#and was sorting things and angry because fucking hell i hate all of this

[tittysuckersworld]

someone ever say smth to you that activates a specific part of your brain

[misshuntereevee]

The Winner Takes it All, part 2.

( part 1. )

Synopsis: You look like the MC, and you actually remember bits and pieces of the myth (not all.) But MC finally shows up, with no memory, and Sylus can’t help but be drawn in. What will happen?

Notes: Thank you guys so much for the love. Part 3 will be coming probably in a few days as I prepare to start a new series for Raf. However, there has been some interest in a taglist for this series. I won’t be doing this at this time, but I will keep considering. Comments, likes and reblogs are encouraged but not necessary. Enjoy the groveling. (Also don’t forget I’m not beta-read.)

Sylus knows he fucked up. The moment you were gone -- Miss Hunter ceased to exist. Multiple calls from her went unanswered. And he didn’t even wonder once if she was okay. But every moment since you’ve been gone, Sylus has been searching.

If you’re mad at him, that’s one thing. But he has a duty to you to make sure that Ever never lays a hand on you. And no matter how mad you are at him, he refuses to let that promise go. If he has to rebuild the trust… he will. Brick by brick.

But the pit in his stomach doesn’t subside when he sees you. He’s not a jealous man, never felt the need to be. But right now -- he understands he’s the closest he’s ever been to losing you. And he is feeling envy creep up into his veins.

You were flirting with the cashier. Well, he started it but you definitely were returning it. In all honesty… the attention felt nice. It had been a few weeks since you felt like you got this sort of attention.

The cashier is already blushing. “You know, I get off around -,”

“We don’t care,” a smooth voice comes from behind you, and a shiver runs down your spine. Sylus. You hate that it elicits such a reaction, but there would never be a day it didn’t. Your memories of your past life were hazy at best, but his voice — you don’t remember a single time it didn’t made you fall head over heels.

A hand comes to rest on your shoulder but with a loud huff, you yank it off spinning around. You’re angry. Passionately so. “Don’t you dare,” you hiss at him. “You don’t have a right—,”

“Keep the change,” Sylus tells the cashier, ignoring you.

The cashier looks between you both before he lets out an awkward low whistle and backs up. “Sorry, ma’am, but I’m not risking my life for a date with you.” And with that he leaves the customer service desk, leaving the two of you alone. You swivel around to face him, and you notice a swirl of emotions around his face.

Relief. Anger. Annoyance. Relief again. Adoration. And then finally in lands on one thing you didn’t expect —

“You were actually flirting with him,” he points out, his eyes looking… hurt somewhere underneath an accusatory jealousy. You don’t say anything. In fact, you grab the book you purchased and start walking out the door. He follows you, and you try to put your earbuds in. He takes them immediately with his Evol. You scowl at him and yank him into a nearby alleyway.

“What the hell are you doing?” You spit at him. “Leave me alone. If I wanted to talk to you, I’d answer my phone.”

A flicker of hurt crosses his face for a moment. But finally, he forces a calm look on his face. “My little bird, I know I forgot our —,”

A flicker of surprise crosses his face when you laugh loudly and bitterly. “Are you kidding me? You think that’s all I’m upset about?” He stays quiet, seeming to realize you aren’t done with him yet. In all honesty, he needs to hear what you say. Sylus knows he can’t fix anything until he knows how you’re feeling.

You frown at him before continuing: “She comes along and just because she looks like me she grabs your attention? Oh and that stupid fucking linkage bond thing ---,” How could you forget? You could resonate with him, yes, but there has never been any physical bondage connecting the two of you. That was new -- something only Miss Hunter had. And you had wondered —

Was it enough that you should doubt? Your fears were confirmed when he forgot your anniversary to take her home after a mission.

“And Ever wants you both,” he adds, his eyes narrowing. “Which was enough for me to wonder if you left… or disappeared.”

“Ha, no, more like your ego couldn’t handle that I left!” You say, poking his chest. He scowls at you. “And you know what -- I fucking remember. Does she?! I might not remember everything, but I remember! She can’t… she’ll never —”

You stop, your voice about to shake with tears. A lump forms in your throat, your chest tightening. You remember when he forced the blade through his heart. You remember slaying the dragon. And you remember the pain your past self carried -- everywhere. “Does she remember losing you like I do? However hazy it may be, she doesn’t carry that pain.”

And that’s when you turn away from him. A hand comes up, pushing tears away. “Oh, my little bird,” he murmurs behind you, his voice sounding raw. He can’t stand the fact you’re crying… over him. Self-loathing was the only thing swirling in Sylus’ red eyes right now. “I’m sorry.”

“No. I don’t forgive you. I’m not willing to fight with another version of myself for you. Go away,” you spit. You need time. And you start to walk away from him. However -- You’re only about two feet away from him when you’re yanked backwards. Something is tethering around your wrist, pulling you back.

“Stop it,” you hiss at Sylus. “Let me go!” But as you turn around completely, you can tell — this is not his Evol. You’d be able to resonate with him and make him stop. This isn’t that.

Sylus stares at it for a moment before there’s a small smirk on his face. “Well,” he says. “It looks like you’ll have to hear me out now.” A linkage.

***

“No, don’t you even start,” you say to him, staring at the link. “I’m sure if I just resonated with you — when you finally resonated with her, it went away right?”

You try to resonate with him but —

“You’re blocking it!” You accuse him. “You’re trying not to resonate with me.”

“What can I say? If my little bird flies away before I can tell her how sorry I am, that just won’t do,” he nearly purrs.

“Oh, I hate you. Stop this!”

“You have every right to be angry,” Sylus starts. Granted, you weren’t expecting that, so your response doesn’t come quickly. He keeps talking. “I admit… seeing her threw me off. But anything drawing me to her was pure curiosity, nothing more. Any other pull I felt — it felt empty. Like it belonged to you. Because it does.”

You cross your arms, pretending not to be fazed by his declarations. He leans down, gripping your chin. “You’re right, my Queen. You remember me,” he says. The other hand — the hand linked to yours by the bond — laces fingers with yours. You don’t lace them back right away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “If you wish for me to never see her again, I’ll let someone else investigate her appearance for me. I have to know — for both our sakes why she’s here. Just please -- I can’t lose you. You’re right.”

“Sylus —,”

“Please. You don’t understand. These last two weeks have been — eye opening.” He lets out a deep, ragged breath. “I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I mean it.”

A deep breath. Your thoughts are so consumed with confusion. Because you’re also curious to why there seems to be two of you - albeit two crazily different lives. You mean, she had her life and you certainly had yours.

But you also missed him. Your dragon. And the look on his face. You found it remarkable how this crime boss of a man could look like a kicked puppy, begging for forgiveness. And you absolutely hate how much you’re softening. How much you’re still attracted and pulled to him.

“Mhm. Fine. Come back tomorrow and apologize again just as passionately… and I’ll think about it,” you finally say.

His mouth opens and closes. “My little bird — okay. If that’s what you want.” And he takes your hand, ready to resonate and undo the linkage so he can leave you for the night. Sylus doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to give you a single chance to overthink it and -- not forgive him. But he also knows -- if he pushes this, he could lose you forever.

The glow of resonating begins — but nothing happens. Your heart drops. It’s not working. So… it wasn’t Sylus that was holding it together. A brief moment of confusion flits across his face.

He remembers what the scientists had told him when he failed to resonate with the hunter. That they wouldn’t be able to resonate because she was disgusted and angry with him. And in striking clarity -- he knows for a fact that it’s not him holding them back from resonating like he previously thought. It’s you.

“What’s happening?” You says, seeming a little panicked as the bond only tightens the more you try to pull away. In fact, the link tightens so much that you stumble forward into his arms. The more you try to get away from him, the closer you get.

“Hm.” Sylus says, staring at it. He’s currently trying to make sure he isn’t smiling -- this might be a small win, and he knows he has more opportunities to remedy your relationship. “I have a theory.”

“Okay -- so spill,” you say, your eyes widening at him. “I have work tomorrow, and I can’t bring you with me! You’re a crime boss!”

“We’re linked because you’re mad at me,” he finally says. “Or disgusted. Or --- you hate me.” He almost can’t get the words out. Because you can’t. You can’t hate him. There is so much he never got to do with you. You blink at him several times before it clicks -- you’re both bonded until he can fix what he broke.

[calypsocolada]

they think they lost you... ft. sanemi, rengoku, obanai, giyu, tengen, & hotaru

authors note: holy cow this was a lot of writing but i fear i may have done a good job. i hope you all enjoy this angst :)

cw: lots of mention of blood and gore, suggestive, angst, not proofread apologies

wc: 6.8k

click here for my masterlist

Sanemi isn’t able to speak. He'd never felt more anger in his life as he searched the charred remains of the mansion. A hopeless sort of desperation slowly nudging his anger to the back of his mind as he almost frantically tossed debris out of his way. His eyes searched everything they could, he left no stone unturned and only when all hope had been lost had he taken a step back.

You two paired up for this mission against Sanemi’s wishes of course. He’d been cold to you ever since you became a Hashira. Ignored you at every turn and when he couldn’t outright ignore you he was outwardly rude. Saying things about your position, how you weren’t strong enough to be fighting beside him, let alone any other hashira. Things that burnt you to your core. A part of you didn’t want to care about him. Didn’t want to linger on his vile words but you found yourself trying to prove him wrong at every turn. Trying to prove to him that you belonged. That you were strong enough to fight alongside him. It was stupid. It was idiotic. But you couldn’t help yourself. So when the chance to pair up with Sanemi arose you snatched it up with pleasure. 

He didn’t talk to you the entire train ride to your destination. You tried sparking some small conversation but… he just wasn’t having it. Not wanting to evoke his anger, you let him be, you lapsed into silence. You let him spend the rest of the ride alone in the suite as you explored the train, landing a seat in the little cafe until your platform was announced. Sanemi met you at the train door and gave you a withering look as he led the way off. For a moment you paused. You could let the door close right now, let the train carry you away. Let this week not be wasted on a man like him. 

But you stepped off the train.

The ashes of the mansion dusts up around Sanemi as he kicks the nearest pillar causing it to crack under his ire. You followed him off the train. He stayed spiteful to you. Why in the hell did you follow him? Sanemi felt the endless pit of anger in his stomach grow. You followed him into this mansion despite his warnings. You fought well. You fought violently and when Sanemi felt backed into a corner you helped him out of it at the cost of your life. This was the exact fucking reason he was so cold to you. The exact reason he kept his distance. The coldness inside of him was warmed just by your mere presence and he hated it. He hated that the mere thought of you and the mere sight of you weakened his deposition. You made him weak and you made him sloppy. You evicted his better judgment and filled his thoughts with only images and moments he’s shared with you. You’d never know this though because he never once let even the slightest amount of want slip through the cracks. He was a tight ship and he hated himself for it. Because all his work amounted to nothing. All his attempts to scare you into another avenue, another way of life and it all didn’t matter. You were dead and you’d never know just how much he cared. 

Sanemi felt the aching start in his chest. A deep bone rattling ache that made him physically reach up and place a hand over his heart. He was bereft. He was speechless and angry and couldn’t fathom that your last moments were wasted saving someone like him. He could hear the spiraling of his thoughts, their downturn. Honestly… he wasn’t quite sure if he could live with himself after this. 

“Shinazugawa!” A voice chirped, clipped and quick. Then again. He turned and the sight was something that almost took out his knees. The utter relief that flushed over him turned his stomach and healed the ache in his chest. You limped your way towards him, your hand still gripping your broken sword. There was a shit eating grin on your lips as you waved your sword at him. “I saved your life, you absolute asshole!” You yelled, coughing slightly as you slowed your pace. Sanemi didn’t answer your words. He almost said he could kill you for scaring him so deeply but with the possibility still real and tangible in his mind it was something he couldn’t speak aloud. He walked forwards without words, none of them would come out right no matter how it was spoken. You slowed down at his quick pace and something flashed across your face moments before he yanked your stubborn ass into a lip smashing kiss. You stumbled back at the force of it only for Sanemi’s ash covered hands to slide around your hips and yank you into him.

~

It was beyond Rengoku’s scope that you’d been taken from him. The indomitable spirit within him wasn’t allowing him to accept the very real fact that you could be dead. That no matter how hard he fought there were things beyond his control. Things that could be taken from him. Even when he held on with the utmost of his might. 

Rengoku had happily asked you to accompany him on his mission. You weren’t a demon slayer, just a nice girl he met in a village diner a few years back. 

He’d seen you in the kitchen, watched you from his diner booth. Watched you wipe sweat off your brow as you fixed food so effortlessly, tendrils of hair around your face like vines of ivy. He couldn’t look away, even when a nice waitress brought him his food and it sat slowly losing its warmth. He’d made a habit of coming to the diner as often as he could and it wasn’t for the food, obviously… 

The first speaking interaction you two shared was a quick moment as you passed by. He met your eyes and you paused. Your town was pretty normal, most people around her dressed in darker colors and lots of layers due to the colder climate, hair usually one of three or four colors so seeing a man with loud two toned hair and fiery garb had stopped you in your tracks, though this wasn’t the first time you’d seen him it still gave you some pause. That was until you remembered your father telling you about the hashira that had been stopping by a few times a week. You minded your manners and gave the man a soft smile.

“Enjoying your food?” You knew the answer, this man usually ate ten to fifteen bowls in one sitting. He was currently on his seventh bowl when you ventured out of your spot to take a little break outside. The man’s mouth was full so he gave an enthusiastic nod of his head as you breathed out a soft laugh through your nose. “Good to hear.”  You said demurly, walking your way towards the front door. 

Rengoku searched the depths of the forest, he called out your name relentlessly, He listened intently. He searched for hours.He’d search for days for years if needed. He’d run himself ragged, he’d tear through the leaves, he’d overturn mountains, he’d tear down the sky in search of you. He’d find you too. There was something about the determination in him that would fight off the improbability that you could really be gone. If there was even the slimmest, smallest chance he could find you, that he could save you he’d traverse the depths of hell and back. He’d do it all for you. 

Rengoku popped his head out into the cold to follow you outside. He hadn’t followed you after the first time you spoke to him but he decided a few days later he wanted to talk more with you. Not usually given the chance while you were hard at work You sat on a bench on the side of the diner, shielded by the overhang as snow flurried around you. Rengoku wasn’t used to the cold but just the sight of you brought warmth to his bones. You turned your head at the door being pushed open and offered him a polite smile. Rengoku returned your smile, wide and bright. 

“Morning.” You greeted.

“Good morning.” Rengoku returned eagerly. You moved over, sharing your space as Rengoku greedily took your offer and sat beside you. The first thing you noticed about this man was his warmth. You grew up in the cold with a colder family. Rengoku’s smiles and radiating kindness was something foreign to you. Foreign but wholly welcomed and intriguing. For a few days after he sat beside you it started to be a sort of regular occurrence, he’d find you, you’d offer him a seat you two would talk. The normality set in quite quickly and you began to look forward to the moments you two shared on your little breaks. You found yourself drawn to him like a freezing body drawn to a roaring fire. Before you knew it things were serious, he took you away from that cold town, away from uncaring parents into a stable environment. He filled you with love and soon enough the dregs of your past were slowly forgotten. And when you begged him to let you tag along on just one of his missions he was unable to turn you down. 

So as he searched for you now he didn’t have a moment to cry. To let out his emotions. He wouldn’t let himself grieve. He hadn’t lost you yet. 

“Kyojuro…” Your voice was small but there was no way in hell he’d let it go unheard. He called out to you again and waited. He heard his name once more and ran with ungodly speed towards the lips that had spoken it. When he found you it was like seeing you for the first time all over again. You parted your lips, most likely to apologize for letting the demon separate you two but Regoku swept you up in a hug, spinning the both of you around. His hands held you tightly as you smiled, breathing out in relief. For a moment, lost in the pines, you felt that cold creeping in. But once again this man fought it out and won.

~

You staggered, your wounds opening as you pushed out through the trees. You felt the warmth of oozing blood staining your uniform. Losing your footing you crashed into the forest flooring, the pain making you see white momentarily. You tried to push to your feet but you were unable.

Obanai was fast through the trees, he was quiet, precise. He killed the left over straggler demons without remorse, without a second thought. He sliced cleanly and kept moving. You two had been separated for too long and Obanai couldn’t help but assume the worst. Assume that he’d lost you and due to his negligence would never see you again. He found part of your haori in the hand of a slain demon. He ripped the scrap away from its hand and held it tightly between his fingers, his heart thrumming wildly in his chest.

You had managed to finally get to your knees, you sat there for a moment. Rain had started to pour, freezing rain that soaked you completely through. Against all odds you got to your feet, you trudged forwards towards a clearing, back the way you and Obanai had previously been separated. 

Obanai enjoyed nights like these. Cold and quiet. With rain pouring against the roof of Kagaya’s mansion. He’d stopped here to give a report but the rain poured so heavily he was asked to stay over for the night before taking a trek back to his own home. Likewise you were in the same position and out of all the hashira to be stuck with Obanai would be your last choice. You found him terribly scary. He was standoffish with mannerisms much like his white snake that always perched itself on his shoulders. You weren’t necessarily a fan of snakes, nor a fan of the man that had one as a pet. But the people pleaser in you kept what little conversations you two shared, well more of you talked and he possibly, possibly not listened. 

You found yourself in a similar situation tonight like many other nights. That damned snake always found its way to you, startling you into a choked scream. Embarrassed, you clapped a hand to your mouth, not wanting to wake Kagaya and his family. Pretty much every time you were forced to interact with Obanai it was after he’d come looking for his snake that, without fault, found its way to you everytime.

“H-hello Kaburamaru.” You greeted as the white slithering thing made its way closer to you. You felt your heart in your throat as the creature raised its head as though to greet you back. You swallowed as it lowered itself and slithered towards you again. You stepped back, softly blowing out a stressed breath as it wrapped around your leg and made its way up and up until it was around your own shoulders. A part of you hated this but another part felt sort of… excited, almost honored that this creature chose to climb on you. Kaburamaru’s head sort of nuzzles against your cheek as you hear the backdoor to Kagaya’s kitchen slide open. You’d been eating a late night snack when the snake found you. Your probably wide eyes met Obanai’s as he stepped inside. He takes in the scene, his hand paused on the handle of the door. “H-he always seems to find me doesn’t he?” You ask, attempting lighthearted banter with the dark spectral that was Obanai. His two toned eyes meet yours. His black hair was slightly damp from the rain and he wasn’t in his usual haori but instead some casual clothes. You cleared your throat after he didn’t answer, after realizing you were staring at him. “It’s like he likes me or something.” You say as Kaburamaru nuzzles you again and you swear the creature nods its small head. Obanai doesn’t answer, just walks forwards and holds out an arm. It takes a moment for you to realize he’s extending a branch for Kaburamaru and you feel slightly sad as the creature slithers off of your shoulders, leaving them bare. Obanai wordlessly makes his way back to his room. “G-goodnight.” You call after him. No response.

Obanai stopped in a clearing, slowing. He felt… disheartened. Kaburamaru hadn’t perked up since the moment he last saw you and the last time was… well it was bad to say the least. You were injured, far worse than you tried to let on. Obanai didn’t want to push, he just wanted to get you out of this damned forest in one piece. But he’d been searching for over an hour, he couldn’t sense you at all. He’d called out to you time and time again but only the sound of trees rustling responded. That’s when he spotted something, something unmoving and still at the edge of the clearing.  

You sat beside him the next morning. Kagaya and his family had left earlier, leaving only you two. You were an early riser. You fixed breakfast and just as you finished Obanai stirred awake. WIth messy hair he walked groggily into the kitchen, yawning. When you first looked at him you almost didn’t notice but then you did. Usually he had a white bandage around the entire bottom half of his face below his nose. Usually. But he must’ve been entirely exhausted because that bandage was nowhere to be found. You didn’t let your eyes linger, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. 

“M-morning.” You greeted in the same sort of nervous cadence you always greeted him in. He didn’t respond as he gathered his things. “I made breakfast.” You said.

“I see that.” He answered, his voice clearer than you’d ever heard it. You swallowed, feeling silly. 

“I made enough for two.” You added and watched his hand pause. He then suddenly slaps a hand over his mouth and wordlessly leaves the room. He must’ve noticed in a reflection. You fixed two plates in his short absence and two cups of green tea. Obanai appeared a few moments later with his bandage in place, Kaburamaru on his shoulders and his bag packed. “Wait… you should eat something before you go.” You say and when he doesn’t respond you just stop. You stop talking, stop trying to be his friend. He wrenches open the front door of the mansion. 

“Obanai,” You called out one last time. He pauses and turns as you walk up to him. You packed the breakfast into a little container, you held it out to him. “At least take it to go.” You say. He stares at you, eyes scrutinizingly sharp and you felt like he could see right through your skin to your innards.

“You saw my scars.” He started coldly. Your lips part in surprise as your eyes rise up to his. You give a simple sort of solemn nod of the head to him. His snake eyes cut to the container in your hands, the stare lingered there for a moment before rising back up. “You shouldn’t be nice to me.” He says. You can’t help but furrow your brows slightly.

“Hm?”

“You should be disgusted.” He says as though your reaction to his scars is something strange. You suck in a quiet breath, thinking about the right words to say at this moment.

“I’m not.”

Rain pelted against Obanai as he ran to you. You were slumped against a tree, blood staining your uniform. He didn’t waste a single second, he scooped your limp cold body into his arms and set out at a breakneck pace towards the way you two had previously entered the forest. There was a village doctor and Obanai would get you to him in record time. He wouldn’t lose you. Not after figuring out just how important you were to him. Not after sharing moments and nights and stories. You knew of his past, he’d told you everything over the few months after you’d seen his scars. All that shit that weighed him down, that haunted him you had listened to and bore some of its weight, easing things up for him a bit. He felt lighter with you around. He felt seen, he felt heard. And most of all… he felt loved. Care for even. You deserved everything you’d given to him, tenfold. He took you to shelter, he held your hand through the worst of it and sat at your bedside until you woke up hours later.

“That was one tough bastard of a demon.” Were the first words you’d spoken the next morning. Obanai had a crick in his neck from sleeping uncomfortably in the chair next to your bed. With snake-like grace and ease he rose from his chair and was sitting on your bed in mere seconds. You gaped at him as his hands slid against your cheeks, cupping them as he pulled you to him and pressed his forehead against yours. A gentle and tender gesture. He didn’t even need to tell you how bad you’d scared him, you understood it in the slight tremble of his fingers as he held your face.

~

It was happening again, just before Giyu's eyes. That fresh pain of revelation sat familiar and heavy in the pit of his stomach. He’d watch someone he’d loved risk it all before and lose. He couldn’t watch that again.  

Not after all you two had been through. 

Through ups and downs. You were just as much of a pained soul as he was. You’d lost about the same as him. Where he resorted to quiet you resorted to anger. It was something to be worked on but Giyu had never known anyone stronger than you. The loneliness inside him had reached out greedily for the smallest bit of warmth you had to offer and vice versa. You two had found solace in one another. A quiet comprehension and understanding. He’d begun to rely on you. You’d begun to trust him. You two had formed something not many hashira could keep. A simple thing that had been ripped away from almost every single one of you. Love. Something so pure and simple. You lost your family and after a lot of hardships and shutting yourself off from the world Giyu had found his way through your walls. He wormed his way into your heart and although you were wholly reluctant at first in the end you realized that life was just entirely too short to keep behind shackled walls. 

It wasn’t easy. You were easily scared off to relationships let alone the absolute devotion Giyu showed you. It was hard to stick beside him when you were so damn scared you’d lose him one day. It was just a recurring curse that always struck you when you least expected it. It was as though loving and losing was just a prophecy to be fulfilled. Giyu stood strong. He never wavered in the face of your fear. He stayed by your side even when you screamed and yelled for him to leave. He never raised his voice, he stayed on the path. The path being you. Because everytime you’d leave, or storm away, or get scared to your core he showed restraint to his own fears. He was as afraid of losing you as you were of losing him. But he didn’t push you away, in fact that only made him pull you closer. 

“One of us will die, leaving the other. So what’s the point, Tomioka? This will only serve to hurt us.” You had said teary eyed one day in the beginning of your relationship. For a few weeks you two wrestled with your feelings and it resulted in Giyu kissing you. It changed everything because from that point on you craved more. You hated it too. To crave someone so deeply knowing one day you’d lose them. 

“That’s true.” He said softly then. He’d reached for you, taking your hand, gently kissing your knuckles. You bit your lip, your cheeks flushed. Giyu was always like this when you were alone, around others you could never figure what he was thinking but alone he let you know exactly the scope of his thoughts and feelings. “But I’d rather be with you than not.” He answered as if it was really just that simple. He started kissing his way up your hand to your wrist, past your wrist up your arm. You swallowed dryly and when you turned your face towards him he kissed your lips. That terrible flip in your stomach came and the fear that wracked your brain over things out of your control slowly washed away. 

You killed them demon. It was an upper rank that surprised you both. It had Giyu at one point, had him by the throat as its jaws opened to finish a thing that wasn’t a person to it. That was until you swooped in, you knocked Giyu out of the way to safety and took the battle alone on your shoulders. Giyu was gravely injured and the moment he hit the ground he lost consciousness. The last thing he'd seen was the flash of the moon glinting off your chipped sword then nothing at all. When he woke up all was quiet. He’d sat up achingly quick. Blood rushed to his head making him dizzy as he searched for you. The demon you had killed was slowly dusting away in front of you. Giyu pushed to his feet and limped his way over to you, only pausing for a moment to watch your sword fall from your grasp. His breath caught in his throat. All those nightmares of his dying in front of you were in vain because your fear ricocheted to him. About fifty yards from you Giyu watched as you crumpled to the ground, still and lifeless. Giyu tripped over himself to get to you and in his haste reopened the slowly healing wounds on his body. He didn’t care, no amount of pain could stop him from reaching you. The closer he got the better he could see your weakened state. There was so much blood, your hair was stained red from the color of it.

“Hey… hey---” His voice was strained and weak, choked up from the sight of you. His hands slide on either side of your face. You felt him touch you and immediately opened your eyes. Although you looked close to the grave it turned out that after your almost hour long fight to the death that really you weren’t as bad off as it looked. You were just fucking exhausted. You smiled up at him. 

“Hey.” You breathed out and the absolute relief on Giyu’s face brought fresh tears to your eyes. 

“You scared me.” He barked, not necessarily loud but you could tell with the way he slumped down against you, hugging you tightly that your dramatic fall to the ground had his heart in his throat.

“Sorry.” You apologized, gently sitting up and wrapping your arms around him. He kissed the side of your head and pulled back, kissing your lips.

“You saved me.” He spoke against your lips. You smiled.

“Uh huh.” You mumbled, missing the press of his lips already. “Let’s get out of this damned forest.”

