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trippinsorrows · 27 days

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looking through your eyes + thirteen

authors note: welp. the gala is finally here, friends! i hope you enjoy. well, the enjoyable parts.

ya'll remember that promo where kevin and sami tried to jump roman and he was furious, throwing shit out the ring, yelling at solo to position sami for the spear? that's how angry our collective favorite grump gets in this one...

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

cw/tw: violence against women, scene of torture, fighting violence, language, angst, fluff, livid roman, and discussion regarding family loss.

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

masterlist

words: 11k

“Guys, is this really necessary?”

Truth be told, Solana already knows how both of her friends are going to respond. Bayley, however, is the one who briefly rips her focus from finding an x-large size in the top to the matching bottoms she’s picked out for Solana.

“It absolutely is necessary.” She takes a second to gesture to Solana’s outfit for the day. “You’ve come so far in so many ways, including not hiding your body as much, so we have to keep that going.”

“Exactly,” Naomi chimes as she reaches yet another dress to Solana, adding it to the pile of clothes she already has stacked on her arm. “Besides, who doesn’t love shopping with other people’s money?”

Other people would be Roman. Despite her horror at the totals every time Bayley and Naomi sucker her into these outrageous shopping trips, her husband never seems to bat an eye. It’s not unsurprising. She knows he’s filthy rich. But still, just the thought of spending so much money on clothes is a struggle.

And as Bayley adds the two piece suit to her arm, Solana starts to notice there’s a theme in the items they’re picking for her. A lot of bathing suits. Sun dresses. Shorts and thin sleeved tops. All appropriate for summer, of course. But, something else.

Like a trip.

Curious, Solana suddenly asks, “why are we getting so many vacation type outfits?”

Naomi looks at her with the perfect confused expression. “What?” She laughs, picking up a bright orange top with a low neckline. “Girl, it’s summer. These are summer clothes.”

“But all these bathing suits—”

“Because we finally got you to embrace a two-piece, so now we need to make sure you have plenty of em’ whenever you and Roman decide to go for a swim.” Her wink makes Solana look away to hide her blush. She doesn’t regret opening up about trying to eventually consummate her marriage, but the way Naomi and Bayley never waste a chance to crack an innuendo can be….a lot at times.

“I’m gonna go bring these up front.” Solana gestures to the heavy stack of clothes that she’s holding. The second, or maybe third, stack they’ve accumulated for her. There’s always a check-in regarding if Solana likes it or not, which she appreciates. Even if they’ve become exceptionally good at distinguishing whether she doesn’t like something because it’s just not her style or whether she doesn’t like it because of insecurity. And when it’s the second one, they never hesitate to invoke their veto powers, instructing the cashier to ring it up.

Solana finds the sales girl from earlier up at the register, messing around on her phone as the line is non-existent. Her emerald green eyes dart up from the screen and an almost crooked smile falls on her young looking face. Solana would guess she’s either in her late teens or early twenties.

“Got more for me?”

Solana giggles. “Just a little.”

The girl also laughs, accepting the new pile and adding it with the others. She turns back around with a bit of skeptical look. “Hey, uh, can I ask you something?”

Curious, Solana nods. “Sure.”

She leans over the counter, red hair sprinkling past her freckled shoulders. “How did you meet your husband?” Eyes widening a bit, Solana’s surprise at the question must show. “I’ve seen you come in here a couple times now over the past few months, and every time you spend more than what my parents probably make in a month combined. And your ring is so beautiful. I guess I’m just kind of wondering how I can get lucky too. Cause your husband clearly loves you a lot to spoil you so much.”

Love…..

Not until this very moment has Solana ever thought about Roman and the word love in the same sentence. Hell, in the same universe.

He’s….he’s done so much for her. Changed her life, for the better, in almost every way. And she’s gathered that he must care for her to some extent. Why else would he do the things he’s done? But love….that’s such a strong word.

Too strong.

Not to mention, he’d made clear to her the first time he came to visit her at her job that he could never love her. He was very honest about that, and in a weird way, she appreciated it.

But…..but he also said that she was a business arrangement, and nothing about the way he treats her feels like a business obligation.

So…..

It’s such a big thing, a big thing she’s not sure she wants to tackle in public, let alone while standing in front of a complete stranger.

“He’s really great.” That’s the answer nonanswer that she settles on. “I just….I got really lucky with him.” Because she did. God knows she did.

“Fair,” the girl laughs. “Well, if he has any younger brothers who are kind and generous like him, I’m single.”

Solana smiles a bit when her attention lands on the word brothers. Siblings. Family.

It takes her back to a few months earlier, the night he rushed off because of conflict with this Cody Rhodes person. The night he shared with her he also lost his mother at the age of ten.

But…..but there was more.

Brief glimpses, flashbacks almost of a different night. Her body pressed against his. His strong arms around her. Comforting her almost.

“....all of my siblings….”

“.....only one…..”

“....alone….”

And though she can’t make out everything, can’t remember verbatim what he’d shared with her that evening. there’s enough bits and pieces that she’s able to string together a coherent, heartbreaking realization.

It wasn’t just Roman’s mom he lost that night.

He lost his entire family.

He was the only one who made it out alive.

There’s a crushing, cumbersome weight Solana feels in the back of her throat as well as the pit of her stomach. She knows better than most how devastating the loss of family can be, but to lose your entire immediate family in one night. As a child?

That’s a pain she can’t even imagine.

Roman makes a lot more sense now, his coldness, the constant aloof disposition. The way he always has his guard up. Beyond just his title as Tribal Chief. How can one not lose trust in most and all things with a loss like that?

How can one love after a loss like that?

Realizing her epiphany is unfolding behind the sales girl, Solana manages to murmur out a, “I’ll keep that in mind” before excusing herself. She just needs some space. Needs some—

“Solana?”

The woman in question is close to the entrance of the story when a voice, both new and familiar, calls her name, forcing her to turn around. And it’s when she does so that Solana realizes why it’s familiar.

“Dom?”

It’s been years since she’s seen him, and he looks both the same yet different. Facial hair that seems uneven and unconnected with a hairstyle to match, bangs almost entirely obscuring his bushy eyebrows. He’s dressed in all black, clothes draped over his still slim build. Once upon a time, she would grow nervous around him, insecure of herself in comparison to someone she thought was so much more attractive than he actually was. Now though, she just wants to pretend this unexpected encounter never happened.

“What are you—”

“Did you get bigger?”

And there it goes. One simple question asked with almost a hint of a mocking smile, Solana is briefly reverted back to those days of deep rooted insecurity. Where she’d hold her stomach in around him and always only order salad the few times he took her out.

For a second, she’s tempted to cross her arms, suddenly regretting the top that doesn’t entirely connect with her high waisted shorts, exposing a strip of skin.

“Damn. I really thought you would have gotten yourself together by now.” He scoffs, crossing his arms as he tilts his head. “You still not putting out? Cause your tits are actually not that—”

“Shut up.”

Solana isn’t sure who’s more surprised by her interruption. Him or her. Perhaps him, because his smile is dropped, replaced with an almost scowl.

“What the hell did you say to me, mami?”

But instead of cowering, instead of her anxiety growing at him, a man, moving closer to her. Trying to intimidate her. Solana doesn’t back down.

She doesn’t back down because she’s not scared.

Chin lifted, she keeps her voice firm and unwavering. “You don’t get to talk about me anymore. Not my weight. Not my body. None of it.” Seeing the shock in his eyes at her actually standing up for herself, not allowing him to talk down on her like he always would, makes Solana’s assertiveness that much more fulfilling. “Now leave me alone.”

She turns to walk away when she hears footsteps behind her. “Where do you think—”

Call it the result of her training or the fact that she’s still very much in her feelings and head about her heartbreaking realization regarding Roman, Solana hasn’t a clue just what leads her to spin around and connect her fist directly with Dom’s nose. However, as soon as she does it, sees him stumbling back into a rack, she slaps her hands over her mouth.

“Oh my….” But instead of apologizing, instead of feeling terrible for hitting another human being, she finds herself almost laughing. A shocked, amused smile hidden underneath her palms. Her first is hurting a bit, but that sting is dulled by the satisfaction of his dumbfounded facial expression.

It’s a bit short lived though as he straightens up and starts to stalk toward her. “What the hell? You crazy puta—”

“What the fuck did you just call her?”

Solana turns to see Bayley and Naomi. It’s hard to distinguish who looks more pissed. Who looks more ready to commit murder.

Naomi steps forward. “I know you did not just call her a bitch.” She turns to Bayley. “That’s what puta means in Spanish, right?”

“It sure does.” Bayley answers, coming to stand beside Solana. Protectively. “He called her a crazy bitch at that.” She scoffs, dressing him up and down. “Everyone knows you’re an idiot, Dom, but I didn’t think you were that stupid. Who the hell do you think you are talking to her like that?”

“He’s my ex.” Solana answers, partially unsure why she would let slip a piece of information that could only make the situation worse.

Naomi’s mouth drops open, one thumb gesturing to him. “Dirty Dumbass Dom is your ex?” Her eyes widen even more. “The one who said—oh hell no, Solana. We’re kicking his ass.”

Bayley lifts her hand, effectively stopping Naomi as she moves forward, no doubt ready to lay into him. Head tilted to the side, she smiles. “No….I have a much better idea.” Solana is understandably confused as Bayley tells Naomi, “I still have my stuff in my trunk.”

Naomi’s eyes light up. “Oh, this just got so much better.” She turns towards the sales associate who’s been watching everything unfold from a distance like it was a TikTok storytime. “Hold the items, please. We’ll be back in a little bit.”

Solana turns around to see the girl just give a thumbs up and shrug. “Do what you gotta do.”

Dom groaning in pain is what makes Solana turn her attention back to him, only to see him doubled over, holding his crotch as Naomi hits him in his back and starts guiding him out the store. “Get walking. Now.”

“I’m not going any—-” He cries out once again when Bayley kicks him in his face.

“Shut your bitch ass up!” She curses in Spanish, motioning for Solana to follow them. “Come on, girl.”

Confused but following suit, Solana asks, “what are we doing?”

Naomi answers with intentional vagueness. “Having a lil’ fun.”

Something tells Solana they have different definitions of fun.

But she remains silent as her two friends quite literally drag Dom out of the store, through the rest of the stores until they reach the parking lot. She’s again surprised when they take him over to Bayley’s car. She unlocks it and opens the trunk, pulling out a black bag that she hands to Solana. Solana starts to peek inside when something else catches her attention.

Bats.

Metal bats.

She has two. One of which she reaches to Solana.

“I—just what are we doing?”

Bayley’s smile is nothing but mischievous. “Having some fun.”

Naomi suddenly pulls out a knife and presses it to his throat. “Take us to your car. Now.”

Dom is quieter than she’s ever known him to be as he follows Naomi’s directive, leading them to his fancy pickup truck that Solana, even with her limited knowledge about cars, can tell is worth a pretty penny.

They make him unlock it to ensure it's actually his truck before Bayley starts to circle it. She nods, as if impressed. “Nice. Can tell you’ve put a bunch of upgrades in.” Solana’s mouth drops open as Bayley takes her key and slides it along the truck as she walks. “Might need a paint job though.”

“What the hell! You—” He’s silenced by Naomi kicking him in his back, forcing him to the ground, knife still pressed against his throat. “You’re all fucking crazy!”

That only makes Bayley smile as she directs Solana to lay the bag on the ground, bending over and pulling out a portable bluetooth speaker. It’s only when seeing the glitter, paint, and glue that Solana starts to put two and two together.

“Are we—”

“Uh huh.”

She gasps. “But, we can’t—-we…..” And suddenly, she’s trailing off, thoughts of all of the cruel, unkind things Dom would say to her, the way he would put her down, fat shame her, bringing her to tears. The memories help her tune to change a bit. “C—can we?”

Bayley stands up and places a hand on her shoulder. “Solana…..you are Solana fucking Reigns. Wife of Roman Reigns, the Tribal Chief, the Head of the Table.” Out of the corner of her eye, Solana can see Dom’s eyes go wide as saucers. He clearly wasn’t aware of this. Of her marriage. Of just who she calls husband these days. “You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

Bayley’s hype is effective as she pulls out her phone, connecting it to the Bluetooth speaker. A small smile falls on Solana’s face as she hears the familiar and oh-so fitting song.

Right now,

He's probably slow dancing with a bleach blonde tramp

And she's probably getting frisky

Right now,

He's probably buying her some fruity little drink

'Cause she can't shoot whiskey

Bayley gestures for Solana to move closer to the truck. “Your ex. First hit is yours.”

“Solana, wait, please. I—I didn’t know you were with him.” Dom’s pleading and begging is desperate and embarrassing. He looks like he’s on the verge of tears. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

Sorry.

For some reason, that word has never made her feel so irritated.

“No, you’re not.” And without a second of hesitation, she takes the bat and swings it against his passenger window, effectively shattering it. On the side, Bayley and Naomi cheer her on, Solana not even needing encouragement as she moves around to the other side, doing the same to the driver’s window.

Bayley howls out, “let’s fuckin’go!” She takes the bat and brings it against the rest of the truck, creating dents, scratches, and anything else that can desecrate what she’s sure makes up for other deficits.

Solana just took out the mirror on the passenger side when she hears Naomi aggressively yell at him not to ‘fucking move.” And Dom doesn’t, just watches helplessly as she moves over to the bag, pulling out the glue and glitter. She smirks in his direction, lifting the materials of destruction. “Time to glow, bitch.”

Solana laughs as Naomi rips open the door and starts pouring the deadly combination of glue and glitter all over the interior.

I dug my key into the side of his pretty

little suped up four wheel drive

Carved my name into his leather seats

Took a Louisville slugger to both headlights

Slashed a hole in all four tires

Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats

The ironic and iconic lyrics serve as a manual and guiding force for Solana as she catches the tossed keys from Bayley who’s on the hood of the truck going HAM on the roof with the metal bat. Solana finds herself feeling almost giddy as she effectively slashes all four of his tires.

This is the last thing she ever saw herself doing: completely destroying her ex’s car without a care in the world, but it’s also exactly what’s happening.

And she can’t even say that she feels any regret about it.

Doesn’t feel bad about it.

Why should she? He never felt bad about any of the shit he did to her.

And she especially doesn’t feel bad as she finds herself carving her name not only in his leather seats but the outside of the truck as well.

Naomi looks over at Dom who is now actually crying and laughs. “Look at it this way, Dom. We’re only doing this to your truck. Imagine what he’s going to do to you once he finds out what you did to his wife.” It brings her a great sense of satisfaction to see the terror in his eyes.

It also makes her send out the brief video she recorded of Bayley and Solana beating the shit out of the truck with bats to her group chat with the men.

Naomi: Just doing hot girl shit. 💅🏿

Their replies start coming in only minutes later.

Jimmy: Idk what’s going on, but I’m turned tf on.

Jey: Why ya’ll females always go after our cars and shit?

Roman: Why the fuck is it everytime you two take my wife out, it’s always some shit?

Roman: What the fuck is going on?

Naomi: Because you all asked so nicely 😐, turns out Solana used to date Dom back in the day.

Jimmy: Rey’s boy? The fuck? She too damn fine for that weasel. He could never handle all that ass.

Roman: One more time, Jimmy. Just one more time.

Jey: Naomi, please give us the rest of the story before Roman make your ass a widow.

Naomi: 🥴 Anyway, she told us some of the stuff he used to say to and about her, and honestly….even more trash than we thought.

Roman: Like?

Naomi: We promised Solana we wouldn’t say anything. Just know he was mean to her. So I guess she ran into him and he said some out of pocket shit, she got upset and PUNCHED him!!!!!!!

Jimmy: Soso HIT someone?!?

Naomi: Sure did!

Jey: Damn! Our Soso growing up on us!

Roman: I wanna know what the fuck he said to her.

Naomi: Ask her when you get home. 🙄

Naomi: So we’re fucking up his truck while he watches helplessly. 😊

Roman: The dead don’t need cars anyway.

Roman’s chilly response is both given and, in her opinion, well overdue. She’s never heard anything nice or good about Mysterio’s boy, so she can only imagine the full extent of what he put Solana through.

It’s why she’s mostly pleased by how Solana allows herself to let loose, to get her receipt. She deserves it.

As Solana and Bayley pour glitter in his gas tank, Naomi casually calls out, “what should we get to eat after this?”

________

“I committed assault and vandalism in one day. One.”

Roman smiles as he adjusts his tie, partially thankful his clearly distressed wife is unable to see his humored response to her frantic worrying.

“That bitch got what he deserved, Solana.” Part of it. But, Solana doesn’t need to know Roman absolutely plans on making sure she never has to run into that alelo ever again. No one will. “You shouldn’t feel bad.”

She really shouldn’t, because he can only imagine what was said to her, the treatment she received from that piece of shit. None of which she deserved. All of which makes him want to say fuck the gala and get straight to torturing the fucker.

Through the mirror attached to his dresser, he watches the bathroom door open, Solana stepping out, a robe only partially covering the length of her red dress. Leaning against the door, she crosses her arms, clearly in her head over what he partially wishes he could have been present for.

He would have taken the metal bats to Dom himself versus the truck.

But, he’s also him, and she is her.

Two very different people.

Roman moves across the room, pulling her against him as her hands lay on his chest. “You really mean to tell me you didn’t feel the least bit good at fucking his shit up?”

And he sees it, the way she’s fighting back the agreement. He reminds, hands moving to undo her robe. “You’re not ever required to be nice to people who are cruel to you, Solana. You owe them nothing.” She seems to be mulling over his words as he pushes her robe off her shoulders, watching it fall to the floor. “Fuck….” She always looks good, but there’s something about seeing her in the red, the way the dress hugs her curves, taunting him, testing his resolve, that has them wanting to ditch the gala for an entirely different reason. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Her smile is bashful, but he’s pleased to see her not look away, to maintain eye contact as she murmurs a quiet ‘thank you’. She gasps a bit, informing, “Oh, I noticed earlier you were running low on your medicine, so I called it in and picked it up for you.”

That takes him off guard. It was on his to-do list. Somewhere on there, he’s certain. But for her to go out of her way to take care of it for him, it makes him feel something he can’t really explain.

Solana’s smile dims a bit as she gently reminds, “you’ve gotta stay on top of that. It’s—it’s important, Roman.”

“Yeah…” It’s a response to her, but he’s still very much in his head over whatever this strange ass, yet somehow comforting feeling is. Fucking confusing ass shit. Clearing his throat, Roman forces himself to get his head back in the game. “Solana….” His tone is something different, something that makes her a bit nervous, that weighs down her previous smile even more.

She does her best not to reveal the alteration in her happiness level. But, she can just tell the mood is about to shift a bit. “Yes?”

To his credit, his hand moving in circles on the small of her back gives her a bit of comfort. Eases the weight of whatever he’s about to share. “Tonight..tonight I need to be on. Focused. The fucking annoying part about these things is that everyone’s there to see if they can seek out some type of soft point. Some kind of weakness.”

This confuses her. Soft point? That’s not an issue for Roman, and she points out as such. “But, but you have no weaknesses.”

Something flashes in his eyes and before she can say anything, not that she necessarily would, he’s back to explaining himself. “I don’t want you to think that I’m being cold with you. I’m not upset or avoiding you. I just—”

“You need to show them why you’re the Head of the Table.” His latter explanation provides the previously missing clarification. Reaching for his hand, she offers a gentle smile. “I understand.”

“Do you?” For a second, it almost sounds like there’s a sense of urgency to his tone. Like he needs to know that she knows it’s nothing personal against her.

And it’s not really until this moment that Solana realizes there are two sides to Roman Reigns. The side that she sees, the almost gentle, caring side. The man who always goes out of his way to ensure her comfort and safety at all times. The man who’s changed her life in ways he’ll probably never be able to fully understand.

Then there’s the other side. The side that makes his name alone strikes fear in even the strongest of men. The most violent. The most diabolical. A god among men.

Two completely different sides of the coin, but still a single coin.

This other side though, the side only she gets to see because it’s reserved for her. The side that might even be considered a form of vulnerability…..he only shows that with her, only shows it to her.

A….safe space, of sorts.

She is his safe space.

This second, or maybe third, major realization of the day only makes that love aspect so much more confusing. Though it makes her heart swell to know she can provide that for him. That she can be that for him.

Pulling from floating thoughts, Solana brings herself back to the conversation at hand. “I do.” She offers an explanation of her own. “I know I asked if you’ll stay with me the whole night, but—but, I don’t think I need that.” And before he can protest, she gives the valid reasons why. “I didn’t know Bayley and Naomi would be there. I’m fine with them. I just—I didn’t want to be alone in a room full of people I don’t know.”

“I would never leave you alone.” He brings his hand to the back of her neck, informing in a low voice. “I might not interact with you much, but that doesn’t mean I’m not watching.

“I know.” She cuts him off, again working to reassure him that he doesn’t need to be so focused on her. It’s clear there’s a task for the evening, a box that needs to be checked. And she doesn’t want to interfere in any sort of way. “I’ll be fine.” With a half smile, she reminds, “especially if there’s a bat nearby.”

A genuine smile grows on Roman’s face as he pulls her into him, Solana resting in his safe embrace. Being in his arms is starting to become one of her favorite things. “My fine ass, bat swinging wife.” She giggles against him as Roman drops his hand to her ass, giving a slap.

“Let’s go.”

________

The minute the SUV door opens and Roman climbs out first only to offer his hand as Solana steps out behind him, her gaze taking in the beautiful mansion that looks like something out of a movie premiere, her anxiety starts to rise. Taking in the scene around her, she’s met with an actual red carpet leading up the steps to the mansion that has large, glass, double doors with swirled marble intricate designs that match the stone of the building. There’s a line of cars both behind and in front of their SUV, indicating guests are still arriving.

That makes her feel at least a little bit better.

She didn’t want to make Roman late. Even if something tells her he wouldn’t care one way or the other.

It’s not missed upon her how he gives her hand an almost gentle squeeze and rubs his thumb over her knuckles all the while keeping his gaze up and focused. She sees how his light eyes subtly survey the perimeter as he leads them up the steps. She stills when two large men dressed in black suits wearing earpieces, guards clearly, stop them with a raised hand.

“Please walk through—-”

“Do I look fucking stupid?” Roman’s question needs no answer as he motions for Solana to walk ahead of him through the metal detectors that separate attendees from entering. Slowly, with a bit of anxiety at somehow setting them off even though there’s no way for her to, she does so without incident. Roman does the same looking every bit annoyed as he feels, but it makes her feel a bit better when he takes hand in his again.

“No weapons allowed.” Is all he says. Calmly. Simply. Without anything else. She nods, figuring as such, but a brief sideways glance at her husband, and she wonders how beneficial that actually is when he, himself, is a walking weapon.

She’s more than certain he’s killed before with his bare hands. Not a weapon needed.

Solana takes in the setting before her. Circular tables litter the first and second levels of the beautiful building, intricate, opulent centerpieces decorating each table. A live band plays some unfamiliar song as guests mingle about, many of which are admiring the various art pieces that occupy almost all of the walls. The lights are dimmed and the smell of lavender and honey penetrates, creating an almost calming atmosphere that starkly contrasts the fact that almost everyone in eyesight is a part of the crime underworld. Trained, brutal killers.

Including the man who continues to soothe his thumb across her knuckles.

“Come on.”

Solana stays close besides Roman as he leads them through the sea of people. Many of which, men primarily, seem to settle their gaze on her, her chest, only to travel up to see the man beside her and smartly redirect their attention literally anywhere else.

In some sort of strange way, that brings a sense of comfort to her. To know that just his presence wards off any and all unwanted attention. Makes her feel safer.

Then again, she’s not sure if any environment exists where Roman doesn’t make her feel safe.

She feels even better when she realizes where he’s led them. A table full of familiar, equally welcomed faces.

Bayley is the first to greet her. She stands up from the table, and Solana is in awe of her teal dress that hugs every curve beautifully. “You look fuckin amazing.” She reaches over, pulling Solana away from Roman and into a hug. “Aren’t you glad you went with this one?” She gestures down to the dress.

Solana laughs and nods. “Yes. I am.”

Naomi and Jimmy are also standing now, forming an almost line to hug Solana. Naomi pulls her in even tighter. “How's the fist?”

Solana gasps as Naomi laughs only for Jimmy to crack his little joke. “I made sure ain’t no bats around just in case you get upset again, sis.”

Allowing him to hug her, Solana rolls her eyes and murmurs, “that’s not happening ever again.”

“You might wanna watch your shit, Big Dog. Soso believe in breaking shit when she gets angry.”

Feeling a bit defenseless, she grasps at straws. “It was—it wasn’t like that.”

Jey scoffs, pointing out after downing some of his wine, “girl, we saw you on that video. You was swangin the hell out of that thing.”

Cheeks flushed, Solana sits down in the seat Roman has pulled out for her. Right next to him. Bayley on her other side. She looks over at Naomi. “I can’t believe you sent it to them.”

“Are you kidding? Our sweet little Solana beating the shit out of her ex’s car with a bat? That’s Kodak worthy.”

She rolls her eyes, eager to take the attention off herself as she notices Jey’s seat beside him is empty. “Is Nicki not coming?”

Naomi answers with a chuckle. “Girl, Nicki got banned years ago after she—”

Jey quickly jumps in, depriving Solana of a story she’s certain involved some type of altercation between him and his wife. Their marriage truly does not make any sense to her whatsoever. “Aye, we don’t need to rehash the past.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Naomi leans over and whispers, “I’ll tell you some other time.”

Solana hopes she follows through on that. Roman asks the twins something in Samona, the three of them starting a dialogue in a language only they can understand. And judging by the serious expressions on all of their faces, she surmises that it’s business related.

Especially when Solo and Paul join the table. It’s almost like the ladies don’t exist after that, but it doesn’t bother Solana. It can’t when Roman already made it clear what tonight would be like.

It’s nothing personal.

Just business.

Bored and kind of eager to explore what seems like one of a kind masterpieces, she turns to Bayley and asks, “can we go look at the art?”

Bayley scoffs. “Hell yeah.” Standing up and adjusting her dress, she remarks, “it’s better than sitting here doing nothing.” Glancing at Naomi, she asks, “you wanna come with us?”

Naomi sucks her teeth. “Girl, you don’t even have to ask.”

Solana smiles, grateful for their attendance and companionship.

Roman’s deep voice cuts through with a simple two word command. “Watch her.”

She looks back at him, offering a small smile she hopes will settle any concern he may have about her. He doesn’t need to worry about that. Just needs to focus on himself.

Linking arms with the other ladies, they move through the crowd, starting with the art near the entrance and making their way around. Solana seems to be the most intrigued by the pieces selected, trying to detect a theme in each one. Naomi and Bayley, however, seem to settle for a combination of roasting and admiring. More of the first than the latter.

“Oh fuck, I was hoping they didn’t show up.” Solana is in the midst of deciphering a piece of abstract art when Bayley’s almost steel exclamation pulls her from her focus.

Confused, she asks, “who?”

Naomi answers, subtly gesturing across the room. “Don’t stare. It’ll draw attention to us.”

