uncontrollably. “You’re ridiculous,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “But also? I can’t stop laughing.”

Paige removed the pumpkin and gave it a playful spin in her hands. “You’re welcome. It’s all part of my charm.”

Azzi wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “Honestly? You just made this night a hundred times better.”

Paige’s playful smirk softened into something more genuine, her eyes meeting Azzi’s with a quiet intensity. “That’s the goal.” --

They stepped out of the maze together, the city lights flickering in the distance, mingling with the faint hum of passing cars. The cold air nipped at Azzi’s cheeks, but the warmth in her chest lingered. Maybe it was from laughing too hard, or maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with the girl beside her.

Paige stretched her arms behind her head, tilting her face up toward the sky. “You know, I really outdid myself this year,” she mused, flashing Azzi a sideways smirk. “Scared a solid ten people into screaming. Three ran. One even tripped and fell into the corn.”

Azzi scoffed, but a smile tugged at her lips. “And you’re proud of that?”

Paige chuckled, nodding. “Oh, absolutely.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly between them as they walked through the city, neon lights reflecting in the puddles on the pavement. Azzi found herself completely caught up in Paige’s stories—each one more outrageous than the last. There was a warmth to Paige’s voice, a way she animated her words, her hands cutting through the air with each ridiculous tale. Azzi barely noticed when their shoulders brushed or when Paige’s fingers accidentally skimmed the back of her hand.

Azzi caught herself when Paige leaned in a little too close, her voice dropping into a low, teasing whisper as she continued her story. “And then, this one dude, biggest guy I’ve ever seen, looked me dead in the eyes and—”

Azzi’s breath hitched when Paige’s hand brushed lightly over her arm. It was a brief touch, but it sent a jolt through her chest, a weird mix of electricity and something else she couldn’t quite place. Paige had a way of taking up space—of just being there—that made Azzi suddenly hyper-aware of every little movement, every brush of skin, as if something was shifting between them that neither of them had planned for.

By the time they reached Azzi’s apartment, the night was winding down, but there was an energy between them that still buzzed. The soft glow from the porch light cast a warm halo around them, and Azzi found herself lingering in the doorway, wishing she could keep this feeling going just a little longer.

“That was... fun,” Azzi said, shifting on her feet, suddenly unsure of herself. She gave a soft laugh. “Not what I expected, but in a good way.”

Paige tilted her head, studying her with that grin of hers, half-smirk and half something else—something softer. “Yeah? Glad I could keep you entertained.”

Azzi’s fingers nervously tugged at the hem of her hoodie, her heart racing in her chest. She glanced up at Paige briefly, then quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing. “And… thanks. For walking me home. You didn’t have to.”

Paige’s lips curved into a soft, teasing smile, her eyes still glimmering with amusement. “You insisted,” she teased, her voice warm and low. “Said you wanted to get here safely.”

Azzi’s shy smile tugged at her lips, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of her hoodie, fingers twisting the material as her stomach fluttered with nervous excitement. “I did.”

Paige took a deliberate step closer, closing the distance between them, her presence overwhelming. Azzi’s breath hitched as she felt the magnetic pull of Paige’s nearness. Her body responded instinctively, drawn in by the heat radiating from Paige. The warmth of Paige’s breath caressed Azzi’s skin, and the air between them became charged, thick with unspoken desire.

"So," Paige’s voice was low, husky, with an undercurrent of something more intense. “If I asked if I could kiss you right now, what would you say?”

Azzi’s breath caught in her throat, the question settling into her chest like a weight, both thrilling and terrifying. Her eyes flicked between Paige’s lips and her eyes, the unspoken emotions swirling between them. Without thinking, she closed the gap, her body instinctively gravitating toward Paige. The world around them faded into the background as Azzi’s heart pounded, the pulse of it syncing with the rapid rhythm of her breaths.

Paige didn’t hesitate. She leaned in, and when their lips met, it was like everything snapped into place.

The kiss wasn’t tentative. It was fierce, hungry, as if they had both been waiting for this moment far too long. Azzi’s hands flew to the thick lapels of Paige’s coat, pulling her closer, desperate to feel more of her. The coat slipped off Paige’s shoulders, discarded carelessly onto the floor as the kiss deepened. Paige’s strong hands moved over Azzi’s body, every touch sending a wave of heat crashing through her.

Azzi’s chest pressed against Paige’s as she felt her hands trail down, exploring the curves of her waist and hips. Her breath became shallow as Paige’s hands cupped her ass, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. Azzi gasped, her body weightless in Paige’s hold, the sensation of being held like that sending a jolt of electricity through her. She instinctively wrapped her legs around Paige’s waist, clinging to her as they moved. Every inch of Paige’s body felt solid, strong, and warm beneath her hands.

The heat between them was unbearable, each moment pulling them closer to the edge. Azzi’s hands roamed over Paige’s chest, her fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt, unable to steady herself as her body reacted to every touch.

They stumbled forward, the pressure of their bodies pressing against one another as Paige backed them toward the apartment. Azzi could feel the metal railing near the stairs, but before Paige could react, her back collided with it. The impact made Azzi burst into laughter, breathless and giddy, the tension momentarily breaking as they stood there, still tangled in each other.

Azzi’s eyes sparkled with amusement, her voice breathy with laughter. “Oh my God, you’re a mess,” she teased, her hands resting on Paige’s chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt.

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Shut up,” she murmured, leaning in again, this time kissing Azzi harder, more urgently. Azzi’s body responded immediately, her chest pressing into Paige’s, her hands sliding down to grasp the waistband of Paige’s jeans.

Azzi’s fingers brushed over the fabric, teasing the edges, and Paige groaned against her lips, her hands pulling Azzi closer, almost desperately. Azzi’s body hummed with anticipation, her chest heaving as she pressed herself into Paige, every touch sending waves of electricity through her.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Azzi pulled away, eyes catching something in Paige’s hair. She reached up, fingers gently grazing through the soft strands, her lips curving into a playful smile when she noticed the small piece of pumpkin still tangled in Paige’s hair from earlier.

Azzi’s laugh bubbled up, warm and teasing. “You’ve got a little something,” she murmured, her fingers delicately brushing the pumpkin out of Paige’s hair.

Paige blinked, looking confused for a moment before realizing what Azzi meant. A sheepish grin spread across her face. “Seriously?” she muttered, shaking her head, though there was something endearing about the way she was still so caught up in the moment. “Guess that’s what happens when you carve pumpkins and kiss me all in one day.”

Azzi giggled, the sound light and carefree, before her hands slid up Paige’s chest once again, teasing and lingering. “Guess so,” she said, voice heavy with desire. Her lips met Paige’s once more, but this kiss was deeper, more frantic. Azzi was overwhelmed, every inch of her burning with need as she pulled Paige closer, not caring about anything else.

The heat between them intensified, their kisses becoming more desperate as they fumbled for the apartment door. Azzi’s fingers trembled as she reached for her keys, every inch of her skin hyperaware of the closeness, the desire surging through her. She managed to unlock the door, but Paige’s hands gripped her waist, pulling her back into another kiss before she could step inside. The intensity of it made Azzi dizzy, but she wanted it. Needed it.

Azzi pulled away just enough to breathe, her hands still gripping Paige’s shirt. “Wait,” she gasped, voice thick with lust. She quickly kicked the door shut with her foot, closing off the world outside as she pressed herself into Paige’s embrace.

Paige smirked, hands sliding down to Azzi’s hips, keeping her close. “Good,” she murmured, her lips brushing against Azzi’s neck, the heat of her breath sending Azzi’s body into overdrive. “Because I’m not done with you either.”

Azzi laughed softly between gasps, her fingers tangling in Paige’s hair as she pulled her closer, unable to get enough. “You’re insane, you know that?”

Paige just shrugged, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Maybe,” she said, voice thick with desire. “But you love it.” --

Paige’s lips were on Azzi’s again, breathless and desperate, but then she pulled back just slightly, her forehead resting against Azzi’s. They both stood there, bodies tangled, hearts racing in sync, as if they were suspended in time. Azzi’s hands were still tangled in Paige’s hair, the pulse of their kiss still echoing through her chest.

Azzi breathed out a shaky laugh, her lips curving into a smile despite the heat that still burned between them. “You’re right,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, “you really are insane.”

Paige smirked, her hands still at Azzi’s hips, holding her close but with a gentler touch now. “And you love every second of it,” she teased, her voice low and assured.

Azzi didn’t respond immediately, just looked at Paige with that same intensity in her eyes, a little smile tugging at her lips. She wasn’t sure how they had gotten here, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

She closed the gap between them again, but this time, the kiss was softer, quieter, as if they were savoring the moment rather than rushing forward. Paige’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her in tighter, and Azzi melted into her, allowing herself to feel the heat, the connection, the undeniable pull that had been there all along.

As they paused for a moment, their breaths mingling, Azzi’s fingers gently trailed down Paige’s arm, lightly grazing over the surface of her skin. Her gaze dropped to Paige’s hand, and she slowly reached out, her fingers brushing over the cool metal of the ring Paige wore.

She played with it absentmindedly, twisting it gently around Paige’s finger, her touch soft and playful. Paige's breath hitched slightly at the feeling of Azzi’s delicate fingers against her skin, but she didn’t move, letting Azzi explore at her own pace.

Azzi’s fingers brushed lightly over the back of Paige’s hand, a teasing smile playing on her lips as she flicked her eyes up to meet Paige’s. “You know,” she started, voice low and laced with mischief, “this ring’s kind of cute. But I think it might be getting in the way.” She let her fingers trail over Paige's hand, giving the ring another little twist, before her touch wandered down to her wrist, brushing the fabric of her sleeve.

Her voice dropped into a whisper, playful and suggestive, “Maybe we should just take this off too...” Azzi’s gaze flickered briefly to Paige’s lips, a slow, teasing grin spreading across her face.

Paige froze for just a second, her mind racing at Azzi’s words, before her hands moved instinctively, squeezing Azzi’s ass, pulling her closer into the kiss as if on cue. The move was bold, firm, but undeniably tender—sending a rush of heat through both of them. Paige’s thumb brushed the curve of Azzi’s cheek, moving a loose curl out of her face as if it was the most delicate thing in the world. Her touch was soft and intentional, the care in her fingers making Azzi’s heart race.

Azzi melted into the touch, her body practically vibrating with need, her breath hitching as she felt Paige’s hands on her, so strong yet gentle. The brief moment of tenderness only made the tension between them even more electric. The weight of Paige’s hands on her ass, pressing her into her warmth, sent a jolt of heat through her. She was sure Paige could feel her pulse beneath her fingers, racing as fast as her heart.

They pulled back for a second, breathing heavily, but the room around them felt like it was closing in, the air thick with the anticipation of what would come next.

Azzi’s voice was low, teasing, but with an edge of uncertainty. “I think we’ve both got some things we’re ready to take off…” Her fingers brushed the hem of Paige’s shirt, almost daring her to do the same, to take the next step.

Paige’s grin widened, but there was something wild in her eyes now—something they hadn’t let themselves get lost in before. “I like the way you think,” she murmured, her lips brushing Azzi’s once more, more urgent this time, more needy.

Azzi tried to guide them deeper throughout the apartment, but in the haze of desire, her hand fumbled for the door handle. She found it, but before she could open it, Paige held her back, her grip tightening on Azzi’s waist, pulling her into another kiss.

Azzi sighed into the kiss, half-laughing against Paige’s lips. “Seriously, we’re gonna get lost in here again,” she muttered, a teasing note to her voice.

Paige paused, her lips still hovering just above Azzi’s. She shushed her softly with a mischievous smirk. “Just stop talking for a while,” Paige whispered, her voice husky.

Azzi blinked, her heart pounding as she processed the command. She didn’t know what to make of it, but the intensity of Paige’s touch and the fire in her eyes left no room for hesitation. Azzi simply nodded, surrendering to the pull between them.

Paige brushed the curls away from Azzi’s face, her touch gentle but deliberate, as if the act itself was an intimate declaration. Her hands lingered for a moment, tracing the soft curve of Azzi’s cheek. With her thumb, Paige delicately tucked the stray locks of hair behind Azzi’s ear, the motion so tender, so careful, that it sent a shiver down Azzi’s spine.

Azzi’s breath hitched as she felt the warmth of Paige’s touch, but her lips parted in a soft smile, still burning with desire, and with a voice barely above a whisper, she murmured, “I think... we’re both ready for more, right?”

Paige’s grin widened, but there was a dark, teasing edge to it. She leaned in close again, pressing her body against Azzi’s, the heat between them radiating. “You’re damn right,” she murmured, lips brushing over Azzi’s ear. “But this time, I’m not letting you get lost again.”

Azzi's hands slipped down, her fingers brushing over the waistband of Paige’s jeans, her eyes gleaming with mischief. But just as Paige’s hand moved to grip her waist, ready to push them both forward, Azzi’s voice dropped again, low and dangerous, “Unless... you’re ready for me to take control.”

The air between them thickened, electric and charged, and just as Paige went to respond, everything froze. The sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway, and Azzi’s eyes flicked to the door.

The moment was broken.

#wbb #wbb fic #paige bueckers uconn #uconn wbb #paige bueckers #uconn huskies #pazzi #azzi fudd #ncaa wbb #paige x azzi #pazzi fics #paige and azzi #uconn women’s basketball #uconn #uconn wcbb #pazzi fic #fiction #fanfics

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unequivocallyreid · 1 year ago

Text

Do You Get It Yet?

hi guys!! this is one day late, but i literally fell asleep trying to proof read last night, so… you win some you lose some.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: Spencer Reid is your professor and you really, really need help. If only he wasn’t so distracting.

warnings: smut, little bit of fluff, professor/student relationship, unprotected sex w/ talk of contraceptives, age gap (both parties of age), breeding kink, choking, and some light degradation

this is a fun one guys! let me know what you think!

You swear you aren’t stupid. Really, honestly you aren’t. You’ve done well in school your whole life, not always outstanding, but you’ve always done well.

Right now however, you feel completely dumb. You’re in you third year of university, and up to this point, you’ve done good. Your classes are challenging but rewarding, and you have a wonderful group of people in your life. You have a cat and an apartment to yourself. You have wonderful friends, Lena and Eden, who’ve been with you since your freshman year and who you loved like sisters. Everything in your life was going right, except for your stupid, stupid criminal psychology class.

You should love it. You’ve taken classes like it before and they really weren’t a problem for you, but for whatever reason, you can’t wrap your head around the subject matter at all. Everything you learn seems to morph together and you can’t get it to sort itself out. Your teacher, Dr. Reid, is incredible. He is a genuine genius, member of the BAU (your dream job), and to top it off, he is incredibly attractive. Not just to you either! Half the class is auditing, which probably contributes to your troubles. It’s hard to focus when everyone around you is constantly whispering about how fucking hot the teacher is.

You try to avoid it. You sit at the front of the room, not the first row, but still front and center. Even so, right behind you are two or three girls who will not stop talking about him. Sure, they’re saying what you’re thinking, but good god does it get annoying. You’ve tried pointed looks, a few aggressive hair flips and humphs, and even a few well timed shushings, but they will not let up. You’d move seats but the class is full and everyone has seemed to have already found a place.

So, really, your lack of understanding was not only on you. Dr. Reid us distractingly hot, the girls behind you will not shut up, and the subject matter is just plain tricky. All of this leads you to spend a big chunk of your free time in your professors office hours, which always seem to be full.

You get it. Girls, and some boys, show up looking their best and asking all sorts of questions, and honestly if you were in a different position you’d probably do the same thing. But, you aren’t, and you really need help. You go to his room completely disheveled with a notebook full of questions that for the most part stayed unanswered. You’re lucky to get five minutes of his undivided attention. Again, you get it, those minutes are the highlights of you week, but, your grade is starting to slip.

Finally, it gets to be too much, and you find yourself spending nearly the whole class building up the courage to ask to speak with him privately. Right when he concludes his lecture you spring up out of your seat and go straight to him, surely annoying some of your other classmates.

“Dr. Reid?”

He looks up from his desk, “Hi! Ms.?”

“Y/n. Or Y/l/n, I guess. I was hoping to talk to you privately if you had time?”

“Oh! Um, sure, of course. Let me just wrap up here. You can wait in the seats.”

This has already gone better than you thought it would. Half of you expected the only thing that would come out of your mouth would be gibberish.

“Thank you so much.”

You hurry off to take a seat and wait, and wait, and wait. Around five other people stay around to try and speak with him, and while you catch him anxiously glancing over at you, each conversation still seems to stretch on and on. Finally, after close to 15 minutes, the final student leaves and it’s just you and Dr. Reid left in the room.

He looks over at you and motions for you to join him at his desk, “I’m so sorry that took so long. People tend to have a lot of questions after my lectures.”

You take a seat in front of him, “It’s no worries. That was actually part of what I wanted to speak to you about.”

You pause, wondering how you should word what you want to say. He looks at you, waiting for you to go on, but he doesn’t seem impatient.

“I’ve come to all your office hours, and it helps, I’m just still struggling and I, uh, I just feel like it’s not enough time to get my questions answered, I guess?”

You’re looking at anything but him at this point, “I’m sorry I’m just kinda out of my element. I love this subject and normally it clicks for me, but it’s just won’t. I have a notebook full of questions and I’m worried I won’t be able to figure anything out. Sorry, I think I’m just rambling at this point.”

“No, don’t apologize, I understand. This class is challenging, and a lot of the subject matter is hard to research.”

He stops to laugh, “My office hours do tend to be pretty full. I’m, well to be honest I’m not sure why. A lot of the questions people have tend to be things I explained in my lectures.”

Without thinking, you cut him off, “I think people just want to be around you.”

He looks surprised at your words, and you are as well. You didn’t mean to say that at all.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry. It’s just with a teacher that looks like you, god, no. I mean with a teacher like you-“

Your cheeks grow hotter by the second, “You know what, I think I can figure this out on my own! I’m sorry for-“

He stops you before you can finish, “Y/n, I’ve taught this class before. Half the people are auditing. I’ve gathered what that means.”

He cracks a smile at that and you feel your heart flutter.

“I meant I’m not sure why people would waste their time trying to, uh, impress me at office hours. They’re meant for students like you.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

“Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can do on that front. My hours are open to anyone.”

Your shoulders deflate a bit at that, worrying you’ve wasted your time and his for nothing. He doesn’t let you stay like that for long though.

“I want to help you though. Truly. I know reaching out for help is hard and I’m glad you did.”

You look up at him then, “I can set aside some time for you once a week if you’re comfortable? We can review everything you’re not sure on until you’re up to speed.”

You were not expecting that. You thought he’d look over your questions and give you some articles and journals to review at best.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“You aren’t. I’m offering, Y/n.”

“Then I think yes, I’d like that a lot.”

“Great! Email me some times that work for you and we’ll get started.”

This is all, admittedly, a bit above your pay grade.

Despite your best efforts, you are not a chill girl. You’re not very cool. There’s nothing wrong with that usually! You’re shy, but still manage to talk people’s ear off. It’s normally a non-issue: that’s just how you are. Today however, you are meeting with Dr. Reid and you are so not chill about it.

You had his class yesterday, and while you feel better knowing you’ll finally have help, you couldn’t focus on anything but today, so you retained nothing. All you can think about is saying something stupid or off putting and having him start to despise you.

You know you shouldn’t worry this much. He’s a professional, you’re trying to be, it should all go smoothly. They’re just the issue of the colony of butterflies who have taken up residence in your stomach. You’re nervous, so nervous, and you are not the type to get this crazy over some guy. Yes, Dr. Reid is probably the hottest person you’ve ever met, but he’s still human! You think… the fact that he’s some sort of super genius with multiple (multiple!) phds does not help to calm you.

Your entire walk to Dr. Reid’s office is spent worrying over all of this. In fact, you’re so caught in your head you find yourself barreling into someone’s back as you walk through the door of the psychology department.

You rush to squeak out an apology while picking up your notebook, but are stopped short when you look up. It’s Dr. Reid. Of course it’s Dr. Reid. You seem unable to be in the same vicinity of him without making a fool of yourself, so why would today be any different. You’d hoped to be able to manage yourself for the better part of an hour, but your professors unbelievably solid back has literally knocked you on your ass.

You do notice a ghost of a smile on his face when you look up, and you’d like to think he’s admiring you clumsiness, but it’s not likely.

“Hi,” you manage to say after a near excruciatingly long silence.

“I’m really sorry, I clearly wasn’t looking at where I was walking.”

He laughs a bit, “It’s no problem honestly. You were the one knocked off your feet, so I really can’t be upset aside from the fact you may have hurt yourself.”

This makes you breath hitch a bit. Maybe you are incredibly starved for attention from the male gender, but the slight affection of his words made you blush.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

If you were any more articulate you’d be a public speaker, but at least you always seem to make the man in front of you laugh.

“I was on my way to my office to meet with you, but since I already have, you can walk with me.”

You nod, pushing yourself off the ground, then blush again when you realize you had this entire conversation on the ground.

The walk is silent, and you’re sure it’s more uncomfortable for you than it is for him. Any question you had has completely exited your mind, and all you can think about is how good he looks in a suit, and how much staring you can reasonably get away with.

Your first session is sweet. You manage to hold it together in Dr. Reid’s presence. He is incredibly helpful one on one, and you feel more confident about the class than you have in weeks. Before you finish, he asks if you’d like to meet again.

“Yeah, if that’s alright. This helped so much, but I think I still probably need to do some more catch up work.”

“That’s perfectly fine, Y/n, I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

He pauses for a moment, like he’s considering something, before going on.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to give you my cell. I want you to be able to reach me if you need to reschedule, especially if we continue meeting, and it’s a bit easier than email.”

You’re a bit stunned but manage to reply, “Of course! But, um, is that allowed? I don’t want to over step.”

He looks away from you for a moment before replying, “I’m honestly not sure. Maybe we just don’t tell anyone?”

You have to bite back a grin, but you nod nonetheless and exchange numbers.

Although you know you shouldn’t be, you’re giddy the entire walk home.

So far, you’ve met with Dr. Reid three times and haven’t had to use his number once. Not that you’d been looking for an opportunity to though! It just hasn’t come up at all until today.

It’s been raining all morning, which normally you wouldn’t mind, but you’re slightly under the weather and the thought of walking to campus and risking getting more sick doesn’t sound appealing in the slightest. Though it’s not normally an issue, moments like this make you really wish you had a car.

You’ve asked everyone you knew for a ride, but they were all busy.

Currently, you were on the phone with Lena, listening as she tries to calm you down.

“He gave you his number, Y/n. Just text him and say you’re sick and can’t make it.”

“It’s the day of though! I don’t want to come off as unprofessional.”

“Babe, again, you have his number. Your relationship isn’t exactly the most profesh in the first place.”

“It’s not like that, Lena.”

“Just text him. Over explain everything like you know you want to. He’ll probably think it’s cute, maybe he’ll even offer to come take care of you.”

You can hear the teasing lilt in her voice, but, still, you rush to defend him.

“You know it’s not like that.”

“Whatever you say, babe. I gotta go, but text him. It’ll be fine.”

You say your goodbyes, and deep down you know she’s right. About texting him, not the shy sort of seduction act she thinks you have.

After contemplating for a few more minutes, you type out your message and hit send.

You: Hi, Dr. Reid. This is Y/n from your criminal psych class. I know we’re supposed to meet today, but I’m feeling like I have a bit of a cold coming on and don’t want to risk walking in the rain.

You: I’m sorry it’s late notice, if I could get there I would, scout’s honor.

You were never in girl scouts. You don’t actually know why you said that at all, but it’s too late to take it back now.

As much as you try not to, you watch your phone screen, waiting for a response.

Luckily, you don’t have to wait long. You see a typing bubble pop up, then disappear, then pop up again, before finally two messages come through.

Dr. Reid: I completely understand. Don’t worry.

Dr. Reid: I could come to you? If you’re comfortable.

When you read that, you feel your stomach drop to your ass. You decidedly not expect him to offer anything like that. A few things fly through your mind, but mainly that Lena may have been right, and having your professor come to your apartment is, at least, frowned up by admin. Still, the image of him in front of you, in your home, with your cat, is too much to resist.

With shaking fingers, you text him back.

You: That would be wonderful if you’re sure you’re okay with it.

You: Friendly warning, I have a very affectionate cat.

Dr. Reid: Good to know. Is 4 still alright?

You shoot him back a quick yes and your address, and then get to cleaning every square inch of your apartment.

Dr. Reid is an angel on Earth.

When you hear a knock at your door, you have to stop before answering to regulate your breathing. When you finally do, you see your professor in front of you in a cardigan (a fucking cardigan) and togo cup of tea that he immediately hands to you.

It’s all like a hopeless romantics wet dream. Hot professor, in the rain, at your house, who clearly cares about you in some way? It’s like he’s trying to kill you.

You step aside to let him in and move to your couch, “You really didn’t have to do this.”

He stands for a moment before sitting at the opposite end and saying through a laugh,“The tea or coming over?”

“Both, I guess? I just feel bad that Ive take up so much of your time. I feel like a bit of an inconvenience.”

“Y/n, please stop worrying so much over this. I want to help you learn, it’s not an inconvenience or a both or unnecessary.”

You really look at him then, trying to read whether or not he’s being genuinely. He just seems too good to be true, like he’s a fiction character made just for you. Well, not just for you, but in your fantasies that’s how you’ll think about it.

The next couple hours are spent reviewing material you are sure he taught weeks ago and stealing glancing at his mouth when you are sure he is not looking. Your kitty makes a few appearances too, and seems to have formed an instant attachment to the doctor. You are not as sly with your staring as you’d like to think, and get caught a few too many times. Honestly, you are trying desperately not to think about anything but academia, but he makes it so unbelievably hard. Not to put the blame on him for your insatiability, but jesus fuck. Intelligence has always been incredibly sexy to you, and it oozes from him

Despite the distraction, you’ve been doing good in terms of building your understanding. Now however, you are on the verge of tears, chocking down a knot in your throat as you try to make sense of anything coming out of Dr. Reid’s mouth. This has to be the third time he’d tried to explain it to you, and while this is the entire point of these meetings, you feel like a failure.

The doctor is lost in his own world, trying desperately to explain the concept in a digestible way, so he doesn’t notice your state. That is, until you sniffle, just slightly, and immediately avert your gaze.

He cuts himself off, “Y/n? Are, are you okay? What’s wrong.”

It’s too much, so too much. What kind of dick asks something like that, with that much care in his voice. You can’t help the tears starting to fall.

“I’m so sorry. I just, I can’t understand it.”