~

Tengen wasn’t someone that hides his feelings. In fact to the effect where it was always known that he was in love with you. That this thing you said made him laugh or the way you trained made him proud or the way you killed demons made him flush. All those factors were something you weren’t new to but still caught you off guard every time. All these compliments, his kisses and time spent with you was something you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to but… slowly you were starting to look forward to it all. He’d first kissed you after begging you to choose going on a mission with him rather than Giyu and after that any moment you two were alone things dissolved into flicked off lights, warm exploring hands and heated kisses. This had been a recurring thing for weeks with no end in sight. But neither of you wanted it to end and although Tengen was the more outspoken of the two of you, your quiet confirmation was all he needed to push you against the backs of doors and kiss you senseless. 

But that’s all you let it be. Against Tengen’s multiple attempts to make it something serious you’d just shut it down. He’d ask you to accompany him on missions but you’d say no. He’d be gone for weeks and write to you but you wouldn’t write back but the moment he’d darken your doorstep again you’d grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him inside. He could tell you missed him through the way you touched him but that’s all he had to go on. You never slipped up when it came to revealing things you kept close to your heart. Revealing how you truly felt was a well kept secret behind locks and vaults and ciphers. You were a riddle that Tengen was driving himself mad to solve. But Tengen was shameless, he didn’t care if he had to beg and plead on your closed doors because just an ounce of your attention was flashy enough for him. 

That’s why when you finally agreed to go on a mission he felt as though it was you finally giving him some ground to stand upon. And he accepted it greedily. You weren’t a Hashira like him, you were Gyomei’s tsuguko and although you wouldn’t tell Tengen this, Gyomei had asked you to accompany Tengen. Though you wouldn’t also tell anyone that you wanted to come every time he’d asked you before but wouldn’t allow yourself. It wasn’t that you were afraid of commitment because people could come and go in your life all they pleased. It was more of the fact that you already felt tenfold of what Tengen probably felt for you. You cared for him so much that it affected a lot of your training. So much so that Gyomei sent you away on this mission because of how frustrated he was hearing you mope around the house waiting for Tengen to stumble on the doorstep. You couldn’t travel together though for circumstances out of your control and when you finally made it to the entertainment district almost an all out war was being waged.

Tengen sat, unable to stand, his wives surrounding him as the poison in his blood had finally been cured thanks to Nezuko. He was one arm short and short of one girl that he’d make his wife one day. Hinata had taken the other two wives out to look for you in the rubble of the district after Inosuke had told them you had helped decapitate that female demon. But the aftershock had separated you into disappearing from the rest of the group. Tengen tried to push to his feet but held no strength in his limbs whatsoever. The pain of the fight was nothing compared to being stuck unable to look for you. Then it only got worse when he saw a flash of your hair and realized you were being carried. It was Obanai that found you, he’d got here late after all the destruction and stumbled upon you. Tengen sat up, his wounds screaming as Obanai carried you closer. You weren’t moving. He called out but his voice was strained as Obanai met with some of the medics, handing you off to them. You still didn’t move. Tengen was in absolute hell watching this. He pushed to his feet and fell back to his knees, the pain so striking it brought fresh tears to his eyes. But he persevered. He got to the medic who’d set you on a makeshift stretcher, carefully inspecting your wounds. He jumped at the sight of Tengen.

“M-Mr. Tengen!” He was startled. “Y-you should be sitting down.” Tengen dropped to his knees, he reached for your hand, it was cold in his grasp. Your face was pale, a large slashed cut stretching across your brow down the side of your face. Your uniform was stained in soot and blood. But the only thing that kept Tengen from losing his mind was the steady slow rise and fall of your chest. You were alive and you were breathing. The relief was like a punch to the stomach and it seemed the search for you was the only thing keeping him awake because the moment he realized you’d be okay Tengen fell unconscious beside you.

When he woke up he was in a room alone. He felt better, though his body still ached he pushed out of the bed. He traversed the halls of the butterfly mansion, outside he saw his wives eating, he smiled at the sight of them. He kept going, looking for one more person, one more thing he’d been craving. When he pushed open the door to the training room he felt weak in the knees. It was as though you weren’t even affected. You trained mercilessly, sword swinging expertly. You paused, turning at the sound of the door opening and met Tengen’s eyes.

“You’re awake.” You greeted, voice light. Tengen didn’t waste another damn second. He was across that room in the blink of an eye. Sweeping you up into his arms, hugging you tightly as he spun you around. “Careful!” You called out, amusement in your tone. “You’re still healing.” 

“Don’t care.” He breathed out, setting you down, arms sliding down against your waste as he and his giant body leaning into your space, lips meeting lips. 

“I care.” You mumble against his lips. He kisses you hard at that. It’s not often you expressed a liking for him outloud. 

“That’s good to hear.” He kissed past your mouth down to your neck as he hugged you tightly again, lips kissing at whatever they could find.

“Uzui.” You warned. “Lots of people walking around.”

“Don’t care.” 

“I care you big oaf.” You snap but your tone is light, still amused. Tengen raised his head.

“Come home with me and the wives.” He asks, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head.

“Hm,” You hum as he pulls back, so tall you have to crane your head to meet his eyes. “Feeling sentimental?”

“Most of the time, yes.” He answers simply. “I want you. I want to be with you, I want you home with me. Please… say yes this time.” He can tell you’re thinking about it so he lowers his head and presses another kiss to your forehead, sweet and tender.

~

Hotaru first kissed you a few months back. It was a startling and confusing moment. You’d traveled to his village for a new sword scared out of your mind because you’d broken a sword. You stupidly asked a competitor of his to fix it, hoping to save yourself from his wrath. But Hotaru caught you in the act and instead of being outwardly angry… he kissed you. And this simple act changed everything. It changed how you perceived all your interactions after that day. His competitor had referred to you as Hotaru’s favorite and you hadn’t been able to wipe that from your mind since. You hadn’t seen him since the kiss and you tossed and turned almost every night since just trying to make sense of the moment if there was any sense to be found. Maybe he’d kissed you to shut you up. Maybe he kissed you in a polite way? Like a thanks for keeping him in business kind of kiss? No… that kiss was anything but polite. It was hot. All consuming. It was everything you didn’t expect to come from the man who struck fear in all demon slayers. So despite your better judgment you used the little bit of time off that you had to trudge back to his village. You told everyone you were going there to relax before your new mission but in reality it was to solve the mystery of why he kissed you and why you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Hotaru lived on the outskirts of the village. A bit of a walk from everyone else’s house, It was like he was the town pariah or something. It was dark when you spotted the glow of his parted curtains, his chimney puffing out smoke. It was the dead of winter so you were chilled to the bone, not only at the fact you were about to speak to him after months of silence but also because of the damn snow storm you trekked through to get here. 

As you got to his door you blew out a breath and knocked. But just as you lowered your hand you heard something. A rustle, the movement of steps in the snow. You turned, surveying the area. Maybe a villager kid had followed you up here, interested in the girl that had come to talk to the town's scary ghost. Your eyes scanned the trees as the door opened. You didn’t turn back and that’s when you spotted it, lumbering through the trees, blood dripping into the snow. You turned back, hand flying to your sword. Hotaru stood in the doorway unaware of two things. Why you were here and why you pushed him back and closed the door in his face.

“Stay inside!” You called out to him, your sword in your hand at the ready as the demon busted through the trees towards you. 

The thing was viscous and obviously starving as its jaws opened and latched onto your shoulder. You screamed in pain, hitting it back and slashing violently across the length of its stomach. It was hard to maneuver in your layers of thick winter clothes but you mostly made it work. You fought the demon back away from Hotaru’s house, it’s bloodlust like that of a rabid animal. It snarled and growled and slashed at you, slashing up your clothes and your face. When you were finally able to get the upper hand you wasted no time slicing it’s head from its shoulders. It crumpled into dust and fire, blowing away with the wind. You blew out an exhausted breath, leaning heavily against a tree near you. So much for relaxing. You jolted at the sound of Hotaru’s voice as he called out for you near the treeline. You sighed, pushing off the tree, trudging towards his voice through the snow. 

“That was one tough bastard.” You said as you spotted him. You must’ve looked worse than you felt because Hotaru stumbled his way towards you rather ungracefully. “Careful,” You said as he approached, slamming against you in a tight hug. You gasped in surprise, winded by the force of his body slamming into yours. He hugged the life out of you. Hugged you so tightly you wondered if he was trying to kill you. “It’s okay-- I’m fine.” You breathed out and still he didn’t let up. 

“I heard you scream. I couldn’t find you.” He spoke into your hair, tightening his hold on you just barely. 

“Yeah, it bit me.” You answered nonchalantly. Hotaru pulled back, anger on his face. You sucked in a breath at the look on his face.

“What were you thinking!” He growls, turning and pulling you gently towards his house, despite the anger in his voice he handled you with care. 

“What?” You stuttered.

“You scared the hell outta me.” He says, throwing open his door and pulling you into the warmth of his house. He guides you to the kitchen. “Strip.” He commands and you do as told, kicking off your snow boots and peeling off your layers of clothes, careful around the stinging bite on your shoulder. Hotaru gathered some things, slamming things left and right. You were speechless, his reaction to you saving him was something you weren’t expecting. When he grabbed all he needed he dropped into the seat next to you and you turned to face him.

“Are you mad that I saved you?” You asked and watched his brows furrow. You sighed out heavily, almost exhaustedly. Both his hands slid against your cheeks and in another surprising twist he kissed you. He kissed you so softly and tenderly it had your stomach turning in knots. This man was loud, he was angry most of the time and every single slayer and villager was scared at the mere thought of him. But he was different when he kissed you, it had your entire body lightening on fire. You absentmindedly tried to wrap your arms around the back of his neck only for that bite on your shoulder to remind you with white hot pain. You gasped, sucking in a breath as Hotaru pulled back. He didn’t waste a second placing a rag over the wound, soaking up some of the blood. 

“I’m not angry you saved me.” He said after a moment. “Just mad you got hurt.” 

“I get hurt all the time.” You answer lightly, hoping for some humility but Hotaru doesn’t crack a smile. “It’s just part of being a Hashira.” His gentle hands are patching up your shoulder and he doesn’t say anything for a few long seconds. Once he’s finished he gets up, grabbing a blanket, wrapping it around you to warm you up. He sets back down and pulls your chair closer to his. Your nerves spike at the closeness. 

“You didn’t come all this way for a broken sword right?” He asks, your breath catches as you shake your head. 

“My sword’s fine.” 

“That’s good to hear.” He says, reaching a hand up to tuck your hair back out of your face. “Didn’t visit my competitor first this time?” It’s weird to see him joke but you find yourself relaxing.

“No. I came straight here.” You answer and his hand lingers on your cheek.

“Thanks for saving my life.” He says.

“You’re welco-” He cuts you off with a press of his lips against yours.

[izzys-bluebell-woods]

I feel like people have been quick to dismiss Mimzy's importance in Ep. 5

I've been seeing a lot of Mimzy hate, mainly on Reddit, where people are genuinely REALLY hating on Mimzy because she was annoying, interrupted Hell's Greatest Dad, and served no purpose in the episode.

Whilst the previous two points are down to personal taste, I feel like considering Mimzy's role in this episode nonexistent, or that she just exists for fanservice here, is greatly overlooking what this episode is about. There are two focuses to the episode, one of course being Lucifer and his relationship with Charlie, but it's also the deepest look into Alastor's actual character that we've gotten so far, I'd say significantly more than the finale. We see two sides to Alastor that both Mimzy and Luficier bring out, and I wanted to kind of highlight my thoughts and what the episode was trying to show us about Alastor that we wouldn't have gotten if Mimzy wasn't there.

Alastor's instant hostility towards Lucifer makes it incredibly clear that Alastor can't keep his cool all the time - his two biggest flaws is that he is power-hungry and incredibly petty. From what we know - and what is likely to be true considering Lucifer is shown to have no idea who he is - Alastor has never met Lucifer before this. If the theories that he belongs to Eve/Lilith in some way are true, there is reasonable ground to say that this immediate hatred towards him could be justified, maybe it was in some way Lucifer's fault that he's caught in this deal and this is his way of taking it out on him or trying to uphold his end of that deal.

But look how much his mask slips, look how annoyed and angry he is. If this was a font that he was doing to somehow make Lucifer intentionally mad at him for some sort of personal gain, he wouldn't have looked so murderous. Him just leaning down and hissing 'fuck you' right in his face was so shocking for the audience purely because no one has done that to him before, no one has pushed him so much.

This indicates that Alastor isn't just playing some sort of game, Lucifer genuinely got under his skin, because he is so obviously more powerful than Alastor and he HATES that. He hates being reminded that he's not the biggest meanest in Hell - this was explored more in his showdown in Adam, but at the time of this episode's release, this is the most flawed and 'human' Alastor has ever felt. He's dropped from this force of mysterious evil, to randomly picking a fight with the Devil himself because he was so catty about being shown up.

As further reinforced with him snapping at Husk when he also reminded him he wasn't as all-powerful as he sees himself to be, Alastor will lash out at those who make him feel like he isn't the one in control and pulling the strings of everything - we finally see a hint of motivation for him sticking around at the hotel at all.

But then there's Mimzy.

We immediately go from seeing Alastor at his worst, at his most aggravated and petty, to seeing him literally melt into a hug. The demon who, according to Viv herself, hates physical contact so much that he would distort and melt himself to get away from it. We so quickly go from being shocked that Alastor is behaving so spitefully to now having to take in Alastor being ecstatic to see someone who he considers to be a friend.

Having this be so directly after his massive tiff with Lucifer is so important. If this wasn't included in this episode, our only insight into the person Alastor actually is would be that he's an asshole. Picking fights with people just because he wants to stay on top, that its the thing he cares about the most. But Mimzy does come along, and we see that it isn't true at all - and its confusing, and that is so perfect.

You think you're getting somewhere with the person Alastor is, but you see that, hold on, there is actually a semblance of heart in there, here he is actually caring about someone. But what is so important about this being a relationship he shares with Mimzy, and something that couldn't at all be explored with, say, Rosie, is the kind of person Mimzy is.

Mimzy double crossed Alastor. And, according to Husk, this is a somewhat regular occurace. We can see that Alastor is annoyed at her, and I think most of us were prepared for him to do something to her like he was doing to those loan sharks a few seconds before this confrontation.

But...he doesn't. Not at all, he doesn't even snap at her. Perhaps scold her a bit, but other than that, he is so nice to her and just politely tells her to leave and that is that. He does more shit to Lucifer, who literally hasn't done nothing but exist in his presence, than someone who just trampled all over his ego by using him, both as a shield and, well, somewhat emotionally.

In this episode, Alastor is shown to lash out. Easily. All you have to do is be more powerful than Alastor, and he won't like you - that's the impression you'd get from his scenes with Lucifer alone. But we have his scenes with Mimzy as well, and you're being told, hold on, no, that isn't quite correct, because he's not acting the same here. What has Alastor got to gain from letting Mimzy get off of this with no repercussions? Mimzy, someone who has probably sold her soul to someone else and has absolutely no power at all.

Nothing. He does it because Alastor cares about her.

I don't think I would have considered his friendship with Rosie to be genuine at all if it wasn't for his friendship with Mimzy. Rosie is so powerful, and Alastor has so much to gain from being in close cahoots with her, but it's so clear that he doesn't care about that, but he sees her as an equal. If all we saw from Alastor in that episode was him lusting for power, it would render the way we see all his relationships with people to be of some gain to him somehow. ESPECIALLY Rosie and other Overlords like Zestial.

This makes Alastor and Mimzy's relationship arguably one of the most interesting in the show. Someone who is so powerful and unpredictable, who hardly cares for anyone other than himself, caring about this absolute gremlin of a woman. He likes Mimzy purely because she's fun to be around, a sentiment you might expect from Alastor, with his stated reasoning for joining the hotel being to laugh at people, but he's in no way laughing at Mimzy. You can tell that he doesn't intimidate her at all, because she has the absolute balls to pull off the loan shark thing with him.

Mimzy and Lucifer's interactions with Alastor has made him to be one, if not THE most interesting character in the show. Because you're exploring two contradictory sides of the same coin at once. One where he gets so worked up and angry over not having the power he sees himself as having, and one where he's visibly hurt that his long time friend used him. In one instance you have him pulling out all the stops to be as hostile as he could be to Lucifer without actually hurting him (even though he clearly wants to), and another where he has full range to hurt Mimzy as much as he wants to, but he doesn't.

Alastor cares about people. But also disregards people like playing cards. He is such a mixed bag, so far from being one note, and you wouldn't have gotten that insight without Mimzy.

[steph-fangirl]

"Still super jealous as hell by the way.“

"Okay, now, can you…get outta my face?“ Steve annoyedly swats a hand at Eddie’s chest and ducks out of his space.

Eddie sighs and shakes his head. "Why are you-" He purses his lips, thinks. "You don’t…you still don’t like me very much, do you?"

At that Steve stops walking, huffs out an annoyed breath and presses his eyes closed. He turns to Eddie, looks at him with an expression Eddie can’t read and says, "No, Eddie. No, I don’t."

Eddie just watches him for a second, not sure what to do, studies his face, the furrow between his brows, the clear discomfort in his expression.

He scoffs. Getting a little angry. "Jesus, man,“ he says. "You just can’t get over it, huh? And here I was rambling on about how you were actually a good dude after all, but…no, turns out Steve Harrington is still just as much stuck in his stupid high school mindset as I would have thought.“

Steve just looks more annoyed now, a slight shift in his eyebrow and…he looks…frustrated? A little? How does that make sense?

"You,“ Steve says, voice low, but not because of the monsters, Eddie knows that much, "are unbelievable.“

Eddie blinks. "What?“

"Eddie, you’re the one who can’t get over it,“ Steve accuses him. "You always talk about that non-conformist shit and how people should just stop with the categories and drawers and labels but, dude, you’ve never judged people that way yourself! I have been saved in your brain as this dumb idiot jock ever since you’ve known me and…“ Steve huffs out an unbelieving breath. "And Eddie, I don’t know what to tell you…but you’ve never been nice to me. Ever. And when Lucas made the basketball team, which is amazing, by the way, you weren’t proud of him or supported him for that incredible achievement like you should have if he’s really one of your 'little sheep‘.“ He draws quotation marks in the air. "You punished him for it. You said you can’t make Hellfire? Fuck you. I’m just gonna have the most important part of the campaign without you, because you know what, you don’t deserve us anymore now that you’ve joined the dark side. Now that you’ve taken up a…a jock game. Because god forbid, somebody could actually ever enjoy playing sports.“

Eddie can’t follow. His mind’s lagging behind, still stuck on Steve apparently knowing DnD terms and saying he was never nice to him and-

Steve takes another step back.

"Eddie, for as long as I can remember you hated me. And yeah, sure, I was stupid and I did some stupid things, but…“ he shrugs one sided. "But I don’t think I deserve to be treated that way. I think I at least deserved a chance. And you never gave me one.“

Eddie blinks. "What do you mean I never gave you a chance, I-"

"Biology, sophomore year,“ Steve interrupts him. "We were assigned lab partners. I tried to really…put all of it aside, tried to get to know you, because actually, Eddie, you know what? I was sort of obsessed with you. Because you were so…loud and so unashamedly yourself, I admired you so much. You didn’t care about anything and you stood up for yourself and that’s something I’ve never been able to do, my whole life. I…“ Steve looks down, sighs a little. "I let people push me around because it’s the only way I feel like I can be of use. But you…you made me believe that maybe actually I…could do it, you know? Like, tell Tommy H. off or something…“ He looks so hurt. Eddie kind of wants to die. "But you…you acted like it was the worst thing ever, getting partnered with me. You didn’t even look at me. You…never gave me a chance, Eddie. So…sorry if one 'you’re actually a good dude, Harrington' doesn’t make me forget all of that, make up for it. Because I’m not so sure I believe you.“

Oh.

Oh no.

Eddie fucked up.

[scriptseekstories]

Queen Bee’s Hive

Chapter 9- Dreams Are Lies

A/N: is that a new screenshot I see? And guess what? I MADE THAT SHIT lmao

You can’t really remember your life before the night you opened your eyes in that warehouse. The very first memories you can even vaguely recall was your mama, her beautiful face as she held you tightly in her arms.

You can barely remember voices of distinct people shouting at you, barely remember Ivy and her soothing presence, yet remember your mama so perfectly as if your brain refused to let go of her.

Your dreams allow you to see her, her blurry body yet perfect face. Those were the good nights, however, for your brain likes to torment you with dreams that are filled with screams that you can barely identify, blurred figures running past you, and the glowing eyes of Batman.

This dream tonight was different, yet common.

Nothing was around you. Endless void across miles and miles of what hog couldn’t figure out the location. You’ve been walking around for who knows how long, rubbing your arms in a soothing way.

You tend to hate these dreams, as you always end up meeting Them. The other you, they claim to be, the one who took control the moment you opened your eyes in the warehouse.

The Bee Beast.

“Took you long enough, you finally decide to talk instead of being a wuss and avoiding me?” You spoke up, seemingly talking to nothing, but you knew they were here, you always knew.

“They Hurt us… hurt you…” The echoing voice croaked out, and you quickly turned to stare up at… well, you. You weren’t sure if this was a Jekyll and Hyde situation, or that you’re the real version, being human and all, and this was some sort of parasite.

“Listen, ominous discombobulated voice of the Bee Beast. I don’t know who “they” is, but you gotta let me leave,” You were getting sick of these cryptic words they spewed out every time you confront them- yourself? You didn’t care.

“Can’t… safe here…” When you first heard them say those words, you were scared and alone, only hearing the voice similar to yours, yet it soothed you and calmed you down as your mind drifted into a slumber.

But now, it made you angry hearing them, as if they wanted you to be kept here forever, forced to sit in the back of your mind like a caged memory.

“Like hell this is safe! I’m trapped in this endless void forced to watch you take control! Let me out!” From a distance, you squinted your eyes to see them, the Bee Beast sitting down facing away from you.

“You’re the one trying to run away from these little memories we have because of what?! Fear of acknowledging that what you’re doing is insane?!” You scowled, walking towards them

“I’m… sorry…” Was all they said before you walked straight into a hard surface. You cursed as you began to feel what seemed to be an invisible barrier, causing your anger to spike up.

“FUCK!!” You slammed your fists, “It’s MY life too!! You can’t be a coward and keep me here!!” You kept on smashing your fists against the invisible barrier, watching the Bee Beast walk further away from you.

Tears of frustration welled in your eyes as the blinding light that indicated you were waking up appeared. You weren’t ready yet, you needed more time to try and interrogate them, demand why it was so important for them to take control.

Yet all was in vain.

“RRRAAAAAGGGGHHH!!”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

Your body jolted awake, gasping for air as you sat upright, your four limbs flailing. That damn dream was causing you more stress than when you’re awake. Clutching onto the bottle full of glowing pollen spend your neck as a way to comfort yourself, you took deep breaths while feeling around you.

Blankets, wooden bed frame, your legs, and your nightstand. You listed out the things you felt to have your brain know you were okay. You opened your eyes and adjusted your vision to see your room clearly. A humble room with glow in the dark stars in your ceiling thanks to Harley, little succulent plants from Ivy, and probably stolen jewels from Selina as housewarming gifts.

“Queen Bee?” Your doors slid apart and opened to show one of your worker bees, a former “street” worker named Angie who saved from an aggressive customer. She was gentle, someone who just tried to survive in the streets of Gotham.

“Sorry to wake you, but we welcomed more who seek shelter,” She gently said, her newly acquired antennas twitching with joy. You smiled and got up from your bed nest, towering over her.

“Excellent, give them… a dose of my honey to… welcome them,” You reassured her, making her smile in surprise hearing your speech improved greatly. Still hesitate to fully utter words, but you’re getting better.

“We got it boss!” One other worker poked out behind Angie, a kid who tried to rob your drones for jars of your honey, to which you offered a home in your hive. Angie glared at him before rolling her eyes and ruffling his hair.

“I’ll be out there to greet our new family,” You called to the two while they walked away, the doors closing. You ran your hands across your head, pushing down your antennas and made them bounce back as the sun beamed through your windows.

Your hive was expanding, drones and workers are growing, and your honey is actually selling big thanks to Penguin. Your beehive buzzed with content, little larvae of bees hatched and are growing strong with pollen collected from you.

What more could you ever want?

You knocked over a box that scattered across the ground when you turned to leave your room. You looked down to see tapes laid on the floor. The tapes that were collected inside this warehouse, now Hive. You kept them, a sense of familiarity seeing them.

You grabbed one, flipping it over to inspect the labels. They were all dated years back, titled “entry 12”, “important notes”, or “Failed experiments”. Yet one caught your eye, one that had you curious.

“For… (Name)…?” It had your name, or at least you believed it was your name. Ivy referred to you as (Name) before, but that was only one time, using the nickname Bumblebee ever since.

Nevertheless, you crouched under your bed and pulled out the very old tv you kept to collect dust underneath, plugging it in and injecting the tape into it. You were curious, maybe this will help your memories in finally making sense, and maybe you’ll see your mother again.

Static speaker across the screen when it began, before glitching to a figure in a lab coat. Your eyes widened and your thorax chattered when you witness your mother come into screen, sitting down in the camera with a tired smile.

She looked distant from your dreams. Older, content, yet still beautiful. She cleared her throat and awkwardly waved at the camera, to which you instinctively waved back slightly.

Seems like your old self is still there.

“Project: Honey is going to be big. It’s going to save hundreds of bees, plants, and animals. It’s my dream to have this breakthrough known across the globe,” Your mother spoke, lifting her finger to show a few bees crawling all over her hands, the Queen perched on her stretched out finger.

“But… it’s not just about fame. It’s about us, (Name),” You straightened yourself at the mention of your name, “It’s our family growing from nothing, becoming something when no one else had your back. It’s family,” Your mother had a small content smile, watching the bees crawling over her hands, buzzing and flapping their wings.

“(Name), my beautiful (Name), you’re going to be someone big in life. Someone who will lead people and protect them with your incredibly smart brain and passion,” She stared into the camera, “Don’t be consumed by my work that will overshadow who you truly are. My baby,” Setting the Queen bee down, your mother sat directly across the camera, wiping tears in her eyes.

“I love you, sweetie. Don’t ever forget that part of you that brings that bright smile,” And with that, the video clipped into static, the sounds of the tv filling your ears as you sat in silence. The room seemed to be smaller, making you feel ever so small, like a child again.

“Mama…” You whispered, letting tears flow down. The dreams of your mother now seemed to be lies with how much you forgot her features. Her hair, eyes, nose, all seemed to different in your dreams than her on these tapes.

You must watch all these tapes, to see more of her. But your frantic attempt to grab all the tapes were interrupted by your doors sliding open, your antennas twitching wildly from the sense of fear.

“Queen Bee!! Intruder!!” One of the younger drones, a 13 year old kid ran into your room in a frantic state, their beanie pushing their antennas down, yet the tingling of fear still vibrated that you felt the whole hive shake with agitation.

