May 30
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the pull out game
feat. the bloodline warnings → smut and personal opinions (though feel free to argue with me in the comments) bloodline masterlist. general masterlist. taglist
Jey Uso → He could pull out, but he won’t. He wants to pump you full every time, marking you up at his. He’s possessive like that. He loves watching his come leak out of you just so he can push it back in. A little too cocky about it, talking shit about how bad you needed it (you did) and already gearing up for another round. Things got worse when he became a world champion - his arrogance is now through the roof (but you love it).
Rating: 6/10. Could pull out but refuses to. Possessive as hell and intends to make you his.
Jimmy Uso → Only pulls out because he likes making a mess. Is the definition of ‘do it for the plot’ and will sometimes stay inside just to spice things up. He’s reckless on purpose and maybe a little smug too. You know he’s always running his mouth about how much you like being pumped full of his come, laughing as you writhe and whine into the mattress from just how good it feels.
Rating: 7.5/10. Points docked for unpredictability. Will sometimes finish inside you on purpose then start joking about where the baby crib will fit in the bedroom 🙄
Roman Reigns → He’s moody and you can’t always predict what he’ll do, especially when he’s pent up and frustrated. When he gets in a mood, don’t expect him to pull out at all. For him, it’s about power and control, owning you in every way imaginable. He might even laugh meanly at you, telling you that you ‘knew the risks’ when you let him in between your legs.
Rating: 5/10. Even more unpredictable than Jimmy. Doesn’t care to pull out when he’s mad or in a mood.
Solo Sikoa → An expert. A true master of the craft. Such a gentleman and always respectful. Always knows exactly when to pull out and finish on your ass or stomach. Has a perfect record and will only come inside if you specifically ask for it.
Rating: 10/10. No notes. Always a flawless performance. His self-control is off the charts.
Sami Zayn → Such a sweetheart. He wants to treat you right, but once things start getting good he can feel his control slipping. He feels you tightening around him and spills inside without even thinking, already remorseful before he’s even finished. He won’t stop apologizing, promising he’ll do better next time (he won’t).
Rating: 3/10. Means well, but usually gets too caught up in the moment to time it right.
Jacob Fatu → This man doesn’t pull out of anything nor does he want to. You knew what you signed up for when you let him dick you down like this. He fucks you in the most animalistic ways possible, his enormous cock driving you insane as he bruises your cervix with every powerful thrust. He doesn’t care if you’re on the pill or not - he’s got a breeding kink and loves the idea of knocking you up so he can never leave you alone.
Rating: -100/10. Has never pulled out of anything in his life and doesn’t intend to start now.
Tama Tonga → He’s surprisingly good at pulling out despite yapping the entire time. You’re always nervous that he’ll forget, but the man is a pro. Even when he’s spitting the nastiest, filthiest dirty talk, he’ll still pull out just in time, smirking as he does it. He doesn’t mind finishing on your face anyways 😉
Rating: 8/10. Usually yapping so much that you’re worried he’ll forget (though he never does)
Tonga Loa → Our infamous king. What more needs to be said?
Rating: 1/10. Somehow botches every time but at least he’s apologetic about it.
Zilla Fatu → Disrespectful as hell. Won’t pull out and certainly won’t apologize for it. Instead he’ll hold your hips down and tell you to ‘take that shit’ while he fills you up. So goddamn cocky that you wanna smack him, but he’s making you feel so good that all you can do is whine and take it.
Rating: 0/10. Diabolical.
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pretty little problem ♡ part three
pairing — mob boss!solo sikoa x fem!reader word count — 7.3k summary — why did you ever think you and solo could go out and just have fun? warnings — mafia au, daddy kink, possessive behavior, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare previous — part two next — part four note — there’s some size kink here. I can’t help it though. watching his match with gunther did things to me. he’s so thick and strong general masterlist series masterlist join my taglist here ♡
You were still sulking when he told you to get dressed.
It didn’t stop you from doing it though. It never did. You stayed curled at the foot of the bed anyway. Knees pulled up to your chest, chin tucked into your hoodie sleeve. You looked like you were mourning something dramatic and important– your freedom, your dignity, whatever.
Solo was in the mirror again, half-dressed and utterly unbothered by your theatrics. His sleeves were already rolled, tattoos on full display, his chain glinting in the light. He looked like he was gearing up for war. Or worse… work.
“We’re going out tonight,” he said casually.
Your head snapped up. “Like out out?”
His reflection smirked. “It’s not a date.”
You collapsed backwards into the pillows with an exaggerated groan, throwing an arm over your eyes like a Victorian woman dying of heartbreak. “Then why bother bringing me at all? Just leave me home and let me wither.”
He ignored you completely, which only made the pout worse. “Because I said so,” he muttered, sliding his watch on– sharp, silver, expensive– the kind of watch that could ruin someone’s life if he decided to swing that wrist. “And because I want you with me.”
Your heart fluttered, but you couldn’t help it. You hated how easy you were for him. Then he added, without any mercy at all, “But I do have to work.”
The flutter died immediately. Crash. Burn. Gone.
You huffed, louder this time, letting the frustration bleed into your voice. “So I’m tagging along like your emotional support chihuahua while you do… whatever it is you do?”
“No,” he said, finally turning to look at you. “You’re gonna wear something pretty, drink something fruity, and sit that sweet little ass on my lap while I close a deal. It’s what you’re always whining about wanting to do anyways. Ain’t it?”
That got your attention again. Your eyes narrowed. “What kind of deal?”
He gave you that look. The warning one. The one that said don’t start.
“One you don’t need to know about.”
You scowled. “Do I at least get to wear something slutty?”
His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Already picked it out.”
Your stomach dipped. “Wait– when?”
Solo didn’t answer. He just strode across the room to the closet and pulled the door open wide. You pushed yourself up slowly, eyeing him suspiciously. “What did you do?” He reached into the back– past the sweaters, past your hoodies, past the soft things he always bought you– and pulled out a hanger.
Black silk. Thin straps. Short hem. A neckline that went on forever. “Oh,” you said blankly. His grin was lethal. “Oh?”
“That’s not even a dress.”
“It’s your dress,” he corrected, and tossed it at you. You caught it. The fabric slithered between your fingers– cool, soft, and indecent. You held it up, letting the silk spill over your wrists. Your stomach tightened at how tiny it looked. “And this is what you want me to wear to a business meeting?” you deadpanned.
His eyes dragged down your body and back up again, slow enough to make you feel uneasy on our own two feet. “You really think anyone’s gonna be lookin’ at anything else?” he asked.