Solana does her best, but it’s hard not to when she sees a set of new arrivals, most of which are absolute strangers, faces unseen prior to this very moment.

But one is not.

One is a face she saw, a person she spoke to, just days prior.

Brandi.

She’s holding hands with a tall man, striking blue eyes Solana can see from nearly across the room, bleached blonde hair that somehow compliments his tanned skin. There’s a boyish look about him that Solana would guess is a facade, something that deceives people, cleverly hiding the fact that he’s just as much a killer as the guests around them.

Before she can ask who he is though, Bayley offers introductions. “That is Cody Rhodes. And the pretty lady on his arm is his wife, Brandi.”

And just like that, Solana’s stomach drops. Her mouth feels dry. “Wife?” Solana looks back and forth between the couple. “Brandi is Cody’s wife?”

This just got a lot more confusing and complicated. The kind woman whose young daughter Solana ‘rescued’ is married to Roman’s greatest enemy? The man he hates most?

And suddenly Solana is thinking about her interaction with Solo after she mentioned Brandi’s name.

He knew.

So, why didn’t he say anything to her?

Why didn’t he say anything to Roman?

________

Roman ignoring Solana for the majority of the night ends up being a lot easier than she anticipated.

It’s quelled by the fact that she’s had one hell of a day, several major revelations clogging up her mental space.

Remembering what Roman told her about his family.

Trying to figure out if she’s in love with Roman.

Trying to figure out if Roman could ever love her.

Accidentally helping out his sworn enemy’s wife.

Her personal guard being aware of this last piece of information yet saying nothing to her or her husband.

Even though she’s sworn off alcohol after the last drunken disaster, there’s a burning temptation to walk over to the open bar and request something that can at least take the edge off.

Something to help her clear her head.

It’s after dinner, and Roman, Paul, and the twins are moving around, briefly speaking with various guests. Roman and Paul, in particular, seem to keep the conversations perfunctory before moving onto the next one. Clearly checking off certain, necessary boxes.

Solana again is viewing artwork, doing whatever she can to distract herself when someone unexpected comes up to her.

“Hey.” She looks to her side to see no one other than Solo. He looks almost….nervous. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Does she want to talk to him at this current moment in time? Not really. But, something tells her she needs to.

“Yes.”

Solo guides them to a corner that’s as close to secluded as they’re gonna get at the crowded event.

“Listen, I…..I wanted to apologize to you.”

Solana’s eyes widen. The surprises just keep coming. “Wh–what?”

“I know….I know I’ve been ass.” She wouldn’t necessarily use that word to describe his behavior and disposition, but it’s not exactly an inaccurate usage either. “It’s just….before you came around, I was just getting my chance to show Roman I deserve a seat at the table with him and my brothers. Then he assigns me to you, and I just feel like I’m not proving myself no more.”

Solana started to figure as such. Guessed that maybe he resented her to a certain extent because he’d essentially been assigned as her adult babysitter. That would probably annoy anyone.

“But, at the end of the day, Roman is the Tribal Chief. His word is final. I have to respect that.�� He sighs, shrugging. “And as his wife, I gotta respect you too, which I ain’t been doing, so I apologize.”

Solana has never really been one to be on the receiving end of apologies from people. It’s still an uncomfortable experience as she murmurs an ‘it’s okay’ followed up with her question about his omission. “Why didn’t you tell me who Brandi was? Or tell Roman?”

He sighs loudly, voice lowering a bit as he explains his actions. “You’re new to the family, so you don’t know the history between Cody and Roman. Telling him would only kick off some shit. I figured if she came around again, then that I would tell you.” His explanation makes sense, Solana nodding slowly. He too doesn’t seem to want to upset Roman if possible. “I’m sorry for that too.”

She shakes her head. “No. I—I get it, and—I’m sorry, too, that you got stuck with me.”

Solo smiles a bit. The first time she’s ever seen him do so. It feels…..odd. “You ain’t so bad.” He then asks, brow lifted a bit. “So, we cool?”

Solana swallows. What reason does she have for them not to be at this point? Everything he’s said makes perfect sense. “Of course.” Offering a small smile, she says sincerely, “thank you, Solo.”

He nods, not saying anything else as he walks off.

Left alone, blowing out a big breath, she looks around. Solana spots the hall that leads to the ladies room. Making her way through the crowd, she walks in and goes into the first open stall. Relieving her bladder is an unexpected, small but significant enough type of relief. It feels similar to the peace she now has with the whole Solo situation.

Solana walks over to the sink, pumping some soap into her hands, activating the motion sensor to shut on the water as she rinses, watching the suds empty down the drain.

“Hey, sis.”

Solana’s head snaps up the second she’s met with the voice she hasn’t heard in months. Her brown eyes, through the mirror, locking with an almost identical set of brown. The only difference being the glimpse of emotion that’s always been unfamiliar to her but a resident friend of his.

Hate.

Solana moves as quickly as she can, but it’s not fast enough, because he’s got a fist full of her hair. Wes yanks her head back and shoves her away, providing him the access he needs to bring his hand across her face, backhanding her so hard that it makes her double over in pain.

Feeling an unfamiliar wetness, she feels her cheek, only to see blood on her fingertips. A glance at Wes' hand shows that the rings on his fingers must have cut her.

But she can’t focus on that too long because his hand is wrapped around her neck as he thrusts her against the adjacent wall, searing pain shooting across her back at the violent impact.

She claws at his iron grip, his dark eyes narrowing against her. So much hate. “You dumb slut, did you really think you could hide forever?” Her eyes shut, her mind screaming Roman’s name in a way her mouth cannot. “Were you stupid enough to believe he could protect you from me?” Solana winces as he tightens his grip. “You’re a weak, stupid bitch and you always will be.”

Weak

Slut

Stupid

Dumb

Bitch

All words that she’s heard before. Cruel names she’s been called over the years in conjunction with beatings. Beatings like this that have left her bloody and broken. Feeling empty. Feeling like every hurtful thing she’s ever been called. Feeling that weak adjective that he’s always made her defining trait.

Solana closes her eyes and starts to retreat to that mental place of superficial security, bracing for what’s sure to be a beating like no other. She tries to return to that spot in her brain that’s accepted that this is her reality, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

The only problem is that that place doesn’t exist anymore.

She can’t find it.

She doesn’t feel weak or dumb or stupid. Doesn’t feel helpless and victim to his sadism.

Not even in this moment with his hand wrapped tightly around her throat.

No….

She feels something else.

Something much stronger, powerful, fueling.

Anger.

She’s pissed the fuck off.

It’s when she sees his other hand pull out a knife, that for a second, a brief moment, she hesitates. She hesitates, momentarily paralyzed by the fear and trauma that single item has brought her over the past twenty years. But, she closes her eyes and centers herself, tapping back into months of training, of sparring, of fighting.

Snarling almost, her rage and determination growing synchronously, Solana lifts up her leg with all the force she can muster, her knee coming into direct impact with Wes’s crotch area. Instantly, he releases her, dubbed over, groaning and cursing. Solana’s a bit lightheaded, but she powers through it, quickly grabbing the vase of flowers on the counter and swinging it with all her might over his head.

“Fuck!” He grunts, falling to the ground, his knife tumbling across the intricately designed tile flooring.

Rushing to grab it, he does the same, but she manages to outpace him. Her speed gives her the upperhand. And with a cry of her own, she slams it down directly into the palm of his outreaching hand.

Wes howls in pain as she rips it out and kicks him in his side, watching as he tumbles onto his back. Solana slams her heel down on his other arm, pinning it and forcing the knife through his right hand this time.

He cries out again and she backs away for a second, tempted to drive it through another part of him when he growls with all the rage and pain, “I’m gonna fucking kill you, you bitch!”

His threat, unlike countless times before, doesn’t frighten her, doesn’t make her tremble and cower in fear.

It just pisses her off even more.

“Come on.” Solana motions for him to come at her, for him to climb off the ground and fight her. “Come on!” Using the bloody knife, she takes and slices it across her dress, allowing her more freedom and fluidity with her movements. Kicking the material to the side, she crouches down, egging him on. “Hit me, you son of a bitch!”

Finally to his feet, Solana sees him ready to charge at her. Her eyes never leave him, studying every single movement of his bleeding body. And just when he’s about to slam into her, she jumps to the side, watching him slam into the wall. Solana doesn’t waste a single second as she rushes behind him, lifts her leg and kicks him in the head, intentionally trying to drive her heel into his neck. His shouts of pain further her drive as she drops her leg, snatches him by his hair and slams the knife down into his shoulder.

She jumps back as his body plops to the ground again, Wes rolling over and writhing in pain, profusely bleeding from several parts of his body, black suit staining dark, bloody red. Solana moves toward him, utilizing every bit of strength coursing through her body as she lands brutal kick after kick into his side, intentionally aiming for his chest. A kick for every broken bone, every bruise, every cut, every burn, every time he waterboarded her to the point where she was unconscious. Every fucking thing. She only stops when she hears the satisfying crack of one or several of his ribs.

But, it’s not enough. It’s not enough because all she can think about now is all the times he made her bleed, made her scream, made her flail with fear and terror. It’s his turn now.

Kicking off her heels, she grabs him by the collar of his suit jacket. “Come here, you bastard.” He’s heavy, and it’s a strain to drag him, but she does just that, pulling him into one of the stalls. Solana shoves the back of his head into the toilet and holds him down face first into the water.

Wes flails against her, but her grip is just like her spirit. Strong and unrelenting.

“How does that feel?” She taunts, tears streaming down her face because as vindicating as this moment is, it still doesn’t strip away the pain of years of abuse and torture. Yanking his head back, pleased by the way he coughs violently, gasping for air, she continues to mock him with the same taunts he always threw her way. “Say something, bitch!” Solana slams his head back down into the water. Repeating the same act of torture he utilized on her for years.

She does it until she feels her strength starting to wane, eventually releasing his clumped body down as she backs away, leaning against the counter.

Chest moving up and down from her heavy breathing, exhaust settling in as adrenaline fades out, it’s only then she turns to look at her reflection in the mirror. Face reddened, hair disheveled, red dress stained with his blood splatter, a mixture of her blood from the cut that probably wont need anything more than a liquid bandaid, and tears running down her cheek, yet she’s never felt fucking better.

This….this is liberation.

It’s freedom from shackles of fear.

Fear of the one person she never thought she wouldn’t be terrified of. And yet, that same source of so much heartache lies before her: bloody, bruised, broken.

All because of her.

Commotion outside the door and banging against it alerts her to the fact that somebody has clearly caught onto her absence. Roman, most likely.

Body suddenly very heavy, she moves over to the door, leaning back against it, eyes landing on Wes who’s coughing up blood. For a brief second, she feels a sliver of sadness, if guilt. But just as quickly as it’s there, it’s knocked out the way, replaced with pride. Roman’s words from earlier in the night returning and cementing her satisfaction.

“You’re not ever required to be nice to people who are cruel to you, Solana. You owe them nothing.”

And fewer have been crueler than the man before her.

Voice and body trembling from the weight of it all, Solana affirms with all the emotion and sincerity through her body. “I am not scared of you anymore.” She turns the lock, stepping out of the way to avoid the avalanche of bodies about to enter. “And I never will be again.”

Sure enough, it sounds like a stampede. Solana closes her eyes, stealing a moment to rest and relish in her inner peace.

“Solana.”

His voice is urgent and pressured, and seconds later, he has her in his arms, holding her against him. She breathes in his scent, comforted by his arms around her.

“I’m fine.” She knows he needs to hear it, needs to hear the words come from her mouth. Even if she knows she probably looks anything but, clothes and body splashed with her brother’s blood.

“Solo!” Roman’s voice is filled with unbridled rage that, any other time, she’d probably tremble at. But, in this moment, it’s valid as hell. And beyond that, she knows without a doubt now that he would never make her the object of his anger. “Pick him up!”

Solana sets her gaze on a barely conscious Wes as Solo drags him out of the stall.

Jimmy and Jey being present, Roman’s fury, and Solo holding him in position are all the things that alert her to what’s about to happen.

Jimmy whistles, taking in Wes' battered appearance. “Damn, she beat the hell out of you!”

“No.” Solana says it too quietly, too softly. She has to place her hand on Roman’s chest to get his eyes back on her. “No.”

“I don’t want you to kill him.” And before Roman can protest, ask her if she’s lost her fucking mind, she steps toward Wes, explaining to all parties but directing her wishes to him. “I want him to live in fear….to know what that’s like.” Eyes burning with a fresh set of tears, she emphasizes. “It’s his turn to be scared.” Head tilted, scoffing a bit at how pathetic he looks, she mocks him one last time, “who’s the bitch now?”

Without even thinking about it, Solana lifts her hand and connects her fist directly with the side of his jaw, knocking him out cold.

“Goddamn!” Jey shouts with all the amusement in the world as Roman pulls her back into him, lips pressed against her temple.

“I’m okay,” she reiterates, holding onto his sleeve. “I promise.” She is. Maybe better than she’s been in some time.

Better than she’s ever been.

Roman steps back for a second and slides his jacket off, placing it around her.

Solana reaches for his hand and gestures for the door. “Let’s go.” He still looks so angry, so furious, but she knows it’s not toward her. Nevertheless, he doesn’t need to stay in this headspace. Not with his high blood pressure. Not with his health at stake.

Roman says something to Solo in Samoan and begins to guide her out of the bathroom that’s been completely destroyed in the fight. A crowd of most of the guests has gathered around, clearly curious and wanting to know just what the hell happened. It’s fair and almost expected.

But, despite looking like everything she’s just been through, Solana doesn’t shy away from the stares and whispers. Doesn’t necessarily care. Because as ironic as it is, this might be the most confident she’s ever felt in her life.

But, it’s when she sees Cody and Brandi that Solana just knows something is about to go wrong.

Cody smirks, calling out loud enough for all to hear, Roman especially. “I guess women and children aren’t off limits after all.”

There’s more to it. There has to be more to it, because the second Roman rips his hand away from Solana and charges at Rhodes seems to take even the instigator off guard. Instantly, Jimmy and Jey are rushing toward their cousin as he lands a blow against Rhodes that sends him flat on his ass.

“Roman!” She calls out after him, moving in his direction, only to feel herself being restrained. She looks back and catches Bayley and Naomi looking with worried expressions.

“We need to get out of here!” Naomi urges, but Solana can’t seem to look away from what’s turned into an all out brawl. Jimmy and Jey struggle to hold back their irate cousin as he spits venom against Rhodes who looks just as pissed off now, blood running from his nose.

“I’m the head of the table!”

“I’ll whoop everybody’s ass around here!”

“This is my kingdom, you little bitch!”

“I can’t just leave him!” Solana pleads, trying to pull away from Bayley who clearly has no intentions on letting her go.

“He’ll be fine, Solana. But, he’s pissed the fuck off, and now Rhodes is pissed, and it’s about to be a shitshow that if he was thinking straight, he would never want you around.” Naomi explains and adds on, “the twins won’t let anything happen. I promise you that. Now let’s go.”

And despite everything in her screaming not to, to stay with him, to somehow find a way to help him calm down, there’s a logical part of her that knows the girls are right.

Even with him clearfly only seeing red as she continues to shout at Cody, the other man also being held back, barely, by his men.

“There ain’t a man alive who can touch my button. If I had one, you wouldn’t be able to locate it. Can’t no man knock me out! I’m tired of being humble! I’m tired of letting people think they got a chance! The Tribal Chief is heads and shoulders above everybody! I run this all!”

Roman is almost a different person, so consumed by his rage, no doubt most of it because of Wes, Cody just being on the receiving end but not just taking it without responding with threats of his own.

“Time and place, you narcissistic son of a bitch!”

“Not everyone is fucking scared of you, Reigns!”

“I’ll fight you any fucking day!”

Solana’s eyes briefly lock with Brandi who’s also being rushed away, and she swears, she sees what looks like an almost sympathetic expression. Like if she could, she’d apologize.

It makes Solana frown.

Naomi pulls on her again. “Let’s go, Solana.”

Security for the gala is now rushing over as some of Roman and Cody’s men are now throwing fists as well. Solana hates this. Hates how this has all played out. But, she also knows that she does nothing to help the situation by hanging around and risking getting hurt.

That’ll only upset Roman more.

So even with a tremendous amount of apprehension, she allows them to guide her out, never once not thinking about the man she’s almost certain she more than cares about at this point.

________

Solana is up and alert the minute she hears him enter their front door. In the living room, lying on the sofa, her go-to spot when waiting for his arrival, she partially expects him to walk in and meet her. The way he has several times before now, but this time is different.

Heavy footsteps don’t bring him to meet her. They instead carry him past the living room, through the kitchen, and outside the backdoor.

Instantly, she’s sitting up.

She goes to follow him when Jimmy and Jey enter the house looking every bit the night that they’ve all had.

It’s a stupid question, and she knows as such, but she can’t help but ask. “How is he?”

Jimmy is the one to answer, blowing out a breath. “Honestly? Still pretty pissed but calm enough to come back home.” He then shares, “I tried to get him to sleep it off at my place, but he wanted to come back here.

Good. Solana doesn’t say it, but she sure is thinking it. Not even from the perspective of her being uncomfortable being in this big house all by herself with just Dulce. That’s maybe a part of it, sure. But, the biggest thing is that this is their home. And if he needs something, she wants to be there to help him with whatever that is.

“It’s okay. I can watch him.”

“Solana….” Jey cuts in, stuffing his hands in his suit pocket. “You know he would never hurt you, right? I know he was definitely on one tonight, but—”

Seeing where this is going, she cuts in, calm but firm. “I’m not scared of him. I—I know he would never hurt me.”

They seem to be pleased by her answer but still a bit hesitant, Jimmy offering, “if you want, I can stay over tonight. Make sure—”

“He’s my husband.” She swallows, nothing unwavering about her reiteration. “I’ve got him.”

Jimmy and Jey still look unsure but follow her wishes. Each giving her a hug before reiterating to call them if she needs anything. She’s thankful for their support but mostly their making sure Roman made it back home safely.

Solana carries Dulce up to her shared room with Roman and closes the door to avoid any unnecessary interruptions. It’s only then she finally makes her way back downstairs, venturing through the living room and kitchen to the backdoor. Hand on the knob, Solana doesn’t hesitate to turn it, bringing her to the man she’s had on her mind nonstop the past few hours.

Roman’s hulking figure is plopped down on the edge of the patio chaise lounge. His button down shirt is discarded, his muscles stretching against the cotton of his white undershirt. Playing with the sides of one of his shirts she threw on after her shower, Solana sees there’s no need to announce her presence.

He’s already aware.

With calmness that contrasts his demeanor just hours earlier, he advises, “you should be asleep.”

His voice is hoarse, heavy, weighed down with something he seems keen on internalizing. No matter how much it wrecks him on the inside. It brings a frown to her face and a pain to her chest.

Swallowing, Solana moves closer to him, calmly countering, “you know I won’t sleep until I know you’re okay.”

“Okay….” Roman chuckles, and it’s almost bitter. An almost ironic tone as he repeats her chosen word. “Solana, nothing about tonight was okay.”

Her heart grows even heavier than it’s been following tonight’s events.

It tears Solana up to see him in this state. To see and almost feel his turmoil and not be able to do anything about it. Because he doesn’t want help. Because he’s so used to handling everything on his own, as he’s stated to her multiple times before.

But, that’s the thing. He’s not alone.

She just needs to get him to see and understand that.

Setting aside any reservations and trepidation about her next steps, she closes the distance between them, kneeling down on the patio stone directly in front of him. Naturally, his eyes lock with hers, and for a second, she sees a tremble of his nearly impenetrable wall. “Roman….” One hand on his knee, the other reaching to grab his hand. “Please….please talk to me.” His eyes briefly dart away, a sign of her words doing something to his resolve. “Whatever….whatever happened tonight, let me help you work through it.”

He sets his focus back on her, the hand under hers lifting to cup her face, thumb ghosting over the cut she cleaned, tended, and sealed with a liquid band-aid. “You got hurt tonight….”

“I don’t care about that.” Her dismissal is aggressive but slides into something soothing almost as she reiterates. “I—I care about you.”

His jaw clenches. “I lost my temper tonight.”

“I don’t care about that either.” Again, she’s dismissive, pushing aside anything that could prevent him from hearing her right now. Really hearing her. “I wasn’t scared of you. I’m—I’m never scared of you, Roman.” Swallowing, she stands up and moves herself on his lap, relieved when he wraps his arms around her. “But…I was scared for you.” She pushes back some of his hair that came out of his always neat bun during the brawl. “I just….I wish you would talk to me.”

But, she also knows that she can’t force it. Can’t make him. Even though it physically aches her to know he’s dealing with so much and won’t let her help.

Won’t let her be there for him the same way he’s been there for her.

“Cody and I grew up together. We were….good friends.” Solana isn’t sure she’s still breathing as Roman begins to explain in a low voice, his hand moving soft circles against her side. She says and does nothing, not wanting to do anything to risk deterring him from this rare occurrence of vulnerability. “We…we bonded over being groomed to take over our families legacies. His…his father was good friends with mine.”

Friends….

It feels almost impossible to imagine Roman and Cody as ever being anything more than sworn enemies. She’s not sure she’s even seen a deeper level of hatred than what she saw in their eyes tonight.

“It was my 10th birthday. We were gathered at the house to celebrate, and it was fine, until it wasn’t.” Roman grows quiet, as he clearly hesitates. She starts to tell him that he doesn’t have to, that she doesn’t want to trigger him. But, he continues. “I don’t remember everything. Just the sound of bullets, screams, and then heat from the fire that someone set.” Fire… Solana’s eyes naturally drop to his tatted arm, tribal ink covering burns he clearly received that night of pure hell. Eyes watering, she continues to listen to him relive what sounds like a night of horror. “I was the only one who survived. My parents, my aunt, uncle, and my seven brothers and sisters were all killed.”

“Oh my god….” Her heart literally breaks in that moment, hearing him confirm what she’d remembered just earlier in the day but didn’t want to actually believe. It’s just too devastating. To lose his entire family in that manner, all while celebrating his birthday of all days….it seems inconceivable.

Solana isn’t sure she’s ever felt this much sympathy towards another human being.

Roman’s voice, however, never wavers. She can see he’s doing his best to simply recall and not feel. “And it wasn’t until I was 14 that a mutual friend of ours at the time, Seth, let it slip while he was in one of his manic states, that I should talk to Cody about what really happened that night.” His voice takes on a darker, angrier tone, and she can feel him shift underneath her. “So, I did, and I found out….that his father was responsible for the hit. That he betrayed my father. And that Cody knew the whole fucking time.”

There’s understandable anger in his words. Anger at such cruel betrayal. “For four fucking years, he pretended to be my friend. Pretended like he didn’t fucking know that his father was the reason my family was all dead.” His voice dips into something low, something much darker. “I can’t tell you…much after that, because I was so angry that all I saw was my rage.”

Solana brings her hand to his chest, a comforting placement, though she’s not certain anything could comfort this level of trauma.

His expression is blank as he shares coldly. “I killed them all. His parents. His siblings. Everyone. I left him the same way his father left me: alone.” He swallows thickly, still not looking at her. “I told you before, Solana. I’m not a good man.”

“That’s not true.” She finally speaks, voice hoarse, eyes watering at the truth of it all. She had no idea he’d been through so much. Lost so much more. “I don’t think I’ve met a man better than you, Roman.”

She’s never met any man like Roman.

Moving her hands to cup his face, it settles her a bit that he’s finally looking at her again. Closed off and back to being unreadable, it’s still eye contact. And she’ll take it. She’ll take whatever she can get from him. “No one….no one can know what it’s like to lose like we’ve lost. I….I get you. And….and I think you get me too.” Sniffling, she shakes her head, never wanting to invalidate his experience. “And no, I know….I know it’s not the same, but what I do know is that I haven’t felt alone since…since being with you.” She hasn’t felt a lot of things since being with him. Hasn’t felt the same amount of depression and emptiness. Just happiness and joy. “And I don’t want you to feel alone either, because….because you have me, and….and I’m not going anywhere.” Her tone drops into a soft whisper. “Haría cualquier cosa por ti.”

Because I love you.

But, that can’t be stated. Not aloud. Not right now. Maybe not ever. It’s not what he needs. Because it’s for selfish reasons. Because it would make her feel better to verbalize what she’s finally realized what she’s been feeling towards him. What she feels for him.

Love

“Besides….” She offers a small smile, messing with his beard, knowing the weight of this conversation might be too much for him, offering him a bit of a detour. “Who else is gonna bail me out the next time I fuck up someone’s truck?”

He cracks a small smile, and it makes her heart swell. It’s the best thing she’s seen all day. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you cuss.”

Relieved to hear a growing lightness in his voice, she buries her head in the crook of his neck, murmuring, “guess you’re rubbing off on me….”

Roman brings his hand to her hip, tugging her closer, kissing her temple. Lips pressed against her forehead, he murmurs. “I’m proud of you.” That means so much to her. His approval. “Cause while I hate to agree with my dumbass cousin, Jimmy was right. You whooped his ass.”

Solana can’t help it. She laughs into his chest, looking up while biting down on her bottom lip. Voice quiet, she expresses both a question and agreement. “I did, didn’t I?”

He rolls his eyes but nods, bringing his hand to her cheek, thumb and index finger lightly cupping her chin. “Sure did, baby…“ He doesn’t say anything after that. He doesn’t need to. Neither does she. She just nestles closer to him as he stands up, still holding her, grip protective and firm.

Like he has no intentions of letting go.

Solana prays he never does.

Because while Roman Reigns is the last person she ever expected to end up with, to care for, to love…..that’s exactly what’s happened.

That’s exactly who she’s with.

Exactly who she cares for.

And exactly who she loves.

________

Xavier stands in front of the hospital bed, a hospital bed he was still in days prior, where his son stood before him as they schemed together to create what he thought was a foolproof plan. It’s a plan, however, that didn’t go the way he intended.

Far from it.

Wesley was always supposed to attack Solana in the bathroom, was supposed to rough her up a bit to see if Reigns would come to her rescue, the prediction being he’d move to kill Wes but Solana would interfere, would stop him.

Because his stupid second born has always been a victim to her love mentality. Would be blinded by whatever fruitless hope she still has that some part of him or his son loves her. Because they’re family.

But, that didn’t happen.

His son attacked her, yes, but the bitch fought back.

And now he watches helplessly as a brutally beaten, stabbed Wesley is laid up in the ICU yet again, but this time in a coma. Limited brain activity.

Prognosis….not well.

And it’s all because of her.

Xavier is a prideful man, but even he can admit he never saw this coming. Never anticipated Reigns would have the girl trained, never thought his weak ass daughter could be capable of something like this.

Capable of almost taking away his son. His heir.

Xavier is seething and would shoot her dead right now if he could, but he has to be smart. Especially after tonight, which wasn’t an entire loss.

He snatches his phone, sending out a text.

Xavier: I want that bitch DEAD.

Xavier: We’ll proceed with the plan.

Because while most will see Roman’s outburst as expected given Cody Rhodes was present and almost everyone knows the history there, Xavier knows better.