He looks at you with his beautiful eyes and says, “Y/n, it’s okay-“

“No. God, you must think I’m a fucking idiot. No, not fucking, I didn’t mean to say fuck in front of you. God this is terrible.”

You’re fully crying at this point, and you can’t bear to look at Dr. Reid.

He stays silent for a moment, before you feel movement on the couch and look up to see he is much closer to you.

“You’re incredibly intelligent, Y/n. I, I would never judge you for needing help.”

You bury your face in your palms, and, very eloquently, try to speak through them.

“Sir, you really don’t need to say that. I know I should have been able to grasp this weeks ago, all of this.”

“Spencer.”

You look up, “What?”

“My name is Spencer. You don’t have to call me sir or Dr. Reid. I’d like for you to call me Spencer.”

“Well, Spencer then. I’m sorry for wasting your time. I really don’t know why I thought any of this would help, clearly there’s something seriously wrong with-“

You’re cut off by a hand on your jaw, guiding you to look up. Dr. Reid’s hand. Spencer’s hand, and it’s gentle and he’s staring at you, and you feel like your skin is on fire underneath his palm.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Y/n. You’re one of the most capable, intelligent people I’ve ever met. I’m breaking nearly 20 different codes of contact by being here, but I can’t help it.”

You feel all your words caught in your throat, and all you can fucking think about is his hand and his eyes and his lips. You don’t know what else to do, so, in an act of unusual bravery, you push forward and press your lips to his.

The response is immediate. All thoughts in your head are gone and replaced by a mantra of Spencer’s name. You feel his hands move to the nape of your neck, holding you to him, and his lips pressing yours open so he can glide his tongue over yours. You’re breathless and ruined, and when he pulls back you’re too struck by him to speak.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Y/n. I’ve never wanted anyone like this before”

Your forehead is pressed to his and you breath out, “Show me.”

The hand on you tightens its grip, but the man before you pulls back a bit, and it becomes your only point of contact.

“I, I can’t. I’m your teacher, I’m nearly 20 years older than you. I shouldn’t have even kissed you.”

“I kissed you. I want you, this. I want whatever you’ll give me.”

“It’s wrong, Y/n.”

“I don’t care. I want you, Spencer.”

Hearing you say his name must break his resolve, because in a moment his lips find yours again, and he’s pulling you into his lap.

To recap, you’re in your home, on your couch, straddling the hottest man you’ve ever seen, and his lips are trailing down your neck and over your clavicle. You put your arms around his neck, threading your hands through his hair and experimentally rolling your hips against his.

His hands grab your hips, stilling your movement, and breaks from his assault on your neck to say, “I won’t be able to control myself if you do that, Y/n. I need to know what you want.”

“I want all of it, doctor.”

The honorific must do something for him, because he growls low in his throat before once again connecting with your lips. The same hands that just stilled your movement now guide your hips to press into him harder. You feel his length beneath you and moan into his mouth.

You’d fantasized about this for months, but now it’s actually happening and it’s so much better than you could have ever imagined. You feel him every where, and he knows exactly what to do and whisper in your ear to drive you fucking crazy.

You move your hands from his hair and break from his lips to pull your shirt off. You make eye contact with him and then reach behind your back to unclasp your bra, leaving that part of yourself entirely exposed to him.

“Fuck, Y/n.”

The expletive takes you by surprise for a moment, but you snap out of it quickly, taking one of his hands and bringing it to your chest. He moves quickly from that point, cupping your breast in his hand and toying with your nipple. Your lips find his again, and you feel him move to flip you, but you stop him before he can.

“Bedroom, Spencer. Please.”

He nods and you climb from his lap. On your way to the room, he discards his shirt. You can’t help but ogle his frame. He’s slender and sinewy, but you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. The angles and curves of his frame fit

together to create the perfect portrait of a man. He has scars littered over his arms and torso, but they don’t phase you.

You’re under him on the bed now, your core raising to meet his desperately.

“You’re so beautiful. So beautiful, I’m so lucky.”

His words cause a blush to form on your cheeks, which you can barely focus on as his hands are in the process of pulling your shorts and panties down your legs.

“God, Y/n, you’re soaked.”

You whine as his fingers make contact with where you need him most.

“Is this all for me, Y/n? Tell me.”

“You. Only you.”

“Jesus, Y/n.”

If someone had asked hours ago you what you thought your professor would be like in bed, this was the last thing you would’ve said. Not that anyone would ask… but still. He’s nerdy and adorable, and while his looks are literally to die for, he doesn’t scream ‘I’m gonna fuck your brains out’.

His fingers pick up their pace on your clit as you find yourself trying to undo his belt. You’re desperate to see him as bare as you are. He stops to help you get his pants down, and when you see him in his full glory you feel a little faint.

“You’re so big.”

He lets a little whine slip through, “Yeah? Biggest you’ve had?”

You blush a little at his tone. As much as you’re trying to fake it, you don’t have as much experience in this field as one might expect for a girl your age.

“I’ve only been with one other person, so yeah.”

Your candor is decidedly not sexy, and you really have no clue why you would say that right now. The man above you does not seem deterred though, if anything it spurs him on.

“Fuck, Y/n. Didn’t know you were so innocent.”

You blush again, but reach to grab him, trying to prove how good you can be. He’s heavy in your hand, and part of you worries how he’ll fit. You know you’re programmed to accommodate, but the thought is daunting.

He must sense your concern when he says, “Don’t worry, love. Gonna stretch you out for me.”

With that, his fingers resume their previous task, and he slowly moves down to trace your entrance with his middle finger. The sensation has you spinning, and let breathless moans leave your body he slowly starts to open you up. His fingers are long and precise in their movements. Every time he thrusts into you, they graze a spot that sends sparks of pleasure straight to your core.

“You’re doing so good for me, Y/n. So, so good for me.”

You can barely breathe, and your climax comes closer with every passing second. When his thumb moves to press over your clit and his other hand presses firmly on your lower stomach, you’re done for.

“Good girl, Y/n. Coming so pretty on my hand.”

Your orgasm is stupefying, and all you can think or say is Spencer’s name. You grab at him, desperate to find something to ground you, and you hear him moan as your nails dig into his back. He doesn’t stop for a moment, continuing to press into you and riding you through your high.

Once you come down, though you can still feel your legs shaking, you want more. You want all of him. You take him in your hand again, pumping up and down his shaft at a lazy pace.

“Spencer, I need you to fuck me.”

He laughs, his hand still on your core, “Ask nicely, Y/n. You come on my fingers and all of a sudden your manners disappear?“

You didn’t want to admit it, but he’s right.

“Please, Spencer. Please fuck me, I need it.”

“Good girl,” he takes your wrist and leads your hand to your mouth. “Spit.”

You aren’t exactly sure what he’s doing. You think he might be teasing you more, letting you work him over until you beg, but he answers all your questions quickly.

He guide your hand back to grab him, helping you jerk him off before he grabs himself and lines up with your entrance.

In his first Dr. Reid like moment in the last hour he stops and asks, “Fuck do you have a condom? I obviously didn’t think we’d do this, so I don’t have anything on me.”

You’re panting with anticipation at this point, but still manage to get out, “I’m on the pill and I’m clean. I trust you.”

His eyes go soft for a moment, before he continues his previous mission. He lines up again with you, before teasing your slit with the head of his cock. If you didn’t want him so bad, you could’ve come like this, but you are desperate. You push your hips up, hoping he gets the point, and he does.

“I could play with you all day if you’d let me, Y/n.”

You want to protest, and tell him to get on with it, but you don’t have to. You feel his tip

slowly pushing into you as he lets out a groan.

“You’re so fucking tight.”

He’s slow and careful, and you can’t remember sex ever feeling this good. You know he isn’t all the way in, but you already feel so full. When he does reach the hilt, you let out a low moan at the feeling. He’s completely inside of you, filling you in a way that is unbelievably good. He stays still for a moment before slowly pulling back and thrusting into you.

You can tell he’s being gentle, but hard enough and fast enough to have your legs start shaking more heavily again. You already feel a pit in your stomach, and you know you’re going to come, for a second time, embarrassingly fast.

“Fuck yes. So good for me, Y/n.”

The way your name sounds in his mouth drives you crazy. The only thing you can think about is how badly you want this moment to go on forever. Everything about him is perfect. Even now, while fucking your brains out (literally, you could make yourself say a word even if you wanted to), he’s cupping your head in his hand and telling you how beautiful you are.

Now that you’re more accustomed to the size of him, he takes your thigh, pushing it up to your chest, and starts too fuck into you faster and harder. His pelvis rubs over your clit with every thrust, driving you crazy. Your hands are in his hair and down his back, grabbing and clawing at him.

“You love taking this cock, huh baby? Can’t even talk, huh?”

His words go straight to your core, but you know what you need to come again. You guide his hand up near your sternum and manage to cry out a few words.

“Please, need it. Need you.”

He takes your request to heart and moves his hand to your neck, squeezing the sides. You feel yourself get light headed in the most incredible way. Tears are forming in your eyes. The feeling is so intense.

“So perfect for me. Such a smart girl and you’re just gonna let me fuck you dumb?”

You’re close, and you can feel the pit in your stomach start to spread and take over. Spencer’s hand on your throat tightens slightly, and it only take a few more thrusts before you’re coming on him.

“Coming. Fuck, Spence you’re making me come.”

“That’s right. Come all over me. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Your vision is going white at the edges and you feel like your whole body is shaking.

“Fuck, gonna come just watching you. Gotta pull out, baby.”

You grab him before he can, “No! Want it inside me.”

He groans above you and you feel his hips stutter.

“Fucking Jesus. Want me to fill you? Make this you mine?”

You nod, the tears now falling down the sides of your face.

“Gonna come, baby.”

You can feel when he does. His dick is pulsing in you, filling you completely, just like he said he would.

When he comes down, he pushes his lips to yours, kissing you with an intensity you’ve never felt before. For a while, he just lays there, kissing you.

“Gonna pull out now. Gotta clean you up.”

You whine, but nod regardless. You feel empty at the loss of him, but you don’t have much time to think about it before you feel a warm towel wipe around your centre.

“You gotta go pee, Y/n. Don’t want to develop a UTI.”

Five minutes ago this man was coming inside of you, and now he’s back to being the man who came to your house in the rain with tea. You do know he’s right though, so you pull yourself out of your bed on shaking legs and make your way to your bathroom.

When you come back in, you find Spencer with his pants back on. Your heart breaks a little.

In a small voice you ask, “Are you leaving?”

He looks up at you then, “Do you want me to stay?”

You don’t know why you wouldn’t.

“If you don’t want to you don’t have to.”

You can feel tears welling up again, but these are different from before; he notices immediately.

“Baby, baby don’t worry. I don’t want to go, I just didn’t want to over step.”

You laugh a little at that, wiping your eyes, “I think we’ve gotten over all the steps, Spencer. I, I want - Just please stay.”

He nods and moves to take off his pants before sliding into place next to you. His arm wraps around your waist and you feel a tingle in the spots where he touches you.

“I don’t want to have this be a one time thing,” you blurt out.

You feel him hold you a little tighter then.

“I was never planning that, Y/n. Now, sleep. We can talk about how much I’ve come to adore you tomorrow.”

END!! i hope you all love it!

tag list! (leave me comment if you want to join and i’ll add you): @sabage101

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #fic rec #professor!reid

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miguelhugger2099 · 1 year ago

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HIII tehehe

so imagine this, miggy and wifey reader coming home from a date and reader is just giggling as she remembers him being kind to all the kids who came up to him wanting to play with him. and reader is just like 'what if i just gave him one instead'

miggy notices his wifey reader giggling to himself, mini fluff moment happens. then reader exposes herself and then

~smut~

Baby Maker

long overdue and was very much in the accidentally deleted category like everything in this ask was written it just needed an ending before POOF gone. so, a thousand apologies i could not say sorry enough nonie. i tried to write down everything i remembered so i could get it out as soon as possible. as always, if you're not satisfied, this ask can be rewritten for a third time Art: feminine.999 on instagram

After a long and tiring winter, Miguel was eager to take you out for a picnic date in the warm sun again. It was always a sweet reminder of your time as young lovers and just having the simplicity of being in each others presence along with some food. So whenever the time was right and the temperature was warm enough, Miguel would plan and whisk you away to the park at the same hill you two have decided would be your spot. "Miguel just hand me something." You smile at him and stick your hands out, the picnic blanket hanging lightly on your forearm. Miguel carries both the cooler and basket as well as your purse on his shoulder. He had only asked you to fold the blanket but you wanted to help so you held onto it instead while he insisted he had everything else. "Ah-ah." He says, shaking his head. "Tengo todo, mama. I'm okay." Obviously, he was. He could carry several more things if he wanted to but you felt really bad watching him. "Give me the keys then. I'll drive." You cross your arms. In truth, he didn't want you to drive- he's a little traditional when it comes to handling things on his own while you rested freely from responsibilities. But, he sighed and instead of protesting, he nodded. "Keys are in my back pocket." He pouts dejectedly. You found it cute and rolled your eyes. You reached around him to grab the keys from his pocket, giving a teasing squeeze to his ass which he jumped at. "Oye." He says with a playful warning tone, squinting his eyes down at you. There's a hint of a smile on his lips, as well as a spark in his eyes. "C'mon." You shrug and skip in front of him, pretending to be innocent. At the car, Miguel was finishing up putting everything in the trunk, massaging the palms of his hands to ease the strain of holding onto the handles of the cooler and basket. You place the blanket over everything, feeling Miguel kiss your temple and his hand sneaking around your waist. "Good?" You ask him, looking up and cupping his cheeks. Miguel leans into you, his hands on your hips to keep him steady. "Mhm." He hums as he looks back down at you. Miguel kisses your forehead then each of your cheeks before finishing it off with a long smooch to your lips. "Let's go home." He murmurs.

Before you could move, Miguel looks down after feeling something tap the side of his leg. A soccer ball rolled a bit before he skillfully rolled it under his foot and kicked it into the air so it landed in his hand. “Whoa!” A chorus of young high-pitched voices shouted in unison. A group of kids huddled by you two, marveling at Miguel. “How did you do that?” One boy gasps, his eyes lighting up in admiration. Miguel chuckles nervously, bashful of the attention of ten-year olds. “Ah–it’s a little tricky.” He hands the ball to a little girl and she waves it high above her head. “Can you show me?” She squeals and Miguel blinks, looking back at you. You covered your mouth to hide your giggles and smile. “Go.” You tilt your head at the group of kiddies and Miguel stumbles over his words but the kids already took your approval and began tugging on Miguel’s arm back to the grassy fields to play.

As you got home, you couldn’t bring down the smile on your face, cheeks hurting with how long you’ve grinned to yourself. You let out a couple of giggles remembering how the children flocked to him and how Miguel looked carrying two grown kids in his arms when his little team scored a goal. Not only had you felt warmth in your cheeks but in other places as well. “Why do you look like that?” Miguel asks after placing the bags down near the door. He’d organize things later. “Like what?” Miguel brings his hand to the side of his face and bunches his shoulders up, looking up at the ceiling with a mockingly dreamy sigh. “Like this!” You punch his shoulder and Miguel laughs, bringing his arms around you from behind and leaves little apology kisses along your neck. “I did not look like that.” You defend yourself. “Mmm, you did. You always look like that anyway. At least when it comes to me.” He mumbles against your ear, his breath tickling your senses and you squeal to move away from him but he just holds you closer. “So what is it this time? Was I extra good-looking today? Did I sweep my favorite girl, my wife, off her feet?” Miguel presses his lips on your cheek with a loud smooch. He couldn’t help teasing you a bit. “No, it was different!”

“Hmm, different?” “The kids at the park.” You feel Miguel pause and he lifts his head up and tilts it to the side after turning you around. “What about the kids at the park?” He asks, confusion swirling in his eyes. “You looked…good with them.” He huffs a quick laugh. “Okay?” “And I was thinking, y’know,” You giggle at the thought of Miguel picking you up, filling you up, carrying a baby–making him a father. He wanted to pick your brain. “What?” He squints down at you. “What if we had a baby?” Miguel’s eyes widened, blinking in surprise. “H-huh?” His voice went up an octave as his cheeks had gotten a little redder. You felt his hands tense around your hips and you secure your arms around his neck. “What if..I just gave you a baby?” You repeat in a hushed whisper. “With your help, of course.” You giggled and your flirting sent shivers down his spine. Subconsciously, Miguel’s eyes turn downwards to your stomach–imagining it swollen and growing with each passing day with just a few pumps of his cum. His eyes dilate and he feels the blood in his body rush straight down to his groin. “O-oh, God…” He groans, his breathing already getting heavy. “Are you sure? You want a baby? You want my baby?” He whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. You could feel his hands gripping your sundress. It fell just above your knees so Miguel was already sliding his hand up under it to feel the skin of your thigh, skin still a little warm from being in the sun. “Mhm, yes, please.” You whine, feeling the rush of arousal drench into your panties from hearing Miguel hold onto his last remaining self-restraint before he fucks you silly. At your plea, Miguel wraps his arms around you and pulls you up towards him to kiss you deeply. His lips devour yours, tongue slipping past your defenses to tangle in a dance with your own tongue. One hand pushes your head closer while his other hand runs down to grip the plump fat of your ass through the fabric of your dress. Tapping it twice, he signals you to jump in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist and he hurriedly enters the bedroom. Miguel falls on top of you, bodies bouncing on the mattress but it does nothing to stop Miguel’s desire for you.

Miguel separates from your lips, dragging his wet mouth down to your jawline and neck while his hands bunch up your dress at your waist. He brings a hand up to pull down the top half of your dress and begins to leave small love bites across your breasts before licking your nipple into his mouth. With your head rolled back, your fingers run through his hair, hips attempting to grind up for some friction but with his weight on top of you–you’re helpless. “Want me to make you a mama, huh?” He growls huskily, lifting his head up and using his fingers to flick and tweak your nipples so he could watch you screw your eyes shut and your mouth parted open as you moan his name into the air. “Want me to make you all pretty and swollen with my cum, hm? Fuck…” “Oh, God–Miggy..!” Your hands at his shoulders, arching your back off the bed and writhing underneath him in a desperate attempt to make him focus on your wet pussy. Miguel can’t help but play with your tits, groping them in his hands and squishing them. He pulls your dress further down, tracing your curves and worshiping them to engrave it in his memory. Your dress now on the floor, you lay bare with just your panties. Miguel presses down on the soaking patch between your legs and you shiver. “No me jodas, Miguel. Just fuck me.” You groan and buck your hips to grind on his fingers but he chuckles and pulls away. “Dale paciencia, mi amor.” He says even though he feels the same, his cock straining against his jeans and leaving a wet spot in his boxers from dripping precum. Miguel leans back down to kiss you, hands fumbling with the zipper and he hastily shoves his boxers and pants down his legs. Deciding he was also impatient, Miguel rips your underwear apart and he bites down hard on his lips to stop him from moaning loudly at the sight of your glistening folds. Mind cluttered with lust, you don’t even notice the tear but you do feel his hard cock rubbing between your puffy pussy lips. He sighs while he collects your slick onto his shaft, his leaking tip mixing with your juices. “Mmm, fuck yes…” He shudders, thighs flexing as his muscles tensed up. Goosebumps litter his skin and he looks down at your body. Sprawled nude on the mattress while you’re already looking fucked out of your mind when he’s barely put the tip in. His cockhead catches inside and he teasingly enters. His hand places itself on your stomach, pupils blown wide open.

“Qué pasa, mi amor? Te sientes bien? Ay, que linda eres...” He purrs as he pushes inside you. “Feel me, mama.” Each inch is slow and he makes you feel the growing stretch of his cock, veins pulsing against your throbbing walls–your cunt convulses around him to suck him deeper inside your warmth. “Mine, mine, mine. So pretty, you’ll look gorgeous when I fuck a baby into this tight pussy.” Miguel whispers against your neck. His cock twitches when you claw at his back, choking out your moans as your face flushes with a warm blush. He could feel his balls aching but he held back as best as he could. His palm feels his cock from inside you, poking through your stomach and his eyes roll back. Fuck, he’s deep. “Tell me you want it. Dímelo otra vez.” He moans, slowly rocking his hips in and out of you. Your mouth had been drooling since he teased your entrance with his cock, mind blank with nothing but the desire to be bred by your husband. With a weak and broken whimper, you begged. “Wan’ it,” You squirmed. “Breed me.” Miguel’s forehead landed on your shoulder, his body hunched over as his hand went to pull your thigh on his hip and slammed into you. You screamed and held onto him before he started pounding ruthlessly into you. You could’ve flown off the bed with just how fast and hard Miguel decided to pace at. He wraps his hands to your ass and pulls your bottom half up for easier access, dragging your wet folds up and down his cock. He pants, breathing shakily as his arms tense up–veins protruding and running down all the way to his hands. Miguel then lets go, grabbing both your legs and pushes them to your chest. He folds you in half, displaying your cunt to his eyes as his main priority. He bites his lip, grunting with every pounding he gives you. His knees dig into the mattress to anchor himself as he jackhammers his twitching cock into your warm wetness. The arousal gushing out of you and rolling down between your asscheeks and onto the bed. “You’ll be such a good mama.” He moans, curling his hips so his cock arches right into your sweet spot. Your cunt squeezes around him tightly, head thrown back while your nails rake his back in streaks of red, imprinting yourself on him. You’re a squealing mess, tears in your eyes and you could barely feel your legs anymore. Face morphed with pure ecstasy as you feel each drag of his cock empty and refill you over and over again. His bulbous tip nudges against your cervix and twitches against your velvety walls and your moans turn shamelessly pornographic-like. Meanwhile Miguel gets himself off to the thought of you creaming on his cock, his balls unleashing his cum straight into your womb and getting you pregnant. He huffs, ears ringing as his mind only focuses on breeding you. He thinks to himself that once isn’t enough. Just one measly pump of his seed won’t be enough to bear you with his child. He’d have to do it more than once. He had to see his thick load seeping out of your puffy pussy folds. He wanted to see you filled to the brim, pumped full to make sure you’ll carry. He wanted to see your belly grow, creating a being that was the perfect combination of you and him.

His mind spurs him on, mouth open as he spews his own moans and praising your tight cunt at how well it takes him. He’s pussy drunk, hips smacking and his balls slapping against you, his body pressing your legs tighter against yourself and ravaging himself into you with heavy thrusts. He grits his teeth when you scream and clench around him, pussy fluttering as you feel the release of an orgasm shoot through your body. Your legs quiver as Miguel holds onto you, eyes rolling back and drool escaping off the side of your mouth. Your cum drips into a puddled mess below you and Miguel’s orgasm follows right after you, drilling his cock until he’s balls deep. His cock twitches with each spurt of warm cum shooting out his tip, plugging into your womb. You take deep breaths but it seems impossible when Miguel keeps your legs up. His head is hung while he waits until your cunt milks every last drop of his seed. You weakly reach up and cup his cheek to catch his attention. He meets your gaze and you give a tired smile and pull him down for a kiss. Miguel eases your legs down and kisses you back. His hands rubs comfortingly around the dip of your waist. For a moment you feel at peace, a bliss of entering a new era with him. The peace lasts for just a moment. Miguel leaves your lips and twirls your body on your stomach, lifting your bottom half up so your ass hangs in the air. In the process, his dick leaves your warmth and it leaves you feeling empty. You gasp and grip onto the sheets, head turning to try and see Miguel. “‘M not done.” He mumbles. “You wanted me to breed you so I’ll fuckin’ breed you.” His words are slurred but his mind is made up. He angles his cock to your wet cunt again, smearing the combined arousal around with his tip as if painting on a canvas. Instinctively, you moan and wiggle your hips back, pussy swelling up with desire again. Miguel smirks and pushes back inside and the stretch is familiar and comforting. Shuddering, your pussy welcomes him back by squeezing tightly, sucking him in, and he hisses. “Uyy, fuck…” He sighs. He starts off slow, bumping you forward with easy and short thrusts, feeling himself slowly grow hard again inside you. Your eyes flutter close, face smushed into the pillow and drooling on the case of it as your body lurches forward. Miguel increases his speed, one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip to bring your ass back onto his cock. His balls smack your clit for added stimulation and it makes you jump from the electric pleasure zipping straight to your core. “Oh my God! Miguel!” You whine, heat flushing on your cheeks, Miguel’s dick reaching different places in a different position. The pain of sensitivity washes away, your pussy now craving the hot sticky liquid of your husband. Miguel looms over you, bending one leg to keep him steady as he keeps drilling deeper into you. His lips leave wet and sloppy kisses to your shoulder, panting and sharing warm breaths with you while your bodies buck up against one another.

“That feel good, mama? Hm?” He moans, burying himself in your neck while his hips snap up against yours, ass slapping and rippling with each thrust.

“Yes! Yes! Mhm!” Your voice turns high pitched, eyes glassy and unfocused while being bred like a bitch in heat. Still, you took pride in it to be the one to carry his child, to have him use your hole as his cumdump and take him however many times as long as you keep feeling like this. You’d gladly take him over and over again.

“You’ll give me another baby after this one, right mama?” He hums, tongue licking your neck and nipping at your skin. “Say you will, querida. Say you’ll let me put a baby in you again–we’ll have a big family.” He whines, humping your ass in quick strokes. “Say it, say it, say it, please, please.”

Miguel could feel himself getting closer. He could feel you getting close too with the familiar pulse and clench of your walls around his throbbing cock. His balls are wet with your slick, your wetness never ending.

“Yes! I will! Promise! Just–please!” Your words are barely audible with your face pushed into the pillow but Miguel is satisfied with your cockdrunk state. His cock engorges with the thought of a big family, you giving him as many kids as he wants and him watching it all happen once he spills as much as he wants in your willing cunt.

His hips go out of rhythm, he chases his high of impregnating you for a second time and his cock twitches violently before squirting ropes of cum to paint your walls white. He doesn’t stop pumping, wanting to feel you cream on his cock so badly even when the overstimulation makes him whimper.

With a cry of his name, your pussy pulses around him and you feel his previous load drip out of you to make space for his new one. The liquid trickles down your thighs and your shake as the orgasm is ripped out of you. When you stiffen, Miguel drags his cock out from you and flips you on your back again.

Barely giving you time to recover, Miguel lifts you up from the bed and your back makes contact with the cool wall. He holds you securely under your ass and you automatically wrap your legs around his waist once more. Your arms are around his neck, hands in his hair and Miguel captures your lips in a messy kiss. His hips rut into you to slide his dick back inside which resounds out in rapid smacks of skin on skin contact.

You’re bouncing on his dick, hair tangled and becoming staticy from your head rubbing on the wall. His thrusts slow to a stop as he focuses on making out with you, tongue dancing with yours and exploring your mouth with a low moan of pleasure.