Heat crawled up your throat. You looked away.
“So I’m supposed to be your little distraction?”
Solo shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”
It should’ve irritated you. But instead you felt that warmth— low in your belly, soft behind your sternum. You stood. Let the dress slide over your head. Let the silk fall down your body. It hugged your curves immediately. Stuck to your hips. Clung to your waist. The hem barely covered your upper thighs. You tugged at it out of instinct.
“Don’t.”
His voice cut across the room. You froze.
“Put your hands down,” he said, softer now, but deeper. “Let ‘em look, angel. That’s the point.” Your whole body flushed. It felt like being owned.
He stepped behind you. You didn’t have to see him to feel the air shift around him. It was warm, heavy, commanding. You exhaled, shaky.
He moved your hair with one slow sweep of his fingers, gathering it over your shoulder. The back of the dress left you almost bare. His fingers grazed down your spine– not intentionally, but that didn’t matter. It lit you up anyway.
He reached around you, finding the cool metal resting against your throat. He turned the dainty butterfly pendant around, straightening it out and settling it back against your throat like it belonged there. “There,” he murmured behind you. The sound rolled down your spine. “Perfect.”
You shivered. It wasn’t subtle.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out earrings. Long, dramatic, gold catching in the lamp light. They were dangerously pretty. He slid one through your ear. Then the other. Slow and careful. Like touching you was a ritual.
You looked at your reflection. It was obscene. Your lips looked bitten. Your neck looked marked before he even touched you there. The necklace glimmered like a promise. The dress cut across your chest like it had been sewn onto your skin. Your legs looked endless. You looked soft and dangerous at the same time. But more importantly, you looked like his.
You swallowed hard.
“Don’t forget. I pick. You wear,” he said, hands ghosting over your waist before turning you around towards him. “You drink what I order.” You flicked your eyes up to meet his. He was towering over you, fingers curling under your chin to tilt to your head back. “And you sit on my lap when I say so.”
Your breath hitched.
“And if I don’t?” you whispered.
He smiled. Slow. Sharp. Wicked.
“You don’t want Daddy to make you.”
Your thighs pressed together immediately. You didn’t bother hiding it.
The moment you stepped inside, it swallowed you whole.
The floor pulsed with light. Velvet-red strobes slicing through smoke. Gold fixtures winking from above, reflecting in liquor glasses, sequins, and sweat. The music wasn’t just loud, it was physical. The bass hit so hard you could feel it in your teeth, your toes, in your ribs. It was the kind of club that made your pulse skip. That made your dress ride up without even trying.
It was high-end, though. No sticky doors. No watered-down drinks or drunk girls crying in the hallway. This place was all glass and gold and power. Curated and controlled. Girls dancing on the sleek, minimalistic stages along the back wall– bare skin, soft light. It wasn’t vulgar. It was sensual. Like everything else here. Like him.
Because this wasn’t just any club. It was his. And everyone knew it.
Solo’s presence moved ahead of him. Security nodding, bodies parting, music dipping for a breath like the whole place exhaled when he stepped inside. And you? You clung to his side, trying not to trip in the heels you wore just for him.
His hand had never left your back. Not once. He hadn’t said a word since you stepped inside. His jaw was set. His shoulders were tight. His grip was heavy. You thought he’d take you to a booth upstairs. You thought maybe he’d want to brood. But instead, he turned into the crowd, and pulled you with him.
“Wait,” you blinked. “Here?”
His lips twitched, dark eyes glinting beneath the low lights. “It is mine, angel.”
“I just meant–” you glanced around, breathless already, “–I thought you were mad that he’s late. You look pissed.”
He didn’t let go of your hand. Didn’t even slow down. Just wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you in flush. You could barely breathe.
“I am.”
You tilted your head up at him. “So… you’re dancing it off?”
Solo’s eyes flicked down. Then back to yours.
“No.” He didn’t smile. “I’m passing time.” And then, lower, thicker, hotter– “And you look too fuckin’ good to be sittin’ still.”
That did it. That melted something in you. Because Jesus Christ, this man, this mountain of a man, he meant it. You could feel it in the way he pulled you closer, dragging you against the full breadth of his chest like he wanted to leave an imprint. He didn’t just want to dance. He wanted everyone to see it.
Your lashes fluttered as your body tilted into his instinctively. Like gravity. Like you didn’t know how not to.
He didn’t grind. Didn’t fumble. Didn’t have to chase the rhythm. He commanded it.
And shit, you didn’t stand a chance.
You let your hands rise slowly to his chest, fingers splayed against hard muscle, steadying yourself as the two of you moved. The music thrummed through your thighs. His hands stayed on your hips, anchoring you. Moving you. Owning you. And under all the heat and noise and lights, your thoughts blurred into one thing:
He’s so big.
It hit you all over again.
You’d seen him shirtless, obviously. You’d touched him. Ridden him.
But still. Here, with his thick arms bracketing your body and his heat bleeding through his clothes– you felt small. And safe. And burning up.
His hands made you feel like no one could touch you. No one would dare. His grip was possessive, protective, a little rough– but only because he knew you liked it. And god, his strength. His size. How easily he could manhandle you, crush you, throw you over his shoulder like it was nothing. How easily he didn’t. How he danced with you instead. Slow and intentional.
Your eyes fluttered shut when his lips brushed behind your ear. “Let him walk in and see this.”
“See what?” you breathed.
“This. You. Out here glowin’. Dancin’. While he’s tryin’ to crawl outta whatever hole he’s hiding in.” His voice dropped into a growl. Not mad. He was insulted. He wasn’t just dancing to cool off. He was claiming you. Marking territory.
You melted against him again. Legs weak, throat dry, mind going dizzy. The music didn’t stop, but it faltered. Or maybe that was just you.
The beat kept thumping through the floor, but it no longer found its rhythm in your body. Not when the arms around your waist turned to stone. Not when the heat of Solo’s chest behind you shifted into something warmer. Tighter.
You felt it before you saw it. The stillness. The warning. Your smile slipped. You craned your neck up and looked up at Solo.
“What is it?”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.
Because the air changed. It swept across the dance floor in an invisible wave, thick and sudden, like a storm pushing in off the coast. Heads turned one by one. Laughter choked off mid-breath. Glasses froze halfway to mouths. Even the bartender, mid-pour, paused just long enough to let the vodka overflow.