Xavier knows that Roman’s rage was primarily at the fact that Solana had been attacked, confirming what he suspected.

And he’ll give the bastard credit. From what he heard, Reigns did a great job masking his feelings for her, practically ignoring Solana the entire night.

Never showing his hand.

But, he did.

He does care for her.

And just that thought brings a wicked smile to Xavier’s aged face.

After all these years, the impossible has happened.

Roman Reigns finally has a weakness.

________

translation: "i'd do anything for you."

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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yeyinde · 2 years

Text

past and pending | John Price x f!Reader

"Fuck, love," his voice carries the taste of cigars and scotch when it rumbles in your ear. You smell the heady Maduro on his skin when you sink your teeth into the freckles on his shoulder. He tips his head forward; his rasping groan is heavy with smoke. "The things you do to me."

(you haven't stopped thinking of what it would feel like to burn your lips on his cigar, and numb the sting with the scotch on his tongue.)

warnings: smut; literal filth; kiiiiiinda an illicit relationship(?) but ya'll are consenting adults; power imbalance by proxy; breeding kink (slight); gendered reader; female anatomy; little substance just pure filth

notes: alt title was: when ur boss has baby fever and ur like, well damn, i guess i'm taking one for the team; this man is sooo damn fine, and Barry Sloane is a 1.88m snack (and tbh, scousers always make me a little weak in the knees)

Price looks like he smells of cigars whiskey cheap leather and hickory and i am feral.

It starts in Madrid.

(Though, if you're being honest with yourself, it really starts on a motorway outside of Dorset.)

Scotch in one hand, cigar in the other, he stands on the balcony, and gazes out at the water in the distance. Eyes fixed, crystalline, on the families below playing in the sand. A gaggle of children. Their mothers lean over the railing of the tapas below, shooing them off to find their fathers.

The sounds carry through the streets, bouncing off of the stucco. High-pitched giggles from the kids playing in the cobblestone roads. The admonishing calls of their parents. Laughter from passersby.

You watch him from the doorway. Catch the longing in his eyes; wistful and melancholic.

A family. Children.

It's not your mission—this isn't what you're here for—but there is an ache in his gaze that makes you bite your tongue, words stifled in your throat.

You've never seen your Captain look like this.

He notices you—has probably known, you don't doubt, that you were there from the start—but there is something almost painful about the way he gives himself one more moment of this, one more fleeting glance, before he has to take up the mantle of a commander, of a leader.

When he turns to you, it lingers in his eyes. A shade of mourning you can't quite understand. Can't quite reconcile about the man who, hours earlier, was barking out well done! and nice shot! when you took down an enemy operative. A bullet an inch below the eye. He clasped you on your back, grinned wide under the moustache, and it tasted of gunfire when he leaned in close.

("Mm, got 'em right in the fuckin' head!")

John Price is a man you'd never thought could feel anything except the high of the challenge, the chase. He smelled of scotch, Maduro, and gasoline. His voice was always ragged, and hoarse, from how loudly he bellowed on the battlefield, a roar that echoed in the distance.

This—

This is new. Different. It's both softer and sadder than you'd ever imagined him, and how it fits inside the man you'd known as one of the only people you could genuinely trust, is jarring. And simply put: it doesn't.

The idea of his longing fills you with a visceral ache.

(You're a good soldier. You wonder if you could—)

"Ready, then?" He asks, and digs his teeth into the cigar until it dents. The glass is placed on the dresser, empty. His lips stain the rim, and you think about bottle caps and Iceland.

You can't stop staring at him, now. Like an idiot. Like a—

Silly little girl with a crush.

You fluster. Force a nod when his brows buoy, bunching in concern. Bewilderment. You're not acting like yourself.

(You really haven't been since Reykjavik when he turned to you, and said—)

It's pushed aside when he takes one last drag, chest swelling with the inhale, and breathes out, words a plume of smoke.

"Let's get these steamin' bastards."

If Madrid started it all, then his hand on your thigh is certainly the cataclysmic finale, the end.

Well, that isn't entirely true.

It's the offer of a cigar. A little scotch.

(Maybe more than a little, really.)

Alone in a tapas in Madrid, he orders too much food for two people, and a bottle of their best scotch.

Asks, gruffly in aborted Spanish, if he can have a smoke, too.

(You end up having to translate both his Spanish and English to the befuddled waiter; the heavy accent renders his words to nothing but growled smoke.)

The mission was a success. Gaz perched on the loft across the street, the man cornered by Price, his only exit cut off by you—it was as smooth as one could go. Easy, almost. Effortless.

It should have been the first sign that things were going to unravel, quite quickly, from that point on.

Gaz declines the invitation. Laswell in your ear, well, you've earned it. You should have said no, too. Stayed in your room, ordered out, and poured over the piles of documents that will be waiting for you sooner or later. Red-tape means every moment must be noted down, each breath counted. Each step. Each choice. It's a mountain.

But Price had his face turned toward the streets when he asked. The breadcrumbs of his gaze led you to a woman holding a blue swaddle in her arms, cooing down at the lump hidden under soft cashmere. Old ladies congregated around her, faces lit up with joy.

He watched for a moment, and you saw that aching thing in his eyes when the woman peeled back the layers, showing off a ruddy-cheeked baby with a smattering of curly brown hair on his tiny head.

A catch, then, in your throat, when the words were out before you could stop them: I want to.

"...to go," you added hastily, flushing brilliantly under the lights in the hotel room. His hotel room. The one used to reconvene, to plot, to plan. The one that reeks of him—

The man you captured is held in a prison by the authorities, departing tonight under the cover of darkness. His weapons sit in the corner. Focus. You stare at them to ground yourself. "With you, that is."

Price turns, eyes finding yours when you lift your chin—automatic, magnetic: your Captain looks at you, and you offer a nod in response.

The longing is thick, palpable. It burns, and it aches, because it isn't for you. It's for some unattainable thing he's decided not to pursue.

You taste the flavour of it when he speaks, when he clears his throat, and gives a gruff good in response.

It, of course, is not good.

It's very bad.

Dangerous, even.

The attraction you feel toward Price—Captain, boss; off-limits —isn't anything new. It's not incipient, but it hasn't had a chance to take root, to hold firm. You haven't let it.

You'd felt the same swell of intrigue before; a fledgling thing that always dissipates before trouble starts. This should have been no different.

(But trouble comes quicker than you'd expect.

And you've always been rather good at lying to yourself.)

The look in his eyes. The tightness in your chest. Scotch on your tongue.

It festers when he leans over, eyes pools of cerulean, and says, want a cigar?

And now—

Now:

Your lungs are heavy with smoke that, apparently, isn't supposed to be there.

Not supposed to inhale, dove, he tells you, words rough from his own puff, and drenched in humour.

You sputter, knuckles pressed to your mouth to stop yourself from looking foolish in front of your Captain. Too late, of course. His eyes dance with mirth, lips crooked with the tang of it.

You duck your head. "Fuck, that's disgusting."

"Don't blame the cigar." He grins, easy, relaxed. The bucket hat on his head looks out of place in a tapas in Centro, but he's never felt more touchable to you when he's bathed in the mundane.

(At least it isn't the leather jacket, the beanie—)

You swallow down the acrid taste of tobacco on your tongue, sending him a sharp glance from the corner of your eye. "Who do I blame, then? The teacher?"

Price lets out a soft huff, a little chuckle under his breath, and tips his head in concession. "Yeah, alright. My fault, love."

Love. It makes your chest feel tight. Head dizzy. You can blame it on the pungent concoction of cigars and scotch, but it sits too heavy in your chest for you to pretend.

You drop your gaze to the table, to the half-eaten plate of setas al ajillo that sits in front of you as if it will somehow have an answer in the oil. That you might find god amongst the sauteed mushrooms, and he'll smack sense into your head. Don't be stupid. Don't be—

"Another?" He rasps, the word sticks to his throat.

The smoke from the cigar makes your head feel gummy. It's a balm that soothes over all the little voices in the back of your head that scream at you to stop. This is a bad idea, they say. You'll regret it in the morning.

But—

You want to impress him. Stupid. Price meets your stare when you lift your head. A smile. A nod.

He doesn't mention the way your hand trembles when you take the cigar proffered to you between a thick thumb and forefinger. He has a burn scar on his first knuckle. A round circle.

It's not the way you'd hold a cigar.

Your eyes linger for a moment on the burn, mind startlingly empty, as if refusing to partake in piecing together whatever it means, if only for his privacy. His own sense of untouchability.

Price is the core of the group. The man who everyone—even Ghost, to some extent—relies on, and absolutely respects. It's ironclad. Unshakeable.

He's the man who is always looking at you, at others, first. When something happens, his eyes are drawn to everyone else, making sure they are stable on their feet as the world around them crashes, and burns.

You know because, now, you're always watching him.

A silly little girl with a crush.

It began in Reykjavik.

A slurry of imported chemicals drafted by a man with an abhorrent agenda led you, Price, and Laswell on a chase through the city. It was close, down to the last nanoseconds. And then—

"You alright?"

Shaken. Terrified. You turn to him, and he's there, watching you. Eyes drawn tight. Taut, humourless smile pulling on the corners of his—for once—clean-shaven face.

It's hard to begin to grasp the words necessary to properly convey what you felt at that moment. Panic. Horror. Dread. Fear. They come close, but they miss that unnameable feeling of your heart leaping into your throat when the seconds ticked down to five, four, three…

Too late. Too—

And then a gunshot. A bullet in the man's head. Success. It felt too close to be considered a win. Like grasping at victory with the tips of your fingers as it fumbles from hand to hand. Narrowly snatching the win from the jowls of defeat that nipped at you.

"S-sir—"

He's there. Hand on your shoulder, firm and steady: it's the only thing that keeps you from toppling over.

"Mm, stay alert," he mumbles, eyes cutting back to the throng of agents—on loan from Norway as Iceland hadn't the means to take care of it on their own, the very same people whose pride refused to allow you any intel, almost leading to—

"Eyes, ears are everywhere."

It's the solid weight of his presence, his unmovable utilitarianism, that reinforces the liquid relief in your knees, giving it the stability needed to congeal, to harden.

Iceland was the first taste of reality. The first mission where you realised every single second mattered.

"Did good," he says under his breath, and nods at you when you turn, bewildered, to him. "Might not seem like it, but you held yourself up. Did what needed to be done. Good job."

There is a softness in his eyes, one that you can't place, but it makes your pulse race.

And now, that same something swims in his cerulean gaze, slightly misted from the scotch, but remarkably the same.

You drop your gaze again. His stare is heavy—its not oppressive, or intense, but its—

A lot. Weighed down by something that has been steadily building since you bunkered down in a frozen bivouac on the fringes of the Arctic. Each breath of plume of pure white. Nestled tight together under a single insulated blanket, sharing heat. Keeping each other from the white death looming at the edge of the door.

It sits there, now. The tendrils of frostbite in his eyes: memories of when the snow piled so high outside your door, you'd begun to fear that this little shack was going to be your icy prison.

His chest under your chin. Heat bleeding into you.

("Gotta stay warm," he'd rasped, gaze flickering to you in steady intervals. "Can't turn the heat on. They'll see us.")

In the morning after everything, he found you on the terrace overlooking the landscape, the rolling hills of white in the distance. Back in the sanctum of your hotel. The one free from tundra and sleet. From the howling winds that slammed against the shack you both holed up in for the night. Surveillance. Your first taste of it.

"You good?" He murmurs. It's a loaded question, and feels more like a test.

Still—

"I will be." A lie.

"Go on." He calls it.

You turn to him. "We—;" the words are heavy on your tongue. Blame, and anger, and— "if they shared information with us, we would have gotten to them sooner."

And then you bite your tongue, eyes darting across the barren balconies. Eyes and ears are everywhere, he'd said. Test: failed.

"Mm, yeah," he mumbles. His presence is comforting. A kinship born from ice and darkness. He leans against the railing beside you, fingers looped into the straps on his tactical vest. "Could have done a lot of things quicker."

"Why did we need to wait?"

His laugh is caustic. "Bureaucracy."

"Sounds pointless when people are waging chemical warfare on the innocent."

"Mm, you're not wrong." He adds, his breath a plume of white when he huffs. "But red tape is the line that keeps us in check. Can't go around shooting whoever looks at us funny."

"But—"

"I agree, though." His words are low, and doused in the residuum of anger from missions you've yet to experience. A chasm is carved between you. An uncrossable moor. "Fuckin' politics."

His hand is almost as heavy as the steel in his eyes when he pulls it free from the strap on his chest, and lays it on your shoulder. "Get some rest. Maybe a bloody drink if you can. They only got vodka," he spits the word out like it's blasphemous, and considering he's never too far away from a cigar in one hand, and a scotch in the other, you think, to him, it might be.

It's a dismissal. A nice chat, have a lovely day, ta. He's your Captain, a man who shares each success with everyone, but bears the weight of each failure on his own. This debacle only reinforced the notion that you can't keep operating in the strict lines given to you, but there is very little you can do to stop it.

Fuckin' politics, you think. And then—

Cacoethes.

"I mix a mean vodka cranberry," the offer is out before you can swallow it down. "I mean—it isn't scotch, but—"

He pauses by the door, hand in stasis over the handle. The silence is stifling.

"Sorry," you murmur, chastised. Embarrassed. "I didn't—I hope I didn't cross a line."

He turns his head, brows drawn together.

(You wonder if he, too, thinks of the cabin. Of the bottled water shared between you, the heavy breath that settled in the middle of the negligible space that separated you, turned toward each other to protect your vulnerable pieces from the frigid cold.)

Then, a flash of teeth. His moustache wobbles. "Sure," he murmurs. "If you can make it taste like it isn't vodka, I'll go for one. Not much of a pint, but…"

"Should have taught me how to smoke in Iceland," you say, reaching for the proffered cigar in his hands. Your eyes slide over the burns, the pock marks in his flesh that could not be self-inflicted, but you turn from them; your gaze, instead, fixed on him. "Might have kept us warm."

A rasping chuckle falls from his lips. He has a smear of ash in the corner. A dollop of oil on his beard by the seam of his mouth. "Iceland," he repeats the word, and it sounds like an old friend, filled with a touch of fondness you can't quite capture when you think back on the time spent there.

(A panic attack in the shower stall, head full of vodka and cranberries— definitely not a pint, he rasped, but still took another swallow; your eyes were fixed on the bob of his Adam's apple—and him. Run. Run. Don't look back—

Alright? His eyes are on you. On Gaz. Laswell. He makes his rounds between everyone, silently checking in. It warms you, and makes you think of the taste you caught on the rim of the water bottle. Hickory. Smoked sandalwood. Scotch. Your nose pressed tight to his chest. The heavy weight of his arm around you. Gotta get up, lo—

Love. You wonder if that's what he was going to say before he cleared his throat, and looked away from you.

A lie. Yes.

He calls it. Yeah?

No. Never. The way the amber light from the early morning sun caught the lazuli in his eyes made your heart shatter, and ever since he pulled you from the wreck years ago, you haven't stopped thinking of what it would feel like to burn your lips on his cigar, and numb the sting with the scotch on his tongue.

A tight smile. Distant. Hidden. Always, Cap.

He relents.

You wished he pushed. Gave you a reason to spill your vodka-filled guts on the tarmac to rid yourself of this rut you'd fallen into. An endless stasis of does he, he can't, could he, he might, don't get your hopes up—

His hand is between your shoulder blades. A soft smile in your direction.

—too late.)

"Ah, Reykjavik," it's a slow burn when he speaks, heavy with smoke. Voice thick, full of static. His eyes catch yours. Price leans in close, as if he's sharing a secret; something confidential and meant only for you. The heady scent of hickory fills your nose. You roll the scotch in your glass, but taste vodka on your tongue. "Might have, but then we would've had to keep it lit while running away from the terrorists in the snow."

"I've seen you keep one lit in a hurricane, sir."

There is something coarse in the way he huffs; a gravel-filled husk of droll mirth that rumbles from his chest. His knuckles brush yours when he passes the cigar over. "Only time I ever lost one was when our heli went down in Mexico. Simon got an earful that day."

"Amazing."

The cigar is less intense when you let it fill just your mouth until the smoke is stagnant between your teeth. It's—sweet. Robust.

"You sound very impressed," he husks again, words pitched low. "But I'll have you know it was my last good one. Quite a shame."

Fingers touch again. You wonder if it's on purpose. If he, like you, can't get enough of the warmth on your skin. If it makes him think of the chill—

"It sounds like one. I don't know how you finished the mission at all, sir."

"I had a spare." He smiles, but it's taut around the edges. Then: "none of that—," he stops, clears his throat again. Lower, barely a whisper, he adds: "none of that sir stuff here. Just call me—"

"Cap?" You breathe, heart thudding in your chest. The scotch. The cigar. Maybe, it was packed with weed. A little nicotine. Something that might make your heart race, your palms sweat. Your stomach burn.

"John."

Your heart pounds, but it's off-rhythm. An irregular beat. The pattern is wrong, the crescendo stutters. It's not—

"John," his name is caught in your throat; a corrugated wobble of a breath barely recognisable as a word, but he finds it, anyway. His eyes lift, catching yours. It's heavy. Oppressive. You think of his arm on your waist, his breath in your ear—

Another tight smile. His eyes are liquid sapphires. "Yeah, love."

Love. Love. Twice, now, he slipped and uttered it.

(Lo—

Thrice, then, if you count Iceland.)

"John—," you need to stop. To put distance between yourself and this man who is wholly off-limits before the wet tip of the cigar, once clipped between those full lips, will become a crutch. Addicting.

You don't know where it starts.

The cigar in your mouth makes him groan low in his throat. Your eyes drop when he shudders. His hand on your thigh. Voice in your ear.

"Gotta stop this, love."

The first thought: he knows.

The second: he knows.

There is a chasm between them. In that paradoxical degree of separation lingers a firm, judicious no. It is resolute. Ironclad.

But the sheath is made of latex. Your hands feel the sting of the rubber bands when your fingers pluck at the bonds holding it all back.

"And if I don't want to?" Your lashes fan your cheeks, eyes peering up at him through the wisps cresting over your pupils. Tongue peaks out. A tease. "John? "

His pupils dilate in response, blown wide until pits of coal eclipse the sapphire; a black hole lined with a thin halo of blue. The hairs on his upper lip flutter when he heaves out a breath through his nose.

John's smile is tight. A fleeting thing that flickers across his face before disappearing into a hard frown. "You don't know what you're getting into, love—;" he stops himself, clears his throat. Your name falls from his lips, saturated in smoke.

You meet him. One step back, one step forward. A dance until those blues fix themselves solely on you.

Maybe, it's the scotch. You've always been more brazen with amber than clear.

His Adam's apple bounces when your hand drops, covering his. Your fingers stroke the powerful hands that hold your flesh firm between scarred fingers; nimble and dexterous despite the thickness of them.

"Then show me."

His groan tastes of tobacco and ash.

It should be awkward, and uncomfortable, but it isn't.

Price's hand curls over your waist, tucking you to his side as you lean against him, hip bumping into his thigh, hand settled on the warmth of his back.

You wonder if everyone around you can tell that you're going home with this man, your boss, and he's going to fuck you when you get there. It feels sacrilegious. Wrong.

But not even the spume of trepidation that wells inside of your gut is enough to stop you from getting this. Him.

You want it. Need it.

Your hand slips over his chest on the corner of the street. His eyes flash, caught in the light from the veranda.

Does he feel it, too, you wonder? All those moments that lead up to this? Soft words over the comm. Late nights spent pouring over coordinates and maps, reaching for something at the same time. Hands brushing. Eyes meeting over the median. Smiles shared. A world in the dead of night when everyone else had long gone to bed. You should have, too. You didn't. You stayed up as long as you could, soaking up his company.

Mornings met by the coffee maker.

No tea, it seems.

They have tea, sir.

Not the good kind.

You're just picky.

Look at this—it almost makes you ashamed to be British.

Only that?

He's untouchable—well: should be, rather; but Price is anything but. He's a constant amid many raging storms, a rock in times when the world feels like it's spiralling down toward some cataclysmic abyss and your fingers aren't quick enough to reach out and catch it.

But he is.

Always.

Your failsafe. Your security net. The only man on the planet who will rage against insurgents and terrorists, and politicians and red tape in equal measure for his team. He'll risk his neck, offer his jugular, if it means you can finish the mission.

Gaz in your head. He said something to me once… stuck to me, y'know? We get dirty, and the world stays clean.

It bludgeoned into you then just like it does now. It's the perfect iteration of exactly who Price is. He's not a hero. He doesn't pretend to be one. But if him gunning down a man on the fringes of society means that innocent people in the cities get to sleep at night without even knowing what he, and his men, sacrificed, he's content. He never asks for anything except the freedom to keep peace—however it comes about: in a hail of bullets, a fist against a man's jaw until he spits out blood and teeth and the truth, or in cuddling together on the verge of hypothermia so people in a country he has no connection to can continue to live without fear.

John is—

Well. It was inevitable, wasn't it?

They can't forge a man like him into existence, and expect you not to feel overwhelmed in his presence.

This feels inevitable.

And sure—human resources and internal affairs might have opinions about that, but it's been brewing since he pulled you from a burning wreck on the motorway (a small travesty in what could have been calamitous had you not decided to trust the SAS with an impeccable moustache, and your gut, and broke every rule in the book), and then looked you in your soot-covered face, and asked: have you considered a transfer?

Your drug enforcement days slipped into the past when he offered you a spot on his team.

And now—

Your lip is raw from the cigar burn, but the taste of scotch on your tongue soothes the ache. His hand is heavy on your waist, flesh hot to the touch like he is burning up in a fever.

A woman wanders past, the same one you saw earlier with a baby swaddled in blue, but—

Price only has eyes for you.

"C'mon, love," he husks in your ear, his breath heavy with smoke and scotch, and sending shivers racing down your spine. "Wanna come back with me?"

And you—

("I'll follow you—")

"Anywhere, John."

His hands are reverent when they brush across your skin. The heavy weight of his palms pressing against the back of your thighs makes you tremble. His rough skin feels good as it grazes yours, touch softer, more gentle than you thought he'd be.

It's a strange contrast—you'd come to expect gruffness with your Captain. His voice, his words, his practices all carry the same abrasive lilt to you, and you assumed that he'd fuck you the same way. Rough hands, brutal commands barked out.

It's none of that. It's—

His eyes peer down at you, spread out below him, and he carries the same tenderness in his eyes as when he stared at the women from before. Families. It settles inside of you. This unexpected way he handles you so gingerly makes your heart pound, and makes your core knot.

He looks at you as if you're the best thing that has ever happened to him.

And you can't be. It's impossible, isn't it? This man who'd lived many lives before you even knew how to shoot a gun, or tie your shoelaces, should not be looking at you as if you'd offered him salvation.

But he is.

You press the back of your forearm to your crown, arching your back for him. His eyes are drawn to your body, to the way you open up for him, and the darkening of his eyes makes you pant.

Your hand reaches up to his chest, palm pressed against the thick bed of unruly auburn hair that covers his pulse, and the feel of his thick body over you makes your cunt throb with need. You want him. You want him so badly that it hurts.

"This what you want, love?" He husks in your ear, beard tickling your skin. "Want me to fuck you, yeah?"

It had sprung up when you first tumbled into the room. The dance is familiar—the steps ingrained in your head, now muscle memory—but he isn't just any partner. You stood before him, unsure for the first time since you caught that aching sense of wishfulness in his eyes and knew that you wanted whatever permeated in those cerulean depths to look at you, and hold you in the same regard.

Now—

Your body is fever-hot, and he stands by the minibar, offering you scotch.

"I want you—," the words tumble out, a breathless lull in the otherwise silent room, broken only by the glass nozzle clanking against the side of the cup he set out. You've shocked him. You swallow thickly when he turns, brows lifting.

"I want you." You repeat, firmer this time.

"Are you—"

You skip the introductory waltz and immediately jump into a tango when you breathe: I want you inside me, John.

You know he aches for it. You can feel him twitching inside of you; deep and full. The head of his cock nudges against something soft in your cunt that makes you spasm around him, whimpering.

"Yes, sir…" you pant, heavy and breathless. The way you address him makes him grunt, makes his hips cant into you, the movement tinged in desperation. "Fill me up."

Price groans, rolling his hips into you. Each thrust knocks the air from your lungs until only the cloying smoke from his cigar resides inside. You're dizzy, dazed. He fucks you like he's worshipping you—each time he moves inside of you, he aims for that gummy place that has your nails digging into his sides, legs locking around his waist, caught on the bend of his thighs, as he rides you through it.

He tastes of smoke. Loam. Sandalwood. Butterscotch. "Please," you murmur, tongue laving over the indents of your teeth in his skin. You wish it was permanent. "It's your own fault, Captain."

"Yeah?" He grinds his cock inside of you until your eyes roll back, mouth dropping open as white-hot pleasure spools in your core. "Sounds like you need some discipline then, soldier."

Fuck —

He does it again, thrusting into you this time until he's seated in deep. You whine at the bliss flooding your core.

His hand lifts from your thigh, and you blink your eyes open, watching as his tongue sweeps across the pad. His eyes are wicked in the soft light spilling from street lights outside; bluer than the wide, open ocean.

You shiver when they drop to your cunt, spread out for him and stretched taut over his twitching cock. A frisson passes; waves crashing against the shores, frothing white.

His hand drops, thumb pressing against your clit. "Gonna cum for me?" He murmurs, a sonorous knot in the quiet room. You hear the roar of the ocean in the distance. Humid breeze flutters through the open balcony.

Anyone can hear you. Can hear how badly you want your Captain to fill your cunt, to make you see stars, and swaddles of blue—

You keen low in your throat when his thumb rubs tight circles over your throbbing clit, cock knocking against the gummy walls of your cunt. His head brushes your womb, presses there tight for a moment until your back arches in that deep-seated ache, that quiver of pleasure-pain that lacerates through your core.

"Fuck, fuck—," you whimper, needy and breathless, hips working in time with the insistent press of his thumb, working you in small, shallow circles. "Cap— Captain, please—"

"Fuck, love—," he throaty words a bitten, jagged plea that sticks, thick and molten, between his molars. You can feel him twitch within you. Feel the way he batters into that spongey nook inside of you that has the Aurora Borealis flashing behind your lids. "You're a cheeky little thing, aren't you?" He pants, bending down to press his teeth over your raw neck, already bitten and bruised, chafed by the coarse hair of his beard.

His groan rolls out of him; dredged up from deep within his chest. The rumble of pleasure, the sloppy way his hips snap into you, now, all practise and control dissociating with his desperation to get you to cum on his cock so he can fill your pussy up with cum, deep enough that it floods your womb—

"Cum for me—!" He snaps, the words chewed out and broken, punctuated by a deep grind of his cock. "Need to feel your pussy cumming on my cock, love; you want it, don't you? If you be a good girl and cum for me, I'll fill your pussy up—"

Your toes curl at the wrecked, raw tone of his voice, breaking over the end. He wants it. You feel him throb within you at just the thought.