Teeth clack against each other and you roll your pelvis to regain the friction. Pussy clenches around him desperately and Miguel lets out a guttural groan, separating from your lips to bite your chest. Your back lifts off the wall and you push your tits to his mouth, Miguel eagerly sucking your nipples and switching between left and right.

He angles up and up, feeling your walls slide on him like some silicon dildo. He gropes your ass in his palms, kneading and spreading them apart while your slick sounds out with a sloppy, dirty and wet mess. Miguel shoves you harder against the wall, pounding your body in rhythmic thrusts that bang loud enough for a passerby to hear. His back is covered with your nails marks.

You’re screaming, you’re so fucking sensitive but it’s just so hot how he just keeps going. There’s a fire that’s ignited in you–some sick form of pleasure that you get off on your husband pumping you full of semen. It gave you pleasure just how badly he wanted this–wanted you. You can’t help but squeeze around him, pussy unable to handle the bundle of overstimulated nerves so it spasms.

Jaw slacked and spit dribbling down your chin with your tongue lolled out your mouth–you can barely form a thought when Miguel’s fucking them out of you. You didn’t expect for Miguel to jump at the chance at having a baby but right now, it felt so worth it. His teeth bites at your nipple, tongue rolling around the bud and devouring it like you were the sweetest thing he’s tasted.

“Miguell…! I’m so–mmph!–fuck, I’m close!” You pull on his strands of hair and he lets go of your nipple. Miguel leaves his forehead on your chest, breath fanning your skin while he bucks into you. He cums first, his essence spilling out and dribbling back down on his cock and he grunts with annoyance. His annoyance doesn’t last long when you climax just a few seconds after with a squeal. You ankles lock tightly around his waist to push him to the hilt to keep the rest of his cum–old and new–plugged inside. Miguel shudders and moves you off the wall and back to the edge of the bed.

Miguel lays you down on the mattress with a huff of exhaustion, becoming sleepy after three orgasms. Still, he turns you on your side, lifting your leg up so he could slide in his cock between your twitching and sensitive folds.

You strangle out a whine, eyes blinking in a dazed haze. You reach around you to grip his hair and plead for mercy. You don’t know how you even lasted this long.

“Thought you wanted a baby. I’m making sure we’re having that baby.” He mumbles against your neck, humming when he sheathes inside you again. Your cunt spasms, fluttering and pulsating from overstimulation. However, Miguel is gentle this time.

He grinds behind you in easy thrusts. You feel your heart stutter in your chest, turning your head around with your mouth slightly parted, whining out your moans. Miguel kisses you, his hand gripping your thigh tightly to uphold it while his cock slips in and out of you. The evidence of his essence drips out of you and leaves a shiny coat and the milky white circle at the base of his shaft prominent from previous orgasms.

You weakly buck your ass back to go in time with his thrusting. You break from the kiss, string of spit connecting on your wet lips before you rest your head back on the pillow, heart thumping wildly. Miguel goes back to kissing your neck and shoulders.

“Asi es, mami,” He whispers huskily. “One more. Can you do that for me? Jus’ one more.” His hips roll in circles and his hand goes underneath you to reach around to your front, fingers finding your clit. He rolls it between his fingers and circles around it softly with just the right amount of pressure that he knows you like. Your hips stutter and feel another climax coming, but this time a little weaker than the rest.

“Mig…Miggy…” You whine and he shushes you gently. His fingers leave your clit and he rests his hand on your stomach, thumb rubbing up and down the small pudge of tummy where his baby will grow inside you.

“I know, mi reina, I know. I love you so much. I love you. I love you so damn much.” He whispers sweetly, Miguel kissing behind your ear. His words of affection make you whimper.

“I love you too.”

Miguel winds up cumming inside you for the final time, emptying out all of his energy and hugging you tight to his chest while you squeal and cum right after him. He keeps you close, putting your leg down and curling his arms around your waist to spoon you.

Your breathing slowly evens out, exhaustion catching up to you. Miguel pulls out, each drag shocking your nerves until he leaves with a wet plop, strings of cum connecting you both together until it breaks. He turns you around to face him and brings your head against his chest. You hear his heart hammering against his ribcage and you weakly hug him back. You feel full just like he told you he would do to you.

You can’t help but feel content, excitement blooming in your chest for the next chapter in your life with your husband. He's warm.

“We’re gonna be parents.” You whisper softly. Miguel’s lips kiss your hair and he lifts your face up to him. He continues to pepper your cheeks and forehead with kisses.

“We’re gonna be parents.” He echos. “Thank you.”

You couldn’t ask for a better man to start a family with.

A/N: me when i enforce my breeding kink miguel agenda

#nonie requests ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#requests ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader

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12raccoonsinadress · 5 months ago

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Hi! So I'd like to request a Tenya Iida x Fem! Reader fic. Where the reader is friends with Tenya until Tenya walks in on Reader getting dressed and it leads to smut and fluff after?

Sensible Choices: Tenya x Fem!Reader (Smut)

Woo! Here's the longest one I've done in a while! Hope it was worth the wait ~💚

Art Cred: Ari Libella (arilibella.artstation.com)

Word Count: 5,280

Third POV

Tenya and you made very good friends. In a world where things were so confusing and uncertain, where nearly everyone had some society altering ability and villains could attack at any time, he made sense. To you, he was uncomplicated. You both valued things like routine, education, and wanting the world to be a safer place. So to others, the two of you being together was a very logical idea, even if only as friends and colleagues. You never really assessed how you felt about Tenya, leaving those thoughts to poke at you when you laid in bed at night, but still left ignored. He was one of your closest friends, and you wouldn't ruin that over what you deemed a silly crush. You couldn't handle the idea of him turning you down and losing him as a friend. He was too integrated into your routine.

Part of your weekly routine was studying with Tenya in your dorm on Friday evenings between dinner and curfew. Responsible as always, he made sure to have his things and be out at least 30 minutes before curfew started, just in case you needed to do anything before bed. Tonight was another one of those useful, but otherwise unnoteworthy study sessions. The two of you mostly worked on your math homework, tackling some of the more tricky lessons in the coming week's test. Between the two of you, it started to make sense.

As you closed the textbook for the evening, you stood up, stretching.

"It looks like it's getting late."

You noted. He checked his watch, closing his textbook as well.

"It seems so. I suppose I should be heading out then."

He stood now as well, gathering his things. You watched as he did, humming slightly.

"You'll have to let me know what you score on the test."

"I'm sure we'll both do well."

He said, turning to you with a smile.

"And if not, we can always go back and review what we missed."

You smiled too. He was so positive when it came to school work, it was a bit infectious. You usually didn't feel too strongly about homework or testing, but he still managed to make the entire thing seem more satisfying to you. You couldn't remember a time before him where you actually looked forward to studying.

He went over to your door, turning back once, briefly.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Y/n. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Tenya."

You felt a slight warmth in your chest as he stepped out. His smile was so sweet. It always filled you with such nice feelings. You didn't choose to dwell on that too much longer though. Instead, you turned your attention to changing into your pajamas and getting ready for bed. You went to your dresser, pulling out your pajamas, laying them neatly on the bed before beginning to undress.

Tenya was hardly halfway to his dorm when he reached for his phone and realized he didn't have it. He didn't think much of it, other than that he must've left it sitting on your desk. He turned heel and began back to your dorm.

Tenya was mostly sure his feelings for you were platonic, no different from the ways he thought about Ochako or Izuku. Then again, he never caught himself wondering how soft Ochako's lips were, or feel a swell of pride in his chest when making Izuku laugh. These things seemed specific to you. He tried to ignore it for the most part. After all, he was your friend, and you were his. His prettiest, most intelligent, and sweetest friend. Nothing more. At least, that's what he told himself.

It didn't register that more than a moment had passed between him closing the door and opening it again, which is probably why it didn't even cross his mind to knock before entering your room.

"Y/n, it seems I left my..."

His voice died in his throat as he saw you. How could it not have? You were standing there, topless, in nothing more than your panties, sleep shirt in hands. His eyes grew wide and his face turned red, mirroring the expression on your own face. The door quickly slammed shut, but it was too late. He'd seen you, nearly naked, and that brief moment was all it took for the image to be burned into his mind.

You quickly got dressed, nearly tripping over yourself as you did. You couldn't believe it. He saw you practically naked. It made your entire body flush red with embarrassment. You wanted to simply die in that moment, just so you'd never have to face him again. You wondered what in the world he could be thinking now. And the slightly dirtier thought, creeping into your mind from the pits of your stomach, you wondered what he thought about what he saw.

He stood on the other side of your door for a long moment, holding it shut as if it would somehow hold his own mind at bay. His first thought was noting how beautiful your body was, immediately followed by a heavy feeling of shame in even indulging the thought. It was completely inappropriate and he shouldn't entertain such devious things. He left to his dorm, not willing to attempt a second retrieval of his phone. He didn't need it badly enough to face you right now. He closed himself in his dorm and sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment, silently. The first thing he'd have to do when he saw you again would be to beg for forgiveness for barging in. And if you were so upset you didn't want to talk to him, it was completely warranted and he'd take any repercussions without argument. He should have knocked. Without question.

Though against his own will, he laid awake that night thinking about you.

Aside from getting his phone back, you and Tenya avoided each other for the following days. Neither of you really knew how to address what had happened, but at the same time it was too awkward to talk without addressing it. The week felt like a year. Occasionally, you'd glance over at him in class, and almost every time you'd see him look away from you. You quickly looked back to the front of the room or at your work, trying not to think too much about why he could be staring. Maybe he was trying to think about how to talk to you again. Maybe he wanted to apologize, but wasn't sure how. ... Maybe he was undressing you with his eyes.

It was getting harder to ignore your crush on Tenya. It was like the more you avoided one another, the more you longed for him. You wanted to imagine he liked what he saw. So much that he couldn't bare to face you. It sounded silly in your mind, and yet the thoughts ebbed into your day dreams more and more as the week went on. If only you knew how right you were.

He'd essentially fashioned his own personal hell by seeing you naked. He couldn't find the right way to apologize to you, so he had to avoid talking to you until he did. He didn't want to lie to you either. Your body was beautiful, but he couldn't say that. He wished he could have seen you under more consensual circumstances, but he definitely couldn't say that. Even with all the attempts to come up with a good apology, he couldn't stop imagining it. Imagining you standing there in those cute little panties and nothing else. It made evenings... difficult to say the least. He wouldn't touch himself though. No matter how much he ached for some kind of relief. As your friend, as someone who respects you so much, he couldn't touch himself while imagining your body. Not without permission. Which he was most certain he didn't have.

Soon enough, but also what felt like twelve years later, it was Friday evening. You paced. Now is when you and Tenya would be studying together. It was almost impossible for you to focus on studying on your own when all you could think about was how incomplete it felt. This wasn't the routine. It was all wrong. You couldn't study in these conditions. You were just about to text him when you heard a knock on your door. You went and opened it.

There before you was a very nervous Tenya, his backpack held by his side. He wouldn't look at you.

"If you aren't busy, I think we need to talk. I also brought my school work, in case you'd rather study instead."

He said, almost uncomfortable. You let him in and he looked at you now, expectant. As much as you wish things could be normal and the two of you could just go over the test from that week, you knew it was time to talk about what happened.

"We should probably talk.."

He walked in, saw you, and left. It didn't feel like you could say much about it personally to start the conversation. Thankfully, you didn't have to. He dropped his bag on the floor before bowing about as deeply as he could without dropping to his knees.

"I'm so incredibly sorry, Y/n! I didn't even think to knock at the time, but that is absolutely no excuse for barging in on you! If you feel it necessary to report me for my inappropriate behavior, I'll accept whatever punishment I am given with no argument!"

You looked at him wide eyed for a moment, surprised by the sudden outburst. You expected an apology, but it hadn't even crossed your mind to report him.

"Tenya, I'm not going to report you. It was an accident."

He looked up now, standing upright again. He looked almost panicked or confused.

"What? Surely you don't think such unbecoming behavior is appropriate."

"I mean, it wasn't polite to not knock and, um, it was sort of embarrassing for me, but it wasn't really inappropriate."

This didn't seem to make him relax. If anything it seemed like he got more tense in response.

"You don't understand. I saw you naked-"

You blushed, not getting why he was being so insistant.

"You don't need to remind me-"

"I shouldn't have seen you like that. It was private. I should be punished for the way it's made me think about you."

The words seemed to rush out faster than he could process them, but once they were out, he froze. He hadn't meant to say that much, but you were being so calm, so sweet. Such a good friend. Too good for they way he'd imagined holding your bare body against his.

"What do you mean by that, Tenya?"

He swallowed hard, looking at the floor, ashamed. He was a horrible friend. You deserved to know that. He was a pervert, and you should be able to report him as such.

"I... I haven't been able to purge the image of you from my mind. It's all I've been able to think about. I wish I had found a way of telling you how beautiful you were before this."

His fists clenched, head still hung in shame. You blushed. He was admitting to having fulfilled your smutty little desires. He had been thinking about your body. He wanted it. He continued, his voice more tense.

"Anything I say now will be tainted by the countless filthy thoughts I've had of you. Between my perverted day dreams, I've only just realized how much I care for you, not only as my friend, but as the person I want to wake to every morning and fall asleep beside every night. Not just because of how beautiful you are, but because this week has been torture without you by my side."

You stepped closer to him, only to see he had tears in his eyes. It made your heart ache. You reached up and held his face.

"I don't deserve your sweetness. Not after proving I'm such a terrible friend. If you can't trust me now, why would you ever even begin trust me as a lover?"

Lover. He was so tense, even compared to how tense he normally was. You couldn't imagine what this week had done to him with all this guilt. He was practically falling apart, and for what? Accidentally seeing you naked? So you did what any logical person would do in your situation. You kissed him. It was soft, gentle. You felt the wetness of his tears in your hands. He didn't pull away from you, as you had almost expected. His arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace and he kissed you back. You held the kiss longer than you had intended. It felt like he needed this. And maybe you did too. You had missed him, and what could have made for a better reunion after such a stressful week? Eventually, when you pulled away for air, he loosened his hold of you.

"I.. Y/n, I don't understand."

"You weren't the only one having dirty thoughts this week, Tenya. I forgive you."

He blushed, more than a little surprised. You decided to elaborate.

"I was definitely embarrassed, but at the same time, I really hoped you liked what you saw."

You admitted. He seemed a little concerned.

"Was there any doubt in your mind that I wouldn't? You're gorgeous, how could I not?"

"Not really doubt. I just hoped you liked what you saw enough to think about me a little more."

You tried to explain in the least perverted way possible. He glanced away, thinking.

"As long as we're being honest. I'll admit that the memory of you gave me some, ah, uncomfortable evenings. Just to say, you have nothing to worry about."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Yes. Thinking about you, your body, in a quite... erotic way. But, of course I couldn't do something as disrespectful as relieve myself while thinking about you. I'm already ashamed to have indulged in my thoughts of you as much as I had."

On one hand, it was incredibly sweet that he suffered as much as he did out of wanting to be respectful towards you. At the same time, however, you wouldn't have complained at all if he had gotten off thinking about you. You would have taken it as a compliment. You bit the inside of your lip, thinking.

"Thinking about me all this week got you that worked up, but you still haven't touched yourself?"

You asked, clarifying almost. He blushed a dark red, but nodded in confirmation.

"I'm sure you're awfully pent up."

He looked at you. You were trying to tell him something, he was sure of it. He just wasn't sure what yet. You continued.

"I just want you to know, for future reference, you have full permission to touch yourself while thinking of me."

His eyes lit up, like you'd suddenly taken all suffering off his shoulders.

"You mean it? You're completely sure?"

"I am. But, only if I'm allowed to think of you too."

Truthfully, you tried to avoid the thought, but now that you knew he liked you so much, you wanted to indulge.

"You want to think about me while pleasuring yourself?"

He asked, voice somewhat softer. He didn't understand.

"I haven't done anything particularly scandalous around you to fuel thoughts of that nature though... Have I?"

"You didn't have to. I'll think of you regardless."

You definitely planned to at least. It felt dirty just talking about it, but so exciting. You gathered he felt the same way based on the color of his face. He was thinking.

"That hardly seems fair. Surely, there's something you could ask of me to make things more even."

That was a tempting offer. You pursed your lips, thinking. A very filthy idea came to mind.

"You could always return the favor.. and I wouldn't mind letting you look for a little longer."

You suggested. He buffered for a moment, processing the absolutely scandalous thing you just suggested. It was beyond filthy and he should say no, especially not in the dorms. You were seniors. You were supposed to lead by example. And yet...

"That seems fair. I would appreciate getting more time to admire you."

"Why don't you start then."

He nodded. It was only fair. An equal trade. So he pulled away from you now. You sat on the edge of your bed, watching him. He took a deep breath before taking off his shirt. This part wasn't too hard, you'd seen him shirtless before. The context made him feel a bit strange though. He looked at you, assessing your reaction. He blushed when he did. You were so obviously staring, then again he supposed that was the point. Still, the way your eyes seemed to trace over his body made his heart pound.

"Should I continue?"

He asked. In part he was nervous. He'd never undressed around a girl before. The other half of him was excited, more than he should be, at the prospect of you lusting for him. You nodded, leaning back a little.

"If you're comfortable continuing."

He couldn't for certain tell if he was comfortable per say, but he knew he wanted to make things even with you. Not to mention the other feelings. So he did. He unbuckled his belt and undid his pants. There was a moment of hesitation. He looked at you.

"You intend on undressing as well, right?"

It felt odd being the only one, but it probably felt worse for you when it happened last time, since you hadn't agreed to being seen that way. And maybe he was also just eager. You pursed your lips, thinking for a moment.

"You first. We'll take turns."

You wanted to enjoy the show. It'd be too distracting to try undressing while also trying to watch him. Though blushing, he decided to finish, taking his pants off and setting them aside. He looked at you now. He felt completely naked, despite still being in his boxers. It was a strangely exciting feeling. You stood up after a moment, walking over to him. You didn't touch, as much as you wanted to.

"You can sit if you'd prefer."

You said simply. In the spirit of making things fair, he did go and sit where you had been sitting, focusing more on you now than the tinge of embarrassment he felt from being undressed.

You took off your shirt, though you decided you'd keep your bra on for the time being. You felt your heart pounding at just how strange this whole situation was. You didn't question it for now, pushing your pants down and stepping out of them. You kicked them off to the side, looking at Tenya now. His eyes were fixated on you and your body. You could see the subtle heaviness to his breathing. His hands fidgeted slightly. That wasn't the only thing you noticed as you looked him over though. You had noted the bulge in his boxers before, assuming it was just the way they fit and nothing more. It was more pronounced now, bigger. It made you blush harder than you already were.

It was tense for a moment, both of you looking at each other, but not moving. He was the one to finally say something, his voice almost sounded ragged.

"Y/n, would it be too much to ask if I could touch you?"

You were a little surprised by the requests, but even so you stepped forward, standing in front of him. He looked up at you from where he was sat on your bed. Gently, and without a word, you reached for his hands and brought them to your waist. His touches were soft, just trailing along your sides, feeling how your skin felt against his hands. They found their way to your hips, resting there. You didn't know what all you had expected, but it was more than that. You had expected him to reach up to your chest, maybe back around to your ass, or just something pushing things a little further. You weren't completely underwhelmed however. After a moment, he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your abdomen.

"I wish I could find the right way to tell you how beautiful you are. Just saying it doesn't feel like enough."

He said softly, not looking up at you. You ran your fingers through his hair, an action that seemed to be enough to bring his attention up to your face. He was being too respectful, holding back when the deepest parts of your desires wanted him to snap, to take you, to ravage you. You knew he wouldn't. He was your kind, respectful Tenya. So you leaned down and kissed him, delighting in how the action made him squeeze your hips tighter in response as he kissed you back. You pushed into him more, and he pulled you in happily, helping you fit in his lap with his arms around your waist. You ran the tip of your tongue against his lips and he took the hint to deepen the kiss, taking control of it and keeping it gentle.

When you finally had to break the kiss to breathe, he looked at you in awe. You spoke before he did.

"If it's not too much, I'd much rather indulge in you now than have to wait until later."

"Are you suggesting we have sex?"

He asked, almost baffled. You nodded, though a little embarrassed about how he reacted.

"It doesn't have to be all the way, if you don't want it to be."

"What about you? And what about protection?"

He knew he didn't keep condoms around. Truth be told, he didn't foresee himself needing them any time soon.

"I've been on birth control since first year."

"Why?"

"Um. Period problems."

He wasn't as put off by the response as you expected, just thinking now. Something seemed to change after a moment, like a new sense of confidence had hit him.

"Alright then. Y/n, I would be honored for you to be the first person I have sex with."

Your heart skipped hearing that, despite the slight silliness in how serious he sounded. You smiled.

"I would be honored for you to be my first too, Tenya."

He smiled wide. You practically melted. His hands moved up your sides.

"If we're continuing, may I remove this as well?"

He asked, referring to your bra. You nodded. Before you could reach back to help, he was already fumbling with the hooks. You let him for a little bit. It was cute to see him try at least. Eventually, he seemed to figure it out, sighing a bit in relief.

"It would appear I'm going to be needing more practice with these."

You laughed softly, sliding the straps off your shoulders.

"There will be time for that in the future."

He blushed at the mere implications of not just getting to be with you once, but again in the future. It would mean you were really his. That he was really yours. He didn't get to think about that too much though because now your exposed chest was right there in his face and he probably couldn't even tell you what his name was anymore. You guided his hands up to your chest, wanting to let him touch, wanting to feel his hands on all of your more sensitive spots. He immediately started to squeeze and pinch, leaning forward to kiss and lick as well. For someone so new at this, he seemed to know exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was to feel and taste you. His tongue laved over your nipple, his hand squeezing your other breast. You gasped softly.

With nothing but your panties and his boxers to serve as a buffer, you could feel how hard he was, pressing against you. As a finger flicked one of your nipples, your hips instinctively pushed forward, grinding into him. He groaned quietly at the feeling. You huffed, head falling back slightly. You felt his hands move, one staying firm on your hip. You took that moment to catch your breath and regain some of your composure. It was short lived as you realized what he'd been doing. He lifted you with ease, laying you on your back on the bed. He'd been thinking about how he wanted you. He pulled your panties off of you, eyes trained on your face, looking for any sign he should stop. The only clue he received one way or the other was you spreading your legs for him once they were off.

You weren't sure what you expected, maybe for him to start working you open so he could properly fuck you. Which you would be completely and utterly happy with. It seemed he had other plans though as he leaned down, hiking your legs over his broad shoulders. You covered your mouth as he buried his face between your legs. His tongue seemed to follow some sort of pattern that you couldn't quite follow, occasionally brushing your clit and making you squirm. It seemed the sensitive spot didn't go unnoticed, because he focused there for a moment, and when you started to push your hips against his face and whine beneath him, he knew he must've found a good spot. His attention stayed there, toying with your clit with his tongue for as long as you could bare it. You could feel your orgasm building up, though you weren't sure he realized. You moaned out a little louder, which seemed to encourage him more. Your hand reached down into his hair, tugging slighting. You gasped, body tensing as you came on his face. He worked you through it and maybe a little longer than he needed to before pulling up, the lower half of his face wet from you.

"I could stay there forever if you'd let me."

He said, slightly out of breath. You reached for him, wanting him to come closer. You wanted him to lay beside you so you could return the favor and move. He gently took your hand, but didn't fully come to you as you wanted. Instead, he spoke in a low tone you hadn't heard him use before.

"If I may make a request, I don't want you to do the same."

You looked at him, confused. He continued.

"If you can manage it, I've spent nights now imagining how gorgeous you'd look riding me."

He hoped it wasn't asking too much of you. After seeing your breasts, he couldn't help but imagine the way they'd bounce while you bounced in his lap. It was a perverted fantasy, but one he still wanted to see fulfilled if you'd have him. You blushed fairly dark, but pulled him down. He let you this time, laying beside you. You kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips before straddling his lap. You wanted him, and he wanted you too. So why not satisfy you both?

He watched you in awe as you lined him up with you. You felt the tip press against your opening and how it slid in with more ease than you expected. No wonder he wanted to eat you out first. It got you worked up enough to take him. He groaned, grabbing a hold of your hips. You had to steady your breathing as you slowly started to take more of him. It was a stretch, though one you took like such a good girl. You stopped, almost fully down, wanting to take a second. Without a thought, he couldn't help but help you finish out, thrusting up into you. You let something between a gasp and a moan out.

"I'm sorry-"

He said quickly. He was so excited for you, so needy, it was hard to control himself. But he would. He didn't want to hurt you, especially while you were fulfilling his perverted fantasies. You had to take a moment before moving, pulling about half off before slowly sinking back down onto him. He watched you as you moved, loving the sight of your beautiful body taking his cock so well. You started to gradually increase your pace, moaning softly as you did. Before long, all you could hear were the sounds of your own moans, his quiet noises, and the slapping of you bouncing in his lap, just like he wanted.

You felt your orgasm building. You had hoped to get him off first, but it was hard for you to tell if he was getting as close as you were. Your movements started to slow, much to your own distress. He caught on, holding your hips tight and fucking up into you faster than the pace you had set before. You cried out his name, head falling back, inner walls squeezing around him as he continued to fuck you through it. It didn't take much more than that for him to pull you down, pushing into you as deeply as he could, and cum inside of you. Your name came out in a tight stutter as he did.

You both stayed like that for a long moment, taking in what had just happened, breathing in the now still room. You fell forward, laying on top of him. He wrapped his arms around you.

"Y/n."

He whispered. You looked up at him.

"I.. apologies for the way I went about all of this. And even though it would appear we've done things somewhat out of order, I was hoping you would... be my partner?"

You smiled, kissing him gently.

"I'd love to be your partner."

He smiled too.

"Perfect."

He pulled out of you now, making you both sigh at the feeling.

"Lay here and relax. Let me get things cleaned up."

He laid you down on the bed gently, getting up and going to your desk to get some tissues to clean everything up. After that, he pulled his boxers on and went over to your dresser. He pulled out a new pair of panties for you and a sleep shirt. He brought them back over to the bed. You went to get up so you could get dressed, but he stopped you.

"No, allow me. You've done enough tonight."

You blushed, but let him pull the shirt over your head and slide the panties up your legs. He placed the clothes you'd been wearing before in your hamper. He took a moment, thinking before looking back at you.

"Do you want me to go downstairs and get you water or anything else?"

He offered. You held out your arms for him.

"Come here, Tenya."

He smiled softly.

"Allow me to turn off the lights then."

