#triggers for it seem impossible to avoid

[handsoffthefuckinshield]

fuck. I keep forgetting Baz is actually our strongest gatekeeper

[carnage-cathedral]

the kind of lasting trauma that comes from having your entire home be unsafe yet eerily calm for several hours is really hard to accommodate. it's hard to avoid triggers once the wound is reopened because everything is a trigger. just the existence of the space itself becomes a source of fear and there's no way to escape it because this is literally just where we live. it doesn't matter how safe we actually are because being reassured that we're safe is also a trigger and everything appearing calm is also a trigger. it's hopeless and nowhere ever feels safe now

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMIGRAINE * SPENCER REID

SUMMARY　::　Spencer has suffered from headaches since his teenage years, but nothing like the one he's experiencing now. When a bad migraine decides to hit him during his work time, Y/N is right there to help him, just like she promised she always would.

FEATURING　Spencer Reid x reader　　REQUESTED?　no.

WARNINGS　::　Somewhere between ep 11 and 12 from season 6 | Migraine, pain, throwing up, Spencer being "babied" and taken care of (just like it should've happened when he had his migraines).

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The first time Spencer Reid experienced a migraine, he was sixteen years old. At the time, he had chalked it up to stress. It wasn’t unusual for him to push his mind and body to the limit; classes by day, independent studies by night, and taking care of his mom full-time.

But, like most things in his life, Spencer adapted. He found ways to manage the episodes, learning which triggers to avoid. Over time, the migraines became something he lived with. He rarely talked about them; they felt too personal, too vulnerable. And vulnerability wasn’t something he had been taught to show, not in childhood and certainly not in his line of work now.

Since joining the FBI, the migraines have remained manageable. Sure, the stress of chasing unsubs and staring at evidence under glaring lights could sometimes bring on a headache, but they were rare enough that he didn’t worry. Until today.

The pain started as a faint pressure, a dull throb behind his eyes as soon as he woke this morning with a call from Hotch, Y/N's warm body against his own doing nothing to ease it, but he had dismissed it, thinking it was just lack of sleep since they've just got back from a case in New Mexico.

Y/N's eyes were sure to catch it all, how his shoulders were more hunched, his steps just a touch slower, and the faint crease between his brows that seemed to just stay there. She knew his body language like the back of her hand; something was off.

But Y/N didn’t hover or prod. She knew Spencer’s rhythm, his boundaries, and she knew that he didn’t need her hovering or asking every ten minutes if he was okay - he hated that. She trusted Spencer to come to her if it became too much.

Instead, she slid a small glass of water and Spencer's usual medication across the counter to him, pairing it with a piece of toast slathered in butter and his first cup of coffee.

She didn’t say a word about it, only kissed his cheek softly as she leaned in close, her voice barely a whisper as she murmured "I love you", her lips lingering for a moment.

And Spencer was sure that her kiss would magically make him feel better in no time - silly him. By the time they arrived at the BAU, the ache had deepened, expanding until it felt as though his entire skull was caught in a strong fist.

Now, in the middle of the afternoon, sitting at his desk, Spencer struggled to focus. His temples throbbed in time with his heartbeat, sending jolts of pain that spread down his neck and shoulders.

A sharp sensation had settled behind his left eye, making it impossible to fully open without a stabbing pain shooting through his head. He pressed his fingers to the sides of his head, attempting to massage away the discomfort, but it was futile.

A tingling sensation kept creeping along his arms, the nerves in his fingertips hypersensitive to the touch of his pen. Even the faint friction of his clothing against his skin felt unbearable, leaving him breathless. His limbs kept moving around in his chair, trying to find a position that didn’t make his muscles feel like they were ready to snap.

Across the bullpen, Morgan leaned casually against the edge of his own desk, glancing momentarily at Spencer while talking with Ashley, a teasing smirk growing on his face as he noticed the younger's pace while flipping pages - it wasn't slow, but surely slower than 'Spencer's normal'.

"Looks like someone’s slower than usual today." Morgan called, his tone lighthearted as he hoped to pull Spencer into their usual playful demeanor.

But Spencer didn’t respond - which wasn't news when the genius was concentrated, squinting his eyes at the too bright lights above him, sending harsh glares on his desk that seemed to burn straight into his brain.

He tried to look up in a tentative of looking at Derek, but as soon as his eyes moved, his vision sparked with white flashes that momentarily blinded him, not noticing how Morgan's smirk faltered as he exchanged a concerned glance with Y/N across the room, who had been shooting Spencer glances for quite some time now.

Frustration started to bubble inside Spencer as the pages of the case file in front of him seemed to blurry even more when he moved his eyes back to it, the letters swimming across the paper as if they were mocking his attempts to work.

The sounds around him only seemed to make things worse. Across the bullpen, Prentiss's deep voice rose in conversation with JJ, sharp and too loud for his own taste. The gentle tapping of Ashley's keyboard sounded like a woodpecker drilling into his ears. The steady rustling of paper, the faint squeak of wheels on rolling chairs, even the scratch of Y/N’s pen on paper, it all seemed to close around him, leaving him struggling to breathe. He clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together in an effort to keep himself from snapping.

But the worst part was the impossibility of concentrating - Spencer’s mind was usually his greatest ally, a place where he could retreat and find order even in chaos.

He stared at the case file in front of him, the report on Andrew Jacobs, a killer who had brutally murdered several women, including his own wife. Spencer knew the details of the case intimately, had memorized every little thing, every piece of evidence. But now, as he tried to write his report, the words wouldn’t come.

His pen hovered over the page, trembling slightly in his hand as the muscles in his fingers twitched. He pressed the tip of the pen to the paper, determined to start, but his mind was blank. No, worse than blank, it was fractured.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to write a sentence.

Andrew Jacobs exhibited narcissistic tendencies, as evidenced by-

The thought dissolved as another burst of pain shattered his focus. The rest of the sentence was lost, replaced by another white flash. His hand tightened around the pen, and he nearly snapped it in half as he exhaled a shaky breath.

He tried again.

Jacobs selected victims that resembled-

The throb in his temples flared, and he dropped the pen, his hand too weak to hold it.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, desperate to shut out the light, the noise, the overwhelming sensations. He hunched over his desk, his breathing shallow and labored, trying to ride it out without drawing attention to himself - well, more.

Maybe caffeine would help. It had worked before, maybe inconsistently. But it was better than nothing.

Pushing back his chair, Spencer stood, determined to exterminate his pain. But the pace in which he did it sent a wave of vertigo crashing over him, the room tilting precariously to one side.

His vision narrowed as he stumbled, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the edge of the desk, but his fingers missed the mark. His foot caught on the leg of his chair, and he tripped forward, nearly knocking over a stack of case files in the process.

Lucky him.

"Spence!" Y/N’s voice cut through the cloud of his disorientation, filled with concern.

Before he could even process what was happening, her hands were on him, one steadying him by his biceps, the other catching the stack of papers before they could scatter across the bullpen.

Spencer forced a quick, shaky smile, hoping it would be enough to stop her worry.

"Sorry." He said, his voice as steady as possible. The effort to sound okay only made the pounding in his head worse, and he winced slightly as he tucked a very short lock of hair behind his ear - still used to having it longer. "I'm okay. I just tripped."

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she studied him. Her hand lingered on his arm, her grip gentle but firm, as if she was afraid he might fall again.

"Spence, are you sure? You don’t look-"

"I’m fine!" Spencer cut her off, his voice a touch too loud, earning a questioning glance from Prentiss across the room. He cleared his throat, softening his tone. "I just need a refill." He added, holding up his empty coffee mug as if it were some sort of shield. "Do you need one? I can get you it if you want!"

He didn’t give her a chance to respond before stepping out of her grasp and making a beeline for the coffee station. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked away, but he didn’t turn back.

Reaching the coffee maker, Spencer set his mug down with trembling hands, the slight clink of ceramic against metal sounding impossibly loud to his hypersensitive ears. He focused on the simple motions of pouring the coffee, hoping the familiarity of the task would anchor him.

The smell of the freshly brewed coffee hit him, and his stomach churned in response. He swallowed hard against the wave of nausea but pressed on, filling the mug to the brim.

The first sip burned his tongue, but he didn’t care. He gulped it down, the heat spreading through his chest like liquid desperation. Maybe the caffeine would kick in quickly, stopping the edges of the pain enough for him to concentrate.

But as he drained the mug, the room began to spin again. A nauseating dizziness wrapped itself around him, pulling his vision into darkness for a moment too long. He gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white as he fought to stay up.

His stomach churned violently now, and his head felt like it was splitting apart. His legs wobbled beneath him, threatening to give way, and he knew he couldn’t keep standing. He needed to sit down. Now.

Spencer scanned the room for the nearest chair. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as he half-stumbled toward the breakroom table, collapsing into a chair before his legs could betray him entirely. He set the empty coffee mug down on the table with shaking hands - almost missing it - and rested his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands.

The sound of Spencer’s body collapsing against the chair reverberated through the bullpen like a thunderclap. Heads turned instinctively toward the breakroom, curiosity quickly giving way to concern when the sound was followed by a groan. A deep, guttural groan of pain that struck Y/N.

She knew that sound.

Her head snapped up, her pen clattering onto her desk, and in an instant, she was on her feet, moving toward it with determination.

"Y/N?" JJ's voice called after her, tinged with confusion, but she ignored her.

As she entered the room, the sight before her made her heart squeeze. Spencer was slumped in one of the chairs, his body hunched forward, his arms clutching his stomach. His hair was a mess, sticking to his damp forehead, and his shirt was rumpled, the fabric pulled and creased as if he’d been tugging at it in desperation to rid himself of the sensation of it against his clammy skin. Sweat dripped from his temples, his face pale and drawn, his eyes half-closed as though the effort of keeping them open was too much.

"Spence?" She whispered, her voice steady despite the panic rising in her chest.

She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering uncertainly near his, afraid to make things worse but desperate to comfort him.

"Hey, what’s wrong? What are you feeling?" She asked, her tone filled with concern. Her eyes scanned his face, searching for any clue, but the only response she received was a low, pitiful whimper.

The sound broke her heart.

Before she could press him further, Spencer’s body stiffened, his face contorting as a sudden wave of nausea overtook him. His stomach grumbled violently, and he gagged, a sharp, involuntary sound that echoed through the room.

"Oh my-!" Y/N gasped, realizing what was happening just as he tried to stand, his weak limbs shaking under his own weight.

He only managed to rise an inch before his knees buckled, sending him crashing back into the chair. His hand flew to his mouth as another gag wracked his body, his face twisting with misery. The effort to move had only made things worse.

Y/N acted on instinct, her heart pounding as she spotted the small trash bin tucked beneath the desk behind him. She grabbed it quickly, her movements fast, and positioned it under him just in time.

Spencer bent forward, his body heaving as he retched violently into the bin. His stomach emptied itself in painful spasms, each cough leaving him weaker. One of Y/N's hands cradled his shoulder to keep him from falling to the ground, the other rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"It’s okay, sweetheart." She murmured softly. "I’m right here. Just let it all out. You’re going to be okay."

Her fingers traveled from his back to the back of his head, intertwining through his damp hair, tucking the short strands behind his ears as she continued to whisper reassurances. The sound of her voice was low and soft, grounding him.

Outside the breakroom, Morgan and Prentiss had gathered by the coffee station near the door, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm as the muffled sounds of gagging reached their ears. Morgan had been the first to step forward, concern taking over his face, but Emily stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Give them a second." She said quietly.

Inside, Spencer’s nausea began to ease, though his body still trembled, probably because of exhaustion. Y/N kept knelt by his side, her hands never once leaving him, wiping the sweat off of his forehead.

When he finally stopped, Spencer sagged against the chair, his face pale as a ghost, and his breathing shallow and uneven. Y/N quickly took off her jacket, gently wiping his mouth and chin before brushing the hair from his face again, creating a mental note to throw her clothing inside her washing machine as soon as they got home.

"Y/N, you don’t have to do this-" Spencer started, his voice weak but laced with sincerity as he tried to lift his head and meet her gaze, trying to push her jacket away with his hand.

Y/N didn’t let him finish, shaking her head.

"You make it seem like taking care of you is hard work." She cut him off with a soft smile, her free hand slipping over his lifted one, her thumb rubbing gentle circles into his knuckles, lowering them.

Spencer's eyes darted away, his cheeks coloring faintly in embarrassment. He hated that she was seeing him like that - so sick and so not him.

"But taking care of you." She continued, her other hand coming to rest on his thigh, warm and grounding. "Is the easiest thing in the world."

Spencer hummed softly in response, the sound noncommittal but tinged with gratitude.

"Now." She said, her eyes searching his as she lowered her head to his high, searching for his eyes. "What’s going on?"

Spencer shook his head weakly, his lips pressing into a thin line. He was too drained and too overwhelmed to explain the relentless storm of pain that had consumed him in such a small period of time.

Y/N exhaled softly, her worry deepening as she took in his refusal to answer. She glanced over her shoulder, debating whether to call for Hotch or JJ.

"Okay." She said gently, leaning closer so he could hear her. "You don’t have to talk right now. Just breathe. I’m here."

The smell of vomit began to permeate the room, clinging to the air in a way that would have turned most stomachs. But Y/N didn’t flinch. She’d seen and smelled worse in her years with the BAU. Compared to that, a little puke was nothing.

"My head..." Spencer’s voice cracked as he whimpered several minutes later of silence, his words barely audible as his hands flew to his face, fingers pressing harshly against his eyes.

Y/N’s heart clenched, and she instinctively reached for his wrists, her hands gently tugging his away from his head. His eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and glassy, pain etched into every line of his expression.

"Oh, honey." She cooed softly, brushing the strands of hair from his forehead. "It’s your migraine again, isn’t it?"

A faint, almost imperceptible nod was all he managed.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" She asked, her voice gentle. "You should’ve said something before we even left your apartment this morning."

He shook his head weakly, as if the mere thought of explaining himself was too much effort.

Y/N sighed, her fingers brushing over his temple in a soothing motion.

"Alright." She said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We’re going home, okay?" She paused for a beat, watching him closely. "Can you stand?"

Spencer didn’t respond right away. He stayed hunched over, breathing unevenly, his shoulders trembling slightly as if he was waiting for his body to answer for himself. Finally, after a long moment, he whispered.

"I don't think I can. I’m dizzy... really dizzy."

Y/N’s expression softened even further.

"That’s okay." She assured gently, her hand rubbing slow, comforting circles across his back. "There’s no rush, Spence. We’ll wait until you feel ready, alright?"

He didn’t answer, but the slight relaxation of his posture told her he’d heard. She stayed by his side, her fingers trailing up to his shoulders, massaging the tension she could feel knotted beneath his crumpled shirt.

"I’m going to grab some water for you, okay?" After a moment, she whispered. "Just something to rinse your mouth and maybe settle your stomach." She began to shift, preparing to stand, but the soft wince that escaped Spencer stopped her in her tracks.

He reached out, his hand trembling as it found her arm, his grip gentle but insistent. His big puppy eyes met hers with a silent plea.

"Can you stay?" He asked lowly, his fingers loosening slightly but not letting go. "I don't need water."

He actually needed it, but it could wait. He preferred her by his side.

"Yeah, okay. I’m not going anywhere." She assured him, nodding. "I’m right here."

She settled back into her position beside him, her arm draped protectively over his shoulder. They stayed like that for several minutes, Y/N murmuring soft reassurances while Spencer focused on taking slow, measured breaths.

Eventually, he shifted slightly, his posture straightening just enough to signal he was ready.

"I think... I can stand now." He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N nodded, throwing her jacket over her shoulder before her hands moved to support him as she stood, then gently helped him to his feet. He swayed slightly, heavily leaning against her, his weight a little awkward against her frame, but she didn’t mind.

"Easy." She murmured, her voice calm. "One step at a time. I’ve got you."

With painstaking care, she guided him out of the breakroom, her focus entirely on him. Their teammates noticed them, their concerned gazes following, but Y/N didn’t pause to explain.

She led Spencer to the bathroom, not caring to turn on the lights, knowing that it would just make his situation worse. She eased him down onto the small bench near the sinks, watching as he sank into the seat with a groan, his head drooping forward again as though even holding it upright was too much.

"Hang tight." Y/N said softly, brushing her hand over his shoulder before turning toward the sink.

She turned on the faucet, letting the water run cold, and dampened a handful of paper towels. Returning to Spencer, she knelt in front of him and gently pressed the cool towels to his face and neck. He sighed faintly at the momentary relief, his body relaxing slightly under her care.

"There we go." She whispered, dabbing away the sweat on his brow and cheeks. "Just a little longer, alright?"

She smoothed down the rumpled fabric of his shirt, adjusting it to make him more comfortable, and ran her fingers through his hair, untangling the damp strands.

"You’re doing so well, honey." She murmured, her voice gentle. "We’ll get you feeling better soon, I promise.

Spencer blinked at her, his pain-clouded eyes filled with love. He didn’t have the will to speak, but the way he leaned into her touch said everything he couldn’t.

Y/N smiled softly, her thumb brushing lightly over his eyebrows before standing again.

"Come on." She said, offering her hands. "Let’s get you out of here."

Spencer took a deep breath, summoning what little strength he had left, and let her guide him to his feet. Y/N steadied Spencer as they exited the bathroom, her hand firmly wrapped around his right arm - it would be barely 20 steps to the elevators. She could handle that. She tilted her head slightly, her voice soft but commanding.

"Spence, close your eyes for me, okay? The lights out there are only going to make it worse. I’ll guide you, I promise."

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then nodded weakly and let his eyes flutter shut. Y/N adjusted her hold on him, now wrapping his waist, taking most of his weight as they slowly started their journey through the small path to the exit doors.

The hum of conversation in the office dimmed as curious eyes turned toward them. Y/N’s jaw tightened, her sharp gaze sweeping the room, sending a hard glare to anyone who dared look too long or seemed close to say something, as if to warn don’t even think about it.

Her eyes found Morgan when they crossed the glass doors, who was watching them, his expression full of concern. He tilted his head slightly, silently asking if she needed help. She gave him a curt nod, Spencer's body against hers starting to make her legs feel tired.

Morgan moved swiftly, stepping ahead to press the elevator button, ensuring the doors would be ready for them. Then, without hesitation, he came to Spencer’s other side.

"Let me take him." Morgan said gently, sliding his arm around Spencer’s shoulders to ease the weight off Y/N.

Spencer stiffened for a moment at the unfamiliar touch, but as Morgan steadied him, a flicker of recognition crossed his face. He relaxed slightly, leaning into Morgan’s strength, though his grip on Y/N’s hand remained loose, as if afraid to let her go entirely.

Morgan gave him a reassuring smile.

"Hey, pretty boy." He said lightly, his tone warm and familiar. "How are you feeling down there?"

Spencer’s lips twitched faintly, a weak attempt at humor breaking through the haze of pain.

"Not so pretty right now." He murmured, his voice hoarse and strained.

Morgan chuckled softly, his hand giving Spencer’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Nah, you’re still prettier than most of us, even like this."

Y/N allowed herself a small smile at Morgan’s effort to keep the mood light. She adjusted her pace to match theirs as they finally reached the elevator. Morgan shifted slightly, ensuring Spencer stayed upright while Y/N pressed the button for the parking level - he really looked like he was about to pass out, and none of them wanted that.

The elevator ride was quiet save for Spencer’s shallow breaths and the occasional comforting words from Morgan. Y/N kept her hand on Spencer’s one, her fingers tracing calming circles above his skin.

Morgan’s grip was steady as he guided Spencer to the car after they reached the garage, Y/N walking ahead to open the passenger door.

"Alright, pretty boy, here we go." Morgan said softly, helping Spencer lower himself into the seat. Spencer groaned faintly as he settled in, head resting against the headrest.

Morgan straightened, closing the door carefully before turning to Y/N, who stood nearby with her keys clutched tightly in her hand.

"You good, Y/L/N? You sure you got this? I can follow you, help get him settled if you want."

Y/N shook her head.

"I’ve got it. Thank you, though. He’ll be okay. He just needs some rest and quiet." She offered Morgan a small but grateful smile. "Can you let Hotch know that we had to go earlier? I'm gonna text him later to explain it all better, but I know he will be worried."

Morgan studied her for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah, you got it. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"I will." Y/N replied.

Morgan gave her upper arm a gentle squeeze before stepping back, waiting until she climbed into the driver’s seat before heading back inside.

Once the door was closed, Y/N glanced over at Spencer. His breathing had already evened out, his face slack with sleep. A twinge of sadness pulled at her chest, wishing she could take all his pain away. She reached out gently, brushing a lock of his hair from his forehead.

"You’ll feel better soon, baby." She whispered softly.

With the car in motion, Y/N quickly decided that taking him to her apartment would be the best option. Spencer’s place, though obviously comfortable, required climbing a flight of stairs, and there was no way she was going to risk him - or herself - having to deal with that. Her building had an elevator, and she knew he’d be just as safe there.

The drive was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the engine. Spencer didn’t stir, his head tilted slightly against the cool window as the motion of the car lulled him deeper into sleep. Y/N drove carefully, taking turns gently and avoiding any sharp stops, all the while stealing occasional glances at him to ensure he was okay.

When she finally pulled into her building’s parking garage, she cut the engine and let out a breath. Turning to Spencer, she hesitated for a moment before reaching over and resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Honey." She said softly, giving him a gentle shake. "Hey, we’re here. I need you to wake up for me, okay?"

Spencer let out a quiet groan, his eyelids fluttering as he slowly began to rouse. He squinted, grimacing as if the mere act of opening his eyes was too much.

"I know, I know." Y/N cooed softly, her voice full of understanding. "I'm sorry, baby. Just a little further, and you can sleep again. Come on, I’ve got you."

With sluggish movements, Spencer let Y/N unbuckle his seatbelt and help him out of the car, cringing slightly at how useless he felt and looked right now. His legs were unsteady, and she quickly wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him toward the building’s entrance.

By the time they reached her apartment door, the sound of clicking nails on the floor echoed as Snow, her fluffy little Shih Tzu, padded over excitedly to greet them.

"Hey, Snow." Y/N whispered softly, nudging the dog back with her leg as Spencer swayed slightly beside her. "Not now, sweetie. Go lie down."

Snow, almost sensing the mood, tilted his head, nudging lovingly at Spencer's leg before trotting off to his bed in the corner of the living room.

"Alright, Spence. Let’s get you to bed, too." She guided him carefully into her bedroom.

Her free hand swiftly clicks her bedside lamp on, the soft glow of it casting warm light across the room.

Helping him sit on the edge of the bed, Y/N crouched down, quickly unlacing his Converse and slipping them off one at a time. Next, she loosened his tie and removed it, setting it gently on her dresser.

"Let’s get this off too, okay?" She murmured as she unbuttoned his crumpled white shirt.

Spencer didn’t resist, his limbs too uncoordinated to help her, only moving them to press his palms hard against his eyeballs again, but his action was quickly - and gently - stopped by Y/N.

Once the shirt was off, leaving him in just his pants and mismatched socks, she eased him back against the pillows, ignoring her mind telling her that he would be mad for 'going to bed in outside clothes, do you know how many germs there is in this?'

Spencer sighed softly as he sank into the mattress, the lines of tension in his face easing just a little. Y/N adjusted the blankets, pulling them up to his waist to keep him warm before brushing her fingers softly through his hair, tucking the messy strands away from his face.

"There we go." She whispered to herself, her voice as soft as the dim light of the room.

Satisfied that he was settled, she straightened up and turned toward the door, ready to let him get the rest he desperately needed. But just as she took her first step, she felt a gentle tug on her wrist. The touch was weak, barely there, but enough to stop her.

Turning back, she saw Spencer’s hand wrapped loosely around her wrist, his long fingers barely curled. His eyes were still shut, but his brows were drawn together, his lips parting as he whispered, voice hoarse and fragile.

"Can you... stay here? Just for a little more."

Y/N immediately sat in the mattress, by his hips side, her heart skipping a beat with his tone of voice.

"Of course, honey." She murmured, brushing the top of his fingers softly with her thumb. "I’m not going anywhere. I promise."

Spencer let out a shaky breath. His grip on her wrist didn’t tighten. If anything, it was soft and almost reverent, like he was afraid to hold on too hard.

"Sorry." He murmured, his voice cracking, so quiet she almost missed it. "I’m... sorry for all of this. For making you deal with this."

The apology was so honest but so unnecessary that it sent a pang straight through Y/N’s chest. She leaned closer, resting her free hand gently on his cheek, her thumb tracing along his jaw.

"Spencer." She whispered, her tone firm but warm. "Don’t be stupid." She smiled faintly, noticing how his right eyebrow moved slightly up, the way it always did when he was feeling confused. "You’ve done this for me so many times. How many nights have you sat with me when I wasn’t feeling my best? How many times have you made me tea, or read to me until I fell asleep, or stayed up just to make sure I was okay? You never complained. Not once."

Spencer’s lips pressed into the faintest semblance of a smile, barely there but still enough to make Y/N’s heart squeeze. His hand slipped from her wrist to her own hand, his fingers curling around hers, warm despite the cool sweat still lingering on his skin.

"Thank you." He whispered, his voice raw, like it was taking everything in him to get the words out. And maybe it was. Being transparent with his feelings was the hardest thing for Spencer - something he was trying to change since putting his eyes on Y/N for the very first time.

Y/N leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment as if to let him feel every bit of affection she carried for him.