“Who is it?” You asked without stammers or pauses, standing up fully while feeling your throws chatter with fury. Who dared attempt to invade your home and torment your people?

“The Joker!!”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

Damien followed Duke when he snuck out with his Signal suit to patrol in a very specific area. Duke doesn’t patrol at night, either his powers being most useful in the daylight. Yet the boy wonder could read him like a book, he was stalking around that warehouse.

“Father wouldn’t appreciate you draining yourself like this, it’ll be a pain to deal with a mopey you more than a mopey Grayson,” Damien jumped and crouched right next to Duke, who said nothing to even acknowledge Damien.

“Some investor claimed it… took everything out of that place…” Duke gritted his teeth seeing construction men finishing up their late night shift in fixing the outside of the warehouse, “We should’ve brought those tapes with us… their mother’s memories would still…” Damien followed Duke’s gaze down at the building.

Some real estate investors took property of the warehouse the family, making good out of the horrid memories that held from that place. To them, it was a nightmare seeing your corpse… yet to you, it was an escape.

Duke pleaded to Bruce they should save whatever was left in that warehouse for you, but their father was still grieving to do anything but wander aimlessly in the Manor. Even Damien had to admit, he was stupid to not even grab whatever seemed important to you.

Yet he was already stupid enough to never see you as his sibling.

“What we have done to our late sibling… we cannot erase,” He whispered, “Some of us more at fault than others…” His heart aches each day when he wakes up from memories of him tormenting you, scaring you a way with his swords, sending Titus to chase you, his demeaning words about your mother…

“Those hours of spending time with them, even if it was just a few hours, felt like I knew them forever,” The youngest looked up at Duke, who was wiping his tears from under his helmet. Damien felt his throat tighten, looking away and stared at the seemingly empty warehouse.

“…What were they like for those hours…?” He shouldn’t feel shame in asking, yet it felt like he wasn’t worthy of even asking about who you were. His voice wobbled ever so slightly, making Duke let out a quiet sigh.

“Clumsy,” Duke chuckled, “(Name) always seemed like they had two left feet, got worse when they got excited. They also have this… bright smile that lit up the room, a lopsided and crooked one yet I wish to see them again,” He mumbled, the look in his eyes making it seemed like he was raised to the hip next to you.

Damien listened in silence while Duke passionately talked about you, as if he knew you so well from the little time he spent with you. He wanted that feeling, the feeling that he would know you like the back of his hand, the feeling of even thinking about you was a cherish thing to experience.

The League of Assassins taught him that showing vulnerability, showing empathy and trust was a weakness. Yet here he was, imagining that your hugs would be like, your excited rambled about bees, what you would’ve done for your family if they did the same for you.

Weakness was all Damien needed if it meant having you back with them again. He wanted his older sibling to hold him while he cried in their arms while apologizing over and over.

Maybe you would’ve forgave him then.

“All Robins, return to the Batcave. We finally broke through H.I.V.E, all patrolling fall in,” The sudden static noise from the comms of Batman’s voice snapped Damien out of his thoughts. He responding his usually stern way, but Duke didn’t respond.

“We have to follow father’s orders, there must be important information for us about (Name),” Damien urged, for once feeling hope that he’ll finally get to know you, even if you’re gone, your memories will live on.

“But-…” Duke didn’t want leave, his eye catching a slight glow from the inside. Damien gave him a look, one of genuine sympathy and sternness, causing the meta human to hesitate. With one last glance, the two heroes disappeared into the rooftops of Gotham.

Buzzzzz

They failed to see the truck filled with clown goons and a certain green haired clown driving towards The Hive.

A/N: Okay so some things are confusing, so I’ll give you a little rundown. Kinda hard to explain but you’re both the same person, but two versions?

Basically Human Reader and “Bee Reader” are somewhat similar to Bruce Banner and Hulk. Both fighting for control and able to talk to one another when dreaming. Yet you aren’t aware that those dreams are real and you are actually talking to your other half, only believing that those are simply just dreams.

Both of you don’t remember anything except your mother from your past, but you will remember everything… eventually.

I also took inspiration of that one Spider-Man comic where Peter “died” and from his body came out a giant spider-like beast, who eventually died too and Human Peter crawled out of the body all alive and okay.

So take that as you will-

And finally, Cobblepot pulled a few strings and staged a whole signing of him buying out the warehouse with a fake name so no one would suspect anything out of the ordinary while you could keep doing your honey business.

Anyways, hope that gives you context, if not I’m sorry 😭

Taglist: @pix-stuff @jellystar-star @moon0goddess @bad4amficideas @lettucel0ver @lithiumval @degenerates-posts @ryuushou @deathbynarcisstick @silverklaus @artistwithcreativeburnout @middevil465 @jsprien213 @1abi @oliviaewl @redkarmakai @nxdxsworld @the-dumber-scaramouche @sc3n3mo-t3to @tw-om-gi-hs-56387 @bunniotomia @welpthisisboring @rad4bean @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @ceramic-raven @danart501 @esposadomd @trashlanternfish360 @esposadomd

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — THREE.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 5.8k.

NOTE. there was supposed to be more to this chapter, but it’d end up being way too long so i reserved it for the next one. anyway, hope you enjoy your first week at nalkeutta. feedback and comments much appreciated. happy reading! CHAPTER FOUR.

AFTER ONE ANGRY PHONE CALL, YOU FIND OUT MORE FROM MARK THE INTERNAL AGREEMENT BETWEEN JSS NALKEUTTA. Mark understands the precarious spot JSS is in, but can’t risk losing his major legal recourse whenever things get icky within his gang dealings. JSS recognizes the significant benefits it had been receiving by partnering with Nalkeutta, but this continued arrangement would be inimical in the long run.

So they came up with a very simple compromise. Nalkeutta will stop hiring lawyers from JSS if the firm simply hands over one of their lawyers to them, effectively cutting public ties between the two parties. However, Mark Lee will continue supporting JSS as a private investor, all while retaining the protection fee benefits that the firm has been enjoying thus far.

It’s a win-win situation for all. All except you.

You’re the only loser in this situation. These fuckers are tossing and trading you around like some sort of commodity.

“Are you happy that you’ve finally managed to poach me after all this time?”

Knowing very well how pissed you are, Mark offered to pick you up from your apartment. Today’s scheduled to be your first official day at Nalkeutta. He’s smiling in the driver’s seat of his fucking Bugatti, and it just makes you feel even shittier as your ass lands on the plush cushions of his unreasonably expensive car. “Seatbelt,” he simply tells you. You grunt and fasten it on. “I hope you’d change your mind about your transfer once you get a tour of our building.”

Oh, joy. A building tour. The best description for you and Mark in the car right now, driving down the sepia streets of Yeongdeungpo district, would be that of a chipper mom taking her angsty teen daughter to a birthday party, chin on palm, staring out the window and all.

He eventually pulls up to a tall, multi-windowed building. Very tall, wedged between two shorter establishments. You look at the towering building from inside the car, noticing the sign greeting you right above the well-mainted glass doors— Daybreak Security Company, it says. You release a scoff. Wow, what a disguise. 

Come to think of it, in the months you’ve worked with Nalkeutta, you’ve never actually been here before. Mark’s always the one visiting JSS, never the other way around, so there is the barest amount of curiosity here. “You can head in first and wait in the lobby,” he tells you. “I need to park this thing in the basement.” Your hand stops at the door handle, squinting back at Mark’s instruction. He laughs. “The staff are informed about your arrival. Most of them are out, anyway, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Dubious, but you don’t protest. Mark Lee stays hazarding by the sidewalk with one car window open, watching you as you make your way to the entrance. You tentatively look behind, only to be met by Mark’s close-eyed smile, waving a hand to prompt you inside the building. You grimace and spin your heels. What a psycho, you think, and you finally hear him restarting the car to leave once you’re already halfway through Nalkeutta’s doors.

Jeez. He and Doyoung are on the opposite ends of the boss spectrum— both equally despicable— but at least your former boss wasn’t as creepy or an active threat to your life. Heck, he was even a source of entertainment sometimes. You don’t think you can get away with the same disrespectful shit you’ve been pulling on Doyoung with Mark. The only reason why the latter has been letting you talk back so much is because he never saw you as a threat. Now that you’re in his territory, you can’t be so complacent.

Anyhow, you do as instructed and are currently waiting in the lobby, collecting curious stares here and there from an incorrigible amount of men coming in and out, and your best attempt at an impatient resting bitch face so that none of these fuckers try to talk to you is starting to be overcome by queasiness. When the hell is he coming back? You notice a group of guys in their early twenties whisper while sneaking glances at you from the corner— one of them you’re pretty sure you’d had to bail out before for a DUI.

Besides that glimmer of abnormality, the rest of the lobby is eerily normal, harboring the appearance of any other company office with potted plants and clean sofas and a receptionist corner. Granted, they are trying to pose as a very legal, very unsuspicious security company, but knowing what you know about Nalkeutta, it just makes you sick to the bones.

Eventually, Mark Lee shows up, emerging from the ground floor elevator near the couch you’ve been waiting on. You don’t even try to hide your annoyance. “Sorry, Had to take a phone call,” he says, smiling and sounding not very sorry at all while nudging you out of your seat. “C’mon, attorney. Let’s start the tour.”

You release a dead and pained groan. Mark pats you on the back for your enthusiasm, leading the way through.

Nalkeutta has four floors in total. The first floor is basically the entirety of Nalkeuta’s front— Daybreak Security Company, all decked out with an abundance of private meeting rooms for clients, consultation offices, and a bunch of flat out empty rooms labelled as storage, and bathrooms on each wing. There’s both a staircase and an elevator leading further up the floors or down to the basement parking lot. Mark says he’ll show you to your reserved parking spot later, and that alone is already tipping the scales between him and Doyoung on who is the better bad boss.

The second floor is reserved for the general office— divided into Nalkeutta’s four divisions and a common break area in the center, cushions and sofas already occupied by less than familiar faces. You don’t look at any of them and instead feast your eyes “You’ll also be stationed on this floor,” he tells you, smiling. “But we’ll save that part of the tour for last.”

Wow. You can’t wait to have another crowded cubicle sandwiched between roughed up gangsters who probably don’t know how to work a printer. Now that you think about it, it’s kind of uncanny that this notorious gang operates in a sterilized office setting. Mark Lee never fails to send you to the depths of discomfort.

“Now, to the next floor.” Up another level in the elevator are two very large conference rooms, an entire fucking gym area, and rooms and rooms of organized files and storages, each tightly chained with locks, but that’s not the point.

They have a gym here. There’s a freaking fully-equipped gym in the middle of all this corporate bullshit. Of fucking course there is.

“I’ll give you the keys to the locked rooms later,” he informs with a hum. “And you’re free to use the amenities up here.”

There’s no point hiding the sheer disgust on your face. “You’re offering me up to a biohazard chamber.” This is a male dominated building. You may be stereotyping, but you can’t imagine how hygienic these roughed up gangsters are. Mark always smells like baby lotion and fabric softener, but hospitals hide the smell of blood and death with a noxious amount of industrial chemicals and disinfectant. Look at him laughing at your repugnance. Evil, evil man.

“Alright, now let’s head up to the fifth floor.”

Riding up the elevator, you notice quickly that the uppermost floor has a lot less going on than the three below it. The first and only place Mark lets you enter is his private office— instructing you to knock thrice in case you have an urgent matter to discuss with him without informing him beforehand. The rest of the rooms on the floor are confidential, beyond your scope of authority.

He drops a set of keys onto your open palm. “But once you’ve worked with us for around three or four years, I might change my mind.”

It’s concerning how employee access to restricted information depends on the insane boss’s fickleness of mind. “Sure.” You pocket the keys. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Let me show you to your office.”

Your palm, still inside your slacks pocket, tightens around the keys. Office? No. No fucking way. Haha. He probably means just a cubicle. Your heart starts racing. Mark starts walking, and you hear the thumping in your ears coincide with your clacking heels against the hollow hallway. 

Office. Office. Your hopes are starting to rise up as the elevator brings you a level down. It dings. Mark leads you back into the fourth floor, and when you pass by the sets of cubicles divided in the open office area without your boss turning his head or stopping or even batting an eye— you start losing your shit. Holy crap. He stops in front of a close-doored room, interiors concealed by large blinds from the inside. 

There’s an acrylic placard attached to the door. It says Chief Legal Officer.

“This room is yours.”

When he opens the door, the first thing that greets you is the glistening name plate sitting parallel before you atop the sleek mahogany desk. 

It has your name on it. Gold. Avenir font. Engraved. Heavy enough to knock a man unconscious with one blow. You’re about to cry. Nevermind all that you said earlier. Fuck Kim Doyoung. Mark Lee is the best boss you could ever ask for.

“Hope the interior is to your liking, but you can change it up however you like.” 

That prompts you to actually take a look around, and holy shit— it’s almost as big as Doyoung’s office. There’s a substantial amount of organizers and cabinets. At the center sits a set of low, mustard settees and a small black coffee table to match. The floor is carpeted and lint-free. There’s a fucking mini fridge near the artificial potted plant in the corner. Your head snaps towards Mark. He laughs at your, speechless, open-mouthed, teary-eyed reaction to his surprise. 

“I’m guessing you’re satisfied with the office,” he says, looking like he’s about to say more but is interrupted by a silent buzz from his phone. He pulls it open, and his brows furrow for a split second. “Hmm. I still have to introduce you to Nalkeutta’s Executives, but something came up.” Mark pockets back his phone, and his usually pleasant expression takes over once more. “For now, I’ll let you get yourself settled in your office. I’ll send someone to pick you up in a while.”

The moment Mark Lee leaves the premises, you let out a scream, walk forward, drop down to your knees, and attempt to hug the entire length of your desk. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, cheek pressed against the cold surface of the red mahogany wood. “Oh my god, I’m naming you Savannah and you’ll be my new best friend.”

Savannah does not reciprocate your affections, but who gives a damn. You’re not sure how long you’ve been embracing your desk and inhaling the new office smell, but apparently long enough for someone to knock and push open your door with a sing-songy “Hellooo—!” The greeting quickly gets cut off the moment your widened eyes meet that of the intruder’s. Your knees are kissing the carpeted ground. Your head is cocked in a very uncomfortable manner in order to face the direction of the door— but not as uncomfortable as how the guy who just entered looks at the moment.

“Whoa, uh,” he double-takes. “Mark asked me to pick you up. You must be our new lawyer…?” 

You continue meeting the man’s gaze. You force your stiff shoulders back and slowly pull yourself up, patting down your pencil skirt. “Yes,” you start, promptly introducing yourself. “And you are?”

Very smooth. His gaze flickers down, making its way back up to meet your eyes— of which a wide grin starts to unfurl on his face. Your brow twitches. “Lee Haechan. Head of the Yoosun Department. My office is right across from yours.” He called Mark by his first name. Meaning, he must be one of his higher-ups. You wonder if it’s a Nalkeutta requirement to be rude and pretty in order to be promoted. “Nice to meet you, attorney. Seems like you’ll have no problem fitting right in.”

Haechan extends an arm for a handshake as if he didn’t just hit you with the worst insult you’ve been slapped with his fucking week. You respond with one firm shake before wiping the same palm against your blazer. 

He notices. You intended for him to notice. You beam at him with a smile. He’s still grinning, but slightly taken aback. “You’re fun.”

Mark has yet to orient you with the general organizational structure of Nalkeutta, but at the very least, there’s one thing you’re certain of.

“And you’re wasting time. What did Mark send you for?”

You answer to no one but him. Meaning, you’ve no reason to fake pleasantries with this Haechan guy. He barged into your office without waiting for admission. This guy needs to be taught a lesson.

“Oh, right,” he huffs. “He called us for a sudden meeting to meet the new head of our legal department, or something. I didn’t even know we had a legal department! Anyway, follow me, let’s head to the conference room. By the way, do you have a boyfriend?” The elevator doors close before you. You grace him with a response the moment he presses the floor button.

“You saw me in carnal embrace with my desk earlier. The only thing fucking me is my impending workload.”

Haechan chokes out a snorting laugh. “Holy shit,” he wheezes. “Is that a call for help? If so, I’m a pretty helpful guy.” 

You look at him, smiling. “Unless you’re a seventy-inch mahogany wood in width, I’m not interested.”

“Damn. High standards. I give, I give.”

You roll your eyes, taking the liberty of twisting the doorknob to the conference room before you. Your entrance is accompanied by a creak. At once, four sets of eyes immediately fall on you.

The first is the usual creepy ass gaze of Mark Lee, way too happy to see you. The next one is unfamiliar, covered by the glint of his glasses lens, but you don’t sense any animosity. The third is both blurry yet somewhat recognizable at the same time— a shiver down your spine when you meet his sharp glare. What the hell? This guy looks terrifying.

And the last one feels like walking back into a den that you swore you’d never return to. 

Na Jaemin’s eyes flicker up from his phone the moment you enter. You stifle a swear under your breath and shoot your gaze down. He flashes you a smile. Ah, fuck. Of course he’d be here. It totally slipped your mind thanks to the high from your new office and Lee Haechan trying to hook up with you. You’ve yet to judge whether or not a sick new office outweighs having to deal with this sick freak’s face every day. 

“Attorney!” he chirps from across the room, comfortably lounging on one of the office chairs lining the long conference table. A squeak accompanies every time the chair swivels from left to right, back and forth. “Long time no see.”

Yeah, you hoped it’d stay that way, but when did the scales ever tip in your favor? You swallow down any attempt of fear trying to break out and turn your head to the side. “Mark, what are we discussing?”

Standing at the head of the table, your new boss smiles at you. Not because of your flat enthusiasm. No way. He seems to be amused that you just ignored Na Jaemin point blank. “Ah, yes. I wanted to properly introduce you to our division executives and give you a briefer on the company.”

The annoying swiveling sound has stopped. You don’t dare look at that side in the room throughout the rest of the meeting.

“Alright, now that everyone’s here, let’s get started.”

Nalkeutta is divided into four divisions, and the other four brutes you’re trapped in this room right now are the executives of those four divisions respectively. You already know Na Jaemin is the man in charge of Ganghak. Lee Haechan has Yoosun. Glasses is introduced as Huang Renjun, who’s in charge of Hyeongshin. Big scary guy is Daehyeon’s Lee Jeno.

There’s a familiar ring to all of these division names. They’re all high schools in Yeongdeungpo. It starts to all make sense when Mark Lee tells you that this gang of his was founded nine years ago. 

Nalkeutta started as a juvenile gang by a bunch of fucked up high schoolers. And those schools continue to serve as breeding grounds for scumbags like them. This shit is insane.

“Hold on.” 

Your voice echoes, freezing the entire room. You narrow your eyes at the very comprehensive diagram of Nalkeutta’s organizational structure Huang Renjun is presenting up front on a laptop screen. 

“There’s something wrong with this.” You get up from your seat. You squeeze past Mark and Renjun, taking control of the touchpad to zoom into the upper part of the chart. Your name is underneath Mark’s, and on the same level as the four executives, but that’s not the problem here. “Why am I the only one under the legal department?” you lift your head up as you say this, eyes firmly locked into Mark. “Where are the rest of the lawyers?”

Mark Lee attempts to look apologetic and remorseful. “Attorney,” he starts, walking up. “You know well how hard it is for Nalkeutta to establish trust between our partners. We are in fact extremely grateful that we managed to get someone we trust very deeply to finally work with us directly.”

This son of a bitch. They couldn’t have at least pretended to give a fuck about your position.

How—how does he expect you to manage the legal affairs of this messed up organization all by yourself? Your blood starts to simmer. Fuck it, it’s already boiling, and you’re just about to blow up when Mark Lee opens his mouth before you could.

“Anyhow, let’s talk salary.”

Goddammit. This guy sure knows how to pacify you.

Jeno hands him a binded folder. He smiles and hands it over to you. “This is our employment contract. Let me know if you find any issues so we can negotiate, but the important part is here.” 

You glance down at the part of the page he’s tapping. Yearly salary. Your eyes fly wide open when you see the numbers on the page.

150,000,000 KRW. 

Your head shoots up from the folder. You look at him like he’s joking. He isn’t.

“Does this meet your standards, attorney?”

Motherfucker. First, a new office. Now this. It’s like he wants to strip you from your rights to complain.

‎*‎

Your first job under Nalkeutta is accompanying Huang Renjun to a client meeting in Yeongdeungpo’s Chinatown.

“Good to have you around, attorney.”

Well. Client meeting is a stretch. The quote-unquote client is a mixed-martial arts gym under Hyeongshin that’s been paying protection fees very diligently until last month. Hyeongshin’s grunts were sent to sniff around the other week to see what was up, and the owner of the gym was caught rendezvousing with a Cheongang under the bridge connecting Yeongdeungpo and Map.

Cheongang. If Yeongdeungpo has Nalkeutta, Map is controlled by a different gang called Cheongang. You don’t have much intel on them, save for the fact that this district was once part of their territory until Mark Lee came into the picture. Needless to say, the two gangs don’t have the most amicable relationship. This is going to be less of a client meeting and more of a beatdown for sure.

“Why am I even here?” you grunt in the car on the way to your destination. Huang Renjun is scrolling through his ipad as he sits next to you. He’s kind enough to respond to your mindless grumbles.

“Having a lawyer around is always useful,” he simply says. “Mark says this is your first exposure to the organization’s operations. You don’t have to do anything. Just observe.”

You peer at the side mirror and look at the other two Nalkeutta cars trailing behind this one. Huang Renjun is actually a lot nicer than you expected. Considering your first introductions to Nalkeutta were Na Jaemin and Mark Lee, this guys is a breath of fresh air.

The air turns rancid the moment you cross the paifang gate, and you watch as all hell breaks loose at the Rongyu Mixed-Martial Arts Gym at four in the fucking afternoon.

“Gijeol-ah I thought we had a relationship!”

You wince at the sound of Renjun’s voice.

“How could you cheat on us with these ugly Cheongang pricks?”

The gym’s doors are closed, but there’s almost a dozen people guarding it— all looking like they’re one second away from jumping the nearest person and beating the shit out of them. A few moments later, the door rattles open. A head pops out. He looks like he’s about to crap his pants.

“You— you Nalketta fuckers ask for too much shit! How could you raise the protection fees overnight? That’s not fucking fair!

You really feel like you shouldn’t be here, but for once in your life, you feel pretty thankful that there are lines and lines of tank built men surrounding you as a protective shield.

“Well, it’s part of the contract you signed, Gijeol-ah! This is your fingerprint isn’t it?” Renjun taunts further, holding up a contract before tapping on the bottom right page. “If you were having trouble, you could’ve just gone to me directly. Hyeongshin is pretty understanding, you know. We even let you off with just a warning last time when you were three months late in paying your loans. You should’ve been grateful that you’re not under Ganghak or Daehyeon.”

Nevermind. You no longer feel safe. You hear the nearest Hyeongshin guy next to you crack his knuckles. Another one starts warming up. You won’t be surprised if one of them is currently frothing at the mouth.

Huang Renjun drops his hands down. He sighs and hands you the contract. 

“But you went off to stab us in the back, Gijeol-ah. Unfortunately this is as far as my understanding extends.” 

You briefly skim over it. Wow. Mark Lee put work into this. It’s vague enough to bypass statutory limitations. They’re using Daybreak Security Company as the legal entity to ensure the contract’s validity. You see a few questionable provisions that might void this contract. And that’s gonna be your job to fix. Lucky you.

“You— you can go and shove your understanding up your ass! I’m sick and tired of Nalkeutta’s bullshit!”

“You’re breaking up with us? That’s too bad.” It’s starting. Huang Renjun lands a hand on one of his men’s shoulder. “Give me a call once you’re done.”

With that, they start to move forward. Renjun walks up to you and you hear a yell and the sounds of fists being thrown the moment he spins you around and prods you to the opposite direction of the noise. Various thuds and screams flood you from behind, the sounds of bones crushing and bodies crashing getting dimmer as you both continue to walk back to the car. 

“You hungry, attorney?” Huang Renjun asks. “I know a good dim sum place nearby.”

“Wait, what the fuck, hold on,” you stop. He turns to you, brow raised. “We’re leaving? Just like that?”

Renjun narrows his eyes. “What? You want to watch that disgusting mess?”

With that prompt, you hesitantly turn around, and there you see a Nalkeutta guy swinging a metal bat straight into the ribcage of one Cheongag grunt. Oof. You wince. What a waste of a good sunset.

“I don’t fight. What’s the point of having men working under you if you won’t put them to good use?” The both of you make it back to the car. The driver inside greets Renjun, and the latter waves him off. “But if it’s a hard job, then I just transfer the case to Ganghak or Daehyeon. Usually Ganghak. Most of those guys are just like their psychopath of a boss.”

Yeah. This guy isn’t normal, either. What did you expect? At least he’s polite to you.

You slide into the backset. “Dim sum sounds nice.”

“Great.” He follows not long after, leaving an instruction to the driver. “Take us to Mama Hong’s.”

Renjun was right. Mama Hong has a killer dim sum selection, and you’d bookmark it on your maps if this place didn’t remind you of a massacre that’s currently ongoing. You can’t exactly enjoy your pork buns to the fullest knowing full well that someone’s head is getting bashed in right now. The silver lining is the fact that Huang Renjun is a good conversationalist and has not once called you a bitch nor tried to get in your pants in the past two hours that you’ve been with him. 

He’s a pretty cool guy. He joined the gang for money because he was a dirt poor immigrant in high school but then at one point he realized he was in too deep to quit.

It’s good to know you’re both stuck in Nalkeutta because you treasure your lives. It’s like Mark Lee has an invisible loaded gun perpetually pointed at your heads. What a way to bond in solidarity.

The sun had long set when Renjun received the text that the job was done. “Let’s go,” he tells you. “Two hours of overtime is good enough.”

See, this guy speaks your language. 

It takes another twenty minutes to get back to the Nalkeutta building, jotting another extra hour on your DTR. Meaning three total hours of overtime pay. Fucking amazing. If things continue speeding at this rate, then you won’t be entirely miserable working here. You’re already walking out the sliding doors of hell and thinking about harvesting your crops the moment you get home— but that’s exactly the moment the world decides that you haven’t filled your daily quota of dread yet.

“Attorney.”

Goddammit. You should know by now that the moment you think things are going well, god’s just gonna immediately spit in your mouth and tell you to enjoy it.

Na Jaemin lights the cigarette between his teeth, embers cascading onto the ground only for a good second before he stops on it to flash you a smile. “Took you fucking long enough,” he says. “Come with me. New recruits screening.”

Your brows furrow. When you don’t move for ten seconds too long, Na Jaemin’s smile drops.

“Mark’s orders. Notarize their contracts, or some shit.”