"Yeah," you whine, that spooling coil in your belly pulling tighter and tighter with each brutal thrust, each nudge of his cock as it bludgeons inside of you. "Want you cum inside my pussy, John—"

His head tips, forehead dropping to rest on yours as his eyes roll back, fluttering with the sultry plea that drips from your cigar-singed lips.

You taste smoke when his thumb presses against you, the other sliding over your body until he has a palmful of your breast in his grasp. Each roll of his hips makes you see white; tendrils and wisps of smog fill your eyes until all you can see is a hazy blue through the curtain of snow. Fog on your breath. His words in your ear.

It pinches taut when he turns his head, beard scraping your skin, and presses his lips to your temple. Slurred words that taste of tobacco. "Need to feel you cum on my cock, love —"

Liquid bliss spumes deep when you cum—a deluge of euphoria richer than scotch, and more addictive than nicotine.

His name is a choked sob into the thick blanket of desire that weighs down on you.

He drops, his torso flat against your chest as he slots his mouth over you, tongue delving deep as he ruts into your pulsing cunt, fluttering like a heartbeat as you cum around his cock. He groans into the messy kiss—hickory and smoke and the bitter tang of scotch—and you feel him jerk within you before he pushes in as far as he can. He doesn't stop until your cunt swallows him to the base, where he sits taut against the seal of your cervix. And then you feel it. You feel him throb deep inside of you, stuffed full of his cock, and a molten spume spills out when he cums.

He's cumming inside of you, filling your pussy up—

Your cunt clenches, a soft flutter against him at the thought of it, the feeling.

His head lifts, then, and you can see the draw of his brows, the clench of his jaw, the grunts that slip out, deep and punctured, from between the grit of his teeth, and you think you could get addicted to the sight of him in bliss.

Your hands slide over the slick bulk of his back, nails raking softly over the skin as he shudders against you, heaving from exertion.

"Christ," he rasps in your ear, whiskey-timbered and heady with malt. "You're gonna make me lose my goddamn mind, love."

You tip your head back, grinning. "What is it you like to say, Cap?" You purr, fingers dancing over the indent of your teeth. "We're all a bit crazy."

You lay with your head tucked on his shoulder. His arm is bent at the elbow with his palm under his head; your hand rests on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart under your skin.

It's—

Cosy. A little moment where you feel liquid and blissful, eyes lidding as you peer at his naked chest—flushed roseate, peppered with auburn that that runs all the way down to the indent of his groin—and map the dusting of rust-coloured freckles that peak through the wisps of coarse hair. It's domestic. Basking in the acrid afterglow of your illicit coupling.

Your index presses into a thick patch of hair just below his pectoral, catching the curls on the tip until they wrap around your finger. He rumbles deep in his chest, and pulls the lit cigar up to his mouth, biting it between his teeth, before dropping his hand down on yours.

Cerulean peaks through a thick breath of ashen smoke. You feel shy, suddenly. Demure. Maybe, it's the scent of sex and tobacco thick in the air, the taste of spice and scotch on your tongue, or the way his cum stains your inner thighs, leaking out of you, and drenching the sheets below. Proof, then, that you fucked your Captain.

Most people start at the bottom of the totem and work up. It was a running joke amongst your class when the physical demands of the role became too much, and the drills got harder, and harder the more you sloughed through the ropes.

All the way to the top. The easy way. On your knees, soldier, you'd pass between each other in covert secrecy, eyes fatigued but grinning wide. How easy it would be, comparatively, to just lay back and let your drill sergeant have his fill. It was all chatter. Jokes. None of it was real, and if anyone of you ever had the notion to act on it—

That has never been your goal. Sergeant, Lieutenant, Captain—none of it meant anything to you until a hand appeared out of dense, black smoke, a gruff: c'mon, now, I got you following. It still doesn't. Not really. Does he know that, though? That you'd followed along dutifully behind him, not over some sense of grandeur or hero-complex, but because you admired the shape of him, the grit.

John's hand slides over yours, fingers tangling between the brackets of your own until you're locked together, palm pressed against palm.

There are years worth of things you want to say, but they dissolve in the malt still saturating your tongue.

Price's hand is rough. Scarred and weathered; aged and worn.

Your hands don't quite fit together. His brackets are too wide for your slender digits to rest without being swallowed whole by him. His fingers are the exact opposite: too wide, too thick. The seam between your knuckles aches when he slides his into the gaps. Like everything about him, this, too, is stretched taut.

Still. Still—

His hand folds over yours, devouring your palm, and suddenly all your listing axes are righted, centred. The ground you walk on is firm, solid.

It's always like that with him, you find.

His warmth bleeds into your palm.

Price shifts. His hand slips from behind his head to take hold of the cigar in his mouth. The knob of his wrist rests on your shoulder, cigar dangling between his fingers.

You wonder if this is the moment when we shouldn't have, we can't come in.

He clears his throat, always a low rasp as if he'd just gotten done screaming. Hoarse and rough. You don't think you can go back to before when you didn't know what your name sounded like falling from his lips when he cums—

"You don't know what you do to me, love."

Don't hope—

"And what is that?" You peer up at him through the wisps of auburn.

His eyes make your pulse race. A lagoon in the middle of the Arctic. A deep, endless pool of blue.

Price offers you the cigar, and bends down to press his sweaty forehead against your temple when you lean up and take it.

Scotch. Hickory. Smoke.

A motorway in Dorset. Your superiors snapping at you to leave it alone. You followed him then, and when he mumbles in your ear, words drenched in malt and petrol, you know you'll follow him even now.

"You make me want things, love. Things I shouldn't."

You catch his clear blues in yours. The cigar burns when you press it to your bottom lip, catching the taste of him on the end.

"You have no one to blame but yourself," you whisper, squeezing his too-big hand in yours. "I learned from the best, you know."

"Cheeky—"

—he takes you back to Iceland when your allotted off-time mysteriously syncs together: a fumbling romantic at heart. he has no idea what he's doing. wooing, courtship, and long-lasting were never words in his vocabulary, but he tries.

—on his phone, you catch a glimpse of what he was looking at so intently on the plane: romantic places in Iceland: romance for idiots

—it doesn't surprise you, then, when you find the article yourself that he sticks to each individual one like it's a personal mission. flowers. chocolates. "don't know what's so special about these bloody things. do you really like them?"

—it surprises you, even more, when you press your lips to cheek, murmuring, "i like you more," and see the flash of roseate flooding his cheeks.

—Gaz is firmly on team "i don't want to know" but too bad for him, he's the only one you can really tell.

"please tell me he doesn't wear The Hat... y'know...," his face looks a little ashen when he says it. You smile. "...Please. No, you can't—hey! You can't just walk away—!"

#john price #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price #captain john price x reader #cod mw2 #cod #cod mw #cod mw2 fic #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #he's daddy asf #captain john price x you #cod price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you

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eff4freddie · 2 months

Text

After She Left | Seven

Words: 7k Minors DNI

As it becomes increasingly clear Sarah's mom is here to stay in Jackson, you realise whatever's going on with you and Joel needs to stop. It's fine, because you've already decided you're not that sad about it. Telling Ellie you can't tutor her anymore, though...that one's going to be tough.

Chapter warnings: Finally get to some of the SMUT team! Oral (f receiving), tiny little bit of dirty talk

A/N: Things are still a little bit crap for me but writing has actually been a nice release (heh). I know some people aren't feeling super safe around here at the moment, but I want to reiterate you will always be safe with me. And in the meantime I will just keep writing my angsty smut for my own amusement, and suggest ya'll do, too.

Six | Series Masterlist | Eight

The new arrivals cleared quarantine in 48 hours. The two men, Wren and Steven, were put up in a share house with a few of the other men around town but Shauna was given her own place, a studio out the back of Tommy’s, nothing much more than a converted garage. Joel didn’t understand why Tommy wanted her so close, and also understood exactly, seeing as how he wanted to both crawl out of his skin when he thought of her, and also into her chest.

He waited exactly a day and a half after she settled into her studio before knocking on her door. The evening was just settling in, and it had been a warm day, the kind of day that gives you a warning of the summer about to descend. She wasn’t even surprised when she opened the door to him. Just beckoned him inside, pushed some old blankets off a chair and pulled it out for him.

The place had a long window running up near the ceiling to let the light in, but other than that it was cool, dark.

‘You’ll need heat in the winter,’ he said, smelling mildew. He wondered how long it had been since anyone had been back here. Tommy didn’t even use it to store his tools.

‘You got any suggestions?’ Shauna asked, smiling thinly at him.

‘Move into a better place,’ he replied.

She snorted. ‘Figure I got a couple of months to figure that out I guess,’ she replied.

‘So you’re stayin’? You settlin’ in?’ Joel asked her, firing questions at her like an interrogation, hearing it in his voice, the sadness and the fear and the sound of something tinkling at the bottom of a well.

‘Don’t know, Joel,’ she replied, sitting heavy on the bed while he stood up, took three or four paces before he had to turn around and pace back again. There was a bare bulb hanging in the middle of the room. He checked for outlets, found a few where you could set up a nice lamp. He had one she could borrow, over by the bed, so she could read of a nighttime.

‘Fuck, Shauna,’ he started, and she shrugged at him. ‘You had no idea I was here?’

‘How could I have, Joel?’ she asked. In the half-light the curls of her hair glowed around her head like a crown. He could remember the smell of Sarah’s shampoo, the first time he’d been able to recall it in years.

‘Twenty-five years and you happen to head here?’

‘Of all the gin-joints…’ she started, but he raised his hand to stop her. He couldn’t do jokes right now. He couldn’t do much but gawp at her and try and get his brain to stay with him, here in this moment, in this little garage at the end of the Earth.

‘I just…I never thought I’d see you again.’

‘I know, baby,’ she said, and he winced a little at the nickname. She caught it, cheeks red at the habit. ‘Sorry,’ she said, when he glared at her. ‘Mistake.’

‘What do we do now? How do we do this?’ he asked, turning to her. She had always been good with the decisions. Had made him eat healthy, not stay out too late, had filled his head with ambitions of owning his own business, of bringing Tommy on with him, showing him the ropes. He remembered then that she didn’t know he’d done it, that she’d been right, and he’d never let her have that. He opened his mouth to tell her, catching himself just in time.

‘I don’t know, Joel. Wren and Steve are here, and we’ve been a pretty tight crew for a while…’

‘You with one of them?’ he asked, and she smiled.

When she’d been pregnant, properly pregnant, her bump finally poking out from beneath her ribcage, Joel had developed a habit of resting his hand on it in supermarkets, out for dinner with Tommy and her parents, would follow her to the bar and rest his chin on her shoulder as she ordered a seltzer and a beer for him. Even then, barely out of school and struggling to grow into his limbs he was protective of her, possessive of her and the baby in her belly. There were times she could practically hear him chanting ‘my girls, my girls, mine,’ as she walked beside him.

‘It’s complicated,’ she said, after a while. ‘They’re brothers. I met them coming out of the QZ in Kansas, and its...well, y’know how brothers share.’

She watched as he reared back, his shoulders rising so fast he nearly knocked into his earlobes.

‘You’re with both of them?’ he asked, and he could hear how panicked he sounded, and couldn’t be certain what was behind it, but he didn’t like it, didn’t like Wren or Steven, didn’t trust ‘em.

‘Technically, Joel, I’m not with either of them. Not with with. Just…it gets cold on the sides of mountains. It gets hard to keep going. It’s about…securing the bond. Loyalty.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, cocking a knee and wresting his hands on his hips. ‘Are you…in some kind of sex cult with those men?’

‘Joel, you can not be this naïve. Not after twenty years in the apocalypse. You know women have to…we gotta survive.’

Thoughts of you popped up in his head, instant and unbidden. You hadn’t done any of that stuff, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t allow himself to imagine any different. He knew you’d been in a QZ for a while, but you’d been FEDRA, and that would have afforded you some kind of luxuries. Security. Fuckin’ loyalty.

He swallowed. He knew FEDRA were as bad as all the others, possibly even worse since they were armed. He knew what women had to do to curry favour with them. But not you, he decided. Not you, because you would have talked your way out of it, would have charmed them with your smile and your sweet, pretty face hiding your enormous, glorious brain. You would have figured out a way around it. You would have…you wouldn’t have…

‘Joel?’ Shauna called him out of his panic, and he swallowed down.

‘Ain’t judgin’ ya,’ he said, and she scoffed a little.

‘You sure about that?’

‘I can’t…imagine…’ he said, and he felt the heat on his cheeks now. He could imagine. He just didn’t want to.

‘Yeah, well…things were bad in Kanas. They got me out. I guess I was grateful to them.’

‘You ain’t movin’ in with ‘em?’

‘It served a purpose and maybe now it’s done? Besides, not sure Maria really understands, or endorses…’

Joel nodded, grunting his understanding. Jackson ran on family values, and scorching gossip. Maria would have done it to protect Shauna as much as to keep up appearances.

‘Joel, can we talk about her?’ Shauna asked, and he found himself shaking his head.

‘Can’t,’ he said.

‘Please, Joel, I just want to know how-’

Joel felt the switch flip in his brain, the one that meant he could talk about her while he slipped himself out of the way to let the facts through.

‘Army, military, the first night. I was gettin’ her out, me and Tommy, if we could just find a road. She was hurt but I had her. They…’

‘No, no,’ Shauna said, stopping him because she could see he had fallen into the vortex, that he was miles away now, years away, bleeding and scared and holding their girl in his arms. ‘No, I…I meant, I wanted to know how she grew up. What was she like, when she was a teenager?’

Joel swallowed, felt the tears in the back of his eyes, the strain across the back of his throat.

‘She was…’ he didn’t know how to describe her. Shauna had left when Sarah was 9. 10 years they’d spent together after they’d found out she was pregnant, trying to save a marriage that had barely been more than a high school romance. He’d known it wasn’t working, had known that he was hurting her by making her stay, but he couldn’t imagine a world where Sarah would choose him if her parents split, couldn’t bear the idea of his little girl splitting her time between two houses, two Christmases, two sets of books, two sets of school bags dropped by two different doors.

He'd underestimated them both. Shauna for her ability to just outright abandon them. Sarah for her ability to know that loving her mom meant setting her free.

‘She was brilliant,’ he said, after a while. ‘So smart, basically ran the household, kept me and Tommy in line. N’she was capable, could handle her own shit. I guess…she had to grow up pretty fast, but she did it, and she was sweet about it too. Made me drink my juice in the morning,’ at this Joel smiled, tears threatening to spill, Shauna’s eyes wet as she watched him. ‘She was a brilliant little girl, and she was turning into a beautiful woman.’

He cleared his throat, letting himself remember her head on his shoulder as he all but forced her to watch some shitty Western on TV. Carrying her to bed, tucking her in, praying she never got so big he couldn’t lift her anymore, then after she was gone praying one day, somehow, she would.

Shauna wiped the tear from her cheek. ‘I figured when she was older, when I had my life back together, maybe we could…reconnect,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Joel, I know I left you both, left you the most, but…’

‘You were already gone,’ Joel said. ‘All those years, you were never really in it.’

Shauna let out a quiet little sob. ‘I wanted to be,’ she said, and he could tell that she meant it, and also he didn’t care, could never really care, when he saw the chunk she took out of their daughter when she left them, watched as that brave little girl grew out of the scar.

‘She never asked about you,’ he said, and he wanted it to be comforting and he wanted it to be cruel. He wanted to hurt her, and he wanted to hold her, wanted her to know that he’d long given up on her, even before she left them, but that he had been holding on anyway, because he thought that was what you did when you had a kid.

Shauna gasped, letting out a little hiccup of sadness.

‘Is that true?’ she asked, and she fixed him then with a hurt on her face unlike anything he’d seen in a long while. No one walked around that sad for the world to see in a place that would kill you for any weakness. He swallowed down the bile burning at the back of his throat.

‘No,’ he said, because she had written letters every week for a year to her mother that he had never sent. Because each Christmas she wrapped up a little gift for her mother that she hid behind the tree down by the corner, where she thought he couldn’t see. Because each year on her birthday she waited for the mailman, sat with a book on her lap she was pretending to read while she watched out the window, and he had to see her face fall when all that got delivered was just bills and a lottery ticket from Uncle Tommy. She never said the fuckin’ words, but she asked for her mother every day.

He had hated Shauna for it. Had burned up all the energy he had left in him working to hide his fury from his little girl.

Looking at her now, sad and folded up against herself on the end of the bed he wondered what for. All those feelings, so hot and so bright and so sharp at the time now faded, now boxed up. He wasn’t even sure if this was the same person in front of him, the one who started taking shards of his heart the moment he met her, who stranded him with the weight of her absence over years.

He wasn’t sure if he hated her anymore for it. He wasn’t sure if he felt anything at all.

‘Don’t cry,’ he said, because she was still snuffling.

‘I thought I was making it better for her, that she could finally be herself if I stopped crowding her. You know when two vines are planted in the same pot either one of them will strangle the other to survive? Only way to save them both is to get ‘em out.’

Joel watched her, understanding, not wanting to.

‘I didn’t want to…pull the life out of her anymore, Joel. I had to break the pot.’

He felt the creak in his knees, the old scar on his abdomen starting to ache from standing too long. He crossed his arms over his chest, looked down at his shoes to assure himself he was still on solid ground.

‘Yeah, well, you broke it,’ he said. Shauna nodded, pulling at her sling and wincing slightly. ‘You hurtin’?’ Joel asked, and she sighed.

‘Yeah, but Wren said he’d try and get me something from the infirmary. I told him not to bother. Don’t feel like I can ask for anything when we just got here.’

‘The town’ll be suspicious,’ he informed her, plainly. ‘Three of you in one go, s’a lot.’

‘I figured I could tell them I’m a Miller,’ she said, watching his face, the way it fell. He swallowed. ‘I mean, technically I still am.’

‘You ain’t been a Miller for years, even when we were still together,’ he said, and this time he didn’t want to hurt her so much as state the plain truth.

‘I know, but…could be useful in a place like this.’ Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sarah, aged 9, at the doorway, peeking in at her separating parents, wondering out of her room for all the shouting. He blinked her away. ‘I won’t do it if you don’t want me to,’ Shauna continued.

He thought of you. Your warm classroom, the little wood figurines he’d carved for you lined up on the edge of your desk.

‘Don’t,’ he said, grim and firm and honest.

‘Ok, Ok,’ she said, raising her hands in defeat. She sighed, dramatic and maybe just a little for effect. ‘I’ll let the town hate me.’

He remembered what it was like to argue with her. How she’d end up bursting into tears and he’d rush to comfort her, always wrap his arms around her even if he still seethed, and afterwards he’d always wonder if she was actually sad or if it was only ever just to win a point. Worse, when he realised he didn’t care, didn’t feel anything, either way.

‘They might hate ya,’ he agreed. ‘But just until they discover your winnin’ personality.’ She examined his face, searching it for anger, for hurt. He grinned at her. Let her off the hook.

It wasn’t that you were sad, exactly, although some part of you knew that you were. It wasn’t that you were mourning, because you knew what that felt like, and besides which, you hadn’t lost anything, not really. It wasn’t that you were lonely, because you’d already decided not to be. It was just that for a second there, things had been different. There had been the prospect of something, and now it was gone.

You watched as Joel sat with Ellie, Tommy, Maria and now Shauna. Maria bouncing Robin, growing like a weed despite barely more than a newborn, on her knee while Ellie cooed at him, tried to spoon feed him stew. You couldn’t help noticing the way Shauna ignored him, the way she almost turned her back to the infant, to instead lean in close to the adults at the table. You were probably missing it. You were only stealing glances, after all.

Word had spread that the three were staying, and you knew that Wren was already out on patrols because you’d seen him go out with the morning group to check the perimeter. The other one, Steven, was apparently good with animals so he had been placed on stable duty. Shauna was helping out with the town council, doing admin and filing and things. It made sense, and it was easy work, and you wondered how she’d survived so long on her own without apparently being able to shoot or ride worth a damn, but it didn’t matter because it didn’t involve you, anyway, unless Shauna happened to decide she needed to redo grade school.

Joel didn’t look at you, and you didn’t want him to, you really didn’t, not at all. A few times Ellie waved you over and you had to pretend you hadn’t seen her. You should have brought a book with you to try and make it even vaguely plausible. You would remember, next time.

You just weren’t sure how you were going to tell Ellie that you couldn’t tutor her anymore. It didn’t feel fair that she had to lose out, but at the same time you knew you didn’t have it in you. The idea of sitting at Joel’s kitchen table, remembering his lips on yours, his arms holding you to his chest, his little gasp as he consumed you. Rose would have been able to carry on. You weren’t Rose.

You weren’t sure why you came down to the mess for breakfast. Normally you just grabbed an apple and ate it at your desk. As you left, you noticed some of Ellie’s stars were still strung up along the walls. You wondered if they would ever come down.

‘Didn’t you see me?’ Ellie asked, bounding up to at the end of the school day as you wiped the chalk from the board.

‘Pretty sure I’ve been seeing you all day,’ you said, and she made a face.

‘No, I mean this morning. You came by and then you sat on your own?’

‘Oh, you were there? Sorry, I had my mind on…the eggs. Just hadn’t had them in a while. Must have been craving it.’

‘Are you ovulating?’ Ellie asked, in that unnerving way she had of cutting you directly to the quick.

You paused, considering your answer for a moment.

‘I’m not sure why you ask,’ you said, eventually, settling for truth.

‘Craving eggs,’ Ellie shrugged, as if this was the most obvious explanation.

‘I don’t think that’s how it works,’ you said, and then you paused, because to be honest your sex education also stopped around the end of the world. ‘I don’t think that’s how it works,’ you clarified.

‘Well, whatever, I just wanted to ask you what time you wanted me for tutoring today. You didn’t tell me last time.’

You felt your heart rate pick up. Part of you had wondered if you just said nothing maybe she would forget.

‘Hey, I’ve been thinking about that,’ you said, smiling like you were about to bestow her with good news. ‘You’ve been doing some really great work, really strong, and I can see that you’ve come along so much.’

You paused for a moment, watching the pride break like a dawn over her face, wanted to take a mental photo of it, laminate it and stick it in your memory for eternity.

‘So yeah, I don’t think you need me anymore,’ you said, the smile feeling forced across your cheeks now, the strain in the muscle pulling across the back of your scalp.

You watched as her face collapsed, the light immediately shuttering away from it. You swallowed. ‘Tutoring, I mean…I don’t think you need tutoring,’ you said.

You knew Ellie was doing better socially, you could see she was more talkative in class, that she and Dina were edging their way towards friendship. But you knew, too, how much of a comfort it was to have routine after so long of living through chaos. That the two of you in the dying light of the evening waiting for Joel to finish cooking dinner so you could stop pretending that you were doing any work and take yourselves in to him, that there was a gift in that, that there was a prize in it, and that you were taking it back from her now, snatching it from her arms. You swallowed, heavy and tired and wondering if you were doing the right thing and knowing that you were. That it was necessity. That it was choice.

‘Oh,’ she said, and you nodded at her, smiling still, trying to keep her energy up, trying to dull the blow.

‘You really are doing so well, I’m super proud,’ you said, and then you felt wrong, like you were her mother when really, you realised, you had become her friend.

‘Is this because of Joel being a shithead?’ she asked, and you shook your head to hard and so fast you could hear your neck creak in protest.

‘No,’ you said, tightly, trying to regain your composure enough to get the girl over you and out the door. ‘No, it really is just that you’re…a superstar.’

‘So why don’t you want to keep going, then?’ she asked. ‘It’s not like I know everything.’

You had thought of this question, and had prepared an answer, and even though it wasn’t even remotely true you knew it would appeal to Ellie’s better nature, that it would work on her, and you hated yourself for it even as your mouth started to form the words.

‘It wouldn’t be fair on the other kids,’ you said, and she nodded her head, immediately understanding, immediately agreeing, immediately nailing the last of your self-worth to the floor beneath your feet.

‘Right,’ she said, but she was quiet, and she was backing away, and you saw that her face was closed off, and that she was turning inwards again, just like she had been when she first got here. You stepped towards her, but she was already out the door.

‘Thank you for everything,’ you called after her, and you realised at the same moment that you said it how final it sounded, and how trite. You had dismissed her, thoroughly. Had slammed the door behind her as she left.

For a long while after you stood in your classroom and surveyed the tables in front of you, the pictures on the wall, the photos you’d pulled from old, half-rotten Encyclopaedias and taped to the walls. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn, to see the wooden figurines lined up along the edge of your desk. You stood, instead, facing where Ellie had been minutes ago, half an hour ago, an hour ago.

You wondered if you could unspool time around you, just wind it down to a stop so that you didn’t have to move into the next moments, into the ones without her, without you at their kitchen table, without Joel’s warm eyes on your face as he spooned mac and cheese into your bowl.

Joel didn’t like that Wren guy, and he wasn’t too sure about Steven, either. He didn’t like the way Steven eyed off the women in the town, like he was figuring out how best to herd them, seeing as how he was apparently a cattleman. Wren, well he just got on too well with the rest of them, had fit right in with Guillaume, and he fuckin’ hated Guillaume. That was too strong, maybe. He just didn’t trust any of ‘em, when it came down to it. Preferred to be defending himself and his loved ones if it ever came down to it, if he had somehow failed to get them all far, far away.

He found himself turning over what Shauna had said as he surveyed them now, coming to the end of his shift on the wall. He wondered if that was really something women out there were doing, having to do, to keep themselves alive and he knew that of course they were, knew that as much as he had seen it in the raider camps he’d had the unfortunate luck to come across, but now Joel was wondering what kind of man would let a woman do it. What kind of man would let her make the offer, let alone accept it. He knew the answer to that one, too.

As his shift ended, he decided he’d go talk to Tommy about it. Tommy had a good read for things like this. Would have the sense Joel didn’t to see it straight.

Except that it wasn’t just Tommy when Joel got back to his little office, the room crowded again with half of the town council, Maria and Shauna sitting perched on Tommy’s desk.

‘Seems risky,’ Tommy was saying, and at this Shauna rolled her eyes.

‘Course it’s risky, but show me something that isn’t,’ she huffed. Joel recognised that tone, had it imprinted somewhere along his spinal column.

‘Don’t see why its necessary, we have everything we need here,’ Robert was saying. Joel liked Robert. Robert was steady and had survived the fifteen-some years on his own by living off the same ranch he always had with his wife of thirty-years. He only came off it when she died, and he found himself unable to justify working land that size for one man. Joel could respect that.

‘If we don’t keep pushing out, we won’t have everything we need for much longer. We need to…keep up,’ Shauna was saying. Joel caught Tommy’s eye, who was looking at him as if this was somehow his fault.

‘What’s goin’ on?’ Joel asked, stepping forward and trying to ignore the way Shauna brightened when she saw him.

‘Town council meetin’,’ Robert said, ‘though as far as I can see it’s only half of us here.’

‘Not everyone was available at short notice,’ Shauna said, and he grunted at her.

‘That so?’ he asked. Joel watched his face carefully, as the older man gave absolutely nothing away.

‘I’ve got plans to expand, just an idea, really,’ Shauna said, backtracking when she saw Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Thought I should bring it in for…consideration.’