"You don’t have to thank me." She murmured, her lips brushing against his skin. "This is what love is, Spence. I’m here because I want to be here. Because I care about you."

Spencer’s grip on her hand stayed soft as his features relaxed again, the tension melting away. But just as she began to pull back, her tone shifted, still gentle but also firm.

"In the morning, we’re going to the doctor, okay?" She said softly, her tone sounding rhetorical, as if not waiting to hear his opinion.

Spencer’s brows knitted together, his lips parting in protest, but he didn’t immediately respond.

"Spence." She continued. "I know you’ve dealt with migraines since you were younger, but this? This wasn’t normal. It came out of nowhere, and it hit you so hard. You have to have it checked out."

Finally, he spoke, his voice cracking.

"But... what if... what if it’s not just migraines?" His voice wavered, and he squeezed her hand tighter. "What if it’s... what if it’s something worse? What if it’s like my mom?" His voice broke on the last word, and he swallowed hard, his breathing shaky. "I can’t... I can’t risk that. I can’t risk knowing that now. I can’t risk losing you because of it."

Before Y/N, Spencer had been trying to do every test and clinical exam that would show him how close to schizophrenia or Alzheimer's he could be - his college years had been full of them - but now he did his best to stay away from it. He just couldn't risk it.

Y/N’s face fell at his words, and the fear evident in his expression. She cupped his face gently, forcing him to look at her, even if his eyes fluttered open for only a moment.

"Spence." She said, her voice thick with emotion but steady. "You’re not going to lose me. Ever. Do you hear me? Whatever happens, I’ll be right here. I’ll be with you every step of the way. You’re not alone in this."

He closed his eyes again, his features crumpling as he absorbed her words. He wanted to believe - he needed to - but the example he had from his father had been everything but perfect.

"Don't keep worrying your head with this. We’ll talk more in the morning, okay? Right now, I need you to rest. Just rest."

"I love you." He murmured, his voice softening. "So much."

Y/N let out a shaky breath.

"I love you more." She whispered back, smiling softly, brushing her fingers through his hair one last time before pulling back. "Get some sleep." She said gently.

This time, he didn’t protest as she stood and stepped toward the door. Quietly, she slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She let out a breath, her shoulders sagging slightly as the tension of the day began to melt away. Snow trotted up to her, tail wagging gently as if offering quiet support.

"Alright, boy." Y/N murmured, scratching Snow behind the ears. "Let’s get this place in order and make something to eat for later, huh?"

© vanteguccir

[theambitiouswoman]

You are not meant to just get by. You are meant to live fully.

Many of us spend our lives stuck in survival mode—constantly reacting, anxiety, defensiveness, triggered, blaming ourselves, overthinking & doing whatever it takes just to get through the day. It could feel like you’re holding everything together, but deep down you know this isn’t sustainable. Imagine waking up feeling peaceful instead of stressed. Imagine having the time and energy to enjoy life, instead of just surviving it. That reality is possible, but it starts with a choice: to step out of survival mode & into the life you were meant to live.

Survival mode is exhausting. You feel:

• Overwhelming anxiety that makes you question every decision

• Constant burnout from never giving yourself a real break

• A scarcity mindset, always fearing there’s not enough time, money, or love

• Numbing emotions, because feeling them seems too hard

But you don’t have to live this way. You deserve to thrive, not just survive.

Signs You’re in Survival Mode:

• You feel like life is happening to you, not for you.

• You focus only on what’s urgent, ignoring what’s important.

• You’ve stopped dreaming or setting long-term goals.

• Every day feels like a race you’re barely finishing.

How to Break Free from Survival Mode:

1. Pause and Reflect

Give yourself permission to stop and ask: What am I running from or avoiding? Awareness is the first step to change

2. Prioritize Your Energy

• Sleep more

• Say “no” to things that drain you

• Focus on the few things that really matter

3. Heal the Root Cause

Often, survival mode is tied to past trauma or unhealed pain. Journaling, therapy, or even talking to a trusted friend can help release those emotions.

4. Shift Your Mindset

Practice abundance thinking. Replace “I can’t” with “How can I?” Gratitude journaling can also help rewire your brain to focus on the good.

5. Invest in Your Future

Start setting small goals, even if they feel impossible. Give yourself permission to dream again & build systems that support you instead of overwhelm you

[andy-15-07]

Tommy Miller & Female Reader, maybe enemies to lovers?

Enemies To Lovers

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x reader

Word Count:1179 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

“You lost?”

Your fingers tighten around the grip of your rifle. “Do I look lost?”

Tommy Miller eyes you from beneath his weathered cap, arms crossed, stance wide like he’s expecting you to bolt or bite. “You’re standin’ in the middle of Jackson with a scowl and a trigger finger. That usually means someone’s either lost… or lookin’ for trouble.”

You exhale hard through your nose. “Guess I’m both, then.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Figures. You’re the new one, huh? Maria said you’d be prickly.”

“And I said I didn’t want a babysitter.” You glance past him, to the gate. The cold air bites your cheeks, but the warmth of your irritation keeps you standing tall. “I’ll find the damn housing on my own.”

Tommy doesn’t move. “Yeah, and get yourself turned around twice and ask a teenager for help again? Don’t flatter yourself,Jackson ain’t that big, but you still managed to make it a maze.”

“Are you always this much of a pain in the ass?” you snap.

His mouth quirks up. “Only for people who earn it.”

You groan. “Lucky me.”

He walks ahead without another word, but you still follow. Because no matter how much his cocky swagger makes you want to punch a fencepost, he knows where he’s going. You’re not about to wander in circles again like some clueless stray.

You tell yourself that’s the only reason.

Three days in, and he still finds ways to get under your skin. Always there when you don’t want him to be. Always got something to say when silence would do just fine.

“You know, for someone who didn’t want a babysitter,” Tommy drawls, watching you patch a broken fence rail, “you sure seem to keep findin’ me.”

You look up. “For someone who doesn’t like me, you sure show up a lot.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I like seein’ you struggle.”

You glare at him, but he just chuckles and leans against a post, arms folded. That look in his eyes,it’s not mean, not cruel. Just amused. Testing.

You hate that part of you doesn’t mind it.

It comes to a head one night after patrol. Your horse is limping, your leg’s bruised, and your patience? Gone.

“You could’ve warned me about the ravine,” you bark, wincing as you swing off the saddle.

Tommy’s already on the ground, reaching for the reins. “You could’ve kept your damn eyes open. I said to slow down.”

“No, you smirked and suggested slowing down. There’s a difference.”

“And you ignored me anyway.”

You shove past him. “Screw this. I’m going to bed.”

“You always run off when someone calls you out?”

You whirl. “You always act like some washed-up cowboy with a hero complex?”

He closes the space between you, close enough that your breath catches. “Better that than a bitter stray lookin’ for a fight she can’t win.”

Something snaps.

You shove him. “I didn’t ask to be here!”

He doesn’t move. Just stands there, jaw tight. “No. But you’re here. And maybe it’s time you stopped punishin’ everyone else for that.”

The silence stretches like taut wire.

Your chest heaves. His eyes don’t leave yours.

You don’t know which of you moves first,but your mouths crash together like a spark and gasoline.

His hand tangles in your hair. Yours fists in his jacket. It's angry. Desperate. Fire poured over ice.

You break away first, panting. “Still think I’m just bitter?”

He breathes hard. “No. I think you’re terrified.”

You want to scream. Want to hit him. Want to kiss him again.

So you walk away.

Because if you don’t, you’ll do all three.

Avoiding Tommy in a small town like Jackson is nearly impossible. Especially when Maria pairs you up for patrol again.

He doesn’t say much that morning. Neither do you. But the air is thick with what was left unsaid.

“I shouldn’t’ve said that,” he murmurs finally, after an hour of riding through pine trees and snow.

You stare ahead. “Which part?”

“About you punishin’ people.” He pauses. “You’ve lost things. I get it.”

You glance sideways. “You don’t know what I’ve lost.”

“No. But I know the look in your eyes.”

You don’t reply.

He sighs. “I ain’t tryin’ to be your enemy.”

You blink, surprised. “Then what are you tryin’ to be?”

He shifts in the saddle. “Don’t know yet. But I reckon it’s more than just the guy you hate.”

You chew on that. Because the truth is,you don’t hate him. Not really. Not anymore.

And maybe that’s worse.

Winter thaws slowly. So does your relationship.

He doesn’t push. Just keeps showing up. With coffee. With quiet company. With the occasional teasing smirk that still makes you bristle,but doesn’t burn like it used to.

You find yourself looking for him in crowds. Listening for his voice at dinner hall tables. It’s stupid. You tell yourself that a lot.

But it’s also real.

One night, you sit on the porch outside your housing unit, boots kicked off, watching the stars blur with your tired eyes.

Tommy walks up with two mugs. “Figured you’d be out here.”

You nod. He sits beside you. No words for a while. Just the clink of ceramic and the sound of the night.

Then you murmur, “I was in Boston.”

He says nothing. Just waits.

“I had a little brother. He got sick. FEDRA wouldn’t give us meds unless we signed up for militia duty.” Your throat tightens. “He didn’t make it.”

Tommy’s fingers brush yours, slow and careful. “I’m sorry.”

You look down. “He was the last thing I had.”

“You’ve got more now,” he says. “Even if it don’t feel that way yet.”

His hand lingers. You don’t move.

You don’t want him to.

The first time you end up in his bed, it’s not planned.

You show up after a fight with a runner,nothing serious, just blood and adrenaline. He bandages your arm, and you end up staying too long, sitting too close, your knees touching.

Then you kiss him again.

This time, it’s slower. Less fire, more ache.

After, he holds you like he means it. Like you’re not a problem he’s trying to fix.

“Still think I’m bitter?” you murmur against his chest.

He chuckles. “Nah. You’re sharp, stubborn, and half-wild.”

You raise a brow. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

He kisses your hair. “Damn right it is.”

People notice. Of course they do.

Maria gives you a look one morning over coffee, but says nothing. Ellie asks once, smirking,“So you and Tommy, huh?”,and you toss a snowball at her in response.

You think it’d scare you, caring again. It used to.

But Tommy’s steadiness is its own kind of courage. And you find strength in that. In him.

One night, as you watch the fire burn low, you whisper, “I still don’t know how to do this.”

Tommy takes your hand. “You don’t have to. We’ll figure it out.”

You nod, heart full and aching. Because maybe you were lost when you first arrived. But not anymore. Not with him.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Yandere AIB Boys - You avoid them

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

Summary: Trying to ignore him goes very wrong. [Chishiya, Niragi]

WARNINGS: Manipulation; Violence. 

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊

--

set in the Beach era

Chishiya

Chishiya awaits you, body pressed against the door of your room.

Making it impossible for you to ignore him. It’s a good strategy but it only makes you hate him and that brain of his even more. 

You hesitate, steps slowing down but Chishiya doesn’t move. His eyes follow you as you reluctantly walk forward. There’s no way to dodge him now - he made sure of that. 

The silence is thick, dense. Chishiya is the first one to break it. 

“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you are ignoring me.” 

There is an ironic undertone in his words, as if testing you. You look at him, unsure of how to react. 

“I’m tired. Just wanna sleep.” 

Chishiya hums. “You didn’t seem tired when you were laughing around with Kuina.” 

Shrugging your shoulders isn't a great reaction, but is the one you give him.

“Can you move?” 

He doesn’t. 

You open your mouth to say something, but quickly close it when a couple appears in the corridor, drunk and overly giddy as they stumble towards their own room. The door closes behind them. 

“And here I thought you were mature enough to talk things out.” 

That hits something fragile inside you. 

“I am mature!” 

That earns you a sly smile from Chishiya. 

“Sure you are.” he peels away from the door, taking a step forward. “Just not mature enough to speak to me like an adult.” 

The blonde man takes another step, stopping right in front of you. 

“That’s not–”

“I’ve helped you out in the games. Took care of you. Saved your life. Kept you safe from the militants. From Niragi.” his voice grows deeper, more serious. “And this is how you repay me? After everything I’ve done for you.” 

His stare is unnerving enough for you to lower your gaze, struggling too hard to hold eye contact.

He’s right. Of course he is. Chishiya is always right. 

“I’m… sorry.” 

You cave in - like you always do. 

Niragi

“Why are you running away, uh?”

Niragi doesn’t let you go, grip over your forearm tightening as you wince, cornered against the wall. 

“What? You don’t act like I’m hurting you or some shit.” he hisses.

“This is the third time today that you try to escape me. If it were anyone else, there would be a fucking bullet in their chest, know that.”  

“Niragi…” tears well up in your eyes and Niragi coos, squishing your cheeks together. He kisses your lips despite their awkward pucker. 

“Oh, you’re such a crybaby. You’re gonna cry over that?” he kisses your chin, biting it with an unnecessary amount of force. 

“I just wanna spend some time with my girlfriend. I deserve that, don’t I?” he presses himself against you.

“I’m working hard all day. Keeping the beach safe. Keeping you safe.” 

You would roll your eyes, if you weren’t so afraid of him. 

“But instead of being grateful, my girl decides to go find hiding spots. Little bitch.” his smile is awfully unsettling, his nails digging deeper into your skin. “But you should know one thing: I’ll find you. I’ll always find you.”

He pushes you harder against the wall, your head bumping against it with a hard knock. 

“The only way for you to escape me is over my dead body.” 

--

Politely begging for some feedback 💞

[clairewritesfanfics]

Hi main system 👋. I wanted to ask if you could to invincible variants reaction to reader having a crazy stalker that's just started following her to their home (the stalker just first been writing scary letters to her ) . Stalker ain't even gonna make it an hour but I'd like to see what they're do to the stalker .

Trigger Warnings: violence, gore

It started with notes. Red ink on white sheets, likely torn notebook pages, folded in half and left on the table you considered your spot at the coffee shop. It was just a mild crush. Probably a fellow cafe patron who thought you were cute.

They were relatively harmless, even a tad bit flattering, if you were being honest. 

“You look pretty today.”

“Your blouse brings out your eyes.”

“We ordered the same thing today :)”

Then they got longer. Weirder. Your secret admirer upgraded from scratch paper to scented letters.

“You smell nice. Did you change your perfume? Maybe your shampoo? You seem like a put together girl, I’m sure you use the good, fancy stuff. It would be nice if you told me what products you used. Then it would be like we’re together, always.”

“I noticed you came here with some girl friends. They are lovely, but no one can compare to your beauty. You will always be the most gorgeous thing in my eyes. Your face, your hair, your curves. I love every part of you. I promise never to look at anyone else but you.”

Then they outright terrified you.

“Dear angel of the coffee shop,

Who was that man that came with you last Sunday? 

You two sat so close to each other I felt jealous just watching.

Is that your type of man? 

I didn’t think you would be so shallow. Is it because he’s six feet? Is your gender really that obsessed with height? 

Maybe it’s because he’s built like an athlete? You know he will leave you when someone prettier and younger comes along.

I will never treat you like that. I will love you even if someone better wants me.

I also noticed that you haven’t been coming to the cafe as frequently as before. You used to come here every Monday through Wednesday and sometimes during Saturday. I know it can’t be because you’re avoiding me. That’s impossible, because I already told you how much you mean to me. You would be one giant BITCH if you were avoiding me.

I stayed away because I was too shy, but maybe it’s time for us to officially meet.

If you refuse to come to me then I will have to come to you.”

He would resist the instinct to dispatch the man immediately, because he could see you shaking from the corner of his eyes. So he knocks the stalker unconscious first and has his people imprison him, with strict orders to keep him alive and isolated. His priority is you. He apologizes over and over and holds you in his arms until you fall asleep from crying. Mark is struck by guilt all at once. He should’ve taken those “love letters” seriously. But he was too arrogant, believed that when your admirer saw you with him just once then he would back off. 

After tucking you in and kissing your forehead he finally confronts the one responsible for all your tears. The man is too weak and too pathetic to serve as breeding stock for the Empire, and death would be too merciful. So Mark chooses the only logical option. He gauges the eyes that dare gaze upon you, tears off the hands that tried to touch you, shatters the legs that ran after you. Mark breaks the stalker methodically, until he begs to be killed.

flaxan, target, VILTRUMITE

Mark is furious. Not at you, never at you. But at this insect that threatened your safety. He hated how upset you were about the letters. He saw enough of human society to know that the madness was not going to stop at letters. He told you as such, so he had you go to the police, and that was why he accompanied you every time you left the house. But you were too selfless for your own good; you didn’t want to wake him up from his nap so you decided to go buy ice cream alone. He woke up groggy, but heard your screaming from the front door. He moved instantly and now, he held your stalker by the throat.

Voice taut but not raised, he tells you to get inside. You’re too afraid to protest so you run back into the house. 

When he hears the front door close with a click, he shoots up into the sky, the attacker still in his grasp. This Mark isn’t especially bloodthirsty. He sees torture as a tool for interrogation, but unnecessary otherwise. Face devoid of emotion, he clenches his fist and the man in his hand goes limp instantly. He then throws the corpse in the nearest volcano before flying back to you.

He finds you sobbing in the bed and the ice melts off his body. He joins you under the covers and promises that no one will bother you again.

FULL MASK, maskless, OMNI-MARK, prisoner 

His usual swagger is gone. There is no trace of a smile to be found on his face when he stands between your trembling form and the bastard that broke into your house. Mark glares at him. Then you tug his shirt and he takes a deep breath and forces himself to smile as he talks to you, “Go lock yourself in our room, I’ll handle this.”

But you shake your head against his back. Your muffled voice tells him you don’t want to be alone.

He sighs, but he’s not annoyed. He reaches behind him and gives your thigh a squeeze. “Okay. When I give the signal, cover your ears and don’t look.”

He turns his attention back at your stalker, who is glaring back at him, spouting crap about you belonging to him and that Mark is a fuckboy who doesn’t deserve you. That hits a nerve in your husband and he lifts his knee.

“Now, angel.”

With a single strike, the man’s brain and blood splatter on the walls and the floor.

When Mark realizes what he has done he swears under his breath and gently turns around so he could lift you up and carry you to the living room. “I should’ve done it more cleanly,” he says, wiping your tears away, “I’m sorry, I promise I’ll clean it up.”

You let out a laugh and bury your nose in his chest. Protective arms cover your shoulders as Mark kisses the top of your head. He holds you like he’s afraid that you would disappear. He hates to say it but that asshole was right, you deserve everything. He should’ve been better. Should’ve done more.

head cap, mohawk, SHIESTY

Unlike the aforementioned variants, he didn’t wait for the harassment to escalate. When he identified the man who had been sending you those sickening notes, Mark wasted no time in grabbing him when no one was looking. Brought the sicko to an abandoned cabin deep, deep, deep in the woods somewhere on the other side of the world. Mark doesn’t like being away from you for too long, so he tries to work fast. 

Mark tries to act cool when he plays with his newest victim. But the fucker keeps calling you pet names and slurs, even sharing his deepest fantasies about you. So Mark rips out his tongue, then his arms and legs, and watches him bleed, all while sharing precious memories you two made together. 

sinister, no goggles

image lifted from: https://gamerant.com/invincible-all-alternate-dimension-invincibles-fates/

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

[occamstfs]

New Meaning to Hazing

Here's a scent triggered nerd to frat bro TF, usual mandatory group project stuff. Hope you enjoy! -Occam

It was not shaping up to be Henry’s day. His lab partner Alexander invited him over to his place so they may work on their report together. He was beyond shocked to learn that his partner, one of the few people on campus he could really call a friend, seemed to live in a frat house. Walking past the less than manicured lawn, complete with circles of dead grass where kegs sat out too long with litter from a recent party still hiding at the edges, Henry couldn’t help but feel his friend would never deign to live in such grotesque bro-squalor.

He checks the address sent once more before moving to knock on the stark white door to the manor, unaware of the curtains shifting as he is watched by whomever awaits him inside. He raises an arm to rap on the door before it is thrust open by one of the brothers. The large man is shirtless and sweaty, presumably fresh off a work-out which Henry is vainly trying to avoid noticing. Inside the foyer of the house is only just neater than the lawn, the trash at least overflowing front the trash cans rather than scattering the floor. 

Henry forces an awkward smile and begins backing away before he is ushered in by the sweaty man, “Hey bro, did ya need sumthin?” Gears turn in the man’s head as he tries to recall why some twerp would be coming to visit the house this morning. Henry sees the man’s mind grind to a halt and thinks about taking the opportunity to flee like the prey he is. He hesitates and the lapse passes, the oaf shouting out into the house. “Anyone expectin’ an, uh, nerd? This mornin’?” Henry hears a cacophony of barely conscious men groaning nos from rooms down the hall, breaking through them though is an almost familiar voice, “oh wait yeah, think I’ve got some project shit with him, can you send him over here?”

The troll of a man that has ushered Henry in beams and throws an arm around him, continuing to lead him through the threshold, “Huhuh! Why didn’t ya just yer here to see Lex lil bro! C’mon, he’s right this way.” Henry has no way to surreptitiously escape now that he’s been pulled inside the wholly unpleasant estate. Passing open rooms Henry could see a few men sleeping away the day and judging by the pervasive odor in the air there are at least a dozen or so more hiding from his view, if not his nose. He struggles not to visibly recoil at the musk lest he provoke his apparent guide through this bro-y hellscape.

Arriving in the living room he finds piles of dirty laundry on top of stained couches almost as expected at this point. More shocking than that is the large man lying in between them watching porn in the middle of this shared living space. His modesty barely covered by a pillow, the man looks up with eyes glazed over and stubble dotting his jaw. Despite the well sculpted body and jungle of pit hair exposed, almost as a challenge to the nerd interrupting him. Henry feels some foggy connection with this man who should fill him with only disgust. Trying not to too closely inspect the man mid-masturbation Henry can’t help but notice that he looks like some juiced up and dulled down version of his lab partner, Alexander.

His eyes widen as the frat bro smirks and scratches at one of his pits, smelling his hand before speaking up, “Hey dweeb, are you gonna just stand there and watch me jack it or can you get my fucking homework over with already.” His right hand returns under the pillow and Henry is taken aback, now recognizing the voice as his friend’s, only an octave deeper and dripping with derision at his once-friend. Henry clears his throat to apologize and shifts his eyes away from the man, wondering if he should enquire about his obviously changed state. 

He had never seen his lab partner shirtless before so perhaps he’s been hiding this impressive build the whole time. But, no it’s impossible. He’s at least a foot taller. Henry cannot reconcile how sharp his stubbled jaw is, the lazy lust filling his glazed over eyes, or the dull crawl of his deeper raspier voice. “I’m sorry for um, interrupting Alexan-” His lab partner twitches before Henry finishes the name. Immediately looking away from the porn and to Henry, “It’s fucking Lex dude. And did you not hear me? Get to work or I’ll fuckin’ make you.” Henry sees veins pump larger on his arms as Lex gets worked up. Trying to make himself small and agreeable, Henry backs away.

Lex smirks as he sees the nerd shrink into himself, the pillow bouncing higher as he feels his power, his masculinity, affirmed. Though completely driven by his balls, an idea squirms its way to the front of his mind. This little dork just wandered into his turf. Fucker’s gonna learn to respect his frat real quick. Henry sees darkness infuse Alex’s eyes as a deeper hunger grows within him. Barely masking the hunger filling his voice, Lex speaks up, “you know what bro, I’m sorry about this, just a little pent up. You know how it gets I bet,” he pulls his hand free from his crotch and gestures towards Henry, flicking his pre at the nerd.

Henry scoffs as this is quite the line too far, his face burns with embarrassment, no, with rage as he starts to feel anger far greater than he could muster before at this jerk whose supposed to be his friend! Seeing this brings genuine delight to his partner who laughs out a clearly fake apology, “Huhuh, sorry bro. Why don’t you head up to my room and get started. Here’s a change of clothes if you want it dude”

Lex grabs a shirt from the pile sniffing it and recoiling before shrugging and throwing it anyway. Were he thinking Henry certainly would have noticed his using the same cum covered hand to hurl the shirt. But something about his rising rage has heightened his awareness to the haze of the frat house, musk distracting him in a manner that is distinctly not disgust as he is pelted with the shirt and coated in some mysterious liquid.

Henry scoffs in indignation and departs for the room, leaving the shirt behind as he begins to unbutton his own stained top. “Up the stairs. Third door on your right, Bro.” Driven not by the scholarly initiative that brought him to this horrid place he obeys the man’s instructions rather than simply fleeing outright in what may be his last chance at salvation. Henry wanders up the stairs without a thought spent on anything but trying to understand the peculiar feeling rising within him at the wretched stink.

Arriving at the door Henry enters and slams it behind him, unsure if he wants time to work on this project by himself or for that cum-for-brains oaf to follow him up shortly. He clicks the lock on the door, either way not wanting to be caught unprepared by the monster storming in as he disrobes his stained shirt. Henry jumps as he sees a figure move in the room only to find the wall  across from the bed is covered in a massive mirror. Ever a curious mind Henry wanders over to inspect it and discovers hundreds of stains of god knows what. Some sick new instinct suggests he sniff and Henry is immediately lightheaded as his mind is assailed by what seems like years of cum stains.