For fuck’s sake, you just clocked out. Disgruntled, you force your body out of its frozen state and you hear the psycho walking in front of you mutter something under his breath— something you’re not curious enough to find out. He leads you to a parking garage just a few blocks away, and it’s at this moment that you realize that maybe he lied to beat the shit out of you without anything knowing.

That fear is shut down when the dim, flickering lights of the rundown garage reveal seven teenage boys standing in one line as if they’re about to run a military drill. They’re all wearing Ganghak uniforms. This is some kind of sick mockery.

“Alright, you fucking maggots.”

Jesus christ. The way you flinch at Na Jaemin’s voice is purely instinctual— something that hasn’t been deeply ingrained into the seven boys before you, it seems, because they continue standing stiff and still with their chins up as Na Jaemin saunters up to them. He fishes something out from his pocket. You squint. It’s a car key. He clicks on it. You wince, a sudden glaring of lights from behind the boys.

“There’s only one car. There’s seven of you.”

You hear his voice speak as your vision readjusts.

“Get to it.”

Hold on a second.

“Hey, hurry the fuck up. Why aren’t any of you moving?” Your mouth gapes. You watch the realization slowly sink into the seven faces in front of you— an expression that Na Jaemin doesn’t share because more than anything, he looks pretty annoyed right now. He lets out a grunt and flicks his wrist up to check the time. The look on his face when he drops it back down is enough to send at least three of the kids stuttering. “If no one hits the ground in three seconds, you’re all fucking death for wasting my time. One. Two. Thr—”

The sound of a knuckle hitting a jaw. You shut your eyes and look away. 

There’s nothing enjoyable about watching a bunch of teenagers beating the shit out of each other, but your co-worker seems to fashion a different opinion. “Whew.”  A nasty grin spreads on his face, just as one of the boys drops onto dusty cement, no sign of getting back up any time soon. “One down. Can’t wait for this shitshow to be fucking over.”

You’re horrified as you look at him, but that’s the problem— you’re looking at him, and this doesn’t go under his notice. 

Na Jaemin locks into you. He tosses his unfinished cigarette behind and traps you into an unwanted conversation. “We haven’t seen each other in a while, attorney,” he starts with a hum. “You haven’t even spared me a hello since you got here. It’s almost like all those weeks we spent in prison together are nothing to you.”

Even if you want to talk to him, what the hell are you supposed to say to that?

You resign by flitting your eyes to the side and looking away. You hear a scoff and the sound of a lighter click, followed by the reintroduction of his foul cigarette smoke wafting through the air around you. “Want a hit?” he asks. You grimace. You get a feeling that he won’t appreciate being ignored a third time. So you force an answer out of your suffocating throat, and you try your best to make it entertaining so he doesn’t sock you in the face for being dull and boring.

“No, thank you,” you quickly say. “I intend on dying from heart failure, not from my lungs collapsing.”

He lets out a huff. You almost mistake it for laughter. “Either way, you die.”

“That’s true, but I don’t want my breath smelling like rot before the rest of my body does.”

Silence. Uh-oh. You’re met with a prolonged silence, followed by the click of his tongue and you notice him tossing the second cigarette like the first one, a little less willingly this time. God. There’s no place for your eyes around here. In front, there’s a teen battle royale and to your left is a bastard who gets triggered by eye contact. There’s nowhere for you to look but down, and even then you can still hear the cacophony of pained groans and punches hitting.

“Had fun on your little excursion with Renjun?”

Why the fuck is he trying to make small talk now? “A bit. He didn’t force me to watch a massacre and treated me out to dim sum. It was great.”

“Hah.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck jolt.

“Ain’t that pretty fucking nice.”

Why the fuck is he mad about that?

You snap your head up, about to look at Na Jaemin, but your attention is pried off from him when you hear the gravelled roar of one of the Ganghak students in front. Your eyes blur from the whiplash— then you notice one boy battered with deep heavy breaths, standing above his fallen peers. His eyes are wide. There’s multiple bruises on the visible parts of his skin. The weight of your worry is trumped by Na Jaemin’s sheer apathy.

“I—I did it,” the boy breathes out. “I did it, hyung-nim.”

Na Jaemin looked like he was just watching his favorite show earlier. Now he looks like he can give less than two shits about what this kid had just pulled off. “Name.” You can never fucking figure him out.

“Sion…Oh Sion.”

He grunts. “Yeah, congrats, whatever.” He tosses the car keys to the ground. It lands next to one of the writhing kids groaning in pain. “Now get lost.”

Na Jaemin’s heels turn back and he quickly starts walking away. You’re flabbergasted. Your feet move one way, then quickly reverse. What the fuck. What are you supposed to do now?

“Hey!” You catch up to him, still looking back at the sight you’re leaving behind. “We’re leaving already? Doesn’t the kid need to sign a contract?” He’s walking way too fast. He leers at you with an annoyed grunt and starts walking even faster.

“I don’t have it. Fuck, whatever, he can do that shit tomorrow.”

“What?” It comes off as a screech. “I thought Mark asked me to be here!”

Na Jaemin suddenly stops. You bump into his shoulder and stumble back with a swear. When you draw your breath in to look up, you see that Na Jaemin is already looking at you with an intensity that burns away all the venom out of your throat, leaving nothing but silence behind.

“Mark didn’t say shit,” he spits out. You think he’s about to toss you into the nearest dumpster, but then you notice a wrinkle between his brows. It’s deep. It’s troubled. And then he lets out an exasperated groan. “Whatever.” 

Na Jaemin stomps away, leaving you in the dead of night to figure out what the fuck just happened.

‎*‎

Before making it back home to your apartment, you stop by a public phone booth to call an ambulance to the scene of the altercation. This is way too much overtime for your first official day, and the last hour wasn’t even paid because you already clocked out before Na Jaemin lied to your face just to make you watch a teenage fight right and throw a tantrum at the very end with no fucking explanation.

Needless to say, it was an eventful day. It gets even more eventful when you reach the door of your apartment, about to key in your passcode, until you notice a piece of paper sticking out from underneath the door gap.

Your brows knit together. You snap a picture of it before slipping it out of the door and finally letting yourself in, dropping your work bag onto the floor of your entryway to examine what had been lodged into your apartment.

It’s an envelope. A cream colored envelope with a few smudges on the paper.

You open it. You couldn’t be less prepared with what you’re about to read.

You’re fucking dead, bitch.

Wow. Now a literal death threat. It’s almost as if you’re not allowed to catch a fucking break.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[ninyard]

I just saw a post wondering what Andrew and Neil’s first proper argument is, and naturally I have to offer this:

Andrew and Neil don’t fight. They’ll ignore each other if they’re pissed off - but never for more than a few hours, or maybe until one of them has slept it off and decide it’s not worth it (usually Andrew). They’ll have tiffs but never over anything serious.

Except for in the months coming up to Andrew’s graduation. That is when I believe Andrew and Neil have their first real argument.

Andrew gets officially signed to his pro team around abouts the February of that year. It’s in a state further away that Neil expected, and since they found out, Neil keeps catching Andrew looking at apartments or researching the state and the team. He’s happy for him, of course he is, but he can’t quite identify what this feeling in his stomach is every time Andrew brings it up. The little fights that last longer than their usually bickering start not long after; Neil getting more pissed off by the little things Andrew does, Andrew having off-days with Neil more and more often, each of them asking for their own space because they know if they stay around each other they’re going to start a fight. It’s gradual in a way that they don’t realise for a little while that it’s getting worse, until just after the championship finals, and the season is officially over, when three days have passed without them talking for not much of a reason at all. Neil used his finals as an excuse, but Andrew didn’t have any good reason. After those three days, they’re finally alone in their dorm for whatever reason, and maybe Andrew has started packing or he’s just got some sort of welcome package from the team: everything explodes. Andrew tries to kiss Neil, and something feels wrong, and when Neil asks what the fuck is going on, all hell breaks loose.

Andrew doesn’t yell, of course he doesn’t, but he’s venomous. He’s asking Neil why he’s acting as if the world is going to end just because he’s graduating, he’s angry at him for becoming so dependent on his presence, he’s angry at himself for feeling like he’s found a future in Neil when this was never the plan. He was supposed to be nothing. A casual fuck, with an end date and no feelings but fuck if he can’t live his life without him now. Neil yells, because he does, and he’s angry that Andrew still seems so unsure about what they are, how comfortable they were, but suddenly things are different, and it feels like he doesn’t care. He’s angry at himself for building his life around Andrew, but he’s the only reason why Neil Josten exists. Andrew reminds him of that, and it makes everything worse.

It goes on for far too long, quickly becoming meaningless and just an excuse for either of them to vent out the frustration they’ve been keeping inside for months.

“You know that I won’t overstep your boundaries,” Neil points a finger at him. “So in your head it’s okay to treat me like shit and ignore me because you know that I will give you that space.”

He doesn’t even really think that, but every little thing, every little excuse is multiplied by a thousand when he feels this red hot rage. He hates the things that come out of his mouth, but Andrew gives it back, and his insistent refusal to back down just further butts their heads together and infuriates them both.

“I won’t chase after you because you’ve decided to allow me distance,” Andrew says, calm and ice cold. “You can’t invent boundaries for me and then be upset that they exist.”

Lows blows after low blows, unfair quips and insults from both sides, slamming of drawers and doors and throwing of things; they have never, ever fought like this before. It’s over everything and nothing at the same time. Andrew knew it was only a matter of time before campus security was called, but when he tried to tell Neil to calm down and lower his voice, it only made things worse.

They’ve been unkind and awful with each other for about an hour when Neil finds himself starting to get so furiously angry thats he’s upset, that he can feel himself being needlessly nasty with Andrew. For the first time ever he feels the tilt. He feels their foundations getting rocked, a crack in the base of the pyramid of their relationship that gives him the feeling that this might not last forever. He leaves their dorm with a slam of the door, and goes for a run. He hasn’t done that in a while, a run from his feelings, running from his problems and responsibilities. He’s not sure how long it’s been before he finds himself too far away from campus, because he just ran in a straight line.

When he checks his phone he realises he’s over an hour walk away from their dorms. He almost calls Matt, and hesitates over Coach’s phone number, but instead he clicks Andrew’s name. It’s only ringing for two rings before the ringing ends and there’s a quiet hiss at the other end of the line. Neil double checks that he’s answered, because Andrew hasn’t said anything, and brings the phone back to his ear.

“Can you come pick me up?” His breathing is heavy, all of his anger drained out through his feet with every single step that he took to get further away from their dorm.

“Where are you?” Andrew is quick to respond, and Neil can hear him already picking up his keys.

Neil tells him the name of some bar that he can see, and Andrew hangs up almost instantly afterwards. Neil starts to put his phone away, used to the abrupt endings of phone calls, but wishing he would say something more. He puts his phone away and wonders why Andrew can’t just give him something. He’s not looking for a Love you! Bye! But maybe just an answer that let him know he was listening. but then it starts to ring again, and it’s Andrew, and Neil doesn’t say anything when he answers.

“I’m leaving now,” Andrew says. There’s something in his voice. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” Neil responds. “Thank you.”

Andrew hums in acknowledgment, but this time he doesn’t hang up immediately. He hesitates, but he’s somewhere outside now.

“I will always pick you up.” He says after a while, after he’s shut his car door and the engine has rumbled to life, and maybe it sounds like I love you, I care about you, I need you. Maybe it sounds like I need you to know that i can’t lose this.

“I know,” Neil says, and it sounds like I can’t do this without you. “Thank you.”

Andrew waits a second or two then before hanging up, and Neil waits for him by the curb. Andrew is there quicker than twenty minutes later. Neither of them say anything as Neil slips into the passenger seat, and neither of them say anything as they pull away. Neither of them say anything until Andrew has switched the engine off, and the car is sitting in its parking spot. They look at each other then, and maybe then they understand what’s happening.

“I’m not above telling you that I don’t want to leave here,” leave you. “But this was always a certainty. You’ve had plenty of time to prepare.”

“I thought that I had,” Neil tells him.

It’s the truth, in some way. He realises then that all of these little fights, and growing agitation, and this almost primal urge to push Andrew away was how he’d prepared. He’s been trying his hardest to soften the blow that it would have on him, and if he pushed him away first, then it wouldn’t hurt when he inevitably pushed him back or let him go. Only, that was never going to happen, and that’s what made it worse - nothing could happen to them now that would not bring them back to each other. So when Neil pushed and pushed and pushed and Andrew was constantly hitting a wall instead of a door, all they were doing was filling the room with resentment.

They sit in the car then and talk about the reality: Andrew was moving away in just a few weeks, moving further away than they’d ever been apart. The truth was that regardless of whether or not Neil decides to spend the summer with him, August would come, and Neil would go back to PSU, and Andrew would stay wherever it was that he was staying. They’d been fighting more in a subconscious test with each other, to see if one of them were going to give up, to see it this was the thing that would finally tear them apart. They talk about that, too, as difficult as it is for Andrew to be honest about that kind of thing. Neil asks him if he thinks it would be better for them to break up, to give each other space, to let Andrew flourish on his new team and meet new people and grow into himself as a professional exy player. It’s the first time either of them have acknowledged the possibility out loud with each other, and it destroys Neil to ask it, and it destroys Andrew to hear it.

Andrew thinks about how Exy was supposed to be the deal with Kevin: how he was supposed to come off his meds, and Kevin would give him purpose, and he would find something to live for in the sport that would not love him back. Instead he gave him Neil. That was his something to live for, and while he’d started to learn how to live for himself, and he would eventually survive without him, he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. He would sooner give it all up just to keep him, and Neil knew that was the truth.

Neil thinks about how Neil was supposed to be temporary. Now it was the future, it was Andrew, it was a long and successful life. Neil Josten did not have an expiry date anymore. He could have things that were his own, things to keep, things to live for.

They knew it wouldn’t be easy, but as the evening went on, and they stay in that car and talk about the future, they’d truly come to the understanding that neither of them can lose each other. They will always be half of one another, and no amount of distance can change that. It’s hard conversation after hard conversation, and it’s emotional in the way that Andrew and Neil get emotional. All the fighting ends up being a catalyst for possibly the most personal, deep, intimate discussion they’ve ever had. There’s lots of silences and voices that threaten to raise but stay low. There’s a lot of questions, and answers, and questions without answers, too. Buts it’s needed. Andrew could not leave PSU without them having this conversation. If he had, I think they would’ve struggled a whole lot more with the distance, and the conversations they would have afterwards would’ve been far more difficult.

Ultimately that’s where they end the conversation sometime past midnight - with a semi newfound understanding of where they stand with each other, what they are, what the future means for them. It’s a fight that needed to happen, and in their own ways they apologise for the things that they said. Maybe they don’t say sorry, they just say everything is going to be okay, and distance will not be the thing that ruins this.

I don’t know. I really do think it’s a fight that’s needs to happen. I think it’s a terrible, angry, nasty argument, and they both feel awful about the things they said and did, but it had to happen. Yeah, could it have been communicated with words? Sure. But Andrew had to understand how afraid Neil was of losing him, he had to understand what Neil was doing to protect himself from it. And Neil had to understand that Andrew was always, always willing to fight for him, but he couldn’t do that if Neil wasn’t willing to see that he would.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + thirty seven

authors note: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

massive thank you to the lovely @proceduralpassion for assisting me with the medical logistics and jargon for this one! ❤️

warnings: angst

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

chapter song inspo: 'photograph' by ed sheeran

***gif credit goes to @romanreigns ***

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 15k

Loving can heal Loving can mend your soul

-----

Roman doesn’t like hospitals. 

Never has. 

For obvious reasons.

But, what he hates more than most things, of all things, is being out of control.

Being out of the loop.

Not knowing what’s going on.

And Roman very much has little idea just what the hell is going on.

It takes him a few seconds—much too long—to orient himself to his environment. A room. A hospital room. Large window to the left of him, blinds partially open, allowing slivers of light to shine though, indicating it’s daytime. A TV anchored on the wall in front of him playing what looks like a soap opera of some sorts, though even with the low volume, he can tell it’s not in English.

It’s in Spanish. 

Turning to his head from left to right reveals two things, one of them being his body is sore as shit, his left shoulder in a sling, and the second being that he’s hooked up to machines, an IV in his right arm.

It’s that single movement that allows the memories to start trickling in.

Single notes of recollection.

Betrayal. 

Rescue.

Solana.

The last one is enough to force Roman to bypass his physical pain as he sits up with a newfound sense of urgency.

And anger.

Where the fuck is his wife?

A call button is a waste of fucking time, and he has no intentions on using it. He has to find her himself. Roman is gathering and quickly brainstorming a way to unplug all these annoying fucking things hooked up to him when he hears footsteps. Head snapping, he’s met with a smiling young woman, dressed in scrubs.

“You’re awake,” she greets, her accent thick and Central American sounding. “How do you—”

“Where’s my wife?”

Straight to the point. Harsh.

She falters with a response. “Sir, I—”

“Answer the fucking question,” Roman sneers, because he doesn’t have time for the shit. He needs to know where Solana is, and he needs to know now. 

“Mr. Reigns, please just calm down—” 

“WHERE IS SHE!”

The woman jumps back, calling out something in Spanish. Roman ignores her, ready to rip the anchors off that prevent him from seeing the one and only person he wants to see right now. The person he needs to see. 

However, as a number of other nurses, medical professionals fill the room, Roman finds himself escalating from angry to furious. They’re trying to restrain him.

Him.

Male nurses, or security, not that it makes a fucking difference, have the audacity to try to hold him down.

Even with his limited strength, it doesn’t take much for the incensed Tribal Chief to shove them away. To get them the fuck off and away from him.

Someone shouts something in Spanish, Roman catching a needle out the corner of his eye. He’s fully prepared to knock it away, recognizing it’s most likely a sedative of some sorts. 

But, he doesn’t have to. 

“Hey!”

A voice he could pick out in even the largest, most boisterous crowd.

Solana

She shoves her way past the group, barking something in Spanish that forces them all to disperse like she’d splashed them with something scalding and burning. And maybe she had with whatever she said.

She switches back to English, informing with a sense of irritation, “he’s looking for me.”

Always.

But, just as quickly as she was scowling, her gaze shifts to something else entirely. Warm, comforting, and loving.

“I’m right here,” she murmurs, coming and sitting on the side of his bed. Roman’s eyes shut naturally the minute she reaches to cup his face, fingers gently pushing back some of his hair. “I’m here, mi amor. It’s okay.”

Solana says something else in Spanish that causes the staff to leave, the door closing of the door signifying the unwanted parties have all departed.

It’s just them.

“Sol….”

“I’m okay, Roman,” she says it again, somehow, someway already knowing it’s what he needs. Part of what he needs. But, the partial adjective is only temporarily applicable as she brings his hand to her stomach. He opens his eyes. “We’re okay.”

There’s something immensely healing about those two words. Something heavily and highly relieving. A tightness in Roman’s chest he didn’t realize he was experiencing instantly diminished. 

“I had to get stitches in the back of my head, and my pressure was a little high, but it’s stabilized now, and that was expected given…..” She trails off, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine. The girls are fine.” A small, sad smile on her face. “Their heartbeats still nice and strong.”

More relieving, comforting information as Roman allows himself to take in his wife’s appearance. She’s wearing a white flowy dress, sleeveless, cleavage slightly on display. Her hair is pulled up and back with a clip, highlighting her face that’s bare of makeup. The scar across her left eye has never been something he’s ever really paid much attention to, never taken away from her ethereal beauty, but the bruise and slight cuts on her face do. They remind him of just what happened.

“Solana—”

“Not right now,” she dismisses. Solana continues to push back his hair, fingers traveling and massaging his scalp. “Your recovery is what matters most right now. We can….we can discuss other things later.”

It doesn’t necessarily align with what they’d previously agreed on as a couple. Not pushing off needed and required conversations, though Roman can understand why, in this particular instance, she’s preferring to wait.

This conversation is much bigger than anything they ever had. 

The sound of the TV serving as background noise returns to audible territory, as Roman also considers the way Solana spoke in Spanish to the medical staff she forced out. 

The way majority of them seemed to speak Spanish.

Curious, he asks, “where am I?”

She answers in Spanish. He only makes out a single word that sounded a lot like ‘hospital.’ “Mexico.” Roman doesn't have much of a reaction to that. He’d started to put two and two together. Just needed her to confirm as such. “After they….” She trails off, eventually clearing her throat. “Roman….”

He studies her, sensing there’s something she’s not saying. “What?”

Solana drops her hand to his, pressing her lips together before taking a deep breath. “Everyone thinks we’re dead.”

And, the surprises just keep on coming. "What?"

She sighs, clearly ready and willing to explain what's objectively a wild ass response when another voice interrupts.

“It’s part of the plan." Roman looks past Solana to see none other than his older cousin, Dwayne. And he's not alone. Matteo stands beside him, both dressed almost casually with slack pants and short sleeved shirts. Minimal cuts on their faces but nothing outside the norm.

Dwayne smirks, as the two men walk into the room. “Not even up for a good ten minutes, and you’re already causing a scene.”

Roman chuckles, seeing the small smile on his wife's face. "You know I don't like being kept out of the loop."

"Maybe you shouldn't have slept so long." Matteo's voice is both serious and teasing, a playful gleam in his eyes as he easily melts back into business mode. "To the world, you bled out on the operating table, dying from injuries sustained during the rescue mission."

"And Solana," Dwayne takes over, the faintest hint of regret in his voice. Performative. "—passed away due to injuries sustained from her torture while in captivity."

Chilling words that create a grisly mental image. Roman has to push that scary alternative from his mind. The alternative to how this all could have turned out.

"Once they got you stable enough, we transferred you here to avoid detection of the truth," Matteo explains, motioning to Solana. "That part was actually Solana's idea."

Roman looks over at his wife, partially surprised, though he shouldn't be. He knows Solana can be insecure at times about not having an education beyond high school, but that doesn't mean shit, because she's easily one of the smartest people he's ever met.

"Yeah?"

She nods, looking back over at the other two men. "After they told me about the….help from…from the Cartel, I just figured…" She trails off, changing the subject a little bit. "We can talk about that later. You need to focus on recovering." She brings her hand to his forehead, as if checking his temperature. "How are you feeling?" She doesn't wait for a response, easily shifting back into caretaker mode. "You need to let the doctor examine—"

"I'm fine, Sol." Roman dismisses, prompting a snort from Dwayne's melon head ass.

"Says the man laid up in a hospital bed."

Solana rolls her eyes. A playful thing. She then gently points out, "it's only been two days."

At that, Roman stills. He's been out for two whole days?

His surprise must be visible, prompting Solana to share in a quiet voice. "You lost a lot of blood, Ro."

"And you had to have surgery to remove the bullet," Matteo shares. "And a laparotomy for where you were stabbed."

Roman makes a quiet sound. That explains the discomfort in his abdomen and why his shoulder is fucking throbbing and in this goddamn sling. The last time he had to have a bullet surgically removed, he was almost twenty years younger.

Thus, he'd forgotten how annoying the aftermath portion is.

Solana suddenly moves to stand up from the bed, Roman unable to miss the way her dress falls against her stomach, showcasing her bump. It might be whatever meds he's on, but he can almost swear it looks more pronounced than he remembers.

"I know you guys need to talk, and I have somewhere to be anyway."

At that, the attention is refocused from her baby bump to what she just said. "Somewhere to be?" Roman sits up a bit in bed, gritting from the sharp pain that shoots through his body.

"Careful," Solana cautions, moving back to his side. One hand is on his forearm, the other back on his forehead, as if checking for his temperature again. "You have stitches."

"Where are you going?"

Solana sighs and answers his question while also not answering his question. "I'm not leaving the hospital. Just….going to the chapel."

The chapel? Roman is even more confused than he was before, though confusion is easily outweighed by concern. There's a certain something that fills his chest at the thought of her leaving again, at being out of his watchful eye.

Like, he's scared for her to leave his side.

And in some ways….he just might be.

"Solana, what's going on?"

She continues to look unsure of how to respond, and he's not exactly sure why, because he all he wants is the truth.

"Domingo Lopez has…..requested a meeting."

At that, Roman closes his eyes.

This….this is why he can't be out of commission for too long. Cause, it's always something.

"Why the fuck didn't ya'll say anything sooner?" He tries to shift again, forcing Solana's hand back down to her side. "What time—"

"Roman," Matteo interrupts, arms crossed, expression even. "It wasn't for you."

Roman frowns. "What?" This shit keeps getting weirder, or either these meds are fucking with his mental. "Then wh—"

"Me," Solana supplies, forcing her husband's gaze on her. "He wants to meet with me. Him and his wife."

"By yourself?" Roman can't even focus on the shock of that plot twist. He's too stuck on the fact this wife is about to meet with one of the dangerous men in this side of the modern world. Alone. "Hell n—"

"Ro," she interrupts, sighing before attempting to explain. "From what I hear….this man is on our side. He helped us. He helped you." Roman has nothing to say to that, because there's nothing to say. Solana is right. That's not surprising though. She usually is. "He means us no harm. If that were the case, he wouldn't still be helping us."

Dwayne offers an explanation for the question Roman doesn't even get a chance to ask. "There's no one on this floor but you, brotha'. And Lopez must have men patrolling the floor, hospital, and hell, probably up the street and round the corner, too."

Roman would love to find a reason to find argument and protest, to point out a flaw in said explanation but none can really be found. Dwayne's information adds another tally to Solana's growing reasons why there's no objectively good reason why she can't attend this meeting on her own.

No danger appears to be present.

But, Roman also believed before that no danger was present, and look where it got him.

"I'll be fine, Roman," she reminds, leaning over and kissing his forehead. "I promise."

She steps back and cups his cheek at the same time a knock on the door pulls Roman from the moment, forces his defenses to go back up. Except, they're only slightly lowered when he sees it's a woman.

Dressed almost casually, it's clear she's not a nurse or anyone on the medical staff at the hospital. That's confirmed merely by the fact that there's a gun on her hip, secured in a holster. However, that also immediately raises his defenses.

Especially when he sees she's looking directly at Solana. She says something in Spanish, short and brief.

Solana nods, replying in the same language, prompting the nameless woman to nod, hands behind her, standing at attention almost.

"That's Stephanie," Solana offers, already knowing her husband continues to be full of question. "She's been….assigned to me while you've been recovering."

It's easy enough for the Tribal Chief to read behind the lines. A personal guard. This Stephanie person has been assigned as Solana's personal guard.

From the Gulf Cartel.

"I won't be long," Solana reiterates once more, gently squeezing his hand before walking away. It's not missed upon Roman how his wife shares some sort of secret handshake type shit with both Dwayne and Matteo as she departs, the later saying something to her in Spanish that has her giggling.

What the….fuck?

Just how long has he been out?

---------

Solana wasn't nervous when she was informed Domingo Lopez and his wife wanted to meet and talk with her.

She wasn't nervous, because it was hard to be nervous about meeting the man who, in a lot of ways, saved her life.