He did as you asked now, coming back over to the bed. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him back into bed with you. He didn't argue, wrapping his arms around you as well, rubbing your back gently. He kissed the top of your head.

"I'm glad you forgave me."

He said softly. You couldn't help but smile.

"Of course, my love."

You felt him heat up at you calling him that.

"My love."

He repeated quietly, holding you a little tighter. You snuggled into him more, letting yourself get comfortable so you could sleep. Tonight wore you out and you were looking forward to waking up in the arms of not just your best friend, but your boyfriend and the love of your life.

#fanfic #mha fanfiction #bnha #bnha fanfiction #mha smut #smut #tenya iida #iida x reader #my hero academia iida #tenya iida x reader #bnha tenya #tenya x reader #mha tenya #tenya iida smut #tenya lida #tenya iida x you #iida x y/n #tenya x y/n

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itneverendshere · 1 year ago

Text

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - r.c (+18) - two

pairing: maybank!reader x rafe WARNINGS: violence word count: 6k...

masterlist

Neither of you ever mentioned that night again, as if it had never happened. It couldn't have happened; it must have been a figment of your overactive imagination and lack of human touch.

There was no way in hell you would have let Rafe Cameron have you on top of a dining table, living up to the derogatory "dirty pogue" nickname. You were better than that.

Despite that...you found it impossible to look at him after that, in fact, facing yourself in the mirror became a challenge, so much so that you refused his help in tending to your wound.

Self-sufficiency had long been your norm.

Growing up with Luke meant mastering the art of tending to your bruises from a young age.

Initially, there was clearly tension between you and Rafe.

Every time your paths crossed, it dragged you back to that regretful moment—the feeling of his hands, the memory of him inside you—but there were bigger things at stake, and so, you pushed the nagging feelings aside, focusing on one thing only: getting out.

You and Rafe didn’t mix, oil and water, two stubborn bastards with heavy emotional baggage. Sometimes it was tricky to work together, but other days, it flowed so easily it confused you.

In the time that followed, you both worked tirelessly to plan your getaway, meticulously plotting every detail to ensure success and not another round of bullets.

Your job was to sit around and act innocent, while Rafe had to ensure you had a way out and enough money to pay someone off. Avoiding Ward was easy enough since he spent most of his time in Guadalupe.

Rafe scoffed; his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed the small, weather-beaten boat skeptically. "I'm not getting into that piece of shit. No fucking way," he declared, voice dripping with disdain.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the frustration in your chest.

He was so fucking insufferable.

"You've got a better suggestion?"

He shot you a glare, but you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes caught the shimmer of the clear night sky.

"I do," he retorted, gesturing towards a sleek motorboat moored nearby. "That one looks like it might get us somewhere without sinking halfway."

You followed his gaze, your entire face scrunching up as you took in the sight of the motorboat. It was certainly more modern and well-maintained than the rusty old dinghy you had been eyeing, but something about it made you uneasy.

"That's a bad idea," you hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip nervously. "It seems a bit...too much. We don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves."

Rafe rolled his eyes, "C'mon,” he scoffed, "This isn't the time to be playing it safe. We need to get out of here, and that boat is our best chance."

You bit your lip, torn between your instincts and Rafe's seemingly reckless impulsiveness. On one hand, you didn't want to take any unnecessary risks, but on the other hand, you knew that time was running out and you needed to act fast. Ward was coming back to the island soon enough and if he dragged Rafe away with him…you were a lost cause.

There was no third chance.

“What about the guards?” your voice dropped to a whisper as you glanced around nervously. The last thing you needed was someone overhearing your plans.

“I’ve got it covered,” Your skepticism must have shown on your face because he stepped closer, lowering his voice, “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I'm not letting us get caught. I’ve been dealing with Ward’s security my whole life. I know how to slip past them.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Fine. But if this goes south, it’s on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, isn’t it always?” he replied, dismissively waving a hand, “Just try not to get shot this time.”

"You think you're so fucking funny, don't you?"

"Keep your voice down."

The sleek motorboat gleamed in the fading light, its potential for escape glinting like a promise of freedom. As night fell, you both finally moved with practiced stealth and with a reluctant nod, you followed him towards the sleek motorboat.

The docks were eerily quiet, save for the gentle lapping of the waves against the hulls of the boats. Your heart pounded in your chest as you kept a lookout for any sign of the guards.

Rafe moved with the confidence that you envied, quickly untying the boat and preparing it for departure. You glanced around nervously, half-expecting to hear the shout of a guard at any moment. Every shadow seemed like a threat, every noise a potential alarm.

“Hurry up,” you hissed, glancing over your shoulder.

“Calm the fuck down,” Rafe muttered, though he did quicken his pace. “We’re almost ready.”

Your anxiety spiked. This was it. No turning back.

Rafe started the engine, the low rumble sounding like a roar in the silent night. You winced, half-expecting the noise to draw attention since it was louder than you expected.

But luck seemed to be on your side.

“C’mon,” He whispered, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of trouble, “Get in.”

You climbed aboard, your hands shaking as you settled into the seat.

“Go!” you urged, glancing back at the docks nervously.

Rafe didn’t need to be told twice.

The boat lurched forward, cutting through the water with surprising speed. As the island receded into the distance, you felt a little hope.

For the first time in months, freedom was within your reach. He guided the boat out of the harbor and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“See? Told you it’d be fine,” Rafe said, a hint of smugness in his voice.

“Just keep your eyes on the water,” you retorted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of being right.

He adjusted the throttle, the boat picking up speed.

"Relax, Maybank. Enjoy the ride."

You shot him a withering look, gripping the edge of your seat. "Just focus on getting us out of here in one piece.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "You think I don't know what I'm doing?"

"Frankly, I don’t care what you think you know. Just keep us moving.”

Rafe's hands tightened on the wheel, but he said nothing.

The silence between you was a common thing. The coastline was a distant memory now, the open water vast and foreboding as uou kept scanning the horizon.

"You're acting like we're about to get ambushed by pirates," Rafe finally said, his tone lighter but still edged with that typical irritation.

"Better safe than sorry," you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Always so paranoid. That's what gets you in trouble."

You whipped your head around to glare at him.

“No, your family got me in trouble. In case you’ve forgotten.”

His face hardened, “Huh, right. ‘Cause your friends are such fucking saints.”

“At least they’re not murder—”You cut yourself off before you said it, but the damage was done anyways. Rafe's jaw tightened, the muscle there twitching again as he grounded his teeth, lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't respond verbally, but the anger you could feel radiating from him was answer enough to you.

He turned his attention back to the horizon, his grip on the wheel tightening until his knuckles were white. The boat's engine roared louder as he increased the speed, the vessel slicing through the water.

The waves splashed higher, and the night air became colder, but Rafe didn't seem to notice. His focus was absolute. Yeah, he was pissed. What could you possibly say? Apologize?

There was no way in hell you were apologizing to him.

Not after everything his father had put you through. If anyone owed an apology, it was him. But you knew you'd see the world end before Rafe Cameron ever uttered those words.

It was infuriating. There he was taking a step forward, leaving his loyalty to Ward behind yet refusing to show remorse if not between four walls with you.

Never out in the open, never too loud.

You sat in silence, each lost in your thoughts, the past not letting you calm down the way you really wanted to. It was done.

And although you wished things had been differently, they weren’t.

Despite the chill in the air, sweat prickled at the back of your neck, tension coiling in your muscles. The night stretched on, it was never ending, you hated every minute of it. After what felt like an eternity, light appeared on the horizon, signaling the approach of dawn.

You breathed a sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

The worst was over, for now at least.

Rafe glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, “We’re almost there. Keep an eye out for any patrol boats,."

He was all focus still, that calculating side that had always unnerved you.

You nodded, scanning the waters diligently.

The further you went, the more the reality of your situation sank in. You were out there, in the middle of nowhere, relying on a Cameron to get you to safety. The irony was almost laughable.

“Where are we heading?" you asked, voice softer, dulled by the exhaustion.

"We'll head south, find somewhere to lay low for a while. I've got contacts who owe me favors."

“Uh? We’re not going back to The Outer Banks?”

He shook his head, attention fixed on the horizon. “No. Not unless you wanna get killed.”

The Outer Banks, once your home, now felt like a trap waiting to snap shut. You should’ve figured Ward would send someone after you the minute he figured you were gone. A loose end.

Shills ran down your body as you remembered your close encounter with death.

"Your contacts won’t sell us out?"

He smirked, though there was no humor in it. "They know better than to cross me. Criminal, remember?”

You sighed, ready to jump into the water if it meant a little space from the unbearable atmosphere. Despite everything, you couldn't ignore the nagging guilt from what you’d almost said before.

“You know what I meant.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Listen,” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words. He glanced at you, his expression guarded, but you continued, “I don’t care, okay? Not right now. What matters is that you’re here, not with him.”

Rafe's face softened slightly as he looked away, jaw working as if he were chewing over something in his mind. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more subdued than before. “If you say so.”

As you drew nearer to the shore, details of the island began to come into focus. Lush greenery blanketed the landscape, punctuated by towering palm trees swaying gently in the breeze. It was oddly like the place you’d been stuck in for months, but this time, there was no sense of dread in you.

The boat slowed as Rafe expertly maneuvered it into a small cove, sheltered from prying threats by rocky outcrops and overhanging foliage.

With a soft thud, the vessel came to a stop, the engine sputtering into silence. Once he was done, he stepped onto the water, knees deep as the sandy shore still lay a little ahead.

You blinked in confusion as he turned to you, his arms open wide in a gesture that left you momentarily perplexed. The water lapped gently against the sides of the boat, its surface reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun.

"What are you doing?" your brow furrowed in bemusement as you eyed his outstretched arms.

“Helping you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his simple gesture of assistance. It took a moment for you to understand he was indeed trying to help, a faint blush tinged your cheeks at your slowness.

In all fairness, you weren’t used to this side of Rafe. You’d only seen it a few times and it was…something else entirely.

“Right.”

As Rafe's hand brushed against your waist while helping you out of the boat, your skin prickled in goosebumps. Traitor.

You quickly brushed off the sensation, chalking it up to nerves from the situation. With a grateful nod, you stepped onto the sandy shore, feeling the warm grains shift beneath your feet.

The island stretched out before you, its landscape dotted with lush vegetation and towering trees, it was larger than you had expected, much bigger than Ward’s private hell.

"We should find a place to sleep,” you said, turning to Rafe as you scanned the horizon for any signs of civilization.

He nodded in agreement, his gaze following yours as he surveyed the landscape. "Let's head towards the center of the island. There should be some motels.”

With a shared nod, you set off along the sandy shore, the waves crashing against the beach providing a rhythmic backdrop to your footsteps.

As you walked, the hairs on the back of your neck prickled, you blamed it on the paranoia that had become like second nature to you over the past year. After a while, you noticed a winding path leading into the dense foliage of the island's interior. Without a word, you and Rafe followed it, venturing deeper into the heart of the island.

The sounds of civilization faded, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds.

Finally, after what felt like hours of walking, you emerged into a clearing. Before you stood a beat up motel, its faded paint and weather-beaten facade blending seamlessly into the surrounding landscape.

"This should do," you nodded towards the building, "I guess."

“Yeah. Good for a night or two, my contact won’t be here till then.”

As you entered the motel lobby, the air was thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener, things you were more than used to.

Rafe followed closely behind you as he glanced around the room. You approached the front desk, where a bored-looking clerk sat slouched behind the counter, flipping through a magazine with half-hearted interest.

"Hi there," Rafe said, flashing a charming smile as he leaned casually against the counter. "My wife and I are looking for a room for the night."

His what?

Your eyes widened in surprise, but you quickly hid your reaction, playing along with his impromptu act. It was obvious it wasn't the first time Rafe had pulled a stunt like this, and you had to admit, he had a talent for getting what he wanted.

To pretend and lie his way out.

The clerk glanced up from his magazine, peeking over the two of you with mild curiosity. "Sure thing," His tone was disinterested. "How many nights?"

"One for now," Rafe replied smoothly, reaching into his pocket to produce a wad of cash that you hadn't even realized he had. It was a substantial amount, more than enough to cover the cost of survival for at least two weeks.

The clerk took the cash without comment, handing Rafe a key with a grunt of acknowledgment.

"Room 203," he said, gesturing towards a staircase in the corner of the lobby. "Upstairs, second door on the left."

"Thanks," Rafe said, pocketing the key with a nod of gratitude. He turned to you. "Let’s go, baby.”

Baby?

He must've been out of his goddamn mind.

His hand found yours, rough fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture that felt oddly intimate. You glanced at him, confused, but he simply squeezed your hand reassuringly, focused on the hallway.

When you reached the door to room, he released your hand with a reluctant sigh. That always happened with him, there was always something new you couldn’t pinpoint, but eventually got used to. The charming, panty-dropping posture was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual demeanor as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing a modest but comfortable-looking room.

“After you.”

You swallowed your surprise at his manners and stepped into the room, grateful for the relative privacy it offered. Rafe followed close behind, closing the door behind him with a soft click. It was sparsely furnished, with a queen-sized bed dominating the space and a small television mounted on the wall opposite. A worn armchair sat in the corner, and a narrow window offered a glimpse of the night sky outside.

"It’s a fucking dump, but it'll do for now."

Speak for yourself. It looked better than your house.

You sank onto the edge of the bed, resting the mattress. “Nicer than my room back home.”

“Really?”

"Don't act so surprised. We're not exactly living in luxury over there."

You could see the realization click on Rafe's face as if he’d forgotten your background, “Didn’t think it was that bad for you.”

"Yeah, well, appearances can be deceiving," you replied, "But let's save up the pity for later. I'm more interested in asking you why the fuck you got one room with one bed."

“I can sleep on the floor, relax.”

You shot him a skeptical look, eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"Seriously? You'd actually sleep on the floor?"

He shrugged, "It's not like I haven't slept in worse places."

You didn’t want to delve into that. Instead, you only stared at him for a moment, searching for any hint of insincerity in his expression. To your surprise, you found none.

Moments like these reminded you that he was human, and you hated it.

“Okay.”

With a weary sigh, you rose from the bed and began to remove your shoes, the events of the day finally catching up with you. Exhaustion settled into your bones, dragging you down like an unbearable weight.

Rafe watched you for a moment before turning away to rummage through spare sheets and pillows, preparing a makeshift bed. There was no time to change clothes; you had left the little you had behind.

As you slipped beneath the covers and closed your eyes, you couldn't ignore the possibility that this was only the calm before the storm.

It felt too easy.

You heard the rustle of sheets as he settled onto the floor, making himself as comfortable as possible, “Don’t fucking snore, Cameron.”

He chuckled softly, the rare sound carrying through the darkness of the room. "Wouldn't dream of it, Maybank.”

Hours later, you woke suddenly, your heart pounding in your chest, the remnants of a nightmare still clinging to the edges of your consciousness.

For a moment, you lay there in the darkness, disoriented and trying to make sense of your surroundings. Then, you heard it—a low, murmured voice coming from the other side of the room. Turning towards the source of the sound, you saw Rafe lying on the makeshift bed on the floor, his face twisted in a grimace of pain.

He was tossing and turning restlessly, his brow furrowed as he muttered incomprehensible words under his breath. The sight of him trapped in a nightmare weirdly stirred something protective within you. Despite everything, you didn’t like to see him in pain.

It felt so familiar, and for a second you were back home, in your room, rocking yourself back and forth after waking up in hysterical screams.

Moving quietly, you slipped out of bed and crossed the room to kneel beside him. Gently, you reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a shake.

"Rafe," you whispered trying to rouse him from his slumber. "Hey, wake up."

In the next second, you were gasping for breath as Rafe's hands closed around your throat in a vice-like grip. Shock and fear nearly knocked you out instantly but your body started to fight against his hold as you struggled to break free.

Muscle memory and all.

"R-Rafe!" you gasped, your voice coming out strangled as you clawed at his hands, desperate for him to let go. He was so lost in the nightmare, his grip unyielding as he continued to squeeze, his eyes wide and unseeing.

Panic took over you as your vision started to blur around the edges, darkness creeping into while your lungs burned for air. Frantically, you tried to call out to him again, to wake him from whatever hellish nightmare held him in its grasp, but your voice was little more than a choked rasp.

“Rafe!"

Then, as suddenly as it began, the pressure around your throat disappeared, leaving you gasping and wheezing for breath as you collapsed against the bed.

Blinking away the tears that pricked at your eyes, you looked up to see him kneeling beside you, his hands shaking as he stared at you with wide, horrified eyes.

"Fuck, fuck," he whispered, his voice trembling, "Shit, shit. I didn't mean to—I didn't know—"

His words were choked off by a strangled sob as he buried his face in his hands, his entire body shaking with the force of it.

It was a startling thing to witness, seeing the usually composed and confident Rafe Cameron reduced to this. But then, instinct kicked in again,and you reached out to him, wrapping your arms around him.

He practically dragged you into his lap, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other tangled in your hair. He only shook his head, his sobs growing louder as he buried his face where your neck and shoulder met, his entire body wracked with tremors. All you could do was hold him close, offering whatever comfort you could.

Eventually, his sobs began to subside, his breathing evening out as he clung to you.

You held him close, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, “Better?”

Rafe nodded against your shoulder; his breathing still ragged but gradually steadying.

"Yeah," he murmured, "Yeah, I think so."

You remained silent, holding him close as he slowly calmed down. His body against yours was oddly comforting. He pulled away slightly, his eyes red-rimmed but clear as he looked up at you.

"I didn't mean to hurt—”

You reached out and brushed a stray lock of his dark blonde hair from his sweaty forehead.

“I know," you whispered. “It was just a nightmare. I have them too.”

You didn’t know why you offered him that solace.

"You do?"

You nodded, though you knew he couldn't see it in the dim light.

"Yeah," you admitted, "They’re pretty bad too.”

There was a brief pause, filled only with the sound of your quiet breathing and the distant hum of the night outside.

Then, Rafe spoke again, "What do you dream about?"

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. But something in Rafe's earnest expression told you to be honest, to let down your guard just this once,

“Luke. You?”

Rafe's immediate reaction was defensive, hands pulling away from your body, “Doesn't matter."

You felt stupid for asking him such a personal thing.

He wasn't like you.

“Do you want to sleep in bed with me? It might be better than the floor."

"I'm fine on the floor. Don't worry about me."

With a sigh, you reached out and grasped his arm, turning him to face you again, "Rafe," you said, voice borderline pleading, “Just sleep on the bed. Okay?"

He hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the bed, but with a reluctant sigh, he nodded.

"Okay, okay. Fine."

With that, he rose from the floor and cautiously joined you. You shifted slightly to make room for him, and as he settled beside you.

“Don’t snore.”

“Not more than you do.”

The rest of the night passed with fitful sleep and restless dreams and when morning finally came, you awoke to find he was already gone, his side of the bed cold, no traces of his presence, and a messy scribbled note left behind on the bedside table.

"Picking up food and clothes. Don't open the door."

You felt relieved that he hadn't disappeared without a word and was instead putting in the effort to rely on you.

Deep down, you knew he had left as soon as he woke up, sprinting out of the room to avoid waking you and having any awkward confrontations about last night.

It was going to be a long day, especially if he was determined to hide his emotions.

You knew the old, bad Rafe Cameron would make a reappearance.

You got up from the bed and stretched, realizing you needed a shower. You stank. It had been two days since you had washed yourself properly, and the thought of having gone to sleep in such a state made you want to hurl. You’d have to ask for another set of fresh sheets.

As you stepped into the bathroom, the warm water cascading over your skin felt like a dream, washing away the previous night. The steam filled the small space, enveloping you as you took your time, allowing the water to ease the knots of stress from your muscles.

You focused on washing away the dirt and grime, letting the familiar routine ground you. Yet, even as you lathered soap onto your skin, your mind couldn't help but drift back to Rafe, to the way he had clung to you in the darkness.

It had been another reminder that despite his tough exterior, he was just as human as any of you, with fears and insecurities that ran deep.

It terrified you, because up until last month Rafe Cameron was not capable of emotions to you, only violence.

You stepped out of the shower, the steam still lingering in the air, with a towel wrapped snugly around your body as you stepped back into the main room of the motel, feeling refreshed.

“Huh, good morning to you too.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, “Fuck!”

Rafe stood there, leaning against the doorway, something similar to a playful smirk at the corners of his lips as he watched your startled reaction. His arms were laden with bags of groceries and a few articles of clothing.

"Didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted to make sure you were alive in there."

You stared at him incredulously, “Turn around!”

He scoffed, walking into the room as he closed the door with his foot, “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

He said it so casually, it irked you.

As if you two hadn’t been purposely ignoring that night ever happened. You shot him a glare, snatching a towel from the nearby chair and aiming at his face, full force.

"That's not the point, Cameron," you grumbled, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “And you didn’t see shit. I was dressed.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, catching the towel with ease before tossing it back to you "What's the matter, Maybank? You shy all of a sudden?"

“Will you shut up?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening as he leaned against the nearest wall.

There was no point in getting into a pointless argument with him, especially not when you had more important things to worry about.

Instead, you focused on drying yourself off and getting dressed in the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you. When you emerged again, fully dressed and composed, Rafe had already begun unpacking the bags of groceries, laying out an assortment of food on the small table in the corner of the room.

The sight of the makeshift spread made your stomach growl in anticipation, reminding you just how long it had been since your last meal.

“Hungry?” Rafe asked, glancing up from where he was arranging the food.

You nodded eagerly, making your way over to the table and helping yourself to a plate of fruit and plain toast.

As you ate, Rafe filled you in on his plans for the day.

It was strange, hearing him talk so casually, without insults, without fear, or threats. For so long, you had seen him as nothing more than a spoiled, entitled rich kid, content to go through life on his family’s wealth and influence. But ever since that night, you couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of respect for him.

He wasn’t Ward.

When he finished speaking, you glanced up from your plate, “Sounds like a plan. Is your contact here, yet?”

“Nah, only tomorrow.”

“Great. So, we’re on our own for now?”

“Yeah, you and me, Pretty Maybank.”

"Hey," you began as you tried to sound casual, "Why do you call me 'Pretty Maybank'? Is there a story behind it?"

Rafe's gaze flicked up from where he was picking at his food. He seemed taken aback by your question as if he hadn't expected you to bring it up.

He shrugged, "I don't know. Just seemed fitting, I guess."

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, "Fitting? How so?"

Rafe hesitated, elbows dropping to the table as he searched for the right words. "I don't know," he repeated, his voice softer this time. "You just...are pretty, Maybank, everyone knows that.”

You felt like there was more to the story.

“Oh.”

He leaned back, now sat in the old chair, “Might start calling you snoring Maybank though.”

Your lips twitched, “You’re not funny. At all.”

“Sure.”

You tilted your head, studying him intently. He looked like a completely different person from last night, “Do you feel any better?”

“About what?” He feigned innocence, avoiding your gaze, as his fingers started tapping nervously on the table.

You knew what that meant.

You leaned forward as you reached out to touch his hand gently. “Uh—Y'know, last night, your nightmare.”

“Don’t,” Rafe's abrupt change in demeanor catched you off guard, his walls shooting up in an instant, his tone laced with defensiveness.

You straightened up as you withdrew your hand, a wall of your own rising to match his.

"It’s not important," he snapped,"Just drop it, okay?"

You recoiled at his harsh tone, the way he spoke down at you making you want to slap him across the room. It was clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk about whatever demons haunted him in the night, and you knew better than to push him when he was like this.

But you were feeling inspired.

“Why do you always do that?” You needed some sense of security around him, and every single time you were close to getting it, he backed out.

He stood up straight, rolled his shoulders back, and narrowed his eyes at you “Not doing anything.”

"You always shut me out," You continued, words coming out in a rush as you struggled to articulate your feelings. "Every time. You say a few words, and then bamb, gone. We’re not friends, that’s fine. But I need to know you’re someone I can rely on, okay? You can’t be doing this. One moment you’re all trusting and the other…I don’t even know what the fuck you are. You can say no nicely, you don’t need to act like a dick.”

Rafe's jaw clenched, his expression turning steely.

"I don’t want to be your fucking friend, Maybank," he retorted,"I'm protecting myself. And if you can't handle that, then maybe you're the one who needs to reevaluate things."

You felt the color drain from your face.

"Protecting yourself?" you shot back, your voice rising with each word. "From what, exactly? Me?"

He didn’t move, didn’t so much as toss a glance your way as he responded, “Keep your voice down.”

You shook your head, standing up from your seat. He'd said the same exact thing before you got on the boat and you were tired of being pushed aside like a toy.

“No, I fucking won’t. You’re the one who punched me on that ship, your guards were the ones who shot me, your father is the one who wants me dead,” your lips quirked in a small, humorless smile, “And you want to talk about protecting yourself?”

Rafe felt himself flinch, noting how his brows seemed to furrow ever-so-slightly. There was a feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t make out yet, but it was heavy and made you antsy.

"You think I don't know that?" he growled, “You act like I don't carry that guilt with me every single day."

His words caught you off guard, the emotion in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. Rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched into every line of his face.

"You have no idea what it's like. To carry that weight, to know that everything you touch turns to shit.” His voice was probing, his eyes scanning your face with a scrutiny that made you want to run out the door. “And you—Shit, you’re just searching for some confirmation that I am as horrible as everyone’s made me out to be. Newsflash, I am."

You let out a groan, the sound scraping against your throat. "I��m trying to help you! Are you stupid? Oh my god.”

"I don't need your help!" he snapped, standing taller than you, "I don't need anyone's help. I've been doing just fine on my own."

You stepped closer to him, pushing against his chest with your finger, "Fine? Is that what you call it? Living on the run, constantly looking over your shoulder, never knowing who you can trust? That's not fine, Rafe. That's not living."

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly.

“I don’t know how to live. I know how to serve, that’s it.” His grip on your wrist tightened as if he was trying to anchor himself, "I just...I can't."

Can't trust you, you think that's what he wanted to say.

“Right,” You swallowed, finding the carpet of the room suddenly all too interesting, “Good enough to fuck, not to trust.”

His grip loosened slightly, his hand falling away from your wrist as if burned, “I never said that.”

“You don’t have to. Dirty pogue, remember?”

His breathing mirrored your own, both erratic, leaning in closer, breath hot against your skin as his nose brushed against yours.

“You think I’d risk my life for you if I believed that?”

“I don’t know. Would you?”

“You have no idea," he breathed, “Do you?”

"I don't understand you."

"Neither do I."

Without another word, he closed the distance between you in a single fluid motion. His hands found their way to your face, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. His touch seemed to tingle between tenderness and roughness, as if he was unable to choose between cherishing the moment and giving in to his desires completely.