His eyes glaze over and his mind is overwhelmed. Henry stands in front of the mirror staring straight at himself, unaware as his appearance slowly begins to shift. Glasses that are as solid a facet of his appearance as his nose fall from his face and disappear as his hair darkens and curls messily atop his head. His torso expands and thins as his arms grow gawky and lengthen. His skin tans and smooths as his mind remains boggled by the odors swimming through the air, stretching as the changes itch and burn under his skin. He feels muscle pull on his chest as something that should not be there cramps and breaks his trance. His nipples poke larger, growing hard in the chilly room and Henry blushes as he feels his cock pulse in his briefs. Uncomfortable at the idea of getting off at his own reflection and unable to bring his conscious mind to awareness of his changes.

Each second spent investigating his reflection the oppressive weight of Lex’s odor sinks deeper. Looking into his own eyes and seeing a man who he simply cannot be, Henry feels a headache quickly  rise. taking a deep breath he lets his mind clear and he shakes his head, hair flopping as it never has. But he pays no mind. He should just get started on the assignment. Yeah, the quicker he’s done the quicker he’ll be out of here. 

His mind strays to thoughts about Lex as he pulls out his laptop, he is in the jerk’s room after all. He sneers looking around at the mess, seeing oddly stained socks and half-drunk cans of beer scattering every surface. His eyes steer clear of his reflection as something deep in his mind refuses to see his reflection. His face burns as he feels his cock start to grow in his pants at the idea of Lex. “God fuck him, this is supposed to be a group assignment.” Henry bites his lip to distract from the mounting pressure in his pants.

Never a man of much will Henry digs deep into some new reserve and stubbornly gets to work. Opening a database to find sources for their report. Typically he wouldn’t even mind doing a report alone but something about that ass getting any credit really sets his mind ablaze. He thought Alex was his friend, but ever since seeing him as Lex something just. Something’s digging in the back of his mind just out of notice. He breathes deep to loose a large sigh, musk rising in his chest as a thought more pervasive than anything grabs his consciousness, Don’t worry about it bro.

Henry stares at his library’s homepage as any forward movement in his mind is halted. He could stand to chill a bit for sure. He scratches at his chest and tries to remember how he was planning to tackle this report. Thoughts moving slower than usual in his mind, waylaid by this command as well as the still advancing scent of Lex’s squalor. Following the professor’s instructions to a tee Henry sets out to start his dull work. Scrawling notes down into a spiral he tilts his head in confusion as his handwriting is far less fluid and graceful than usual. No time at all to think further on the matter as he is again struck with apathy towards anything peculiar. He takes another deep breath and another message blares through his mind, deeper, Welcome to the party bro, just keep breathing deep.

Henry scratches more at his chest as thin hair begins to poke out around his nipples. Nigh invisible blonde peach fuzz scattered around the center of his chest slowly lengthens and grows dark as the hair on his head grows longer and greasier. He rubs a hand through it and almost grimaces, feeling as unwashed as any of the slobs in this horrible compound. Despite the cool room in which he sits he begins to sweat as he sits there, computer in lap. His face rearranges into something a tad less feminine and his head twitches to the side at his criticism of the slobs, his fellow slobs. Like an alarm the thought brings him back to some semblance of himself. He is a neatfreak isn't he? He searches his memory to find any evidence to support the reality he knows.

Henry again scratches at his chest as similar itches arise in his pits and crotch. Two areas he is suddenly armed to ignore lest more similarities spring to mind between him and the slobs of this sick place, or worse Lex himself. His mind drags a memory of Lex’s treasure trail snaking above the pillow as he feels his pubes itch. His hands try to stray as he wrenches them abc to a keyboard to get some research done. His fingers miss keys as they inch slightly larger than they’ve been before, palms expanding wider and demanding adjustment. Henry clenches his jaw and takes another deep breath to stem his irritation.

The musk in the air becomes cloying to him as he suddenly begins to add to it, his sweat slides down his back and down onto his ass as a new itch arises there. He tries to keep his mind focused on his homework but every click and keypress becomes more difficult as his mind demands distraction, release. After clicking on an article filled with more text than he cares to read he thoughtlessly goes to scratch at his package. As soon as he touches it he is overcome with pleasure. Giving in immediately, he rubs through his pants as his sweaty back slides against the wall leaving his own stains in Lex’s room. His hips hump into the air as his cock strains his underwear beyond imagination, the sound of a tear cracks through the air as his pants slide into a wedgie from sliding down on the floor.

Henry tosses his laptop to the side and is stuck with indecision to just rub one out or not. What is he thinking? He’s in someone else’s fucking room, Lex’s room. The thought sends even more passion coursing through him as hormones and hunger rise. He bites his lip and scrolls to see just how long this article is, maybe he can work some kind of deal out with his balls right? He’s in control here. He tries to sit up and feels with every small movement or twitchy adjustment, waves of pleasure launch into his mind. Dulling every instinct besides those most basal and hungry. Attempting to gather any substance from the wall of text on screen is quickly abated as he decides to find some other distraction from whatever sickness is compelling his mind.

His balls pulse as he struggles to stand to his feet, his eyes stay focused ahead, away from his reflection as he sees a video game controller on Lex’s bed, surely his br- his lab partner wouldn’t mind, def not. He awkwardly steps forward feeling his larger balls pull tighter and grow larger as he struggles to fight against their constant impulses. His feet expand as he steps on Lex’s cum-filled socks and any disgust he once felt, should feel, is overridden by an ever-peaking desire for release.

His pants fully rip as his package becomes wholly unmanageable by the size 28 pants he threw on this morning. Henry scrambles under Lex’s blanket to protect his modesty and convulses as he hears something squish underneath him in the bed. His expression squirms between pleasure and judgment at his bro for being such a slob. God! Not his bro, his uh? New ideas breeze across his mind as his mind has begun to slip at a far greater pace. Each musty breath blanching more of himself away, Henry never really stood a chance. But hopping into Lex’s surely unwashed sheets was an err far too great.

Grabbing at the controller and getting started Henry feels his arm prickle as ink starts to seep to the surface. Would’ve sworn he’d never deface his body like that but he clearly has, right? Haha! His jaw grows slack as, for the first time in a while, he is able to focus on something other than his demanding balls. He feels an itch on his chin as stubble just like his bro’s begins to speckle his face as he begins to put on weight. Hair on his chest and pits begins to grow longer as he lays in an altar to Lex’s must. Quickly losing in the game he almost tosses his controller across the room as the unfamiliar rage that started his descent arises once more.

God what’s fucking up with him today. He grunts and pays no mind to the sound that echoes throughout the musty air, deeper than he could ever fathom issuing forth. He scans the room no longer seeing his laptop or discarded clothes. His eyes just manage to avoid looking at his reflection with some remnants of existential terror fighting against the rising instinct that he needs to pay his hot body some attention. Instead he notices Lex’s laptop on the bed beside him, porn already cued up. He bites his lip and smirks as he feels his cock begin to spew pre onto Lex’s sheets. Surely his bro won’t mind.

Back downstairs Lex gets off to himself as he imagines that little nerd trying not to lose himself in his own musky haze. Picturing in his mind the new curves of his body as hair begins to grow like a jungle across his figure. He starts going at it imagining Henry struggling to keep his mind focused on anything other than his growing muscle and rapidly expanding cock. Upstairs Henry himself quickly adds to Lex’s tapestry of stains as he sees his arms burn and grow. Guffawing to himself through his moans of self-pleasure as he suddenly finds his own body far more alluring than whatever shitty smut his bro had left open. Looking down at his cock as it grows beyond his understanding out of a bush of pubes darker and dirtier than he could conceive. He needs to see the whole picture.

His eyes widen and he twitches in pleasure and fear as he struggles to and to not look at his own reflection. Biting his lip to draw blood as he grunts deeper by the second, sweat staining the sheets as the bed creaks underneath his still increasing weight. His hair curls and his jaw widens as he clenches it. The curls on his chest spread wider as the little muscle he had became pecs outright, his heart pounding beneath them as the rise with each labored breath.

Drool begins to pool in his mouth as pre streams down the hands clenching his cock. His vision flickers as he manages to steal a glimpse of himself and is evermore changed. The nervous nerd who didn’t even knock on the door is wiped from Henry’s mind as he absorbs his new majesty, the power he now wields. The scent of Lex’s den is absolutely masked by his own as he languishes in his bros sheets, smirking as he flexes at his own reflection. Arms large enough to absolutely wreck his bros PR’s, a  core strong enough to fuck for hours, and thighs large enough to any fucker to submit, to say nothing of his massive cock in between them.

Immediately after taking himself in Henry loses any remaining control over his libido and moans loud enough to wake every still sleeping brother downstairs as his body cements him the king of this chapter. Painting his own stains up and down Lex’s mirror as he hears his fellow titan start to stomp up the stairs. He feels his cock harden even more intensely as another round swiftly churns in the balls hanging beneath it. Would’ve sworn he had something else going on but for the life in him he can’t figure out what. Making his way over to the door before his bro rips it off the hinges Henry decides surely a good fuck is just what he needs to set himself right again.

[venusbyline]

Gwayne Hightower — Merciful Gods (3/3)

chapter three

(previous chapter)

— summary: Gwayne Hightower is back in King's Landing. Just as you are willing to try to avoid your uncle at all costs, he is more than eager to finally show you the price for his silence.

— pairing: Gwayne Hightower x niece!reader

— type: dark, smut

— word count: 2.4k

— chapter's warnings: female!reader, dark!Gwayne, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Hightower Incest (uncle/niece), dubcon, fingerfucking, vaginal fingering, cowgirl position, loss of virginity, rough sex, blood kink, dacryphilia, crying, praise kink, unconscious sex, dubcon somnophilia, fainting/collapsing, blood and injury, violence, gore, sexism, religious conflict, religious guilt, corruption kink, dumbification kink, age gap (older man/younger woman), hair-pulling, biting, rough kiss, body worship, finger sucking, piss kink (BUT NOT REALLY), watersports (BUT NOT REALLY), curse words, referenced non-con voyeurism, referenced oral sex (male receiving), gaslighting, manipulation, abusive and toxic relationship, obsessive behaviour, mommy issues, Alyrie Florent mentioned, breeding kink, creampie, overstimulation blood licking, butt slapping, sadism, sub!reader, dom!Gwayne, ambiguous/open ending, sad ending, prince regent!Aemond, Targcest (older brother/younger sister), minor Aemond Targaryen/reader, rape/non-con, breast worship, asphyxiation, nipple licking, nipple play, forced marriage, dark content, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: Merciful Gods is a threeshot series. It involves dark content about religiosity (The Faith of the Seven), incest relationship and women's repressed carnal desires.

— author's notes²: Each chapter contains its own trigger warnings.

— author's notes³: GUYS I'M SOOOO SORRY ABOUT THE LATE UPDATE 😭😭 This month I had some health issues (including a quick admission in the hospital lmaooo) and I'm dealing with a really deep writer's block too. But anyway, I'm so happy that you enjoyed following Merciful Gods! I loved writing this series, I loved the characters and especially Gwayne's freaky and sick mind. I appreciate so much those of you who had patience to wait for the last part, I hope you really like it 💚💚

❥ Merciful Gods masterlist

— crossposting: AO3

❥ about me • Gwayne masterlist • HOTD masterlist • main masterlist

The moans echoing through the chambers were like a great song to Gwayne's ears. His skin was on fire with every second passing, every second feeling the softness of the curves that he longed to deflower during years.

One hand squeezed your milky thighs, almost pinching and digging the nails into that smooth spot, the other calloused hand still busy with the task of extracting the best sounds coming from you.

"Is that how you felt, little niece?" Gwayne questioned with a husky voice, his mouth close to your ear as he fucked his fingers in and out, not really caring if the speed was too much for your tight inexperienced hole.

You were too focused on moaning, your hands grabbing your uncle's shoulders, wanting to push him away but wanting his fingers to go as deep as possible at the same time. Those reactions were confusing, pathetic whimpers begging Gwayne to slow down the movements a little, also begging him to add one more finger.

Even though your cunt was already filled with three digits of him, you kept craving everything. If Gwayne ordered, you would even force yourself to endure the man's entire hand fucking your insides.

"I asked you a question!" He growled, letting go of your thigh and grabbing your chin until their eyes met, their violet irises, completely clouded with pain and pleasure watching the darkness in front of them. "Is that how you felt when you fingered your own little cunt at the Sept? Did you feel all that pleasure?"

You struggled to answer him, even though the drool was running so much that it seemed impossible to say anything without a bit of choking. Then you just shook your head, an amused chuckle rising from Gwayne. "It was not as good as what I am doing now, was it?" He moved the three long fingers deeper, a cry of pain echoing from your throat when the tips touched your softest part. "It was not so good because even though you are a disgusting little whore, you are still a silly young girl who had never touched a man before touched me that day."

Your legs were shaking as if you were going to pass out at any moment, Gwayne's thumb rubbing your bud with the necessary friction to the point where you feared you would piss yourself in a few minutes.

Your uncle seemed to understand the meaning behind the confused babble, calming you down by hitting his mouth against yours, not giving you enough time to think straight, now just letting him devour you and silence the loud moans, the metallic taste increasing while he nibbled on your lips and tongue, clearly not at all disgusted by the drops of blood painting both of your chins.

"U-Uncle... Please." You tried to get off of his arm when he moved his face away so you could breathe right again. "I cannot... I cannot hold back..."

"Oh, you cannot do it?" Gwayne scoffed, followed by a chuckle, rubbing your clit rougher than before, licking the tears from your cheeks. Your legs were shaking so bad that it was almost like the horror stories Aegon told you to scare you during the childhood. "Tsk, tsk. You did not piss yourself at Sept that day..."

Gwayne's teasing made you cringe and cry louder, your bundle of nerves pulsing and your pretty hole burning like hell.

However, despite the dark thoughts and desire to see you wetting his sheets, Gwayne finally stopped the movements and removed his thumb from your sensitive spot, although he did not remove his three fingers yet. "Look at me, little one." He ordered and you nodded before opening your eyelids. Gwayne checked on your features... Your face rosy from crying, the red spots coloring your chin and the bruised lips, your violet eyes waiting for more orders or some sarcastic comment.

You were so physically different from his mother, Alyrie Florent. Your silver hair was a cursed inheritance from the Targaryen part of your bloodline... And yet, you had inherited the submission and pathetic devotion to the Gods just like your maternal grandmother. Gwayne loved his mother, he mourned her death every day since he was a child...

Gwayne saw her in you. He wanted you from the moment he noticed how Alicent planned to make you a living copy of Alyrie.

Of course, you had gone against it at first, not understanding the importance of the Faith, wanting to discover more about your own pleasure, allowing your uncle buy your silence with a sexual way... That was your Targaryen blood. It was the blood of debauchery, promiscuity and lust.

It was what he needed to save you from the same fate as your grandmother.

"My beautiful little girl. So fucking beautiful..."

You were caught off guard by Gwayne's words, the kiss that followed shutting down the questions that flooded your mind. For the first time since it all started, Gwayne kissed you calmly and with so many devotion. As if you were one of the goddesses his family believed in and honored — or at least they should do.

Gwayne’s fingers left your walls, taking extra care not to push you over the edge. He held back the impulsive urge to bend down and eat you out, his arousal already too hard to prolong any longer. Instead, Gwayne broke the kiss to bring his hand wet with your juices towards your mouth. He did not need to demand anything, your brain already too broken to consider resisting.

You cleaned his skin, licking everything and tasting yourself there, as well as the taste of the blood he extracted due to his aggressive behavior inside your maidenhood.

"It is so much better than candies, is not it?" You only nodded at his mockery teasing, not knowing what else to say and also not wanting to stop pleasing him.

After that, Gwayne distanced himself from your body, releasing you and taking a look at your curves then stroking his cock, moaning at the sight of your legs open and your core swollen and reddened due to the recent intense friction. Gwayne ordered and switched your positions on the bed, sitting down and pulling you on top of his lap. You did not look like you were in the best condition to ride him, Gwayne knew that. It was exactly the reason why he put you on him.

Still keeping you away from his arousal, Gwayne reached out to grab something near the dresser, a necklace with a large pendant that symbolized The Seven-Pointed Star shining in front of you. "No! Uncle... P-Please..." You tried to squirm from the holy artifact, not even getting any results when Gwayne pulled your silver hair to stop you from continuing to cry like a spoiled and scared child.

"Stop this fucking drama." Gwayne growled, placing the necklace around your neck and ignoring your desperate protests. He knew he could be going much further than he should, affronting the Gods like that... Condemning you to commit the sin of promiscuity and incest along with him, the symbol of The Faith of the Seven between your breasts.

Gwayne did not wait another second. You were his, you should have always been his. He was your God, you were his Goddess. He would not let a stupid religion stop the two of you from what you desired. Gwayne Hightower would not let you be weak and devout like his mother had been.

The cry that echoed through the room as soon as Gwayne thrust into you was loud enough to draw the attention of guards passing through the hallways, but none of them seemed really interested about knocking on the door to question anything, probably believing that Gwayne was just delighting with some loud young lady or whore.

As a precaution, Gwayne used his palm to muffle your tearful noises, almost covering your entire face, his free hand grabbing your hip to hold you on top of him, impaled on his cock and trembling even while he waited for you to get a little bit used to the sudden intrusion, the remnants of your innocence staining Gwayne's thighs when he finally began to guide you up and down.

"Does it hurt, sweetheart?" He asked between low growls, kissing your neck, squeezing your flesh like a starving man. Your velvety walls crushed him, more pleasurable than any cunt he had ever fucked in all those years of his life.

You whimpered an agreement under his skin, trying to balance yourself on his lap and holding Gwayne's shoulders. "So much, Uncle..."

"Good..."

Realizing that you were too weak to ride on your own, Gwayne slapped your ass harshly and loudly fives times, starting to use both of his arms to roll you back and forth, enjoying how your breasts jiggled close to his face, enjoying how the holy necklace glowed there, encouraging him to go faster.

"Seven Hells!" Gwayne cursed with the jaw clenched, nails scratching the skin of your waist and drawing blood, his head arched back, the red hair damp due to each deep thrust.

There were no more Gods stopping the two of you from committing any sins, there was no longer anything to fear. Gwayne would make you his. He would fill your womb even if it cost him his life.

There was nothing more in the whole world he wanted than to be yours. Gwayne would no longer care about dying in that damn war, nothing would have been in vain. He had already achieved all he desired since you were born.

"Mine. Mine. Mine. All mine." Gwayne's words were like a prayer, his big eyes watching the large pendant condemning the unclean and disgusting act. "I need you. I need your body, your heart, your soul... I need you so bad."

He knew that your consciousness had already disappeared a few minutes ago, taking the opportunity to move his hips up rougher and faster, moving you on top of him like a doll. Gwayne's lips kissed your smooth skin, teeth biting you and the tongue licking your blood as if you were the only Goddess that Westeros' people should worship.

"Sister..." A deep voice woke you from the heavy sleep, hands caressing your damp scalp with a previously unknown tenderness. You tried to turn yourself away out of instinct, being stopped from doing this by the pain throughout your body. "Shhh, it is okay. You are safe now, I am here."

Your brain took a while to recognize Aemond's voice, your eyelids opening almost immediately. Your gaze resembled of a scared puppy, lips aching due to the wounds from the previous night. All the memories felt fuzzy, cloudy... too confusing for you to be sure of what happened.

Gwayne was not by your side, the emptiness at the other part of the bed making you feel sick to your stomach. For a few seconds, you stared at the sheets that were once white, now stained with blood, more blood than had come out of you during sex.

For a few seconds, you wondered if it had all been a mere dream, despite knowing it was impossible. You were in your uncle's chambers. Your entire body was decorated with Gwayne's bites and scratches. There was a disgusting mixture of blood and cum sticking to your inner thighs. And the necklace remained between your breasts with red and white stains already dried on the Seven-Pointed Star pendant.

"Where is Uncle Gwayne?" Aemond raise an eyebrow at your question, not exactly surprised.

The current Prince Regent walked to the dresser, taking the aluminum cup and bringing it to you, ignoring your facial expression and simply making you swallow the bitter liquid. Moon Tea, you realized. "Ser Gwayne... He is under arrest. I ordered the guards to send him to a cell after finding out he raped you."

Your world stopped at that moment. Your heart raced, eyes widening with horror and staring at Aemond from behind the rim of the cup, even when you brought your fingers to his wrist to stop him from forcing you to drink the liquid.

Aemond continued to push the aluminum against your lips, hurting you even more. When the last drop was swallowed and you were about to choke, Aemond released you, his smirk mocking the sight of your face flushed and gasping for air.

"I need a wife, little sister. You know that. Now that I am the Prince Regent, I need an heir. And who better than my own blood to marry me?" Aemond teased, his fingertips caressing your chin with sadistic excitement.

"A-Aemond... Please..." The sobs filled the room, increasing the pleasure inside your older brother's mind. "Please... Gwayne did not force me, he just—"

He silenced you again, a cold and angry kiss on your forehead. "Oh, I know, sweet sister... He forced you." The single eye stared at you with a certain lack of patience. "This is the story that will be written in future books about our family, because that will be the truth we will tell to the people. The books will tell about how Alicent Hightower's brother raped his own young and virgin niece. They will tell that you were saved by your protective brother Aemond Targaryen, Prince Regent and the next King. They will tell that I saved you and avenged your honor, condemning our uncle to a dark and disgusting cell forever. They will tell that I loved you so much that I took you as my wife, even though you had already been stained by Gwayne's seed..."

Aemond played with your nipples, trundling them between his fingers, squeezing the mounds and bending down to suck on the peaks already injured by Gwayne during the previous night.

Your cries and screams were ignored by anyone who passed around the chambers, guards probably too busy with their own problems to care about the fact the Prince Regent was threatening, raping and forcing himself on his younger sister.

"I am just doing my duties, sister. I am saving your life and our family. Perhaps the Seven Gods are being more merciful to you than our uncle thought." Aemond mocked while he lined himself up at your entrance, the sight of his bright sapphire making you so disgusted as the smell of Gwayne's blood on the bedsheets and the sound of the Seven-Pointed Star pendant moving as Aemond started to fuck your sore cunt. You were no longer a luxurious Goddess to be worshiped and loved, you were just a broken whore. Aemond Targaryen's future broodmare. It was the destiny that the Gods laid out for you. It was the eternal punishment for every sins committed.

[sweetiecutie]

🖤Fuck or die🖤

Paring: slasher! König x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, dead dove do not eat, non-con so rape, cuckolding, unwilling cheating, oral, facefuck, dick piercing bc I know y’all like it, unprotected sex, blood, murder, gore in the end. This is only fiction, don’t take any of this too seriously! If you feel triggered by any of these tags - just scroll past!

Word count: 4k, holy fucking shit

A/n: not me writing this in one day, jesus fucking christ😮‍💨 It’s first time I wrote something so violent, but I think I did pretty good! Originally planned to post it on halloween night but I’m too eager to share!! Also, I tried my best to fix all mistakes by proofreading it 4 times, I really did, but I’m pretty sure that I left out some still

It’s been very uneasy in a small town where you lived - series of blatant murders shook up all inhabitants with their brutality. Cruelly butchered corpses gave a hint of culprit’s strength, so cops guessed it was a man. And the most terrifying thing about this whole situation was that this maniac was still on loose - he never left any evidences, not a damn thing - nothing that could give a clue of who he was. The only trace he’s ever left wasn’t an accident or his mistake, but a well-planned thing - after appearing nameless in numerous news reports and articles he finally decided to introduce himself, writing KÖNIG with his victim’s blood on white flooring, said victim’s two bloody teeth serving as umlaut.

And his motives behind picking out victims were just as unclear - there was nothing in common between all these people: he didn’t have any preferences in victim’s sex or age, their profession nor appearance - as long as they lived in one family house, to avoid anyone hearing their screams, you figured. It seemed that he simply loved killing, who that was - didn’t matter.

You can’t say how exactly it all happened. It was another evening that you were spending at your boyfriend’s place - Paul’s parents were out of town for a few days for anniversary of their wedding, leaving a huge house for their only son. You felt uneasy - there weren’t any new murders in over a month, people were scared that maniac will go “haunting” very soon, which meant that no one was safe.

Paul only cooed at you soothingly when you shared your worries with him, promising to “protect you from all weirdos out there”, placing a comforting kiss on your forehead. So to distract yourselves you decided to throw a movie night - stacking up with snacks and beer, Netflix window opened on a large tv-screen, ready to serve its purpose as you made last preparations.

Cuddled up on the comfy couch, your boyfriend’s comforting warmth slowly seeped into your tense muscles, you watched some corny comedy, groaning in tandem at poorly-made jokes. When suddenly a sound of shattered glass jolted you both up, staring tensely at each other.

- I’ll go check it, - Paul said, getting up and heading to the living room from where the noise came. Everything was quiet for a few long minutes, your fingers fiddled with loose string on the corner of fluffy blanket as you heard some crashing and your boyfriend’s angry shouting:

- Y/n, get out of here!

Then everything was as if in a blur; tall figure clad in all black stepped into the living room, white scream mask contrasting starkly, huge knife covered in thin layer of blood was shining in blue tv-light. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you stared at the man in front of you - sticky feeling of fear seemed to fill every muscle in your body with heavy lead, making it impossibly hard to move even an inch. And then something in your head snapped, you threw yourself off the couch and towards the door opposite from killer, but he was way quicker - huge hands gripped you by your shoulders, rising you off your feet easily and dragging you back towards living room, your struggling and screaming did nothing to help.

You were now kneeling in front of this psycho, hands tied up tightly with coarse rope that dug painfully into your soft skin, surely leaving deep indents and dark bruises. Your boyfriend was laying on his side a few meters afar - bound by his wrists and ankles with same rope, crimson blood oozed out of deep stabbing wound in his stomach, nose obviously broken and bleeding - all these a result of his grapple with intruder, which obviously didn’t end in Paul’s favour.