It was a hush without silence. Suspicion without sound. Like a spell had cracked something open. Your spine tingled. You turned. There, just past the velvet rope that separated the VIP section from the rest of the club, a man had appeared.
He stood framed by the entryway, deliberate and precise. He wasn’t any taller than Solo, but somehow the space around him yielded, like the very room knew better than to get too close.
He had presence.
Bleach-blond hair, slicked and sharp. A jaw that was clean-cut enough to charm. Skin golden under the club lights. Too golden, too perfect. Like money and long afternoons on someone else’s yacht. His suit was navy, so deep it looked black until he moved. Crisp. Tailored within an inch of its life. And beneath it, a black shirt unbuttoned just low enough to be a tease.
He looked like temptation dressed in discipline. Calculated chaos. A man who expected to be looked at and who punished the world when he wasn’t.
And that smirk? That fucking smirk was worse than everything it. It wasn’t lazy. Wasn’t even playful. It was curated.
He didn’t look around. Didn’t glance at the lights, the crowd, the bar, the dancers. He stared straight ahead, chin up, eyes locked on the exact place where you stood with Solo. He wasn’t a guest looking for a host, or a man trying to play nice. He looked like a problem walking in on purpose. It was a test, a provocation.
You felt Solo move behind you. His breath deepened. Slow and wide through his nose, like he was sucking in just enough oxygen to keep his anger under control. His jaw ticked once and you felt his hand loosen from your waist.
Then his palm cracked across your ass, firm enough to make you flinch and blink at the same time. Not hard. Not playful either.
“Go to the bar,” he said, voice quiet but leaving no room for questions. “Get one of those peach things you like.” You nodded, pulse skipping. But he wasn’t finished. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice all heat and warning.
“Then meet me upstairs.”
Upstairs.
Your eyes darted toward the private booth– dark glass, red lighting, velvet curtains still pulled half-closed. His booth. His throne. Suddenly this didn’t feel like part of your usual rhythm. This felt like strategy. Like staging.
You swallowed and gave him a soft “yes, sir” before stepping away, obedient and careful. You knew better than to question him when he used that tone. When his hands didn’t linger. Especially when he didn’t kiss your cheek like usual.
Your heels clicked against the tile as you moved, every step a little heavier with the realization that something was off. Not between the two of you– no, never that. Something was off around him. In the air.
You made it to the bar and ordered your drink without thinking. The bartender didn’t even blink. He just passed you the glass and moved on like he didn’t want to be involved in whatever was unfolding. You took a sip of your drink, sweet and fizzy on your tongue, but your mind wasn't on the flavor.
The velvet curtain was still swinging slightly when you made it to the top of the stairs. Tama and Tonga stood at attention near the entrance– guarding Solo like always. Their shoulders broad, chins lifted, guns tucked just out of view. Neither of them looked at you as you passed. What else was new? Still, you felt the magnitude of their awareness anyway. Like they knew what this was. Like they’d been told.
The curtains gave way just enough to let you slip through, your drink cold in one hand, your pulse hot in your throat. A small part of you expected to find him alone, like usual. Legs spread, arms slung in that signature sprawl, gaze pulling you in before you even reached the table.
But tonight was different.
Someone else was already sitting there. Ankle propped on his knee, one arm draped over the back of the booth like he owned the whole damn club. A cigar burned slow between his fingers, glowing low at the end. The smell hit you first. Sweet. Bitter. Expensive.
His eyes found yours as you stepped towards them. You froze. Just for a second. You didn’t mean to. But his smirk, the way he looked at you? It stopped you in your tracks.
He didn’t nod. Didn’t smile. Just watched you. Eyed the curve of your waist. The length of your legs. The sheer depth of the neckline Solo picked out. It was the kind of look that stuck to your skin. That made your fingers twitch around the drink in your hand.
You started moving again.
Solo was already there. Back against the leather, his dark eyes unreadable. He wasn’t slouched or sprawled. He was centered. Like he’d been sitting that way for hours. You didn’t wait for an invitation. Just stepped to his side.
He didn’t say a word as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you down into his lap. Your breath caught. The drink in your hand almost sloshed, but you steadied it. You barely had time to blink before his arm looped behind your thighs, dragging you sideways across him like you were always meant to be there. And you were.
You tucked into his chest like muscle memory. His other hand skimmed across your bare thigh, squeezing just enough to remind you of where you were. Of who you were with. Of whose you were.
Your body settled, but your mind didn’t. Not entirely.
Because you could feel it now. The way Solo’s grip had tension underneath it. The way his chest hadn’t relaxed. The way his palm lingered a little longer than usual on your hip, not for teasing or control, but because he knew you felt uneasy too.
You nuzzled into his neck, just a little. To breathe him in. To feel safe again. You always did with him. But this? This felt different.
And that man still hadn’t looked away.
“You okay, angel?” Solo murmured low, lips brushing your cheek. You nodded, but it was small. Maybe a little too small.
That was when the man across from you finally spoke.
“Well, well,” he drawled. “You didn’t tell me the entertainment came with the deal.”
Your spine stiffened. You didn’t even realize how tightly you were holding your glass until Solo’s fingers wrapped around your wrist and eased it gently towards the table. Not rough. Not rushed. Just… calm.
Too calm.
“She ain’t here for your entertainment, Rhodes.”
Cody just laughed. Quiet and easy. But there was a sharpness to it. Like he was poking the bear on purpose.
“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said, holding his cigar between two fingers. “Just didn’t realize she was off the clock.”
You didn’t understand. Not at first. But Solo did. His entire body went still beneath you. He only smiled.
Then he reached up, slow as hell, and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.
“You better watch your mouth.”
Solo’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. Cody leaned back slightly, cigar lifted to his lips. He took a slow draw before tapping the ash into the tray beside him.
“Relax,” he said, exhaling smoke that curled lazy toward the ceiling. “A compliment’s a compliment. No need to get territorial.”
You felt Solo’s hand tighten just slightly on your thigh.
Cody clocked it and smirked.
He gestured toward the untouched drink in front of him. “Scotch. Neat. From your private shelf, I assume. Can’t say I don’t appreciate the hospitality.”
Solo didn’t answer. He just watched him. Still and silent. Fingers resting heavy against your hip now. Cody reached for the drink, but didn’t take a sip. Let the silence stretch a beat too long before speaking again.
“Your boys outside,” he said casually. “They know who I am?”
“They know not to interrupt.”
A flicker of something crossed Cody’s face. Not quite surprise. Maybe just…acknowledgement.