Saved Roman's life.

Because in the two days that have passed since the daunting rescue mission, she's learned a lot. Learned how the leader of the biggest and oldest crime syndicate in Mexico happens to be the father of the sweet little girl she befriended all those months ago.

Aurora. Aurora Lopez happens to be the daughter of Domingo Lopez, a man who, she's also learned, seems to think very highly of her. Believed he owed her a debt for her act of kindness towards his little girl.

A small, insignificant thing that may have saved everything Solana has worked so hard to build.

His assistance. The men. The manpower. The protection. It's all so overwhelming and unexpected, so to deny him a simple meeting seemed wrong almost.

Because, the way she sees it, Solana now owes him a debt she's not sure can ever be repaid.

Dwayne and Matteo had been wise to request medevacs, two in particular, wisely anticipating serious to grave injuries. And that's exactly what Roman had experienced. She tries not to think too much about the way the doctor essentially confirmed if not for the air ambulance transporting him to the ICU in the time that they did, he would have bled out, as he'd been stabbed right where a large artery sits.

Roman would have died.

And, that's something she can't think about.

But, she can think about the man who allowed those preparations to be a reality.

And that man is Domingo Lopez.

Solana walks into the chapel, partially surprised to see them already there and waiting. A man and woman. One she recognizes from a prior meeting. The other doesn't really need an introduction.

Elena stands, a warm smile on her face. "Solana." Solana is partially taken back when the woman initiates a hug, but it doesn't take long for her to reciprocate it. "I'm so happy you're okay."

Solana closes her eyes.

So is she.

Elena pulls back, only to look down. She gasps quietly, looking back up. "You're pregnant?"

Solana nods with a small smile. "I am."

Apprehension crosses her face. "Is he or she…."

"They're okay," Solana answers. "Twins."

Elena gasps again, taking Solana's hand and gently squeezing it. "Congratulations."

Naturally, Solana's free hand falls to her baby bump. "Thank you."

It's a strange, somewhat unfamiliar thing. Not even a full three days ago, Solana's prayer was that she could manage to keep her pregnancy a secret from all until Roman could rescue her or she could escape.

Now, she finds herself sharing it with a woman she's only met once before and a man who she's only meeting for the first time but one she owes so much to.

Life is so strange sometimes.

Domingo stands up, coming to stand beside his wife. He offers his hand. "Solana, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Solana swallows, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. Nevertheless, she powers through, accepting his handshake. "I—I don't know what to say." Because, she really doesn't. "Thank you seems too….too insignificant."

It does. Though any other similar word also feels not strong enough for the depth of her gratitude.

He, however, protests. "That's unnecessary."

She shakes her head, lightly protesting. "You helped save my family's life….that's far from unnecessary."

Domingo says nothing, just motions for her to sit down on the first set of pews directly in front of the alter. Solana takes the one on the right, while Domingo and Elena sit on the pew opposite her.

"I take it your recovery continues to go well." It's a statement that's more so conveyed as a question.

"Yes," Solana answers, pushing back some of her hair. "Thankfully, I—I didn't have many injuries." A blessing, truly, because what scared Solana the most as she received medical treatment was the moment the transducer was placed on her stomach to check on them.

To check on her babies.

True fear has never been experienced like in the moments where it was silent, the strange almost beeping sounds she always heard at her check-up appointments non-existent.

Easily, one of the scariest moments of her life.

And, then she heard it.

The first heartbeat. Not even a full minute later, the second heartbeat.

Just as strong as every other time.

That was the first time Solana broke down. That she sobbed, overcome with all the emotions. Filled to the brim with the feels that accompanied her kidnapping, holding Roman and begging him to cling to life, not knowing if he could, and finally, knowing that she'd been successful.

She's protected her girls.

She'd saved them.

A few crying sessions have happened since, lingering feelings following an undeniably traumatic event but nothing major. Nothing that has her feeling on the edge, and Lord knows she's felt as such before.

"And, I hear that husband of yours is also awake."

A great sense of pride and relief fills her at that. "He is." She doesn't offer anything more, not knowing just how much Roman would like disclosed about his personal recovery.

"That's good," Domingo nods, taking a noticeable pause. "I suppose…I suppose you're wondering why I've asked to meet with you." He gestures between himself and his wife. "Why we have asked to meet with you."

Solana does her best to remain visibly undeterred by him sharing that previously unknown piece of information. She didn't know Elena also wanted to meet with her.

"Yes." That's all she says. All she offers. All she knows how to say.

Elena takes over. "Aurora, our daughter, as I told you before, she really does like you and….and she talks to you." There's an undeniable sadness in her eyes. "More…more than she talks to us."

"The journal you gave her helps a lot. Helps out a tremendous amount," Domingo shares. "She….she will bring it to us and let us read it sometimes if she wants us to know something."

Elena looks down, playing with her fingers. "That….that's how we found out about….her struggles."

Solana frowns. "Struggles?" She recalls her abuela mentioning Aurora's parents argued a lot and that impacted her, as it would any child, but Solana has the sense that's not what Elena is referring to.

Elena continues, her voice softer than it's been the entire conversation. "Aurora was….she was having thoughts about wanting to hurt herself."

Solana's stomach drops. "What?"

Of all the struggles that could be happening, that was certainly the last on her list.

"She thought….she thought if she was dead, Elena and I would be happier. That we….we wouldn't argue as much." Domingo continues, hurt evident in his brown eyes. "Ever since then, we've been really good about not arguing in front of her, spending more time with her, and making sure she knows how much we love her."

It's a heartbreaking thing to hear. While Solana is pleased to hear Aurora's parents are taking her suicidal ideation seriously, it also devastates her to see another little girl go through the same thing she did.

Crushing.

"We have found her a therapist, and she seems to like her well enough," Elena supplies, her voice filled with a small hint of hopefulness. "But, Aurora really seems to trust and open up with you." She looks at her husband before focusing back on Solana. "We….we want her to have someone she can talk to, even if it's not us."

And just like that, without it even being asked directly, Solana knows why they requested this meeting. Why they wanted to speak to her. What they're asking of her.

Domingo must see it too. "We don't expect you to share anything with us," he clarifies. "It wouldn't be fair to put you in that position or make Aurora feel like you're reporting back to us." He pauses for a second. "We just want her to have support and be able to confide in the safe right people."

"A mentor," Elena finally provides the word Solana was thinking. They want her to mentor Aurora. "And, I know it won't be conventional, because you live in America, and we live here, but she has a phone and—and an iPad, and we've even discussed visiting America at one point, so maybe…."

She trails off as Domingo motions to Solana's stomach. "I recognize you and Roman will be busy preparing for the birth of your children, but if you would consider—"

"I want to ask you something."

Domingo gives her a pointed look. In some ways, he reminds her of Roman. Offering and showing just what he wants her to know. Nothing more. A smart business tactic, that, just like her husband, has taken him far.

Obviously.

"Not….not to cut you off, because I deeply appreciate you sharing this with me, but I also….I also have something to ask of you."

The timing feels so off, Solana thought about possible ways to bring it up, how to go about it and whatnot. The certainly feels like not the best way, but it's also, for whatever reason, feels like the right time to say it.

Like a gut feeling.

She just prays her gut isn't wrong.

He finally asks, clearly wanting to ensure accurate, proper understanding. "So, if I say yes to whatever this request is, you'll help Aurora?"

"No," Solana answers immediately. "I'll help her no matter what your answer is."

A floored look from both husband and wife. It prompts her to elaborate.

"Because that's who I am." Solana answers in a small yet powerful voice. One hand on her stomach, she continues, speaking from the heart. "I helped Aurora before because I wanted to. Because I saw a lot of myself in her. And sadly…." Solana shares her inner wrists where faded but visible scars remain. "She's a lot more like me than I realized."

Truth be told, the minute they started to disclose some of Aurora's struggles, Solana was devising ways to help the little girl. Before she even knew that's exactly what her parents were wanting.

So, regardless of what the response is to her request, Solana's answer remains the same.

Yes.

Solana brings her hands back to her lap, reorienting to the conversation as Elena responds in a soft voice. "I understand." She swallows, asking on behalf of her husband. "What is your request?"

A deep breath is taken as Solana straightens her posture, falling into that assertive, professional space. "I plan to open up a domestic violence shelter back home. A place….a refuge for women and children seeking sanctuary from dangerous situations." Solana's gaze drops as done her tone just an octave. "My….mother was killed trying to get us out of that situation, and I…." She swallows. "It's an important cause to me, and I—I have to do it. For her, and for all the other women and children out there that I used to be."

With no objection or question posed, Solana transitions to the portion that specifically regards the couple across from her. "My mother was Mexican. Isla Mujeres was her home. My abuela still lives there." Hand to her belly, a small smile on her face, she shares, "I intend for my girls to have roots there as well, which is why I want to also build a shelter there."

Solana shifts in her seat, offering additional information. "Roman has pledged Bloodline support and financial backing for the one I want to build back home." Naive or not, Solana, despite what has happened, has very little concern that the empire her husband has built up and led over the years won't back out. That the kinks this attempted coup created won't be ironed out by the time she's ready to officially start this project. "But, the one here…."

Another deep breath followed by the plot point. "I don't need financial support, but the shelter will need protection."

Recognition dawns in Domingo's eyes. "You want the Gulf Cartel to provide that protection."

Not a hint of stuttering or stammering. "Yes."

Solana worked hard over her proposal, over how she planned to present her very big ask of this man. Perhaps too big of an ask considering everything he's already done. Already provided. For a brief second, she wonders if she's gone too far. If she's overstepped.

It creates a newfound sense of anxiety.

She opens her mouth, unsure of just how, but planning to backtrack slightly. Or, maybe to just let him know that focusing on her pregnancy is the priority, along with getting enrolled in school, and the building of her and Roman's house.

To tell him that an answer isn't necessarily needed right now.

But, she doesn't get the chance.

"Alright."

She stills. "Alright?"

Domingo lifts his chin. "You build your shelter, and the Gulf Cartel will provide you any backing, protection and financial, that you require."

Solana scoffs in disbelief. Her hands go over her mouth as she works to hold back the tears. To remain as professional and collected as possible. For something that came to her out of nowhere, for her to propose it to such a man, such a couple, and for it to be received and accepted? It's….more than she could have imagined and hoped for.

Solana nods and takes a deep breath. "Thank you." For it all. "Thank you so much."

Elena offers a warm smile and nod while Domingo only looks at her, eventually making a sound and sharing. "I like you, Solana." He shifts in his seat. "You tell The Tribal Chief to focus on a speedy recovery and not to worry too much about that meeting we intend to have. It'll all be formalities anyway." Solana works hard to maintain a neutral expression, though she's filled with some questions regarding his words. He chuckles, studying her with what almost looks like admiration. "Reigns has got one hell of a woman standing beside him."

---------

A couple days later following that meeting with Domingo and Lopez, Solana finds herself in another one of sorts. But, with family this time. And, in a cleared out hospital cafeteria versus the chapel.

Afia's smile is broad and genuine. Her hand on Solana's stomach moving around freely with a sense of awe. "I told you the bump would just appear one day and just keep growing and growing."

Truer words have never been spoken.

Solana continues to find herself filled with amazement every day she wakes up and notices just the slightest of changes with her bump. The way each morning seems to greet her with something new. Before, it was just slightly noticeable, but as the days past, she finds that deepening and increasing. The swell and roundness increasing.

It fills her with such joy.

"I still can't believe you're actually pregnant," Bayley chimes, a look of disbelief on her face as she also reaches over to feel on Solana's baby bump.

"I'm sorry I kept it from you," Solana finds herself apologizing. Having Bayley find out the way she did, feeling Solana's bump as they embraced tightly while being reunited at the hospital back home couldn't be farther away from how she wanted to break the news to her.

To everyone.

"We just….it was a safety thing, but we also had a scare—"

"Solana," Bayley interrupts. "It's okay. I understand."

Solana studies her expression, waiting and watching for any indication otherwise. She finds none.

It's so deeply appreciated.

All of it.

"I—" Solana finds herself struggling to verbalize what she hasn't necessarily had the time or mental space to express. To share. "It means….I don't think I can ever thank you both enough for what you did."

Because while Solana's head has been so many different places since everything went down, and she's felt like, knows that she hasn't had time to really process everything, one thing that cannot be denied is how these women showed up.

So many people did, and Solana fully intends to have everyone over at the house as a sort of celebration when the dust settles, but until then, all she can do is verbally express her undying gratitude.

"You both risked your lives…" Solana trails off, the emotion building. What occurred was more than enough to evoke strong emotions, but the added layer of pregnancy hormones have most definitely made Solana just a bit more sensitive to a lot of things lately. Especially this. "And, I don't know how to thank you."

"You don't have to," is Afia's soft dismissal. "You're my family, Solana, and I know that must be a sensitive subject given what occurred, but my definition of family equates loyalty."

"Exactly," Bayley agrees, reaching to take Solana's hand in hers. "There was no way in hell we weren't going to help get you back."

Solana swallows. It's so overwhelming in the best sort of way. To know so many people came together, came to help Roman, to help her. To save her. Not even taking a second to consider it. Consider the dangers.

It's baffling and almost unreal how in under a year she's gone from feeling and being alone to having a mountain of support behind her.

A family.

But, as moving as the thought is, something else comes to mind. Something Solana has thought about since their arrival in Mexico City.

Naomi and Jimmy.

From what she's heard from both of the women across from her, as well as Dwayne and Matteo, they weren't involved. Had no idea what was being planned until the attack at the library.

Innocent.

They're innocent.

But, as much as Solana would like to say that grants her a tremendous amount of comfort, it doesn't. There's some solace to be found, but it's outweighed by the concern and anxiety. The unknown of what happens now.

Because, while they had nothing to do with what happened, they, more Jimmy than anything, are so close to it. It was Jimmy's immediate family that tried to kill her.

Tried to kill Roman.

Her chest tightens ever so slightly.

They haven't had much time to talk about it, what with Solana wanting her husband to focus on his physical recovery, but she's so lost as to what that especially is going to look like.

Jimmy is innocent. So is Naomi, but how will her husband ever learn to separate them from what occurred? All that hurt. All that betrayal. The trauma.

Not to mention how the other side will feel.

Will Jimmy even want to continue a relationship with the people who are partially responsible for the death of his immediate family members?

How does that even work?

Will it work?

"I'm sorry you're in the middle of this," Solana finds herself apologizing directly to her cousin. "I….I hate that you are."

She truly does. Naomi and Bianca have been best friends for years. Since high school, and to suddenly be in a position where she's lying and keeping secrets from someone who's also like a sister. Solana hates it.

She really fucking hates it.

Bayley's flash with something akin to hurt. "It's not your fault, Solana."

"I know it isn't," she frowns. "But, I still…." She sighs, leaning back in the chair, hand to her belly. "I want to make things right….we have to."

What exactly that entails, Solana isn't sure. She just knows that there's one bumpy ass road ahead, not even including the massive hill that is Roman's to process and work through.

She knows this whole thing has fucked with him in so many ways. Reverted him back in others, and if there was any doubt about that, or just how much it's messed with him, it was squashed last night.

And the night before that.

The reason, reasons, that despite his protest, she's stayed overnight with him in the hospital.

He doesn't need to be alone. That much….that much she knows for certain.

"And, we will," Afia's confident assertion pulls Solana from dark and heavy thoughts. She reaches for both her and Bayley's hand, nodding with all the assurance. "Together."

----------

Leaving her meeting with Afia and Bayley to return to Roman's hospital room, Solana expects to be met with the usual. Medical staff passing by offering small smiles, an occasional verbal greeting, and armed guards who stand at attention at all times.

The usual.

What she doesn't except, however, is the sight that meets her. A few feet away from his room, a frown falls on Solana's face when she sees the nurse exiting said room with tears spilling down and a scowl on her face.

Also frowning, Solana jogs over to the woman, managing to catch her attention. "What's wrong?"

Solana speaks in Spanish, recognizing it's a bit easier for most.

The woman shakes her head. "'He fired me."

At that, Solana's jaw drops. "He what?"

She scoffs, apologizing, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Reigns, but your husband is…." She trails off, not finishing her sentence, instead offering. "I'll alert the charge nurse a new nurse needs to be assigned to him."

"Wait," Solana is unable to finish her sentence, the woman walking off. Blowing out a breath, Solana curses quietly to herself and marches into the room. "Roman, what did you do now?"

He's sitting in the hospital bed looking just as miserable and irritated as he looked when she left him a little over an hour ago. "She sucked. Kept fucking bothering me. I told her to get the fuck out."

She closes her eyes.

This man…

"I can't leave you alone for five minutes without you causing a scene. You're like a petulant child sometimes, I swear—" Solana stops herself mid rant in Spanish. One of many she's had to give this grown ass man during his not-even-that-long stint here. She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, switching back to English, voice almost coaxing. Like talking to a child. "Baby….she was doing her job." Because, she has no doubt that poor woman was just doing rounds. "That was the fourth nurse you've ran off in the past two days, Roman."

"They should hire better nurses then." Is his haughty argument, as he doubles down on his one star rating. "The care here sucks."

Solana tilts her head back, calling on the Lord for His continued patience. "Roman, Médica Sur is the best hospital in all of Mexico. It doesn't get better than this."

Truthfully. Honestly. The care team here, despite her husband's beliefs, have been nothing but stellar offering him only the best of treatment despite him 1000% not reciprocating it in any way.

Love him or not, Solana prays that when she finally finishes school and enters the nursing field, she never has a patient like her husband.

Ever.

Of course, her words go in one ear and out the other. "Then they should up their fucking standards."

Solana blows out a deep breath and says nothing. She loves her husband more than anything, but he can be impossible at times. Walking over, she checks his IV bag seeing that it's full. She sighs, "at least you let her change it out for you."

"She sucked at that, too. I don't want anymore fucking medication," he complains as Solana circles his bed and sits down on his right side. "I don't want to be here anymore."

"I know, Roman, but…" She takes his hand, bringing it to her mouth for a soft kiss. "Just a couple more days." Her gaze falls to his abdomen, curious about the scar that's surely left behind from his laparotomy. She then asks, partially wanting to change the subject, "have Dwayne and Matteo spoken with you about what happens when you're discharged?"

He answers almost quietly. "Yeah."

When he says nothing else, she fills the silence. "So…you know we'll be staying—"

"Yeah."

Nothing else is said, though something else is felt. Solana can't necessarily explain it, but feels like there's an unspoken thing her husband is not sharing. She knows that it was decided she and Roman would stay in Mexico to allow him to continue to recover, as well as continue to allow time to pass for people back home to show true colors as it pertained to the coup and "fall" of the Roman Empire.

Allow the traitors and those who do not need to remain with the Bloodline to be revealed and dealt with appropriately.

Something clearly discussed and he's aware of, but it feels like there's more. Something she's not aware of.

Something he's not telling her.

"Ro—"

"Solana," he cuts her off, and right away, she knows she's in for a difficult conversation. It's the way he's looking away, not focused on her, but his hand remaining locked with hers, his thumb moving over her knuckles. "I need to know what happened in there."

Her chest instantly tightens.

She knows exactly what he's referring to.

It's something she's dreaded from the moment he held her after saving her.

Solana licks her lips. "Roman, I don't think—"

"Sol." He finally looks at her, and one look at him is all Solana needs to fully understand he's not letting it go. "I need to know."

She questions that. Questions if it's truly need. But, regardless of her speculation, one thing they've been trying to do is be honest with each other. Because, nothing good came out of them keeping secrets.

Something she hopes he keeps in mind regarding whatever he's not telling her.

"We…." She closes her eyes, head down. "We were kept in a small room for the most part. Myself and Brandi. They….they kept Emma somewhere else."

Of all the things that Solana has wondered about since everything that went down, one of the things she made sure to inquire about was the safety of those on the right side. Especially Brandi and Emma.

And especially after learning of the explosion that claimed so many lives.

That has destroyed families forever.

A bittersweet thing given Brandi, Emma, and no one on Roman's side/team were among those lives lost, but to the other ones that were lost…

Solana swallows. "Rikishi…he came and talked to me. It was more him gloating and trying to make me feel small and insignificant. He said I was….stupid and uneducated and….other things." Solana shakes her head, a bitter scoff on the tip of her tongue. The same woman who he taunted and mocked cruelly was the same one who causes him to take his last breath. "After that…." It's a difficult task, to say the least. Solana wants to be honest with her husband, but she also knows just why he's asking her this.

"Roman, this wasn't your fault, ba—"

"Tell me."

Him ignoring her isn't entirely surprising. It does hurt a little bit though, for sure.

"Brock was there," she finally decides that ripping the band-aid off is the only way to go. There is no good way to explain this to him. Solana looks down, hating how soft her voice goes. "He—" She takes a deep breath. "He tried to rape me." Forcing herself to power through, Solana looks up, absolutely devastated by the crushed look on Roman's face. She can practically feel his guilt, and it's overwhelming. "So, I killed him."

A calm confession. No stammering. Not stuttering. Just a fact. "I killed him, and then I killed Samantha to protect myself and Emma—"

"Sol—"

"And, I killed Rikishi to protect you—"

"Solana—"

"And, I regret nothing."

At that, Roman stops, his shock and surprised plain and evident.

It's an understandable reaction. One that shocks even her just a little but not entirely. For reasons she's about to share with him.

She licks her lips, recalling a conversation from what feels like forever ago. "I know….I know I told you before that I didn't think that I could live with myself if I took someone's life, but I was wrong." So. So wrong. "Roman…" She moves closer to him on the bed, hand still over his. "I did what I had to do to survive. To protect myself and my family, and there was nothing wrong with that."

His voice is pained and low. "But, Solana, you shouldn't have—"

"I would do it all again if I had to."

A bit of a scary confession, maybe even something cold and unlike her. At least, to him. To her, she was being a wife and a mother. Being a woman whose recognized her power and capabilities.

"I didn't kill anyone who was innocent, who never hurt anybody, who were good people. All three of them were terrible people, and they got exactly what they deserved." A hint of anger appears in her eyes, recalling the way Rikishi taunted her husband as she snuck up on him. The horrific, evil things he said to Roman. It brings tears to her eyes. Not just what was said by him, but what was done. What's all been done. "You didn't deserve this…"

Roman looks away, his jaw clenched. "This isn't about me. This is about you and what they did to you—"

"No, it's not." An easy thing to dismiss and discredit. "They only came after me to hurt you, but they didn't hurt me, my love. I'm fine. The girls are fine. I—" She shakes her head, a sad scoff leaving her mouth. "I've been through a lot worse than this, Roman. I was already raped. I was already attacked and beaten. Almost killed. More than once. The only thing that was different this time was me." She reaches for his face, forcing him to look at her as she gently caresses his bearded cheek. "I'm not that 10 and 12 year-old little girl anymore. Not that same scared, traumatized woman you married." She swallows, asserting with all the authority and confidence that rushes through her veins. "My name is Solana Reigns, wife of the Tribal Chief. The Faletua. And, I'll do anything to protect my family. The people I love. Myself." Always. "And, that's exactly what I did."

Solana knows that while she truly believes what she's saying, feels firm in her beliefs and that she was in the right, there's bound to be some lingering trauma. Things that will stick and stay with her, needing to be worked out in therapy. The senseless murders of Sami and Bautista, for example. Losses she will start to grieve sooner rather than later, but right now, sitting in front of her husband, every word that left her mouth is 1000% true.

She doesn't regret her actions, and she'd damn sure do it all again if she had to. If anything, what currently bothers and concerns her more is the man sitting in front of her.

Roman was doing relatively well working on himself, working on opening up, and now she's terrified all of that progress has been undone by inconceivable betrayal. Not that she can blame him. Solana can't even begin to fathom the full extent of what that must be like for him, what it's done to him.

She's seen only a little, and none of it was pretty.

In the slightest.

Solana can only hope and pray that the damage isn't permanent.

--------

Just as projected by his medical team, and much to the happiness of said medical team—and Roman—he is discharged following a week of care. Truth be told, Solana would have felt a bit more comfortable with him staying a few extra days, but she's also not entirely sure just how much longer the staff would have put up with her husband given his behavior during his stay.

Love him to pieces, Solana can 100% acknowledge Roman has to be the worst patient in the history of patients. If not for her practically forcing him to abide with medical recommendations, she's certain he would have signed an AMA and left the hospital the same day he woke up.

That nickname she overheard used by most of his care team, "El diablo samoano," was definitely well earned and deserved.

She's almost certain she heard celebrations commencing as the elevators started to shut.

Roman is relatively quiet on the jet to Isla Mujeres, save his occasional complaints about certain things, namely still being in "this damn sling." The grumbles are subsided and minimized by Dulce who practically sleeps in his lap the entirety of the two hour trip.

And, he seems to offer no protest, Solana seeing how he uses his free hand to pet and caress their puppy for the same duration.

Something tells her he might have missed her just as much as she's obviously missed him.

The car ride is no different, though her forever perceptive husband, easily picks up on the fact that the ride from the airport to their home is taking a bit longer than usual.

He looks over at her, suspicious of the situation, never her. "Where are we going?"

She squeezes his hand, simply answering, "we're not staying at the main house."

Her wording triggers more questions. "Main house?"

"You'll see." She lifts their conjoined hands, kissing his. "Trust me, mi amor."

It feels like such a huge, strange thing to tell him, especially after what's occurred, but if there's anything she can find comfort in, it's knowing that if there is anyone left in this world that he actually does trust, it's her.

Always her, she prays.

Getting out of the SUV, doors opened by the Cartel escort, Solana holds Dulce under one arm. She looks over to see Roman rounding the vehicle, looking around at the property that is certainly not the one he purchased for her.

"Come on," she says, taking his hand, Dulce still calmly in her other arm.

"Solana…where are we?""

She doesn't respond, instead ignores the group of guards who remain near the car, some spacing out among the property. Property that Solana is eager to show and display to her curious, confused husband.

And, she does.

A nice, beautifully decorated, hacienda styled abode, settled comfortably in land that's at least a mile or two away from the nearest neighbor. A spacious amount of land and greenery, the back of the house a mere matter of steps away from the beach, similar to the home Roman purchased for them.

Guiding them to the back of the house, Solana places Dulce down so she can roam—and possibly pee—while she finally explains it all.

Roman looks at her, finally asking, "is this a Cartel safe house?"

A valid question, especially considering the droves of guards that have practically crowded the two of them from the moment they landed in Mexico.

"No." She shakes her head and takes a deep breath."It's my house."

Roman's eyes widen. "Yours?" She nods, pushing back some of her hair the wind seems hellbent on going everywhere but down, courtesy of the steady breeze. "Solana…what do you mean it's yours? You bought a house?" He looks around, still with that same confused, partially irritated scowl. "Just what the hell all happened while I was in that damn hospital?"