- Please, - you weeped, tears and snot covered all of your face, whole body trembled with fear and adrenaline. - Please, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t kill me, - you managed to choke out, silent cries tore through your chest, their intensity made it hard for you to breathe - you were hysterical.

- Oh, I know you will, sweetheart, - mechanical voice said in mock sympathy. One huge glowed hand came up to cup your chin, causing you to jolt violently upon feeling the contact; murderer tilted your head upwards, your insides churning upon laying your eyes on white plastic of his mask.

His thumb rubbed soft circles on your wet cheek - it was almost ridiculous how gently he touched you. This made you sob even more, but you didn’t dare to turn away, too scared to anger him.

- That would be a shame to kill such a pretty little thing, after all, - maniac said, glove-clad pad of his thumb swiped over your trembling bottom lip, soft cotton absorbing the mixture of your tears and saliva glazing it. - I may have an idea. Wanna hear it?

Silence set in for a few long gut-wrenching seconds which was interrupted only by your quiet sobbing and sounds of your boyfriend struggling against tight ropes. Quiet squeal tore through your chest as huge hand squeezed your cheeks harshly, yanking your face upward, forcing you to look up at König. Your bleary from tears eyes fixed upon two black holes in his mask, where man’s eyes supposedly were.

- I said “wanna hear it”? - slasher gritted out, his tone harsh as he put heavy emphasis on every syllable he uttered, making you shrink even further into yourself. You nodded your head hastily, not wanting to try out your luck any more.

- Y-yes, - you stammered, your voice giving out making your response sound more like a kitten’s squealing rather than human speech. König stared at you for a few long silent seconds, your knees beginning to tremble from both fear and painful exposure to hard flooring, which soon irradiated onto the whole of your body.

- I’ve been watching you guys, you know? For a few weeks now, - he said nonchalantly, his grip on your face loosened, long fingers tracing intricate shapes on your cheeks and temples, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ears, getting it out of your eyes. A wave of hysterical cries threatened to tear through your throat upon hearing his words, but you tried to suppress them as much as you physically could, staying still before him.

- Yes, - his voice sounded delicate - as if one of those passionate lovers who proclaimed their tender feelings. - Seen you guys do stuff… kiss, cuddle, fuck. A pathetic view, to be honest, - as he said so, his fingers came to tangle in your messy hair, massaging your scalp with soft movements. You felt sick. This man with a dagger bigger than your forearm clasped tightly in one hand, was caressing you so tenderly with another one - his unpredictable behaviour was making your guts churn.

He turned toward your boyfriend who was still thrashing harshly, struggling with all his might against secure confines of tight rope. Your gaze shifted towards your lover as well - the sight made your heart ache - his blood - some already caked and some fresh and shiny - covered the whole bottom of Paul’s face, a makeshift gag out of piece of some fabric was tied skilfully around his head - by the looks of it not to be untied by itself. His eyes met murderer’s, you could make out his muffled promises of killing the bastard, threats to not touch you and to get the fuck out of here. Murderer didn’t look impressed at all, staring silently at your man lying at his feet.

- Look at this pathetic scumbag - I tied your hands loosely, hoped for a bit of a fight, - harsh noise came from the speaker behind the mask, which you figured to be a sigh. König then turned back towards you, his head tilting to the side slightly, you could practically feel his intense gaze prickling on your skin. - Why are you even wasting your time on this piece of shit? He can’t even fuck you right, and you expected this piece of shit to actually protect you from danger? Provide for you?

Hot tears rushed down your cheeks at his words, as you stayed silent, not knowing what to say. König sighed again, rolling his shoulders to rid himself of the tension in sore muscles, his neck popping loudly, making you jolt at the sound.

- Now, my plan is - how about I show you what a real man is like? Set the bar high for you, hm? - he said, a cool glimmer of blood-stained blade caught your eye as König twirled his knife skilfully in between thick fingers barely twenty centimetres away from your face. He noticed your attention shifting from him to his little tool, softly nudging your chin up to look back at him. - Oh, don’t worry darling. If you’re being a good girl that thing won’t touch you, deal?

You nodded your head frantically, swallowing a thick lump in your throat. - Anything, - you choked out, voice hoarse and barely audible but it was enough for him to hear.

- I like the eagerness, - murderer chuckled, straightening his back from semi-crouching position to stand to his full height. His hand left your face with a small pinch on your tear-stained cheek, tossing his knife from one hand to another as if he was juggling; finally gripping the handle tight König pointed the tip of sharp blade towards your boyfriend: - I want you to watch. You dare closing your eyes and she’s dead.

Your eyes widened in panic, staring fearfully at Paul, mouthing silent “please” at him. Maniac shifted his attention back to you; he put his knife into its holster which was attached to his thigh with tight leather straps, you noted that he didn’t secure the handle, making it easier to pull the knife out in one move if needed.

You watched as if in slow motion how his hands came to the waistband of his black jeans, undoing the button and tugging zipper down, pulling front pants pieces apart. Your gaze darted up towards his mask-covered face, confusion mixed with terror written on your face - your insides dropped as you finally realised what he actually meant.

- What? Doll, I promised to show you what a real man is like, - one big hand came to rest on the crown of your head, not pushing nor pulling, just staying there securely. - Now I warn you, you dare using your teeth - I’ll pluck every single one of them before gutting you like a fucking pig, you get it?

Your breath stopped upon hearing his words, shoulders started shaking as strong bout of adrenaline rushed through your veins, making your poor heart pound crazily, threatening to break your ribs from the inside. You nodded your head vigorously, all of a sudden extremely aware of the tight rope binding your wrists together, how your fingers prickled from constricted blood flow, how much your shoulders ached from being pulled back for so long.

- Good girl. Now, go on, - König said, lightly pushing your head towards his clothed crotch. You had to crane your head up painfully because of the height difference between you two in order to even reach König’s private parts. You gazed up at him, unsure of what exactly he wanted you to do, but he just stared down at you silently, not offering any instructions nor comments.

You darted your tongue out, licking a noticeable bulge showing through his boxers, soaking black fabric in your spit. You did it again, and again, fear and adrenaline subduing feelings of humiliation and shame, you could hear your boyfriend’s muffled “get your fucking hands off her”, but König didn’t seem to pay slightest attention to the other male. You tilted your head to the side, pressing your opened mouth to the thick shaft that was trapped between man’s v-line and his tight underwear, sucking on it softly. That made slasher heave a deep sigh, hand on your head tangled deeper in your hair, holding you firmly in place, indicating for you to keep going.

- Now pull my boxers down, - psycho ordered a few seconds later; his voice, though contorted by voice changer, now sounded deeper. You looked frightfully up at him, your hands still bound tightly behind your back.

- But… how? - you asked, a spark of hope igniting in your chest as thought of him untying your hands popped up in your head. But it was extinguished just as quickly as it appeared with his next words:

- Well, think about it, - he shrugged his broad shoulders ever so slightly, your mind racing at the speed of light as you tried to figure out the problem.

You opened your mouth, moving as slowly as you could to indicate that you didn’t mean to do anything reckless - baring your teeth and gently hooking the elastic of his boxers, your canines grazing slightly against warm skin of murderer’s lower stomach. Once you secured your hold on elastic you pulled down on it, managing to slide it down slightly. König’s hard cock sprung right out, standing tall and thick against his clothed stomach - tip was concealed by brownish foreskin, and your eyes widened at the sheer size of him. Your attention was caught by two symmetrical rows of shiny silver balls running along mighty shaft, glistening coldly is white light of living room’s chandelier.

- Now, doll, that’s what a real good cock looks like, - man said, his free hand came to wrap around thick shaft, pumping it a few times to reveal pink head, a shiny bead of precum sitting in the middle of it. - Open wide, princess. And mind your teeth.

You let your mouth fall open, sticking your tongue out; his cock was standing too high for you to reach it in your kneeling position so König had to guide his length down to your lips, your mouth managing to only take his tip and a little bit more inside.

With your mouth full of other man’s cock your eyes wandered in the direction of your boyfriend; thrashing around seemed to finally exhaust him, crimson blood oozed out of the wound in his stomach. His chest was heaving in tandem with his wheezing breath, angry tears streamed down his temples as he stared with fierce anger at your abuser, the sight made your throat clench, causing you to gag on killer’s hefty length.

- Aw, poor girl is not used to a decent cock, huh? Tell me, did the even reach down to your throat? Lemme guess - he was cumming a few minutes after shoving his pathetic ten centimetres in this precious mouth, wasn’t he? - König chuckled darkly, suddenly pushing down onto your head, forcing you to take half his length down your tight throat, keeping you in place as you choked around his thickness, metal balls were rubbing painfully against the softness of your tongue, irritating sensitive buds of it.

Murderer’s free hand joined the one resting on your nape, gathering your hair in a makeshift ponytail, fixating your head in one position. Tears of pain and humiliation rushed down your reddened cheeks as man fucked his massive cock into your tight throat; his pace was erratic, without certain rhythm, making it hard for you to synchronise your breathing with his irregular thrusts. Your lungs burned with lack of air, dainty kneecaps ached from standing for so long on hard flooring, surely bruising your tender skin.

He let go of you only when you actually started to choke, your whole face reddening with exertion; thick strings of spit mixed with precum connected your swollen lips to glistening pink tip, fat tears rolled down your cheeks, dripping down your chin onto the floor below. A choked cry tore through your chest as massive hands manhandled you around, forcing your head down so that your wet cheek was pressed against cold hardwood facing your boyfriend, your back arched and ass up high in the air. König kneeled down behind you, backs of your thighs were touching coarse denim sitting snugly around his legs, cold metal rivets of his holster contrasting brutally with warmth of your skin. Broad palms kneaded on soft pudge of your ass, delivering a strong smack to the swell of your buttcheek, impact softened slightly by the fabric of your shorts and his glove.

Your boyfriend started thrashing as hard as ever, grunting and screaming as much as he could as König pulled your shorts along with your underwear down to your knees, huge hands resting on the bottom part of your ass, thumbs spreading your pussy open. Silent tears ran down from your eyes, gathering in a small puddle on the floor; you heard maniac tut behind your back, a pad of thumb swiped up and down your slit, making you jolt from sudden contact.

- What a shame, - he heaved a deep sigh, straightening his shoulders and looking up at your boyfriend. - She’s wet, dude.

A few small sobs left you upon his words. Paul tried talking back, but a horrible bubbling sound came out of his throat - gag in his mouth was completely red with absorbed blood, some of it oozed down the corners of his mouth, adding to the bloody mess on his face. You sobbed at the sight, squeezing your eyes shut to avoid looking at horrible picture.

- Turns out our little slut likes it rough, yeah? - König mocked, leaning over your frail form, one meaty forearm rested next to your head, huge chest pressed tightly against your back, overstimulating your thus on age senses. Terrifying mask was barely a few centimetres afar from your face as man whispered right next to your ear: - Did he ever fuck you rough?

His heavy gaze was fixed expectantly upon you, huge hand that still rested on your ass squeezed your flesh painfully, causing you to cringe. - No, - you mouthed, but that was more than enough for him. Slasher hummed in acknowledgment, straightening back into his kneeling position.

- Don’t worry love, I’ll give this pretty pussy what she needs, - psycho said, fisting his leaking cock a few times before aligning swollen tip against your tight entrance. With slow but persistent push of his hips König forced one third of his length inside your poor cunt, fresh dose of hot tears rushed from your eyes, pain of penetration adding to the ache all over your body.

With a sharp snap of his massive hips man forced as much of his cock as it’d go into you. Loud yelp tore through your throat, scratching it painfully; stretch of his girthy cock was too much for your pussy to take, ladder of piercings adding to unpleasant feeling. Tender walls fought against his thick length, such sudden stretch caused your muscles to reflexively constrict around him more, drawing a throaty groan to tumbling out of killer’s broad chest.

- There there, dearie. Poor pussy so used to pathetic cocks, can’t even take me whole, - König said in fake compassion, you felt his length throb within you, twitching a few times. Strong hands held you in place tightly, preventing you from moving your hips even for a millimetre.

Murderer generously allowed you a minute or so for your poor cunny to accommodate to his size before beginning to move his hips in shallow but quick thrusts. Soon enough König was full on fucking into you on rapid pace, your whole body jolting forward with intensity of his mighty thrusts, strong arms yanking you back in place every so often.

One of his deadly hands slithered around your ridiculously smaller form, index and middle fingers danced across your spread around his dick folds, causing your stomach to tense at sudden contact. Free hand yanked you up by the rope binding your wrists, urging you to raise your torso; your shoulder blades were pressed tightly against his heaving chest, warmth emitted off him like a fucking radiator.

Clothed fingertips rubbed tight relentless circles on your clit, causing thick pleasure to rush up and down your spine and your back arch uncontrollably. Your teeth clenched to suppress all the small sounds threatening to spill out of your lips; you felt König’s massive form shift behind you, cold plastic of horrendous mask pressed against the side of your face - he was whispering right into your ear, soft voice real and unchanged:

- I’m gonna slit your fucking throat if you’re not using it, - that caused a shiver to rush down your spine, arising goosebumps in its wake. You moaned out, doing as the murderer wanted, letting all the small sighs and moans flow freely from your lips, your voice lower than usual from all the crying and throatfucking.

Your breathing became shallow; your head just wasn’t working anymore - emotional shock along with physical abuse drained you out of all strength - you were a mere rug doll in psycho’s tight grip, and he could do whatever he pleased with you, you were too exhausted to fight back anyway.

Consciousness started to slip out of your grasp, vision blurred out with tears, dark spots appearing in the corners; König’s throbbing dick pounded your poor pussy mercilessly, thick cockhead nudged against all the sweet spots inside of you, his piercings stimulating you even further as if in spite of all your attempts to resist pleasure psycho was forcing onto you. A tight coil curled in the pit of your stomach, threatening to explode with every harsh snap of mighty hips against your reddened ass. Soaked with your slick fabric of König’s gloves felt overbearing against your clit, his fingers never once stopping to rub your sensitive nub.

A few moments later something deep within you snapped, like a rubber band stretched to its limit - suddenly the world around you turned white, ringing noise filled your ears as you had the most painful orgasm of your life being wrung out of you; your body quivered and thrashed in serial killer’s strong grip, unintelligible sounds and words poured out of your lips, barely louder than a whisper. And then everything became quiet. Soft velvet of darkness enveloped your bruised and exhausted body; you were drowning in warm waves of sleep, not finding it in yourself to try and fight them off. You gave in happily, trusting yourself in welcoming hands of darkness and quiet, afar from horrible reality, afar from fear and danger.

It felt as if your head was splitting in two - horrible ache settled somewhere deep inside of your brain, pain irradiated from within to the outsides of both hemispheres, causing you to groan in agony quietly in. Your whole body hurt, eyelids felt swollen and heavy even as they were closed; and then suddenly your eyes snapped open.

You were lying on cold hardwood flooring in your boyfriend’s living room, shorts and underwear still pulled down to your knees, but your hands now free from rope. You pulled your bottoms back up, hot tears pooling in your eyes as you let out a choked sob. You felt wretched, disgusting, dirty.

- Paul? - you called out to your boyfriend, the sound of your own voice startling you - hoarse and scratchy, total opposite from your usual octave.

As you turned around your breath got caught up in your chest, bitter ball of bile got stuck in your throat - you felt like you were about to throw up.

Here lay Paul - pale and lifeless, dull eyes staring blankly into nothingness, gag still fixed tightly around his head, now brown with dried out blood. Some of his insides spilled out of the gaping cut across his stomach, lying on the floor in a small heap right next to him, huge puddle of blood spread out on the floor, getting into all small cracks and gapes in wooden flooring.

And on the wall behind, in strange brownish color that looked all too similar to the caked blood on your boyfriend’s face, in sprawling handwriting were words:

SEE YOU SOON ♡

Slasher! König Masterlist

Another a/n: I’m planning on making it a series - let me know what you guys think<3 Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Give writes some love - we live off feedback<3

[tarithenurse]

The switch

Fandom: MCU. Pairing/starring: Steve Rogers x fem!reader. Word count: 2969. Content: Body swap, ethics I guess (or lack of it because) smut (fingering, mini-handjob-ish, P in V). A/N: As per usual please like, comment, reblog. Here’s my TAGLIST and my MASTERLIST for more.

The switch

Something went wrong. Some trigger or something had been set off the moment you and Steve entered the small side room to check it out: the door had slid shut and locked, the countdown begun. Then the light had flashed once so brightly you had to shield your eyes, unable to cover your ears then for the horribly whining sound that knocked you to your knees as if it had a physical power more than blasting your eardrums.

Blinking and not seeing anything, you call out for Steve. Your voice is warped and you figure that it’s the noise that’s done a number to your hearing...but everything feels wrong. More so when you blink again and your vision comes back, showing you most of your arms and both your hands.

Not me!

“Steve?!” you call again, painfully aware that it’s not your voice you hear.

“What...?” is the answer. In your voice.

And there you are, looking down at yourself in confusion and horror before meeting your gaze – meeting Steve’s gaze that is now you.

You feel stronger than normal when you get to your feet. Taller too from this point of view.

Reaching down to pull yourself up or rather pull Steve up, you’re baffled by how easy it is to pull him (You? Her? Them?) to the feet.

“What the fuck happened?” you ask.

“We...switched?” Steve has a hard time accepting the facts too.

You nod. “Well...we need to undo it, then.”

You both look around for a way to trigger the event again but all you had done was enter the place. Just then, an explosion rocks the building, reminding you both of the timed detonators you’d been planting everywhere.

“Banner and Stark with have to fix it,” Steve decides, “we’re out of time.”

---

It is surprisingly easy to convince everyone in the Tower of what has happened despite how impossible the whole thing sounds – mainly because the way each of you with your mannerisms just doesn’t match the body you have. You don’t normally speak so confidently, taking charge and giving orders. And Steve, he doesn’t normally desperately try to sit cross legged (which you might have to give up on because it’s squishing something) or withdraw to the corner of the room to avoid people looking at you. Him.

Either way: Banner is more than intrigued, promising to do what he can. Stark seems to be plotting something but whether it is a series of bad puns or something useful is yet to be determined.

“We’ll get right to it,” the inventor promises, patting Banner on the shoulder, “go get washed and stuff, you look like shit after the building almost falling down on you.”

Covered in dust and sweat, you would normally be the first to run off and relax in the luxurious shower...but this time? You look down over yourself (or rather, Steve’s body) and then meet his/yours gaze that’s filled with concern because how is this going to work out?

The others have left the room already, leaving you and Steve alone to figure out the conundrum.

“How...? But...?” Steve is stammering.

You’ve never heard him that hard pressed before but the effect is somewhat softened because it’s your voice and your body doing it. And because you feel the same trepidation.

It’s not like you haven’t looked at Steve: he’s hot and there’s no reason to deny it. But the idea of having to undress as him and lather the body in soap and – it threatens to become too much so you push the thought aside.

Instead you look to the floor. “I trust you.”

“I trust you too,” he breathes out. “But I would feel better if you were there?”

Head snapping up, you scrutinize your own face for any signs that it’s true and finding none of your usual tells of lying at least.

“Oh okay,” you mumble with Steve’s voice.

Walking side by side, you’re struck by the size difference. You’ve never considered yourself short but maybe you should have.

Steve-you glances up at you and sends a comforting smile. It’ll be alright. Somehow.

You go to your room first to gather some clean clothes. Seeing his big hands rummage through your underwear is strange, and sends a pulse of something you’re not familiar with into your groin at the idea of him knowing what you’ll be wearing under your clothes.

Then again: it’s nothing compared to the fact that he’ll be seeing you naked in a moment!

Then you shift to his room, feeling severely out of place. It’s perfectly neat, the bed made with military precision and not a single thing out of place except on the desk which is littered with sketchbooks and pencils – you cast a glance at it and are surprised to find sketches of everyone of the team...but mostly of you.

Stepping over, you pick up one of them. It’s you, deeply engrossed in a book and sitting in the corner of the couch with your feet tugged under you. It’s really good even if it’s just loose pencil strokes and sort of messy. Another is a study of your face, teeth digging into your bottom lip as if you’re thinking or trying to remember something.

“You weren’t meant to see them,” your voice apologizes and you turn to Steve-you who’s wringing the hands awkwardly.

“They’re good. Really good,” you assure him.

Putting the drawings back, you refocus on the task at hand and start investigating the suit you find yourself wearing. There are a lot more zippers and buckles than you at realized at first glance, confusing you as to where to start so you’re happy when Steve-you steps up and silently begins to help you out.

It feels good with the cool air on your skin, as the outer layer is discarded and you’re left with a tight t-shirt and boxers. And socks. Seeing as that’s the easiest place to start, you remove them and then the t-shirt.

You try to look at anything except yourself or rather Steve’s body. You also don’t want to look at yourself, afraid of seeing how uncomfortable Steve must be. Unfortunately that means you’re looking around the room, spotting the reflection of the scene in the large mirror on the wardrobe.

Fuck. Steve is hot.

Something warm coils into your belly but then radiates lower and becomes a throb you hadn’t expected. Screwing your eyes shut, you realize that the shower will be a serious problem and that maybe it had been better if you’d each dealt with it on your own.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks.

You nod, maybe a bit frantically. “Yeah, sure.”

Turning to face him-you, you see he is unzipping the suit after having taken the boots off. He makes a point out of keeping eye contact which makes the movements a bit fumbling.

“Let me help,” you offer, stepping closer.

It’s strange to see Steve’s hand pulling the sports bra over your head. It’s even weirder (and more troublesome) as you kneel to drag down the undies. You can feel the cheeks you currently have blushing and you feel that odd throb in your groin again when your usual feet step out of the underwear so you can lay it aside with the dirty stuff.

“You too,” Steve-you reminds you.

He still hasn’t sneaked a glance at the body he possesses and you are grateful for that. But when you push down the boxers, it’s like something is in the way and both of you glance down just as the elastic fabric lets go of what turns out to be more than a half-hard cock.

“I’m so sorry!” you sputter, eyes wide with horror and shame as you look at the owner of the erection.

“It-it happens,” he waves you off, unsure where to look to himself. “Let’s just...”

You follow the smaller figure, for the first time noticing the sway of the hips, into the bathroom where Steve-you turns on the water. Errant droplets fall on the breasts, making the nipples pucker and you see the twitch in the hands as though they want to wipe the cold away but stop just in time.

“It’s okay,” you mumble, voice raspy and low which sounds way too good for you, sending a new throbbing through you.

“It’s just...not how I imaged it.”

“What?”

Steve shrugs with your shoulders as if trying to hide. “Seeing you naked for the first time...”

It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in. The meaning behind them.

“You have...oh,” you whisper, suddenly a lot more relaxed because you had thought it was only you.

“Sorry, I know you don’t think of me that way but I -”

He never gets further because you turn Steve-you around, grabbing the familiar face and planting a kiss on the lips. A sharp intake of breath. Small hands find your shoulders, your neck, drawing you closer.

And then it happens: just for a split second, you’re back in your own body. It doesn’t hold but it’s enough to become aware of how Steve tastes, how his lips feel on your own. Both of you break off, gasping and looking at each other with wide eyes. Could this be the way to get back to normal?

“Did you?” you gasp.

“Yes!”

Lips meet again. Hasty, messy and with teeth clicking against each other until you both slow down a bit. You got lost in the feeling of it and allow the large hands to slide down your actual back, feeling the goosebumps spread in waves from the fingertips.

Again. A split second or maybe two this time. You in your own body pressed against Steve, his cock twitching against your abdomen. And you feel the heavy need in your core, spurring you on even if you’re back where you belong.

But then you’re not. Once more you’re in Steve’s body, dizzy and frustrated in more than one way.

Maybe that’s why you don’t object when he-you pull you under the water and reaches down to grab the throbbing shaft. You can’t help it – neither the groan you let free nor looking at what is happening.

Pulling down towards the base slowly, the hand looks so small around the cock. It’s mushroomy tip is red and angry, sensitive to the water that’s falling. Going back up, the thumb brushes the downside of the cock-head gently but insistently, making your knees buckle as it sends a pulse of something intense through your body.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“Want me to stop?”

“No! I mean...no...it’s just...” you try to find the right word. “Intense? Different?”

A smile, sweet but not innocent as you would have expected from Steve even in your body.

“There’s...I always wondered...” he begins but then lets the sentence hang.

You understand him anyways: how does it feel for the other? Now is your chance to find out.

Reaching past, you grab the shampoo and gentle start to wash his or technically your hair the way you normally like it. Rubbing the scalp until you hear a little moan as Steve stands there with closed eyes and hands resting on your now broad chest.

After rinsing it out, you take the soap and lather up the body, feeling the curves in a whole new way and paying special attention to the spots you know are sensitive, causing Steve to whimper softly as you roll the nipples between your fingers for instance.

But where he’s been purring with delight all the time, he falls silent when your fingers reach the V of your thighs, pushing in between the folds to wash there. You can feel a slipperiness that’s different from the water and the soap. Making sure to spread it to the sensitive nub, you circle the clit carefully, allowing Steve to really feel what it’s like. His hands curl into fists on your chest and he lets out a shivering breath.

Slowly, you speed up, rubbing tight circles that match the breathing that speeds up, breasts heaving and eyelashes fluttering.

“I...I can’t...it’s...” he mewls with your voice.