“Good,” he said. “I would hate to make a scene. This place is beautiful. It’d be a shame to bleed on the floor.”
Your breath caught– but Solo didn’t flinch. Just smiled again, cold.
“You wouldn’t make it to the floor.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Your skin prickled. The air felt thick. Thick with things that didn’t need to be said out loud. Then, just like that, Cody laughed. It was light. Unbothered. But his eyes never left Solo’s.
“Alright,” he said, tapping the edge of his glass. “We’ve had our little dance. You ready to talk business, or should I take this lovely little lady back downstairs and let you cool off?”
That last part? That was a poke. Just enough to press the bruise without breaking skin. But Solo didn’t rise to it. He simply leaned back, shifting you further onto his lap like you were part of the throne he sat on, and spoke with that slow, calm way of his.
“She’s staying right here.”
He didn’t look at you when he said it. Cody nodded once. A little shrug, like he was just testing the boundaries for fun.
“Suit yourself,” he said, then pulled a sleek leather folder from the briefcase at his side. “Let’s get into it then. I think you’ll like what I’ve got for you.”
He slid it across the table, fingers brushing the surface. You stayed quiet. But you could feel Solo’s breathing shift. Slower. More deliberate.
You stayed silent as Solo slid the folder closer, flipping through each page like he hadn’t already reviewed it. You didn’t recognize the language— ratios, margins, breakdowns— but it didn’t matter. You were watching him.
They way his jaw flexed tighter with every line. The way his arm stayed draped behind you, palm anchored at your hip, a single finger tapping once against your waist when the numbers didn’t quite add up. You could feel it. Every inhale. Every flicker of his irritation.
Cody leaned back slightly, drink in hand. He grinned like he knew something you didn’t. Like he liked that you didn’t.
“I cleaned up the route,” he said casually. “Margins stay where you want them. Everybody wins.”
Solo didn’t look up. Not yet.
“And the product?” he asked, voice flat.
“Tighter than before. Fewer hands. High-end. No blowback.”
You didn’t understand all of it. You weren’t meant to. But you’d heard enough, and you felt your heartbeat picking up in your ears. You weren’t dumb. You knew exactly what kind of conversation this was. Solo turned the last page, then finally looked up. His eyes were darker now. He didn’t smile.
“I’ll think about it.”
That wiped the smirk off Cody’s face. “There’s nothing to think about,” he said, blinking once. “You want reach? I’m your guy.”
Solo’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.
“I said,” he repeated, slower this time, “I’ll think about it.” A pause stretched out between them, long and razor-thin. It was the kind that could split wide open if someone breathed too loud. You decided not to move. You just stayed tucked against Solo’s side, one hand resting lightly against his chest now. His heartbeat thudded steady beneath your palm.
After an uncomfortable moment, Cody threw a hand up in a mock surrender and pushed up from the booth. “Suit yourself. But don’t wait too long.” He set his glass down with a soft clink. And just before turning, he let his eyes flick down to you. Sharp, amused, lingering too long on your thighs and the way your dress was hitched high across Solo’s lap. That same slick grin pulling at the edge of his mouth. Disrespectful.
Solo didn’t even blink. Just stared him down until the curtain swayed shut behind him, soft and slow. It was like even the velvet was relieved to see him go. You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath until it slipped out in a shaky little exhale.
He was still quiet. Sitting there with his arm hooked over the back of the booth, his free hand resting on your waist. Fingers tapping again. His jaw flexed. He leaned forward slowly, shifting you gently with him as he reached for Cody’s untouched drink. Swirled it once. Stared at it like he was debating whether it was even worth touching. Then, he set it back down softly.
“Cocky son of a bitch,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Always was.”
You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what you were allowed to say. So you stayed quiet, sat still, barely breathing, your head angled against the side of his neck.
He sat back again, one hand sliding over your bare thigh as he repositioned you higher in his lap. And for another excruciating moment, neither of you spoke.
“He ain’t gettin’ that deal,” he said flatly.
You blinked, eyes darting up to him. “But… wasn’t that the whole reason we came tonight?” His head turned, just enough to catch your gaze. It was calm. Sure.
“That deal,” he said, voice dropping low, “was never more important than you.”
Your breath caught.
He looked away again, smirking, but there was no humor in it.
“He wants to run his mouth and act like he forgot who the fuck he was sittin’ across from?” His hand squeezed your thigh. “Fine. He can forget what yes sounds like too.”
You swallowed. “Are you sure?”
Solo’s tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek as he tilted his head toward you, finally giving you his full attention.
“Don’t ask me that.”
He wasn’t mad at you. You knew that. But the edge in his voice made you shiver anyways.
He softened a second later.
Reaching under the table, he took your hand in his– big, warm, scarred– and traced his thumb along your palm.
“I brought you here because I wanted you here,” he muttered. “Not ‘cause I needed you to play pretty while some slick-haired prick tried to measure dicks with me.”
Your lips parted. Maybe to apologize. Maybe to say thank you. Maybe to ask what the hell was going to happen next. But he squeezed your hand, eyes narrowing like he was thinking about something else entirely.
Then he let it go.
“You ready to go?” he asked,standing and pulling you up with him. He was already smoothing a hand over his shirt like he hadn't just sat through a meeting that was nearly vibrating with unspoken violence.
“Yeah,” you said quietly.
He didn’t look at you right away. He simply adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves and rolled his jaw. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t wanna be here anymore.”
You followed him out, one step behind like always, but his energy had shifted. Long gone was that relaxed, possessive, showman who’d brought you in on his arm. Smug and calm and so sure of everything. Now, he was nothing but sharp edges and coiled restraint. Every inch of him screaming get me the fuck out of here.
Solo didn’t say much on the drive. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, knuckles tight, that same nerve in his jaw still working. You knew better than to push. But when the gates opened and the car rolled up to the house, when the guards nodded and stepped aside, and he killed the engine without a word… you felt it.
You felt that slow, simmering warmth that sat heavy in the air as he got out, rounded the car, and opened your door.
“Inside,” he grumbled.
You went.
And the second that door shut behind you, before you even made it to the kitchen– he grabbed your wrist and spun you, backing you up against the wall so fast it punched the air from your lungs.
“You wanna know what pissed me off the most?” he asked, voice calm in that way that never meant anything good.
He didn’t wait for you to answer.
“It wasn’t that he looked at you. Wasn’t even that he ran his fuckin’ mouth,” Solo said, leaning in, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “It’s that he thought he could. That I’d let him.”