You melted into him, your body responding instinctively to his touch, it felt different from the first time you kissed. Less violent, less primal, more…intimate. As if trying to convey everything he had been keeping bottled up inside, and you welcomed it.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“You can’t keep kissing me to avoid questions.”

"I know," he murmured, "It's just easier than talking."

You sighed, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly.

"It's wrong."

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching slightly at your words. For a moment, you thought he might pull away again, and retreat into his shell, but then, to your surprise, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light peck.

"I know," he murmured against your lips,"But for now, can we just...be?"

You nodded, "For now, we can just...be."

Neither of you knew what you were doing nor the consequences to come.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe x pogue!reader #rafe x Maybank!reader #rafe cameron x maybank!reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe angst #rafe fic #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fluff

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feinzleclerc · 4 months ago

Text

Challenge | Héctor Fort

summary :: where you participate in the 'guess the weight' video with your boyfriend.

warnings :: none...!

word count :: 1.363 words

notes :: video link here 🔗

I stood in front of the cameras, positioned next to Hector. The marketing team I worked with for the Barcelona squad had decided it would be a good idea to pair me and Hector for a video on the club's channel.

After all, according to them, Hector’s fans and Barcelona supporters were always rooting for a moment of us together on camera, especially if it involved something playful.

— Hi, I’m Hector Fort, and I’m here with my girlfriend to play ‘Guess the Weight' — he introduced the video.

The camera focused on me, so I waved and smiled.

— Today we’re making mac and cheese! So we’ve got pasta, cheese… — I introduced the ingredients. — …and some other stuff I’m a bit lost about.

Hector glanced at me, grinning. — Really? — he asked. I just nodded with a smile.

First up: 40 grams of butter.

— Do you think 40 grams is a lot? — I asked, trying to guess the weight just by holding the cup.

— Forty grams is forty grams! — he replied sarcastically.

— Seriously? — I shot back. — You don’t even know what 40 grams looks like.

I watched Hector, who seemed just as clueless as I was, as he cut a block of butter in half. Meanwhile, I confidently went to check the scale.

— Each line is 20, right? — he asked, joining me. The production team confirmed.

I placed my cup on the scale, and the needle moved to exactly two lines.

— Spot on, 40 grams! — I said with a triumphant smile.

— You’re joking! — he exclaimed. — How?

— I’m just good at everything. — I teased, winking at him. — Your turn!

— I think I’ve got less. — he said, placing his cup on the scale.

Sure enough, the scale read 36 grams. — It’s because I cut the butter. — he explained.

— It’s fine, Hector, it’s fine. — I teased, giving him three light taps on his arm before moving on to the next round.

Second round: 30 grams of flour.

I started scooping flour into my cup, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hector looking completely lost, holding the butter cup to compare weights.

— Are you crazy? — I asked, noticing the ridiculous amount of flour in his cup.

— Why, my love?

I didn’t say anything, just placed my cup next to his. The difference was glaringly obvious.

— No! No! No! I put in too much, didn’t I?

He started removing some flour, smiling nervously. When he weighed it, the scale read 20 grams.

— You’re terrible! — I said with a grin as he gave me a disappointed look.

— If you’re so good, let’s see yours.

I placed my cup on the scale, and it also read 20 grams.

— You’re just as bad as me, cariño!

— You somehow manage to be worse, trust me. — I said with a mischievous smile.

He quickly changed the subject, focusing on the tie for that round.

Third round: 400 ml of milk.

— This one’s going to be tough for me. — I whispered.

— It’s still easy for me.— he replied confidently.

I held the pasta container to get a sense of weight, and Hector decided to tease me back.

— Looking lost, cariño, or am I wrong?

— You’re definitely wrong. The problem is this is heavy, so it’s tricky.

— I’ll give you the honor of going first.

I ended up with a surprisingly low number—200 ml. I quickly removed my cup, trying to keep Hector from seeing the result, and added more milk.

— Hey, stop that! — he protested. — She did 200!

— 200? — someone from production asked for confirmation.

— Yes!

With a victorious grin, he stuck out his tongue at me and started measuring his own.

— That’s not 400! — I said.

— But it’s 370! — he said, his grin growing wider.

— Okay, let’s see. — I placed my cup back on the scale.

— No! You already measured.

I waited, and the scale remained at 370. This led to more teasing from him about how I couldn’t even beat him when I was “cheating.”

— This round is mine!

Next up: 150 grams of cheddar cheese.

— Is 150 a lot or a little? — It was his turn to ask a “silly” question.

— I have no idea! — I said as I placed a spoonful of cheese in my cup.

— Well, I think this is it! — he said, lifting his cup confidently.

How could he? He barely added three spoonfuls of cheese before going straight to the scale. I didn’t say anything and let him proceed.

— You’ve got to be kidding me! — he exclaimed.

I glanced at the scale and understood his shock.

— I got 50! — he said, making me laugh uncontrollably. — Stop laughing.

— That was ridiculous!

— Let’s see you, then!

I smiled confidently as I placed my cup on the scale. It didn’t reach 150 grams, barely 100. Had I really done worse than Hector?

— I got 40, cariño! — I said with a disappointed smile, as he celebrated next to me.

— Alright, point to Hector! — I said, pretending to be upset.

Next up: 180 grams of Parmesan cheese.

I watched as Hector poured the Parmesan straight from the container into his cup. — Use a spoon, Hector!

— I don’t need one! This time, I’ll be spot on.

— Alright, then! — I said, smiling slightly.

When I was done, I set the container aside and checked the scale. The result wasn’t as expected. I had exactly 100 grams.

— No! No! — I ran my hands through my hair.

— Nice try, cariño!

— You probably got the same amount. — I said, eyeing his cup, which looked about the same.

It was close, but not quite a tie—he had 95 grams.

— Let’s call it 100 for both. — he suggested.

— No! You got 95! — I pointed to the scale’s line.

— Trying to cheat?

Despite Hector’s attempts to claim a tie, he failed. This round was mine.

Final round: 150 grams of pasta.

This was probably the easiest round to measure. We simply poured the pasta into our cups, waiting for each other to finish.

Hector went first and ended up with 200 grams. — Ole… 200! — I booed him.

— She won… she put less than me. — he said grudgingly.

I held my cup close to my face as if sniffing it.

— Can you smell that? The scent of victory.

— In the last round, we tied, but you cheated. That was dirty! — he tried to argue.

— Can you smell the victory? — I teased, ignoring him and pointing the cup toward him.

— No! No! You cheated! — he insisted. — Come on, put the cup on the scale.

Victory was certain, 150 grams of pasta, just as required.

— I’m the winner, right?

— We need to recount the scores.

— I guessed two right, and you guessed one. The rest were basically ties! — I told him.

— I don’t remember that. — he said, pouting like a child.

Final score: Hector Fort 3 vs. (your full name) 4.

— They’ll recount, and you’ll see this win wasn’t fair.

— We’ll see, Hector. We’ll see!

After a few more protests from him, we stood in front of the camera again as he closed out the video.

— CUT!

The production team called out, turning off the cameras.

— It was nice competing with you, but winning was even better!

I gave him a quick kiss on the lips before heading back to work.

— Stop your teasing, it was all rigged! — he called out loud enough for me to hear.

#hector fort #hector fort x reader #hector fort x you #hector fort x y/n #hector fort imagine #hector fort x fanfic #hf32 #football x reader #football imagine #football fanfic #football x you #football x y/n #football x oc #football icons #fc barcelona #barcelona x reader #barcelona x y/n #barcelona x you #hector fort oneshot

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azzo0 · 1 year ago

Text

Exam Season

Summary: Katsuki comforts you when you feel frustrated revising for exams.

Pairing: Bakugo x gn!reader

Contains: a wee bit of crying with fluff

wc: 1.1k

Katsuki furrowed his eyebrows at you, sitting in the common room as everyone went about their after-school studies, given the third-year final exams were fast approaching. He stared at you, noticing the dark circles under your eyes as you bit the inside of your cheek, nose buried deep in a textbook.

You'd been a little distant lately, and it pissed Katsuki off. You arrived early to class to get some studying done before Katsuki could greet you over breakfast and left the classroom first so you could get to the dorms and revise. Whenever the bakusquad invited you to hang out, you shot them down with the excuse, 'I have a lot of revision to do.'

He could see the signs of exhaustion creeping all over you. You were yawning and rubbing your eyes again. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance when he saw you reach for the freshly made cup of coffee, your eyes glued to the textbook, unaware everyone had begun packing up their books to hit the bed. He waited for everyone to leave, pretending to flip a page or two when his attention was really on you.

The common room was soon deserted, with only you and Bakugo being the ones behind. He stood up and walked over to you, "Oi."

You looked up from the textbook to see your boyfriend looking down at you sternly, his arms crossed and legs apart in a dad stance, "It's time for bed."

"I'll go after I finish this section," You replied, "It's a little tricky and-"

"You've been studying the whole fuckin' day with no breaks, Y/n." Bakugo reasoned, "You'll get tired. C'mon, let's go."

"'Suki, please," you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, "I don't have it in me to argue with you right now, so please let me be."

Bakugo opened his mouth to shoot a reply, closing it instead when he saw the gloomy look on your face as you stared at the textbook again. He heard your stomach rumble and gave you one last glance before leaving.

Truth be told, you felt bad for ignoring him for the past couple of days, but you had not realised it while studying for the exams. You scrubbed your face and let out a long exhale, bringing your knees to your chest. Your stomach rumbled again, reminding you it needed to be fed. Ignoring your pleading tummy, you rummaged through your bag and pulled out a notebook and a pen to complete an exercise, forcing yourself to stay awake. The coffee seemed to be doing the opposite of keeping you open-eyed.

You gritted your teeth in irritation when you got a question wrong. You had watched online lectures for this very topic over and over again, and yet you still managed to mess it up. Frustrated, you tossed the pencil to the other side of the room, glaring down at the paper with your eyes blurring and stinging.

Katsuki happened to walk into the room just then, a plate with a sandwich in hand. He saw you staring at your notebook with glossy eyes. He was beside you in an instant, setting the plate on the coffee table and putting his hands on your shoulders, "Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

You shook your head and wiped your eyes. Katsuki took your wrists, putting them down. He cradled your face ever so gently, making you look at him. He wiped away the tears with his thumb and kissed your closed eyelids. He brought your head to his chest and slowly moved his hand up and down your back while pressing sweet kisses into your hair.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asked after a few minutes of silence, patiently waiting for your response.

"I just-" you muffled into his shirt, "I feel tired of not being able to achieve the grades I work so hard for. It's frustrating getting all these papers back to see all that work was for nothing. I want to do better on these exams, Katsuki. I'm trying my best, but I'm so scared I'll mess up."

You pulled away from his shirt, rubbing your eyes, "And this stupid chapter is so annoying I can't understand it no matter how many videos I watch on YouTube."

"That's it?" Bakugo said once you were done, "That's what you're worried about?"

"Easy for you to say when you're on top of the class," You glared through wet lashes, "some of us have to work thrice as hard and still can't make it to the top."

"I didn't mean it that way, Y/n," He said with apologetic eyes, taking your hands. He kissed the inside of your wrist, moving up your arm and onto your cheek, getting you to giggle when his eyelashes tickled your skin. He pulled back with a grin, cupping your cheek.

"Don't compare yourself to me or others. Got that? You're you, and that's okay. Besides, It's not like the world will end if you don't get an A." He tilted your chin towards him when you looked down sullenly, "Or will it?"

"It won't." You mumbled.

"Damn right. It's just a stupid piece of paper. It isn't going to define you or your life." He finished with a kiss on your forehead, "You got that?"

"Mhm."

"Can't hear ya, sweets."

"Yes, sir."

Katsuki pinched your cheeks and squished them together, planting a kiss on your lips. Satisfied with your goofy smile, he gave you the sandwich, "Eat up."

Your heart stirred when you took the sandwich from him. Why was he so sweet?

Katsuki pulled your textbook to himself to see which unit you were working on, eyes skimming over your notes thoughtfully, "You could have come to me if you needed help with this, you know?"

"You're busy preparing too, 'Suki."

"I know, but I could've still helped you out with it." He said, closing the textbook, "No more studying for now. After you finish that sandwich, I'm taking your ass straight to bed. If you rest well, yer going to be able to grasp the concepts better."

"Okay," you smiled, munching on the sandwich.

"There's still three weeks till the exams, so we're goin' out tomorrow to freshen up that cute little head of yours," he said, poking a finger on your forhead, "No thinkin' about school or exams or books. Just a day out with you and me. After that, I'm helping you study, alright?"

"Sounds nice," you hummed.

He huffed and silently watched you eat. Seeing you smile again with bright eyes as you rocked back and forth while eating made him feel content. As soon you were done eating, he grabbed you by the wrist and hoisted you up, throwing you over his shoulder without a warning.

"Katsuki!" You squealed.

"Hup, hup, time for bed."

A/N: It's exam season, and I haven't been feeling my best. This is for everyone studying for exams and tests. Don't forget to take breaks and get plenty of sleep. Good luck :)

#katsuki bakugo #bakugo #bakugo fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha x reader #mha fluff #azzo writes

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trippinsorrows · 6 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + twenty seven

authors note: none.

cw/tw: angst, threats of violence, csa survivor being triggered

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

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 13k

Solana gasps when the familiar scent of her husband’s cologne, strong yet subtle, invades her nostrils conjoined with the welcoming embrace of his strong arms around her body. Naturally, she turns around from the counter where she was putting away dishes, a small smile on her face as he rests his hands on the small of her back.

However, her grin dims a bit when she sees he’s fully dressed. “You’re leaving already?”

Roman nods, explaining, “I need to get back on track. The sooner, the better.”

His words, logically, make sense. But, they do nothing to abate her nerves. “What if you worked from home?” She then proposes in an almost selling manner. “I called off today anyway, so I’ll be here in case you need something.”

Something being a euphemism for the word anything. In the few days that have passed since the funeral, Solana has continued to stay with and watch her husband like a hawk. Ready to support him in any way that he needs, the memory of him breaking down in front of her, holding her while he cried into her stomach, something she will never forget.

Something he desperately needed.

And something he hasn’t outright spoken about. She gets it. Understands how both major and uncomfortable that had to have been for him. Emotions are tricky and confusing, and for someone who’s used to pushing them away, feeling them all at once can be….an experience.

His thick brows furrow slightly, as he asks the million dollar question. “Why’d you call off?”

Shit.

A couple of reasons.

Beyond just the obvious of wanting to be physically present and available for him.

One, while her husband was in their home gym, trying to work off some of his still heavy emotions, she sat near the toilet for almost twenty minutes, vomiting twice and afraid of a third occurrence, hence her not leaving. Second, Solana still feels not the best—morning sickness attacking her with all the rage the past two days. Three, she has the appointment today.

And none of these things can be said to the man before her who looks understandably confused.

So, she goes with a not entirely untrue answer but not the full truth either. “Didn’t really feel up to it today.” Her fingers scrunch the soft material of his shirt. “Besides, I didn’t want to leave you alone….”

And that is not a lie. Solana has tried her best to keep reminding herself that she can’t be with her husband 24/7, but given how they have been together practically 24/7 for over a week straight, it’s kind of hard not to want that to continue.

She’s anxious at the thought of not being nearby in case he needs something.

In case he needs her.

Roman shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.” There’s a hint of concern etched in his handsome features as he asks, “are you sure you’re okay?” Solana does her best to remain with a neutral expression even as his shifts into something of a frown. “Feel like you’ve been sick a lot lately...”

“Stress,” she answers. Again, technically not a lie. “It’s just been…..a lot recently.” But then, she feels bad because she sees that he feels bad. “I’ll be fine. I promise. I just need to make sure you’re….okay enough.”

Because wanting him to be good is a ridiculous expectation. Not with what he’s just been through. She knows better than anyone how recovery from a major loss like that can take some time.

A lot of time.

Roman’s still looking at her unconvinced. Like….like there’s something he’s not saying.

Or asking.

And, it’s unnerving, because sitting on a pile of secrets is always stressful enough. Adding in her overtly protective and possibly suspicious husband is even more unsettling and not anything she can tolerate right now.

“I’ll come see you at lunch then,” she suggests, partially wanting to actually check on him mid-day but also needing them to get off this subject.

It seems to work, as he objects, “you don’t have to do that, Sol.”

“But, I want to,” she counters, lifting her palm to his cheek. “You’ve helped me get to the point where I’m okay….now it’s my turn.”

Solana is unsure what okay will look like for Roman, because everyone’s definition is different. But, whatever it is, whatever it requires, she’s willing and ready to walk with him, right by his side, the entire time.

Roman leans down and kisses her forehead, muttering, “come with me.” He straightens back up and goes to grab her hand, explaining, “I want to show you something.”

Solana nods and allows him to walk them out the kitchen and past the living room where she sees Dulce sleeping peacefully in her bed. Roman guides them up the steps and into their bedroom only for her to gasp, turning to him with a small smile. “Roman? What is all of this?”

This referring to the more than several set of small to medium black, luxury shopping bags with a foreign word written in calligraphy sitting on the dresser. Moving closer, another gasp when she realizes they’re almost all filled with various sized jewelry boxes.

“When did you even….” She trails off, grabbing a random box and opening it, mouth dropping at the stunning diamond necklace. “Roman, this is beautiful.” Because it is, and she’s certain every other piece he’s apparently purchased for her is just as stunning.

He’s moved over towards her, arms crossed as he explains, “it’s handmade Italian jewelry. I wasn’t sure exactly what you’d like best, so I just got it all.” He says it so casually, Solana’s eyes widening at the thought of how much all of this could have cost.

“How much did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he dismisses, pushing some of her hair out of her face. “You’re worth it all.”

His words warm her heart and make those butterflies form as her eyes land on something else. Carefully closing the box and placing it back inside the bag, she’s quick with grabbing the beautiful brown leathered book. “You got me journals!” It’s said with such elation, almost childlike, evoking a chuckle from Roman. The smile on her face widening as she runs her hand over the soft cover. Opening said journal, an engravement on the inside of the front cover catches her attention. It’s written in what she would guess is Italian.

Italian jewelry. Italian leather, most likely. Putting two and two together would indicate these are gifts he got her while he was away in Italy. A realization that makes her heart flutter. He was there on business yet still made time for her.

Always thinking of her.

Moved and now especially curious about the words she cannot read for herself, Solana asks, “what does it say?”

And without even reading it, Roman speaks in Italian, moving his hand to gently cup her face as he translates in a quiet voice, “you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Her heart swells, eyes shutting momentarily to bask in the moment. Love is such a beautiful, sacred thing, treasured and coveted. Something she’s found, so deeply and heavenly, with him.

Always with him.

And it’s in that moment, as she leans up and kisses him, reciprocating her vow of love, that it hits her.

Solana knows exactly what tattoo she wants to get for her husband.

————

The minute the backdoor is opened and Roman slides in the SUV, he’s met with Dwayne’s hulking frame, phone glued to his ear.

“I don’t fucking care if it’s impossible. Make it possible,” he barks. Roman chuckles. His cousins’s temper can rival his at times, and this aggression and irritation that fills the SUV makes it a bit easier for him to drift from sorrow to business.

Emotions have always been…..weird for him. Something he’s always possessed but worked tirelessly to push away and suppress, only to ever really reveal and express around one woman before Solana.

Fetu.

She was always his safe space. His anchor. His safety.

Her being gone isn’t something that’s computed, that’s truly set in, that he’s accepted. Or, maybe he has. Maybe it was that crushing realization that not only is she gone but that he didn’t even get to see or speak to her one last time that made him break down in his wife’s arms.

Years.

It’s been years since Roman has cried. Not since the day of the funerals where he refused to leave the gravesite of his deceased family. Where he cried and apologized profusely for hours for not being able to save them.

For failing them and not being strong enough to do so.

That….that was the last day he’d allowed himself to shed a tear.

Until now.

It was both a strange, liberating experience. One he never wants to experience again but also…..needs.

Two opposing forces that make little sense and account for a shit ton of cognitive dissonance.

The only thing that does make sense is his wife.

Solana.

That is the one thing, the one person he needs. Now more than ever.

And she’s been nothing but his rock throughout this whole thing. Even when he tried to push her away and ice her out, she stayed. Supported him. Helped him. Cared for him. Loved him.

He wasn’t lying when he told her he couldn’t have made it through this without her.

He couldn’t.

At all.

And as nice as being with her, not having to think or focus on anything but himself and all of his heavy ass emotions has been, it couldn’t last forever.

Because as much as he still feels not okay, he’s gotta pull it together.

One way or another.

“Yeah….that’s what I fucking thought,” Dwayne snaps, pulling Roman from his thoughts, before snatching the phone from his ear and smashing the red end button. “Fucking incompetent pieces of shit.”

“Do I want to know?” Roman asks, even though he really wants to substitute want with need. Right now, essential information and problems is all he wants to tackle this day. It’s bad enough his Wise Man is out sick.

Paul is usually the buffer and filter for all the bullshit, something Roman truly has little patience for on most days, even more on a day like today.

“Naw.” Dwayne shakes his head. “I got it.” He turns to his cousin as Roman signals for the driver to start driving. “How you doing?”

A dumbass question in Roman’s mind, but he doesn’t say as such. “Fine.” He’s not, but as easy as Dwayne can be to talk to sometimes, if Roman is going to talk to someone about feelings and shit, it’s going to be his wife.

And, well, her.

Maybe.

“Bullshit,” Dwayne calls him out, lightly shoving his shoulder. “But, getting back into the swing of things might be helpful for you. You like yelling at people.”

“I shouldn’t have to though,” is the easy counter. “People should just do their fucking job.”

Dwayne gestures to his phone. “That’s what I just told this dumbass.” Roman snickers and shakes his head as his older cousin clears his throat and suddenly asks, “that wife of yours talk to you?”

Roman easily hides the way his shoulders tense at being asked about Solana. “About?”

Dwayne’s expression shifts into something a bit more serious, and this isn’t lost upon Roman. “About what went down with Rikishi?”

“Yes.” The answer to that is easy and simple. Solana did technically tell him something happened between her and his older cousin, but she did not say specifics. And he knows that was for a reason. “Now tell me what really happened.”

————

The conference room is already filled with the expected persons by the time Roman and Dwayne arrive. All but two chairs are occupied as Jimmy, Jey, Solo, Rikishi, and Matteo wait with various expressions. The sons and father seem to be engaged in quiet conversation while Matteo keeps to himself, preoccupied with the phone in his hand.

That dynamic is about all that Roman can make out as he marches right into said conference room, Dwayne not too far behind. The men are barely able to finish standing when Roman marches right over to Rikishi’s chair, grabbing him by his collar, snatching him out the chair and shoving him against the nearest wall.

Roman is somewhat cognizant of the voices of shock and protest around him, but it doesn’t make a single fucking difference.

He’s seeing red.

Muscled forearm barred against Rikishi’s fat neck, he finds joy in the way the older man’s eyes are bulging and the almost desperate way his chubby fingers try to push him away. “If you ever in your fucking life raise your hand to her again, I’ll kill you! You understand me!” Roman relishes in the absolute fear emanating from the man before him. Good. “Don’t you ever fucking disrespect my wife!”

By now, Roman is a bit more cognizant to the hands grasping at him, trying to pull him away from his target.

“Ayo, Uce, what the hell you doing!” Jimmy’s voice makes it past the thick wall of anger that fills and consumes Roman as he thinks about this fucker having to audacity to try to hit his wife.

Over Roman’s dead fucking body will anyone disrespect Solana. Especially his family.

“Get the hell off him!” Roman is finally “pulled” away from a now gasping, coughing Rikishi. It’s truly Roman’s decision to let go, because ain’t no way in hell not a man in that room could stop him from killing this son of a bitch right now if he wanted to.

And a part of him does. He really does. But, it’s hard to tell how much of that desire is fueled by his grief vs logic.

But, it’s when Roman realizes both Jey and Solo are standing in front of a reddened face Rikishi, while Jimmy tends to his dad, that he really gets pissed the fuck off. They have the audacity to look like they’re ready to jump him. “What ya’ll about to do, huh?” Roman challenges, ready for whatever. As he always is. “Ya’ll ain’t about to do shit!”

And maybe, just maybe, they are. Doesn’t matter. He’ll kick both their asses and make their daddy watch.

Jimmy then moves over after helping Rikishi to his feet. “Roman, what the hell are you even talking about?”

Chin jutted in Rikishi’s direction, his answer is cold and direct. “Ask him.”

Another harsh cough followed by an unexpected answer as he moves to the side, no longer completely obscured by the protective wall of two of his sons. “She hit me first. Did she tell you that?”

At that answer, both Jey and Jimmy look slightly taken back. Solo just continues to glare at Roman, who’s tempted to knock him out for that disrespect alone.

“She did,” Dwayne suddenly chimes, him and Matteo simply watching the scene unfold without a hint of interference. For now. “But, this was only after you made fun of her being abused and basically told her she was useless because she hasn’t produced an heir yet.” Just hearing it again has Roman’s eyes closing and hand fisting at his side. Rage. “Regardless, you know the rules. We don’t put our fucking hands on women.” And then an almost knowing comment/question. “Or have you forgotten?”

It’s a simple question, but it feels like there’s a story there. The way anger flashes in Rikishi’s face and eyes, something similar to what’s painted on his twins faces. Roman, however, is redirected from wondering if there was more to said comment by Jimmy and Jey switching their focus back to their dad.

“Dad, did you really do that?” Jimmy is the one to ask, shaking his head. “Tell me you ain’t say that shit.”

Rikishi doesn’t hesitate to defend himself. “The girl was out of line.”

“Aye,” Jimmy is the one to cut him off. “Her name is Solana, alright?”

“Just let him talk,” Jey interrupts. “Two sides to every story.”

“Not when it’s a man trying to hit a woman,” Jimmy counters. “Making fun of her trauma and shit.”

Jey is also not backing down. “Look, we weren’t there, alright?”

“But, I was, and I saw exactly what went down,” Dwayne reminds, crossing his arms.

“And if I may,” Matteo suddenly enters the conversation, Jey only looking more irritated than before. “Under no circumstance should a man try to hit a woman. Ever.”

Jey doesn’t hesitate to try to put Matteo in his place. “Aye, look, this don’t involve you, alright. This Bloodline business.”

“I suggest you lower your voice.” Matteo’s own voice takes on an icy tone as he so chillingly threatens, “I’d hate to have to spill your blood in front of your family. On this otherwise lovely day, too. A shame.”