‘You ain’t been here five minutes,’ Tommy started, but Joel waved his hand and the younger brother immediately stopped. He wasn’t happy, Joel saw the way he rolled his shoulders, the little tic in his jaw Joel was fairly sure his little brother had learnt from him, but he quietened down, just the same.

‘Not for me to say,’ Joel said, trying his hand at post-apocalyptic diplomacy, ‘but that feels like something…if the town council thinks it has merit, mind…seems like something the whole of Jackson should get a vote on.’

He watched as Shauna’s smile faltered, for just a second, and Joel was surprised to find none of her tells had eroded over time. It wasn’t the answer she had hoped for, he could see that. What he couldn’t see was why.

‘We’ll call a proper meeting, with all the council, to consider it first,’ Maria said, definitively. ‘Now it’s dinner time, and some of us got family we need to get to. G’night, all.’

Joel saw Shauna move towards him, darting off Tommy’s desk and over to his side, but he was quicker than her, pulling away through the side door and out onto the street before she could get to him. He didn’t know why he did it, just that his brain stem had told him to get out of there. He felt a little bit sorry about it, but not enough to change his mind.

At home, he slipped his feet from his boots and left them by the door, calling out for Ellie as he stepped inside. She wasn’t at the table doing her homework, wasn’t on the couch reading her comics. He felt a little shiver of hope in his belly as he walked out the back, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of the two of you before it got too dark to work.

‘Am I interrupting?’ he asked, only a little bit hoping that he was, as he rounded the corner to the back porch. He stopped when he saw her, folded up against herself with her head resting on her knee. It took her a moment to notice him, so she didn’t turn her gaze to him right away. When she finally did he stuttered, saw that her eyes were red-rimmed as she furiously tried to wipe the evidence away.

Later that evening you dozed on your couch, finding yourself deserving of the strain in your neck and the ache in your lower back. You would eventually take yourself off to bed but for right now you had your blanket and some pulpy murder mystery you were starting to realise you’d read two summers ago.

The pounding on your door startled you, jolting you up and off the couch. You could feel your pulse roaring up your neck as you looked down at your trembling hands. You allowed yourself a second to catch your breath, another second to wonder if there was ever a future for you where you didn’t startle at the slightest sound. This wasn’t slight, though, and it was still coming from your front porch.

‘Hello?’ you called out, willing the panic to evaporate from your voice such that whatever burglar or murderer was trying to get in would immediately reconsider his actions and retreat.

‘Teach!’ Joel bellowed, and you took a step back, his anger striking genuine fear in your belly. ‘Open the damn door,’ he followed up when you didn’t reply.

‘It’s late, Joel,’ you said, not moving, and you heard his grunt of frustration.

‘Open!’ he demanded again, and you wondered how far he’d go if you let him, if he’d splinter the wood. You tried to shake the tremor from your hands as you moved towards the door, bracing yourself against the frame as you pulled it open.

‘What the hell is the matter with you?’ Joel asked, his eyes crackling with barely restrained fury.

You knew. Of course you knew, although you hadn’t expected him to be so angry about it. ‘She’s really doing so great…’ you started, but he wasn’t there to hear you out, wasn’t there to do anything other than chew your face off, it seemed.

‘Why…she’s barely talkin’. She’s over there all quiet at the kitchen table, won’t even swear or nothin’, tells me you said she don’t need you anymore?’

‘She doesn’t…’ you tried again, your voice feeble.

‘Ah, that’s bullshit,’ Joel said, and you faltered, casting your eyes down, unable to look at him. ‘You know it was more’n that.’

‘Joel, she’s a bright girl.’

‘You know what it’s like to lose someone?’ he asked you, and you reared back like he’d slapped you. ‘Because you actin’ an awful lot like you don’t.’

You could hear Rose in your ear, whispering at you to think for a second, reminding you that he was hurting, that he was worried for his girl.

‘You can’t fucking come here and ask me that,’ you said, instead, drowning Rose out. ‘On my fucking front porch? Fuck you.’

‘Fuck you,’ Joel shot back, shouldering his way further into the doorway while you planted your heels, squared your shoulders. You were furious now too, angry and hurt and wanting to tear his stupid gorgeous face off his stupid beautiful head. ‘She’s only ever had like…three people in her life she trusted, one she had to shoot, and the others is you and me.’

You didn’t hear him, not at first, priming an insult on the tip of your tongue, getting ready to spit venom and bile such that Rose had to scream over your shoulder to get your attention.

‘Wait…’ you said, faltering, ‘she had to what?’

But it was too late, now, Joel was too far gone, too angry, too hurt, too confused why he was telling you to fuck yourself when all he wanted was to carry you up to your bedroom and do it himself. Too surprised he was sitting at the table at the mess hall with fucking Shauna as if she hadn’t abandoned her daughter and him, as if Sarah didn’t matter, as if the loss could be erased just by her mother resurfacing. Too hurt for Ellie, too aware that it was hurt you had every right to inflict, that he had been the source of it, that you were just protecting yourself. Too sad and too old and too fucking tired for any of it. For parenting a teenager. For reparenting his daughter’s ghost.

‘You gonna stand there and tell me you don’t care about her?’ he was seething, barely hearing his own thoughts. ‘You gonna tell me you don’t care you’re ripping out her heart?’

For having you and not having you. For missing you and having to try so hard to look away from you in the mess hall.

‘Joel,’ you said, and suddenly your voice was so small, so far away. He looked down at you, saw that your eyes were wet. ‘What did she have to do?’

‘Let her tell you herself, if she’ll talk to you,’ he said, and he watched as your shoulders slumped.

Guilt, then. Already he could see he was snuffing out your light, your warmth. Not two minutes talking to him and you were drawn, pinched, folding in on yourself. He couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep going to you just to push you away. ‘M’sorry,’ he said, all the adrenaline retreating to leave him woozy and sick. ‘That wasn’t fair.’

‘No, I get it,’ you said, sniffling.

‘She just…she’d been doing so well.’

‘She still will,’ you said. ‘She’s so tough, tougher than I ever…’

‘F’you could find your way to still work with her…’

‘…but I just can’t…it can’t be where…’

He was nodding, too, the two of you nodding at each other so neither would have to say the words, talking over each other so you didn’t have to hear your own thoughts let alone the other person’s.

‘It’s different, now,’ you said, and he knew it, agreed immediately, tasted bitter across his throat that told him just how much he didn’t want it to be true.

‘She has her eyes,’ Joel blurted, surprising you both. ‘Shauna. Has Sarah’s eyes.’

He looked at you from under his brows like he was asking you a question, and you supposed in a way he was. Asking you to understand that he had this piece of her, this fragment, that he couldn’t turn away. Asking you to hold it for him, the brightness and the heat of it, that part of himself still reverberating with the spark of her, with the love of her pierced through it, hold it for him lest it scorch him. Asking you to forgive him, to let him go.

‘Oh, Joel,’ you said, and you wanted to throw your arms around his neck and bury your face in his shirt, hold him as he shook with it, with the love and the loss and the grief of it, as it wrung him dry.

You took a step forward, holding out your hands to him. Without a second thought, he stepped away.

‘OK,’ you said, retracting your arms and wrapping them instead around your middle. ‘I’ll work something out with Ellie.’

‘Want us to still be friends,’ he said, barely scratching the surface of the things he wanted and knew he could never have.

You paused for a second, considering this.

‘We’ve always been friends, Joel,’ you said, after a while. You smiled at him, that same fixed grin you’d deployed on Ellie not six hours before.

You supposed it worked about as well as it did, then. In the circumstances, it would have to do.

Joel was cold. It was late, and it was dark, but his room had no business being cold like it was the dead of winter. He rugged himself up, put his jacket on over his old woollen pyjamas, blew hot air into his fingertips. Ellie had gone to bed after he’d got back, even if she’d been a little happier knowing you’d still agreed to work with her. He could read it on her face, knew Ellie better’n she knew herself in a lot of ways. It didn’t feel great that her Dad’d needed to go over and beg you to stay with her. He knew that, just as he knew the alternative was worse.

After she’d gone to bed he’d found himself wondering the house, trying to tread as light as he could so as not to disturb her, but still unable to still his hands. He considered going down to work the wall for a while, see if he could be of use, but coupled with his inability to stand still was also a bone-weary fatigue that would have made him dangerous up there. A herd of elephants with dynamite strapped to their bellies could have sidled up to the gate and he probably wouldn’t have clocked ‘em.

Up in his room he checked the window seals, looked for any lifting of the wall from the floor, checked the cornices for any gaps that could explain the cold. It made it impossible for him to settle, his bones jangling with the sharpness of the chill, his knee pulling him up to standing to try and shake some of the tightness out of the joint.

He felt like he might be going crazy. More than a few times he went and stood on the porch to try and figure if it was colder inside the house than outside of it, but each time he forgot exactly how vicious the chill had been. He worried, then, about a gas leak, that the town wasn’t getting any heat, that people would freeze in their beds even though it being a late Spring night, and he was walking, then, down the familiar path only because he’d taken it so many times in his head, right back to your front door.

Your lights were still on. For the second time that night he wrapped on your door, and when you pulled it open, he knew you hadn’t been sleeping either.

‘I just got so cold,’ he confessed, and you blinked up at him. He could feel the heat on his face radiating out from behind you, knew that if he lifted his fingertips to your cheek he would find it warm, welcoming.

He pulled you to him, snug into his body, and put his icy lips on yours.

Warm honey, slow and calming, seeping over the tip of his tongue.

It’s hands, then, up under your shirt and onto your warm skin, backing you into your hallway and up against the wall, your head knocking with a thud into the plaster and neither of you noticing. Joel’s mind, finally quiet, just seeking out your warmth, driven by the want to have all of your skin mapped by his fingers, driven by the want to have all of you, take you apart in his hands. You hitched your thigh over his hip, felt him lift you and carry you over to your worn-out couch, leather and patchy and somehow now always reminding you of Joel.

Just a quiet huff as you both landed, Joel’s mouth seeking out yours again to latch to you, keeping his arms tight around your back, pulling you down onto him, grinding you onto his cock, already straining under the flimsy twenty-year old material of his sleep pants. You gasped into his mouth, the ache in your core screaming for attention as you shivered against him.

‘So fuckin’ beautiful,’ he muttered, almost too himself, as he lifted you, one arm on the back of the sofa to steady you both as he deposited you down onto the cushion beneath him, shucking off your own pyjamas as he slid down onto the floor beneath you. You mewled, wanting him back on top of you, wanting his heat and his muscles rippling under his soft skin, his broad chest pushing hard into yours as he hovered over you, the press of him into the seat of the couch.

He sensed you needing him, lifting one hand and running it up over your belly, coming to rest, palm up just below your breast where you grabbed it, held it in yours, let him anchor you to him while you threw your head back and hooked your ankles over his shoulders.

‘Fuck, Joel, fuck…’ you whimpered, needy and breathy and already so wet you could feel it trickling down between your cheeks to the leather. Joel, rearing back on his heels, took a moment to admire the view, his eyes dark and wolfish as he surveyed his prey.

‘I need to taste it,’ he grunted, palming himself through his pants as you glistened in front of him, warm skin glowing in the lamplight as he spread you, reached down with his hand and slid his fingers up the inside of your thigh, inching towards your drooling cunt.

You couldn’t speak, the back of your throat so dry you could only swallow and gasp, nodding your head at him, the thundering of your centre so encompassing now, so deafening, you could barely hear his high, gentle whimper as he descended, sliding his lips over you, his tongue licking a fat and not at all tentative stripe at your slit before pulling up, opening you, descending on your clit like he had a homing beacon, every nerve ending screaming for him as he sucked the fraught bud between his teeth.

Joel felt it, your warm nectar, sweet and scorching, sliding down his throat and he swallowed it down, consumed it, drank from you, felt the heat pooling in his belly where it would sustain him for another day. Still gripping your hand in his right, he slid his left further up to tease at your slit, the slick of you collecting on his skin as he hooked his fingers, spreading you further open again, unfolding you, fastening you to him as he reached high and forward, found that spongey spot that made your breath hitch.

He wasn’t even sure he was doing it for you, just needing it for himself, greedy and desperate, hunting for your heat. You were enlivening him, emboldening him, giving him something to shield and something to shield with. He muttered against you, little whimpered praises neither of you could make out, as he felt your cunt tighten around him, left your hand go to steady your hips, pull you harder onto his face as you bucked against him.

He wanted you to come. Wanted to hear you scream, feel your hands in his hair, wring you out with his tongue and his fingers, wanted to be the one that made it happen. He wanted you for his own, to consume you, keep you tucked away inside himself for crisp afternoons and chilly midnights. Wanted you, always wanted you, here like this, split open and writhing for him, always wet and dripping on his skin and his floor, open and needy and crying for him, grasping him to you, calling his name.

And when you did, when you finally released around him, when he swallowed down your come and your cries, with your hips in his hand and your cunt in his teeth he knew, then, this was it for him, that he’d never feel a heat like it again, that the wanting would be all the worse for having finally held it, for just a moment here in your living room, while you gasped and writhed and trembled, your breath the only sound as you fought to catch it.

Taglist (as always lemme know if you wanna jump on):

@harriedandharassed

@vickie5446

@kaseyconnour

@orcasoul

@missladym1981

@spacesoutdaydreamer

@tangled-tumbler-blog-blog

@fancyyoouu

@anoverwhelmingdin

@millersamour

@delicatetrashtree

@wand-erer5

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal fic

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simp-ly-writes · 10 months

Text

Lasting Pictures: Up and Under (pt.2)

Pairing: Poly!Task Force 141 x Photographer!Reader

Summary: Signing the papers was one thing, actually going back and doing the work was another. Memories come hurling back at you as you try and navigate this new lifestyle while getting to know the members of your new task force- some warm up quicker to you than others but are your trials all for nothing? Or maybe, just maybe this new start has other possibilities for you as well....

Warnings: 4952 words, Slow burn, heavy imagery of anxiety attack and PTSD, descriptions of blood and swearing.

A/N: Hey ya'll thank you all so much for all the love on the first post, weird to see so many people liking my shitty writing. Anyways! todays chapter is dedicated to my fellow stranger @cosychick who made this chapter possible (TYSM again, seriously). On another note... I may have written a lot again... and have an outline for many more chapters... hope you guys enjoy this next part! let me know what you think~

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Lasting Pictures Series Masterlist

The cheers surrounding the room are soon put to an end as the boys soon get ordered to return back to their duties on base as you and Gabby stay behind with Laswell. She opens your file on the table, flipping towards the back as she comments on your years of leave from the military. Your task force had all been promoted within the ranks and some were found less on field and more in strategy. You smiled at this newfound information, as it slightly fell when Laswell said how poorly they took your leave and lack of communication afterwards while tailing off on a few names that have you blinking your eyes quickly.

The room falling quiet once more, Gabby grasps your hand in her own- rubbing small circles into the back of it in an effort to comfort you. You squeeze it twice in response; awaiting Laswell to continue her commentary as a knock can be heard coming from the door, Price enters then closes it behind himself as he takes his seat back beside Laswell with his own paperwork in hand and places it on the table. He motions with a flick of his wrist for you guys to continue as he grabs for a pair of glasses and takes the lid of a pen off; beginning to flip through the sheets, signing every few pages while referencing others. Laswell continues to speak while opening a second file with your polaroid clipped to the front.

“Has your body fully healed from the incident?”

“Yes, ma’am”

“Do you still take medication for it or any other symptoms you have experienced as a result?”

“Yes I do”

Laswell hums in response, flickering to the next page as you lightly sigh in relief and Gabby comments, “May I speak freely?”

“You may”

“They have made a full recovery, I made sure of it before contacting them…” Gabby looks over at you, happiness is found in her squished cheeks from smiling so brightly as she drops your hand to reach over the table for your papers, “...I recommend still going through with the fitness regulation test for formal qualities- but they would pass easily nonetheless.”

Price decides to lift his head and joins the conversation once more, “some practice missions with 141 before sending directly to the field would be of value to us all as well. Time is limited- I know-”

You smile slightly at his addition, nodding your head in agreement before finishing his sentence, “but a little team building never hurt nobody” you tease lightly back as John matches your smile before returning back to the work at hand. Gabby leans over, clearing her throat loudly to whisper in your ear, “So what type of team building do you have planned~?”

Swatting her away while covering your cheeks from your blush, John chuckles to himself as you shrink into your sweater, cursing Gabby mentally as Laswell gives you all a tisk with a small smile gracing its way across her features; her tone lightening.

“You will get along great with the team, Dice, from what I read and see here today. 0-700 tomorrow for your assessment and I want you to move on to base with the rest of the team temporarily to redevelop your skills for the imminent future. Deployment is set for two weeks from now. That is all, thank you both” Laswell finishes, collecting her belongings before tapping Price on the shoulder on her way out.

Stacking the papers into a neat pile; he looks between you and Gabby before sliding an unsigned document, tapping his finger to where he wants you to sign and handing you his pen. Glancing down at it, its weight is surprisingly heavy and the small engraving of 141 on the lid has you smiling, you look over the page- reading through each clause before signing your name at the bottom and sliding it back with a sigh.

Gabby slaps your shoulder with yet another cheer as she calls for drinks tonight that has you shaking your head at the idea. “I have my assessment in the morning scales, can’t be going out and doing that just yet.”

“Lame” Gabby states back childishly before asking if you wanted a drive back, you smile thankfully at this as you begin to stand from your seat. Knees a bit weak from staying in the same position for too long. Yet as your hand hovers over the door handle, a small call out from the table has you turning back to face your new captain.

“Welcome to the team Y/N”

“Thank you Captain”

Keys swing around Gabbys finger as you both make your way towards the parking lot at the back of the base. Walking through the halls and across the pavement; viewing all the helicopters and equipment tucked nearly away has memories sending goosebumps across your skin, nerves and excitement mixing together in your anxiety driven cocktail as you follow in Fish’s shadow.

Gabby clicks the small device twice as the car flashes its lights with a small honk. Yet as you begin to enter the vehicle a calling out of your name from another car has you smacking your head against the roof of the car and eliciting a loud groan as you rub the spot gently, turning to face whomever got you into this state.

Gaz smiles apologetically from the rolled-down window as he asks if you want help tomorrow moving your stuff on to base, he mentioned that your new captain already sent a message to the infamous groupchat you had yet to be added to. Smiling at the man's kindness you accept as he asks for your number. Walking up to his car, exchanging phones; you place your name alone in his as Gaz places a petrol symbol for himself that has you giggling when you read it. Tapping the top of his car in a sign of goodbye, he drives through the gates and away.

Turning back you see Gabby leaned against the car with a cheeky grin, “do I need to report anything to the council already, lieutenant?”

“Yet?! Do you honestly think I am getting with any of them, or that they would have any interest in all of this shit?” You reply while flinging your hands up and down your body, emphasising your statement.

“Well.. you and Soap looked to be getting cosy…”

“I needed physical comfort, you know this”

“Mmhmm”

“Gabby! I swear to god-”

“Mmhmm”

“Even with my last team, we almost never did any of that shit”

“Almost?” She teases back.

“Not like that Gabs! ugh!”

Gabby does not bother to listen to anymore of your protests as she hops backs into the vehicle, the engine roaring to life as you sit yourself into the passengers side with a huff, buckling your seatbelt before helping her to check the blindspots and give directions back to your place.

The drive back is peaceful after the hellish day you have had. Gabby flipped you off while driving away as your neighbour complained about hearing your cat moving about your apartment too loudly. Apologising you turned the key in the hole and entered, the space was dark with a small candle coming from the kitchen. Cursing to yourself for leaving it unattended, blowing it out you called for Spoons to make sure he didn’t hurt himself from it.

Checking the cat over in your arms and sighing out in relief, you hunched down slightly so they could move to your shoulders and motioned to get their medication before you started the debate of ordering in or cooking dinner for yourself. Opening the fridge you cursed to find it empty, resting your forehead against its metal door to cool your head, you felt for your phone the jean pocket as Spoons meows loudly in your ear.

Placing him on the counter and closing the door with your foot, you order delivery and feel for your wallet; walking yourself back into the living and falling onto the cushioned seat, feet pressed atop the coffee table as you threw a weighted blanket over yourself and turned the television on. Doctor Who played across the screen as you chucked at their antics and companions' poorly timed jokes, the doorbell ringing and a tip being served before you switched to the VOD for the football game.

Your team was losing severely as you whisper-yelled at the screen, afraid of getting a thorough beating from your elderly neighbour. You flicked it off before it finished and noticed that your plate was empty. Placing the containers in the fridge and washing your dishes in the sink, you see Spoons sleeping on the half-wall separating your kitchen from the dining room. Their belly turned upwards as light snores exited their body. Snapping a quick picture to show Ghost in the morning, you began your nightly routine.

Showering, brushing and flossing your teeth, alongside applying your moisturizers. You shuffled underneath the covers while doing some last minute scrolling through your phone. Rolling your eyes when you saw the endless stream of reels being sent from Gabbys personal account that had you switching your ringer off and placing it on to charge. Setting your alarm clock to sound you closed your eyes as your body jerked throughout the night, awaking in a cold sweat as only a few hours had passed before doing your best at returning back to sleep.

The loud sound of ringing gradually made its way across your ears as you groaned and blindly reached over to turn it off; you ended up swatting it off the nightstand, the loud crash had you sitting upright from the sound of it smacking against the hardwood floors. Being stubborn to get out of bed just yet, you reach across the room to pick it up and shut it up. Falling back into the covers you reach for your phone and smile seeing your parents’ name in the notifications, they wish you a strong return back with a string of emojis that has you shaking your head while replying, slightly regretting for introducing them to that submenu on the keyboard.

Stretching and rolling out your yoga mat, you do our daily exercises before setting the kettle to boil and heading for a quick shower. The mirror clouds over as you draw a small heart across its surface while scrolling for just the right song to start getting ready to.

Coming back out- refreshed you dig through the back of your closet to find parts of your old uniform that you didn’t have the heart to send down to the storage rooms. Placing it across your frame and looking at yourself in the foyer mirror. A tear slides itself down your cheek as you swiftly wipe it away. Spoons soon comes between your legs pawing to be fed as you lightly smile down at them.

Apologizing to your furry friend, you give them their daily medication and head out the door, to your car in the underground parkade. 06:10 reads on the dash as you drive back to the base from memory. While at a light you start a call with Gabby, hoping that she would fess up to what types of testing you will go through today, yet she gave you nothing much to your dismay other than some teasing as usual.

“Did you end up talking to Gaz more last night when you exchanged numbers?”

“No, I talked to my parent though.”

“Oh! I miss them, are they still single?”

“Gabs I swear-”

“Hey! Just an honest question…”

“Sure, sure.”

“Are you here yet?”

“Almost, about a block away”

“Okay good.”

“Everything al’right?”

“Oh yeah, Soap just keeps telling me I'm no fun now that he’s met you, butthurt honestly.”

“Well I have always been the funnier one.”

“Thanks, just what I needed to hear.”

“You know me- social skills, simply perfection…” you end with a giggle in your voice, “...okay im at the gate now, see you in a few.”

Pulling the car into an empty parking spot, you ended the call while hauling your work bag with your camera inside over your shoulder from the passenger's seat and take your metal water bottle with you. Locking the car with a click you walked towards the main building and picked yourself up a new badge. Wincing at your picture, you hide it in your jacket pocket as you make your way down the hall and towards the locker rooms to put your stuff down.

Taking in a deep breath, you made your way out to the fields and saw everyone standing in a circle, speaking in hushed tones before halting at the sounds of your footsteps nearning. Giving the group a small wave, Gabby came over and wished you luck with a large hug and kiss against your cheek before returning back to her duties. Laswell stood to the side, clipboard in hand as she began to look at her watch, anxious to begin and return to her stack of files as well.

Soap speedily walks his way over to you, clapping a hand on your shoulder and pulling you in to his side, he wishes you good luck and a few other words told in his native tongue that you didn’t quite catch before Ghost is shouting across the field, in what would appear an aggressive tone to any new listener.

“English, Jonny”

“Fuckin’ Britts you lot”

“Hey you! Don't assume my nationality you prick”

Soap looks at you wide-eyed and apologetically as words and curses fall out of his mouth like a waterfall. Gaz can he heard chucking off to the side as you pat Soaps shoulder and tell him that you were just pulling his leg. He nods his head and sighs out in relief while looking up towards the grey skies. Making your way over to greet the Captain and Ghost, they both offer you a firm handshake once more as you provide a wide smile back before heading towards Gaz sitting on a nearby bench beside Laswell.

Sitting beside him, he starts making small talk and eventually asks what you are doing directly after this. Looking towards Laswell she shrugs and reminds you of the team-building you promised to do before calling you to the starting line. Gaz makes a quick note for you to continue your conversation later as he shouts you a good luck as you make your way away. He sits up from the bench and moves to stand beside Simon and the others in line to the side.

Nearing the starting line, you notice a series of vertical obstacles ranging from a rope climb, an outstanding rock wall and a fence hop. Leaning your body to the side, you look further down to see a tire you will need to push alongside a series of pylons lining a large section of the tarmac. A long run, how great after all of that.

Shaking your head of the negativity, you closed your eyes and evened your breathing before sending Laswell a nod of your head, ready to tackle this course to the best of your ability. The sound of a shout coming from the Station Chief has your body moving faster than your mind as you hoist yourself up the rope and jump down to the other side.

Your body wavers slightly upon impact yet as soon as your knees steady once more you are running up the rock wall to boost yourself up, skipping half of it as you hear Gaz praising your technique while waiting running to wait for you on the other side. Using your feet and hands, you slip slightly from the lack of gloves or chalk before running down the ramp on the other side. Next you are sprinting over to hop over three sizes of fences as Soap claps loudly at the end telling you how many obstacles you have left.

Smiling to yourself in a layer of sweat, you side-hop the last small fence before whipping your forehead with the backside of your arm and collapse yourself to the floor in low crawl under the wire frames above. The mud finds its way into your boots and underneath your fingernails as you sigh happily at its cool texture on your skin.

Nearing the end you look ahead of yourself to see the long awaited large tire sitting flush against the ground. Picking yourself up to stand and shaking your hands violently while running over, you heave it up with a large grunt and push it to fall. Completing these repetitive actions tenfold before showing the tire over the designated cones. The long awaited run now awaited you as Price praised you with a large smile, yours matching his own as your feet began to pick up pace once more, now desperately trying to reach the end of the course in time.

The soon becomes in view as you see Laswell standing there, stopwatch in hand as Gabby appears beside her, jumping enthusiastically and pointing at your approaching frame. This momentarily distracts you from the pain you are feeling throughout your body as it takes everything in you to run the last quarter mile.

Yet as you near, the shouting of all your awaiting squad members, the sound of your blood pumping through your ears and your laboured breaths has you faltering slightly as your world spins and the finish line is closer than ever before.

Memories cloud over your senses as you can feel the sweat dripping off your neck and down your back. The feeling of cold metal combing itself against your skin has you shivering in your overheated state as your stomach begins to turn itself outwards.