Taking a moment to turn the smaller body in your embrace, a strong arm around the waist for support. You gently slip a finger into the core to gather the abundant slick. It makes Steve’s breath hitch and you can’t help but wonder if you do that too normally.

“Just feel it,” you murmur into an ear as you switch between pumping into the fluttering core and rubbing circles on the clit, “it’s okay...I want you to know.”

He comes with a strangled moan. Legs giving after as pleasure surges through the body and you’re happy you’re strong enough now to hold the weight for you both.

In a flash, you’re in your own body, overwhelmed by the intensity of the orgasm that still is rolling through you.

“Steve!” you cry out. His finger is still on your clit, just pressing but not moving – it’s your body that’s shivering on the digit, creating a minimal friction. “It worked it -”

And then you’re back. Out of breath and hovering over yourself. Steve can’t help but moan as the aftershock hits him.

It’s tempting to continue, to power on in the hope that it will make the switch back permanent, but Steve’s a wreck and you decide to be nice because you would have wanted that for yourself. So you rinse the soap away and help him-you refind the balance.

Then you wash yourself, now less worried about the nudity, and eventually exit the shower where Steve is waiting for you.

Barely towelled dry, you can’t keep your hands and lips to yourselves and it because a messily tangled trip to the bed where you allow Steve-you to push you down before crawling onto you.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” you say, voice raspy with need.

“Don’t stop.”

That’s all you need to hear and you tumble you and Steve over so you’re on top, hips slotted between the plush thighs. You still have a boner, and now you watch as nimble hands guide the head of it to the entrance, sliding it back and forth to spread the juices and make the slide easier. You’re not even pushing in and already it feels good.

“Will it hurt?” Steve suddenly asks, big eyes full of worry.

“It’s a...” you glance down. Yeah. It’s big. But you’ll be careful. “I’ll go slow and you just stop me if it’s too much.”

“Alright. You too.”

Pushing in with your hips you don’t get far before your brain short circuits and you decide it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt in this body. Tight and warm and soft. You’re holding your breath and now you have to let go of it, a ragged gasp that’s echoed from Steve.

“So good,” he mewls.

“Yeah,” you agree.

Pushing in inch by inch, you take your pauses to allow both of you to get used to the feeling but there’s an urge inside you to just...thrust. Pulling back a bit, you test it out. And then again just for good measure. Okay no, this is the best you’ve ever felt in this body as you thrust in and out slowly, sheathing the cock fully and making your body beneath you tense up so prettily. Steve’s holding on to your shoulders for dear life, legs wrapped around your waist.

“Fuck,” you groan.

Something is dragging along your cock, bumps or ridges under the silken smoothness. It feels so good. You can feel something tightening inside you and you instinctively know you won’t last long – too overwhelmed by all the sensations.

“Touch yourself like I did in the shower,” you gasp.

Snaking a hand between your bodies, Steve-you does as you say and is soon out of breath, whining and moaning and begging so prettily for something. Anything. You know that feeling and you’re sharing it with him now, wanting so badly to cum.

“Just a bit more,” you promise, upping the pace.

There’s a flash where everything is different: you lying under Steve who shakes his head at the change. He’s so deep inside you, you can feel his cock kissing your cervix. And you’re right there, right on the edge.

It all changes back but now it’s like a part of you is being sucked inside of your groin and you can’t keep the rhythm going instead you just ram into the sweet wetness that’s gripping your cock so tight until suddenly it all explodes and your soul is being shot out through your dick that you press so deep you can. You can’t see anything, can’t think. Just feel the pleasure as it rocks your body white hot.

“Fuck,” you groan but it’s your own voice and it’s your cunt pulsing around Steve’s cock. It’s you who’s clawing onto he’s shoulders.

Steve isn’t saying anything. As you peel your eyes open you can see that he’s got his eyes screwed shut and lips digging into the plush of his bottom lip. But he is himself and you are you.

For a moment you just lie there, letting the waves of the orgasm and aftershock roll through you while you wait for the inevitable to happen...but you remain yourself and Steve opens his eyes to look at you, smiling shyly.

“That was...damn!” he admits.

“Yeah.”

Reaching up to kiss him, you’re happy that he reciprocates without hesitation.

But he’s frowning when he pulls back a moment after. “How are we going to explain this to Bruce and Stark?” he asks.

“We’ll just say it went back to normal on its own?”

“And us?” You can see the concern in his pretty blue eyes.

You swallow. “I don’t want normal anymore, please.”

“Me neither.”

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + nine

authors note: i know i've said this before, but this one might be my favorite. there are a few subtle hints spread throughout as well.....

i also listened to the song i named the story after while writing most of this chapter, so maybe recommended listening?

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

cw/tw: fluff, angst, language, inebriation, character being triggered, references to past csa, and suggestive themes

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

masterlist

words: 12k (i can't be stopped, clearly)

And I see a girl Who is learning to trust

---Leann Rimes

In many ways, Roman is a simple man. The kind that believes obvious gestures, actions, or even lack of inaction should speak for itself. That there are some things that are just so clear as day, it doesn’t make sense for him to have to explain himself. 

For him to have to repeat himself. 

Well, that’s gone out the window as of recent months, because he’s constantly found himself having to do just that. And his day is starting off no different with a surprising and unwanted guest showing up at his office demanding to speak to him.

Bayley stands across his desk with her arms crossed and an almost glare on her face. “I’ve been texting you.”

The fact that she even has his number is an issue in and of itself, but he’ll tackle that another day. “I’m aware.”

The avoiding of said texts is that obvious thing that she seemingly doesn’t understand the why behind. 

Bayley nods, very visibly keeping in a comment she’s at least smart enough to not make to the head of the Bloodline. Friend of his wife, or not. “Well, I would like to talk to you.”

Roman rolls his eyes, moving up from his desk to his filing cabinet to swap out expense reports he was trying to review before her rude, unwanted interruption. “I bet you would.”

“Seriously?” Ignoring her once again is the plan, Roman hoping that’s all it takes so that he doesn’t have to lose his temper before he even has his first meeting of the day. “It’s about Solana.”

And that is what finally catches Roman’s attention. He’s quick to turn around, expression suddenly hardened. “Talk.” She has his full attention. “Now.” 

Bayley takes note of how easily it is to gather Roman’s attention with the simple mention of Solana. It’s surprising to say the least and telling as hell to say the most, but she keeps this little observation to herself. 

“We’re having a Cinco De Mayo celebration at my family’s restaurant tomorrow night.”

“What does that have to do with Solana?”

Roman watches her hesitate for a second. “I want to invite her.”

For a split second, Bayley thinks she may have hit a stroke of luck when Roman doesn’t immediately shoot down her request. He seems to actually be thinking about it. And then he asks the question she knew would be the nail in the coffin. “Will Escobar be there?”

She’d like to just say no, as it’s highly unlikely he will attend, Bayley unsure if her cousin is even in the country. But, lying to the man before her has never turned out well for anyone, so she answers as honestly as she can. “I don’t know. You know he pops up at random times—”

Roman doesn’t even need to hear the rest. “My answer is no.”

She can’t be too surprised. Bayley wisely anticipated getting Roman to budge would be damn near impossible, if not entirely impossible.

“Roman—”

“Why the fuck would I allow her to be anywhere around that son of a bitch?”

To be fair, Roman’s relationship with Santos Escobar is tamer than most. They’re not allies, certainly not friends, and he doesn’t hate the man. It irritates him a bit how Escobar is a stubborn bastard and refuses to pledge loyalty and allegiance to the Bloodline, but that anger is eased by the fact that Escobar gives an even bigger middle finger to the Nightmare Factory.

His loyalty is to himself and the Legado Del Fantasma. That makes him a wildcard and potentially dangerous.

Roman won’t have Solana anywhere where danger could be present.

“You know as well as I do that while both you and my cousin have this weird ass Qué en es más macho thing going on, there’s all but a ceasefire. You've never attacked one of his men the same way he’s never attacked anyone in the Bloodline. That’s not going to change overnight just because your wife is present at a chorcha.”

Roman isn’t too full of himself to admit when someone has made a valid point, but as this involves Solana, the standards are a bit different. He won’t give Bayley that much. “Why should I even take the chance? You want to do something with Solana, take her somewhere else that’s on Bloodline or neutral territory.”

“My family’s restaurant is on neutral territory.” Bayley is happy to have another point of his she can counter. “And contrary to what the average, ignorant American thinks, Cinco De Mayo is an important part of our culture and our heritage, Solana’s heritage. I think she would really enjoy herself, that it would….that it would help her feel close to her mom.”

Roman is excellent in the way he remains absolutely unreadable even at Bayley’s point that has him seriously reconsidering his prior answer.

He has no doubt that would help her feel connected with her mom, being around reminders and in a space that’s so representative of half of who she is, who her mother was. He can’t see her not enjoying herself, which is something that doesn’t seem to happen a lot in her life thus far.

Just as he continues to mull over the options, Bayley adds on another defense. “I get where you’re coming from with the safety angle, but I’ll be there and Naomi will be there. Between the two of us, no one will touch her.”

Roman easily reads between the lines and identifies her unspoken request. “You don’t want Solo there.”

On one hand, he can understand it. Bayley not wanting his Enforcer there. Solo’s presence could be seen as him potentially scoping versus the real reason of serving as Solana’s personal guard.

Bayley doesn’t seem to be backing down, reminding with all the confidence in the world of her capabilities. “Like I said, Naomi and I got this.”

Roman will give her that. Bayley and Naomi could fight on his team any day. They’re just as brutal as the men, if not more when pushed. He knows they’d be able to keep Solana safe if need be. It’s that realization as well as the concern of depriving her of something that could make her happy that brings him to a revised answer.

“Fine, she can go.” Roman is quick to add on as an ominous warning, borderline threat, “but if anything fucking happens to her while she’s with you—”

“It won’t,” Bayley vows. “She’s our friend, and she’s family to Naomi. We look out for each other.”

Roman believes that. Believes that Bayley has seemingly pledged a loyalty to Solana that matches that of Naomi, and while he’d never fucking tell her this, he’s grateful she has someone like Bayley to talk to.

At his fill of socialization with people he doesn’t like, Roman is quick with the dismissal. “If you don’t have anything else to discuss with me about Solana, you can get the hell out of my office.”

Bayley is actually surprised she made it this long without being kicked out, so it’s under her breath she mutters, “a true gentleman.” She’s halfway to his door when manners get the best of her. “Hey, Roman.”

He’s back at his desk, gaze as irritated as when she first stepped in. “What?”

With a nod of respect and appreciation, she simply says, “thank you.” Whatever his response, or lack thereof, is after that is unknown because Bayley is out the door and on her way to invite Solana to what is sure to be a night of fun.

________

“Man, I tell you every dish Solana makes seems to get better and better.” Jimmy is rubbing his stomach as he places the now cleaned plate on the coffee table. “Where she been at all our lives?”

Once upon a time, Roman had a nice, quiet house that was his and his alone. Now though, it’s shared with a wife who really isn’t an issue, two obnoxious cousins who need to start paying rent at this point, and a dog who’s currently at the sliding door leading to the backyard having a one-sided bark off with a squirrel.

“Why are ya’ll always fucking over here?” Roman’s question is said with all the irritation manifesting in his muscular body. At the same time, he stands up from the sofa to retrieve the puppy he doesn’t feel like yelling at to shut up. 

She might piss herself in fear or something.

“Come on,” he grunts, leaning over and taking up Dulce who is almost instantly quiet. “Making all that damn noise for nothing.”

Roman places Dulce in her bed in the living room and returns to his previous seat on the sofa when she hops up and walks her ass right over to lean up on the sofa to stare at him with her unspoken request.

Jimmy is the first to notice this. “I think lil Nacho Libre likes you, Uce.”

Jey chimes in between bites of whatever Solana’s latest dish is that she’s made for them. “She know English yet or Soso still got her only speaking Spanish?”

“Man, the dog can’t speak.”

“You know what I mean, motherfucker. Damn.”

Roman ignores the two imbeciles currently freeloading in his house and relents to just letting Dulce on the sofa. He’s not sure why she’s downstairs with them instead off on the second level where the girls are getting ready, but she’s already here now, so no sense in transporting her. 

Dulce seems satisfied with her placement right next to him. 

“I still can’t believe we weren’t invited.”

“I can get why they didn’t invite us, but they could have at least given Nicki an invite.”

Jimmy is quick with the obvious answer. “You know Nicki don’t fuck with Naomi like that, or Bayley, and definitely not Soso.”

“Cause she’s fucking psychotic.” Roman has zero issues with his cousin’s wife having little to no interest in getting to know Solana. It’s for the better. As he said, the bitch is psychotic.

“Once again, Big Dog, you ain’t gon keep disrespecting my wife like that.”

Roman is as unfazed by Jey’s threat as Dulce is. 

“I gotta agree with Uce on that one. Nicki ass crazy as hell. One minute she love you, the next minute she pulling a Left Eye and burning your shit.” That emits a chuckle from him. His cousin's sneaker collection being burned in the backyard that one year was pretty funny. 

“Look, that was during a rough patch. That’s all.”

“Damn bruh, ya’ll must got a whole goddamn quilt then, cause your relationship been nothing but rough patches since we was in high school.”

“So what, you and Naomi never have no issues, huh?” Jey lives up to his hotheaded reputation, jumping into defensive mode. “Ya’ll just got the perfect marriage, right?”

“Of course we got issues, man, but never to the point where she turned into a lil arsonist!”

Completely disinterested in hearing dumb and dumber argue, Roman grabs his phone and shoots out a text.

Roman: You almost ready?

Solana’s reply comes in less than five minutes later.

Solana: Just about…..is Dulce by you?

Roman: Yeah. Sleeping….as always.

Solana: Lol….sorry about that, I meant to grab her before we got started.

Roman: It’s fine.

Roman: I need to talk to you before you leave.

He’s not surprised by the longer time it takes for her to reply. He can imagine she’s reading too much into his text.

Solana: Okay....I can come now?

Solana: I just have to put my shoes on….

Roman: I’ll come to you.

Roman knows better than to ask the bumbling idiots to watch Dulce. Their attention span when they get this heated is almost non-existent, so he opts to just take her upstairs with him, figuring he can deposit her in her bed in Solana’s room and that’ll be it for the night. 

One down.

Two more to get rid of.

Roman is standing outside of Solana’s door ready to knock when it’s ripped open, and he’s met with an instantly smiling Naomi. 

She’s smiling at the damn dog, of course.

“There you are, Dulce.” Roman has no issue whatsoever with letting her take the puppy, talking to it in that weird ass baby voice everyone seems to use around Dulce. He doesn’t get it, but it’s not something he desires to try to get anyway. Naomi calls out over her shoulder, “I’m gonna take her out to pee.”

Bayley shouts from inside the room, “I’ll come with you.”

Roman also has zero issues with that as well. He wants to be alone with Solana before she heads out.

Naomi is heading to the steps when Bayley walks past him, throwing out a rushed, “tell her she looks nice.”

That’s a given, but he gives her a nod, easily stepping in and closing the door behind him. He looks around the room, eyes settling on the connected bathroom where the door is suddenly swung open.

“Guys, are you sure I should wear—” Solana stops when she sees that Bayley and Naomi are no longer present, just him. “Oh, sorry, I thought—never mind.”

Roman would call her out on her apologies, both in the text and just now, but his attention is on something entirely different. 

Solana is fucking stunning.

Her dress is orange, thin sleeved and hugs her in a way that makes his jaw clench and dick stiffen. It’s more low cut in the front than he knows she’s probably comfortable with, but if anything, it accentuates just how fucking nice her chest is. There’s a slight split on the side of said dress that shows off her thighs, thick and soft to the touch, he’d imagine. She also has her hair down, something he hasn’t seen in some time, makeup that covers the scar, and lips painted in a teasing red. 

Roman has to catch himself because for a brief second, he’s tempted to completely change his mind. She looks too good to leave the house, especially without him present because there’s not a single doubt in his mind that she’ll turn heads.

She always does. 

Finally, he’s able to get words to leave his mouth that aren’t as filthy as the thoughts he’s trying to keep locked in the back of his mind. “Jesus, you look amazing.”

Roman has noticed an increasingly difficult time in restraining himself around Solana, not in the sense where he’d completely ignore her trauma and try to touch her in a way that would trigger her. Never that. More so in the way he fantasizes about her in that way, dreams of having her in that way, solely because of his growing physical attraction.

Granted, it’s always been there. 

Anyone could see her beauty even in how she would dress down and try to hide her figure, but now that Naomi and Bayley have been encouraging her to be less conservative in her appearance, it’s increased that difficulty exponentially. 

“Thank you.” The makeup on Solana’s cheeks helps to mask her growing blush at Roman’s unabashed compliment. She suddenly looks down, nervously running her hand down the dress. “Is it….is it too much?” 

Not at all. He might not want anyone else looking at her, but Roman could see her dress like this everyday and never grow tired. Still, his approval isn’t needed nor should she ever look for it. “Do you think it is?”

“I always think it’s too much.” It’s an honest answer, one that’s followed up with a caveat he’s surprised but pleased to hear. “But….but, I do like it.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Solana’s smile does something to him. She looks even more beautiful when she’s smiling. “Look….” Roman steps closer to her, trying to ignore her perfume, sweet and soft, a dangerous combination that matches her perfectly. “You need anything tonight, you call or text me, alright?” 

She nods and asks. “What about Solo? Isn’t—isn’t that his job?”

It’s not a conscious in as much it is a unconscious thing when he steps even closer to her, moving his hand to the small of her back. Roman gently tugs her toward him, and to his surprise, she doesn’t tense under his touch. “You’re my wife, Solana. My job is always to protect you. He just guards you when I can’t.”

She looks like she’s trying to memorize this piece of information, storing it for future use as necessary knowledge. “Do—do you want to come with us?” Solana’s hand resting on his chest is as surprising as her question. “I could talk to Bayley.”

Roman has never been a social person. To say he hates most people isn’t necessarily an exaggeration. So, the thought of being around a bunch of people he doesn’t know or like outside of Solana and maybe Bayley—she’s not entirely awful—is not appealing as well. That doesn’t stop him, however, from considering the question at hand.

He’s tempted to ask her if she wants him to come, because Roman can find it in himself to withstand socialization for a couple hours. 

He’ll do it for her. 

But, there’s another part of him, a larger part of him that thinks she needs to do this on her own. That she needs to establish a life and something for herself that doesn’t include him. It’ll be good for her.

“No.” Is his final answer, delivered much gentler than if she was literally anyone else. Roman reaches and plays with a piece of her hair. “Not my scene. Too many people.” Not to mention that his presence would draw too much attention, potentially not good attention. He won’t do that to her. Won’t’ risk ruining her night. “Go. Have a good time.” Again, for good measure, he reminds, “but I mean it. Something is wrong. You call me.”

She nods, and he readies to remind her of his need for words when she answers, “okay.” She then adds on, “I already gave Dulce dinner, so she should mostly sleep, but if you could take her outside every so often….”

“I got it.” He’d much rather sacrifice the couple minutes it takes to bring her outside than risk her shitting or pissing somewhere in his house. Granted, he has to give credit where credit is due. She’s doing great with her potty training. Solana takes great care of her, but that’s not surprising. It’s obvious how much she loves the puppy. “You should be back by midnight, though.”

It’s more a strong suggestion than a demand. Solana is a grown woman. He’s not going to dictate what she does and doesn’t do. She’s had enough of that in her life. He had to give his approval for her to go with Bayley because of safety issues, but this, he wants to leave up to her as long as she understands the later she’s out, the riskier things can get.

After a certain time, only bad or not so great things can happen.

“Of course.” She seems to understand this clearly, but he’d also bet that’s her preference to be back earlier than later. Solana grabs her purse and walks towards the door, having to pass him in the process. Roman catches her, arm around her waist. 

She looks up, curious, and he makes note of how she again doesn’t tense under his touch. That’s happening less and less, it seems. 

He likes that. 

“Text me when you get there.”

She smiles, and Roman suddenly feels a layer of his irritation with his cousins melt away. “I will.” Solana gives him one more glance before walking out the room. 

Roman scratches his beard, a part of him wondering if he made the right decision to let her go alone. Granted, he knows he would have never even initially agreed if he didn’t trust Bayley and Naomi’s abilities. 

They’d defend Solana as ruthlessly and violently as any of his best men.

That helps to chip away some of his second guessing along with the fact that this is something she clearly wants, and he wants to give her that. Give her anything he can that makes her happy. 

She deserves that much.  

Granted, that temporary peace is short-lived with the shout from one of his cousins who are apparently still present. 

“Ayo, Big Dog, did you change the WiFi password again!”

________

Roman needs a new house.

Maybe have Solana let him know what she likes as far as interior designing goes and have something built with an impenetrable wall around it.

That seems to be the only thing that will keep his annoying ass twin cousins from being at his place so much.

Roman just knew that when the ladies left, they’d leave too. But no, that’s too good to be true, because they’ve been gone almost an hour, and their asses are still here.

Even Dulce is sleeping peacefully like the unemployed bum that she is in her bed kept in the living room. 

And as always with them, they’ve been talking damn near the whole hour. One would think Roman straight up ignoring them as he works on his laptop would be a clear sign they need to go the hell home, but that would be too much like right.

He either needs an Excedrin or for his cousins to leave, the latter being preferred most. It’s especially needed when they seem to be watching whatever dumb ass Tok or Reel video over and over again. 

“Wait. I know that song,” Jey announces, face scrunched up as he tries to recall the name. All Roman knows is that it’s in Spanish and repetitive as hell on top of being played on repeat. Annoying as hell too. “That lil freak from Miami I used to mess with used to have this shit playing at her crib all the time.”

Jimmy sucks his teeth, asking. “What happened to her?”

“Man, she moved.” Jey shrugs. “She went to go be a freak in Cali.” 

Finally, Roman snaps. “Would ya’ll use some damn headphones or something?”

Jimmy is the first to speak. “You might want to watch this, Uce.”

“I don’t care.”

Jey slaps Jimmy on the arm, knowing how to get his cousin’s attention. “Yeah, why would he want to see a video of Solana?”

At that, Roman lifts his gaze.

Jimmy smirks knowingly. “Naomi sent some videos. Check your phone.”

That would explain it. Why Roman was out of the loop. It wasn’t from Solana. 

He’d selected a specific text and ringtone notification for her, so he wouldn’t be unnecessarily checking his phone. Hence why he hasn’t checked it since she text that they’d made it to the restaurant.

Opening up the thread that has himself, Naomi, and the twins, he sees the set of messages and videos.

Naomi: Having a blast! Solana especially. I kinda feel like the odd one out cause clearly I don’t know none of these dances 😩 I kinda got the Bachata one, but Merengue and Punta are killing me.

Naomi: Bay and Solana keep trying to teach me, but it’s not going well lmao

Roman watches them all. Every video shows Solana smiling and laughing as she dances with Bayley and Naomi. One of the videos shows her and Bayley trying to instruct Naomi who seems to be failing miserably at learning what he’d guess are traditional Hispanic dances. There’s even a clip of her trying to help a little girl learn whatever dance they’re doing, and she looks just as patient as he’s seen her with the kids she reads to at the library.

She looks fucking gorgeous and happy.

He likes that for her. After everything she’s been through, she deserves all of the happiness.

But, it’s in watching the last video with the song that he kept hearing on loop from his cousin’s phone that he understands why they have it on repeat.

It’s a different kind of dance Bayley and Solana do together along with other women he doesn’t know or give two fucks about. What he gives a fuck about and focuses in entirely on is the way Solana’s hips and ass move, rhythmically, teasingly, drawing out an uncomfortable tightening in his pants.

Fuck. 

Roman does his best to push his erotic thoughts away, still trying to figure out how to balance his sexual desire for Solana with the knowledge of her sexual trauma. It almost feels wrong, to feel and want her in that way when he knows how traumatizing that subject is for her. It doesn’t stop the desire though.

“Damn, I knew it had to move, just not like that.” 

“Like water.”

It’s probably a combination of his pent up usual, general and sexual frustration, but the dangerously slow way Roman lifts his head and equally slow way he sets his murderous gaze on his cousins is all they need to see to know they’ve gone too far.

And they know it.

Jimmy is instantly on damage control. “I meant—Bayley—you know, cause she—she’s also thick.”

Jey coughs awkwardly, hitting Jimmy on the arm. “I think, uh, we should—we should head out.” And Roman is just as slowly rising from the sofa when the twins literally almost trip over their feet and make a mad dash for the door. 

It takes a couple minutes for him to calm down, and he too suddenly finds himself watching said video, casually commenting to Dulce, “about time they fucking left.”

Dulce barks in agreement. 

________

Solana laughs along with Bayley and Naomi as they plop down in their seats after an almost four minute song of full out merengue. All are reaching for their respective drinks as Bayley playfully nudges Solana. 

“Aren’t you glad you came?”

Just then, Juanita Escobar walks over, Bayley’s mother who carries the same dimple and friendly disposition. She places her hand on Solana’s back, reminding in Spanish, “you must come back and see us again!”

Solana smiles, agreeing, “I will.” She then looks over at Bayley. “If that’s okay?”

Bayley waves her off. “Are you kidding? With how soft and girly you are, you can come be my replacement any time” 

Juanita glares at her youngest, muttering to Solana, “maybe you can rub off on my Bay, hmm? Never wanted to do girl stuff. Always wanted to fight with the boys.”