Matteo’s very real threat only further incenses Jey. “I know you not fucking threatening me.” He steps forward, Solo reaching to restrain his older brother. “Man, I’ll knock your ass out!”

Matteo smiles. “I look forward to seeing you try.”

Jey points to Roman, “you better get your fucking boy, Roman.”

Roman couldn’t care too much about that. “Tell your fucking dad to keep his hands off my wife.”

“Man, you overreacting! He ain’t even touch her!”

Roman growls, “just because you don’t give a fuck about your bitch of a wife—”

“What the hell you just say?” At that, Jey’s very paltry sense of resolve breaks. “I told you, you not gon’ keep disrespecting my wife, or we gon have problems!”

Roman goes to move toward Jey, never ever scared when both Matteo and Dwayne go to restrain him. “If you gon do something, do it!” It takes a great amount of strength from both men to hold back an irate, borderline unhinged Roman. “I’ll whoop you and your daddy’s ass, and if Solo keeps looking at me like he’s lost his goddamn mind, I’ll kick his ass too!”

“That’s enough!” Jimmy finally cuts in, also going to restrain Jey, standing between an almost standoff. Rikishi, Solo, and Jey vs Roman, Dwayne, and Matteo. “Everybody just needs to calm down!”

“Your anger is misplaced, Uce.” Rikishi sounds, Dwayne still holding onto Roman’s arm while Matteo has loosened his grip in favor of focusing on the other three, waiting to see if they’ll do something. “Especially considering I was the one who tried to plead on your behalf just this morning,” he taunts almost, as if trying to get under Roman's skin even further.

And, it partially works.

Roman doesn’t need anyone to do shit for him.

“Plead for what?” Dwayne is the one to ask, recognizing verbalizations are a much better alternative to the physical melee that’s on the horizon if de-escalation doesn’t start. And fast.

Rikishi straightens up, adjusting his tie, almost as if he’s trying to act like his life didn’t just end suddenly and violently. “The Elders have grown tired of waiting for the Tribal Chief to produce an heir.” Dwayne tightens his grip ever so slightly, feeling Roman try to inch away from him. “You and your wife are to conceive by the end of the year….or else.”

It’s almost an instant thing, several sets of eyes all on Roman, most of which trying to anticipate and navigate his next move.

Meanwhile, Roman’s mouth shifts, his nose snarled as he finds himself shouting, Dwayne again having to hold him back from lunging. “Or else what!”

Rikishi’s voice is eerily calm as he answers in an even voice, “they will make you divorce Solana and take a new wife of their choosing this time.”

————

There’s an emptiness she feels sitting in the patient room, waiting for the nurse to walk in. Roman’s absence is noticeable and heavy, and she hates it. Hates that this is yet another thing that she has to keep from him.

That she’s chosen to keep from him, because at this point, these are choices she’s making.

She chose to not tell him about her potentially being pregnant. Chose to not tell him once the pregnancy was confirmed. And chose to still not tell him even as she sits at her first OB-GYN appointment.

And yes, all of that may be for good reasons, for her wanting to protect and be mindful of where he is mentally and emotionally.

Still, it doesn’t negate the fact that it sucks.

And that it hurts.

It hurts a lot.

Following a small knock and opening of the door, Solana looks up from her lap and wipes away at her blurry gaze, offering a small smile to the nurse who’s just walked in. “Hello.”

She’s young, probably close to Solana’s age, her scrubs revealing a slim, lithe figure. Her dark hair cascades down her shoulders and frames her features nicely. She’s a stunning woman.

A woman, however, who fails to reciprocate Solana’s kind gesture. Not right away, at least. Awkwardly clearing her throat, she greets, “Mrs. Reigns. I didn’t—they didn’t tell me it was you…..give me just one minute?” The nurse doesn’t wait for a reply, just leaves a confused Solana sitting in the patient room wondering just what the hell is going on.

She’s just about ready to step out into the hallway when the nurse returns, quietly closing the door behind her. “I’m so sorry.”

Solana has to ask, nails nervously tapping against the bed. “Is….is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she answers. Quickly. Too quickly. “Shit, no.” Closing her eyes for a few seconds, she walks over to Solana and offers one of the wildest introductions ever. “My name is Sasha, and I know you don’t know me, and I’m probably crazy as hell for even telling you this, but I—I used to sleep with your husband.”

Solana’s shoulders slump at the same time her chest tightens. “W–what?”

Sasha’s eyes go wide as she shakes her head and explains. “It’s been months. Like not since the beginning of this year, but I—I was one of the ones…..” She presses her fingers to her temples. “God, this is so messed up. I’m so sorry to do this to you. I tried to see if another nurse could handle you, but everyone is busy and…..fuck.”

Fuck is most definitely the right world. Of all the places. Of all the nurses. Solana just so happens to get the one nurse who used to be one of her husband’s fuck buddies.

Go fucking figure.

“I haven’t spoken or done anything with him in months. I swear.” She then lifts her left hand to show off a beautiful engagement ring. “Funnily enough, this is actually my last week working here. My fiance—long story— and I are from the same town, and he just got a job back home, so we’re moving next week.” She adds in a bitter tone, “kinda wish it was this week now.”

With the absence of Solana’s voice, Sasha proceeds to fill the silence. “Mrs. Reigns, I really am sorry. I know I had no business still sleeping with your husband after you two got married, but we’d been….intimate on and off for years, and he was just someone—”

“Please,” Solana finally speaks, voice low and soft. “Please don’t. I—I get it.”

Because with the shock worn off and the discomfort waning, as irritating as this is, it doesn’t necessarily matter.

This Sasha woman was Roman’s past. Solana knows that she’s his present and future, so from that logic, what reason does she have to be upset?

At least with Sasha.

She does, however, have a reason to be nervous.

Hand naturally falling to her stomach, she says in a much more desperate voice than she’d like, “you can’t tell anyone—”

“Are you kidding me?” Her eyes widen once more as she shakes her head. “Outing the Tribal Chief’s wife’s pregnancy is a sure way for me to go missing, and I’d actually like to make it down the aisle.” Sasha visibly tenses, suddenly asking in a lowered voice. “Wait, is he he—”

“No.” That’s it. That’s the only answer Solana can bring herself to give. And it seems enough, Sasha nodding before the two settle into an awkward silence.

“Is it okay if…..if we get started?”

Solana nods, still a bit boggled by the whole situation but recognizing that it’s not the priority.

“Of course,” she agrees.

All things considered, Sasha is the epitome of professionalism. She asks her questions, takes down the information given to her, draws Solana’s blood and directs her to the bathroom where the pregnant woman gives a urine sample, all while maintaining a calm, friendly disposition.

There’s nothing, surprisingly, awkward about it.

And that’s appreciated. Shocking, too, given who she is and who she was to Roman.

It’s only when she’s wrapping up her portion that she clears her throat again. “I hope this doesn’t come across as an inappropriate question and feel free to tell me to mind my damn business, but can I ask why Roman isn’t here?”

Solana is tempted, almost ready to take Sasha up on her suggestion to tell her to mind her own damn business, but there’s something so genuine about her question. A sadness in her voice and sympathetic look in her eyes. It seems to come from a place of genuine concern.

Solana finds herself answering honestly. “He doesn’t know yet.”

Sasha makes an ‘O’ with her mouth. “I’m sorry. I should have never asked. It’s just….with how much he must care about you—”

“What makes you say that?” Solana knows the words to be true. Knows that Roman cares about her. Loves her. But how and why the woman in front of her knows this is what makes her slightly suspicious.

Sasha sighs, answering almost nervously, “a man like Roman Reigns doesn’t just cut off his entire roster of women in exchange for one if she doesn’t mean something to him.” She shrugs, adding on, “and I mean, look at what he did to Sam’s uppity ass.”

If not for the confusion, Solana would maybe chuckled a bit. She’s not heard one good thing about Sam from a single person. Not one. “What do you mean?”

“Girl, you didn’t hear?” Sasha sucks her teeth, smiling a bit. “He had Nia whoop her ass. Well deserved, in my opinion.”

Solana gasps. “What?”

“Yup,” Sasha pops the ‘p.’ “Had her break that bitch jaw.”

Solana sits there stunned, briefly struggling to understand the reasons why only for it to come to her so easily.

The night of the fight.

Sam’s cruel words to her in the bathroom.

Solana told Roman. Roman said he’d handle it.

Clearly, that was how it was handled.

“You be careful with that one though,” Sasha advises, expression shifting to something a bit serious. “She was always delusional believing Roman was gonna marry her ass. And a couple weeks ago, I saw her drunk in a bar lamenting about how much she hates you and can’t wait to—her words, not mine—give you exactly what you deserve.”

The words should bother her. Maybe even trigger a sense of concern. Solana recognizes that would be a normal reaction, especially given the world that they live in. However, concern and even fear are not the emotions that rise at Sasha’s information.

Anger.

Anger is the only thing she feels.

Solana isn’t the same woman Sam cornered in the bathroom and talked down to.

She’s changed. Grown. Is better in so many ways and stronger in so many more.

So, Sam can try some shit if she wants to.

Solana is ready this time.

“I’m not scared of her,” is all she says, hand falling protectively to her stomach.

“I can see that,” Sasha says with a small smile, tapping on the screen a couple more times. “Well, I think that’s all I need from you. Dr. Sharmell will take over the rest.” She pauses. “Like I said, this is my last week here, so Alexa or Jakara will probably be your nurse moving forward, but I just wanna say congratulations. You seem like you’re gonna be a great mom.”

Eyes watering, Solana can only mumble a quiet, heartfelt, “thank you.”

Sasha doesn’t say anything else before walking out the room, leaving Solana alone for not even five minutes before there’s a knock on the door followed by an entrance.

“Mrs. Reigns?” An African-American woman with smooth brown skin, a wrinkle free complexion and pearly whites. Her smile is amenable and her disposition warm. She walks over, extending her hand. “Hi, I’m Dr. Sharmell. I’ll be your OB-GYN. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Solana can only reciprocate the smile and gesture, shaking the older woman’s hand. “Thank you. It’s—it’s nice to meet you too. You….you can call me Solana.”

She looks a bit taken back but nods. “Solana, it is.” Moving over to the screen, she double checks a couple things that Sasha had already asked. Asks a couple more questions, mostly regarding if there’s been any concerns regarding the pregnancy thus far. The answer is no.

Solana prays it stays that way.

“Okay, well, I see you had a pap smear at the beginning of the year, so I won’t do one of those again. The labs I ordered are standard procedure just to make sure your levels are good, and from what I can see based off your hCG levels, it does look like this is a multiples pregnancy.” Solana has no major reaction to this, as it was already hinted/told to her by Dr. Michaels. “But, let’s do an ultrasound and double check, okay?” She gives Solana a look that’s of a questioning nature, like she wants to make sure this is an okay trajectory.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she answers in a quiet voice.

However, it’s when Dr. Sharmell starts to move the machine around that Solana notices something that zaps the comfort and calmness she was experiencing up until his point. “Wait, is that—do we have to do a transvaginal ultrasound?”

Just saying it aloud makes her stomach twist in all of the wrong ways.

Dr. Sharmell nods. “Based upon the date of your last menstrual cycle, you should be right at 10 weeks, and internal ultrasounds are best practices for pregnant women still in their first trimester.” Solana’s discomfort must be written all over her face, prompting the older woman to ask, “are you okay?”

Sniffling, Solana wipes at her now tearing eyes. “I’m sorry, I just—” She takes a deep breath, reluctantly sharing, “I was raped as a child and…..I just….things down there…..”

And this is why Solana would give anything to have Roman here with her, because she knows his presence, holding his hand, having him here reassuring her that she’s safe would help her be able to tolerate the exam.

But, he’s not here, and the thought of being penetrated, even if for medical reasons, is something that has her heart racing and anxiety spiking.

Dr. Sharmell is nothing but sympathetic as her face morphs into something almost solemn. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” She shakes her head. “I can do a pelvic one instead. It may not show everything, but it’ll show enough for now. Okay?”

Solana can only nod and close her eyes as Dr.Sharmell shifts gears, handing her a sheet to cover up her lower half. Solana then proceeds to raise up the hospital gown to expose her belly. The gel is cool, a nice, chilling sensation to help settle her nerves. But, it’s when the doctor makes a sound that she opens her eyes and shifts her focus to the screen.

“I was right.” She shoots Solana a small, comforting smile. “Twins.” Eyes continuing to water, Solana looks in awe as Dr. Sharmell points to the screen. “This is Baby A.” Her finger travels around as does the transducer roaming her belly. “And this is Baby B.”

So early on in her pregnancy, it’s hard to make out anything significant like arms, legs, and a head, because none of those have developed just yet. However, none of that matters, because they’re still her babies.

Her children.

Confirmation that they’re alive, growing, and healthy.

It makes the tears spill over, the emotionality of it all overwhelming her in a sense.

He should be here.

Roman should be here, experiencing this with her.

But he’s not.

And all she can seem to think about is how this is wrong.

All so wrong.

————

It’s not a good time to be doing this.

Not in the slightest. Roman knows this, has the wherewithal to see and know that he’s not in the best place to even try to be open to something he doesn’t even want to be doing in the first place.

But, he also knows that he needs to. That he needs to do this. Whether he wants to or not.

It’s not about him.

It’s about her.

It’s about doing what’s best for their marriage, and truthfully, if she can find it in her to do it, then so can he.

Marriage…..

Roman’s fist forms at his side as he rolls his shoulders while trying to settle the anger growing again at Rikishi’s words he has no doubt came directly from the Elders.

There’s also lingering feelings towards Jey and Solo, toward their disrespectful, borderline challenging behavior. Unacceptable on all fronts, thus he regrets nothing except maybe not reminding them both why they answer to him and call him Tribal Chief.

However, that’s minimal compared to Rikishi and his actions both today and toward Solana.

But, while a part of him wants to believe that the son of a bitch was just trying to fuck with him with his statement about the Elders, a result of his anger and pride at being attacked, the logical part of Roman knows that’s not the case.

He knows Rikishi isn’t lying about that much.

It makes sense. Roman sensed there was some shit they were planning before Fetu had passed. Sensed that they were up to something, and this is clearly it.

It’s not going to happen though.

It’s one thing for Roman to reconsider ending his marriage to Solana for her own safety. It’s another for those prehistoric fuckers to try to tell him he needs to end his marriage to her.

Over his dead fucking body will that ever happen.

Roman will kill them all before he lets them take her from him.

Murder is obviously the last resort. Maybe. But as of right now, he hasn’t got another plan. A less violent way to handle this, but he’ll figure it out.

He always does.

Even though the solution is rather simple, something that is very much a possibility now that their marriage has been consummated.

Many times.

Many….many times.

And in full transparency…..Roman had started to wonder. Her sickness. The fatigue. The vomiting.

Started to wonder if maybe, just maybe…..

And then he pushed it away. Has pushed it away, because stress would also explain all of that as well. But beyond that, he knows that if it was that, Solana would have said something.

And, she hasn’t, thus it’s not even worth thinking about further.

So, until then, he’ll come up with a plan.

But, not right now.

Now he’s got a whole other issue he’s sort of—not really—ready to tackle.

Because Roman’s already paper thin patience is waning by the second every time he glances at the clock on his phone to see another minute pass. Three. She’s three minutes late. And for some people, that would be insignificant, but not for Roman. Because every minute of the day is precious for him, spoken and accounted for with tasks to be completed.

So every minute wasted waiting on her is deducted from the total time he has in a day to get everything done, thus, he’s already got one strike against this woman before ever even meeting her.

Thankfully, a text from Solana manages to briefly pull him from his growing frustration and temptation to just leave.

Solana: You’re not getting back until late, right?

Roman: Yes.

Roman: Why? You alright?

Solana: Yes. It’s just Bayley and Naomi are “making” me go with them to dinner tonight, but I don’t want to not be there when you get home….

Roman: Solana, go. I’ll be fine.

Because he will. Emotionally, he still feels…..not great, but he doesn’t feel as numb and overwhelmed as he’s been the past few days. Even beyond that, his wife has been by his side this entire time, putting her own life on hold to focus and cater to him. And he’s grateful. Immensely. But, she needs to also focus on herself.

His feelings about Bayley and Naomi are still…..not the best, but he knows what they mean to Solana, and she needs this.

So, he wants her to have it.

Solana: Are you sure?

Roman: Positive

“Well, shit.”

Roman looks up from his phone, instantly irritated because why the fuck is someone talking to him when he’s trying to text his wife?

And he’s even more annoyed at the sight of the red headed woman wearing jeans, boots, and a white short sleeved shirt that shows off the tattooed sleeve on her right arm. Bag over shoulder, cup of coffee in one hand, and keys in the other, she scoffs. “Yeah…..Gail wasn’t kidding when she said she had a challenging referral for me.”

But, it’s when she speaks again that his scowl drops. Roman asks, “you the therapist?”

She shrugs, answering, “that’s what my clinical license says.” Turning away from him, she prompts, “come on. Sorry I’m late. People don’t know how to fucking drive.”

There’s a lot to process in this moment. The lateness. The almost unprofessional attire. The profanity.

What in the hell did Gail sign him up for?

Nevertheless, Roman follows this woman into the office once she unlocks and opens the door. And again, another culture shock. His wife’s therapist office is the traditional cool tones, plants hanging near the window, some mental health shit on the wall and whatnot. And this….person still has that, but there’s nothing neutral and traditional about her setup. The sofa is red, a kaleidoscope of colors plastered everywhere from the rug to the pillows to even the tye-dye curtains that are pulled back with a bright green tie. And it’s the framed poster on the wall above the computer that reads, “feelings are weird and uncomfortable and shit’ that makes him chuckle.

One thing he can give her is that it’s nice to not have that…..therapy shit shoved down his throat.

Not when he’s already extremely uncomfortable with this whole thing.

“Make yourself at therapy home,” she encourages, going to hang her bag on the hook behind the now closed door. Roman sits down, still on edge but feeling less annoyed. “Name’s Lita, by the way. Not sure if Gayle mentioned it.”

“She didn’t,” he answers, watching how she walks over and plops down in her chair, grabbing her coffee off the desk where she’d placed it while getting the room set up.

“Well, it is,” she shrugs. Taking a sip, she then informs, “I’ll call you Roman.”

Instantly, the irritation is reappearing. “Did I say you could call me by my first name?”

Lita gives him a look, asking in an even voice, “do you seriously expect me to call you My Tribal Chief?” She chuckles at her almost mocking tone, mumbling before snagging another sip. “That’s not happening.”

Roman finds himself asking, both rhetorically and literally, “what the hell kind of therapist are you?”

Because while his only experience with this profession has been through Solana, through Gail and even Stratus, the differences are stark. These women are day compared to Lita’s night.

“The kind who works with people. Not titles.” Reaching to place her coffee on the small table beside her, she explains. “The Tribal Chief is what you are. It’s not who you are. Who you are is Roman Reigns, and that’s who I’m interested in working with.” She gestures around her room. “In this space, you’re just a person, and something tells me that’s not a space you get to be in a lot in your life.”

He’s quiet. For a couple of reasons. The main one being that he’s having a bit of a hard time finding a point of disagreement. Her delivery is absurd, borderline disrespectful, but it’s not….it’s not entirely wrong.

“So how’s this shit supposed to work?” He asks, allowing himself to lean back on the sofa, muscular arms crossed over one another.

Lita shrugs once more. “However you want it to work.” And before he can push back on her vague ass answer, she supplies, “my approach is I don’t make you do anything. I help you get to a point where you want to do things.”

“Like?”

“Actually work on and process shit.”

“That’s probably not gonna happen.”

Lita chuckles, standing up and walking over to her desk. Roman watches her pull open a drawer where she grabs a notebook and pen. She then walks back over and reaches said items to him. “Here. Take these.”

Roman looks at her with disinterest but still accepts said items. “Alright, I want you to write down why you’re here right now. I’m not gonna see it, not gonna read it, not even gonna keep it. That’s for you. I just want you to be honest with yourself and preferably me, but we’ll get you there.”

Roman looks slightly confused but still understanding of what she’s asked of him. Lita grabs her coffee and falls back into the chair. “Get to writing.”

A scowl reappears. This demanding shit is gonna have to most definitely be addressed.

Roman doesn’t get demanded.

Even though he most definitely finds himself writing shit down.

Control my anger/blackouts (around my wife—I don’t care about anyone else)

And that’s it.

“Done.”

Lita lifts a brow. “Seriously?”

“What?”

She scoffs, “you head the two biggest criminal organizations in the world and only need less than a minute to list things you want to work on?” She shakes her head, directing,“try again.”

Roman is irritated. This smart mouth of hers is getting old. “I don’t need—”

“I said try again,” Lita says in an almost softer voice. “Remember, be honest with yourself.”

There’s something both triggering and eye-opening about that latter statement. Honesty is something Roman has always valued, but when it’s directed toward and about himself, there seems to be difficulty.

Solana….she’s helped a lot with that, and he’d probably feel less hesitant and more forthcoming if it was her he was talking to, but as great a support system his wife is for him, he knows he can’t put it all on her.

The same way, deep down, he knows he can’t continue to bottle shit up like he’s been doing.

Roman swallows before starting to list without thinking, refusing to allow his brain to interfere with what weighs his heart down when he strips back all the thick layers of protection.

Feeling guilty about Fetu’s death

Feeling guilty about my family’s murders

Feeling guilty about surviving

Feeling guilty about Solana’s attempt

Feelings towards my mom

Feelings about fatherhood someday

Not feeling good enough for Solana

Feeling like I have to be perfect to be loved

Being codependent with Solana

Matteo

Other shit

Roman can list it, but that’s it. Talking about or even thinking about what he wrote down is just….it’s too much right now.

“Done,” he mutters, taking it upon himself to fold up said paper that he stuffs in his pocket.

“Good.” Lita nods. Standing up once more, she moves over to a bin near the bookshelf, pulling out a red, familiar box. “Now let’s play a game.”

“A game?” Roman is disgusted all over again when she walks over, holding the biggest box of fucking Uno he’s ever seen. “Do I look like a child?”

“Technically, there’s a child in all of us,” she counters. Roman watches her pull the massive stack of cards out of the box. “Now this is actually feelings Uno.”

“Feelings Uno?” It keeps getting worse. So much worse. “What the hell is that?”

Rolling her eyes while she expertly manages to shuffle through the giant cards, Lita explains, “Red is anger. Blue is sadness. Yellow is joy. And Green is a free for all, meaning you get to decide whatever emotion you want it to be on your turn. You play a card and then talk about whatever emotion goes with the card color.” The steps are clear and to the point, but Roman is still struggling with the fact that this woman seriously wants to play a whole ass game with him. “Considering it’s only our first session, I’ll take it easy on you. You only have to answer when you play a red card.” She smirks, equally distributing cards to the both of them. “Something tells me anger won’t be too difficult for you to talk about.”

She’s not….not entirely wrong.

Roman asks while looking over at his colorful cards. “You stack?” Playing a game is truly preferred than talking about….feelings and shit.

“You trying to talk about several different upsetting events at once?” She asks, laughing a little when he rolls his eyes. “No. No stacking. This time.” Leaning over, she plops the first card down for their pile. “And to show you I can sometimes be one of those overly nice therapists, I’ll go first.” Roman watches her lay down a matching red card, sharing so casually, “well, I felt angry as hell when I came home from school when I was thirteen and found out my abusive, piece of shit dad had not only offed himself but took my mom and little brother with him.”

Silence. Almost everything about this woman in the less than twenty minutes that he’s known her has been unexpected, but that has to take the cake. The casualty in her voice is a stark contest to the weight of the confession. It has him partially stumped, cause what the fuck does one say to that?

He goes with the only thing he knows and can think to say in the moment. “Why the hell would you tell me that?”

There’s a bit of a shift in her countenance. Her voice softens as she explains, “it’s important you know when we’re working together and I say that I understand life can be a shitshow, I’m not talking about fucking Starbucks messing up my order.”

He doesn’t comment on her disclosure nor her follow up comment. He just lays down his own red card, sharing, “felt angry at my mom when she told me one time that my half brother was the son she wanted, not me.”

Lita makes a sound. “Parents are just wonderful, aren’t they?”

Roman says nothing, the two of them easily falling into this space of sharing and not really elaborating. Just putting it out there, building some strange form of rapport that feels almost natural to him.

And it’s through this process that Gail’s comment regarding this whole therapy thing returns to him. “I have someone in mind who will either be a perfect fit for you or the worst referral I’ve ever provided.”

And strangely enough, Roman is leaning toward the former of those two paths.

————

Solana has always felt deeply aligned with the saying, “if it ain’t one thing, it’s another.” Always felt that perfectly described many of her life experiences. It’s something that’s waned drastically since being married to Roman but has still popped up from time to time.

And sadly, this is one of those times.

Because now not only is she sitting on a letter given to her by Roman’s late aunt that she requested only be given to him when the time was “right,” a pregnancy that now her husband’s ex fuck buddy knows about before him, but now another letter addressed to Solana.

From her mother.

A letter Solana has never seen before today when she was trying to reorganize her library/art room after Roman canceled their lunch date, citing being unable to escape meetings.

She believes him, of course. It’s just that it would have been preferred to this.

Yet one more thing for her to work through.

In all actuality, it should be easy for Solana to just open the damn letter. Read it and get it over with. But the weight of it, the amount of pages she can feel through the envelope, and the fact that it’s in a separate letter instead of a journal, has her concerned.

Solana’s mom always wrote to her in journals, so the fact that this is not in a journal…..it has her worried.

Which is why it remains untouched, laid out on the bathroom counter with Fetu’s letter along with the sonogram photo she received just earlier today. Both pulled from their respective hiding spots in her art room/home library.

Solana is trying to figure all this out while doing her makeup for dinner. A nice, necessary distraction as she spends a little extra time covering up the bruise. The darkness and hyperpigmentation have gone down tremendously, which she’s immensely grateful for. Especially given the fact that Roman hasn’t commented on it in a while. She knows he sees it, can see the slight cringe he still does at the sight, but his guilt seems to have dwindled moderately, which is deeply appreciated.

Even if it’s because he’s battling a different type of grief now. And it’s staring at the envelope from Fetu that Solana allows herself to really think about if the right time is now. It would be so easy to just give it to him, to not have to have that weight on her shoulders. And maybe she should have done it sooner, done it during his week of depression and dissociation.

But, she was just so worried that it could somehow make things worse. That it was too soon.

And, it still feels too soon. Solana isn’t entirely sure what the right time is…..but, it doesn’t feel like now.

Maybe….maybe in another week or so. Besides, Fetu trusted her to give Roman the letter, so the older woman must have trusted her judgment….right?