Solana giggles and takes his hand. "I didn't get a chance to tell you…" A trail off largely due to her being unwilling to revisit that memory. "Apparently….this land has been in my family for generations, but it was my abuelo who finally took the steps to build on it." Solana looks at the house, motioning with her free hand. "He built this. He built it with the intentions of passing it on to my….to my mother." Sadness fills her tone and her eyes, Solana's volume dropping a bit. "Obviously….that didn't happen, but abuela has kept it all these years and now…." Solana gives a one shoulder shrug, watery smile on her face. "It's mine."

She then corrects herself, "actually, it's ours." Solana then brings their conjoined hands to her stomach. "We can bring the girls here sometime." She watches as Roman focuses on the breathtaking sight of the waves slapping against the sand. "And the other kids…."

The faintest hint of a smile breaks on his face, and it means more to her than she can put into words.

It's the first time he's smiled, even if small, since everything happened.

Solana moves to press her body against his, hugging him, holding him, lingering just a bit. "Come on." She eventually pulls away, taking his hand and starting to guide him back towards the house, calling for Dulce to follow them.

The inside is just as beautiful as the outside. Warm, cultured themes reflected in not only the design of the home, the architectural base, but the furniture as well, as the home is already fully furnished. A wave of emotion revisits Solana, as she recalls the first time she stepped inside. A tremendous amount of grief and love coming over her and abuela, the two women holding and crying together over shared loss and grief but also the love that came with reunion.

This space may have been meant for her mother, but it was also intended to be passed down. And Solana fully intends to keep that promise, to keep this precious space in her family for generations to come.

Starting with the girls.

Security handled bringing in luggage, so Solana is unsurprised to find it waiting in the living room. Speaking in Spanish, she directs one of the men to move two of the heavier bags to the master bedroom.

Neither herself or her stubborn ass husband need to be lifting on anything heavier than necessary.

Not that he'd agree with her, anyway.

A little later, after reviewing a couple things with Stephanie, Solana finds Roman sitting out back in the patio area.

"Hey…."

It's a bit of a silly thing, the way she almost hovers, as if waiting for permission to join him on the bench. Still, a sense of satisfaction fills her when he motions for her to come closer.

She doesn't hesitate.

Solana is partially appreciative that it's his left arm in a sling, because that leaves his right side safe and open space for her to lean against him. Instantly, her eyes shut, her hand moving to his chest.

Sleeping alone most nights has been….difficult, to say the least, and she hadn't realized just how much she's missed being in his arms until now.

"Thank you, Solana."

Brows furrowed, she peers up at him, small smile on her face. "Roman, you don't have to th—"

"Yes, I do," he interrupts. There's a scarily perfect mixture of seriousness and vulnerability, both of which have her giving him her undivided attention. "I'm alive right now because of you."

She frowns. "Roman…."

"Lopez offered and allowed the help he did, has done all of this—" Roman gestures with his chin to the guards that patrol the premises. "—because of you. He didn't have to do shit. He still doesn't have to, but he does because of you. Because you have the biggest heart of anyone I've ever met, and you were nice to a random child. Someone you didn't know. And in doing that, you carved out the path for all of this to happen."

Her eyes water, as he continues to speak freely and honestly. "You came back— " He stops, voice tight and even. "You refused to leave me, even after I told you, told them to leave." Her fingers clutch at his shirt, her lips pressed together to keep her emotions in check. As best as possible, that is. "You killed him to protect me…"

"I'd do anything for you, Roman," she whispers. Solana doesn't want to take away from this moment nor does she want to push a man who, for all intents and purposes, has already been shoved over that damn edge given everything that's happened. However, what comes out of her mouth next come straight from the heart versus the mind. "But, I didn't do it all alone." She sees the way his jaw clenches, knows that he knows exactly what she's about to say next. "Matteo and Dwayne…."

She doesn't list the rest. Wants to specifically focus on those two for reasons that are obvious to both husband and wife.

Especially Matteo.

"I know." It's all he says. Initially. "I—I owe them my life. Same with you."

She shakes her head. "You don't owe us anything, Roman." Solana reaches up, gentle in how she grabs his chin and forces him to look at her. "They're your family. I'm your wife. We all protect each other. That's what real family does."

Such a kaleidoscope of emotions dance in his pretty irises. Acceptance, confusion, fear, and so many more. Solana knows better than most everything that went down will take time for him to process and work through, but if there's one thing she hopes he can take from it all, it's that while he's seemingly "lost" a lot of family, he's gained some as well.

Or, rather, it's time to lower the defenses and let in the family that have always been waiting patiently for him to just open the door.

Solana leans up and kisses his jaw, murmuring an I love you as she pulls her legs up under her and further leans into him. Roman's arm around her tightens, his hand moving to her stomach, resting peacefully over her belly.

It puts a small smile on her face.

A smile that deepens when Dulce's bark is followed by her coming out back, leaning up on the leg of the bench. Giggling, Solana reaches and places their fur baby on the bench with them, the puppy settling in her "doughnut" sleeping position.

Moving back to cuddling into Roman's side, Solana murmurs, "we're gonna be okay."

He doesn't say anything after that, but he doesn't need to.

She knows he feels the same.

----------

Normalcy.

It's not traditional, not what he's used to, but it's the closest sense of normalcy Roman has felt since everything went down.

It's what's gained and received from being out of the hospital and in an actual house. A home.

Their home.

And, it feels just like it. Roman awakes to the aroma of his wife's delicious cooking traveling from the kitchen into the master bedroom where Dulce sleeps on the edge of the bed most nights. Just like Solana, she seems to feel better when close to him.

Solana….

There's something indescribable and profuse that fills him every time he catches a glimpse of her smiling, watches her work meticulously and gently when changing out his bandages or handling some other medical need for his recovery. A joy he can't shake watching her carry the small clothing basket out back to hang up the clothes on the clothing line.

And, it's especially felt every time he sees her hand on her baby bump, something that's almost always on display given the light, long, flowy dresses she wears most of the time.

There's a freedom and relaxation about her in this space. This place where the world is so much smaller and life simpler.

Just them.

Roman has to catch himself at various points. Has to be mindful of it all, because he'd be lying if he didn't consider once or twice what it would be like if this was the norm.

If they never went back. Just stayed here. Content and happy.

But, then he's snatched back to reality, reminded of what chaos would ensue if he were to stay gone.

Because, based on what Matteo and Dwayne have told him, chaos is most definitely what's occurred back home.

With no one on his metaphorical throne, everyone believing him dead, bedlam has ensued among the Bloodline. Men vying for his throne, others refusing to move forward without Tribal Combat to elect a true victor.

The Cosa Nostra has already started the process of severing the decades long alliance between them and the Bloodline, his cousin Luca at the forefront of the movement.

Unsurprising.

Dwayne and Matteo didn't need to point out to him the possible involvement he had in said coup, tying together several dots, including the random missing shipment from months ago as well as the case to prove Roman unfit to lead.

It was all a front, a part of an elaborate plot that intended to see him dead.

Roman can't wait for that bastard, especially, to get exactly what's coming to him.

Along with everyone fucking else.

"Heyman and Rollins have been transferred from the burn unit to ICU."

Dwayne's announcement breaks the only Tribal Chief from his thoughts and the way he was focused instead on the scene before them. Out on the beach, chairs spread out, it's only Roman, Matteo, and Dwayne who sit and converse as the rest of the group, Solana, Paloma, Bayley, Afia, and her children, enjoy the sand and waves.

Enjoy the now.

The heartwarming sight is a contrast to the hatred that fills Roman at being reminded of two of the men still at large.

His former Wise Man and the fucking psychopath he once called friend decades prior.

"Good." Is all Roman needs to say. He's already discussed with the two men the plan to handle those fucking bastards, and them being stable enough to be moved from the burn unit to the ICU is just another way his master plan for revenge is coming together.

For most, at least.

Clearing his throat, Roman fixes his mouth. "And Jey?"

Dwayne hesitates before responding. "Released on yesterday." A noticeable pause. "His wife's funeral is scheduled for next week."

Roman says nothing in response. The same way he feels nothing at that last part. A small part of him wants to, feels like he should feel at least the smallest amount of empathy at that. From what Solana had told him, Nicki was only there because she'd been taken for collateral by Solo and Rikishi.

And, Dwayne allegedly heard an unconscious Jey was dragged out of the plant by some surviving Bloodline members. Nicki, however, was not.

She was killed in the explosion.

Same with Bron.

Roman definitely didn't care about the latter, but there's conflicted emotions toward the former.

Especially toward Jey.

And the conversation this morning with Solana didn't necessarily help.

It just confused him.

It confused him a lot.

Matteo's gaze is on his brother, as if reading Roman's mind. "Have you decided what you're going to do about him?"

Roman says nothing, as Mateo simply offers a nod of acceptance and acknowledgment.

"You'll figure it out," Dwayne encourages. Roman looks over to see him sitting forward in the beach chair that seems far too small for his big ass. "And whatever you decide, you know we'll back you."

"Always." Matteo confirms.

At that, Roman goes quiet again.

So much has happened. Too much, even for him. He's tried his best not to overthink some things, not to fall too deeply down too many holes. Both for his own sake but also for that of Solana.

He hates that she was present when that happened. Both times. He's worked so fucking hard to keep that shit away from her, but alas, the weight of it all was too much even for his strong ass defenses.

But, one thing he can't and won't deny is the way the two men beside him are largely part of the reason he's still alive. Like he told Solana, he owes them his life.

He just, for some reason, hasn't been able to express as such to them directly.

Especially Matteo.

Though Roman has a good feeling he knows why when it comes to that.

Still, he owes them at least an attempt.

"I—" Roman fucking hates that one sentence in, he's already stammering like a fucking idiot. "I haven't really….I haven't really had a chance to thank—"

"Ahhh," Dwayne cuts him off, forcing Roman to cut his eyes. He's trying to be fucking nice. "Save it for later. Once we've got all this shit sorted. You've got the time." He snorts, half joking, half serious. "Not even death itself wants to deal with your stubborn ass. We still have at least another 40 years of you terrorizing folks left."

Matteo chuckles quietly. "He's right. Though I'd say 50."

Roman rolls his eyes and drops the conversation. For now.

It's something that needs to be had, but maybe not right now.

"Now, if you boys excuse me, that dark angel over there is just begging for me to show her what a good time with the devil looks like." Dwayne stands and starts his way over to Stephanie, Solana's personal cartel guard. A bit of a bitch if you ask him, but the vicious, lethal look in her eyes is all that matters to him. She's effective.

Roman knows she's more than capable of protecting his wife. The most important thing.

With it now being just the two of them, Roman considers it. Considers taking the space and opportunity to talk with Matteo about that. The other thing.

But, it's as Matteo lands his gaze on his laughing, smiling sister-in-law who continues to play with and entertain his children, her nephews and nieces, it dawns on him. Just hits him out of nowhere. He continues to watch the domestic scene before him while stating, not asking, his younger brother. "You haven't told her yet, have you?"

Roman also shifts to watch the scene, focuses on his wife. His beautiful, happy, kind wife whose laughter is infectious, her smile alluring, and the way she keeps a hand on her baby bump enough to evoke all of the emotions in him.

He snaps a mental image. Commits it to memory. Stores it for a later recall date.

Because Lord fucking knows he's going to need it.

And, he says nothing.

Offers no response.

There's no need.

The silence is all the answer needed.

---------

Hours later, when everyone has left, and Dulce is fast asleep in her bed, Roman finds Solana putting away laundry.

She smiles when he walks into their bedroom, stopping and walking over to lean up and kiss his cheek. "You should be resting."

He chuckles. "Kind of getting tired of that, to be honest with you."

She rolls her eyes, cupping his cheek. "Why am I not surprised?" Solana laughs quietly, turning away from him to finish folding and putting away the clothes.

Roman starts to leave her alone, starts to just wait until tomorrow. He doesn't want to ruin her night. She'd had such a nice day, and this will most definitely ruin it.

But, he also thinks about time.

3 days. They have three days left here, and the longer he waits, the less time he'll have to help her process and understand why this has to be the case. He only does her a disservice by delaying the inevitable.

It's time.

"Solana." She turns around to look at him. Fuck. "I—I need to talk to you about something."

But, it's a twist he could have never predicted. Never. “I already know.”

Roman doesn’t try to hide his shock. He doesn’t try to hide much from and with his wife, really. Not when he can help it, at least. “What?”

Solana walks back over, a small, sad smile playing on her face. “It's been almost two weeks. We couldn’t stay here forever, right?” She shrugs, reaching up and cupping his face. “It’s time to go home.”

Roman doesn’t say anything. Just thinks it. 

Fuck.

He knew this would be hard, but it might be harder than he was initially thinking. Solana turns and moves over to the dresser, continuing to fold the clothes, placing them in the open drawer. “When do we have to leave?” 

He says nothing, waiting for her to finish folding the item in hand. “Solana—”

“We have to come back though.” She interrupts, clearly wanting and needing to get her thought out as she pauses momentarily, proud smile setting on her face. A hand drops to her belly. “I like it here, and I think the girls will, too.”

“Solana—”

“I love the house you bought for us, too, but there’s something about this place…” She shakes her head, turning around to look at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” She leans back against the dresser, shirt folded over her arm. “When do we have to leave?”

Roman looks at her, suddenly unsure of just how to break this to her. But, then he sees it, sees the realization dawn, resulting in her smile dropping. Solana opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something, suddenly shaking her head and turning back around.

“It’ll—it’ll probably be good for us to get back home anyway.” 

He closes his eyes. “Solana.”

“Jumping back into the routine of it all, ya know?”

He watches her continue to fold clothes. Rapidly. Not as neat. A bit neurotic with it. 

Roman takes a careful step toward her. “Solana, I need you to lis—”

“Plus, Dulce is probably missing all her beds.” She laughs, but it’s anything but humorous. “You know how spoiled we have her.”

Proceeding with caution proves effective when Roman is close enough to his wife to touch her. Gently, he reaches for the back of Solana’s arm, slowly turning her around.

She continues to deflect, consumed by the allure of avoidance and aversion.

“And, we still have to go baby shopping—”

“Sol—”

“And set up the nurseries—”

Roman brings his hands to her face, watching how her eyes shut as she continues to try to avoid the inevitable. “Solana—”

“Because they’re gonna be here before we know it—”

“Solana—”

"Why?" She cuts him off once more, not to continue on her track of denial but to ask a question this time. Solana backs against the dresser, fingers tightly gripping the edges. "Why are you doing this?"

He swallows. "Sweetheart—"

"Why?" She asks again, voice more desperate. Eyes pleading with him for an answer he's not sure she'll be receptive to no matter how hard he works to help her understand.

"Things are unstable back home, Sol." He starts, Roman recalling the ten different mental scripts he created to handle this conversation, none of which seem good enough in the moment. But, it's all he has. "I need to figure out how deep the betrayal went, handle everyone involved who's still alive and make things right." She looks away, sniffling and releasing a shaky breath. "It doesn't make sense to take you from here, somewhere that's safe and stable. To take you out of a protected environment and bring you into that chaos."

"I'm not going into the chaos though," she argues, voice small, silent tears streaming down her face. "I'm going to be with you."

Roman looks away, hating the weight that's suddenly on his chest. He knew this conversation wouldn't be easy. Not at all. But, he just hadn't anticipated how deeply her reaction would impact him.

She's gutted.

"Solana…." Roman steps toward her, almost hesitantly, like doing so is a violation of some sort. When she offers no protest, doesn't move, just continues to look away, not meeting his eye, he moves his hands to her hips. "I don't want to do this."

"So, don't," she whispers.

Roman hates how she won't look at him, almost as much as he hates how pained his voice sounds. "I don't have a choice…"

Her eyes clench tight, her lips pressed together as she nods to herself. He's tempted to reach and force her gaze on him. It kills him to not be able to read her in this moment. Though the tension that he can feel under his touch is telling enough.

She's upset.

Rightfully so.

But, her almost icing him out is a different, hurtful experience.

He doesn't like it. At all.

"How—" She starts but stops, emotion getting the best of her. "How long?"

Roman also prepared for this portion of the conversation, but all the practice in the world, it seems, couldn't adequately ready him for this moment.

"I don't know."

He answers after a good minute of silence.

And, it's when that is shared that she finally looks at him, eyes wide and fiddled with indescribable hurt and confusion.

"What?"

Despite her contact on him, something he thought he wanted, it's suddenly terribly difficult for him to maintain that evened gaze. "I don't know how long it's going to take to settle everything—"

"So, not only can I not come home, you can't even tell me when I can go home?" She questions, inching away from him, forcing his hands down from her hips as she digs herself back into the dresser. Like being so close to him is a problem. "Roman….how is this supposed to work?" A fair, understandable question. She sniffles, wiping at her eyes. "What—the only way I can communicate and be with my husband is through texts and—and phone calls and—" She stops herself, and he fucking hates it, because he knows he's clearly given away the nail in the coffin. "What?" He says nothing, jaw clenched, prompting her to repeat herself. "What?"

Roman chews the inside of his mouth. "It's best if we go no contact while—" He's unable to finish, interrupted by the way she shakes her head, pushing him away, mumbling something he can't make out. "Solana—" He tries to reach for her, but once again, she shoves away his touch and attempts for comfort, walking out the room, leaving him alone.

"Fuck!" He shouts, landing a kick to the dresser that has the entirety of it shaking, slamming back against the wall behind it.

Ignoring the pain in his now sling-free shoulder, Roman paces the room, one hand on his hip, the other running over his face.

He wasn't lying when he told her he doesn't want to be away from his wife. The truth of the matter is that this shit tears him up just as much as it probably does her. There's a dull ache in his chest when he thinks about having to be without her, in any capacity for more than a couple hours.

But, he was also not lying when he said he doesn't have a choice.

Roman has combed through option after option, raked through all the fine details of potential outcomes, navigated the different, best ways to handle this shitshow of a situation. But, no matter how hard he's tried, how much he tried to rationalize with himself at different points, all roads lead the the decision he's made.

Solana has to stay here.

She can't come home.

Not yet.

Now when so much is in the air and traitors still roam free. Roman revealing himself as still being alive will have all eyes on him, and that includes individuals who would see this as the perfect opportunity to strike again. Believing him weak and potentially injured, the latter not entirely untrue, it'd be open season.

It will be open season, and it makes zero sense to drag Solana into that dangerous space with him.

Especially with her being pregnant.

He won't risk her life or that of his unborn daughters.

He can't.

So, like it or not, and no one likes it, the best thing to do is to keep her in Mexico where she'll be undoubtedly safe and under the witness protection of the Cartel.

It's the only way.

Roman allows her some time, waits until he goes to find her, eventually locating her on the beach. He harshly brushes away the security that lingers, wanting and needing the privacy this sort of matter requires.

She's standing and facing the ocean, arms crossed over her body, the setting sun reflecting and highlighting the dried tears on her face. Some. Some are dried. Some are new and continuing.

"This—" She starts, voice low, borderline whispered. "This shouldn't be happening right now." She swallows, eyes shut. "We should be home. Designing our new house. Getting ready for the babies." Solana turns to him, her voice cracking. "We should be shopping for their clothes, buying furniture for the nurseries." She stops, laughing bitterly, one hand over her mouth. "I—I should be trying to calm you down because you're getting frustrated because the instructions don't make any sense. We should—" She breaks down, crying into her hands, prompting him to move closer, pulling her against him.

“Please don’t do this,” she sobs into his chest. The earlier strong and admirable attempt to delay what cannot be avoided finally defeated by the cumbersome weight of emotionality and reality. “Please—I can’t—I can’t—”

“It's okay,” he comforts. Roman can sense the anxiety intensifying, could see the reddening of her face, and the instability of her breathing. “Just breathe, baby. Breathe for me.”

She does no such thing, instead looking up, her face the definition of distraught. “I—I don't want to be away from you again.”

A heartbreaking admission that he also feels. Roman doesn’t like this anymore than she does. 

“I don’t wanna be away from you either, Sol. I never do. You know that.” A vulnerable confession for her ears and her ears only. “But, baby, it’s not safe for you to come back—”

“What if I stay in the house?" She suggests, eyes wide and hopeful. It's scarily reminiscent to when he'd left before and she begged him to stay. Something, in hindsight, he should have agreed to. But, despite the anguish and desperation that fill her voice and eyes, Roman knows what the right answer is this time around.

Knows what he needs to do.

Even, if he doesn't want to.

"I won't leave. I promise." She adds, pulling on his shirt the same way her heartbreaking pleas pull at his heartstrings.

"Baby…." Roman moves his hands to cup her face, speaking clearly and firmly. "I want nothing more than to take you with me. For us to both go home together. That's what I want more than fucking anything." An honest confession. It almost makes his chest hurt to think of being without her for an undetermined amount of time. "But, that would be selfish of me. And, I can't and won't be selfish with you." One hand moves to her stomach. "Not when there's so much at stake."

Her eyes shut again, her bottom lip trembling. "Who's gonna look out for you? Who's gonna take care of you?" She sniffles, pointing out, "you're still not fully recovered."

She's right, as per usual, but his recovery plays no role in the decision that's already been made. "I'll be fine," he assures. Roman has been injured before and handled said recovery all on his own just fine. As much as he would love to have his wife assist in that process, it, again, would be a selfish thing.

She gasps, clearly still fighting to speak through her tears. "But—"

"I'll be okay, Solana," he repeats, reminding as his thumb brushes away her tears. "Dwayne and Matteo will be with me."

He's not sure if this comforts her as much as he would like it to, because while he knows she's concerned for his well-being, it's not just his physical safety she's concerned about.

She's concerned about his mental state as well.

"I'm gonna go back home, make everything right, and as soon as the smoke clears, I'll be back for you." A promise to herself and him. Whatever it takes to reunite them, he'll do. He'll do it as quickly yet efficiently as he can, because every fucking minute spent without her will be fuel for his endless fire. "And, I swear to you, we'll do everything you stated. The baby shopping. Decorating the nursery. Designing the house. All of it. I promise."

The sob breaks through as she once again leans her body into him, crying into his chest. Roman cradles the back of her head, whispering soothing words of comfort that do little to dull or diminish the shared ache of heartbreak felt between the two of them.

--------

The last few days spent together are rough, to say the least.

Both husband and wife do the best with the little time they have together, but the massive countdown that hangs and swings over them is a daunting thing that can't be ignored. Roman feels the sadness, borderline depression, in his wife just as much he can see it. The way her smile is dimmed, doesn't really meet the eye. Can tell when she holds and hugs him, it's done with a sense of yearning and memorization. Like she's trying to commit it all to memory when those memories are all she has.

He does the same.

Time spent with anyone other than each other is also greatly minimized to none. Occasional visits to the house from Dwayne, Matteo, Afia, Bayley, and Paloma that never last longer than an hour or two.

They also know.

Know that while Roman is set to fly back home in a couple days, Solana won't be on the jet with him, hence the privacy being allotted to the couple.

It's appreciated. More than they probably realize.

Solana never really left the house before he broke the news to her, part of her needing to lay low, and Roman only left for matters of business and rehab. Other than that, they're practically attached at the hip. In their own little world. Him. Her. And Dulce.

A family.

But, escapism from a grim reality is but a short term thing, and before either realizes it, the day has arrived.

It's time for Roman to leave.

Solana is on the quiet side all morning. Intentional, Roman is sure of that much. Her quietness is her attempt at keeping it together, keeping herself from falling apart and showing him just how devastating this is for her.

Not that he needs her to say it.

Again, it's more than felt.

Walking outside, Roman sees the fleet of SUV's lined up. Some waiting to escort him. Others just part of the heft security detail that will be watching and protecting Solana in his absence.

Protecting their unborn children.

Heavy footsteps lead him to where Bayley and Afia are talking among themselves, conversation silencing as he moves inches close enough for hearing distance.

They don't say anything, and neither does he. Not at first.

"I—" Roman clears his throat, suddenly hating how fucking awkward he feels. This shit is hard. "I want to….I want to thank both of you." Only Bayley shows any sort of surprise. Afia just wears that same unreadable expression.

Damn assassins.

"For….for what you did."

It's really the first time he's had a good chance to express as such. Express appreciation for the role they played in rescuing Solana. The help they provided. A massive level of help.

"Well, holy shit," Bayley curses. She looks at Afia, gesturing with a thumb. "I didn't think he had it in him."

"Don't fucking push it," he snaps.

Bayley rolls her eyes. "And there it goes."

Afia chuckles quietly, bowing her head almost gracefully. "You're welcome, though we did nothing that true family wouldn't do."

Roman doesn't have anything to say to that. His definition of family is a muddy, confusing, borderline traumatic mess these days.

"She's right," Bayley agrees. "Like it or not, we are all family. Whether it be blood or marriage…" She trails off a bit, crossing her arms and smirking. "And when the girls get here, we're about to see a hell of a lot more of each other, because Aunt Bayley and Aunt Afia can't wait to spoil the princesses."

Roman is certain he shouldn't feel as mortified as he does. It's a good thing the girls will have people who love and care about them beyond just himself and Solana, but the idea of all those people.

Some level of his mixed reaction must show as Afia offers a bit of an out. She transitions, tone solemn. "We'll look out for her. She'll be safe."

He swallows, unwilling to comment on that. Bayley offers a nod of agreement. A part of him wants to also thank them for being willing to stay with Solana. For putting their lives on hold, in a sense, while he tries to put his back together.

But, he decides against it. He knows that they're not doing it out of obligation or even duty.

They're doing it out of love.

With a few more parting words, Roman turns to head back in the house only to be met with someone else.

Paloma.

Unlike the initial silence with himself and the other two women, there is none to be found with his wife's grandmother.

"It will be hard for her." She cuts straight to the point, a hint of sadness in her voice. "She's will miss you deeply, and your absence will be like a void no one else can fill." She pauses, and Roman wonders if it's because his lingering guilt at a decision he knows is right, albeit gut-wrenching, is weighing on him. "But, she will be okay. We're here for her. She's not alone."

Roman wishes her words hit deeper than they do. Appreciated. Truly. But, they don't seem to stand up against the tidal wave of regret he has in Solana even being in this situation.

Not of his own doing, but a situation he hates, nonetheless.

"Thank you."

It's all he knows how to say. What more is there to say to something like that?

Paloma chuckles and steps forward, lifting her hand to cup his face. She closes her eyes and says something in Spanish. He readies to ask for a translation when something catches his gaze above and behind her.

Solana stands in the front of the house, speaking with Dwayne and Matteo. His cousin reaches to pull Solana in a hug, nodding as she potentially says something to him. Pulling back, he places his fist over his chest, patting it twice and nodding.

An acknowledgment of some sort.

Then comes Matteo. That hug seems to linger a little longer, both communicating something unheard from where Roman stands, but there's an ease that comes with reading Solana's face. Something understood as she wipes her eyes after the hug breaks apart, and the two men turn to leave, Dwayne heading toward the SUV's and Matteo to Afia.

And then Solana is looking at him.