You don’t notice yourself running across the finish line and slightly pass before a pair of arms wrap themselves around your frame and hold you steady as they shake your shoulders in an effort to make you become present.

You can feel a distant hand running circles on to your lower back as they brush the hair out of your eyes and behind your ears before resting their hand against your forehead, checking your temperature while making a hand motion in the other as the sounds of multiple boots rushing over have you swaying in their hold and holding your stomach as you kneel over. Knees falling to the pavement as you collapse on to your side. Eyes blurry as you see the rough contours of faces shaking your legs and holding your chin before they push you into recovery position as you throw up your guts on to someone's boots.

Apologising subconsciously in a gravel filled tone. The sounds of cries over power your being as you shrink into yourself, tears falling. But soon enough you feel laying down beside you as they tug you over and point to the clouds in the sky while you rub your eyes. The multiple pairs of eyes on you have fallen significantly as you take in a large breath and whip your eyes and cheeks with the back of your hand.

Looking over to your left you see Gabby staring at you smiling, remenist to what you would do as kids in your backyard, making stories out of all the clouds above and promises of your futures together. How times have changed as the pavement burned itself against the back of your head that still felt a bit fuzzy and your hands shook slightly against your sides.

As Gabby directs you to copy her breathing and calls for your bag to be brought over while searching for your medication side, she asks softly if you remember to take some yesterday. Eyes going wide you shake your head and groan to yourself while placing the back side of your hand to rest against your forehead, shielding your eyes from the sun beginning to poke its way through the clouds.

Doing your best to hoist yourself to a sitting position, your frame wobbles slightly as Gabby rapidly turns her body around and her face turns into horror. Her hands are filled as she watches you sway and almost crash your head against the tarmac once more yet thankfully an arm had you hoisted up against their side as they joined you on the floor.

Smiling over to Gaz thankfully he rubbed your shoulder and Gabby kneeled down to hand you a cup of water and a few pills. Looking at them in your hand, shuffling them slightly in your palm you threw them into your mouth, tipping your head back consciously as the water made its way down your system.

Gaz then handed you a pack of crackers that were obviously from an MRE. You winched in reaction that had Gaz giggling at your face before it fell when Fish just about punched him to remove it. Shaking your head slightly at the two and telling Gaz you know he meant nothing poor of it, you begin to take small bites out of the cracker while looking around to find where everyone else went.

As you stare down the field, you see Laswell and Price in a heated argument as the boys stand to his side, a few grand hand gestures are made as Soap flings his arms around wildly, almost hitting Ghost in the face that has him holding his limbs still so the Captain can focus.

Looking towards Gaz once more you ask simply, “Hey Gaz…” He hums to you in reply while his focus is on making sure that you continue to eat, “...Shouldn’t you be down there listening to what Laswell and Price have to say?”

“I think something more important came up that held my attention”

As you move to apologise, Gaz holds his other hand up slightly as you pause your next words. His eyes crinkle slightly as he stares eye level into your own, your mouth opens slightly at the sight of his smile so close to your face, yet you shake your head blaming it on all the anxiety still coursing its way through your system.

“Sometimes all we need is to sit down with someone so that the world can figure itself out.”

You humm in reply as clears her throat softly as you both jerk your bodies in reaction, forgetting her presence in front of you. She shakes her head and chuckles lightly at both of your reactions before saying, “what about some words of wisdom for yours truly, Garrick?” While fluttering her eyelashes.

Rolling your eyes you can’t help but chuckle at your best friends seemingly never ending sass as you ask, “Garrick?” While tilting your head to the side, staring at Gaz’s profile as he simply explains that it's his last name and you nod to this newfound information.

“My full name is actually Kyle “Gaz” Garrick”

“Kyle Garrick” You test the name out upon your lips as he gives you once of his famous smiles once more while squeezing your shoulder.

“My name sounds a whole lot better while coming out from between your lips”

Gasping at his comment, you blush widely in response while holding your cheeks with the palms of your hand in an effort to hide your growing embarrassment. Groaning while leaning forward, your head falls into Gabbys lap as she laughs once more at you while combing her fingers through your hair as Gaz slides his hand to rest against your back.

Mumbling in Gabbys secure hold about his touch not helping your state. You hear a loud laugh as he reacts with his hand apologising. The lack of his touch as you question the equally relieved and disappointed emotions flashes across your brain. Yet this bubble of a moment would soon be broken as the rest of the team returned around you.

Everyone eventually sat down on the pavement that had you mentally giggling to yourself, the ghost of a smile makes its way across your features as you notice the formation you all have made is reminiscent of the duck, duck, goose game.

Soap soon leans over to whisper in your ear, “tag, you’re it” while poking your shoulder jokingly. Wincing in an exaggerated manner has Soap quickly asking if you alright as you smile kindly in response, “I’m feeling a lot better now, thank you Soap”

He nods back in response before shifting his focus to Gaz, eyeing how close he is sitting against you now all the more obvious as Gabby moved herself to sit between Laswell and Ghost. Yet making no comments on his observations that has relief spreading across your skin. You did not need anymore teasing.

Looking back around the circle yourself, you notice as the Captain does a quick look over of you before nodding his head in approval and turning his attention towards Laswell who appears to be choosing their next words carefully as you feel Ghosts gaze settling hot against your profile.

Tilting your head slightly, you notice how he plays with his gloves and how soft his eyes appear behind the mask as if asking you a simple question to your state. Offering a small smile and nod in recognition you watch out of the corner of your eye as his fidgeting stops and he too eyes Laswells next words.

Clearing her throat, her eyes make their way around the circle and stop at you, “you have done well today Y/L/N, flying colours for the obstacle course and impressive return I must add. Yet after today…” Her sentence drifts off as she lacks the words necessary to continue, looking over to Price for help.

The Captain holds your eyes softly in his own as he finishes for Laswell, “from discussions earlier and your best interests in mind, Laswell and the team have decided that we won’t be putting you on attack for now.” A large sigh escapes your mouth as you feel conflicted on how to feel about not fully coming back.

Price continues, “until then you come with us on missions to gather intelligence for Fish under our watch.”

“I understand sir” you respond back, doing the best to hide your emotion in your voice as you see Soap shift himself closer to your side in noticing your slight change in tone. Your eyes are still being held by the captains as you see his eyes wince slightly at your response before his face returns to its professional state.

Slapping his hands against his knees with a throat clearing he stands up from the sitting circle and dismisses the meeting, turning around and walking his way back inside the main building. Laswell follows suit, dragging Gabby alongside her while they both compare paper-workloads.

Gabby turns around mouthing an apology for leaving so soon as you look back and see Ghost is now a bit further away with Soap as they appear to be chatting seriously over something together before Ghost locks him into a headlock. Shaking your lead and looking away all you hear are the sounds of them scraping one another in the background as you find Kyle waiting to ask you something.

“Do you want me to come over tonight?” Kyle questions softly while tilting his head, awaiting your response.

“To come over?”

“Oh ah-apologies, I meant to move your things temporarily on base”

“Oh,” You laugh lightly while shaking your head of the drifting thoughts you were having, “...yeah some help would be great Kyle! Thank you so much for the offer once more.”

“It's really nothing Y/N.”

“Still…”

“Well, how about after you treat me to some coffee together the day after?”

“I like the sound of that,” You say while doing your best to hide the ever growing smile spreading its way across your rosy cheeks as you notice Gaz smiling back at your adorable self.

“Why do you get to call Gaz by their first name and not me?! I thought I was your favorite based upon yesterday, what has this British man done to your head beauty?” Soap cries out while quickly walking back over to you as Ghost is nowhere to be seen.

Your head throws back in laughter as your shoulders rise and fall in swift motions. Gaz shakes his head at his squad member, shoving his shoulder lightly from around your frame with the hint of a smile tugging at the ends of his lips. While Soap remains completely serious in the matter, grabbing your shoulders lightly to make sure you are facing him when you respond.

“Okay then Soap…” Your voice deepens teasingly at the mention of his callsign “...so what would you like me to call you?”

You watch as his eyebrows raise and a smirk slides its way across his features that has you already groaning, predicting what he is going to say as you can hear Kyle laughing behind you at the interaction.

“Mhmm, well there are a number of things I would love you to call me…” You roll your eyes at this comment, “...Yet for now let's stick to Johnny.”

“Johnny?”

“You got it, Johnny.”

“Can’t promise I can say it with a scottish accent like you do”

“Humor me”

“Please don’t make me.”

“Just once, c'mon, promise not to record this one…”

“This one!”

“Oh shit.”

“Oh shit is right, Johnny” You respond in a horrible Scottish accent that has Soap reeling with laughter as he grips your shoulder and pulls you into a hug as Gaz laughs harder in the background. The flash of a camera can be heard as you call pause to face the sound to see Ghost pocketing his phone inside his black hoodie.

╰┈➤ A/N: so... what did you guys think? Have a favorite member so far? Thank you serious for reading all of this lol.

Lasting Pictures Series Masterlist

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ann1-wr1tes · 8 months

Text

You Came?...You called.

Synopsis: You find yourself falling into the horrors of your job, but come to find out that you don't have to be alone.

Warnings: Slight angst, crying, hurt and comfort

Word Count: 2,642

A/N: Okay, so if you've seen this fic before, it's because I posted this on my previous account. I didn't plagiarize or steal anyone's work. I just have all of this saved and I plan on posting the other fics I have. Anyways hope ya'll enjoy!

Part two

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You felt pathetic as your quivering voice spoke into the phone. You couldn't stop the steady shaking in your hands as you try your best to sound normal. You didn't want him of all people to hear you like this. In fact you weren't even sure why you had called. Not that it mattered. The call went to voicemail anyways so it's not like he'd even show up.

"I..I don't know what I'm doing right now, honestly. I shouldn't have called so uhhh sorry for....for bothering you." you rasp out. Then quickly, with a shaky finger you hang up the phone and drop it in your lap.

You cover your face in your hands as you try to take deep breaths. For some reason though, taking in air seemed harder than it once was. It almost felt like your lungs were being crushed by some invisible force as you felt your heart beat speed up to a million miles a minute. You were having a panic attack and for good reason too.

Everyone had told you that being an agent was far from easy. The D.S.O was an agency that was dedicated to stopping bio-terrorism. The people working under the agency were always seen as intimidating, competent, and effective in whatever their job was. The agents were also a force to be reckoned with. After all you had to go through hell just to be considered a candidate for becoming a D.S.O agent. Little did you know that actually being an agent was a whole new type of hell.

The job was a test to not just your physical health, but also your mental health. It was stressful and draining. You always had to be on alert and sometimes on the run during missions. It felt like it never ended. But the last mission you went on was a disaster. Actually describing it as a disaster was an understatement. It could better be described as a tragedy.

You were thrown into Russia. You and your partner were tasked with investigating a certain lab that was suspected to have some sort of vaccine that was turning people into B.O.W's so of course it was dangerous and risky.

Your partner that you went with was actually a good friend of yours. Maybe that was the first mistake. You can still remember the look of horror that played out on your partners face as she got shot with an injection of some sort. You took out the person who injected her with the infectious syringe, but it was too late. The injection had already started to wreak havoc on her body and there was no cure.

You still remember how she pleaded and begged you to kill her before whatever she got infected with could run its course. But you wanted to believe that you could save her. That was your second mistake.

In the end she shifted into this mutated, horrific, B.O.W and you almost died. At the last second you finally killed her but not before you hesitated and tried to convince yourself that there was still some way that you could save her. You eventually learned that it was over though and you had to stop her before she could infect you.

When you returned to the D.S.O, you came back with no partner, many injuries, and a few samples of the vaccine that you were supposed to get. The mission was successful but now you were starting to wonder at what cost? Was it really worth it?

You remember the first day back. You felt like a zombie. Your body was numb, you couldn't feel the numerous injuries you had gotten but you could feel how heavy everything felt. It felt like there was lead in your shoes as you walked down the bright hallways and you felt like you could collapse at any moment. Then you saw him.

Leon Kennedy.

Looking handsome as ever. Right when he saw you he was already on his feet, bounding towards you in a few wide strides and he had a hand on your cheek. You numbly watched as his bright blue eyes darted back and forth across your face.

You did look like hell to be fair.

Then when he asked if you were okay, you pushed him away and kept walking. In the moment you just wanted to leave and go home. You felt like if you told Leon about what happened right then and there you'd either pass out, cry, or scream but now looking back on it you felt like an asshole. You remembered the softness in Leon's eyes as he looked at you, his lips slightly parted as he took in your disheveled appearance. You even remembered how gently he grazed his hand against your cheek.

Why were you such an asshole?

After that you went home, took a shower and slept. You actually were quite sure that you had slept for a few days straight. The only time you went out was when you attended your friends funeral and that was horrific in itself. Then the nightmares began and it became impossible to close your eyes for more than a minute. You'd immediately have flashes of images and memories in your head from the mission. It was like torture.

So now you sat there. One in the morning. Your body heavy and slumped over as your phone sat in your lap and you looked down at it. When the screen turned black you could see your reflection looking back at you.

Your face was paler than usual, your eyebags had eyebags and your eyes were slightly glazed over as you looked at someone who you didn't seem to recognize. You seemed to be a shell of yourself as you sat there on the edge of your bed in the dark. Your legs limply dangled off the edge and you could feel tears start to build in your eyes. You didn't even notice until a tear slipped down your cheek.

So this was what it was to be an agent. Fun stuff.

Maybe you should've listened to all those who warned you. You were stubborn, determined, you always knew what you wanted. So when everyone warned you about the dangers of being an agent you shrugged it all off.

Even when Leon was your mentor and he took the time to train you, he too was one person who tried to warn you about the dangers of being an agent. At first you were offended. You thought that he was telling you all this because he thought you were incapable or weren't fit to be an agent. It turns out that wasn't true at all.

Leon was endeared by you from the moment he laid his eyes on you. You were bright and full of life. You were always willing to do whatever it took to please him, whether that be in training or missions and then he got to watch you evolve into your own person.

But now as you sit in the dark by yourself, tears streaming down your cheeks in a silent show of the pain going on inside, you were starting to wonder how you'd ever be able to live like this.

Knock knock knock

You practically jump out of your skin with a soft cry. Almost on instinct your hands fly to your bedside table and you pull out your gun that you keep handy. You've been far too paranoid lately not to have it around so you grip the gun in your hands as you walk through your apartment.

You turn on a lamp for some much needed light and with a deep breath you open the door a crack and peek through the small opening.

"Who is it?" you hiss through the door.

Suddenly you catch the sight of a leather jacket and bright blue eyes.

"Mind opening the door?"

Your heart speeds up and you can feel your cheeks grow warm as you hear the husky voice of Leon. His voice sounded like honey and god did it send chills down your spine sometimes but right now you were shocked that he was even here.

You open the door fully this time and stare for a moment. God why was he so beautiful. Sure he looked a little aged and a tad bit on the tired side but he was still beautiful. It was just the way his hair perfectly fell over his face and how he had a chiseled jaw that was paired with some light stubble and his eyes. Oh, you wouldn't even get started on his eyes.

Though you soon realize that right now isn't the time to be staring at Leon. He gives you a look and you sigh and rub your eyes tiredly.

"You came?" you say, almost as if you were in disbelief.

"You called." Leon responds simply.

He watches as you stare at him for a moment more. This time you just look tired. You look him up and down. A small pout in your lips as your tired eyes practically drooped. With that a sigh you step aside and you let him walk into your wreck of an apartment. You shut the door behind you and carelessly plop your gun down on your counter.

"Ignore the mess. It's been a long week." you mutter as you sit down on your couch. Leon's gaze follows you as you stumble onto the couch and you almost seem to collapse into yourself.

He sits down next to you and you can still feel his eyes on you. You almost love it and hate it at the same time. You loved it because his attention was on you, as pathetic as that sounded you always knew that you seek out validation and attention from Leon. Even if you didn't want to admit the fact to yourself. But you also despised that he was looking at you right now. You knew how pathetic you must've seemed to him. You sat next to him, you hadn't showered in a day or two, your hair was a straggly, stringy mess, the sweatpants and tank top you had on were wrinkled and probably needed a good wash. It almost made you want to beg him to not look at you at all.

"So do you want to talk about it?" Leon asks, his voice came out soft. Almost like a whisper but loud enough to be heard out in the air. It was unlike his usual sarcastic tone that he always responded to you with when you both were together on a normal day.

"Talk about what?" you asked simply. You knew what he was alluding to. The day you came back to the report on the mission. The moment he saw how miserable you looked, in fact you looked more than miserable. Leon was all too familiar with that look. It was a look of fatigue and loss. Like all the innocence and naivety that you once possessed was drained out of you by the time your mission was done. It was a deep look within your eyes that showed all the horrible things you had seen, that you did, that you had to deal with and survive through. Leon knew about it all. He had gone through it all and he remembers the exact moment that it all came crashing down on him like it had on you now. It was Spain. Spain had always haunted him. It was almost like he never left that hellish place since he always seemed to be trapped there in his dreams and it was always something in the back of his mind.

"You called me for a reason." Leon says, trying to look you in the eye. You refused to look at him though. You turned your head downwards to look at your hands. You watched as you fidgeted with your fingernails and still felt Leon's stone gaze on you.

"I don't know why I called you. It was a mistake. I shouldn't have." You utter.

There's a moment of silence and suddenly Leon's hand comes into view as he reaches out and grabs one of your own. It effectively grabs your attention and you look up at him as he grips your hand in his. He starts to softly rub circles into the back of your hand as you look at him, being slightly startled.

"It wasn't a mistake. You can talk to me, sweetheart." he coos.

Fuck. You almost want to melt with how the pet name rolls off his tongue or how he looks at you with all his undivided attention.

Your mouth opens and closes. You go to speak but no words come out. Your mouth goes dry and a choked sound leaves your throat.

"There's...nothing to talk about." you meekly say.

That's when the first tear fell from your eye. Then another and another. Then suddenly you were shaking. Your lungs were burning, your chest ached, your lips trembled. In a pathetic attempt to stop Leon from seeing this sudden emotional display, your free hand goes to cover your face as a sob leaves your throat.

Before you knew it a pair of arms lifts you up and you are pulled into Leon's lap. Your face buried in his neck and his one hand softly combed through your tangled hair as the other hand was tracing circles in your back.

"I know...I know it hurts. Let it out sweetheart." Leon mutters into your hair.

Its like the world crashes around you as you let out sobs and cries. You clutch onto Leon like he's a life line, like he's the only thing grounding you right now. Which may actually be the case as he continues to stroke your hair, rub your back. You even feel a few kisses being pressed to the crown of your head as he talks you through it all.

Even when your breathing starts to become more shallow and it feels like you're suffocating Leon is still there, being calm and grounding you.

"I know it's hard but just breathe for me baby. You can do that can't you?" he softly asks as both hands cup your cheeks so he can fully look at you.

You weakly nod as ragged, choked breaths come in and out of your mouth. You start to feel dizzy but Leon keeps his hands on your cheeks and continues to talk.

"Okay take a deep breath in..." Leon deeply inhales, waiting for you to do the same. You deeply inhale and then watch as Leon slowly exhales. You slowly exhale. He deeply inhales again and you do the same. Then you both exhale and repeat.

"Good girl, that's it. Just breathe." Leon encourages you, still rubbing your cheeks gently. Soon enough your breaths begin to even out as Leon continues to run his thumbs along your cheek bones, soothing you in the process. He especially makes sure to wipe the tears that are still streaming down your cheeks.

As you continue to cry you notice him lean closer and press his forehead against yours and his hands slowly leave your cheeks until they rest on either side of your head.

"I know its hard. Trust me. But I promise you i'll be here, if you allow me to be." Leon whispers as he stares into your eyes.The silence hangs between the both of you, thick and tense, heavy with emotions. Leon pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you as tight as possible.

You almost feel like a child as you grasp onto him. You're still a little teary eyed and weary.

"Will you stay with me...please..." you mutter.

His arms tighten around you a bit more and a slight smile comes to his face. "Of course sweetheart."

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil x you #leon scott kennedy #leon x you #leon smut #resident evil angst

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 5 months

Text

Datura Pt 11

Summary: Returning to the Mountain brings up a lot of feelings and Reader tries and fails to keep them all bottled up.

Content Warnings: SMUT (I told you it would come eventually ;) ), a lot of dirty talk, suggestiveness, a little light bondage if you squint, as well as alcohol consumption and drug use.

Author's Note: I apparently have a lot of feelings about sitting in Rhys's lap, 'cause I wrote this Vamp!Rhys fic and this in the same week. I was gonna end it on an angsty note, but the miscommunication trope makes me want to rip my hair out, so I made it fluffy instead (they're adults they can TALK TO EACH OTHER like adults). Anyway, hope ya'll enjoy! As always, let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List, and thank you to everyone who likes, comments and reblogs, ya'll make me want to keep writing <3

Previous chapter/ Master list

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The music is a heavy pulse in your skull, drowning out all thought as the lights flash and flare overhead like dozens of fireworks in time to the beat. Your hips sway, flimsy excuse of a dress clinging to your thighs as you twirl and spin in time to the beat. Dozens of hands pass you a long, keep you spinning and spinning until the lights glitter like stars overhead. You throw your head back and laugh at the way they glitter and stretch along your quickly blurring vision.

Someone passes you another cup and you tip the contents back in one gulp, savoring the burn, relishing in the way it fills your empty stomach. You’ve lost count of how many glasses you’ve had, lost count of where the empty ones go as you move along with the crowd, let the press of bodies move you like an ebbing tide.

A cigarette gets passed your way, the violet smoke filtering in hazy rings around people’s heads like halos. Do you smoke? You can’t remember. Can’t think about why you should care at all as you bring it to your lips and inhale deeply, letting the mirthroot take hold.

This is the most fun you’ve had in weeks, it’s the first time you allow yourself complete unbridled freedom. There is nothing to worry about here but following the music and the flow of drink as the mirthroot makes your body loose and limber.

Strong hands settle on your hips as you take another drag, eyes closed, savoring the burn. You sway your hips under the grip, pushing your body back into the firm planes of the male behind you. You don’t have the presence of mind to be mortified, to think about the way you’re grinding on a stranger in the middle of this crowd of people.

Warm breath frames your neck, skittering over the golden collar still encircling your throat. “I think you’ve had enough, Darling.”

Mate. Mate. Mate. The words dance around the bargain mark on your ribs, heat flaring in your chest that has nothing to do with the fae wine or the mirthroot and everything to do with the fact that when you’d been dragged back into your cell, it had been empty. Empty and had smelled like her. And you’d thrown yourself against the battered door, claws slashing across the worn iron until they shattered from your fingertips, until you splattered blood across the unyielding iron, dark mist filling the cell until it nearly sucked the air from the room. You don’t know how or why the door held, why your nails couldn’t cut through the strange marks etched into the door; the only thing that was clear is that in retaliation for leaving, your fault or not, she’d taken Rhys and had left you alone in the dark. Days passed without word, without food, until the guards had come and thrown you into a room with the order to bathe and change and be ready in an hour and you complied only with the intent to go right into the Throne Room to rip her throat out with your teeth. But Rhys hadn’t been at her side when you arrived either, hadn’t been a face in the crowd as Amarantha declared to the court that you had slain the twins sent from Hybern for attacking their Queen. The crowd that days ago had been laughing at your plight as you’d been made to kneel on the floor like an animal was now cheering you on like a hero. Fickle and spineless; Amarantha said jump and they asked how high without question or reason. She’d left you to their whims after that and the wine had started flowing and you’d needed to calm the panic and rage swelling like a storm beneath your skin and had reached for one. One had somehow turned into two and then three and you’d lost count after that, lost yourself in the blissful emptiness and tried to forget how powerless you really were in all of this.

You turn in his arms and though he remains standing where he is, there’s suddenly six of him spinning in dizzying circles and you have to grip onto his shoulders to keep yourself on your feet.

“Easy,” he says, his grip on your hips firm.

You’ve forgotten just how big he is compared to you, how much of you he can fit in his hands. You're too far gone to stop yourself from wondering how those hands would feel beneath your dress, on your thighs, spreading you open…

“Easy,” he says again, nostrils flaring like he scents the effect he has on you like this.

Your hands feel like they're drifting through soup as you reach out to brush your hand through his hair. He’s clean too, skin healed, the clothes new and finely pressed. There is no lingering scent of incense, though you’re pretty sure the mirthroot you smell is on your skin and not his, he remains wholly jasmine and citrus. Nothing of her on him.

“You’re ok?” The words slur out of you, sound muffled and distant even as they come out your mouth. You need him to tell you he’s ok, that she didn’t hurt him, that he got called away for something, anything. He does other things for her, he brought in Tamlin all those weeks ago, he has other roles, but you don’t know how to make the words come out against the fog that rolls through your head. “You’re ok?”

“I’m ok,” he says with a nod. “Let’s get you some water.”

You shake your head. Water is somewhere near the tables and lounge chairs in the corner, somewhere she might be lurking, waiting for you to slip up, waiting for her chance to steal him again and you can’t have that. “Want to dance.” Want to dance and drink and forget; want to smoke and move and let the music erase everything that is happening around you so that the only thing that matters is the two of you. It’s an added bonus that if he dances with you then that means he keeps his hands on you, has an excuse to keep touching you. Gods you want more of that!

“Water first,” he says, giving you a little nudge backwards.

The move makes the world spin again and you giggle as you let yourself fall into it.

“Wow, you’re really drunk,” he says as he hauls you against his chest and half carries half drags you through the crowd.

“You’re strong,” you giggle. You can feel the muscles in his arms and chest tighten as he moves you around, his fingertips digging deliciously in your hips.

It’s by sheer force of Rhys’s will that you end up in a chair with a glass of water, that you take a single sip of and make a face. “Gross. Want more wine.”

A servant automatically appears with a glass beside you, but before you can grab it, or spill it given the way your limbs flop around, he snatches it off the tray. “Water first.”

You stick out your lower lip. “Why are you being so mean to me?”

He takes a drink out of the cup and suddenly the most exciting thing in the world is watching how his throat works when he swallows and the way the wine stains his lips. “‘Cause it’s fun,” he retorts.

You manage to get another sip of water down before you accidentally catch the glass on the edge of the table and spill it everywhere. “Fuck me,” you say dejectedly. In your state your first thought is to use your skirts to try and dry up the mess, but there’s not enough of them, the sheer fabric barely covering the tops of your thighs.

“You have impeccable manners,” he says as he reaches for your hands to stop you from flashing the whole room as you try and wiggle the dress up enough to use it as a napkin. With a snap of his fingers the mess cleans itself.

“Ooooohhh neat,” you run a finger over the dry table. “Can you teach me to do that?”

You’re too drunk to notice your mistake, but he says, “If you had any powers left, sure,” a little louder than necessary to cover you.

“Right,” you slur as you try to stand on shaky legs. “Well water was good, we dance now.”

He remains a firm wall between you and the dance floor. “Unless you can absorb water through your skin, you didn’t actually drink anything.”

“Had a sip.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Meanie,” you hiss.