What is and has been the right time for some time now, however, is this pregnancy. Solana can’t keep hiding this from him. He deserves to know. He always deserved to know, and while her intentions were always good, that doesn’t negate the fact that she’s in the wrong.

She needs to tell him.

And, she will.

Tonight.

It still doesn’t sit right with her to spring this on him while he’s still trying to process such a massive loss. But, it’s even more not right to tell his doctor, to attend these appointments, to be ten weeks along, almost three months along and him still be in the dark.

It’s not fair.

He doesn’t deserve that.

And as if on cue, her phone dings with a text from the man of the hour himself.

Roman: I love you

Such simple words that put the biggest, deepest smile on her face. She is quick to respond with reciprocation.

Solana: I love you, too. ❤️

Solana: Everything alright?

She taps her nails against the phone screen, staring at the three dots as he types.

Roman: Yeah.

Roman: Just wanted to say it.

And a sigh of awe leaves her, imagining him saying as such instead of texting it. A softness in his voice and gaze reserved only for her.

Solana: Well, I’ll never get tired of hearing it. ☺️

Solana: I’m getting ready to head out.

Roman: Okay. Text me when you get there.

Solana: Will do.

Feeling slightly better at having some sense of direction moving forward as well as an unexpected, sweet exchange with her husband, Solana sends a text to Bayley and Naomi to let them know she’s on her way. Eyes glued to the phone, she isn’t paying much or enough attention to the fact that two items slide off the counter and onto the floor as she grabs a single envelope.

Bautista serves as her guard again, not that she has any issue with that. Solo is fine, has been fine, for the most part, since his apology at the gala, but Bautista….there’s something different about him.

Despite his intimidating, frightening presence, there’s a warmth in the older man that vastly contrasts Solo’s coldness. Not to mention his sage words regarding just who she is and the power that title gives her has truly been groundbreaking. It’s something she plans to never forget.

The drive leans on the side of shorter rather than longer, Solana walking into the restaurant, being escorted to the back where Bayley and Naomi wait. As soon as their eyes are on her, they’re standing up, each pulling her in for hugs.

“We’ve been so worried about you,” Naomi whispers in her ear, followed by Bayley’s hug as she straight up asks, “Solana, what the hell has been going on?”

But, it’s only after the waitress comes, takes their orders, and she texts Roman that she’s arrived that the words start to spill out.

A heavy sigh leaves the mouth of the Tribal Chief’s wife as she sits down in the chair, placing her purse in the other empty chair. A quick glance to the left reveals Bautista sitting at a nearby table. Not too close but close enough where he could act if something were to go down.

“I know….I know I’ve been distant.” Distant seems like not a strong enough word, but it’s the best she’s got in this moment. “And, I’m sorry that I’ve been worrying ya’ll. That wasn’t my intention. There’s just been a lot going on.”

“Like what?” Naomi presses. “Solana, we don’t want to overstep, but the last time we’ve seen you was at training where you had a black eye. That was over two weeks ago with intermittent contact since. You’ve gotta give us something here.”

And Solana knows this. Knows that both of the women sitting across from her only mean well. From day one, they’ve been nothing but kind and supportive. Have only sought to help her as she reclaimed her voice and her life.

She owes them that much.

“I’m gonna tell you guys something, but you can’t say anything to anyone. Not a soul.” She focuses on Naomi. “Not even Jimmy.”

Bayley nods immediately. “Of course.”

Naomi seems a bit reluctant. “I don’t like keeping things from my husband,” she admits. And Solana can’t and won’t fault her for that. “But, I can see this is important to you, so you have my word. I won’t say a thing.”

And Solana trusts it.

Trusts them.

Closing her eyes, she starts to answer, “Roman had…..he had a nightmare the night of his fight with Drew. Drew said something to him, and it messed with his head. I won’t say what. It’s not my place.” Because it isn’t. Nor is it relevant to the conversation at hand. “It was a bad nightmare, and I was trying to wake him up and when I finally did, he woke up swinging and accidentally hit me. He had no idea what he was doing, and he felt awful afterwards. He even…..he even compared himself to my dad and brother.”

The shocked expressions on their faces match the disgust Solana feels at Roman even being in the same sentence as those two men, let alone the same category.

“So yes, he did technically hit me, but it wasn’t intentional.” Solana finds herself adding, “and that’s why I got so upset, because for all that Roman is and can be, I was frustrated that you guys believed he could ever do something like that to me.”

“You’re right,” Bayley sighs, shaking her head. “I think we just saw the black eye and assumed it was because of what happened with Drew…..” She stops herself, correcting. “It was wrong though, and I’m sorry.”

“We both are,” Naomi agrees. “But, not for worrying about you.”

“Never that,” Bayley chuckles, lifting up her phone with a small smirk. “You’ve had the newbies hitting us up nonstop wondering if we’ve heard from you.”

“Girl, got us all in a group chat and everything called SOSlana.” Naomi proves this by pulling up her phone and sharing her screen where Solana can sure enough see the name of the group chat.

It makes her laugh. A much needed thing. “I know I need to catch up with them too, but ya’ll deserved to speak with me first.” Cause as amazing as Melina, Cam, and Mickie have been, Bayley and Naomi were there first.

The loyalty goes a lot deeper.

“Maybe we can reschedule the girls trip for all of us. Like in two weeks?” Bayley suggests. A glance at Naomi provides a nod of agreement. “Solana?”

Hesitation. On one hand, she’d like to say yes, but on the other, she just doesn’t know. Because something tells her when she tells Roman about the pregnancy tonight, he’s about to be a hell of a lot stricter regarding her outings. And she understands it fully. Understands why her being the pregnant wife of the Tribal Chief means a different layer of protectiveness.

“Let me run it by Roman first,” she finally answers. “He’s….he’s going through something right now, and I need to be there for him.” Not a lie. The absolute truth.

“Yeah, Jimmy’s been acting kind of off too. I think something’s going on with the Bloodline.” She shakes her head and transitions into elaboration. “Just earlier today, I overheard him arguing with his brothers and dad.”

“Which brothers?” Bayley beats Solana to the punch by asking a very valid question.

“Jey and Solo,” Naomi answers. Solana does her best to maintain a neutral expression, but it’s hard. There’s something almost unsettling about that, though she can’t put her finger on the why. “It didn’t go well. They all ended up basically marching out the house, slamming my doors and everything.”

Curious, Solana can’t stop herself from asking, “did Jimmy tell you what the argument was about?”

A pause. A noticeable pause. “Not really. I’m sure they’ll get it together though.” As Naomi takes a sip of her champagne, Solana does her best not to look or think too deeply about the obvious deflection.

To be fair, Solana is firm about her boundaries regarding certain things discussed between herself and her husband.

Why can’t Naomi get the same grace?

Solana is grateful for the arrival of the food, appreciative of the diversion of topics, because Naomi is certainly right. Something is most definitely going on with the Bloodline. A major loss that’s mostly impacted Roman but Jimmy and Jey as well, most likely.

But, Solana can’t and won’t comment on that.

Providing her girls with some insight regarding a bit of what’s been going on is a nice distraction for Solana. Laughter is always good for the soul, and being around her sisters never ceases to bring about a healthy amount of that.

The merriment makes it hard for her to not imagine what their reaction will be to finding out she’s pregnant. The way they’ll absolutely gloat and squeal, especially when they learn that she’s having twins. The baby shower that they’ll plan is destined to be one for the ages.

And she looks forward to it all.

But first….. first she must talk to her husband.

It’s about an hour into dinner when Solana feels her bladder screaming at her to be emptied. “I’ll be right back,” she excuses herself, taking her purse with her for good measure. Mouthing bathroom to Bautista, Solana makes her way to the back, pleased to see that the stalls are all empty.

There’s such a weird relief at no longer having that pressured feeling, expelling her bladder like she didn’t use the bathroom shortly before leaving the house.

Frequent urination.

It’s one of the symptoms Dr. Sharmell mentioned she might start seeing soon at this point in her pregnancy.

She wasn’t wrong.

Flushing the toilet and walking over to the sink, Solana attempts to toss her purse on the counter only for it to go tumbling to the floor, some of the contents falling out. Cursing quietly, she washes her hands first before bending down to stuff the items back in her bag, grateful her phone wasn’t one of the tumbled objects. However, it’s something else that manages to capture her full attention.

The envelope with her name written on the outside.

Slow hands reach for it, trembling fingers tracing over her name so beautifully signed, her mother’s penmanship something worthy of all the jealousy. But, jealousy isn’t what Solana is feeling in this moment.

Curiosity is.

A growing feeling gnawing at her that whatever is contained within this envelope needs to be unveiled and read. Needs to be freed after so many years of confinement. And, it makes no sense how Solana went from avoiding doing such a thing to readying to do it in the public restroom at a restaurant.

She knows it’s not the best decision, that it’s bound to make her emotional, make her cry.

And yet…..the right timing.

Roman is grieving and about to find out that he’s a father. There’s so many layered, complex emotions in that alone that she’s truly lost as to how he’s supposed to manage that and helping her sort through whatever emotions will follow the reading of this letter. It also seems unfair to put that on him when he’s dealing with so much.

But Bayley and Naomi…..they could. They could be her sources of support. They’ve been wanting to be said sources, and maybe, just maybe, it’s time to take them up on that offer.

Solana releases a deep, shaky breath while rising to her feet, taking her purse off the floor with her. Walking over to the door, she turns the lock and moves back over to the counter. Leaning back against the counter, Solana takes one more efficient breath before still trembling fingers carefully pry open the letter. Solana unfolds several sheets of paper.

And she begins to read.

My Dearest Solana,

If you are reading this letter, then I am no longer living. I wish with everything in me that is not the case, and everything will go according to plan, so that what I am about to write will be told to you from my lips instead of read from this letter.

But, I cannot be naive. I must be realistic and prepare for all outcomes.

Solana, what I am about to tell you is going to be difficult, and you may never forgive me, may even hate me, but please know I never ever intended to hurt you, my sweet girl.

I was 23 years old when I met “Xavier Miller”. He claimed to be in Mexico on sabbatical from work. Said he was a “businessman.” I believed him. I believed everything he told me. All the false hopes he put in my head about bringing me to America and helping me get into medical school so I could become a doctor. Believed him when he said once we got settled, he’d pay for my parents to get passports so that they could visit. I believed it all. He was charming and handsome and kind, and I wanted so deeply to be in love that I fell for it all.

After three months of us knowing each other, he proposed. I said yes. My parents did not agree. They believed we were rushing things. They were right, but I was too naive. I listened to my heart and only my heart. I fell in love with this man who promised me the world, promised to always love and take care of me.

I spoke very little English, but he promised to help me learn once we moved to the States. He was adamant about me coming to America with him, said it would open up more doors, specifically helping me achieve my dream of being a doctor.

And, I was determined, so I married him and came to America.

The decision will forever haunt me.

Our first night as “husband” and “wife” was the first time he raped and beat me. I woke up the next morning bruised and bloody. It was only then I saw the real him for the first time. He told me I would never see my family again, and if I ever tried to contact them or leave him, he would kill me. That same morning is when he informed me of who he really was.

A mafia man.

And right then and there, I knew my life was over.

I will not further traumatize you with details. But, it was...horrific.

I thought once I gave him a son, which is what he eventually told me he what wanted from the very beginning—a “stupid woman” he could “control” and “breed”--- that he would lessen his cruelty. And, he did, to some extent.

He allowed me to start volunteering at the hospital, which was truly only because he wanted me away from Wes. He said I would make him “soft.” The same hurtful thing he says about you.

But, this ended up changing my life, because it was through volunteering that I met someone. His name was Darnell, and he was a medical student doing clinical rotations. Again, I do not wish to sully you with the details, so I will just say it.

I started an affair with Darnell, and I regret nothing, Solana. He was the first man I ever really loved who showed me what it meant to truly be loved by a man. It was dangerous for both of us, and I tried to break it off, tried to tell him what could happen if we were ever caught, but he didn’t care. He wanted to help me find a way out, because he loved me, and I loved him.

But then everything changed when I found out I was pregnant. Initially, I was distraught. Xavier was still raping me, trying to get me pregnant, and the thought of having his child again sickened me.

But, when I went to my appointment and learned how far along I was, I realized that the time I conceived was when Xavier was away on a business trip.

He wasn’t the father.

Darnell was.

And, I was so happy, so overjoyed, my love. You have no idea.

Throughout the pregnancy, Darnell and I tried to come up with plans. Tried to figure out a way we could escape. Me, Him, Wes, and our babies.

I was pregnant with twins.

But, the closer the time came, the more fearful I became that even if we somehow escaped, Xavier would find us and kill us all. He always threatened to kill me if I tried to take Wes from him.

So the plan changed to one that broke my heart and Darnell’s, but we agreed it was the safest thing for us to do. We were able to have some of the hospital staff assist us with this plan, which made a world of difference.

It truly did.

When I gave birth to you, I gave birth to your twin brother as well. A brother who Darnell took, while I kept you. And, I told Xavier, who did not come to the hospital until the next day, that my boy didn’t make it.

He was livid. So angry that he forced the hospital to give me a hysterectomy.

He said I would not “fail” him again.

The plan was for me to wait until you were older, at least one, and then we would try to make the move, but what I didn’t expect was for Xavier’s cruelty towards me to increase. He became significantly worse to the point where it was impossible for me to do anything without him knowing. He refused to allow me to volunteer at the hospital, which cut me off from all the people who were going to help me reunite with Darnell and my other child.

And instead made my life even more of a living hell, but now he was subjecting you to the same treatment.

He always blamed you for the “death” of your brother. That’s why he’s always hated and resented you. Because you “lived” and the boy “did not.” He never wanted daughters. Only sons.

Solana, I know this is a lot. I know that I am putting so much on you, and I am so sorry, my love. There is just so much you need and deserve to know, and I just have to make sure you know one way or another.

It was selfish of me to keep you. I should have let Darnell take the both of you, but I always wanted a daughter. Wanted to have a piece of him with me as well. But, my selfishness subjected you to all kinds of horror, and I’m so so sorry, mija.

But, Darnell is your father. And, you have a twin brother. And if all goes to plan tomorrow, you, me, Wes, your real father and your other brother will finally be able to be a family. You’ll have the family you always deserved but I deprived you from.

And words cannot express how sorry I am, my sweet Sol. Because the fact of the matter is that I was being selfish. It was selfish and wrong of me to not let you go with your father, to keep you in an abusive household with an abusive man.

It was wrong, and I am sorry.

But…

In the event something goes wrong, I just needed you to know the truth. Because if something happens to me, I need to make sure you at least know where you really come from.

And that’s not Nina Miller and Xavier Miller.

It’s Darnell Adams and Alma Escobar.

My name is not Nina.

It’s Alma.

Alma Escobar.

Xavier made me change my identity when I came here to avoid my family finding me. And, it worked, because Xavier also lied about his name when we first met. He made it up. It was all a part of his plan to get me in America and make me his slave.

It’s why my family was probably never able to find me. They were looking up one name that never existed and another name that would never exist again.

But, that brings me to my next part.

My mother’s name is Paloma Escobar, and my father’s name is Ricardo Escobar. I have two uncles: Bernardo and Tomas.

If I have the chance and this plan works, I will finally take you and your brothers to Isla Mujeres to meet your family. You deserve that much and so much more.

Again, this is so so much to drop on you, mija, but I don’t have much time.

Solana, that is why I have always called you “my Sol.” Because phonetically, Sol sounds like “soul,” which is what my real name really means. YOU are my soul and an extension of myself, just infinitely better.

Never forget, my amazing girl, that you are smart and beautiful and kind and have such a pure soul. You must never forget any of that.

And one day, you are going to grow into a beautiful young woman, find a kind young man who loves and treats you the way you deserve, and you will be an amazing mother.

And that, my love, will be your happy ending.

I pray to God that I will live to see all of this, be around for all of it, but if I am not, know that I loved you infinitely in this life and will continue to love you infinitely in the next.

Forever your Hummingbird,

Alma

Breathing.

A simple, easy thing that’s suddenly impossible for Solana. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t compute any of what she’s just read. Only one sentence of so many shell-shocking revelations circulates in her head, thudding against her consciousness.

Xavier wasn’t her father.

He wasn’t her father.

There’s so many things embedded and included in this confession of sorts, but that’s the one thing Solana can’t seem to pull away from.

The man who was responsible for the murder of her mother and her attempted murder was not her real father.

The man who was responsible for her rape was not her real father.

The man who almost beat her to death and threatened to finish the job was not her real father.

The man who she so desperately wanted to love her like fathers should love daughters but never could. And not just because he was incapable of love. No. It was because he wasn’t her real father.

Solana almost stumbles to the ground, one hand going behind her to hold onto the counter to keep her upright.

This….this was a mistake.

She should have never read this letter.

Ever.

Feeling on the verge of a panic attack, she releases the papers and places a hand over her chest, closing her eyes, and working to regulate herself. She manages to pull from the coping skills learned in therapy as she tries to find some anchor of sorts to keep her grounded instead of drowning in the panic that threatens to overtake her.

Too much.

It’s just too much to process.

Too much to sit on.

She just can’t.

Solana is sniffling, silent tears running down her face as she places her other free hand on her belly. She can’t fall apart. Not right now. Not like this. And not with the babies growing in her belly.

They need her to pull it together. To be strong.

Needing a reminder of sorts, she digs through her purse with wobbly hands for the photo that depicts the two tiny lives growing inside of her.

There’s only one problem.

The sonogram photo isn’t in her purse.

Solana’s glossy eyes scan the floor to see if she somehow missed it, only for that to come back a deadend given the emptiness of the pristine tile.

Solana frantically digs through her purse once more realizing the photo isn’t the only thing missing.

So is Fetu’s letter.

And now yet another massive weight is dropped onto her chest with the terrifying realization of what she’s done.

“Oh no….” Trembling hands fold back up the sheets and stuff them back into the envelope that she shoves in her bag. Solana’s legs can’t move fast enough as she unlocks and rips the door open, making her way over to that table where Bayley and Naomi are laughing.

It’s when their gaze lands on her, however, that the laughter dies down. “Solana, what’s—”

“I have to go,” she interrupts, unable and partially uninterested in offering the truth as to why. Because she can’t. She can barely fucking think straight right now, let alone try to explain the magnitude of what just happened.

What could happen if she doesn’t get home.

Fast.

Bayley is the one to push. “Wait, Solana, you can’t just—”

“Please,” she begs, eyes watering. “It’s….it’s Roman. I have to get home.” Not a lie, just an answer that probably insinuates a severity that does not equate to the actuality of the situation. Or, maybe it does. “I’ll….I’ll explain later, but I have to go now.”

Naomi and Bayley share a look, clearly not liking this sudden shift in energy, and Solana can’t blame them. However, she can’t focus on that right now. Not when her world has just been turned upside down.

“Okay,” Naomi concedes with a sigh, “but at least text us when you get home.”

“I will.” That much Solana can promise. Hopefully. “Thank you.” Both women only answer with a nod as Solana gestures to Bautista. “Come on.”

Wordlessly, he gets up and leads her out of the restaurant.

Solana is a nervous wreck the entire drive home. Knee bouncing, heart racing, intermittent tears. This is not how she expected this day to go. It’s almost too unbelievable to be true.

There’s too many things for her to sit on and sift through. Her pregnancy. Fetu dying. Her mother’s letter. Now this?

Solana wipes at her eyes. It’s just all too much. And the fact that trying to call Roman only led to the phone ringing two times before going straight to voicemail only makes things infinitely worse.

Roman has never sent her to voicemail before.

The drive to the mansion is really only a matter of fifteen minutes, but it feels so much longer. Torturously longer.

The SUV is barely in park before she’s whipping the door open and running towards the house, heels in one hand because she can’t have any sort of interference.

“Roman!” She calls out his name the minute she steps foot inside of their home only to be met with silence.

And for that brief second, there’s relief. A respite from all the heaviness as she rushes up the stairs, ready to grab the letter and photo off the bathroom counter to hide them again before he gets home.

Before he finds out the two major secrets she’s been sitting on without her being able to tell him herself.

But, that’s a short lived fantasy, one that’s killed the moment she’s standing in the doorway of their master bedroom.

“No….”

Solana drops her shoes at the sight of her husband sitting on the side of their bed, facing the door, papers in hand, a now opened envelope beside him along with a photo.

The sonogram.

Her heart breaks.

“Roman, I—”

“Solana.”

Never.

Never has she heard her name leave his mouth with such anger and disgust. The same anger and disgust that’s written all over his handsome face as he asks, point, blank, period, “what the hell is going on?”

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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deripmaver · 2 months ago

Text

What does Kentaro Miura have to say about Casca?

I think, due to fandom's general preferences towards Guts and Griffith, there's been much more discussion of the relevant Kentaro Miura quotes about their characters and relationship. There also appears to be more translation effort made towards the parts of the interviews centered on Guts. This also means that a lot of discussion of Casca and her place in the narrative is filtered through the idea that he has had very little to say about her over the years.

While I do wish that Miura had more to say about her, and about her path in the narrative, he certainly hasn't been completely silent. I wanted to compile as many quotes directly from Kentaro Miura about Casca as possible in one place for anyone to refer to. I also wanted to provide my 2 cents on some of them, though with the disclaimer that neither I nor anyone reading a quote or soundbite can know they're fully correct about his meaning. After all, no one reading these quotes in an article or magazine knew Miura personally, myself included.

Most of these you can find translated on the Berserk fanwiki. I've linked to them all.

Cheating a bit by not including that quote from the 1996 fanmagazine that caused such an uproar a while back, where Miura said he thought Casca might feel pleasure during rape if the perpetrator was Griffith. TBT to that hot mess. I'm not including it bc it's a third party source from someone not particularly close to Miura and also because I've already discussed it in depth here.

So, moving on...

The source for this first quote is a bit... Tricky. It's not that I don't believe it exists, but because most of this is being done through fan translations, it's hard to provide a direct link. This one I've found which is apparently from an interview in 1996, but the only sourcing I've found is kojion on twitter and this reddit post. I think this might be from the Berserk Illustrations File interview from 1996, but if it is, then it's clear that interview has only been partially translated. I guess the translator wasn't interested in the parts involving Casca. Lol. Below is the translation from the reddit post:

Miura: I have never been in love. In the past I have only dated a woman I didn't like twice. I have never had a first love. I have never been in love. My image of women is made up of my sister and stories from my best friend who loves women very much. In the case of Casca, rather than portraying a woman, she’s a character made up of a collection of my own complexes and weaknesses. So I am not good at real women. I have a longing for love itself. But I have no time; there are only 24 hours in a day.

Interview with Yukari Fujimoto in 2000. Yukari Fujimoto is a feminist cultural critic/women's studies professor at Meiji University in Tokyo, which I always found very interesting.

Interviewer: Getting back to the topic of planning Berserk, though, there's a long flashback arc that starts in volume three, showing things like Guts' youth and leading up to the Eclipse. Did you at least have parts of that long story in mind when you started drawing, or did you just make it up as you went?

Miura: Back then it was more like I was making it up as I went, I'd say. I actually hadn't planned for Guts and Casca to get together, you know – it just occurred to me partway through that it'd be more dramatic that way. As I remember it now, all I'd really decided at the time was that there'd be about five characters, and I'd make them similar to five of my friends.

Interviewer: I see – so those five friends are the base models for the characters.

Miura: Pretty much. The only difference is, there aren't any Griffiths or Guts in our group. There really was a guy similar to Judeau. We had a Corkus too, and a Rickert. There's no Casca, though, since it was a group of guys. And then Pippin is me, in terms of physical appearance.

[...]

Miura: Yeah. It's sort of been vacillating back and forth up until now, but now Griffith is going to come to terms with having become a demon. I basically see it as the beginning of the relationship between the two of them having become adults. And also, the demon child that Casca gave birth to is going to become something of a key point – despite the fact that I didn't even plan for it to be Casca's baby when I first drew it.

Interviewer: Really?

Miura: I didn't even have Casca in mind at the time.

Interviewer: Ah, right. That means it wasn't supposed to be a fetus at the start, then. And I guess there was no plan to have Guts lose his eye and arm the way he did, either...

Miura: None at all. That part was left open. Basically, I had planned that he'd have it done to him somehow by Griffith, and then a love story came into the picture, and taking that to its extreme just happened to fit together nicely with the climax. It's not as though I had it planned from the start. And now it turns out that the demon child is similarly going to snap very usefully into place.

My own commentary: This interview is the source of a claim that I've seen around a lot, which is that Casca was an ad-hoc addition and that therefore undermine any importance she might have to the narrative. However, my personal interpretation is simply that these quotes exist to show how the general plot structure of Berserk came to be in Miura's mind, and how he sort of... made shit up as he went along. I think there are two ways to take "I actually hadn't planned for Guts and Casca to get together, you know – it just occurred to me partway through that it'd be more dramatic that way." Firstly, the way I've usually seen it, that Casca was added in thoughtlessly with no regard for her character just to be a tool for Guts and Griffith's stories. That's partly true, but I think additionally this indicates that Miura elevated Casca's narrative importance in order to create a better and more dramatic story. It's also easy to extrapolate Miura's love of shoujo manga to this point here, considering how shoujo's focus is so often the drama and tragedy of romantic love.

This next quote is another kojion/reddit combo, with kojion claiming its from 2013.

Miura: I had the idea that the medieval European period was a very male-dominated world. And I wanted to depict a girl who was working very hard in such a world. The female characters in Berserk are drawn with the hope that women of the same gender will like them. Female characters drawn by men tend to be somewhat convenient for men. I wanted to avoid that, so I drew them in a way that was not disrespectful to women, because this is a story about a male-dominated world.

[I initially had a picture of one of those gold star "you tried" memes here but then I felt bad about it lol. Honestly I can't help but feel some affection for Miura here for saying this, though there's a conflicting element here too, that he genuinely didn't consider that drawing so much explicit sexual violence might also be considered disrespectful to women (even though he's pretty obviously talking about outfits here). I also think that over-exaggerating Miura's views on women, making them seem worse than what they are is often done only in service of sidelining the women he has written, and written well in my opinion.]

Berserk Official Guidebook Interview, 2017

Interviewer: You put so much emotion into those characters, and when the Eclipse happens, they're all gone. That must have left some scars on you as the artist.

Miura: I was emotionally invested in each character, so I felt more depressed than scarred. And the story went way down in popularity with the readers around the time of the Eclipse [laugh]. Many readers were furious that I'd do such a thing to the characters they liked. My editor at the time was concerned but also of the opinion that we'd just have to follow it through to the end. The point I had to pay attention to was making sure the flow of the story wasn't completely severed with the Eclipse. That's why I spared Casca. If she had died and the serialization had continued for a long time, I feared the reason for revenge would become something of the past; and if Guts were to establish new relationships, then his incentive would waver. It may seem calculating and unpleasant, but it's because Casca's by his side that he can never forget the Eclipse.