Bayley chugs back some of her drink. “Hell yeah.”

Solana thinks she’d prefer the fighting too. Maybe then she could have defended herself better. Defended her mom even.

Juanita shakes her head, looking at Solana. “Yes, come again, child. You look so much like someone, but I can’t put my hand on it. I’m sure my husband would know. He knows everyone.”

That doesn't necessarily make Solana want to come back, meeting someone, a man specifically. However, if he’s anything like Bayley or Juanita, maybe…maybe it won’t be so bad.

And maybe…maybe she could ask Roman to come with her. That’d make her feel moderately to significantly better. Safer, even.

Juanita is soon pulled away from the table by a customer at the same moment Solana’s phone rings.

Roman: You good?

Solana: Yes. 

She bites down on her lip, contemplating if she should hit send on her message. It feels like a risky thing to say, but it’s also how she feels.

And he’s always telling her to be honest with him.

So she is. 

Solana: Kinda wish you would have came.

Her fingers nervously tap against the table as she wait for his reply that ends up coming almost immediately. 

Roman: That’s your world. Not mine.

Roman: Do you not feel safe?

Solana: No, not that. I guess…...Nvm.

Roman: Tell me.

Again, more hesitation, and she’s not entirely sure where this desire to be honest and almost vulnerable with him comes from, but she does her best not to push it away, almost welcoming the slight discomfort that comes with sending such a risky text.

Solana: Idk, I feel better when you’re around. 

He doesn’t reply after that.

Bayley and Naomi share a knowing expression, having watched Solana quietly for the past few minutes. Naomi ends up being the one to lead the conversation. “So how are things going with Roman?”

The question takes her off guard, Solana trying her best to think just how to handle said question.

Roman no longer confuses her. Not nearly as much as her feelings about him confuse her. 

She wasn’t lying. She does feel better when she’s around him. And it’s not even that she feels unsafe currently. It’s just that he makes her feel safe in general. That’s such a foreign concept. One she hasn’t experienced in such a long time. 

If ever.

Because the truth of the matter is that while Solana felt an indescribable amount of happiness with her mother, there was never really safety. Not with her father’s wrath always waiting around the corner.

So while this is new and unfamiliar, it’s also nice, and she finds herself enjoying his presence. She likes being around him beyond the safety aspect. The way he talks to and with her, like he genuinely enjoys their conversations. When he meets her for work and asks how her day was or finds her in the house to see how her day was, it makes her feel like he actually cares about what she has to say.

Like he actually cares about her.

It’s such a stark contrast of how she sees him interact with others. Always on edge, it seems. 

He’s never made her feel that way though. Maybe at the beginning, but that’s starting to feel less like anything he’s done and more like her own trauma.

Trauma….

That’s also been an interesting experience. For the past few weeks, she’s worked out of The Courage to Heal, reading every page as instructed. And it’s been….an emotional time, to say the least. Definitely tears. A lot of them. Mostly shed in the middle of the night when she can’t sleep or on the bathroom floor as she sits against the tub, reading and writing, Dulce right beside her, offering that unspoken emotional support.

It’s been therapeutic and challenging and awful having to confront her demons but also freeing in a strange sort of way. Especially the poems. The words of other victims who express so eloquently and hauntingly beautifully what she still cannot. 

One of the things she’s really latched onto and tries to remind herself of is that there are different kinds of touch. Because of the assault, her brain has naturally associated any kind of touch as dangerous, which isn’t always true. Especially in the past few months. 

So, there’s been a conscious and active effort to remind herself when Naomi and Bayley hug her or playfully bump her, that it’s safe. That she’s safe.

Especially….especially with Roman.

Especially with how touch between them has seemed to also increase over the past couple weeks. Or maybe less increase in levels and more in frequency. She’ll find his hand on the small of her back, or him taking her hand in his, and sometimes, if they’re close enough, Solana also finds herself reaching for him, for his hand, her hand on his chest.

It’s all so innocent in presentation but something much deeper for her. A level of comfort she’s developed with him that she never had in any prior relationship. 

She likes it.

She likes him.

“Solana.” 

Jumping at being pulled from her inner dialogue, Solana remembers the initial question being posed. 

She clears her throat, finally answering, “umm….good. It’s—it’s good.”

“He’s not being an ass to you, is he?” She asks, almost protectively. “I mean outside of the natural ass that he always is.”

Immediately, Solana is shaking her head, almost feeling a duty to defend him. “No. No. He–he would never. He’s….always nice to me.”

Bayley nearly spits out her drink. “Nice?” She coughs a bit, also shaking her head. “Are we still talking about Roman here? Roman Reigns? That man has never been nice a day in his life.”

Naomi shrugs. “I mean, she has a point. I don’t think I’ve seen him be cruel to her.”

Cruel….Solana also could never find it in her to use that word to describe Roman’s disposition towards her. Maybe others, but never her.

Bayley sits on Naomi’s point, suddenly sharing to the table, “you know what, now that you mention it, when I went to go ask him if I could invite you tonight, he was ready to bite my head off for bothering him. But, the minute I said it had something to do with you, he was all ears. Like an instant switch.”

Solana is also all ears, slightly intrigued. “Really?” Doubt and insecurity creeps in as she weakly suggests, “he was probably like that with Samantha too.”

At that, Bayley and Naomi laugh aloud, Naomi nearly in tears.

“Now that is funny. Solana, Roman don’t give a fuck about that girl. Not outside of sex.”

Solana must look unconvinced, so Bayley points out, “think about it. She’s been around for years, and it’s not her he took down the aisle, so…..” She then adds, “arranged marriage or not.”

The girls bringing up their points takes Solana back to her run-in with Samantha in the bathroom and Nia’s jaw-dropping information. 

An idea appears, and Solana is instantly torn on whether to pursue or pop it. Something tells her it’s a bad idea, that she should take his information to the grave, but there’s also that side that feels like she can trust Bayley and Naomi to keep it between the three of them.

Sitting forward, Solana decides to take a risk. “Can I—can I tell you guys something?” Nervously, she stipulates, “but it has to stay between us.”

They look expectedly worried. “Solana, if it has something to do with your safety—”

“No, no that.” Solana almost feels confident enough to say that she’d go to Roman if that was the case. She trusts that she could talk to him if it was something like that.

“Of course, then.”

“Solana, you can tell us anything.”

And for some reason, she knows this to be true. It’s why she battles against her trepidation to open up. “It’s—ummm. I….I found out that when….when Roman was…..having sex with Samantha, he….” There’s a pause caused by the discomfort of such a discussion, but Solana manages to push through. “He said my name.”

Both Bayley and Naomi wear shocked expressions, the former of the two whispering harshly, “holy shit, what?”

Bayley then asks, “wait, how do you know?”

“Nia told me.” Solana has zero desire to wholly revisit that night in the bathroom with Samantha, so she only provides the important part. “She said that Samantha told her friend, I guess. T something?”

“Tiffy.” Bayley rolls her eyes. “Makes sense. That girl can’t hold water.”

“I don’t get it then. He obviously was imagining it was you and not Samantha, so why go fuck her and not you?”

Naomi’s question makes all the sense, but Solana doesn’t really know how to tackle it. This conversation is already difficult enough for her. 

But her face must give it away, Bayley seemingly putting two and two together.

“You two haven’t slept together…..have you?” Solana simply shakes her head, unable to verbally confirm and slightly mortified that it’s reached this level of detail. 

Solana is certain they must have a million thoughts floating around their head, starting with the how and why. That part…..that part she doesn’t know if she is ready to discuss.

An ironic thing considering she’s just started the chapter in her workbook on sharing her story with trusted people. 

The irony.

But instead of invasive questions that heighten her anxiety, Naomi places a comforting hand on her arm. 

“Look, I’ve known Roman my whole life, and the guy has been a dick the entire time. He would never hurt a woman, I know that, but he’s also never given a fuck about any of them either. So for him to be the way he is with you when you two haven’t even had sex……there’s something there, Solana.”

“I agree,” Bayley cosigns, saying what Solana has struggled to admit even to herself. “I think he really does like you. In his own Roman sort of way.”

Solana can’t deny the fact that it’s getting increasingly difficult to push away that possibility, even if she still can’t understand the why.

Just what has she done to deserve him liking her? 

Maybe it’s not like. Maybe he just tolerates her better than he does others for some reason. Whatever it is, she can’t negate the fact that it must mean something if Naomi, who’s known him her whole life, believes that something is there.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Solana just needs to get away. Just for a couple minutes. This conversation took a turn she wasn’t expecting, and she needs to settle her emotions. 

Bayley seems cautious. “Want me to come with you?”

“No.” The rejection is paired with a kind smile. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

And before she can get any pushback, Solana makes her way through the dancing crowd and to the back restroom that she’s grateful to see is vacant. Closing and locking the bathroom door, she goes straight for the mirror.

Despite the unexpected amount of dancing and slight sweat, she still looks relatively the same. 

The same….

Same.

Even with the makeup and tight little dress, she’s still the same person. She’ll go home tonight, take off the makeup and remove the dress to find the same damaged, scarred girl who can never have something like what Jimmy and Naomi have.

Even if Roman does like her, it won’t last. 

She can’t please him. 

She could never make Roman happy, could never truly satisfy him, satisfy his needs.

She’s too broken for that.

It brings tears to her eyes.

Unable to withstand the sight of herself, Solana grabs a couple napkins to blow away her tears, tosses them out and heads out the bathroom. Instead of heading back to the table, Solana makes a beeline for the bar. 

She’s only had white wine, but white wine isn’t enough. She recognizes where her emotions are taking her, and it’s nowhere good. 

Solana refuses to ruin this night for Bayley and Naomi.

The bartender is a young girl, pretty, early to mid twenties. She asks in a friendly, deeply accented voice, “what can I get you?” 

Solana is naive to this, to the great array of alcoholic options that litter the counter before her, so she answers the best way she can. Thinking back to the few events she’d be forced to attend with her father and brother, the drinks she always heard people order before getting drunk.

“Vodka and Gin, p—please.”

________

Meanwhile, Bayley and Naomi sit at the table still partially stuck on this unexpected news. But also not entirely surprising. With how sittish Solana can be at times, they have a good, albeit depressing guess as to why sex hasn’t happened between them.

It does bring up a valid question though.

“Wasn’t the whole marriage for the purposes of giving Roman an heir? How is that—”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Naomi murmurs. “But, I think we both know it’s obvious Solana has some trauma. Touch is clearly hard for her.”

“I know.” Bayley frowns. “I guess I’m just surprised Roman of all people has been so….patient with her.”

“You and me too.” Naomi blows out a breath before again reiterating what she said to Solana. “He must really like her.”

“It’s just hard to tell with him. He’s so damn stoic, but….I think you’re right. I think she likes him too. She’s just…..scared.” Fear is also something Solana deeply struggles with, though Bayley and Naomi both can recognize the progress she’s making towards overcoming those fears.

With a gasp, Naomi grabs her phone, directing Bayley. “Get your phone.” 

Bay is confused but follows suit just as Naomi says, “I know who may know.” 

Less than a minute later, Bayley’s phone dings with a text notification from a new group she’s in that includes herself, Naomi, Jimmy, and Jey.

Naomi: Sooooo, Bay and I were just talking, and between the four of us, how do you think Roman feels about Solana?

Bayley: And please be honest.

Bayley quickly ensures. “We’re not going to tell them what Solana said, right?”

“Hell no. We could never betray her trust like that.” Bayley is relieved but also not surprised. 

Naomi values loyalty just as much as she does. 

Jey: Man, I think he really like ole’ girl. Bruh got her a dog, seems to drop whatever he doing when she needs something, and I don’t think I ever heard him say nothing bad about her.

Jimmy: He was definitely annoyed at first when Soso had her lil breakdown at the Warehouse, but that didn’t last long at all. 

Bayley: Plus Roman is always annoyed with something or someone.

Naomi: Except her 👀

Jey: Why ya’ll ask?

Naomi: We think Solana really likes him too but is scared to push on it because of her past and just don’t want to encourage her to give it a chance if he’s just gonna hurt her. Ya’ll know how Roman is.

Bayley: A certified ASSHOLE. And a hoe. 

Bayley: But, it seems like that’s not the case with her.

Jimmy: I would say he definitely likes her too. 

Jey: I mean they are married so….

Naomi: It was arranged. That doesn’t count. 

Bayley: Do we know if he’s still fucking around? Primarily with Samantha since she’s been his go-to the past couple years?

Jimmy: I don’t think so. Matter of fact, I guess she said some smart shit to Soso in the bathroom on NoC and Big Dog wasn’t having it.

Jey: He’s apparently planning to pay her a lil visit….with Nia.

Naomi: Oh my god, is he finally gonna let Nia kill her?

Jimmy: Naw, just fuck her up real good, I think.

Naomi: Damn.

Bayley: That’s wild for him to cut her off like that after all this time. Def sounds like he likes Solana to me too…..

Jey: Ya’ll really think he about to admit that shit though?

Naomi: No more than she is. He’s stubborn, and she’s so insecure.

Jimmy: Ya’ll thinking what I’m thinking? 👀

*Jimmy changed the group chat name to Operation RoSo*

Naomi: Bae, what is this damn title?

Jimmy: It’s our latest covert operation. We gotta get Roman and Soso to admit they like each other!

Jey: And just how the hell is we supposed to do that? Like Bay said, Uce is an ass sometimes.

Bayley: All the time unless you’re Solana….

Naomi: I mean, not to be vain, but if you look like Roman, you can kinda get away with being an ass. To some extent.

Bayley: You’re not wrong. He is gorgeous. 😮‍💨

Jimmy: He alright, I guess. His ears kinda big.

Naomi: Bae, I love you, but let’s not lie. Your cousin is an asshole, yes, but he’s also fine as hell.

Bayley: That’s not the only thing said to be big…..

Naomi: Girl….

Bayley: They can’t all be lying.

Jey: ANYWAYS!

Jey: What if they’re coming together at they own pace and we should just leave shit alone? 

Jimmy: 😐

Jimmy: That’s about the dumbest fucking thing I done heard all day. What next you gon say, huh? That they just magically gon fall in love on their own too? No! They clearly need our help!

Naomi: Maybe less help and more a shove in the right direction?

Bayley: A gentle push!

Naomi: Yes!

Jey: All I know is if shit backfires, I’m not taking the heat for none of ya’ll asses. Ya’ll gon have to deal with Big Dog.

Jimmy: Then we’ll just put Solana in front of us. He can’t hurt us then!

Jimmy: See…..I’m smart with this shit. That’s why Imma be the brains of this operation.

________

“What do you mean she’s drunk?”

Roman’s night suddenly went from uneventful and quiet, his preference, to unexpected and infuriating, all with a walk from upstairs to downstairs where he finds Solana awkwardly standing in the living room. Bayley and Naomi wait at the bottom of the steps with nervous expressions.

Good.

They should be scared shitless, because one glance at Solana, the gloss over her eyes, and he can tell she’s all but wasted. 

“You were supposed to be watching her.” Roman is fucking irritated. He knew it was a bad idea to leave these two in charge of Solana.

Bayley, however, seems unbothered by his anger. “She’s not a child, Roman. Were we supposed to stop her from drinking too? We had no idea she asked for something stronger.”

It’s an excuse, and Roman doesn’t do excuses. “What happened?”

Naomi answers this time around. “We don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” One. They’re lying, and Roman hates liars. Two. They’re lying, and Roman has literally killed people for less. Three. They’re lying, and he wants to know why. “You’ve both got less than a minute to give me the truth—”

“Look, we talked about some things, and we promised to keep it between the three of us, so I’m not telling you what exactly it was, but I can tell you she’s not in danger.” Bayley is smart. She must know that he’d literally torture the information out of her if it had anything to do with Solana’s safety. 

“It was just…some stuff about her past. I think it may have been too much, and she decided to get drunk to not think about it.” Naomi’s suggestion makes sense and pans out, but Roman can’t stop thinking about just what she shared with them. 

Was it the rape? But why? He remembers her terror in the locker room that day, the fear and pain in her eyes and voice as she pleaded with him to not make her talk about it. It doesn’t make sense why she would suddenly share it.

Even with how close she seems to them.

“Just leave.”

Roman will deal with them later. Right now, his priority is getting Solana settled.

They seem to know better than to push his patience, asking that he at least keep them updated on how she’s doing in the morning.

He neither agrees or disagrees. It’ll heavily depend on how fucked up Solana is. 

Once they’re gone, Roman walks into the living room to find her laid on the sofa, eyes glazed over from her drunkenness but that same beautiful smile on her just as beautiful face.

“Solana.” She’s so gone that it makes him wonder even more again just how upset she must have been. “I need to get you to bed.”

He needs sleep too, feeling the length and weight of the day starting to take a toll.

She’s protesting almost right away. “I’m not t–tired.”

“Maybe not, but you will be tomorrow.” Roman knows she’s in for one hell of a hangover.

“I don’t—I don’t want to sleep.” She’s almost pouting, brows caved together as she stumbles through more words. Solana suddenly stands up, and he naturally moves closer to her, noticing the almost sway she does onto the floor. “I just—have bad dreams and—and you’re just—just gonna leave once I sleep anyw—way.”

“What do you mean by that?” He asks. Getting answers from a drunk person usually isn’t the best or smartest thing in the world, but something tells Roman that Solana is the type of drunk person who ends up spilling secrets. And he’s certain there’s a lot she’s probably still keeping in.

She then issues an unexpected accusation. “You—you’re—you’re gonna go be with Samantha—that’s who you want.”

Roman finds her question slightly ironic considering he’s been letting Samantha think she got away with whatever disrespectful shit she said to Solana on the Night of Champions. He’s letting her think she’s safe and waiting for the right moment to set her ass straight, Nia tagging along to deliver the physical message he can’t.

“Af–after all.” Solana continues, surprising him with her openness that’s most definitely fueled by her inebriation. “Why—why would you want me?” She points to herself, voice taking on a softer, vulnerable tone. “Why—why would anyone want me?”

He’s silent for a good minute, sitting on such a heavy question. “Is that really what you think?” It’s asked in a low voice, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s more him thinking aloud or if he genuinely wants to know if that is how she really views herself. 

She shakes her head, nodding in a way that further signifies how drunk she is. “It’s like you said, I’m mentally u–unstable.”

For a second, Roman’s confused, but he quickly thinks back to their wedding night, to his hurtful words to her. Words he’d give anything to take back now. 

With an almost frown, he acknowledges his fault. “I was wrong to say that to you, Solana. You are not that.” Truthfully, with all she’s been through, even if she was, he couldn’t fault her.

With a family like hers, she never had a fucking chance.

Solana seems almost confused by his apology, taking him back with the next thing that leaves her mouth. “Is it—is it true you—you said my name when you were with S—samantha?”

He definitely wasn’t expecting that, has no idea how she even knows that. Is that what Samantha told her in the bathroom? Why would she? It does nothing to make her look good. Regardless, drunk or not, Roman sticks with his word that he won’t lie to her.

“Yes.”

Even drunk, he can tell how shocked she is by his admission. Shaking her head, she says either to herself or him—he can’t really tell. “I—I don’t get it.” Before he can say anything else, she starts on this train of self-hatred. “She’s pretty and—and—skinny and—she’s not—broken like me.”

That does something to him, Roman moving closer to bring one hand to the small of her back and the other to her face. “You’re not broken, Solana.”

“Yes–yes, I am. You don’t—you don’t know what—what happened to me.” Her bottom lip trembles as she shakes her head, hands on his chest. “I can’t—I can’t do what—what she does—can’t—give you t–that.”

He shifts his hand to the back of her head, forcing her blurry gaze to stay on him. “Baby….” It tears him the fuck up hearing her acknowledge the lingering trauma he’s certain she’ll always carry to some extent, but even more to hear how lowly she really thinks of herself. “I don’t—”

“I can’t—I can’t because—” Her voice cracks, her eyes focused everywhere but him as she almost comes to this heartbreaking realization that her drunkenness briefly helped her escape these thoughts that have now returned. “—b–because they r–raped me, and now I don’t—I don’t know how—how to be with anyone.” She gasps and sniffles, shaking her head. “I should—should have f–fought h-harder—”

“Don’t you ever fucking say that, you hear me?” Roman’s voice somehow contains all the conviction yet gentleness he can muster. Hearing her even think that makes him feel something he can’t fully describe. It’s heavy as fuck though. “You were a child, Solana. It wasn’t your fault.”

“You were a kid.” He has to say it again, because that’s the hardest part in all of this, knowing how young she was. “You should have been protected, and you weren’t, and I’m going to make sure every son of a bitch involved in what happened to you pays for that shit. I promise you that. The same way that I promise with my life, I’ll never let anyone ever hurt you again.”

She’s clearly taken back by his words, by his vow. “I don’t—I don’t—understand w–why? Why—why would you do that?”

Roman isn’t sure he has an answer for that specifically, but he does have something else he can provide her, a small part of him knowing, hoping maybe, there’s very little from tonight she remembers come tomorrow morning. 

“Because someone needs to protect you.” Roman swallows, adding before he even realizes what he’s saying. “Because I don’t want Samantha.” He brushes his thumb over her cheek, intentionally wiping her tears. “I want you.”

And suddenly, it’s so much easier to say it aloud, to voice to her what he still doesn’t entirely understand, why he feels drawn to her in ways he doesn’t understand. There’s a connection almost, a connection of mutual loss that’s formed some sort of bridge Roman is unsure just when he started crossing 

She looks more stunned at his admission than anything else he’s ever said to her. Still, she seems to try to discredit him. “But—but she—”

“She’s not you.” His voice unintentionally softens. “No one’s like you.”

Selfishly, he hopes she doesn’t remember much or any of this conversation, less painful for her, more time for him to figure out what it is about this woman that he feels so deeply drawn to.

Again, she tries to downplay her worth. “I can’t—I can’t—give you what you need.”

And somehow he knows exactly what she means. What she’s referring to.

“I don’t need that from you.” Truth be told, he doesn’t want to need anything from her. Needing anything in general has never been his thing. He just knows that, for some reason, he wants her around.

He likes having her around him. 

She’s blinking again and places her hand against her head, sharing, “my h–head hurts.” It’s not an intentional deflection, he’s certain, but it’s appreciated.

This is a much deeper conversation than he anticipated having tonight.

“You need to get to bed. The sooner you can start sleeping this off, the better.” He eyes her skeptically, asking, “can you walk?”

He should have already known the answer, because the minute she tries to pull away from him to walk, she sways almost immediately, Roman going right back to holding her. “Come here.” He expects her to tense up as he moves to lift her up bridal style, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look confused, clearly overwhelmed with all of her emotions. 

Roman doesn’t say anything as he carries her up the stairs and doesn’t think twice about taking her to his room instead of hers. 

He needs to monitor her tonight, and that’s easier done with her in his room.

She looks around still confused but doesn’t say anything as Roman lowers her down on the edge of his bed. Naturally, he’s on one knee before her.

“I’m gonna take these off.” He refers to her heels which could largely be a contributing factor for her to inability to walk. She nods, and he quickly unstraps and tosses the heels to the side. “Do you want to change?”

She nods and then adds, “I don’t have—my clothes….”

Roman is at his dresser, pulling out a shirt that he reaches to her. “You can wear this for tonight.”

She accepts it from him, turning to walk to the bathroom, Roman relieved to see the removal of her heels helps her to at least make it without falling.

While she’s changing, he heads back downstairs to get Dulce.

He knows she’s used to sleeping with Solana and will probably throw a fit or spend the night crying if that doesn’t happen, so a small sacrifice is made as he also brings up Dulce’s bed from the living room and places it on the side of his bed.

One night of her sleeping in his room won’t kill him.

It’s then that Solana walks out the bathroom, changed out of her dress and her face free from the makeup. 

“I washed my face….hope that was o–okay.”

“It’s fine, Solana.” Roman is half expecting to have to instruct her to lay down, but she again stays with the theme of surprises tonight and walks over to the bed, pulling back the covers and climbing in. 

He’s again ready to explain that he’ll be in the guest room across the hall but will be available if she needs anything. He’ll still be checking in on her occasionally, regardless.

But, before he can explain as such, she asks in the softest, most vulnerable voice, “will you lay with me?”

It’s an extremely unexpected question with an easy answer.

Roman’s answer is to move into the bed with her, half expecting her to freak out in one way or another. This close proximity is so unlike her, a complete contrast to what she’s usually comfortable with.

However, what he doesn’t expect is the way Solana moves her body close against his, pressing herself into his side, arm over his stomach and head on his chest.

In a switching of roles, Roman is the one to initially tense. This is more physical contact than they’ve ever had, and there’s not a doubt in his mind that if not for the alcohol in her system, she’d have a fucking meltdown touching him this much.

But in her drunken, highly intoxicated state, that’s not an issue. She wants to be close to him, wants to be pressed up against him. 

She’s looking for comfort.

And truthfully, he wants it too. Roman likes the feel of her next to him, actually uses his other arm to tug her closer, noticing how she adjusts her head on his chest.

Her hand is planted against his chest, and he starts to tell her to rest, to encourage her to sleep this off. But, she once again beats him to it, asking yet another question. 

“Why—why are you doing this?”

To be fair, Roman only answers her truthfully because he’s betting on her being so close to the edge of sleep that the chances of her remembering this rare shred of vulnerability are slim to none.