Roman swallows, seeing how she motions towards the house before turning on her heel, disappearing inside.

Paloma drops her hand from his face and motions behind her. "Go."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

He finds her standing a mere few feet away from the front door that he quietly closed behind him. She's leaning back against the wall, arms crossed looking upward, as if deep in thought.

She doesn’t say anything. Not at first. Just keeps her head tilted up towards the ceiling. And then after a good minute, she breaks that silence. Her voice is borderline stoic, a testament of her valiant attempts to keep it together. “Thanksgiving is in four days.”

Roman stills. He had no idea. In the midst of everything that’s occurred, the days have seemed to bleed and blend together. Not to mention he’s never been big on holidays. Hasn’t celebrated or really acknowledged them since he was a boy.

But, Solana….it's different for her.

Was supposed to be different for her this year, and she confirms as much.

“I was going to….to talk to you about hosting this year.” She whispers. Roman hates how he can hear the emotion she’d been trying so hard to suppress make its way to the surface. “I—I wanted it to be special.” He closes his eyes, gaze dropping to the floor, fist forming at his side.

Thanksgiving will be anything but.

“And Christmas….” She trials off, finally dropping her head, Roman meeting her shattered gaze. “I wanted….” A dangerous glint of hope appears in her eyes, foreshadowing a question that will only elicit further disappointment. “Will you….will you come back before….”

Roman fixes his jaw. The only thing he can give her in this moment is honesty. Even if it only digs that knife in deeper. “I don’t want to lie to you….”

Truth be told, Roman believes he can fix everything, that he can get everything stable again, before then. That he can have his wife back home with him before the year-end holiday she seemed so excited about. But, there’s also so many unknown variables that could hinder that, and he doesn’t want to mislead her.

Doesn’t want to get her hopes up for what could be nothing.

"Solana—"

"Christmas is only a few weeks away." Licking her lips, closing her eyes, she nods to herself. "I didn't even get a chance to finish making your gift." And with all resolve crumbling, there's a slight tremble of her body as the weight of it all topples her. "We….were supposed to be together for Christmas." She gasps, shaking her head, one hand to her stomach. "Like a family."

Two steps are all it takes for him to move in front of her. Wordlessly, Roman gathers her into his arms, feeling the way she clutches onto him, bawling into his chest.

"This isn't fair," she cries. "I hate this. I hate them for doing this to us."

"I know," he murmurs, kissing the top of her head. "I hate it, too." More than she could ever realize. "But, I'm going to make this right, Sol. I promise. And the second things are safe again, I'm coming back for you." He's said it several times now and will continue to say it for as long and as many times she needs him to. "Nothing and no one could ever keep me from you, Solana." His hand drops to her stomach, pressing against the swell of her baby bump. "From them."

She nods, as if trying to sear his words into her mind, body, and soul. "You'll be careful, r—right?"

He kisses her temple. "Always."

"And continue your r-rehab and do what the doctors t-tell you?"

For her. He will. It's the least he can do. "Yes, baby."

She grasps onto his wrist, eyes still closed, tears still falling. "And as soon as I can come home—"

"I'll be on the jet coming to get you." Another reiteration. Reassurance she's needing a lot of in this moment.

Solana nods once more, leaning up to wrap her arms around him, forcing them into a hug.

Roman closes his eyes and breathes her in. Takes in every detail, from minute to overt. The way her body fits perfectly against his. The press of her baby bump against his abs, the aroma of her gourmand perfume that allures him.

Just her.

"I love you, Solana." A whispered, vulnerable thing, because just as much as she's going to miss him….he'll miss her more. He swallows once again, that emotion building back up. "More than anything in this whole fucking world."

She chokes up a sob, voice cracking as she reciprocates his vow of love. "I love you too, mi amor. Siempre tu."

Words inked on her body and etched in his soul.

Roman isn't entirely sure who breaks away first. He just knows Dulce sitting and whimpering at their feet prompts him to pet her once more. He'd already told her goodbye earlier, another rather difficult task, but like her mother, another parting gesture is needed.

Standing back up, Roman cups Solana's cheek. She brings her hands to hold his wrist, the smallest, solemn smile on her face. And with the saddest voice he's probably heard in some time, if ever, she whispers the single damning word.

"Go."

The weight deepens, shifts on his chest, but it's a weight he has to ignore. Has to power through. And, he does. Roman places one last kiss against her forehead, lips lingering, the same way she squeezes his wrist one last time before dropping her hands.

Stepping back, he grants her and Dulce one last look, another task of necessary memorization, one final time.

And, then he's out the door, forcing himself to ignore the sound of her sob finally breaking through and the succumbing of the weight in his chest.

Heartbreak.

It's heartbreak.

------

Loving can hurt Loving can hurt sometimes

[eden-writes-stuff]

Tags: smut, NSFW, spoken consent, virginity loss, virgin Remus, anal sex, oral sex, drunk sex

"Truth or dare?", Sirius asked. "Truth", Remus decided. "Uh... Who was your first time?" "That's a stupid question." "No, it's not."

Remus looked around the room, biting down on his lip. "I... I didn't have a first time." "What is that supposed to mean?" "Bloody hell, it means that I've never had sex." "But you have a girlfriend!" "I had. We broke up last week. And we... just never got there"

For a moment no one knew what to say. "Why are you all being so weird about it? There is absolutely nothing wrong about not having had sex at 17", Lily finally said. Remus simply shrugged. "Whatever. Don't worry, Lil. I think I'm going to bed. Unlike some of you, I would like to study tomorrow." And with that, he disappeared up the stairs and into their dorm.

All eyes shifted to Sirius, who looked back in disbelief. "What? I didn't know that. Why is everyone blaming me?" Mary lifted an eyebrow. With a sigh, Sirius gave in. This wasn't worth making the girls angry. He survived their wrath once; he doubted he would survive it again. "Fine, I'll apologize."

So, Sirius trotted up the stairs, slower than usual, unsure of what to do. He honestly hadn't wanted to hurt Moony, but was it really his fault? Carefully he knocked on the door. "Who is it?", Remus answered after a long moment. "I'm Sirius" "Bullshit. Sirius is never serious." With a sigh and a simple flick of his wand, Remus opened the door.

Sirius poked his head through the opening and grinned innocently. "I wouldn't say never, but very rarely... You okay?" Remus shrugged. "Do you want an apology?" "For what?" Sirius looked down at his shoes. He liked those shoes. Black Converse. A birthday present from Mary. "I don't know. For being rude I guess? I didn't want to... out you like that." "I'm not mad at you", Remus said calmly. Sirius knew he was lying. Or at least he wasn't fully telling the truth.

"No more Anne then?", he asked, leaning in the doorframe. "Nope." "She was nice. Everyone thought you'd be great together." "Everyone except you." Oh yeah. Sirius hated her - although, she never made it easy.

"Okay then, different question: what would you like your first time to be like?" "Sirius..." "You chose truth, Moony, so tell me the truth." Remus sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing. "I'd like it to be with someone who knows me. Someone who I can trust and who I know will take care of me, who won't use me." Sirius bit his lip. There was a reason the Sorting Hat had sent him to Gryffindor. "Do you trust me, Remus?", he asked quietly as he carefully approached him, stopping only inches before him.

Remus looked shocked, almost scared. But definitely not repulsed. "I do." Sirius lifted a hand to run his fingers through the golden-brown curls. "Do you want me to take care of you?" Without thinking too much his hands slid up Sirius' beautiful thighs. Softly he pulled him into his lap. Sirius almost melted against him as he felt Remus' body against his own. "I do."

And with that, Sirus' mouth was on his, hands in his hair. Remus tasted of chocolate, and mint toothpaste and alcohol. His lips were addictive and a little rough because he always chewed on them, but fuck if it isn't the best thing Sirius had ever tasted.

The whole world seemed to fade away when he was with Remus. Everything was better, he wasn't nearly as anxious about anything as long as Moony was there. Their bodies seemed to melt together, Remus pulling Sirius closer and closer, one hand landing on his ass, gently gripping the soft flesh.

Sirius gasped, a little surprised. He hadn't expected Remus to be so active. It wasn't bad - far from it - but the little reaction had been enough to make Remus draw back, looking up at him with those beautiful brown eyes, that were barely visible around the black of his pupiles. "Did I do something wrong?", he asked carefully. Sirius immediately shook his head.

"How drunk are you?", Sirius asked. "Two butterbeers and half a glass of firewhiskey. You?" "One shot of green fairy and that other half of that firewhiskey. Are you sure about this? We can wait. I don't want you to do anything you'll regret becau-" Before he could finish Remus pressed the bulge in his trousers against Sirius' ass, almost making him moan. "How about you? Are you sure?" He stopped speaking, as he felt Sirius' erection rubbing against his. "Oh fuck! Okay..."

All hesitation gone, he kissed him again, pulling him closer. Gently he pushed Remus back onto the bed, holding himself up with one arm. "We can always stop. No matter when. If you need a break or want to stop completely, that is always fine, okay?", Sirius assured him quietly, looking up once to make sure he understood. Remus started kissing his neck, softly biting into the flesh. "I don't want to stop. Please don't stop", he murmured.

He was infinitely thankful that Remus wanted to keep going. He wasn't even sure if he could stop with Remus' lips being so criminally soft, his breath so warm against his own skin.

But the best part was to hear Remus say it. Hearing him admit that he wanted him. That he wanted to do this with him. He wouldn't dream of denying him anything he wanted.

"Tell me how you want it." He let a hand slide under Remus' jumper. His skin was warm and soft between the scars. "With your mouth." Sirius lifted an eyebrow. "Never had a blowjob either?" Remus shook his head. "Shit... Poor you", he teased, smiling softly. He pulled the jumper over his head, revealing Remus' chest. "Anything else?" "Ca- can I be... be in you? Fuck. How do you say that without sounding weird?"

His heart skipped a beat. "You can definitely do that", Sirius grinned, biting into the soft skin of Remus' neck. Sirius had always known that Remus was beautiful, having seen him change almost every day for six years, but he had never seen him this close, never had he had the opportunity to really... see him.

He kissed every scar, every mark on his body. He would worship him for hours and hours, but since this was Remus' first time, and Sirius was sure to come into his pants if they kept looking at each other like this for much longer, he decided to act. He started unbuckling Remus' belt and unzipping his trousers. Remus aided him by lifting his hips and soon the only thing left on him was Sirius.

"Merlin! Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are?" Sirius looked up at him while carefully kissing along his v-line. Had he been just a little more drunk, he might have started drowling.

His gaze lifted to meet Remus'. The boy was blushing like a bloody tomato and looking unfairly attractive. Sirius would never get tired of this sight. His kisses wandered lower and lower, but his gaze stayed fixed on Remus.

He stroked his dick a few times, softly kissing the tip, before taking him in.

He started off slow and steady, enjoying the look of pleasure on Remus' face. It all went to hell when he heard Remus moan for the first time. He had always loved Remus' voice, but hearing him curse under his breath and- oh fuck! Sirius knew he was absolutely, positively fucked when he heard his name escape Remus' lips. At that point, nothing could hold him back. He sucked his dick as if his life depended on it. Everything to hear him moan again and again.

At some point, Remus started moving his hips upward, making Sirius take him deeper. He gagged but didn't complain. He would let him go on like this forever. But, inexperienced as he was, Remus didn't last long. Luckily, Sirius had enough experience for the both of them and knew to stop before Remus could finish.

As soon as his lips had left him, Remus pulled Sirius up to him, claiming his lips so greedily that Sirius was sure he'd faint.  Eventually, he turned them both around, pressing Sirius into the bed with his weight. He was so gone. His hands found their way into Remus' soft curls, while the taller boy gripped his hips possesively.

Sirius forced himself to break the kiss after a good few minutes. "How much do you know from theory?", Sirius asked, still out of breath. Remus needed a few seconds before he could form a proper sentence. "Only what I read in books." Surprised, Sirius lifted an eyebrow. "Where did you read about gay sex in school books?" Remus grinned. "Who said anything about school books!" Sirius could only laugh before Remus kissed him again.

"Moony", he protested quietly, growing weaker and weaker with each brush of their lips. "Hm?", the other boy answered, kisses growing sloppy. Merlin, there couldn't be anything hotter in this world. "If you wanna continue you have to let me get up for a moment." Remus grumbled in protest, but eventually pushed himself up.

After taking a few seconds to regain his motor functions,  Sirius pushed himself up to grab the condoms and lube from the drawer of his nightstand. "For protection and easy access", he explained, "with guys, it's easier because there's only one hole, so you can't get that wrong", Sirius continued and handed both items to Remus.

He was about to undo his belt when he felt Remus' firm grip around his wrist. He couldn't help but stare as the other boy's elegant fingers worked to get him out of his trousers. "I know that it's important to prepare and stretch before." Sirius nodded slowly. He could feel his throat go dry.

"Had to learn that the hard way. It's best if you start with your fingers." Remus smiled and kissed his stomach, sending butterflies through his entire body. "And then it's just in and out?" "Basically. You can vary with how hard and how fast you like it. And of course different positions, but let's keep it simple for the first time." His voice grew more and more shaky as Remus freed him of his underwear and let it drop to his ankles.

"And you say I'm gorgeous", Remus whispered, biting his lip. Sirius couldn't help but smile. "Well, you are. And you probably don't get to hear it nearly enough." He watched as Remus unwrapped the condom and put it on.

"You ready?" Sirius nodded and turned with his bare butt facing Remus. He could hear the sound of the bottle clicking open and not long after felt the cool wetness on his skin. "Do I just push them in?", Remus asked carefully. "Yeah. Try to get some of it everywhere. It feels a little strange at first, but you get used to it."

When he felt Remus' fingers pressing against him, he bit down on his lip, letting his head roll back. "Shit. Did I hurt you?" "Only a little, but that's normal. Just keep going. It'll get better", he assured him. So Remus kept pushing forward. His other hand started gently stroking over Srius' lower back, helping him relax.

It didn't take long for Sirius to start sighing and quietly moaning. "I'm ready. I'm ready for you, Moony." Remus' hands left him for a few moments before gripping onto Sirius' sides to hold him in place as he gently slid into him.

They both moaned in unison and took a minute to cope with the feeling. Remus was wonderfully big. Sirius didn't think he could fall any more for him but was proven awfully wrong when Remus started moving. He was careful, to not slip out when he drew back for the first time before pushing himself all the way in again; slow and steady.

Remus felt even greater than he'd imagined. And that was just during his first time. The things he might do to him with more experience... If this was something that would ever be repeated. No! No sad thoughts. Just focusing on how fucking hot the guy behind him was.

He couldn't help but let out a quiet whimper at the thought. Remus immediately paused "What's wrong? Did I-" "No", he interrupted, "Just keep going. Fuck, please don't stop."

Merlin, how he loved hearing him beg like this. Unable to even think about it, Remus started thrusting into him again; quicker this time. A row of nonsensical curses left his lips. His hands gripped Sirius' waist to keep them both steady and to have something to hold onto. With every single movement, he grew more and more frantic.

It only took Remus a few, way too short minutes to reach the edge. As was to be expected. At least he warned Sirius -different to other experiences he had made over the years. "Fuck- Sirius! I can't- I need to-" "Come! Just let go. It's alright." Sirius shifted his weight to move one hand to his own cock, which was already dripping with precum.

Remus' hips stuttered a bit before he stilled completely, emptying himself into the condom. Sirius moved between him and his hand a few times before finishing himself. Unsure what to do, and unable to do much else, Remus fell back onto the bed, catching his breath.

Sirius took a second as well before he turned toward him, inspecting him carefully. "Everything alright?" Remus just nodded. Smiling, Sirius got up and disappeared into the bathroom from which he reemerged with a glass of water a few seconds later. Carefully he helped him sit up, leaning both of them against the headboard, pulling the blanket over them. Remus drank while Sirius softly stroked his thigh.

"So... Who was your first time?", Sirius grinned.

[lenaellsi]

after my latest rewatch I am even more convinced that crowley really doesn't have the intense self-loathing issues he's commonly depicted with. like he has some regrets and bad memories and insecurities like everyone does, and he's under an insane amount of stress basically always, but he's very confident in who he is. he's not particularly happy about being a demon, but that isn't the same thing as hating himself for it. he hates hell, not himself.

like. he’s not upset about being called one of “the bad guys” because he agrees, he’s upset because he knows aziraphale is wrong, and because this is evidence that aziraphale still believes in a philosophy that has divided them since even before his fall. he has never once considered himself less than aziraphale or any other angel. I think it's clear that he's pretty offended by that implication, actually!

“crawly” as a name is too squirming-at-your-feet-ish for him because he knows who he is, and he sees value in that person. his depression and his worrying relationship with his own life and safety come from his feelings on god and predestination, not from self-loathing. crowley does not believe in the system. he doesn’t believe in the idea that people are purely good or evil, and he’s sure enough of himself to know that he's not either. that's why he's able to make the choices he does. he's able to act in the gray spaces between heaven and hell (see: job, the flood, the "virtues of poverty," armageddon, etc etc) because he is confident enough to make those decisions without worrying about what the powers that be say about what's "right" and "wrong."

that doesn’t mean that he’s not self-conscious. he’s very concerned with what humans think of him, what aziraphale thinks of him, and (out of self-preservation) what hell thinks of him. he hides his eyes and puts on a cool, flashy persona to hide the more vulnerable parts of himself. I think everyone does that, to a degree, but it's especially obvious in crowley because of how it manifests in his glasses. he's been burned (literally) before, and he knows better than to show weakness when he could be hurt like that again.

and re: the "I never meant to fall" thing--he's upset about being a demon, yeah, because the fall sounds like it sucked, and his job tortures him when he's Good or just Bad in the wrong way, and he's deeply lonely, and the love of his life has a complex about their relationship, and he's trapped in a system where he has to blindly follow one of two nearly-identical sets of bullshit morality rules or be executed. but again, he's mad at god, heaven, and hell for all of that. I'm sure he's angry at himself for all sorts of reasons often enough, because crowley is generally a pretty angry person, but he doesn't hate himself in any sort of existential "I am an unlovable monster" way.

maybe sometimes he regrets falling. maybe sometimes he thinks it would be easier if he never did. maybe sometimes he hates his fucking line manager and wishes he could do any other job for a while. but no part of crowley thinks that he is any worse of a person after the fall, or any less worthy of aziraphale's company. he just thinks aziraphale thinks that, because of the amount of times aziraphale has told him so.

[dilfdater420]

I can’t stop thinking about this, do you mind writing platonic Papa!Cecil headcanons with child!reader who has a personality similar to Steven Universe but has the powers of Ladybug. I kinda want their dynamic something like this.

Child Y/N : I guess I’m just too tough to cry.

Cecil : sweetheart just today, you were crying about snakes.

Y/N : they don’t have any arms! 🥺

While I was gone I had so many Dad Cecil lovers come to me and that's so cool. Love you guys

Because of this I'll do you one better, and write a drabble by the end.

#dilfdater420 : answering asks! Father!Cecil Stedman headcanons and oneshot with child!reader who has a personality similar to Steven Universe but has the powers of miraculous ladybug. "___" used in place of y/n. gender neutral, teenage reader. some fluff and mostly angst sorry not sorry. reader works for Cecil. pro

Cecil has had a hard time raising you.

From the beginning, you mimicked every single emotion you saw. If Cecil was angry, you were fussy. If Cecil was happy, you were bubbly. If Cecil was sad, you were a constant fountain of tears that he could never seem to calm down.

This sentiment continued as you got older, constantly considering things he had never even thought about. For birthday parties, you'd even invite people you didn't like that Cecil knew you didn't like. It was so perplexing to him. When he'd ask why, he'd be met with some rendition of "well, if I didn't invite them, I might lose a chance to get to like them!" or "think of how they'd feel though!"

The empathy only got stronger as you got older, same did his fear. Kids were and are mean and your kindness was not something that could easily be obtained. Undergoing vicious bullying, you cried day in and day out, tearing Cecil's heart into tiny pieces. What's worse is that you rationalized it, your empathy wouldn't let you see any consequences for those bullies. After all, "they could just have a terrible home life!" as you always said.

This "doormating", as he thought, was the bane of his existence. You both were so different. When he was your age, he wasn't the type to consider the perspective of someone that needed to get their ass beat. He always tried to knock some sense into you, but you seemed adamant on your personal philosophy. This unfortunately caused some unintended disconnect between you both that you both refuse to address.

As if the world hates him, one day, you got powers. His beautiful, sweet summer child got fucking superpowers. You took some red earrings after saving an old man on the street. Suddenly you could call upon this "lucky item" or whatever the hell it is to solve any problem you came across. Not to mention the magical companion that he was not allowed to see. It was like an issue out of a comic book.

Cecil put up a congratulative front but behind closed doors was absolutely fucking terrified. You weren't meant to be a hero, yes you cared about people, but doing hero work requires you to get the bad guys without a second thought. You were not fit. The best hero work you could do would be healthcare honestly. That's what he wanted! He was perfectly content with fostering a normal, regular child. But now you wanted to be a fucking hero, goddammit!

He loves you, so much. He admires how kind you are, wished to bring some tiny parts of you into himself as if to restore the warmth in his heart. You remind him of being young and innocent, and he wants to protect that with all of the might he has in his arsenal. How can he facilitate your career without you getting hurt?

Simple! Whenever you do go in the field, instead of just training and working in the office, you do "fake" missions. It's not like they weren't real issues, but the "villains" you fought could hardly be considered opponents on a genuine level. For example, the Elephant was your designated arch-nemesis. Yeah... Not remarkable...

And if you ever did sort of "graduate" from those lower levels, maybe, just maybe, you'd be able to take on bigger issues.

But in the meantime, he tries to make you feel like the biggest, baddest, and heroic hero ever. He threw you an office party when you won against your first villain. Everyone, and I mean everyone in the GDA, had to participate and act like they were so heavily impressed a 13-year-old took down some Z level wannabe villain or else they'd be fired. Cecil doesn't play about his kid.

But you've grown since then, and you won't be a child forever, to Cecil's dismay. He won't always be there to throw you parties, and you won't always be young to dote on and patronize.

You'll be going to college soon--god willing, maybe it'd throw some sense into this whole "hero career" thing--you'll be an adult. Cecil wants nothing more than you to go there, find someone to bring back home for him to thoroughly evaluate, get married, maybe have kids so he can maybe be a grandad, you know, just regular parental aspirations that are specifically without his direct involvement. Only a little terrifying, right? He can't have what happened when you were younger repeat itself. Let alone, let it be your entire life with some douchebag of a partner.

He's not prepared, and he can only hope to steer you in the right direction before it's too late for either of you.

--

"I can be meaner!" You exclaimed, bunching up your fists in exasperation.

You just got back from an epic mission, with trials and tribulations so grand that they not be spoken, with heroic accomplishments on an undiscovered level, your mission was to get coffee for Cecil Stedman.

And you crushed it!

"You took so long to get back to me because you let people cut in front of you because they "looked busy"." Cecil sighed, putting his fingers to his temples.

At least you felt like you crushed it...

"If you wonder why I don't send you on real missions, it's because of stuff like this." He asserted, taking a sip from his coffee.

That sentiment seemed to drive a small dagger through your heart, you frowned, eventually nodding in agreement. You always gave a lot of grace to people; it was just in your nature. You were the kid that cried when other kids cried even when you weren't sad. Having a big heart didn't seem to be commonplace anywhere else.

Cecil shared in your disappointment; it hurt to see you sad. "Hon," he began softly, "I love how empathetic you are, don't get me wrong, but you have tremendous potential to be a valuable asset to the agency. And I in particular, wouldn't want to see you get hurt because you "understood" a villain while on the field."

"I know," you responded, "I need to be more like you."

Cecil snickered at your comment before sighing. He did that a lot when you tried to help.

"Yeah, like me." His frown deepened.

a/n: I didn't mean to make this so sad lol

I purely went with the flow on this. It's sad because it felt right and honestly, it's better than the shitty fluff draft I first cooked up, TRUST ME.

Anyways, have a good day! Requests are always open!

[svnscape]

15 - behave

you double checked your bag once again to see if you had everything you needed for these upcoming dreadful two hours of lab, before taking out your keys to leave your apartment.

you haven’t even fully made it out of your place when a tall figure presses you back inside, a hoodie covering his face.

“y/n”

jeno

you put a hand on his chest in an attempt to push him away to get back outside but who were you kidding, it’s lee jeno who spends half of his day in the gym and who’s job has him maneuvering people.

“i have class jeno” you say quietly not looking at his face.

he takes off his hood, his dark black hair covering his eyebrows and almost his eyes, as he sighs, throwing his head back on the door.

“just five minutes. you can’t keep on doing this”

“sorry”

“y/n.. i know it must’ve been shit for you to see him but you know i would’ve never let it happen if i had a single clue about him coming back”

his voice was so sweet and soft you were barely able to hear him.

you felt so bad and you know that your behavior was so immature.

you were so mad at yourself for letting mark have that effect on you still but too prideful to admit it, so you just put that anger and frustration on poor innocent jeno.

but were you ever gonna admit it to him ?

hell no

“i just- it’s hard still and i- sorry i’m not making any sense i just feel like shit”

“how do you think i feel y/n ? i’m back to living under the same roof as him. i can taste the spite coming from him”

“he didn’t leave you be like a bitch”

“he did. you think you’re his only victim ? he was my best friend” jeno says a bit louder, straightening his back.

“are you seriously trying to play the victim card on me right now ?”

“no- no i’m sorry, i’m just trying to say that it’s a shitty situation for the both of us we shouldn’t be like this to each other”

“and maybe i want to do this differently. maybe i want to be on my own and figure it out alone without having you shield me like i’m some sort of weak little creature”

“it obviously took a toll on you y/n”

“this! there it is! jeno i hate it when you do this. i know you’re trying to be a good friend and do a good deed because you still think this is all your fault because he was your friend first but i hate being treated like that. i can deal with this on my own and having you breathe under my neck just makes it worse, it’s giving flashbacks in the worst way possible”

jeno sighs as a response, shaking his head

“you’re gonna refer to horrible methods to get over this i know you”

“and let me fucking be!”

jeno just looks at you, slightly taken aback by your harsh tone. he looks down to his feet then right back at you.

“i won’t interfere then but don’t come for me when things get too hard”

oh wow

“okay. now leave”

“okay”

without a second glance, jeno opens your front door and disappears in the alleyway, leaving you all sorts of angry, hurt and frustrated.

you sit right back down on your couch and close your eyes.

sophomore year is happening all over again

prev — m.list — next

taglist: @bbykaixx @alwayswonbinning @weepingsweep @dudekiss3r @kukkurookkoo @hoeingthefuckup @gomdoleemyson @haeclips

a/n: everyone is or is about to be a bitch ngl… guess mark just brings out the worst in people.

do you think you know what’s up with this whole jeno mark y/n and haechan fiasco ? don’t worry it’ll clear out soon but it is very blurry and … petty maybe even exaggerated… (nctu has some fucked students ngl)

[scimagic]

do you have any headcanon about mr puzzles dad/his and mr puzzles relationships?