My own commentary: this again shows the interplay between Casca as a plot device and Casca as inherently narratively necessary. Interestingly, this particular translation has it be slightly vague whether Casca's survival is to keep the memory of the eclipse alive for Guts or for the readers themselves. It seems to me that there's a little bit of both in this decision. Also of note - this interview was done in 2017. By this point, Miura must have had a decently clear picture of what he intended to do with Casca's revival. I think this interview would have implied something very different if it had been done during conviction arc or just post golden age.

[...]

Interviewer: After that, Griffith was resurrected and Guts picked up some travelling companions. One of them is Farnese. How did you go about creating her?

Miura: I imagined Farnese as the second heroine after Casca, but I had a little trouble. I simply crammed my own tastes into Casca to create her character. She's loaded with what I considered ideal: a warrior woman, dark brown, strong but with a womanly side [laugh]. When it came time to make a new heroine, I couldn't use the same method as with Casca. So I thought I might as well make a heroine with whom female readers could sympathize. Mori is popular with girls, so I asked for his opinion as I pondered. The concept was "a female office worker who's been in society for a year or two, may or may not be accustomed to her job yet, and is ill at ease in a masculine society" [laugh]. She's doing her best with a band of knights in a masculine society, but she's unsociable since she can't seem to fit in with those around her; and her frustration is moving in a sexual direction, although half of it includes my own delusions [laugh]. In the face of Mozgus' intense impact, such an ungrounded woman is sure to get hung up on religion. In other words, "an office lady who's caught up in a dangerous new religion." That's Farnese [laugh].

Interviewer: How about Serpico?

Miura: Serpico is those female readers' "dream". My intuition was that he's the kind of man they would want to have around. To be frank, he's André from The Rose of Versailles. For a woman exhausted by society, he sees to her needs and considers her before all else. I thought this might be a woman's everlasting dream. To take it further, I think there are three dream men that a woman has. Someone like Serpico who sticks close by, a prince on a lofty peak for whom she longs, and someone wealthy and down-to-earth who will come and woo her. And I recently saw the stage production of Onna Kaizoku Bianca – based on Glass Mask by Suzue Miuchi. In it, those three types of men show up around the heroine. I realized, oh, the same thing's happened by coincidence in Berserk [laugh]! Farnese has Serpico close by, Guts to long for, and Roderick the rich guy. That's all three present and accounted for!

Interviewer: Conversely, Guts has three heroines in Casca, Farnese, and Schierke.

Miura: Maybe it's just a good balance to have three members of the opposite sex around. Although it's a coincidence here, too [laugh].

I don't have anything really to say here lol I just think Miura's gender commentary is so funny. It reminds me a little of the way Terry Pratchett comments on dynamics between men and women in his books. I guess both of them are men who got their start in the 80s and continued writing into the 2010s where the treatment of women in fantasy became far more a part of the public consciousness, and it seems both of them tried to alter their writing accordingly. Up to the reader to what extent they succeeded though.

Kojion/reddit from 2017, apparently - is this possibly from the Berserk Official Guidebook interview as well?? Or did he do a second interview in 2017 that isn't listed anywhere?

Miura: In regards to Berserk’s Guts, Griffith is a character who draws out impatience, fighting spirit and loneliness, Puck is “relaxation, laughter and a “seriousness crusher”“, the current Casca is “a character who draws out feelings of guilt, uneasiness and pity”. By arranging the characters with the intention to pull a certain something about Guts to the surface, he becomes a multifaceted protagonist.

My commentary: Guts has complicated feelings on both Griffith and Casca due to the trauma of the eclipse. Just as Casca still associates Guts with her trauma, Guts too associates Casca with his. If his feelings towards Griffith were solely anger and his feelings towards Casca were solely caring that would be a much less interesting story. This quote is very frank about how Guts and Casca's relationship stands currently; it says nothing about its eventual outcome in the manga. It also says nothing about Miura's feelings towards Casca, or makes any comment on her importance to the narrative.

Interview with Comics Natalie in 2019

--So does that mean love is an important theme in "Duruanki"?

That's true. When I chose this androgynous character as the main character, I knew I had to depict a love story properly. I haven't been able to do that properly in "Berserk" yet, so I'm a little nervous and unsure of my chances.

-- Eh, what about the relationship between Guts and Casca...?

Even though they look like that, it's like the stage before they get to love is still going on forever (laughs).

My commentary: I already said a bit about this in previous posts. In my view, this is saying that Guts and Casca were beginning a relationship and in the beginning stages of falling in love prior to the eclipse. Then, of course, the eclipse happened, and it destroyed their budding relationship completely. Their relationship currently is defined by the tragedy of what could have been. I again think it's Miura taking a very realistic view of Guts and Casca's relationship as it stands currently, but it says nothing about how it will eventually end up, good or bad.

-- In the latest volume 40 of "Berserk," Casca finally regains consciousness. I'm sure there are many fans who have been waiting for this.

I'm also deeply moved. However, things get tougher for Casca from here on out. For Casca to truly recover, she must analyze and understand her experiences and resolve them herself. She must face what Griffith did and the monsters.

--So this is a necessary process for Casca to truly recover. I think there was also a route where Casca would fully recover once she regains consciousness, but Berserk doesn't let its characters take the easy way out. I think Miura-san also needs to be prepared.

It's a story about humans, so it's bound to be like that. If you don't do it properly, like what a human would do if this situation occurred, it won't be a compelling story.

My commentary: You've all seen this quote before lol. Well, this is the source. It's part of a larger interview about the future of Berserk and Duranki, and just a quick note that this version is from me using google translate on the Japanese website. There was a blog that translated part of it, in particular the above quote that "Casca must face what Griffith did", that now redirects to a 404 link because of course it does. It's up on the wayback machine here.

Now I have various undated quotes, most of which come from kojion and were compiled on reddit.

"I didn't want to make a sexy female warrior, which is often the case in fantasy films, although the idea of a female warrior is nothing new. But now I am not so particular. I am not restricted by the form of a female warrior, but am trying to depict her as a human being." (kojion alt source)

"Miura took on the apostle; I'm going to kill all the humans, I'm gonna mess them up. Mr. Miura has been working for months. Mr. Miura kept on drawing and Finally, he messed up Casca And then Mr. Miura, who had painted it all over After this, he actually suffer from depression." (kojion alt source)

"I want today's readers to experience what once shocked me when I read the manga. Last month, Mr. Mori revealed the scene in the Eclipse chapter where Casca is raped by Griffith. He was inspired by a manga published by Go Nagai in 1979. In this manga, the woman he loves is raped by a demon in front of the main character. Mr. Miura arranged and expressed this scene." (kojion alt source)

This is apparently a panel from that particular manga, btw. No explicit sexual assault, though there is clear implication.

One last third party quote, this time not directly about Casca, but about writing women on the whole. It's from this cute interview made into a comic by the interviewer:

It echoes a sentiment he's expressed in other interviews, that Miura himself doesn't feel like he understands the female mindset so he asks people he assumes know better - in this case Kouji Mori, his friend who is heading Berserk's continuation, and Chica Umino, another mangaka who was close friends with Miura.

Miura's such a mess of contradictions when it comes to women and his female characters. One of his most well known interviews is with a feminist cultural critic. He has said multiple times he's terrible at writing women. He thought deeply about writing Casca not just as a male fantasy. He literally designed her with all the traits he thought were sexy. He wrote a 20 page rape scene with Casca and then fell into a deep depression after.

What can you even say lmao.

#berserk #berserk meta #casca #casca berserk #kentaro miura #popped an addy locked in and compiled this over the course of THREE FUCKING HOURS #i lied i didnt pop an addy i just wrote this on the tail end #of my completely legitimate prescribed dose

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akookminsupporter · 23 hours ago

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Hi Rosie! If you had to manifest three things/activities/music/show when Jikook gets discharged, what would those be?

Hey anon! How are you? I really like these kinds of questions.

I’m going to bend your request a little and pick three things for each of them individually, plus three things for them as a duo. I think my choices are pretty basic but, oh well:

Jimin:

Album: The way Jimin has created his two albums has been incredible. The work, thought, and emotion behind them is just amazing. The stories he’s told through them show his creativity as an artist and his love for his craft. That’s why I’d love to see more of that. I think Jimin really knows what suits his voice and the style of music he enjoys. If I had to ask for something specific, it’d be something similar to Lie and Serendipity, choreographies included. I NEED MORE CHOREOGRAPHIES.

Tour: I don’t think I need to explain this one, haha.

A long, detailed documentary about his career.

Jungkook:

Album: I think Jungkook knows better than anyone what kind of music fits his style best, and Golden is a great example of that. But this time, I’d love an album where he’s more involved in the production side. We all know how talented he is in that area, and the kind of songs he can make, so seeing more of that would be amazing. If I could ask for something, I’d bring back Decalcomania from wherever it is.

Tour: Again, no need to explain much here. A Jungkook tour would be fantastic. The guy can sing, dance, and rap. Enough said.

Maybe another documentary about his creative process, if he decides to get more involved in production and songwriting.

For both Jimin and Jungkook, I’d love to see them on more variety shows in Korea for some reason. I think they’d do really well on a few of them.

Jikook:

Weverse Live: I’d love to see more of these with both of them together. It’d be fun, chaotic, and a bit awkward – I mean, who doesn’t enjoy being the third wheel of these two? Now, if I can ask for just one live: a night where they go live cooking together. Arguing over how to chop an onion or who forgot the sesame oil. Pure chaos. Love those type of moments.

A song or mini-album together: Maybe I’m flying a bit close to the sun here, but a song or mini-album from these two would be amazing. Imagine that! It’s not crazy to think that with all the conversations they’ve had over their time in the army and all the plans they have made, they might have talked about something like this. Maybe they’ve even written a song or two together? Who knows. It’d be great. If it’s a song, let it be something completely different from what they’ve done before. Something acoustic and intimate, with lyrics written by the two of them. Maybe even recorded in a single take, like a Tiny Desk session. Pure art, no filters, no fancy production.

Or something totally over the top, with incredible choreography.

Joint tour: Okay, this might be me flying way too close to the sun to the point I’m burning up as I write this, but can you imagine a Jimin and Jungkook tour? They’re the main and lead vocalists of the group, so using BTS songs wouldn’t be a problem, plus Jungkook raps well. They also have enough solo material for a concert, and if they release a mini-album or EP together, even better.

(And before anyone says it’s a bad idea because of the haters, remember that what we see online is just a tiny slice of reality.)

Bonus:

Another season of AYS would be great. Or if they do an album/tour together, a proper documentary, raw and real. No overdone corporate editing. Just the two of them talking about their story, how they’ve grown as artists and friends, how they inspire each other. With archive footage, rehearsals, travels… the good bits, the tricky moments, all of it.

Also, could they please take us to Busan?

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

What about you, anon? What would you manifest?

#ask #anon #jkkrs opinion #JMP #JKJ #JMPJKJ #Thoughts about jikook #Rosie’s opinion #Preg 84

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marimayscarlett · 1 day ago

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Richard with Rockland.fm 🎤💬

Shortly after the release of his third Emigrate album "A Milliong Degrees", Richard was interviewed in 2018 by the radio station Rockland.fm and this interview video was released.

The interview is very interesting, but the radio station has published additional parts of the interview that are not included in the video. On this page, you can click through the various topics and questions, and audio clips of Richard will play accordingly. It's a very innovative way to discover an interview, with nice details, because Richard is once again very relaxed and at ease here. Since I adore the interview a lot, I thought I'd translate it into English, as it's only available in German.

Incidentally, I had the opportunity to pay attention to Richard's manner of speaking and expression again - he speaks quite quickly, doesn't use complicated vocabulary, is very direct and sometimes even flippant. Filler words are simply part of his speech, so he uses a lot of "ja" (in the sense of "right" or "you know"), "irgendwie" ("somehow") "im Grunde genommen" ("basically") and "komischerweise" ("strangely enough"). I am not a professional translator, yet I have tried to reproduce his narrative tone in English while smoothing out what he says a little.

It is quite long and maybe not very interesting for most people, but maybe someone will enjoy it 🤍

Was there a moment, where you wanted to abandon music altogether?

I’ve reached a point, around the time I turned 50, when I thought „Man, is this everything in my life? Is doing music, is doing what I do somehow…isn’t there something else, another challenge I feel like doing?“ That’s something where I think: I’m not sure what exactly, but I feel like I’d like to do something completely different with my life. I do believe that music would still be a part of fit, I would still do that, since it’s a form of communication with myself.

Do you have the desire to change something // to quit music?

Well, doing it on your own is a tricky thing. I believe, it doesn’t work well, working on your own, since of course you do have the need to present it [the music] to someone else. It’s like you’d have a kid and wouldn’t let it outside. It really should go somewhere, I think. But [the desire to] change things, this occurred quite frequently. I mean, I wanted to quit Rammstein numerous times, right, because I simply didn't feel like it anymore, but additionally since I wanted to work with new people, I wanted to learn so much more. I’m not that monogamous in this regard.

NO Schlager (german type of cheesy pop songs mostly enjoyed by older people)

There are a few things…I just can’t cope with Schlager, I can’t find my way to it, right. That’s a bit due to the manner they [the Schlager artists] they do music, how they write their lyrics and what they express, this ever-present grinning… it’s completely alien to me. There are people in our band who really like this kind of music. Well, one wouldn’t think that, right, but it’s not form me.

Is your choice of music depending on your mood?

Well, of course. When I have sex I listen to different music that when I go in the gym in the mornings.

How do you start your day?

I basically start my mornings like this: I wake up and basically listen to the radio. Then I go running or to the gym, and that’s where I listen to certain things, yet logically I don’t listen to music like an ordinary person anymore. I analyze what I hear immediately. It starts in my head: How did the artist compose this song, why is it a certain length, what kind of sounds did they use. A complete analysis, somehow pretty scientific how I approach this.

How do you unwind when your mind is full?

Movies. That’s the only thing where I can really unwind. I tried everything else, but with movies I’m completely immersed and „gone“. And sometimes my daughter manages to do that too. Just having fun with her, those are the two things.

Why the arm band?

I can tell you where the arm band comes from: It actually originated from Michael Jackson’s arm band, I copied that from him. He wore it and I thought it was stylish.

Should artist express themselves politically on stage?

There are people who apparently have to do that… There are people like Bono, he just kind of stands there during the show and talks [about political matters] for 45 minutes and you somehow feel more shitty (he uses the word „beschissen“ which is very strong in the German language) than before. That’s not my style. I’m someone who thinks politically, I do have my opinions on things I witness, but as I said, the idea of going on stage and saying, “You have to do it this way,” has never appealed to me.

Your opinion on award shows?

Strangely, it doesn’t interest me much. Sometimes I just attend the party afterwards – I haven’t been to the actual award celebration in a while. And when I’m at the after party, I think „Oh God, what am I doing here. I don't have anything to do here anymore.“ So I always have the feeling of ‚I don’t belong here‘.

How did Lemmy Kilmister's death affect you?

He once played at the Max Schmeling Halle, and I visited him shortly before to concert to thank him. And that’s when I had the feeling that he was no longer ‚here‘. Woah…that was strange. No idea if he really wanted that [I presume Richard talks about Lemmy doing the concert] or if he was pressured by someone else, somehow, I did have the feeling that he was not on this world anymore. I kind of noticed some kind of omen. And strangely enough, as I started my new album in 2015 I asked three artists for an collaboration. And all three people I asked have died – Bowie, Chester [Bennington] and Chris Cornell. That’s when I thought „Eh, I really should stop with these inquiries.“.

Musically open-minded

I can’t cope with German Hiphop. I try it time and time again and it’s just my way to live. Ok, I understand, you’re rebelling right now with this, but are you really believing what you’re singing? Somehow, it's kind of macho language that's being used there. And that’s when I oftentimes get the feeling with German Hiphop, that there isn't really any musicality behind it, right.

Why is rock music dead?

Back in the day, rock music served the purpose of rebellion. Just because of the guitar, just because of the frequency of the sound, your parents said, “Ugh, that's too loud, turn it down.” And now we’re the parents. So I’m the one who doesn’t say „Turn it down“, since I know this sound. Today, rebellion emerges in language, in hip hop. Secondly, no real rock stars exist anymore. No one else is coming up behind them. And thirdly: in terms of streaming, who benefits the most from it? Hip hop, the people who stream the most, who have the most time, kids nowadays, and so on and so forth, and the fact is that at the moment, most of the money goes to hip hop productions, which don't actually need that much, because rock music is the most expensive to produce. They’re the ones who could use the money. And there are several topics where I have the feeling that rock music is somehow dead.

Do you sort your CDs at the record store so they show up first?

Nope, I don’t do that. No, I’m not at this point yet (he means this in a joking way). Well, I believe that there aren’t many record stores anymore where you could do that. My guess is that the physical realm of music has completely changed. Second, is rock music dead? Yes, unfortunately, it is. You just have to accept reality.

Do you check the charts when albums are released?

Well, I naturally come across these information. On the one hand it does interest me in a professional sense and on the other hand I don’t really want to know it. I’m afraid that somehow these information, why certain things work (he means in a musical sense, why they’re liked by the audience), would have the potential to have an influence on other work. A certain kind of vacuum, a kind of naivety, is super important, because then you start to really want to please someone. And that's the danger.

How does it feel when a new album is released?

Well, basically you have to let go at some point. Your work is basically done, yet an album develops a life of its own and then you have to let it go and then it goes in certain kind of directions and you can only observe it from afar.

Leaving the GDR

I thought about it a lot, then went abroad, and first had to figure out how I felt about my country in general. That was an important experience for me. I found the answer to it all only abroad, since you don’t have the nagging feeling of ‚you’re guilty‘. That’s also an important topic, we were brought up with feeling of guilt in the East. I tried to get rid of this, right. And I managed to do just that in the US and returned to Germany with a different set of feelings.

Childhood in the GDR // escape // first time in West-Berlin

I loved growing up in the East up until the age of 11 or 12, since I was brought up with a certain kind of illusion which was spread. Today, I witness how my children grow up, what kind of problems they have to deal with – I didn’t have these kind of problems, right. Certain things just didn’t exist in the East. It did turn challenging when you noticed „Hm, something isn’t right here“. And when you started to ask questions, it did somehow get very strange. And I do not want to experience this time again, right. That’s when the problems began. And if I could make a wish, yes, I would have liked the wall to have been open from around the age of 12 or 13. I had a feeling of ‚there has to be more, I have to get out of here‘. I escaped in 1989 due to a situation I did not actually intend. I stumbled into a demonstration, where I was arrested and interrogated for three days, standing against the wall and so on and so forth. And when I was released, I couldn’t breath anymore, I needed to leave. I remember, my first thoughts when I entered West-Berlin were „Oh, it’s so dark here“. The energy of West-Berlin was extremely gloomy in my opinion. It did scare me a bit. I didn’t feel very comfortable there, right. So I had to adapt there somehow. It really was a lonely time back then.

Touring with Emigrate?

I have to admit, that the balance [between Rammstein and Emigrate] is very important to me, and that I’m a bit worried, that if I commit to Emigrate [as in touring], I’d maybe find more joy in it and that the balance would be off. And I don’t think that’s good for the other project [Rammstein]. As soon as I’d say I’d go on tour [with Emigrate], others would have to wait for me, so that wouldn’t be good either of the projects. Who knows what comes next – currently, there are no plans for something like this.

What is „We are together“ about?

This song was written for the guys (he uses the word „Jungs“ (boys) here), for Rammstein. It’s about Rammstein, the basic principle of it, right. Rammstein exists as long as we stay, we’re together as long as we stay (he said this sentence in English). That’s kind of the feeling I have with Rammstein.

Million Degrees – why the title and the cover?

During that time I was feeling so burned out, the title Million Degrees seemed to be fitting for the album. I did focus, since I wanted to visualize this title on the album cover, mainly on temperature, hot, cold, right. And I tried to visualize it for a whole year and didn’t manage to do it, until I noticed that it’s actually not about hot and cold, but about corners, edges and so on. And then I somehow got the idea of the head made out of mirrors, right.

Million Degrees – ruined on the first round…

Strangely enough, I get relatively calm in situations like this [he means the extensive water damage in his house], since I always have the feeling that if something happens, it does have a good reason to be happening – because in the end you see why things happen the way they do. So I became completely calm and took it as a challenge. Suddenly I notice that the flame [his passion for the album] was reignited. In retrospect I’m very, very (in German he says „ganz doll“, which sounds kind of cute and reinforces his statement) glad about it, because when I now listen to it, I notice how much of my contentment and pride is part of this album, which is a feeling I didn’t have before. In that regard it just got better.

This album has a long story…

This album actually was done and ready beforehand, in 2015. And then I noticed how burned out I was for the first time in my life, and not able to give anymore what I usually give [energywise] in an album. I did finish it in Los Angeles, yet as I returned, I set the project aside. And then the insane water damage happened, which flooded half the studio and the recordings for the album were destroyed (he uses „am Arsch“ which is a very crude way to say it 😅). So I had to rewrite the songs based on memory. A great challenge for me.

How do you listen to music?

It depends, but basically I listen to music by listening to the music together with the lyrics, naturally. If it touches me in any way, I start to listen more intently to the lyrics, which are incidental to me in the beginning.

Which comes first: music or lyrics?

90% of the time, the music exists first, and then I try to match my singing to the music, at some point a text line emerges which stays with me and which makes me think „Oh, it’s about that“. So I’m trying to really work intuitively, I don’t really work in my head, so to speak. I take my iPhone and record it and after a month or so, I check the recordings and sometimes there are pieces which make me think „Pfff, bullshit“. Yet some things stay. But 90% of the time, the music exists in the first place.

Good songs only come from suffering

I believe that the basic concept of many artists seems to be that they always feel their way into a certain dark world in order to extract a certain creativity from it. I always said that if I’m content, I wouldn’t make music anymore. Of course it’s unhealthy that you unconsciously put yourself in situations where you suffer. But that's because when someone doesn't write and then, so to speak, can no longer write, they lose their value, which is a real problem. (He very clearly speaks about his personal mindset here).

How do you write songs? How does that work in the studio?

Strangely enough, my attitude towards this is very pragmatic. I copied a working method of a New York painter, who entered his studio in the morning and had 10 paintings laying around. He started working on one and as soon as he noticed that he longer received any association, he moved on to the next. That’s the way I do it, too. I enter my studio around 12pm, that’s when I start. I can’t work earlier than that, only listen to music. And then I start opening songs for which I have ideas in mind and am rather quickly aware if there’s a connection to the song today. And if this connection exists, then I write, and when it ceases, I move on to the next song. I do that repeatedly, until I pick up my daughter at half past five (she most likely visits a full-time day school by the sound of it). And I do this almost everyday when I’m at the studio.

Distance between artists and fans

There are some things I don't do on principle. I love a certain distance. I think that a certain kind of myth is important for both parties involved, for the artists and the fans as well somehow, since it offers the possibility to inspire the imagination. And that's often the case, the closer you get, the more disappointed you are in the end. In this regard I find a certain distance very important. Nowadays it happens a lot that people are getting way closer. I then contemplated, where is this leading? So will it eventually be the case that your fans determine what you write? And that’s a certain point, that would cross a line for me, right.

Everything moves very quickly these days

Due to streaming, Spotify and whatever, nowadays everything moves very quickly. We sadly live in a very ‚quantity‘ times. I as a person prefer quality over quantity. But I noticed, especially with releases, that it’s the people’s attention what’s important. They want more and more content. And it's not really about quality anymore. It's simply about more is more.

About ‚Let’s go‘ – with Till Lindemann

This song is incredibly old. I actually wrote it for the first Emigrate album. And I thought back then that it wouldn’t be the appropriate place, if I’d put it on the first album – I didn’t like the name-dropping, that would’ve been too quick for me. So I disregarded the song, forgot about it and later dug it up again. I rewrote it completely. It’s actually about our friendship, even before the whole Rammstein thing. How you change over the years, so it was like a journey into the past with us, in a way. It’s a friendship-song.

How do you find duet partners?

So basically I write the songs and sometimes consider which artist could improve the song. Most of the time I have specific artists in mind, and I ask them. With the song 1234, it was the first time that my management asked „Well, could you see yourself collaborating with Billy Talent?“ When I heard Billy Talent, I always thought about the guitarist, who has a super unique sound I think. But the singer wasn't really a household name for me at the time. So I said, ok, we could try it. And the song came back and I must admit, Ben somehow added so much fire and cheekiness to the song. He brought the song even more to life. I thought this was great.

Is it strange to use your voice for Emigrate and not just play the guitar?

Back in the day when we started Rammstein, I actually intended to sing. I didn’t to it, thank God I didn’t. Otherwise we wouldn’t have this wonderful Till and his poetic outpourings in our lives. But I think if you write and evolve as a song writer, you automatically use your own voice as a tool to write stuff. First you do it as a demo, a sketch, and you think in the end someone comes along who will sing it properly. As I started, which is quite a long time ago, back then my musical patron and friend from France Arnaud Giroux told me „Forget it. The way you do it is unique.“ And of course, with singing you have some problems to listen to yourself in the beginning. It’s a totally different deal than playing an instrument. And then it's just a matter of habit, that people get used to it, or I myself get used to my own voice. In that regard there certainly was a development in my own voice.

Emigrate as a balance to Rammstein?

It’s kind of an opponent. It’s somehow like these two topics form a balance for me, so that I can act out the things here which I can’t act out in Rammstein, so to speak. And it works quite well by now. It’s a good balance for me. It goes both ways.

Several different genres on the new album

Maybe I somehow personally, especially when it comes to music, don’t like to settle. And really use every possible genre of music to run wild. I like that there’s no censorship. In my mind, it [Emigrate] is thought to be a place where I can act out what I can’t act out otherwise. In that regard it’s very important to me to do it that way.

What’s so special about this project?

The whole Emigrate project is an opportunity for me to be open to everything. Not everybody likest hat. Lots of people say „You’re doing too much, that’s too much for me.“ But that’s exactly the idea to basically escape the very controlled cosmos of the Rammstein-republic, so to speak, and to open myself up musically. And not to get dictated where I should go musically.

#oh boy. oh boy this got long #no idea why i did that. but it was fun to analyze him for a bit #“rock ist tot” ja is gut opa #geh bisschen filme gucken #SPASS. lieb den kerl #richard kruspe #rammstein #interviews & quotes #rockland.fm #no idea if my english is good enough whelp

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