“Because—because I know what it’s like to not have anyone.” There’s a sense of hesitation and discomfort as he verbalizes what he’s never once openly discussed with anyone. “Because I didn’t just lose my mom when I was ten. I lost my entire family. My parents. My aunt. My uncle. And all of my siblings. I—I was the only one who made it out alive that night, and I spent years not knowing why, why I was left alone.”

Roman doesn’t want sympathy, doesn’t want people feeling fucking sorry for him. He never has. But the way Solana lifts her head to look at him is a look of something else, something that likens understanding and compassion.

The latter of which is almost an unfamiliar concept. 

“I didn’t—I’m sorry.” She lays her head back against his chest, moving even closer. She then murmurs into him, almost reassuringly, “you don’t—you don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Roman doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn’t.

He says nothing.

________

Waking up in Roman’s bed wearing only his shirt is the last thing Solana expects along with the fact that the minute her eyes open, she’s hit with instant throbbing of her head.

She winces, confused about so many things as she forces herself to sit up, mind immediately wandering to a single question.

Where is Roman?

Her question is easily answered when she spots the notebook on his nightstand. She reaches for it, squinted eyes reading over his words.

Solana,

I’m sorry I had to leave. I have a meeting with the Elders I, unfortunately, can’t miss. I’ll be back right after.

If not for that, I would have stayed with you.

You most likely won’t remember last night, but you got drunk. Very. You’re gonna wake up with a nasty hangover. Take the Aspirin. It’ll help. 

I gave Dulce her breakfast and took her outside. She should be fine. 

I also let your job know you’re not coming in today.

Rest.

Roman

There’s so much to process in such a straightforward letter. What did he mean by stay with her? Did—did they sleep in the same bed? 

For some reason, that’s not as anxiety inducing as she imagined it would be. She doesn’t know the why or how, but it doesn't bring that heavy weight on her chest.

The drunk part triggers brief memories of the night prior. Bayley and Naomi. The celebration. Dancing. Fun. Happiness.

A switch.

At some point in the night, her mood shifted into something else. Solana remembers asking for a drink, but she doesn’t remember much after that. Glimpses. An almost sympathetic look from Roman. His arms around her. Him holding her.

It makes for a confusing story she doesn’t really have the wherewithal to deal with. She instead reaches over and swallows the Aspirin. 

And she goes right back to sleep.

________

Roman finds himself completely bypassing his office, clearing his schedule, and moving his phone’s status to Do Not Disturb.

He’s not in the mood to deal with any of that shit today. At least not for a couple more hours. He needs to make sure Solana is situated first. 

Thinking about her resurfaces his earlier level of anger at how the meeting with the Elders ended.

“What of the girl?”

This was the part of the hour meeting that caught his attention the most. Everything else was trivial and, in his opinion, a waste of time. But, it’s when Elder Aleki brings up Solana that Roman’s focus is recentered.

“What about her?”

He’s not stupid. Far from it. Roman knows exactly where this is headed. It was partially expected. What he didn’t expect was the anger that’s already brewing at just how Solana was referred to as ‘the girl.’

Aleki is bold with his questioning, jumping straight to the point. “Is she still not pregnant yet? It’s been almost four months.”

Roman’s jaw clenches, and he finds himself squeezing the armrest of his chair as he does his best to keep his voice somewhat subdued. “I’m aware of how long it’s been.”

Another elder, Sione, decides to join in on this conversation that Roman is about to shut down in less than a minute. “Perhaps she should have another medical evaluation. By one of our doctors—”

“The hell she will.”

Rikishi shoots Roman a warning look, quietly, muttering an equally pleading, “language, Uce.”

Roman straight up ignores him. Rikishi still adheres to those outdated traditions that just because someone has more years on this earth than you that they automatically deserve respect. Fuck that. Roman gives respect when it’s earned, and Aleki and Sione have been on his shit list for years.

He’ll never forgive them for their behavior after the death of his family, their questioning of Roman’s birthright to the throne.

Aleki releases a heavy sigh, and Roman has to restrain himself from not bashing the old man’s head into the table. “All we’re saying is if she is incapable of producing a child to continue the Bloodline, then we have no use for her and should seek to find you a better—”

That’s when Roman has enough. To suggest Solana be examined again. which would no doubt be triggering as fuck for her, is one thing. But, it’s an entirely different thing for them to have the unmitigated gall to suggest he get rid of her.

Over his dead fucking body.

Roman shoots up from the chair. “My wife isn’t going anywhere nor is anyone at this fucking table going to make her do shit.”

Rikishi shoots more than just his subtle warning this time around. “Roman, please—”

Roman’s not trying to hear that shit from him, though. He’s not trying to hear shit from anyone. 

“Our marriage is nobody’s fucking business but our own. That includes when she gets pregnant. We’ll share it when we want to.”

Truthfully speaking, this isn’t something Roman has thought much about, an intentional thing. The fact that the marriage was originally and solely arranged so that she could give him an heir is irrelevant to him right now, regardless of what they think.

That’s not a priority. 

“You may be the Elders, but I sit at the head of the table.” The Bloodline has always been successful and profitable, but it’s no doubt exceeded any and all records and expectations since Roman became the head. That’s an indisputable fact. “Don’t fucking forget who made this table what it is today.”

The ending of the meeting is still playing in the back of his head like a bad song on repeat. If not for his semi level of respect and acknowledgement of their standing as Elders, he would have put a bullet in their heads the minute that disrespectful shit started leaving their mouths.

In no fucking universe is anyone taking Solana from him. He doesn’t give a flying fuck whatever the original reason was for their marriage. She’s his now, and nothing is changing that. 

Roman makes active efforts to calm himself before walking back into the house. After last night, the last thing she needs is to be unintentionally triggered. 

He finds her on the sofa, writing in her journal, Dulce right beside her sleeping peacefully without a care in the fucking world. Roman halfway expected her to be out back on the patio, a seemingly favorite spot of hers.

But the sunlight would no doubt exacerbate the remnants of her hangover he’s certain she’s still battling, so it makes sense she’s indoors. It’s when she looks up, noticing his presence that Roman also realizes she’s still only wearing his shirt. 

For some strange reason, he likes that. Likes seeing her in his clothes.

“Hey…”

“Hey.” Roman sits on the sofa opposite from her. He takes her in, watching her set her journal to the side and as he notices her hair is pulled up. “How you feeling?”

She shrugs, making a face that suggests some level of discomfort. “My head still kinda hurts, but I guess—that’s to be expected.” He starts to ask her if she’s drunk enough water, recognizing the importance of staying hydrated a night after heavy drinking, but she’s suddenly pleading with him almost. “Please don’t be upset with Bayley and Naomi. It’s not their fault.”

To be fair, he hadn’t thought about them until now. “They were supposed to watch you.”

“They did. I—I got back fine.” She seems almost worried for them, for their safety. He would never actually kill either woman. He’ll just probably never trust them to take Solana out again in life. But no murder would actually happen. Still, it’s the part where Solana says she got back fine that irks him. He does his best to mask that irritation though. 

“You weren’t fine last night, Solana.” She was far from it, more emotional than he’s seen her in some time, if ever. 

Her shoulders drop, almost in shame. “I don’t—I don’t remember much of it.”

He’s thankful for that. For the both of them. “You were upset.” It’s not a lie nor is it specific. It’s just the truth. 

She then asks with almost hesitant curiosity. “W–what did I say?”

Roman shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He doesn’t like being dismissive towards her, doesn’t like being dishonest, something he swore he wouldn’t do. But, she was an emotional wreck last night, and the last thing he wants is for her to go through all of those emotions yet again.

He doesn’t like seeing her upset.

But then she looks at him, studying him almost, a sad, almost tearful chuckle leaving her mouth. He watches as she brings her legs up to her chest and rests her chin against her knees. She asks, volume barely over a whisper, “I told you last night, didn’t I?” Roman realizes it’s less a question and more a heavy realization. “That—that I was raped. Didn’t I?”

It’s a bit of a lose–lose situation. Either he tells her no and risks her feeling bad for sharing something she didn’t have to or he confirms what she already knows and still feels not great.

They’re both shitty options, but he ultimately goes the route of honesty. “Yes.”

“It’s weird. I—” She looks away, eyes shutting for a minute before she unexpectedly explains, “I’ve been—I’ve been working out of this book for people who were…assaulted like me, and I’m–at the part where its recommended I tell at least one person because—because it’s not healthy to keep it to myself.” 

Roman knows exactly what book she’s talking about. It was the key that led to him figuring out just what happened to her. That still fucks with him. Still makes him fill with silent rage at her piece of shit family letting that happen to her. 

“You’re now the first person I’ve ever told.” Roman hates that even more.. Hates that someone like him is who she ended up breaking her silence with. He wishes it was either Bayley or Naomi. They’re much better at this sort of thing. The feelings thing. “I don’t—I don’t like talking about it.”

“You don’t have to.” He isn’t sure he’d be able to control his anger hearing details, hearing anything about it to be honest, not coming from her. His rage would be intractable. 

She nods, almost appreciatively. “That's why sex is—it’s hard for me.” He fully understands that, and a small part of him hates how he tried to initiate that with her on their wedding night. He figured her nerves were because of her naturally anxious personality. Never once did it cross his mind that it was because of something much darker. “And it’s not—it’s not like I don’t think about it sometimes, about being close to someone like that, I do.” This piece does surprise him, but he works hard not to think too much about it right now. He wants to be in this moment with her. “ I—I have. But, every time I try, I just—I get flashbacks, and I can’t.” She ends on an almost whisper, Roman’s stomach tightening as she quickly wipes at a tear. 

He doesn’t like seeing her cry. 

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Solana.” Not him or anyone else, for that matter. 

She doesn’t say anything for a good minute before asking, “what happens now?”

That’s a great fucking question, and he almost has the same towards a lot of things. He’s curious though what she’s specifically referring to. “What do you mean?”

Solana seems almost frightened as she asks, “are you—are you gonna send me back to my father?” 

Yeah, he could have never in a million years guessed that. “Why would you ever think I would do that?”

And he suddenly hates asking, hates seeing the way the emotion builds back up. “I’m not—not a virgin, and—” Her eyes close, her grip around her legs tightening. “You….you only married me because—”

“I don’t care about that.” This is his second time today having to face some level of this discussion, but this round is significantly gentler. Roman does his best to illustrate the conviction in his voice while also being mindful of her emotions. “What do you want, Solana?”

He has no idea what she’s going to say, but he does know for a fact he would never send her back to that hellhole. It would be like sending her to her own death. 

She seems to really think about his question, think about something he’s certain she’s never had a lot of. 

Options. 

Finally, after what feels like hours, she answers. “I want to stay here.” Roman’s unsure why he feels a small sense of relief at her answer, like anything other than that would have made him uncomfortable or upset. Solana wets her lips, continuing, “I like—I like living here.” And in an even smaller voice, she adds, “I like being with you.”

He doesn’t say anything, and neither does she. Roman is certain it’s because they’re both trying to process and register what this may mean, what this new piece of information means for them moving forward. 

Roman sits forward and motions with his index and middle finger. “Come here.”

He sees it instantly. The initial hesitation, the brief flash of fear, but it’s gone before he can offer reassurance. Solana lowers her legs and walks over to him, Dulce remaining sleeping and unmoving. Not once does Roman remove his gaze from her as he takes her hand, giving a gentle tug to guide her down on the sofa next to him. He slides his arm behind her, holding her body against him, his tattooed forearm across her stomach.

Roman watches the way her eyes close, recognizes that she’s trying to manage her emotions. He sees the little nod she gives herself, as if assuring herself that she’s safe. And he swears he sees her mouth as such.

Mouth the word ‘safe.’

Solana moves her hands to his forearm, as if holding onto him for some sense of comfort. 

He does his best to reassure her. “Relax…”And it seems to do something to help her, offering such a simple yet strong form of solace. “I’d never send you back there. Ever.” And that’s a fucking promise. “You’ll stay here. With me.”

“I’m—” Her voice is less emotional than before. It’s still there, but he can tell it's waning with each second that passes, her comfort level growing. “I’m supposed to give you an heir. What if—what if people start—”

“I’ll take care of it.” And he will. He already started with the Elders earlier today, but she doesn’t need to know that. 

She angles her head up to look at him. “But—” 

Roman brings his hand to her face, gently palming her cheek. “I’ll take care of it.” He moves his thumb over the apple of her cheek and part of her scar. “Alright?”

Solana nods with her acknowledgement but says nothing else as she lays back against him. He notices the absence of tension and discomfort. She’s fully relaxed against him, and Roman acts more out of instinct than anything as he presses lips against her temple for a brief kiss, still mindful of her comfort level. “I’ve got you…”

Everything happening in the past few minutes has been both unexpected and confusing, but there’s nothing confusing about the way Solana suddenly turns her body into him, laying her head on his chest. He watches her eyes close, signifying another layer of fear being peeled back. 

He sits there for who knows how long with her, holding her, noticing the slight rise and fall of her body against his, a sign that she’s fallen asleep. He lets her sleep, lets her rest, lets her stay close to him, under him, with him.

Roman thinks back on his question to her about what she wanted. He’s not sure what he would have said if she said she wanted to leave, because the truth of the matter is that Roman’s starting to think that he couldn’t let her go.

That he can’t.

Even if she wanted to leave. 

[eeunoia]

ENHYPEN Series

sinag | psh.

chapter thirteen

pairings: park sunghoon x reader

synopsis: waiting for a great plot twist in your life, the ruthless and powerful mafia boss park sunghoon forced his way in to it.

word count: 3k

warnings: contains harrassment, violence, guns, killings, abuse, obsessive love & other stuff. if you can't take this stuff, feel free to scroll away. let me know if i missed some. (please be responsible and avoid fics that contains warnings that can trigger you.)

note: reblogs and replies are highly encouraged. i truly appreciate your messages to me. it keeps me going. please leave comments and tags when you reblog! thank you so much, stay safe and ily!

eeunoia 2025 © all rights reserved.

Your eyes stings from crying too much. What happened last night kept lingering back in your mind. How Sunghoon just shot that poor man dead with no mercy. You couldn’t help but to blame yourself. It was you who asked for his help.

Sunghoon was inside your room while you pretend to be asleep. It was mid night when you heard the faint sound of the room’s door opening. Fear instantly took over you and decided to just act like as if you are fast asleep.

He was silent. It was pretty hard to tell if he’s still inside the room since his movements are very quiet. It took him a few minutes before he approach your bed and pull your sheets up to your shoulder. He didn’t do anything else, just that.

After he left, the terrifying scene haunted you 'til morning. It was impossible to fall asleep as it only takes you back to what happened back at the restaurant. The face of that poor man breaks your heart. The way his eyes flashes fear and slowly drains out of life.

You shut your eyes and rests your head on your knees, tears once again streaming down your face.

The door then suddenly bursted open making you jump on your place, pulling you back to reality. You scooted closer to the bed’s headboard when you realize that it was Sunghoon. He’s wearing his white polo, eyes looking dead cold.

“G-Get out!” you screamed right at him.

He’s not surprised. Sunghoon expected this type of behavior from you. He knew that what you just witnessed was probably too much for you. His sweet angel... You’re surely ain’t prepared for that one.

He’ll be honest, he felt a pinch of regret from what he did. Not because he felt bad for killing that man, but because it terrified you. He can’t help but to blame that old man for being too nosy and laying his hands on you. How dare him?

He kept silent, doesn’t really want to make the situation worst of to terrify you even more. He sighs and signalled something to his men.

Your eyes looked wary, attented on what’s about to happen.

A maid then entered holding a tray of food. Your eyes trailed back to Sunghoon and he’s still staring right at you. He doesn’t seem bothered or even regretful of anything. It makes you wonder how evil this guy is. To actually not feel anything after just ending someone’s life is alarming.

“Eat your breakfast. I’ll be leaving for work.” he says. You remained silent and just kept your shooting glares at him.

“Don’t even think of trying to escape since this mansion is full of security.” he warned.

Your jaw clenched, “Or else what? You’re going to kill me too?” your sarcasm filled every words.

Sunghoon kept his stares and then tilted his head over to the side. He scoffed with no humor that sent instant chills down your spine.

“You know I’ll never hurt you.”

He said it with so much sincerity, but after what you just witnessed last night, the fear for your life is your main concern.

Sunghoon wanted to approach and kiss you, but he thought it may be too much for now so he just left the room.

The moment he stepped out from the same room you finally started breathing properly. Whenever he’s around, your chest feels heavy and fear just takes the most of you.

“Miss, you should have your breakfast.” the lady that entered holding your food caught your attention.

The tension from a while ago is too much to bear that you even forgot that she’s still here. You glanced at the food and can’t find the appetite to eat.

“I don’t want to.” you glanced away and just stared blankly outside the big windows of the room. The weather looked fine and if its normal days, you would’ve want to be outside and walk around. But your heart felt heavy, eyes starting to burn once again.

—

“You what?!” Jake’s frantic voice filled the room after hearing what just happened.

“So it was you last night...” Heeseung’s smirking while reaching for the cup of coffee that Sunghoon’s secretary just prepared for them.

“Last night? What’s up last night?” some of their eyes darted at the door when Jay entered. As usual, he was running late.

“Sunghoon hyung went crazy and shoot someone dead.” Sunoo says and sighs. He’s not totally surprised about it, just a little disappointed.

Jay scoffs as he takes his sit, “What’s new with Sunghoon going crazy?”

Jungwon shakes his head with a small smirk on his lips, “How is she? I’m sure she didn’t took that well.”

Sunghoon sighs and throws his head back before shutting his eyes close. He already knew that, but now that his friends are rubbing it to his face makes him feel a bit dumb for his actions.

“Dude, Aelia’s life is very different from ours. Its not normal for her to see guns and all these. You have to take it easy.” Jake says, trying to lecture his friend.

“Jake’s right, Sunghoon. It took a while before Bri even got used to it.” Heeseung added.

“Wait wait wait...” Jay stood beside the chair he was suppose to occupy. He glanced over his friends then continued talking.

“You mean Sunghoon did all that in front of that girl?” he asks, trying to confirm the issue.

Jake rolls his eyes. “That’s what you get for being late.” he commented silently that Jay ignored.

“She has a name and its Aelia.” Sunghoon spat like its the most important thing that needs to be addressed.

Jay chuckles, a little bit amused. He’s the only one who seemed to be enjoying what he just heard.

“You just found her and already scaring the shit out of her? Man, that sucks.” Jay commented that made Sunghoon glare at him.

“I know I fucked up. What do I have to do?” he asks clicking his tongue.

Jake can’t help but to purse his lip and take time to sink in what he just heard from his friend. Is he really asking for advice? That’s not so him.

Usually Sunghoon will not even give a damn for an adivise. He will just carry on to what he thinks is best to do at the situation.

“Give her time, hyung.” Jungwon.

“You know I’m impatient.” Sunghoon throws right away, fingers tapping nonstop on the table.

“You managed to wait for her for years without being sure that she actually exist. It won’t hurt to wait for her now.” Jake.

The other guys agrees with him and even tells Sunghoon to calm down. They know their friend too well. If he doesn’t get what he wants, he gets reckless. That’s the last thing he will want to do at this situation.

He remains silent, but his breathing were heavy. Heeseung smiles and rest his cup on the table. “I know you’re probably feeling so excited now that you’ve found her, Hoon. Don’t let this overwhelming feelings be the reason for you to lose her.” his words strung deep inside Sunghoon.

He was silent. Just letting his friends advices sink deep to his system. He’s not really the type to listen from other people, but they are his friends. If there are people who knew him the best, it would be them.

Also this is the first time he will deal with someone he actually wants to keep in his life other than his friends so he really needs their help. All he’s good at is scaring people out and getting rid of them, but he doesn’t want to do any of that with you.

He nods his head as an answer and to let them know he understands. Jake smiles then clap his shoulder once before diverting the topic into something else. Despite the start of another conversation, Sunghoon’s thoughts are all filled with you.

—

“Miss...” your eyes drifted over the two maids that walked inside your room.

The look of concern over their faces are evident. Its been a whole day and you’ve declined eating any food. They are worried and at the same time scared of what the consequences may be, not for you but for them.

“You have to eat. Mr. Park strictly told us not to starve you.” desperation leaks through her tone. One familiar emotion flashes through her eyes. Fear. Is that how everyone around Sunghoon looked? Scared?

“Do you want anything? Any food you want perhaps?” one even encourages.

You pursed your lips. “I w-want to go home.” you mumbled so lowly, enough for them to hear.

The two maids exchanged glances. They do feel bad. Looking at your state, they feel bad. They wanted to help, but what can they do? They cannot risk their own life to save yours.

“I’m afraid w-we can’t grant that, Miss.”

Of course they can’t. You gulped and teared your gaze off of them. Why did you even say those words? Obviously these people are in no position to help you in any way. Well, they can try but that will cost them their life.

You should’ve learned already. What happened last night should not happen ever again. It was so cruel and traumatizing. You can’t afford having somebody else' life gone because of you.

An alarm blaze from outside the mansion and spending a few days here already familiarize you of what it means. Their heads whipped at the direction of your window faced in front of the mansion.

The color on their faces drained as you hear the faint sound of the main gate opening.

“It’s the boss.” one mumbles while her fingers visibly shaking.

Your heart swells, feeling totally guilty that they will be punished because of you.

“Just tell him that I’m the one who refused to eat.” was what you blurted, making them look at your direction.

They don’t seem amused or relaxed of what they heard from you. Its like it won’t solve anything. Who are you fooling? You are as powerless as them.

“W-What will we do? We’re in big trouble.” she panics, the younger one. Her eyes shakes and visibly tremble.

Her eyes darted at you and for a split second you saw how it glared at you. You gulped, feeling so bad now that they will definitely shoulder your stubborness.

“I’m s-sorry.”

The older one pursed her lips and remained silent, though you can still see that she’s as scared as her. The one beside her clenched her fists and opens her mouth, about to say something when the door bursts open.

You jolted and hugged your knees in a balled position once again. Eyes fixed at the entrance waiting for him to walk inside. Two men entered first and then Sunghoon.

The two maids bows their heads looking very terrified. Despite the fear from this gorgeous man, you’ve had the urge to stand up for them. It was you who refused to eat so there’s no reason for another person to shoulder it once again.

His eyes are darted at you, cold and hard to read. No words came out from his mouth, but instead his eyes moved over to the tray of untouched foods.

Terror flickers through the maid’s eyes.

“W-We tried to make her eat, Mr. Park.” the younger one already said it even before he can ask something.

His eyes moved towards her and they were terrifying for her. Colour drains off of her face as she grew paler, head lowering while fidgeting over her trembling hands.

“I’m t-the one who refused to eat! Don’t take it against them.”

You are afraid of him. That’s not even enough to describe what you feel towards the gorgeous man in front of your bed. Great. He’s so evil and yet you still manage to call him gorgeous. You’re really going insane because of him.

Sunghoon glanced at you and contemplates. His friends' words of advice flashing through his mind for a moment before he tries his best to calm down. They are all right. He should take it slow. If he wanted you to keep you, he needs you to slowly absorb this lifestyle. Its a lot, but he won’t give you any other choice.

“Alright.” he says shortly.

The two maids raised their heads in surprise. Did they really heard their boss obey somebody?

On the other hand, even if you’re caught off guard that he really did listened to you, it didn’t made you fear him less. He’s still the man who just randomly gunned someone down last night.

Sunghoon then instruct them to leave and give you two some privacy. As they disappear one by one, you panicked. The last thing you want is to be left alone with him.

Words didn’t come out from your lips. They were sealed shut as you try to stop them from shaking. Your eyes left the door after the last bodyguard closes it and then your gaze diverted towards Sunghoon.

His intimidating eyes are watching you already.

“Why didn’t you eat your food?” he asks, tone sounding strict.

You refused to talk and felt your eyes slowly watering.

Realizing that you ain’t going to respond to him, he strains a heavy sigh.

“Its useless to be stubborn, Aelia. You are stuck here with me.” his eyes pierced right through you, letting you know that nothing will ever change that.

“So you either start accepting your fate or test my patience and see where things can go.” it was surely a threat. He said it so calmly, but you felt threatened.

“I don’t w-want any of these! I want you to let me go! I want to go back to my family! I want to see my parents! I want to go back to my normal life! I want to go home!” you screamed at him, tears streaming down your face.

Sunghoon clenched his jaw. The fact that you’re rejecting him and thinking that you can get away from him pisses the hell out of him. Why would you think he will ever let you go? Never.

Regardless, he pulls his shit together and decided that he needs to leave you be for tonight. He doesn’t want to lose his patience and cause you more damage.

“This is your home.” he says with a stern and cold voice.

He stared at you for a while before he turns his back to leave you be for tonight. You burst into tears as you hugged yourself that night.

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[silantryoo]

baek harin x reader

WARNINGS ; TRIGGER WARNING! heavy manipulation, love bombing, possessiveness, gaslighting, physical and emotional abuse, spoilers up to episode 8 of pyramid game

your thoughts ran wild.

harin probably already knew. somehow, she always figured out what you were thinking, as if you were an open book. she could tell your worries and your fears by glancing at you.

you did well. you knew that she would be proud of you, but still...

you shook your head. now wasn't the time to be nervous.

smoke wafted around the baekyeon heiress as you approached her, her eyes drifting in the distance. in her hand, a cigarette, laced with gold and stuffed with toxins that harin always seemed to indulge herself in.

her head tilted towards you, a dull sparkle in her eye.