“Daddy–”
“You think I dress you up like that for them?” His hand found the hem of your dress, dragged it up your thigh like it was paper-thin. “You think I let you sit in my lap, lookin’ like that, so he could get a better view?”
Your breath caught.
‘I wanted to show you off. My girl. My angel. But then he had to open his mouth like you wasn’t sittin’ there in my lap, wearin’ my name between your legs.” He paused, eyes dropping to your lips. “So now I gotta remind you. Remind this whole fuckin’ house.”
His palm landed flat on your stomach, pinning you there. “See,” he shook his head. “This is why we don’t go out. This is why I keep you home. ‘Cause every time we step outside, somebody wants to try me.”
You were nodding before he even finished. Not because you were scared. Solo never scared you, It was because you knew. You could see it in the tight set of his shoulders, the way his pupils swallowed the color in his eyes.
You’d pushed buttons tonight without meaning to. And you’d gotten a side of him you didn’t get to see often. One that didn’t joke. One that didn’t smile when you got bratty. One that didn’t warn twice. This wasn’t the Solo who watched your tantrums with a smirk.
This was your man. This was your Daddy.
You stayed still. Let him breathe. Waited for his next move, his next words, the next flash of heat behind his eyes. But instead… he closed them.
Just for a second. Jaw tight. Thumb twitching where it rested on your ribs.
“I almost killed him,” he muttered. “Right there at the table.”
He opened his eyes again, gaze trailing down your face– your lips, your throat, the swell of your chest where you were breathing too fast. Then lower. Slower.
“I take you out one time. One fuckin’ time and he opens his mouth like you’s up for grabs.”
“I didn’t even–”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he cut in. “I know that.”
He stepped back just enough to see you fully. One hand still on your waist, the other rising to brush a strand of hair from your face.
“You sat there like my perfect little girl,” Solo sighed, eyes dragging over you. “Lookin’ like heaven. Lettin’ me touch you. Wearin’ that dress I bought you… sittin’ pretty on my lap like that mouth of yours didn’t just get you in trouble last week.”
Your cheeks heated. Not from shame. Just that ache of wanting, of being seen, owned in the way only he could do it. You blinked up at him, lip caught between your teeth.
“I wanted to make you proud.”
His nostrils flared. He exhaled hard through his nose and shook his head like the words knocked something loose in him.
“Yeah, well. Mission fuckin’ accomplished, angel.” Solo’s hand slid down your side, fingers pressing harder now. It was possessive, claiming. “That’s the problem.”
You didn’t register what was happening before his arm hooked beneath your thighs and lifted fast. A startled yelp caught in your throat as your body left the floor. Your hands grabbed at his shoulder out of instinct, but his hold never wavered. It was pure strength. He made it look effortless, like you weighed nothing in his arms.
The hallway blurred behind you. Solo walked with purpose, chest rising fast. His eyes set straight ahead. You could feel the tension building beneath his skin. In the twitch of his biceps, the tightness in his grip, the way his fingers flexed like they were already imagining what parts of you he was going to ruin first.
You didn’t ask where he was taking you. You already knew.
His office door slammed behind you. He dropped you, not carelessly, but fast enough to knock the air from your lungs.
“Get on the desk.”
You turned, heart pounding.
“Now.”
The bite in his tone made you shiver. You scrambled onto the desk, hands shaking slightly as you propped yourself up on your elbows, the cool wood pressing into your skin.
“Lift that dress.”
You obeyed.
Your panties were already soaked. It was obvious. You heard his breath hitch when he stepped behind you. A pause. Then the unmistakable sound of his zipper, slow and deliberate. You whimpered, barely even touched and already falling apart.
The first smack cracked across your ass, sharp and burning. You cried out. He gripped your hip, yanking you closer to the edge. “You think I don’t know what this little pussy’s for?” he hissed. “Sittin’ on my lap, lookin’ all sweet. Makin’ me go soft when I should've been thinkin’ clear.”
You tried to twist and look back, eyes. “Daddy–”
“No,” he snapped. “Don’t look at me like that. Like you don’t know what you were doin’. Like this ain’t exactly what you wanted.”
Another spank– harder this time. Enough to make your gasp against the desk. Your hips jolting forward, thighs trembling.
Solo was never this rough. Not even when you pushed him. Not even when you begged for it. And fuck, you could feel it. You could feel it in the way his hand stayed planted firm on your lower back. In the way he gripped your hip, tight enough to bruise, like he could hold you there with one hand and split you in half with the other.
He was just so big. So heavy behind you. His body burned like a wall of heat, shadowing over yours, pressing down until your elbows nearly buckled. You could feel his breath on your neck, his chest rising fast– every ounce of muscle behind it coiled and barely restrained.
“You just sat there,” he bit out. “Calm. Quiet. Like he didn’t just talk to you like you were a fuckin’ escort I was loanin’ out.”
“But Daddy! I didn’t say any–”
“Exactly.” Solo’s fingers wrapped around the back of your neck. “You ain’t forgetful. You’re mine. And tonight you let him forget that.” His hand dragged down the curve of your spine, possessive and sharp. “So now I gotta remind you.”
Another spank, harder this time. The sting spread hot against your skin. A broken sound escaped your lips before you could stop it.
“You gonna be loud for me, angel?” he muttered darkly. “Gonna let the whole fuckin’ house know who’s breakin’ you open?”
You whimpered into the desk but the sound was muffled by your own arm.
“‘Cause they’re still down there,” he went on, leaning in close enough for his chain to graze your back. “My men. They're still waitin’ on me to finish up business.” His hand slid up, slow and sure, wrapping around your throat. “So go ahead, baby. Let ‘em hear you.”
You couldn’t even take a proper breath before he was driving into you in a brutal thrust. There was no build. No warning. It didn’t help that Solo was just thick, so thick. It felt like he was splitting you open on the spot.
Your scream cracked like thunder, buried against the wood as the desk rattled beneath you.
“Daddy–fuck!”
He groaned from deep in his chest, the sound rumbling through him, hips dragging back just enough to slam forward– harder, meaner. Like it wasn’t enough to just be inside of you. He had to bury himself deeper. Had to drown in it. Had to own it.
“This what you wanted?” he teased, pounding into you. “This what you needed? Bent over my desk while they all listen to you cry for your Daddy?”
You couldn’t speak, could barely think. Your eyes burned. Your mouth hung open. He’d never fucked you like this before. Not this rough. Not this loud. Not this mean. But for some reason, you didn’t want him to stop.