BOY DO I!!!

Sit down let me take you on a sad sad journey about a sad sad man

Let me get this one right off the bat:

Puzzles is an only child of divorce

His parents took a shared custody when he was really young, leaving little Puzzles in a shaky unstable situation

The only good side to that is that he was able to go to amusement parks twice on his birthday

Hence, his love for amusement parks (practically his happiest memories)

It was a twice-a-year happening. Two whole days to have fun and ignore whatever the hell was happening with the adults!

Best of all it was all about him!! His birthday! His gifts! His big day! He loved seeing everyone in the park having fun just like him

But of course, when he told his dear old papa about his brilliant idea, he was shut down

That's when the problems began to brew a little more

His relationship with his father was always a strict one; Mr Dad was a strict man, straight to the point and harsh towards life

I imagine he was in some sort of white collar job, manager or administrator, some type of job that slowly kills your creativity and makes you a strict parent

So you can imagine the type of relationship a parent like that would have with his creatively-inclined son

I don't necessarily think he was a bad person, none of that physical abuse stuff. More like- raised his voice a lot, spoke in harsh tones and widely misunderstood his kid

Because of that, Puzzles began to dislike his father when he stayed with him, even if most of the time he was up in his room watching TV by that point

They never really saw eye to eye after that, Mr Dad kept trying to move his son away from creative fields and Puzzles just kept pushing against authority to pursue his dreams

By the time he grew up, he practically cut off all contact with his father

He's still angry and bitter that his old man never even gave him a chance to prove that he Does have creative vision and can make something truly great

And to rub it in his face and say "I told you so" and give him a big finger FHDJKSA

Even if his father doesn't see what Puzzles accomplished (for whatever reason), he would still be able to say he did it

Now that he's in prison though, now he regrets it even more because he never got to show how wrong his father was

The hate has been brewing, got spilled, and is still brewing

He's a very vengeful-driven man hfjkdsa

Sometimes the thought of his father being right crosses his mind but he tries to shut it down

However- the only thing that Puzzles wants more than to prove his father wrong, is to prove himself right

That's why he's a lil fucked up and is where he is right now <3

[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Truth Exposer 1: Uncovered — Ch.9

PAIRING — Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki/Vigilante F!Reader RATING — Explicit CONTAINS — heavy angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), mutual pining, slow burn, eventual smut, moral ambiguity, cheating (not between katsuki/reader), unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief/mourning, dark themes (past abuse, stalking, kidnapping, torture, quirk trafficking), violence, swearing, open but hopeful ending, dual pov (mostly reader), no use of y/n ◆ married bakugou katsuki—not to reader—and has a daughter too ◆ characters are in their late 20s SUMMARY — Running away would be the sensible thing to do. Getting as far away as possible from him, the one person who’s your ticket to losing your freedom. Not searching for him out of stupid curiosity and showing up at the last place you should: his house. They say curiosity killed the cat, but yours seems to always end up as the key unlocking doors that should probably stay locked. Because when you open the door to Bakugou Katsuki’s life, it’s not a loving marriage, not a happy family of three you find, but falsity, forced duty, and a dark secret that threatens his very own life. Bakugou Katsuki, the pro hero tasked with catching you and your downfall. And you, the vigilante exposing ugly truths for a living—his salvation.

➥AO3 LINK // ➥AO3 CHAPTER LINK // ➥TUMBLR CHAPTERS LIST

CHAPTER SUMMARY — Katsuki’s dinner from hell gets crashed by his own personal devil.

CHAPTER WARNINGS — n/a

WORD COUNT — ~3.6k

a/n: i looked forward to this day. his pov is finally here \o/

“That woman hates my guts. She’s not even bothering to hide it anymore,” the wife-on-paper snapped, yanking at the seatbelt like the spoiled brat she was. “When are you going to stand up for me, Katsuki?”

Katsuki rested his wrist on the steering wheel, sliding her a sidelong glance.

“I bet she’d throw a party if we divorced.”

“If my old hag goes for it, I’m all in.”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.” He slammed the gas, the engine mirroring his inner state as the car ripped away from his parents’ driveway. Loud. Snarling. “Hate champagne, but fuck if I wouldn’t pop a bottle with her. What? Thought a few weeks of play actin’ was gonna make this real?”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

"Can't. Livin' in one. Starrin' your crazy ass and my stupid one."

Her head snapped toward him, her icy stare trying to drill holes in the side of his skull. The truth was like acid, for him and her too. One drop and the agony started.

She reached across the console, claws trailing over his thigh.

Katsuki’s grip on the steering wheel turned crushing. “Get your damn hand off me.”

She didn’t. His jaw locked, molars grinding. Angry heat rolled over his skin, sweat bleeding from his pores. Katsuki forced himself to breathe deep, but she was everywhere, and his car suddenly felt like a cage from hell. Smoke started escaping from his palms.

“Don’t make me say it twice,” he growled.

“Be nice,” she purred, fingers creeping higher. “You promised we’d try for Yua, remember?”

Promised? He didn’t have a fucking choice. More so when his lawyers told him to play along while they searched for a solution. If it weren’t for Yua, he would’ve pulled the trigger, gone through with it. Everything he worked for could go straight to hell if it meant being free. He’d take the win disguised as a loss and rebuild it all from scratch.

But he had a kid. Yua needed him. And damn it, he needed her too. He couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t fail at being her dad. That was unacceptable.

She’d be three soon. Which meant fifteen more years of this hell if his lawyers didn’t come up with something.

Fifteen years, huh?

Grabbing wife-on-paper’s wrist, he threw her hand off his leg, disgusted by her touch. She started whining, bitching, but he tuned her out, mentally withdrawing. Disappearing into that secret place where his fire burned, roared, fed.

Where you also existed. Proof of his sins.

The last time he’d seen you was the night he’d fucked up, looking like a stranger, but something in him still recognized you. And broke the second he realized you’d seen him kissing the last person he should’ve. 

Katsuki didn’t know what the hell possessed him. Public or not, he hadn’t touched wife-on-paper in over a year. She called, asked to meet, and he agreed, deviating from his patrol route, hoping to catch her with something shady. Why else would she be out so late?

What he got instead was a sweet, invasive scent that fogged his brain. It clung to her skin, her hair, her tight black dress. Got him hot. By the time it clicked that something was off, she was kissing him, and his body betrayed him.

Craving the way he did made him stupid. Fooled him that those alcohol-tinted lips were yours. Those cold fingers in his hair were yours. The soft, breathy sounds were yours. 

Until the illusion broke. 

His hands found curves that didn’t match the ones his eyes memorized.

Line by line.

Obsessively.

It was why he jerked back. Why his stomach balled up with nausea. Why his blood froze when he saw you standing there, not far off, lit up by the full moon like divine punishment, tears on your face and dripping to the ground. Resentment blazed bright in your eyes.

What the fuck were you doing there? How? Why?

Just…why?

He wanted answers so badly he nearly forgot wife-on-paper was there and tried to reach you, but she reminded him of her presence, questioning his weird reaction.

“What’s going on? Why are you suddenly acting like this?”

“Nothing.” Katsuki stepped between her and your retreating form. She couldn’t see you. She wasn’t stupid and would link his reaction to you and figure it out. “Go home. Got a patrol to finish.”

She didn’t look convinced, but headed for her car. Katsuki kept pace beside her, body angled like a shield, and only bolted once she vanished around the corner, straight toward where you stood.

He crouched, his gloved fingers brushing over the wet spots dotting the asphalt before snatching the crumpled shirt. The air thickened with that same sweet, invasive scent. Again, Katsuki didn’t resist the pull and inhaled it deep into his lungs. Your scent mingled with it. Intoxicating. Addictive.

Fuck, did it smell good. So good he buried his nose in the fabric, breathing it in like it was the only oxygen left in the world. No thoughts about what it could be or if it was safe. What he was getting high on might as well have been poison.

Each inhale stabbed his pounding heart, but the ache concentrated in his dick. Damn pervert. Damn anomaly. He got hard from smelling your shirt alone, but barely managed a semi from kissing his so-called wife.

Pathetic.

Though, better horny and fooled than confronting reality.

Or so he had thought. His brain couldn’t care less about his feelings and had gone ahead, dissecting every bit of that night, answering some of the questions. 

Wherever wife-on-paper had gone, you were there too. Your fitted, black clothes made it seem like you were out for some late-night walk or jogging, but black and fitted were his go-to for infiltrating places. Adding the disguise on top of it, and boom, he had the overview.

Truth Exposer was on the move.

“Park over there,” wife-on-paper said, pointing ahead as if he were blind. As if his awareness was zero when deep in thought. As if he wasn’t the fucking driver.

Katsuki pulled into the free spot opposite and was out of the car before she was done unbuckling the seat belt, huffing some of the irritation. Shoving both hands into his cargo pants pockets, he clenched the one holding the car key as he glared up at the rooftop restaurant.

Fuck his life.

Then fuck it again because she linked her arm with his, her hand possessively on his bicep.

She forced his steps into a stroll toward the entrance, and he scoffed at her pitiful PR move. People sure had no other hobby than to pull out their phones and snap pictures of them, slapping Dynamight and his wife spotted on a date on it.

Acrid bile coated the back of his throat.

When the hell did it all go so wrong?

The door to his many secrets creaked open. He slammed it shut in an instant, before anything could escape and mock him. He should put one, two, or five locks on it so it stayed shut. Off limits. Otherwise, how was he supposed to fight the noise screaming about who he was, what he’d done, and continued to do?

Katsuki was never a saint, rather someone who fucked up left and right, lately as much as his so-called wife. Maybe worse. He had married her because of Yua, despite checking out of the relationship. The goal was to somehow rekindle the spark, but you entered his life, poured gasoline, and ignited an inferno. Made him a traitor with no remorse.

“Don’t forget our no drinking rule,” wife-on-paper whispered to him as they entered the building. “I can’t drive.”

“You can, but ain’t gonna. Gotta show off to everyone how your husband takes care of you like you’re some fuckin’ queen.”

Her claws pinched into his skin through the sweater. “It benefits you too. God knows you need it.”

The way up to the restaurant was as irksome as he expected. Wife-on-paper gave him yet another pointless lecture about how he had to behave, toss a smile here and there, maybe even show her some affection to make them believable. 

Katsuki rolled his eyes and dragged her after him so he could give his name and head for their reserved table.

The place was mostly open air, covered by a straight wooden roof. Copper lights hung from the beams, casting a warm glow over the whiskey-colored furniture. It was packed, as always, but for damn good reason. Summer was almost over, and this was one of the best places to catch the last moments, where the sky felt close, and it felt like being on top of the world.

Too bad his company was shitty.

He kept his strides long, indulging in the uneven sound of her steps with near sadistic pleasure. Leaning down, he spoke close to her ear. “What’s wrong? Can’t keep up?” 

Bitter bile coated his tongue when she gasped, gazing at him from under her mascara-coated lashes. Pale cheeks reddening. Anyone else would’ve been over the moon to have this effect on their partner after years, but he was sickened by it.

“Want me to slow down for you?”

“You wouldn’t.” Her red lips pursed into a pout. “You’re too much of a jerk.”

“Damn right. I’m fuckin’ excellent at it.”

“If only you’d be that excellent as a husband,” she sighed.

Katsuki snorted and halted mid-step, shaking her hand off as he worked a lopsided, empty grin to his face, crowding her space. She served him that blushing face again, licking her lips. One cruel, hostile feeling flared up deep inside him. What the hell? She wasn’t seriously thinking he’d challenge that statement, drag her out of sight, and prove it, was she?

“Ever crossed your mind I never wanted you as my wife?” he asked, voice low and poisoned. “I married you ‘cause I proved Yua was mine. We broke up, remember?”

Her mask crumbled like this fucking caricature of a marriage would one day. Her clawed hand ripped through the air but stopped an inch from his face. Her chin trembled. Rage deepened and glossed her light blue eyes. 

“Smile, wifey.” He leaned into her palm like her touch kept him alive. Two could play the same fucked-up game. “Before they snap a pic and call it trouble in paradise.”

“How fucking dare—”

“Huh? Kacchan?” 

Katsuki’s head snapped to the voice. 

Izuku stood a few steps away, looking between him and wife-on-paper. Next to him–

Shock tore through Katsuki like a raging vortex, ravaging his mask. By his best friend’s side was you, all pretty, soft, and relaxed. Your eyes locked with his, widening slightly as your lips parted. Your lips that wore a subtle shade he wouldn’t have noticed on anyone else, inhaling a quiet, shaky breath he wouldn’t have heard if it were someone else.

His secrets mauled at the locked door.

“Who else?” Katsuki replied, standing up straight, and forced himself to stop staring at you. “Got yourself a date?”

“No. Nothing like that.” Izuku sneaked a timid glance at you. “We’re having dinner as, uh, friends.”

“What a coincidence. We’re here for dinner too. Would you two like to join?” wife-on-paper asked, snatching Katsuki’s attention.

He almost opened his mouth to fuck no the idea, but your voice lulled him into silence.

“I don’t mind. What about you, Midoriya?”

“I’m okay with it, if you are.”

“Well, how can I not be…” You trailed off, roping his focus right back to you. Your lips were temptingly curled into a poised smile. “Sorry, I’m a bit nervous.” You gestured to both him and wife-on-paper. “Being in the presence of such a power couple does that, I guess. You’re even more stunning in real life, Mrs. Bakugou.”

Fuck. His. Life.

Mrs. Bakugou? He wanted to throw up the protein bar he shoved in for lunch. One of the many—tons—you had gifted him to piss him off. The stash he had left should last until the end of the year, and he hated you for it. Forcing him to rent a place just to store the damn things, and sell the stupid truck because the company refused to take it back.

“Thank you,” wife-on-paper responded, hand to her chest, the other slithering over his forearm. “You look lovely yourself, Miss…”

Extending your hand toward her, you spoke your name in such a smooth, confident tone that it made his spine tingle. But when you shook hands with his so-called wife, the sight went straight to his dick. 

Not his the way he’d want, but the one he risked for. Unreal how easily you eclipsed her. Insane how pride blazed through his veins.

Maybe the night wouldn’t be hell, after all.

*

“How did you two meet?”

Katsuki resisted scoffing at the wife-on-paper’s question. As if she gave a damn, and he, personally, didn’t want to know, didn’t want to listen to the story. 

“Coincidence,” you said, gazing at Izuku, whose face flushed a shade deeper. “We bumped into each other during my night walk.”

On second thought, he wanted to know. 

Wife-on-paper mulled over your answer as she sipped her cocktail. “Isn’t that dangerous? I know I wouldn’t dare go for one. And, well,” her fingers glided over his thigh, “Katsuki wouldn’t allow it. He’s a bit overprotective.”

“Got no problem with that.” He clasped her hand and squeezed it in warning. “But you should probably learn how to kick ass. Want me to sign you up?”

You coughed in your fist and squirmed in your seat, your eyes crinkling a little at the corners. To the other two at the table, it could pass for whatever emotion, but not as what it truly was: provocation. 

Katsuki had claimed the chair opposite yours the second you moved toward one, becoming the sight you couldn’t escape. Something must’ve been on his side today; the draped tablecloth was long, covering everyone’s legs. Hiding the truth beneath it.

His leg willingly trapped itself between yours, tensing when your knee knocked against it, or your shoe nudged at his calf. The sensation fed his delusional hope.

“Why, when I have Dynamight himself at my side?” wife-on-paper scooted closer to him, moving her hand to his shoulder, squeezing it in sick affection.

Your delicate laugh filled the air, and it might just be his favorite sound after your voice. “You two are so cute. But to answer your question, Mrs. Bakugou,” you dragged your ankle up his calf. “It’s dangerous, but what do I have to fear? If something were to happen, it will. Plus, I’m confident in my ability to defend myself.”

Katsuki froze like a statue in his seat, his whole body stiffening as he fought the pinpricks of desire. He only had himself to blame. He got himself in this position. He should’ve known better, considering the shared history. From that first post-it you had sent him, it was obvious one part of you lived to piss him off.

But pissing him off wasn’t what you were doing right now.

Teasing.

You were teasing the crazy out of him, and it was working. He wanted to play this game with you so bad, he wished Izuku and wife-on-paper disappeared. He wanted to reach under the table, clasp your ankle—

Shit.

“She can pack quite the punch,” Izuku joined in with praise. “My jaw ached for a few days.”

Katsuki’s brows raised. “You punched this dumbass?” he asked, addressing you directly for the first time since this dinner had started.

“It was my fault,” Izuku responded instead, making his eye twitch. “I should’ve verbally insisted more.”

“Impressive. You must be quite special to catch Midoriya by surprise,” wife-on-paper gave her irrelevant opinion. “Is it your quirk or skill?”

Since when did she care about quirks?

Curiosity spun in his gut like a pinwheel, fanning both his want and the brutal conflict warring within him. You’d lie about it, Katsuki bet. Accessing quirk information about someone was a pain in the ass for a pro hero, let alone a civilian. He waited weeks after submitting his request.

“They called it hyper intuition. Pretty self-explanatory, I guess.”

Izuku’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he grasped your elbow. “That sounds cool. Is it always active?”

The war inside took a turn…for the worse. Something despicable plucked at his nerves, making his anger bubble up like lava. Katsuki snatched the soda glass off the table and gulped it down.

“Sort of. It’s hard to explain.” Your voice sounded somehow different as you explained to his best friend about your fake quirk. Warmer. Sweeter. “Imagine that feeling in your gut, but way more intense. The first time it happened, I felt sick.”

Izuku nodded, moving closer to you. “The intensity. Is it something you can adju—”

“Oi, Izuku,” Katsuki intruded, his tone opposite yours. “Quit nerdin’ out before you scare her away.”

He knew how much of an asshole he was right now, potentially sabotaging Izuku’s confidence to pursue something with you. But that was the problem—you. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t give a damn. He’d go as far as playing Cupid for his best friend without batting an eye.

Helping Izuku get with you? Not a chance in heaven or hell.

He wasn’t blind to the existing interest, at least from his best friend’s side. Hard to tell if you were on that same page when you’d been exchanging body heat with him under the table.

He tracked Izuku’s withdrawing hand, glaring at it like it was responsible for his shitty situation, his impossible desires, his troublesome feelings. That hand had done nothing wrong or out of the ordinary, its gesture harmless, friendly, but in his plagued mind, it was on you. 

Touching. 

Grabbing. 

Learning.

His fingers clutched the empty glass to the point of shattering as his leg pushed against yours, forcing it to open wider. 

“I should.” Izuku let out a short, awkward laugh. He gave you an apologetic bow. “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

The stern glare you shot Katsuki plunged deep into the ugliness he felt before you poured acid on it by offering Izuku a smile that was too honest. Something you had never shown him, and probably never would.

“You haven’t. It’s natural to be curious, and if you ask me, I think it’s healthy to be,” you said. “When curiosity is gone, what’s left?”

Katsuki tore his attention away from you, focusing on the city sprawling far and wide. The lights were dimmer, the sounds muter, the night air colder, the reality crappier. 

It…fucking hurt.

He wasn’t supposed to fight, to throw internal tantrums that bled outside, but accept it for what it was—impossible. You were the impossibility he gravitated toward. His fever dream meant to end. The one person who could make the cat-and-mouse interesting. You hunted him even when he chased you, but slipped off the radar like prey whenever he closed in, restarting the game to repeat it.

And repeat.

And repeat.

And fucking repeat. Over and over. Again and again. 

Saw you on TV. You look like crap. Need a distraction, or maybe, a way out? I can make it happen. 

He dug his fingers into the edge of the table until his knuckles strained. Why the hell was he remembering that? That stupid message you had sent him weeks ago from an untraceable number while he was stuck at some charity party, courtesy of wife-on-paper. Message he had deleted from existence before he was tempted to answer, a mistake he’d made and never learned from.

Moments of weakness were the norm with you. Moments he let himself believe you risked for something other than provoking him. Like…the man behind the hero.

“Your order is here,” the waiter announced, pushing a metal cart toward the table.

Exactly what Katsuki needed to distract himself—forcing food down his throat. Not a night from hell? The joke was on him. This was ripped out of his own personal hell. The kind that dragged painfully slow to torture him, to let him stew in an agony of his making.

Katsuki dismissed any attempts at conversation from wife-on-paper and Izuku with a grunt or an unimpressed stare, his mood at rock bottom, rotting. Not even the perfectly cooked medium rare steak he usually enjoyed could erase the bitter taste on his tongue. Eventually, he withdrew his leg, leaving you alone. Your indifference strangled his heart.

You were too busy giving Izuku the time of day. Maybe the time of night afterward? With that attitude of yours, you’d have no problem convincing a guy to take you to his place. Strip you naked and—

Katsuki shoved away from the table and stood up, the chair scraping the stone floor. “We’re takin’ a cab,” he snapped at wife-on-paper. “Need a damn drink.”

“Wha—Katsuki?”

Two steps. Two goddamn steps was all he managed before you stopped him, the sound of your voice making his hands fist inside his pockets.

“Mind if I come with you?”

“I can get you one, if you’d like,” Izuku, ever the gentleman, intervened.

“I appreciate it, Midoriya, but I got it.” You rose from the chair. “Should I get you something?”

“No. I’m alright. Th—”

“Hurry up,” Katsuki bit out, his patience gone.

“Patience isn't your strong suit?” you muttered as you brushed past him, head held high.

His jaw clenched, and the urge to yank you back and tell you all about his damn patience had his legs filling with lead. How were you doing this? How were you able to pretend you didn’t know him? How could you be so calm around him when he wanted to slam his fists on the table and compromise both of you?

Pausing, you locked eyes with him over your shoulder. “Did you change your mind?”

“No.”

“Hurry up then.”

You were the reason he, one day, would go batshit crazy.

Deserved.

taglist: @lunaryasha | @tomiokasecretlover | @fiselle | @5oftkitty

[junovae]

can you write about the sexy fish man (you know the one)

why yes of course i know which sexy fish man you're talking about!

soft hits, hard truths

sebastian solace x reader ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ slight nsfw

artwork: artwork is NOT mine. art is by @grub-hut on tumblr. go check out their work. sebastian mf solace, everyone

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

summary: after a misunderstanding, sebastian refuses to let you go to bed angry with him. determined to make amends, he begrudgingly starts a pillow flight.

cw: sebastian solace x reader, fluff-ish, suggestive themes of intimacy (MDNI), sebastian is bad at comforting, he tries anyways, you've known him for a few weeks now, a sort of romantic relationship is already established between you two, his shop has a shower and spare mattress in the back, thank goodness he had soap and pajamas, amends are made if you know what i mean

wc: 916

a.n: in honor of beating pressure and sacrificing my posture in order to do it, cheers.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

water droplets fall onto the cement floor as you wring the rest of your wet hair dry. fortunately, sebastian solace had allowed you to stay in his shop for the rest of the night after a day of running from the monsters of the hadal blacksite. unfortunately, you had just found out that he was the primary reason you were being chased by said monsters in the first place.

you walk out of the barely functioning restroom into a cozy little cubby-space just behind his shop. sebastian watched you dry the rest of your hair as you walked towards a broken mirror and started combing through it with your fingers. fuck, he thought to himself. he so badly wanted to be the one to brush the rest of your hair just so you didn't have to lift a finger. but of course he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

"will you talk to me?" he mumbled under his breath, making his way towards you. you eye him from the mirror but continue doing what you're doing. you feel his presence behind you and sure enough, you watch him lean down and rest his forehead against your shoulders.

you smelled like vanilla. you smelled like the vanilla he used to smell during the winter holidays and it was driving him insane. "i'm sorry, okay?" he whispers. now this caught your attention. "did the sebastian solace just say the words 'i'm sorry' to me?" you turn around and walk towards the makeshift bed. he follows you. "i don’t believe it.” a sigh escapes your lips, plopping down onto the mattress and covering yourself with the blanket. you turn away from him.

“i didn’t mean for things to turn out this way- well, okay i did, but i didn’t expect meeting you midway through my plans.” sebastian scratches the back of his neck, staring at your figure. “fishbait, if you hadn’t crawled through the vents and into my shop, i wouldn’t care who gets eaten by those monsters. but you did, and now it sucks seeing you get hurt because now i…”

he trailed off, his voice catching. shit, this was hard. years of solitude and roaming the dreadful cold hallways of his captors’ prison had hardened his heart. he didn’t expect it to happen, but your presence and excessive bantering had brought back an excitement in him (though he would always mask it off with annoyance). all sebastian knew was that even though life sucked, seeing you made it suck less. he couldn’t take it anymore. he needed to hear your voice again. the void of silence between the two of you was starting to create an atmosphere of distance. he couldn't care less if the world hated him, he hated it back. but there was no way in hell he would allow you to look at him with such loathing. panic settling in him, sebastian impulsively does something that catches you off-guard. he grabs the nearest soft pillow and throws it in your direction. it hits your face.

you quickly turn around and sit up to shoot him a sharp glare, pillow now in hand. “are you serious?” you seethe.

“i’m dead serious,” he said, grabbing another pillow. “you’re mad at me? fine. but you’re not shutting me out.” before you could react, he throws a second pillow. this time, it lands in your lap.

he notices a flicker of something crossing your face - anger, disbelief, and… maybe a hint of amusement.

“big mistake,” you shoot him a sly smile.

you launch the pillow in his direction and suddenly, there was war. more pillows flew, tension unraveling with each hit. the both of you were laughing now, dodging attacks and running around the small room. it wasn’t fair that he was larger than you in size but you could make do. and plus, he was extra careful in making sure not to hit you too hard. and here in this moment, seeing another side of him, you realize that you could never stay mad at sebastian solace for too long.

tired from the fight, you trip onto the mattress and fall backwards. he follows suit and lands on top of you, your faces inches apart, panting and out of breath. he supports himself with one arm as he gazes at you with an unreadable expression. “do you forgive me?” he whispers, breathless. the room was a mess, but your silence had been broken.

you plant a soft kiss on his forehead. it was truly unfortunate that the both of you were placed in this prison against your wills, but you knew that he would never intentionally hurt you. “i forgive you.”

oh fuck, he melted. impulsively, he slides one of his hands behind your back and pulls you closer to him, taking your mouth in his, kissing you fervently. your arms tighten around his neck, kissing him deeper, soft moans and grunts replacing the silence. in a heated frenzy, you guide one of his hands downwards. he grumbles as he lifts your shirt up, trailing wet kisses down your stomach.

you smile, feeling the warmth of his mouth. “to make up for you nearly killing me, does this mean i get a discount at your shop tomorrow?”

he laughed, a warm, deep and genuine sound that softened the space between you. “i’d give you a discount every day for free, fishbait… but this,” he whispers sliding down your pajamas, “this is just a huge bonus.”

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