"so?"

her voice was monotone, carrying out a sense of boredom that she only showed to a few others.

you watched her in all her beauty, the curls of the fog shaping the area around her. the heiress was stunning, and it always took you a couple seconds to reel yourself back to reality.

harin rolled her eyes as she approached you, tapping the side of her smoke as a warning.

instinctively, you straightened, your eyes wide as she smiled.

there was something so addictive about frightening you, something that was true genuine fear laced with an undying loyalty. you were impossible to replicate, a faithful dog waiting by her bedside.

you took a deep breath, inhaling the smoke through your nose. "i got ambushed by jaeun, suji, and them."

"i thought so." another puff of smoke exited her mouth. "did they mention anything?"

anything else?

you bit your tongue, your face ridden with guilt.

you were tired of the game, tired of getting hurt. as much as you yearned for harin's happiness, the exhaustion was getting to you. you just wanted one day to yourself, without eunbyeol and harin breathing down your back.

"no."

harin's eyes hardened, her gaze trained on you like a hawk. her pupils took in the sight; your quivering mouth, your avoidant stare...

she smiled.

"why don't i believe you?" harin clicked her tongue, pointing the end of her smoke near your cheek. "is it because you're lying to me?"

she knew. how did she know?

"no, i just..."

("join us.")

you never questioned why class 1-5 were in the middle of nowhere.

the building was nice, decorated with marble columns and sleek white paint. the washrooms were clean, close by, and rarely messy except for the occasional tissue lying on the ground.

it felt as if you were purposely isolated, the twenty-four other girls in your class being the only ones in reach.

sometimes, you even forgot other classes existed.

"harin's a fucking bitch."

you paused. kim dayeon?

a girl like her wouldn't be caught dead in the library. there was no reason for her to be here, much less talk shit about the heiress of the entire school.

you kept your mouth shut as your thoughts wandered to the girl in question.

baek harin.

pretty, intelligent, soft-spoken. from what you've seen, all those things were right. you were always too shy to approach her, your thoughts clouded by the beauty that she held. from what you heard from others, she was the embodiment of niceness, going out of her way to lend others money with nothing in return (yet).

why would dayeon even say these things about her?

"god, you think she's all high and mighty." dayeon muttered, her feet shuffling as she paced back and forth. "that psycho probably wants us to worship the ground she walks on."

psycho? baek harin wasn't a psycho.

"a hierarchy game?" dayeon could already see it in her head. she had no choice but to agree at that moment, wanting to spare herself from her father later that day, but when harin had mentioned it... "is she demented?"

"pyramid game, dayeon." seo doah. that made sense as to why dayeon was here. "if you're gonna insult it, at least name it properly."

"shut it."

"you might also wanna check if anyone else is in the library." your throat ran dry as doah stood up, staring at you across the room. "right, y/n?"

you shot up, your eyes wide as dayeon stared at you. there was something in her eyes that was unfamiliar.

fear? what was she scared of? surely, it wasn't harin.

"um..."

"fuck." your eyes widened at her words. never in your life would you have thought that the eccentric kim dayeon would swear like a sailor. "don't you dare say shit, you understand me?"

you shook your head, your body stiff. "i won't-"

"you don't know what the fuck is at risk here." dayeon's anger roared throughout the library, her fist shaking. dayeon wouldn't hit you... right? "open your mouth and i'll stitch it shut."

you nodded, trembling as you packed your things to leave.

"jeez, dayeon..." doah shook her head.

you stood up, your bag half open, and your textbooks barely inside. in your arms, you gathered everything that you could, arms shaking as you rushed out the room.

a spark of fear lighted up inside you when you saw daeyeon fingernails imbed themselves into the soft skin of her palm. the crescents swelled a bright red, and you knew that she wasn't joking.

she was gonna hurt you. was she gonna hurt harin as well?

you needed to get out of here, maybe even tell harin how insane and dangerous her friend seemed.

how was that even possible? how could someone like dayeon hold a rage inside themselves like that? you could understand it from that suck up, wooyi, but dayeon?

you stumbled slightly as you turned the corner, the books nearly falling out of your bag as you collided with someone. a strong, sculpted hand grabbed your elbow, electricity shooting up your arm.

that feeling...

"is something wrong?"

her breath smelt faintly of nicotine, her perfume - one you assumed cost at least a couple hundred dollars - blocking the scent enough to not register in your brain.

you bit your tongue. "no..."

"you can tell me, y/n-ah." your heart leaped at her words, a cloud of affection and care seemingly coating them. "i don't bite."

harin's smile seemed so soft and elegant, like the status she so desperately upheld. her eyes gleamed gently (and if you looked any closer, void of life) as her cheeks dusted in a costly blush.

don't snitch. you thought as her worried gaze peered into your soul. why should i protect dayeon?

you bit your tongue, your chest bursting with guilt at the thought of dayeon laying a finger on the heiress in front of you.

"dayeon..." you whisper as an eyebrow on her pretty face raised. "she, um, she might hurt you."

you waited for harin's face to shift into worry, into fear, into a normal reaction. you waited for her lips to part and ask 'why?', to ponder what your words truly meant.

instead, she laughed, as if the thought of dayeon hurting her was a part of some greco-roman comedy and not a tragedy.

harin let go of your arm, moving your hair out of your face as your eyebrows furrowed.

"so i'm guess you heard about my game as well?"

you nod. you had forgotten that those threats had stemmed from some game dayeon had mentioned.

a hierarchy game... a pyramid game.

"what do you think about it?" harin's eyes shone in a playful demeanor, full of curiosity and excitement. you couldn't fathom why or how she wasn't worried. "doesn't it sound fun?"

the air shifted around you as her irises seemed to blacken. a heavy burden settled on your chest as she face twitched into a smile, and you felt compelled - forced - to agree.

"it does," you chuckled awkwardly. "i guess."

a soft hum escaped her mouth, her eyes glancing at your face, taking in the fear that had shifted from dayeon to her. behind your eyes, she saw something... something exciting.

the heiress smiled.

"i hope you're in 'a' with me." you had no idea what she meant, but the thought of being near baek harin made the room spin. "it'll be lonely without you."

she stepped beside you, a gentle touch on your shoulder. her breath wafted close to your ear as she spoke with a stiff voice, one you wouldn't recognize as harin's.

"thanks for the heads up about dayeon." you shivered, a cool line shooting up your spine. "i'll deal with her."

she walked away as a deep pit in your stomach emerged.

deal with her?

you gripped your books tighter as you listened to the fading footsteps, and the soft "hello, can i speak to mr. kim? it's harin." in the distance.

you didn't know why, but somehow, you made the wrong decision.

you were never scared of blood.

it was a liquid that flowed inside you and every person's body, just like how water seeped from the sky and into the ground. blood was a natural process, nothing more and nothing less.

but when you saw that knife, drenched from your classmate's fresh wound...

you shivered at the thought, while harin's soft hands fiddled with a strand of your hair.

"do you feel bad for her?" harin's smile never disappeared, not since the game started. it didn't disappear when crimson dripped onto the floor, either. "woori?"

her lifeless eyes bore into yours, jolts of electricity and fire rising throughout your fingertips and cheeks. her hand, close enough to feel your breath, paused as the rest of harin's body stilled.

all of her stopped, as if so curious about your thoughts that each cell of hers had to still.

"you can be honest." her breath laced in nicotine once more, her perfume no longer covering the overwhelming scent. "i wanna know."

woori was an 'f'.

being an 'a' yourself, you had the right to torture her, to manipulate and ridicule her.

you never did, leaving it up to dayeon to do whatever she pleased with her. part of you still felt bad for what happened earlier in the year, and each time you blinked, you remembered the heavy-handed bruises left on dayeon's face the day after you had told harin about the library incident.

you understood woori, though. the mental toll it must've taken, being bullied throughout the day, months on end without another student looking your way. telling the teachers only resulted in a beating at best, and at worst...

your eyes clenched tightly as your brain replayed that video.

"a little..."

harin chuckled, pulling her hand away and fishing out a cigarette.

"you saw her cut jaeun up." harin muttered through her smoke, her delicate fingers wrapped around the golden band.

you remember the marble on the classroom floor stained red in a way that you didn't think it would.

blood wasn't scary. fear was.

"i did."

"and you still feel bad." harin inhaled, smoke leaving her nostrils as she looked you up and down. "interesting..."

as of late, harin had been smoking around you more and more often. whether it be behind the shed or simply just the two of you in the library, clouds of smoke seemed to follow her, and in turn, you.

the first time it had happened, you had coughed violently, taken off guard as the heiress smiled. your tears were exciting to her, much like your overwhelming sense of loyalty clashing with your morality.

she had never met anyone who was so inwardly conflicted.

"did she really drop out, harin-ah?"

harin blinked, standing up from her chair as she snubbed the end of her cig on some random book cover in front of her. she threw the smoke onto the floor, grinding it with her heel. her eyes were cold, and dark, and you knew that you had messed up again.

you didn't cough this time around. she had no reason to be mad.

the heiress gathered her belongings, sparing not a single glance your way.

"y/n?"

your heart skipped a beat.

"yeah?"

"my name's harin." she glanced at you, unamused. "don't call me that again."

seong suji.

the girl was nice, a little naive to the happenings of class 2-5. you could tell from a mile away that the girl wanted to stay low and let time pass its course, but you knew better than anyone that she had a target on her back.

everyone's attention had been on her from the moment whispers spread about a new girl transferring into the class. the moment she stepped into the room, you watched as harin's eyes lit up, and a fire blazed inside you.

you didn't know whether it was guilt or jealousy.

"are you stupid?" harin clenched her teeth as she hovered over you, her eyes hardening like coals under pressure. "telling the new girl about my game?"

suji didn't hear the predators hiding in the tall grass. she didn't see their eyes, nor did she notice their bloodlust-filled gazes, but she felt it, and there were only two people in her mind who seemed to lack the barbarity that lingered in the empty halls of the complex.

"look at me!"

your eyes snapped to harin's, anger exuding from her lips as puffs of smoke filled the air and ashes fell onto the ground.

you winced.

"harin..." you had never seen this side of her, not directed at you. you had always watched from the distance as opposed to being the target. "i just thought-"

"did you?" harin's lips curled in a way that could only be described as disbelief, your utter incompetence boggling her mind. "or are you just as stupid as your dropout brother?"

you winced, the low blow winding your self-esteem.

"she looked confused." you tried your best to reason with an iron wall. "i didn't want her to feel like-"

harin's eyes widened, and her usual curiosity morphed into an unfiltered rage.

"like who? woori? jaeun?" she exhaled another cloud, your face getting covered in smoke as you struggled to breath. "you're so fucking stupid."

you felt the heiress lean closer, the tip of the cigarette centimeters away from your cheek.

"i'm sorry."

"you're sorry?" harin could feel her blood boiling. everything was ruined. "i had a plan. you ruined it for me. you ruined my game, y/n."

you closed your eyes, trying to drown out the sharp words and the blanket of burden that harin enveloped you with.

you just wished harin would go back to being curious and playful, and leave you ignorant to the fact that deep down, she was the monster dayeon had implied many months ago.

with a weak voice, you tried to reason. "i didn't mean to..."

"you didn't-" harin backed away, ripping the smoke from her lips and into her fingertips. "give me your hand."

your eyes widened.

"harin-"

she grabbed your wrist with a surprising amount of strength. her nails dug into your arm, your teeth grinding together at the dull pain. the heat of the cigarette hovered over your palm as you struggled to pull back, and you couldn't help but choke out a strangled gasp.

"harin, wait-"

the smell of flesh burning invaded your senses as your arm shook from the pain. lightning seemed to replace your veins, as a fire replaced your blood. your vision fuzzed, the tears in your eyes falling down your chin.

harin glanced at you, a small smile replacing her grimace. you were always so pretty when you were in pain.

"remember this." she threw her smoke onto the ground, her grip on your wrist tightening. "you mess with my game, you upset me. you don't want that to happen again, do you?"

the last thing you wanted was to see harin frown in your direction.

"no."

harin smiled, glancing at how your lips quivered and how your eyes held an intoxicating mixture of fear and want. quietly, she wiped a tear with her free hand, chuckling as you flinched at her touch.

"then stay away from seong suji." she leaned in, her voice soft except for the threatening undertone. "if i see you even look at her without my permission, i'll make your life hell."

her grip loosened, harin's eyes softening as she looked at you with what seemed to be worry and understanding.

"i..." you blinked, agreeing like an obedient dog. even now, you couldn't help but wonder which harin was the real harin, but all you knew was that you didn't want to disappoint her. "i understand."

harin sighed, glancing at the burn in your hand with contempt. "i don't like doing this to you."

you paused, your face brightening as the smell of tobacco stuck to your blazer.

"you don't?"

harin smiled. it was like catching a mouse in a well placed trap. you were predictable and easy to please. a couple right words and you'd be under her spell all over again.

"you think i do?" the heiress frowned, biting her tongue.

she loved it.

"no..."

with a giggle, she took your wrist, much more gently than before.

"let's get you patched up."

harin liked putting on lipgloss around you.

she liked the way your eyes darted to her mouth for a split second before they looked anywhere else in the room. the redness of your cheeks delighted her in the sense that she knew that no matter what, you'd be stuck under her thumb.

you were her stupid, little puppet. your strings strong and unwavering, and your heart tainted with a loved one that you thought she didn't see.

it was adorable, like a puppy chasing its own tail, or a whale, no longer strong enough to go up for air.

harin liked to send you on mindless errands.

it was a good way to keep you in check, much better than instilling fear. she could sense that someone like you liked to feel needed, even if it's something as simple as fetching her more of her favorite brand of smokes or picking up items that she used for bribery.

it gave her a good laugh when you would come back, beaming as if you accomplished something when in reality, one of her maids could have easily done the same.

you were none the wiser, currently on your way to getting her more coffee (well, to get doah coffee per harin's demand).

you were just about to leave the campus, but a strong yet gentle hand yanked you aside, dragging you out of sight from the windows of the complex.

"sorry, y/n-ah."

you tried to shake her off, but she was too strong.

"jaeun, let go." why was she doing this? more importantly, why was she taking you to the nearby convenience store. "i can't be talking to you. you know that."

jaeun stopped, and you thought that she had finally gotten tired of you complaining so much. instead, you looked at the scene in front of you, two girls sitting in the shade of a foldable umbrella.

harin was gonna burn you alive.

"harin's pet?" jaehyeong shook her head, staring at the taller girl beside you. "jaeun-ie, are you sick? do you have a fever?"

you frowned. you weren't 'harin's pet'. so what if you liked being around her?

"she's nice." jaeun muttered, ushering you to the other girls. you tried to turn away, but she moved you in such a way that you couldn't escape. "she helped suji out."

"that was a mistake."

suji raised an eyebrow. she didn't know what was wrong with you. how could someone change so much in a matter of two months?

her eyes wandered your figure, stopping at the burns that littered your right hand.

oh. that makes sense.

"hey, y/n-ah."

"yerim?" you turned around, your jaw hanging open as the trainee sat with the girls, sipping on a can of coffee. you glanced at her phone, watching as she scrolled through eunjeong's instagram. "what the hell is going on?"

you looked around, their eyes glancing at suji with hesitation.

"you're not gonna convince her, suji." yerim shook her head.

being in rank 'a' herself, she knew firsthand how you followed every word harin said. she could tell from a mile away what it was, yerim herself victim to the feeling with a certain swimmer.

but there was a difference between the two of you, one that could prove to be detrimental.

you needed someone to follow, while she didn't.

"i can." suji glanced at your hand again. "i know i can."

"convince me?"

you felt a lump in your throat, praying that somehow, in some way, harin would come barging in and save you from whatever was going on here.

you took a deep breath, and sensing danger was near, gripped your wrist for safety.

jaeun frowned.

"i was serious about bringing down the game, y/n."

the pyramid game.

that stupid game that harin focused all her energy into, hellbent on keeping the perfect hierarchy intact. the one where you watched your classmates get beaten to a pulp, bloody and broken to the point of mental disarray.

you had never spoken it out loud, but you were tired of it, watching everyone you know either do the hurting or get hurt (most times both).

but this was harin's game, and you'd rather hurt yourself than upset the girl you loved.

"harin'll be pissed."

yerim chuckled, a knowing smile on her face. she didn't expect anything less from you.

"aren't you?" suji glanced at your hand, one you held for dear life, as if you were afraid it would get burned again. "after everything you've done for her, she still burns you."

you frowned.

harin did it with good reason. she needed to keep you in line, to keep you from lashing out. she did this to you because, unlike wooyi or dayeon, she trusted you enough to understand.

harin did it out of the pureness of her heart.

"that was an accident."

"an accident?" suji could feel your doubt starting to seep through. that was enough for her, to see the light beyond the cracks of your love. "hurting you multiple times the same way was an accident?"

was it an accident? it had to be, otherwise, harin was just hurting you to hurt you.

you shook the thought out of your head, missing the way the girls looked at each other, satisfied.

"what do you want, seong suji?"

there was a beat in the air.

"join us."

she knew. how did she know?

"no, i just..."

you liked harin, even when she suffocated you with her smoke, staining your white shirt with the ash of her cigarettes. her eyes wandered yours routinely, and it felt as if she was trying to dig deep as if she needed you.

"i figured out a way to get to them."

harin's eyes sparkled. she would have never thought that you, docile and timid, would ever think of something other than her and school.

it was... exhilarating.

"sim eunjeong." you rattled out a breath, your eyes clenching at the very thought of what you were doing. "yerim... likes her more than we think."

the heiress laughed, the excitement in her chest bursting at the thought of you ignoring your morals just to please her and only her.

she leaned close to you, her face in front of yours as she moved a single lock of hair behind your ear. shivers ran up your spine.

"do you feel bad, y/n-ah?" harin hadn't felt this happy in a while. "ratting them out to me must be so heavy on your consciousness."

she looked you up and down, your eyes avoiding hers. your cheeks were tinged in red, and the guilt written all over your face didn't help the giddiness that was starting to overtake her.

"you're fun, y/n."

you'd do anything for her, even when she hurt you. even when everyone screamed and yelled at you to leave, ignoring the bright red stop signs.

"i like you."

> main masterlist.

[petpippin]

yandere souya kawata ?

𖤛 twin flame ── angry + smiley

cw: allusions to violence / general yandere themes

a/n: sorry for being gone for so long :/ i was literally flushed down the toilet true story

souya 'angry' kawata: overprotective + guilty

- in spite of his menacing appearance, the constant, unintended scowl souya sports, the stifling glare, he really is quite mild-mannered; conflict avoidant, even.

- he doesn't want to scare you, prefers to simply observe from afar, but souya's daunting mien makes that nigh impossible, as does his twin, nahoya, a pervasive presence in his own right.

- you find him off-putting, souya can tell; as do your friends, who soon seem to dwindle, not wanting to potentially trigger the blue ogre's ire.

- souya is wracked with, more than any other emotion, an overwhelming sense of remorse. he hates to bother, really, but he'd hate it even more, if something were to happen to you, and he wouldn't be around to prevent it.

- he's not dangerous, as much as he is careful. while souya might never leave you alone, he won't harm you, won't touch as much as a hair on your head; and you soon come to find out, that there's someone else entirely, you should be fearing.

- while souya is comparatively harmless, his gum-glued brother, nahoya, is not. he might not harm you directly, but with enough intimidation, underhanded threats, you learn to watch yourself around his precious baby brother.

nahoya 'smiley' kawata: possessive + self-indulgent (w. clingy traits)

- always smiling, nahoya's seemingly friendly appearance does little to disarm you. not unlike the cheshire cat, he'll stand out in every crowd, a constant presence in your life.

- unlike his brother, however, nahoya refuses to stay in the shadows for long. he's impatient, wanting you, and wanting you now.

- he'll hound you into giving him what he wants, won't say please. nahoya quickly makes himself comfortable in your life, disregarding your protests, dare you voice them.

- of course, nahoya isn't all bad. while those scary-looking gang members, that sometimes follow you down the street, certainly aren't afraid of you, they'll back off when nahoya threatens, promises to kill their leader.

- he's fun, too; you certainly won't just be sitting around with him by your side, always looking for some chaos, a fight to pick.

- i'd advise you be careful, however, that nahoya won't have a reason to start something with you, out of everyone, because it certainly won't be ending pretty. for you, that is.

[tipsynight0]

In the stillness of fear

Parings - eyeless jack x female reader

Word count - 1.1k

TRIGGER WARNINGS - ocd, intrusive thoughts, self harm behaviors, fear of death, mentions of blood.

Summary - jack is helping y/n who struggles with ocd.

Author's note - this is a therapeutic post, that's pretty much it.

Cleaning supplies, alcohol, the click of locked doors checked over and over—these weren’t just routines. They were rituals, her only means of holding chaos at bay. Y/N’s nights were plagued by an obsessive vigilance that made it impossible to sleep; lying there, she’d stare at the ceiling with her heart pounding, every muscle taut and rigid. Even if her eyes burned with exhaustion, a darker fear rooted her in place: if she closed her eyes for too long, what if she never opened them again? The thought wrapped around her chest like a vice, tightening with every second she lay in bed, her head throbbing with an unyielding urge to act. What if I die in my sleep? The question would claw its way through her mind, growing louder until it was the only thing she could hear.

It started when she was young. Y/N couldn’t remember a time when she felt carefree or unworried, like the other kids seemed to. She felt defective, haunted by thoughts that seemed foreign but relentless, like invaders in her mind. While other kids played, laughed, and moved easily through life, Y/N was bound by an invisible tether, trapped in a world of constant checking, counting, and cleaning, every action a bid to avoid an unseen catastrophe. She was different, and she knew it. Isolated in her own head, she wrestled with a terrible, suffocating sense of being the only one. Was she crazy? She couldn’t say. All she knew was that these thoughts felt like a rope around her neck, tightening each time she failed to complete her routines.

Check the door again. It was a voice that demanded obedience, cold and unrelenting. Make sure the windows are locked. She’d do it a hundred times if she had to, pressing on each door, rattling every knob, her breath catching until she was certain they were secure. But even then, her mind whispered dark possibilities. What if you missed something? The image of her family in danger flashed through her mind in graphic detail, and the only way to shake it was to give in—to check, once more, to repeat the ritual that had long since stolen her peace of mind.

These intrusive thoughts filled her days as much as her nights, like an endless litany of threats and images she couldn’t escape. Every glance at an object became an opportunity for anxiety: Is it clean? Is it safe? Her reflection in the mirror often looked back with hollow eyes, drained from the endless mental battles, and she felt herself sinking under the weight of it all. In her family and the world. y/n roommate Jack noticed, though he never said much. He would linger near the bathroom door, leaning against the frame, arms crossed casually as if he hadn’t been watching her. He’d sigh when she turned to the mirror, her hands bright red from scrubbing. “Either you left the sink running, or your hands are clean,” he’d murmur, his voice quiet but firm as he reached over to turn the tap off. His fingers would graze her raw knuckles, pausing just a second too long, catching on the cracks in her skin.

After that, Jack kept his eye on her in his own subtle way. Without making it obvious, he’d find moments to check in, little gestures woven into the ordinary. Sometimes, when she was lost in her thoughts, staring at her hands with a furrowed brow, he’d reach out and take them, as if he was studying something there. He’d hold her palms, his grip gentle yet grounding, and say nothing—only holding her hands with that faint frown, feeling the roughness of her skin. He’d clear his throat, mumbling something about needing her to "hold a flashlight steady," but she could tell he was checking on her, without making a big deal of it. And in those moments, it almost felt like she could breathe.

But there were nights when it was harder to shake the panic. She’d sit on the edge of her bed, rocking slightly, the words spilling out before she could stop herself. “What if my heart stops? Or… or if I suffocate, Jack? What if the bleach seeps into my skin and I die?” Her voice would shake, hands clutching at her hair, eyes wide and wild with panic, the thoughts tumbling one after another, relentless.

He’d sigh, pushing his covers aside with a quiet patience, as if he’d expected it. “(Y/N), they wouldn’t be able to sell cleaning products if they killed you. You won’t die from it.” A pause, then, with a gentler tone, “And you won’t suffocate in your sleep, either. Not unless I decide to take you out myself.” His dark humor barely masked his worry, but it was enough to ground her, his words seeping into her mind and pressing down on her spiraling fears until they were almost quiet.

The tension would fade from her face, her breaths slowing. “Thank you,” she’d whisper, her eyelids heavy, and, at last, she’d give in to sleep.

But even then, Jack would linger. He’d take up a quiet post near her bed, one hand resting on her wrist, pressing gently against her pulse as he sat silently through the night. The gentle thud of her heartbeat, the soft rhythm of her breathing—it reassured him, each beat steady proof that she was safe, that she hadn’t slipped into the dark she feared. His hand never left her wrist, even as sleep tugged at him. The weight of his worry went unspoken, a silent promise to keep her safe.

One night, exhaustion got the better of him, and he dozed off there, his back leaning against the wall, his head slumped to one side. (Y/N) woke to the faint light of dawn, her mind hazy with a lingering nightmare, and blinked in confusion, realizing she wasn’t alone. There, beside her bed, was Jack—fast asleep, his hand still wrapped around her wrist. His mask was off, his dark, messy hair falling across his forehead, his face unguarded in sleep. She could see faint creases at the corners of his eyes, a tiredness that he hid behind his mask.

For a moment, she just watched him, feeling a strange mix of confusion and calm. It was rare to see him so close, his rough edges softened, his guard down. And in that quiet moment, she realized that even if he’d never say it aloud, he was watching over her, holding her steady in a way that didn’t need words.