His hand pressed harder at your throat, the other pinning both wrists flat to the desk. He had you locked in place like you were nothing but prey, completely helpless beneath the weight of him.
“Say it again.”
“D-daddy,” you choked out, shocked at how utterly wrecked you sounded.
Solo slammed into you so hard the desk scraped against the floor. Your whole body seized, the pressure between your legs twisting tight and unbearable. The friction was dragging perfectly across your nerves as his cock drove again and again into that sweet, aching spot that made your vision blur.
“I want every motherfucker in this house to hear you cum,” he growled. “Let ‘em know who gets to ruin you. Who owns this tight little pussy.”
You shattered–loud, broken, crying out as your own high rippled through you like a wave.
You were still shaking as he pulled out. Your body collapsed forward, breath ragged, the aftershocks crashing through you. But he didn’t let you rest.
He gripped your hips and flipped you, fast and rough. One hand under your thigh, the other around your waist. Your back hit the desk with a gasp, your dress still bunched around your waist, tits heaving, chest flushed. Your mind was still in a cock-drunk haze as you felt him on you again– one knee pushed up on the desk beside your hip, hand wrapped around your throat as he sat you up, forcing you to look at him.
“Uh-uh,” he grunted, eyes dark and wild. “Don’t you fuckin’ look away. Look at me.” Your head lolled slightly from the force of being manhandled, but you obeyed. Because how could you not?
His body was a force, sweat glistening across his chest and brow, that thick chain swaying between his pecs. He looked like something feral. Like he’d been waiting all night to do this, but he still wasn’t satisfied.
You whimpered. “Daddy…”
His hand slid between your legs again, thick fingers dragging through the slick mess he’d left behind. You jumped– sensitive, overstimulated, and squirming.
“You think I care?” he snapped. “You think I give a fuck how sensitive you are right now?”
He grabbed himself, still achingly hard and leaking. Lined up with your dripping entrance and pressed in, slow and cruel.
“You ain’t done ‘til I say you’re done.”
Your mouth hung open. You were so full, so sore. The stretch was becoming so damn overwhelming. You clawed at his shoulders, dragging your nails down the tight muscle of his back.
He groaned low in your ear. “That’s it, angel.”
He held you upright, one hand behind your back, the other gripping your thigh as he slammed into you. The desk was creaking. Papers flying. The entire surface was shuddering beneath the force of him. You couldn’t even form words anymore. You were just gasps and broken moans, your head tossed back as he fucked you like it was his birthright. Like he had something to prove. Like the whole house didn’t already know you were his.
Solo’s mouth was at your neck now, biting, dragging his teeth along your skin. Leaving marks no one would dare question. “I told you,” he rasped, breath hot against your throat. “You’re mine. You don’t let no man talk to you like that. You hear me?”
Your head turned slightly, eyes wide.
“I-I didn’t know what to say–”
“You ain’t supposed to say nothin’,” he bit out, teeth clenched. “That’s my fuckin’ job.” His voice cracked with fury. You weren’t sure if he was more mad at Cody or himself. “I shoulda shut that shit down before it even started. You’re mine”
His hand dropped low, fingers rubbing your swollen, aching bud with rough precision.
“Daddy, please–”
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
He buried himself, balls deep. Held it there. Groaned. Then whispered low, just for you. “That’s my girl.”
You felt it when he twitched. When his grip on your thigh turned bruising. When his hips stuttered once, twice, before he spilled inside you, thick and deep and flooding you all over again. Your name left his mouth like a prayer. His jaw clenched, forehead dropping to yours.
For the first time all night, his voice went soft.
“You ever let someone even look at you like that again,” he breathed, “I’ll fuck you in front of him. Right there on the table. Make him watch what he’ll never have.”
You nodded weakly, clinging to him. You weren’t crying, but you were close. Overwhelmed. Dazed. Struggling to breathe through the heavy weight of everything that had just happened.
It hadn’t been too much. Not really. But it was more than you were used to.
And he knew it.
Solo let go slowly. Didn’t say a word. Just stood there for a moment, catching his breath, staring down at the red marks blooming across your hips. His marks. The ones he left. The ones he’d never meant to give you like this.
Not tonight. Not like that.
“...Fuck.”
He pulled out with care, one hand steadying your hips as you let out a faint gasp, too raw to say anything. His zipper dragged up slow. Quiet. He tucked himself back into his pants, breathing hard through his nose, jaw clenched like he was trying not to curse himself into the floor.
You didn’t look up. He didn’t expect you to. But he still touched you, gently this time. Both hands on your waist, thumbs stroking circles into your skin as he leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead.
“Hey.” His voice was soft now. So different. “C’mere, angel.”
He swept you into his arms and lifted you like it was nothing. He slipped an arm beneath your thighs and the other around your back. You didn’t resist. Your legs curled around his waist. Arms looped around his neck. Buried your head in his shoulder. And just like that, he had you on his hip, carried against him like something small and fragile and his.
His hand splayed across your lower back, holding you steady. The heat of his palm grounded you. His other arm hooked beneath your thigh, locking you into place like he had no intention of ever putting you down again.
You didn’t say a word.
Just closed your eyes as he carried you, the comforting smell of him sinking into your lungs. When the office door opened, you heard it.
The shuffle. The awkward silence.
Tama and Tonga were both standing near the bottom of the stairs, heads down, hands in their pockets like two schoolboys caught eavesdropping. Neither one dared to look up. Not even a glance.
Solo didn’t acknowledge them. Not with words, anyway. Just a sharp nod of his chin and a silent, you heard too much glare as he passed them on the stairs with you in his arms.
They nodded. Quick and embarrassed. Tonga mumbled something that sounded like “my bad” under his breath.
Solo just kept walking. Up the stairs, down the hall, into your room. He didn’t bother turning on the lights. Didn’t ask if you were okay. He knew you weren’t. Not yet. He laid you down carefully, smoothing your hair back from your face with a light touch. Your body melted into the mattress, boneless and spent, but your eyes fluttered open when his weight shifted.
He was tucking you in. Literally. Blanket up to your chest. Kiss to your forehead. Fingers ghosting down your cheek with a gentleness that made your throat tighten.
“...I’m sorry,” he murmured. It was so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. “That ain’t how I meant to touch you tonight.” You blinked up at him.
“It’s okay–”
“No.” He shook his head. “It ain’t. You ain’t used to me like that. I know it. I felt it. And I let myself get carried away.”
Your fingers found his wrist and clung to it.