“You’re very cute when you’re drunk,” he teases and the grin he gives you makes you want to stretch up on your toes and kiss him right there.

“You’re very kissable when you smile,” you return.

Rhys huffs a laugh and you think you might do just about anything to get him to laugh again.

“I’m always very kissable,” he retorts. “It’s part of my charm.”

“So make part of your charm dancing with me,” you press.

He grabs your hand like he might do just that, but instead, spins around you to claim an empty couch and pulls you down to sit in his lap so fast the world flips and twirls in a blur of pulsing colors that makes you squeeze your eyes shut. The wine rises up in your throat, threatening to come back out in a rush and you curl into his chest trying to find a way to make it stop.

“I think this is better.”

You squeeze your temples with your palms. “Make my brain stop spinning,” you whine. Maybe he’s right, maybe dancing is a bad idea.

Besides, he’s still touching you like this. More than touching actually. You’re situated in his lap, knees bracketing his hips, chest to chest, no collar around his throat to stop you if you wanted to put your lips to his neck. There’s not even a scar or bruise to indicate that it had been there, nothing but smooth, bronze skin and the teasing peak of his tattoos beneath his collar.

You brace yourself against his shoulders as the world stops spinning, suddenly very aware of how high your skirt is riding up and how strong the muscles in his thighs are between your legs.

He brings his hands to hold your hips again and you thank the Mother that you’re not so drunk that you’ve lost your inhibitions completely because the only thought in your head right now is how it would feel to grind yourself down on him.

“You’re very drunk,” he says lowly, his own gaze locked on the space between your bodies like he’s drinking in the way your thighs look around him.

“So?”

“So it would be wrong,” he retorts.

“What?” You move your hands to the back of the couch behind him, chest brushing his. There’s barely any straps to your top, the neckline a deep v that leaves your cleavage on display and you don’t miss the way his gaze tracks it as you lean in. “What would be wrong?”

He runs his tongue over his lower lip, staring and something stirs deep inside you. Claim. Claim. Claim. He is your mate and you want him to touch you, kiss you, claim you.

It’s the thought that makes you pause for a brief moment. Does he know your mates? Does he feel this growing need? This incessant longing beating from your rib cage that needs to be touched and held and claimed so deeply you forget what it felt like to be anything else? Is that the bond? Or the wine?

“Doing all the things I’ve been thinking about since the moment I had my lips on yours,” he says, voice barely a whisper, gaze still transfixed on your body.

You preen under the heat in his gaze, press your chest a little more firmly into his so that you can be nose to nose with him. The wine has certainly made you more brazen. “What kinds of things, Rhys?”

The hands holding your hips tighten, fingertips kneading the soft flesh hard enough to bruise and yet your whole body turns molten at that touch. It’s the delicious line between pain and pleasure, and after days and days of cold emptiness, the heat it sparks through your body is more addictive than any wine or drug you can consume here.

“Want this dress off you for starters,” he murmurs, full lips drifting down to dust over the straps clinging to your shoulders.

His words conjure an image in your mind of him leaning forward, pulling the straps down with his teeth, baring the full expanse of your body to him. You shiver under the mental image, hips rocking down against him.

“Want to mark every bit of you I can reach, so that no one dares touch you,” he continues, teeth scraping over your shoulder. “So that everyone knows your mine.”

His. The possession in his tone really does you in, heat building in your lower belly as you grind yourself down against the growing bulge in his pants. The scrape against your core makes your mouth drop open, groan falling from your parted lips. It would be so easy to come undone from this alone.

“Only mine,” he emphasizes, sucking a mark where your neck meets your shoulder, visible beneath that damned collar you can’t take off.

“Rhys,” you whimper, releasing your grip on the back of the couch to drag your hands through his dark hair. “Please.”

His lips move along your throat, teeth scraping your skin before sucking another mark into your sensitive flesh. He’s taking his time, just as he promised all those weeks ago on Calanmai. “Want to know what little noises you’d make for me, how you’d fall apart in my hands…”

You drag your hand from his hair, reaching for the straps of your dress to pull them down for him, hoping to spur him further into action, but he finally releases his grip on your hips to stop you.

“None of that, Darling,” he tuts. “It comes off when I say it does.”

To that point, when you try to rock your hips against him again, it's his glittering, obsidian power that pins you in place, a slither of darkness twining around your hips to hold you there, utterly at his mercy.

He chuckles when you whimper and pout, lower lip sticking out, tears welling up in your eyes, because it’s not fair that he’s this close, that he’s just a hair breadth away from where you need him most and he knows it. He can smell it on you, see it on every line in your face, and yet he won’t move to help you.

“Please, Rhys, please,” you beg. The need for him is unbearable, your whole body burning like it’s on fire, the only relief is the contact with his body. Your mate so close to where you need him most.

“Hogging the woman of the hour, are we?”

You hadn’t heard any approaching footsteps over the pounding of the base against the rock, the sudden appearance making you flinch as Rhys throws a warning snarl over your shoulder. It only makes the red headed male approaching chuckle as he comes to stand directly behind you. The cedar and cinnamon smell of him reminds you of curling up under a warm wool blanket next to a fireplace with your favorite book about vampires, something you like to do in nice Autumn weather.

Slender fingers drag up your spine, and in your delirious state, it makes you arch your back as you shiver under it.

“Eris,” Rhys purrs, but there’s an edge in his tone as he watches you move under another male’s ministrations. The sliver of his power around your waist tightens, the shadows slipping under your skirts to writhe against your flushed skin. He allows you to jerk forward, hips rocking right into the obvious sign of his own arousal, and your eyes roll back into your head at the contact.

“I can name a dozen males who would kill for a chance to be where you are right now, Rhysand,” Eris returns.

“I don’t share,” Rhys says and cauldron that’s all it takes for you to place your lips against his throat. He hums his approval as you scrape your teeth against his skin, hands threading into your hair as you nip and bite and use your tongue to cool any pain you cause him.

Eris plops himself down in the seat next to Rhys, long arms thrown over the back of the couch as he makes himself comfortable.

You can’t bring yourself to care about the audience as you nip at the underside of his jaw. He tilts his head back for you so you can reach more of him unhindered and you sink a little lower down on his lap chasing any friction you can find before the shadows tighten and still your movements again.

“Bastard,” you growl into his throat, but he merely turns his attention to the male next to him.

“You didn’t respond to my message,” Eris hisses. A glass of wine appears in his hand and he takes a slow drink. To any onlookers he’s merely enjoying the party with the High Lord and his nightly entertainment.

“What message?”

“Shit.” This conversation is becoming sobering, despite your best efforts to tune out the other male and focus solely on the pleasure just out of reach. All night long you’d been able to forget.

Eris gives you a sidelong glance that might have made you squirm under the intensity if Rhys hadn’t shifted beneath you to get a better look at the other male, hips brushing up against your center in a move that is definitely intentional.

“The one I gave her,” Eris snarls.

“This is the first I’ve seen her in days,” Rhys retorts, a hand stroking through your hair. “You know how to get in contact with me.”

Eris glances around at the dancers that move past for refreshments as he takes another drink. Only when they’re gone does he say, “So you didn’t tell her to kill the twins?”

You stop moving; stop thinking about Rhys’s body as the image of Dagdan and Brannagh’s mangled bodies flash across your mind. You’re suddenly a lot more sober than you had been moment ago.

Rhys brushes a mental hand against your mind and you flinch, head still tender from the beating it had taken trying to keep your cousins out. “Darling?”

The concern in his tone makes shame burn its way through your lungs. At the littlest thing he’s dropping everything to make sure you’re ok, and yet here you are, with no idea where he’s been or what he’s been through and you’re grinding in his lap like a horny teenager. What kind of mate are you?

“No I didn’t,” Rhys says to Eris, even as he makes another tender stroke against your mind, asking to be let in. “But I’m sure she had her reasons.”

“Do you think we can use it to our advantage?” Eris asks.

You don’t deserve how gentle he is with you, but you can’t stop yourself from lowering your shields just enough to let him in. He should know just how much of a monster you’re capable of being before he gets too close.

“Will you show me?” He asks and you open the doorway into the memory, keeping the conversation you’d had with Tamlin about him, the realization of what he is to you, out of reach. He deserves better than that.

Rhys strokes his hands in your hair as he watches the memory unfold, your body shaking in his grip as all that blood and gore comes into view. When it’s over, he closes the door in your mind and clicks the lock into place for you. “It’s over. You’re safe. You did what you had to do to survive, there is no shame in that.”

You press your face into his shoulder to hide the tears brimming in your eyes. You’re an ugly crier when you’re tipsy and you know if you start, you won’t stop.

“I think it’ll bring Hybern here quicker,” Rhys says to Eris, as he drags the fingers in your hair down to trace your spine. To an onlooker, he’s still playing with you, only the two of you know how often he’s traced these shapes into your skin when you wake up screaming in the dungeons. “Which can be played to our advantage if we’re careful.”

Eris takes another sip of wine, mulling it over.

“If Hybern can be convinced that our queen is acting out of her own agenda instead of his, he may just do our work for us.”

“A dangerous game,” Eris frowns.

“It always is,” Rhys returns.

It’s astounding how calm and level headed he can remain, always centered, even while everyone else rages and panics around him. How are you supposed to be his equal? To his calm there is only your spinning thoughts and unchecked temper. Everything makes you want to claw and rage and smash things; aren’t mates supposed to balance each other out? What do you bring him other than another mess to sort through?

“Well if you’re not going to share her, I’ll leave you to it,” Eris says as he downs his cup and stands, making a show of stretching, tight shirt rising up to expose the toned line of his abs to a passing cluster of male and female dancers.

Rhys chuckles at that, sliding a little lower into the couch, as he says, “She’s all mine.”

Is this all the conversation they can have? A few passing whispers? A few half-veiled hopes at a plan? Fifty years of juggling court masks and gathering allies and pushing pieces into place in the shadows while everyone else parties around them? It’s such a contrast to the world you’re used to that you can’t help but feel small inside it.

It’s only when he’s gone that Rhys asks, “Are you ok?”

“I thought being drunk was supposed to make me feel less depressed,” you grumble into his shirt because he’s pleasantly warm and you can’t bring your body to move from where you’re pressed into his chest.

“I think you passed over the threshold for that a couple drinks ago,” he replies.

“Take me back to the blissful void,” you whine.

“Well enough people have seen you here with me, I think we can slip away and get you into bed without causing a scene now.”

He’d pulled you over here on purpose, removing the shield of the crowd so people would see you with him, see you cutting loose, and when you disappeared they’d think he’d taken you to bed and not wonder if there was anything more to it, because his reputation was enough. That mask was so encompassing it could shield you too.

Rhys winnows you away and you can’t tell what end is up anymore, not until he sets you square in the center of a bed with black silk sheets. His room, as dust covered and bare as it had been the last time.

You groan as you fall back into the pillows, all the wine threatening to come up again as you try to keep yourself upright. This position allows you to feel just how wet you are between your legs, making you stop squeezing your eyes shut to look at the damp spot you’d left on Rhys’s pants. Not that he seems to notice as he peels off his jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt, getting comfortable for the night, even as shame makes your cheeks turn bright red. What is wrong with you?

“You need a bucket over there?” He asks.

You need to drink until you can forget what you’ve been doing all night. How are you supposed to look at him now?

You hear the clink of his belt coming off before he climbs into the bed next to you and you force yourself not to open your eyes and look at what he’s wearing to bed, because you’ve made a fool of yourself enough for one night.

“That last drink was a mistake,” you lie, because what else are you supposed to say?

His body is warm as he lays down beside you. “You played your part well,” Rhys encourages. “No one will think twice about where you’ve gone.”

You’re an idiot, but you’re not quite sober enough to think better of it as you ask, “Is that all this is? A game?”

Rhys uses a bit of his power to snuff the candles out, bathing the room in utter darkness. “It’s necessary-”

You roll onto your side, finally daring to look at him, as best you can in the dark anyway. “But is that all you want it to be?” You press.

He’d been laying with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, but at your words he rolls over too, so you’re once again nose to nose, practically sharing a breath.

“Wanting anything is dangerous, Y/N.”

“So all that you said earlier, about wanting me, that was just for show? This is just a mask?”

“It keeps you safe,” he says so low it's almost a growl.

“But it’s not what you want?”

“I can’t…” he shakes his head. “I can’t. The things I love have a tendency to be taken from me, I cannot want anything other than to get out of here.”

Your eyes sting and you’re glad for the dark, glad that it hides the tears welling up in your eyes. “I can play this part, if that’s what we need to fulfill this bargain,” it’s a concentrated effort to keep your voice steady, but you mean it. If this is all it will be, then you will have to find a way to live with it, because at least your mate will be alive. And maybe, if Amarantha sees anything like what you two had been doing tonight, then maybe she’d direct that anger at you instead of him. You could find a way to use it to protect him, the same way he’d used it for you.

He’s your mate, whatever you have to do to make sure he survives, you’ll do it. Even if it tears you apart inside.

“But please, just tell me that it’s not real, that you don’t really want me, so that I can prepare, so that I don’t overstep. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.”

His pause feels like it spans an hour, the silence ticking away like a clock in the darkness. “I…”

You stamp down the hope flaring in your chest, it’ll be easier to deal with if he is up front that he doesn’t see you as anything but a means to an end. “What do you want, Rhys?”

He growls, the sound skittering across your bones as he throws an arm around your waist and crashes his lips against yours. “You,” he says into your mind. “I want you in any way you’ll have me.”

The ink on your chest warms, feels strangely like it’s glowing beneath your skin as the solid weight of him settles on top of you, pushing you into the mattress. You're a tangle of limbs and teeth, as he kisses you like it might be his only chance to.

You drag your hands down the sharp contours of his spine, memorizing the feel of him beneath your fingertips as his tongue slides behind your teeth to taste you. This is far better than any drug, no amount of mirthroot could ever make you feel this high.

“You’re ok with this?” He pants into your lips, finally coming up for air.

“More than ok,” you confirm and that’s all it takes for him to start sliding the straps off your dress, pulling the tight fitting bodice slowly from your body. The chill in the air is only a momentary discomfort before his hands and lips chase it away as he follows the fabric down your body.

Thank the Mother for the privacy of the room, that you hadn’t managed to get your top off like you’d tried to do in the throne room, because the noise you let out when he gets his mouth around your nipple is embarrassingly loud, whole body flushed crimson. You clamp your hand over your mouth when he does the same move on your other breast, or at least you try to, that slithering ether of power snags your wrist and pins it above your head before you can cut off the noise.

“None of that,” he hums into your skin, teeth scraping your skin. “Want to hear you.”

Cauldron he’ll be the death of you!

It’s his power that whisks the glamor away from the bargain mark so he can run his lips over the ink, tracing the flower petals and vines. “We should make more bargains, you look so pretty with all this ink.”

You huff a laugh as you scrape your nails through his hair, making a mess of it. “What kinds of bargains?”

He kisses lower, pulling the dress down towards your hips, following it again. “That you’ll let me taste you like this once a day for the rest of eternity,” he suggests as he lifts your hips to get the dress lower.

“I’m not wasting a bargain on that,” you huff, though you’re embarrassed to admit the way the suggestion makes heat pool in your core.

“You’re right, twice a day is more practical,” he says as he slips both the dress and your underthings off in one fell swoop. Strong arms wrap around your hips as he settles himself between your legs and you barely have time to draw a shaky breath before he’s running his tongue up your center.

“I-” all thought and argument eddies from your mind as your body arches under his ministrations.

“More than that, perhaps?” He teases, adding a finger to the mix, even as his tongue swirls through your quickly budding arousal.

Your hand in his hair tightens, pulling his hair as you try and guide him deeper. “Rhys,” you whimper. He feels so good; so perfect. Nothing else would ever compare; he’s barely touched you and you’re fully ready to come apart already.

He adds a second finger, stretching you out as his tongue flicks over your clit, the combination making your head spin. You screw your eyes shut as your body tightens, muscles taut as a bow string as your pleasure builds too fast to prepare for. He might still be talking nonsense about bargains but you genuinely can’t hear a word he says against the white noise tearing through your head.

Mate. Mate. Mate. It’s right where the flower-what did he say it was called? Datura?-sits over your heart that you feel the bond between your souls, like a tether of glittering starlight. It’s been there, faint before, just enough of a tether to let you feel a bit of him at the other end, but now it thrums with his power, like it’s searching for your own. A call like the one he’d sent out on Calanmai, and you can’t tell if he’s testing to see if you know it’s there, or if it’s you pulling on it, begging to be closer to him as your high crashes over you.

Rhys kisses his way back up your body, lips damp with your arousal. “You know?”

The disbelief in his tone brings you back to reality. Your shields had been down and you’d just…

You push yourself up on your elbows. “You knew?” You counter.

He brushes his lips over the bargain mark again, distracting himself from looking into your eyes as he says, “I suspected, before Calanmai, but afterwards, when I saw you for real, not just as a dream, it clicked.”

“You’d been dreaming about me?”

Another kiss on your heated skin, body relaxing under his touch. “For decades,” he whispers. “And I told myself that it was enough, that I’d leave it there, where you were safe and far away from all of this, but then there were whispers in the court about at a weapon Hybern was looking for. The more she had me look into it, the more my dreams started making sense, the better I could see you.”

You brush your fingers through the hair falling over his eyes, prompting him to finally look at you. “When she narrowed down that you were in Spring, she started sending me out on Calanmia to look for you, thinking it might mask all her hunters with those coming to the party. It was my only chance to reach you and I had every intention to get you to leave Spring.”

He catches your hand and presses a kiss to your fingertips. “I never meant to let you see me, but you were so scared and she decided to come out herself for the first time in years and I panicked. I couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if she got her hands on you first.”

Your eyes sting at the confession. Your selfless mate, who through all these years of trauma, had still been willing to let you go without ever getting to see you if it meant you didn’t end up here.

“I swore that I’d do everything in my power to get you out, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away, no matter how much I tried to. You needed me and I… I need you.”

You’re not entirely sure how useful you’ve been to him in all of this, but you let him speak anyway.

“Not just this,” he says, gesturing to your bodies. “But for all of it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t want you to think you’re stuck with me,” he says. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

You sit up as best you can around the weight of him over you so you can grip his face. “I’m not stuck with you. I’m choosing you. I want you, Rhys.”

The disbelief in his eyes makes your heart ache and you lean forward to gently kiss the tip of his nose. “Not just for this,” you repeat, gesturing to your bodies as he had done. “Though it is amazing.”

He grins at that.

“And not just this,” you drag his hand over the ink on your chest. “But for whatever is beyond this. When it’s all over, when we’ve won and we’ve got her stupid head on a pike, I want to explore whatever comes next with you.”

He kisses you then, eagerly, a little less frantic than before, but with no less desire, the taste of your arousal still faint on his swollen lips. You lean back into the mattress, pulling him down with you.

“I know this whole thing is twisted and terrifying, but I want to walk with you through it. Together.”

“Together,” he confirms as you wrap your legs around his waist.

A new bargain mark zaps across your skin, over your palm, where your hands are intertwined, a twin to the one on his own hand.

“I still think I made an excellent bargain offer,” he says as you tug at the waistband of his boxers.

“You’re insufferable, Rhysand,” you laugh.

“I think the word you’re thinking of is insatiable,” he counters as he lines himself up with your entrance.

“That too,” you reply as you arch your back, the tip of his cock gliding through your arousal. It’s a little more of stretch than you're used to, but the line between pain and pleasure blurs as he slowly rocks his hips into yours, taking his time to let you adjust. He really will ruin anyone else for you, not that you’ll ever want anything other than this from here on out.

“Darling,” he purrs, or tries to, the groan he lets out as he fully seats himself inside you makes shivers run up your spine. “You have no idea how insatiable I can be.”

You rock your hips, prompting him to move, to match your rhythm, to fill and take and claim you as your body has been begging him to all night long. “I think you should show me.”

The laugh he lets out sounds more like a growl as he picks up his pace, one hand braced against the headboard to give him more leverage as he slides nearly out of you and slams back in. You cling to his shoulders, nails gliding over his sweat-dampened skin for leverage, his name a whimper on your lips.

The bond between you glitters, swells with all the affection and desire he feels for you as he shoots in down to you. For all the pain and trouble it had caused, you think you still you might have come out earlier on Calanmai, just to feel this sooner.

You whimper his name again and again as your high once again draws closer, your body white hot.

“I’ve got you,” he says in your ear and judging by the frantic rutting of his hips you know he’ll be right there with you. Together in this, as you will be in the rest of it. You let yourself fall, unrestrained, as pleasure washes over you, your mate giving a shout as he follows close behind. The two of you topple into the sheets, clinging to each other as you catch your breath.

“You ok?” He asks as you cling tightly to him, even as your body relaxes.

You nuzzle your face into his chest. “I’m with my mate, how could I not be?” Whatever tomorrow holds, whatever dangers lie ahead, you can rest knowing that you’ll be together for it.

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#rhysand x reader #Rhys x reader #rhysand x reader smut #Rhys smut #acotar smut #acotar rhys #acotar fic #my writing #my fanfic #datura fic #acotar fluf #UTM!rhys #UTM!Rhys x reader #UTM!Rhys smut

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megamindsecretlair · 6 months

Text

Foolish

*Heed warnings*

Pairing: Jatemme Manning x Bratty!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. PWP, Filth, cursing, PIV, size kink, mentions of violence, gun use, drug use, brat reader. Reader does get turned on by violence, if this disturbs you click away. All consensual. Established relationship. Heavy use of n-word.

Summary: You are tired of being Jatemme's arm candy. Forever guarded and without 100% of his attention. As the race for Alderman heats up, you're at a fundraising event when you grow bored and decide to test Jatemme's devotion.

Word Count: 3,494k

A/N: I was a little unhinged writing this, so it was written in a bit of a daze. Please let me know what ya'll think about this one. I can't find the ask where people expressed interest so don't be mad at me if I didn't tag you! I'm sorry! I'm also not married to the moodboard, so it might change. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @blowmymbackout @browngirldominion @sageispunk @harmshake @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @blackerthings

You were bored. Just because you told your man to leave you alone, didn’t mean you actually wanted him to do it. Why couldn’t niggas ever listen? What’s so hard to understand? “Leave you alone” obviously meant to give you attention?

You were at a fancy event for Jatemme’s brother, Jamal, who was running for Alderman. Snooze fest. Jatemme promised that you weren’t going to be here long. That you’d only have to sit like a doll for an hour tops, before he took you shopping and out to eat.

One hour turned to three and you were still sitting at Jamal’s table, surrounded by Jatemme’s crew while Jamal and Jatemme did business. You scanned the room for your man but didn’t find him.

You did see Jamal who was hard to miss. He was the type to walk into the room like he owned it and as if everyone owed him money for it. Jatemme was quieter, but deadlier. He instantly drew you in with his sleepy eyes, soft umber skin, and intense presence. His darkness called to something within you and never let go.

The relationship wasn’t without its up and downs. You liked to keep him on his toes. Get him to have a little fun. He always followed in Jamal’s shadow when it was Jatemme that did most of the work. Most of the planning. Most of the ideas.

You sighed, loudly once more, and turned briefly to your table to sip your nasty ass champagne. Fucking politicians. Pretending like they weren’t all into something dirty, getting over on the little guy. Namely Black folk.

Jatemme’s crew gave you funny looks. They knew better than to touch you or stare too hard. But you often caught them looking at your body and your too short dresses. They also hated your attitude. Jatemme made you swear to stop messing with them. It was hard to find good help when you were constantly flirting with them and he was constantly killing them over it.

Maybe that was Jatemme’s problem. Now that Jamal was running for Alderman, there was a public scrutiny on the family business. Jatemme doesn’t have free rein to do as he pleased now. Go wherever he wanted. Do whatever he wanted.

You sighed once more and checked your phone. You texted your best friends in your group chat, that you were bored and in desperate need of fun. Misty immediately texted you back and told you to meet them at a club not too far from there. That was exactly what you needed.

You looked over at the crew of four burly men and stood up. One of the them, Martin, stood up as well prepared to follow you. “No need, Marty, I’m just going to the little girl’s room,” you said and smiled sweetly.

Martin gave you a blank stare. He adjusted the suit jacket over his thick arms and put his hands in his pockets. “You know the rules,” he said.

You kept your sweet smile, knowing that your lips were glossed just so to catch the light overhead. That your champagne colored dress hugged your figure just right. The night was young and you were wasting it by being arm candy.

“You gonna follow me into the bathroom and hold my purse too? I don’t think Jay would like that,” you sang.

Martin looked towards the other men who looked everywhere but at him. They did not want that particular smoke. Decisions, decisions. Martin cleared his throat. “Come right back,” he said.

You smiled. “Of course. You all act like I’m not an angel,” you said. The men wisely didn’t comment. You turned and sashayed out of the room, already done with the entire night. You didn’t see your man and you didn’t care at the moment.

You waited until you left the hotel ballroom before pulling out your phone. You ordered an Uber on your way out to the front. People from the reception had spilled out into the hallway, discussing things that they didn’t want others overhearing, even by accident.

You passed by stick figure women in dark red, blue, or black dresses, pointy shoes, and stiff upper lips. You passed by men in their penguin suits, pretending to give a shit. The total wealth combined in the room could help everyone in the Ward but they held onto it like gremlins.

It made you sick.

You went outside, shivering slightly from the bite of cold. When your Uber arrived, you didn’t even look back towards the hotel. It was almost criminal how easy it was to slip your chains. Further proof that this shit was getting stale and you might be headed towards another break from Jatemme. Let him sit and stew over what he would miss before he came crawling back with gifts, kisses, and that big dick of his.

You grinned as you texted Misty that you were on your way. She texted back with plenty of emojis, some of them skulls, because she already knew that Jatemme was going to blow his lid. Let him.

It didn’t take long to reach the rougher areas of Chicago. Almost literally down the street from the glitterati, the houses weren’t as nice. The grass not so green. Fences and bars on the windows. Corner boys selling dope in baggy jeans and oversized T-shirts.

The club was set back from the street to allow for a little more parking. You got out and Misty met you outside. She hugged you with many squeals and jumping up and down. “Slipped the doom patrol?” She asked.

Misty was gorgeous, with deep, dark skin and microbraids twisted into two buns atop her head. She was a thick, curvy girl who was always quick with a laugh. She immediately ushered you inside. You turned off your phone. Make Jay sweat a little bit.

You spent the entire night dancing with your girls and getting drunk on your favorite drink. All of the songs were hitting, back to back. A mix of 2000s and 2010s music. The good shit that demanded you dance right this instant.

Plenty of dusty ass niggas tried to pull you into a dance and you pushed them all away. It cost to put hands on you. It cost to be in your presence. Ain’t nobody getting shit for free.

By the time the club called for last drinks, you were tapped out. You were not wearing the proper shoes for dancing in the club. You were shocked that you lasted as long as you did. And yeah, you missed your man. You were a little drink, a lot horny, and you just wanted to be fucked at this point and put to sleep.

You walked out, hanging onto your friends. One of them, Kiki, was the lightweight. She was dragged between two friends while she muttered something. You giggled and walked with them to their car.