“You didn’t hurt me.”
His gaze held yours.
“Still. I should’ve slowed down.”
A beat passed. Then another. And then his lips were back on your forehead. So soft. So careful. “Get some sleep,” he whispered. “I gotta go finish up downstairs. I’ll be back, baby.”
You nodded, dazed. Sleep already pulling at you.
As he pulled the door closed behind him, you heard him pause at the top of the stairs. Heard the weight in his steps shift. Then–
“You two hear anything else while I was up there?”
Silence. Dead silence.
Tama cleared his throat. “Just…uh. Business.”
“Yeah,” Tanga added quickly, “Lotta, um– negotiation.”
Solo grunted.
Then the door shut behind him.
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this keeps happening to him
The MFTs Visit A Charter School Campus To Deliver A Military Related Motivational Speech 💜
Instagram - April 16th, 2026
tag list: @miss-kuki-nz @romanreignsbae @rollinsland @dpriestxripleysgirl @xnightmarexpunkx @jeysslut ⋆˙⟡
TALLA TONGA, TAMA TONGA, TONGA LOA WWE SmackDown, October 10th, 2025
DIVIDED
S.S, TAMA.T, TALLA.T, T.L. & J.C.
🩸A/N: Might be a series depending on how this goes. The reader has Pacific island ties.
🩸 Credits: @thecutestgrotto for 18+ divider.
@pixopix for red animated divider.
@lobster-graphics for support writers dividers.
🩸Pairings:
°Solo Sikoa x Fem! Reader
°MFT x Fem! Reader
🩸Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Dirty Talk maybe, Sexual tension, Group Conflict, Betrayal, Threats. MFT is intimidating & obsessed. Minors DNI! You will be blocked.
🩸Summary: Being the manager of the MFT was great until that night happened, and now you were torn between 2 sides. So what's it going to be?
🩸Word Count: 2.2k
You walked into the MFT's locker room after what happened backstage, but you happened to only find Solo sitting on the bench with his face buried into his leather gloved hands. Nothing, but both of your breathing being heard.
You slowly strided towards him, and breathed for a moment before carefully placing your hand on his shoulder to comfort him.
"Solo" you said softly.
He slowly removed his hands away from his face and looked up at you, eyes clearly red. That loss really hurt him, but also the tension going on between him and his MFTS.
"I'm so sorry, are you okay?"
He took a deep breath before nodding.
"I'm okay, I can't believe we lost those titles. They slacked off bad and then when I try to discipline them, fucking Tama got the nerve to say I'm starting to sound like Roman. I trusted my MFT but here they are slowly turning against me."
"I don't think anyone is turning against you. They're just as tired & upset as you are. I mean if you look from their viewpoint, the Wyatt Sicks did come in to distract us. Then you yelled at them."
Solo glared up at you.
"Who's side are you even on Y/N?"
"I'm not picking sides, I'm saying this as a manager. No manager likes seeing their faction argue. I'm just trying to make peace. Look, it's just a misunderstanding. Just cool down and think about it. I understand that you're frustrated too. Just take it easy. Once this all calms down, you and them can have a talk and apologize-"
He cuts you off.
"Who's apologizing? Me?! Or them? I ain't apologizing for shit! That's their fault, Y/N!" his voice rose as he looked up at you and his breathing getting heavier.
You jumped, flinching away from him.
After a minute, his facial expression softened, and his breathing getting lighter, realizing what he had just done and started to look down at the red rug.
You continued to observe him, you couldn't deny you loved Solo since day one. You just didn't want your personal life to cross your professional life and ruin the manager and leader relation you both had in the MFT. You still cared about him.
Your thoughts got cut off when he walked towards you, and to your surprise he pulled you into a warm embrace. Your head resting on his shoulder. This is the first time you both have gotten so close to each other.
"I'm so sorry Y/N, I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm just so exhausted with everything, you know?" his voice now deeper which made you feel butterflies on the inside.
"Those titles meant a lot to us. Just as I thought we were at the top, it goes downhill. My MFTs are my family, my Empire. Yeah, I do feel bad. I don't want to lose them and I don't want to lose you too." he confessed, making your heart race.
You pulled away from him to look him in his eyes, you nodded.
"I understand, our faction means the world. We've always been there to help each other, protect each other, dine with each other and travel. You know how unique we are too? We all come from different islands in the Pacific, just coming together and forming a faction so strong means something. Togetherness, representing, belonging. Yes, we have our disagreements. But please, don't be too harsh on them, they're humans too and they did their best out there. Plus I don't want anything to happen to you too" you empathized.
"I know, I just need to think about it, but I'll apologize...okay? I gotta go." he said, walking past you.
"Solo" you called out, but he already left the room. Did he even catch the last part of what you said? That you didn't want anything to happen to him too? You hoped that he didn't think that you only cared about the MFT.
" I care about you" you sighed, rubbing your face.
"I don't know what to do Liv," you said.
You were video chatting with your best friend who was on RAW. You both joined the company at the same time and always remained close together on the same shows. You were a part of the Riott Squad and were all like sisters to each other. But unfortunately, a time came when Ruby and Sarah left the company which you respected. It was just you and Liv, and then the draft happened and you both had to go on different shows, you hated that. That's when Solo recruited you into the MFT.
"Did you talk to Solo?" she asked.
"Yeah, he said he's going to think about apologizing to them."
"Hmmm, and have you spoken to the MFT?"
"Not yet, I'm just so tired Liv. I'm so stressed with school, they aren't giving us a break from throwing assignments at us like I just want to graduate. Then on top of that tension at work, and now I'm caught up in the middle of this."
"I'm sure it's just a disagreement Y/N. Solo's just stressed out with the losses lately, and leading to the titles loss pushed him past his breaking point. I'm sure both sides need to cool off for a week, and things will get back to normal. I also think you should speak to the MFT if they're still in the building, and get their side of the story. If they say they'll cut Solo some slack, then you don't have to worry about it, and you can fully focus on school" advised Liv.
You nodded.
"And if they don't cut Solo some slack?"
"Then you can come over to RAW & join us," spoke a male voice.
You saw Dominik Mysterio moving into the frame next to Liv, making her smile from ear to ear.
"Hey Dom" you waved.
"Hey Y/N" he waved back.
"As much as I'd love to join, but you guys got Raquel and Roxanne. I think you got plenty of ladies on the team."
"Ah, but there's no such thing as too many chicas!" he grinned.
Liv did her signature laugh, looking at Dom.
"I'll see, thank you for the advice you two" you smiled.
You then heard a bunch of footsteps, making you look up from your phone screen. You saw the 4 members of the MFT standing in front of you. Your smile faded.
"Hey Livi, I got something to deal with I'll talk to you later."
"No problem sister, talk to you later. Bye!" she said blowing a kiss at you.
"See you Y/N!" said Dominik.
"Bye!" you waved.
You put your phone away, turning your attention towards the men.
"I was looking for you guys, glad you're still here" you said breaking the silence.
Tama was the first to speak.
"We were looking for you too, Y/N" he smirked.
"Yeah...listen, I'm sorry for what happened tonight. Seeing you guys lose the titles, and Solo yelling at you and JC, you didn't deserve that. I also apologize on Solo's behalf, I spoke to him and I stood up for you guys too. I guess it's been a few bad weeks, he's just frustrated. But, he said he'll apologize to you all. Every group fights right? I'm sure we'll work things out and get back together-"
"Y/N" interrupted Tama as he raised a hand in front of you.
You stopped talking.
He exchanged looks with his brothers and JC before looking back at you.
"We've made our decision."
Your heart started to pound against your chest and your hands got sweaty.
"W-what do you mean?" you stuttered.
"The 4 of us have decided that we will leave Solo, and form a faction of our own. We will turn on him, next week."
Those 2 sentences were like the sound of 2 loud gun shots going off in your ears. You froze hearing what Tama had revealed.
Your mouth hung open, and your eyes scanned everyone's face. Their expressions looking like they concurred with what Tama said.
"Come on guys, you know Solo hardly yells at you. Today was the first and only time he crashed out on you and JC, and he told me that he felt bad about it and will apologize. Please give him some time. We can't break up so soon and over one dispute" you pleaded.
"You don't get it Y/N, you saw what happened in The Bloodline with Roman. Once he started yelling at The Usos, he kept doing it again and again then he started abusing them physically and emotionally. That could happen with Solo too, I mean he was The Tribal Chief. And I as a big brother can't stand to see that happen to me, and my younger brothers" defended Tama.
JC furrowed his brows at Tama leaving him out.
"Hey, what about me? I'm on your side too!" he exclaimed.
"You too, bro. You're always a part of us" said Tama, fist bumping him.
"We're also tired of being in Solo's shadow, it's been almost 2 years since we've debuted & we want a name of our own now. We want Guerrillas of Destiny back" spoke up Loa.
"And I wanna kick ass every week instead of having another day off at the office!" said JC.
"JC, you kick ass almost every week anyway whether you have a match or not" you said.
"2 weeks ago I didn't" he said.
"None of y'all did" you shot back, silencing him.
You then looked up at Talla, who had his arms crossed and looking down at you in silence.
"Do you have something to say too? Or forever hold your peace" you asked him.
He didn't say anything and continued to look at you which you found intimidating.
"Okay, you're starting to creep me out."
"He doesn't talk" said JC.
Talla's eyes shifted down to JC, furrowing his brows at him.
"Yes, the fuck I do" his deep voice spoke up, playfully shoving him forward.
" I know you do Talla, I was just messing with you. Anyway Tama, is that all you wanted to tell me before I see a high school brawl start in front of me?" you asked him.
"No, I also request for you to join us" he said.
Your breath hitched.
"What?!"
"Come on Y/N, aren't you tired of being in Solo's shadow? And the disrespect? Join us and make a name of your own. You'll have so much fun with us than you will with Solo" said Tama.
"Nah, I'm good" you said bluntly, turning his offer down.
Everyone's expressions turned confused at your response.
"You didn't even think about it" said Tama.
"Listen, I never got disrespected and I defended and vouched for you guys against Solo and he said he'll apologize-"
"And that's why we want you! You stood up for us! And you can certainly do that for us in the future. We need to get our group together!" exclaimed Tama cutting you off again.
"The only thing that you need to get together is your head! You just don't want to make peace don't you? Wild, cause you used to be in the Air Force" you questioned to Tama.
Tama started walking towards you, the trio following behind him, surrounding you against the wall. Anxiety started to envelope you.
"Why are you guys getting in my personal space?" you asked.
Tama shushed you.
"You got 2 options Y/N. You know why we want you in our group? Cause we like you, we always did. But it was always Solo in the picture, and you giving him the attention. But now that we're breaking up, we want better for you and to have you to ourselves" he said running a finger gently down your arm, making you shiver.
"Have me to yourselves? What the fuck am I? Your monthly steak at the restaurant?"
You looked up at the trio behind him seeing JC smirking at you, Loa giving you his signature million dollar smile and Talla biting his lip at you. You got chills.
"So I suggest you think about this carefully, whether it's Solo or us" whispered Tama his warm breath hitting your ear.
You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to compose yourself.
"And what if I-I still say no?" you asked.
Tama scoffed before looking back at the trio, and then turning his attention back to you.
"Then both Solo and you better watch your backs on Friday, cause when he's going down, you will too" gritted Tama, looking deeply into your eyes.
That instilled fear in you, but you tried not to show it.
"So think about it" he said quietly.
You nodded quickly.
He smirked, before leaning in and sniffing your neck. Making you flinch. He hummed in satisfaction.
"Prada? Cute. If you join us, we could get you all the luxury perfumes for all those nights you will spend with us" he chuckled darkly.
You were speechless.
"Let me get a whiff!" said JC as he stepped towards you.
"Get any closer, and I'll send you moonsaulting into the Olympics" you said sternly, pointing a finger at him.
He raised his arms up stepping back.
"Save it JC, I'll go to Sephora and get a Prada bottle for all of us to smell" said Tama, looking back at him.
"Why are you so obsessed with me?" you asked.
He turned his attention back to you, smirking before backing away. You were glued to the corner, refusing to move.
Tama turned his back on you to leave.
"Oh, by the way" he said turning around to give you one last look.
" If you tell anyone about our plan, your career is going to end before Solo's" he threatened before turning back around and walking away from you.
The rest followed along but not before giving you one last look. The last being Talla, looking you up and down.
"Keep the words to yourself, if you know what's good" he said before cracking a small smirk at you and following the group.
As soon as the MFT was out of sight. You let out a breath of relief. You quickly pulled out your phone ready to dial Liv, but then you remembered what Tama said. How could you forget so quickly?
You had a decision to make... Solo? Or The MFT. How were you going to tell Solo about the plan without them even knowing? You had to save him.
Thank you for reading 🩸