Rounding the corner, there were a group of guys passing a joint between them. They wolf-whistled as you passed by. One of them sure was fine. Tall, bald, with a thick luscious beard that covered the lower half of his face. You wondered what he’d look like with your juices dripping from it.

You didn’t condone cheating. But if you were on a break…

You smiled at him as you passed, tossing your hair over your shoulders. “Gahh damn, lil mama, where you headed?” He asked.

You giggled and kept walking with your girls. It was nice to be wanted. You turned your phone on while your friends tried to get Kiki into the car and not entertaining the men by the building.

As it turned on, messages flew in with loud dings and flashes across your screen. You had…quite a lot of missed calls from Jatemme. Angry texts too. You appreciated that he never called you out of your name when he was angry, but he had plenty of other colorful ways to show his displeasure. Like calling you by your real name. Ew.

He was good and pissed that you left. That your phone was off. He promised hell, fire, and damnation when he finally caught up to you. You pictured him driving around fuming. His sleepy eyes narrowed even further. The cute way his nostrils would flare and the vein that pulsed in his neck.

You were getting wet just thinking about it. The sex would be immaculate tonight. You sighed dreamily as you went through his unhinged text messages.

“Bitch! Help? Hello?” Misty called out. You giggled and moved towards the car, pushing at Kiki’s big ass head to get into the car. Misty slammed the door in her face and sighed as if she’d been wrestling a bear.

She faced you with a small grin before her eyes darted behind you. The sexy bald headed man approached you, licking his lips and looking you up and down. He held out his hand when he was near enough.

“I had to come introduce myself,” he said.

“I appreciate that. But I’m too high-maintenance for you, boo,” you said. You flirted with the idea of being responsible for another man’s death, but he was too cute to sacrifice for your own dastardly enjoyment. There were so few, gorgeous Black men these days. The 90s had all the fine men. They were long gone now. God just wasn’t building them like that no more.

“I like a little high-maintenance,” he said.

You laughed. Said no man ever. “I’m the type to empty accounts,” you said and smiled.

“I got several. Pick one,” he said. He looked you in the eye as he said it and made you reevaluate him as a whole. He was dressed nice in dark plaid slacks, black polo, with a big watch on his wrist. Nothing too flashy, but enough that it convinced you he wasn’t another broke nigga.

You were considering his offer, wondering how you could prove that he was for real and not just trying to get into your panties. Squealing tires tore your gaze away from the man as you saw Jatemme’s truck flip a bitch into oncoming traffic and speed into the parking lot.

“Shit. You better run before my man catch you talking to me,” you said, though he probably already saw you.

“I ain’t scared,” the man said. Bless his little heart.

“Nigga, I’m trynna protect you. Leave, now,” you said, shooing him away from you and your girls. Maybe you could convince Jatemme that the man was trying to flirt with Misty. You turned behind you, but Misty held her hands up.

“I ain’t trynna die for your Black ass,” she said.

“Bitch!” You screamed, but you couldn’t stay serious for long. You grinned and shook your head. Before the truck had a chance to come to a full stop, Jatemme and crew hopped out, grabbing guns from their waistbands.

“They got guns!” Someone called out. The parking lot emptied with a speed only achieved in the hood. Too many people who knew the consequences of a stray bullet and weren’t trying to lose their lives over it. Some brave souls remained, peeking behind cars and around the building into the additional parking in the alleyway.

You couldn’t help it. Your thighs tingled. Your heart skipped a beat seeing Jatemme climb out of the driver’s seat with that slow, menacing gait of his. His eyes were glued on you as he walked towards you.

The cutie remained, like he would really stand in front of a bullet for you. You couldn’t give him any more warnings. You couldn’t save him from his own stupidity. Jatemme stopped a few feet in front of you.

His face was deceptively calm. He crossed his arms in front of him, Glock on display. His crew formed a formidable wall behind him. Martin sported a darkening bruise on his cheek and you only felt slightly bad for getting him into trouble. At least he was still alive. That was something.

You bit your lip and giggled nervously. “Hi, baby,” you said.

“Did he touch you?” Jatemme asked. His voice. God, you could listen to that voice recite the dictionary and you’d listen to every word.

You shifted your footing. “Nope. Never seen this man before,” you said.

“Aye, if you’re in trouble…” The man said. Martin, being the closest, lifted his gun into the man’s face. The gun was pressed to his temple and the man audibly gulped.

“Did he touch you?” Jatemme asked once more.

You looked him in the eye. “No.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Jatemme said to the man. The man looked at you, but you knew better than to acknowledge his presence. You heard his friends calling for him, telling him not to be a hero, not to lose his life over some bitch.

The man backed away, keeping his eye on Martin and the shiny gun in his face. Jatemme jerked his head and you sighed, following behind him. If he was going to take you away, he was beyond angry. Maybe you actually worried him this time. That wasn’t your intention. You wanted to scare him a little, not worry him.

You waved goodbye to your friends. They shot you alarmed glances, but you told them that Jatemme never raised a hand to you. Never. He liked getting his revenge in other ways.

He opened the door for you and you climbed into the front seat. He got into the driver’s seat, peeling away from the club so fast, he probably sprayed everyone with rocks and gravel. He didn’t speak. He drove through the quiet streets, heading back towards the hotel you escaped from.

“Baby–”

Jatemme held up a hand like he didn’t want to hear it. You bit your lip. You really stepped in it now. Was it bad that you were turned on? Punishment shouldn’t be this exciting and yet, your mind raced through what he had planned. How he was going to show that he cared for you.

He pulled to the front of the hotel and tossed the valet his keys. The gun was tucked away into his jeans. Fancy events didn’t mean he had to be the one who dressed up. He did have a clean, sky blue shirt buttoned to the very top. He opened the door and let you out.

He didn’t speak while he pushed you inside, the event well and truly over by now. He didn’t speak as you rode the elevator in crushing silence and velvet flooring muffling your heels. He didn’t speak as he got out onto the twelfth floor, leading you to a suite you didn’t know he got for the night.

Once inside, you gasped. There was a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket. Low lighting made the room glow like looking through a piece of glass at twilight. “You did all this for me?” You asked.

“If you would have behaved yourself,” he said.

The suite was big enough to have a full living room with couches and armchairs, shiny mahogany coffee table, and a wide screen TV. Behind a set of double doors, there was a bed already turned down, waiting for you to climb in.

You pouted. Your man was so sweet sometimes, it made your heart ache. He didn’t always show this softer side. The side that liked snuggling up to trashy movies late at night, snacking in bed, and enjoying each other’s company.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was?” He asked. His voice was barely above a whisper. Enough to get his point across. You truly had worried him.

You turned to him with an apology on your lips but he was already invading your space. He grabbed your face and pulled you into a rough kiss, slanting his lips across yours as if he meant to stake a claim. Prove a point. You belonged to him. There was no way of getting out of it. No way of running.

You gripped onto him tightly. “I hate when you worry me like that,” he said.

“You promised,” you whined.

His lips returned to kissing you, looking for the zipper on your side to unzip you from the dress. When he couldn’t find it, he began to rip it with his bare hands. “Hey!”

“I’ll buy you more,” he said. His lips returned to kissing you. More like possessing you. He kissed you like he wanted to meld your bodies together to keep you by his side. This was what you needed. What you had been craving all night.

Your bra and panties went next, baring you completely to him. He wasn’t in it to admire your body right now though. You knew him. He had been worrying about you all night and needed to see you. Feel you. Make sure that you really were in front of him and not a figment of his imagination.

He turned you around and slapped your ass. You screamed out, jumping away from the sharp sting. He pushed you towards the deep gray couch and bent you over the back of it. It dug into your tummy but you were too turned on to notice the pain.

He unzipped his zipper and freed himself with a low groan, spreading your ass cheeks and rubbing his dick through your wet folds. Your hands feebly gripped onto the couch cushings, fingers digging into the linen.

Once his tip was good and wet, he stuffed you and you cried out from the burn of his girthy dick pushing into you. Your eyes crossed. He felt too good to contain to a single moan. You yelled out without abandon, not caring who heard you. If the neighbors complained, Jatemme would handle that too.

His strokes were bruising, punishing, near cruel as he slammed into you over and over. “You and this fucking attitude gon’ kill me,” he groaned. His fingers grabbed hold of your hips and slammed you back onto his dick. Like his strokes weren’t enough. Like you weren’t moving fast enough for him.

“Oh baby, oh fuck–I’m sorry!” You cried out.

“No, you not,” he said. No, you were not. You’d do everything all over again if he meant that his attention was back on you. That his hands were back on you. That his dick was inside you, spearing you, driving you to new pleasures each and every time.

Your feet were scrambling for purchase. He didn’t care. He fucked you like you were no more than a toy to stick his dick in. One hand reached behind you to push against his chest. His shirt slipped between you so he lifted it and brought his flesh flush with yours. Then, he grabbed your outstretched hand and pulled it behind you, resting on your back while he used the new position as a new anchor. His strokes grew deeper, more desperate.

“I catch you talking to another nigga and I’ma kill him,” Jatemme whispered harshly.

“Yes, baby,” you moaned. You’d seen him kill niggas for far less. For daring to turn their neck in your direction. He once told you that if he could blind the male population of Chicago, he would.

“Oh fuck!” You screamed out, crying through your punishing orgasm.

Jatemme grunted in satisfaction. “That’s your first one for the night. I hope you’re keeping count,” he said.

“Baby, wait…” You grunted between his deep thrusts.

“Like you made me wait tonight?” He asked. He yanked on your hair, forcing you to look back at him. You stared into his eyes while he filled you up with his cum. He came with a low, grumbling moan that shook your inner walls.

Your mouth dropped open as his dick pulsed and twitched. Your legs were jelly, kept standing by pure force by him. His will to keep you spread open for him ensured that you were a vessel for his dick. His own personal fucktoy.

He made you cum two more times while your neck was craned, looking back into his soulful eyes. You ran out of curse words to shout to the heavens. Your eyes ached from the way they rolled. Your essence mixed with his spend dripped down your legs in a slow river that tickled your legs.

He finally slipped out, giving you a bit of a break. You huffed, legs shaking, arms weak. He picked you up and carried you to the bed, spreading your legs open once more. He fisted his dick, jerking the length of it while he looked at your destroyed pussy leaking with his cum.

“Hope you didn’t plan on sleeping tonight,” he said with a small grin.

You panted with a nervous giggle. He proved throughout the rest of the night just how much he missed you and made you promise not to do it again. Well, at least not anytime soon.

The end.

There will be more! The Secret Jatemme Files

166 notes · View notes

kyleoreillylover · 6 months

Text

Monster- Part II

Summary: Roman thought you would get over what he did to you, and stand by his side like you always did, but he was sorely mistaken. He learned he needed to face his demons in the form of you when you threatened to wreck everything the two of you have built, and he realizes you're just as much of a monster as he is, and doesn't understand why you are hurting him, why you want to take away the empire he built. But he wouldn't be Roman if he didn't use your demons against you, in the form of Jey

Trigger Warnings: Manipulation, cursing, wrestling related violence, allusions to smut but no actual smut written, Roman Reigns being toxic but you’re just as toxic, etc.

word count: 19K

tagged: @southerngirl41 @venusesworld @jeysbae @reci1996 @tbonesteakwithasideofmashngrav @hope4more @selena-tyler-564 @saintaquarius @whatdoeseverybodywant @raya-hunter01 @empressdede @judgementdaysunshine

a/n: not my best work, but I decided to try and get rid of my writers block, and a lot of people liked this one-shot, so I decided to turn it into a series!! hope ya'll enjoy!

dividers by @firefly-graphics

“You know you can’t keep avoiding him, right?”

“Yes, I can.”

You sighed at feeling Jey’s stare burning a whole through you, waiting for you to look up at him. You avoided his gaze, focusing on putting on your outfit for tonight’s Smackdown. You were wearing Jey's merch with one of his jackets to cover up the bruises that were blooming on your skin.

Jey approached you slowly, his footsteps echoing in the quiet locker room. His hand reached out, gently lifting your chin so that your eyes met. "Baby, you can't keep running forever." he said softly, his voice tinged with concern. "He's not going to leave you alone until you confront him."

You swallowed hard, knowing Jey was right but not wanting to admit it.

Ever since your loss in the HIAC match last week against Roman, you had been avoiding your former best friend. He thought you would run to him with open arms and get over the loss, but instead you were playing mind games by avoiding him, knowing it would hurt him, and tried to distance yourself from the pain and the memories that haunted you.

"I can't face him, Jey," you finally confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I could handle it, but every time I see him, all I can think about is that match. How I let him embarrass me in front of you, how I let you down..."

"Hey, you didn't let me down." Jey's hand moved from your chin to gently cup your cheek, his touch warm and reassuring. "You had all the odds stacked against you, and you still scared the hell out of Roman. You fought with everything you had, and that's all I could ever ask for."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at Jey, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. "But I lost, Jey. I lost for us, for our family, for everything we stand for. I can't face him because I let him hurt you, I let him hurt the man I ove." You choked on the last words, the weight of your emotions heavy in the air.

Jey's expression softened, his thumb wiping away a stray tear from your cheek. He felt the same embarrassment, knowing he couldn't stop Roman from humiliating you in the match. humiliating you in the match. But his love for you overshadowed any feelings of resentment towards Roman.

Having to watch you take blow after blow from the outside of the cell, watching the two people he loved the most beat each other to hell, seeing you push yourself to your limits despite the odds stacked against you, it tore him apart inside. But he also knew that holding onto that pain wouldn't solve anything.

"Babe," Jey whispered, his voice filled with tenderness, "Roman didn't hurt me. He didn't hurt us. He just... he pushed us. The only thing he hurt was your pride, but you didn't let him break you. You stood tall in that ring, faced him head-on, and pushed him to his limits, and you think I could ever be ashamed of that?" He gently wiped away another tear, his eyes filled with love and admiration as he looked down at you, making you feel as though you were the only person in the world.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. He wanted you to feel the love from him and know that he loves you no matter what. "Please...baby, I know this is hard for you, and I understand," Jey murmured, his voice barely audible over the hum of your racing heartbeat. "But he's family, and-"

"I dont care if he's family!" you interrupted, your voice rising with frustration and hurt. "Family is supposed to have your back, not tear you down in front of the whole world! He's not family to me anymore, Jey. He's just... just someone I used to know."

Jey sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he processed your words. He knew deep down that you were right, that Roman's actions had fractured the bond that once held you all together. But he couldn't shake the feeling of loyalty, the sense of duty he felt towards his cousin, even in the midst of the chaos he had caused.

"I hear you, baby," Jey said finally, his voice tinged with sadness. "But for me, please try to at least talk to him. For the sake of our family, for the sake of us. Yell at him, scream at him, do whatever you need to do to get closure, but don't let this eat you up inside. We'll get through this together, okay?"

What you didnt know was that Roman was forcing Jey to choose sides, and Jey felt torn between his loyalty to his cousin and his love for you. So to stop the escalating tension between you and Roman, Jey felt compelled to intervene, hoping to find a resolution that would appease both parties without causing further rifts in their family.

You took a deep breath, steel your resolve, knowing that Jey was right. You couldn't keep avoiding Roman forever, and as much as you resented him for what he had done, you also knew that letting this fester would only cause more pain in the long run. With a nod, you squeezed Jey's hand, silently promising to face Roman head-on, for the sake of your relationship and your sanity.

"Okay, Jey," you whispered, your voice wavering slightly but filled with determination. "I'll talk to him. But only because you asked me to." Oh, talk to him you would. You never said you would forgive him or forget what he did, but you knew it was time to confront the demons that had been haunting you since that fateful match.

Jey's eyes softened with relief, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Thank you, baby," he murmured, pulling you into a tight embrace. He was surprised that you agreed to talk to Roman, knowing you hated him right now with every fiber of your being. But he also knew that you were doing it for him, for your relationship, and for your own peace of mind.

He held you close, his arms wrapped protectively around you, silently promising to be there for you every step of the way. You felt anger course through your veins at the mere thought of facing Roman again, and you knew it would go in a way Jey wouldn't like. But you didn't care. You were done running, done hiding. It was time to confront the man who had shattered your pride and nearly torn apart everything you held dear.

Roman was angry as he made his way to the ring, Paul Heyman flanking him with a concerned look etched on his face. He thought you would understand why he did what he did during the match.

He thought you would see it as tough love, as a way to push you to your limits and make you stronger. He thought you out of all people would know that he did it for your own good.

But instead, he was met with silence, with avoidance, with betrayal. He couldn't understand why you were shutting him out, why you were pushing him away when all he wanted was to help you become the best version of yourself.

He thought you'd get over the loss , of him using Jey against you, but you were proving him wrong with every passing day. As he stepped into the ring, the crowd erupted into a chorus of boos, but Roman barely registered their disapproval. His thoughts were consumed by you, by the way you had been avoiding him, by the hurt and anger simmering just beneath the surface.

The moment he picked up a microphone, the arena fell into a tense silence, every pair of eyes fixated on him, waiting for his next move. "Y/N," he began, his voice low and controlled, "I know you're out there somewhere, hiding in the shadows like a wounded animal. But you can't hide from me forever."

He paused, letting his words sink in, letting the weight of his presence hang heavy in the air. "I did what I did because I care about you, because I wanted to push you to your limits and make you stronger. But instead of seeing it for what it was, you've chosen to see me as the enemy, as the one who tore you down instead of building you up."

He took a breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his emotions. "But I'm not your enemy, Y/N. I'm your family. I'm your best friend. And no matter how much you try to push me away, I'll always be here for you. You can't ignore your feelings forever, Y/N. Sooner or later, you're going to have to face them, and when you do, I'll be waiting. Because no matter what happens, no matter how much you hate me right now, I'll always love you."

The crowd murmured amongst themselves, unsure of how to react to Roman's unexpected vulnerability. But Roman paid them no mind, his focus solely on you, on getting through to you, on making you understand his perspective. He lowered the microphone, his gaze scanning the crowd as if searching for a sign, a clue as to your whereabouts.

"So come out, Y/N." Roman continued, his voice softening slightly. "Or are you too scared to face me?" Roman's voice echoed through the arena, cutting through the tension like a knife. He could feel the eyes of the audience on him, the weight of their anticipation heavy in the air.

But his eyes were focused on the ramp, knowing your music would begin playing now, knowing you couldn't resist protecting your ego.

Sure enough, the familiar strains of your entrance music filled the arena, eliciting cheers from the crowd. You paid them no mind as you stepped out of the back, your expression guarded but determined.

Jey was standing beside you, his hand resting reassuringly on your shoulder as you made your way to the ring. He was your rock, your anchor, the one who gave you the strength to face Roman head-on, even when every fiber of your being screamed at you to run.

Roman smirked to himself at the sight. He knew threatening the person you love most was a low blow, but he didn't care. He was tired of playing nice, tired of pretending everything was okay when it clearly wasn't. He wanted answers, and he wasn't going to stop until he got them.

You climbed into the ring, your gaze locked with Roman's, neither of you backing down from the intense stare. You could feel the tension crackling between you, the weight of unresolved emotions hanging heavy in the air. But you refused to let Roman see how much he had affected you, how deeply his actions had cut you.

Jey lightly tugged on your arm, silently urging you to speak up, to get this over with. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come.

"Roman," you began, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions swirling inside you, "You are standing there, all smug and self-righteous, as if I wasn't this close to becoming champion and taking everything you worked so hard to get. I was 3 seconds away from winning, so don't act like you are some untouchable god."

Roman cackled at your words, the sound echoing through the arena like a gunshot. "Oh, Y/N," he chuckled, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Don't act so surprised. You knew what you were getting into when you stepped into that ring with me. You knew the stakes, you knew the consequences. And yet, you still couldn't handle the pressure."

He took a step closer to you, his gaze unwavering. "You talk about being three seconds away from victory, but you forget that those three seconds were the most crucial of your career. Those three seconds were the difference between success and failure, between glory and defeat. And that's the difference between you and me. I don't crack under pressure, Y/N. I thrive on it. I thrive on the challenge, on the competition, on pushing myself to be better, to be stronger, to be the best.

But you? You crumbled. You let the pressure get to you, and you lost. And now you're standing here, trying to shift the blame onto me, trying to make excuses for your failure. But the truth is, Y/N, you have no one to blame but yourself."

Your jaw clenched at Roman's words, the anger bubbling up inside you threatening to spill over. How dare he stand there and lecture you about failure when he was the one who orchestrated your downfall? How dare he act like he was above reproach, like he was untouchable, like was not at fault when he was the one who manipulated the situation to his advantage?

Jey stood next to you, sharing a worried look with Paul and cautiously watching the tense exchange between you and Roman unfold. He could see the fire burning in your eyes, the rage simmering just beneath the surface, and he knew that if he didn't intervene soon, things would escalate beyond repair.

But before he could step in, you took a step forward, your fists clenched at your sides as you met Roman's gaze head-on.

"You want to talk about pressure, Roman?" you spat, your voice dripping with venom. "You want to talk about what it means to thrive on competition? Fine. Let's talk about pressure. I used our friendship in that match to gain an advantage, and like the idiot you are, you took the bait. It only took you some tears to distract you, to make you lose focus, to show the world that you're not as untouchable as you think you are."

You were now the one cackling at Roman's angry expression, relishing in the satisfaction of finally getting the upper hand. "'Oh Roman, I give up! Please, don't hurt me anymore!'

You mocked your words during the match, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "You really thought you could manipulate me into submission, didn't you? You thought you could use our history against me, use Jey against me, and I would just roll over and take it like a good little puppy. Well, guess what, Roman? I'm not your pawn. I'm not your puppet. And I sure as hell am not your friend."

Roman's expression darkened at your words, his fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to maintain his composure. He hadn't expected you to turn the tables on him, to use his own tactics against him. But as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't deny the truth in your words. He had let his emotions cloud his judgment, had let his anger towards Jey blind him to the consequences of his actions. And now, he was paying the price for his arrogance.

"Guys, maybe we should just calm down and talk this out," Jey interjected, stepping between you and Roman, his hands raised in a placating gesture. He could feel the tension in the air, the anger radiating off both you and Roman like a palpable force, and he knew that if they didn't find a way to resolve this peacefully, things would only escalate further.

But neither you nor Roman seemed inclined to listen to reason, both of you still seething with anger and resentment towards each other. You glared at Roman, your fists clenched at your sides as you fought to control your rising temper.

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down, Jey," you snapped, your voice laced with venom. "He's the one who started this, who used you against me. He doesn't get to play the peacemaker now."

Roman scoffed at your words, his eyes narrowing in disdain. "You lost, you tapped out, you humiliated yourself in front of your family, and now you want to play the victim?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "You made your bed, Y/N. Now lie in it."

Your blood boiled at Roman's words, the anger and hurt coursing through your veins like wildfire.

"How dare you!" You shouted, your voice echoing through the arena, your chest heaving with anger and frustration. You pushed Roman away from you, taking a step back to compose yourself.

"How dare I?!" Roman pushed back, his voice rising with fury. "How dare you come out here and try to blame me for your own failures? How dare you try to make me the villain in this story when all I've ever done is try to help you? You're the one who tapped out, who gave up, who let your pride get in the way of victory. And now you have the audacity to stand there and act like I'm the one who's wrong? You're delusional, Y/N. You're a disgrace to this family, to our legacy."

A resounding slap echoed through the arena as your hand connected with Roman's cheek, the sound reverberating like thunder in the tense silence that followed. Roman staggered back, his hand instinctively rising to his stinging cheek as he stared at you in shock, his expression a mixture of anger and disbelief.

Jey quickly stepped between you and Roman, his hands outstretched to keep you both apart. "That's enough!" he exclaimed, his voice firm and commanding. "Both of you, calm down!" He tried to push the both of you away from each other, Paul rushing in to assist Jey in diffusing the escalating tension.

But the damage had been done. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife, and neither you nor Roman seemed inclined to back down. You glared at Roman, your chest heaving with anger and frustration, while Roman's expression was a mask of rage and indignation.

"You said you were gonna settle this, baby!" Jey grabbed your waist, pulling you away from Roman, his grip firm but gentle as he tried to calm you down. "You need to calm down, please, We can't go on like this. You're both tearing each other apart, and for what? A match? A championship? Is it really worth sacrificing your relationship over?" Jey's words cut through the tension like a knife, his voice pleading for reason, for peace, for a resolution that didn't involve further bloodshed.

Roman gripped the ropes of the ring, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. He glared at you, his eyes burning with anger and hurt, but underneath it all, there was a glimmer of something else. Something softer, more vulnerable, hidden beneath the layers of resentment and pride.

"You're still part of the Boodline, Y/N," Roman growled, his voice low and threatening. "You may not want to admit it, but you're still one of us. And no matter how much you try to push me away, I'll always be here for you. I may not agree with your decisions, with your actions, but I'll always love you. And I'll always be willing to fight for you, even when you won't fight for yourself."

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the storm of emotions raging inside you. "I'm leaving the Bloodline, Roman." You declared, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart.

It was like a pin dropped in the arena, the crowd falling silent as they processed your words. Jey let go of your waist, his eyes widening in shock at your declaration. Roman's expression turned icy, his features hardening with anger, hurt, and betrayal.

"You're what?" Roman's voice was barely above a whisper, but the intensity behind it sent shivers down your spine.

"Yeah, you're what?" Jey's voice was sad, and filled with disbelief, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, any indication that you were joking.

"You pushed me too far this time, Roman." Your eyes were filled with tears as you took a step back, your voice trembling with emotion. "I don't care if you hurt me, but you hurt the man I love in front of me, and you made me watch the life slip from his eyes. I can't forgive you for that. I won't forgive you for that."

You bit your lip, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over. "I'm done, Roman. I'm done being your pawn, your punching bag. I'm done sacrificing my happiness for your ego. I'm done pretending like everything is okay when it clearly isn't. I'm leaving the Bloodline, and I'm never coming back."

Roman's expression darkened, his eyes blazing with fury as he took a step towards you. You were his best friend, his family, his everything, and the thought of you leaving was like a knife twisting n his heart. "You... you can't leave, Y/N," he growled, his voice laced with desperation. "You're a part of this family, a part of this legacy. You can't just walk away from that."

But you stood your ground, your resolve unwavering despite the fear and uncertainty swirling inside you. "Watch me," you shot back, your voice firm and resolute.

You turned around, but you were stopped by Jey standing in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. His hand automatically went to your shoulder, and his eyes were filled with sadness and regret as he looked at you, his grip tightening slightly as if trying to anchor you to him, to the life you had built together.

"Y/N, please," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Jey..." You started, but Jey nterrupted you, his voice filled with desperation. "Don't do this, baby. Please. We can work through this together. We can find a way to make things right, to rebuild what's been broken... we can start over, start fresh. You don't have to leave the Bloodline, leave me. We can make it work, I know we can."

"Yeah, we can make it work. Not me and Roman." You said softly, tears glistening in your eyes.

"You leaving is leaving us." Jey 's voice cracked as he spoke, his own tears threatening to spill over. "I can't lose you, Y/N. I can't lose what we have. Please, don't do this. Please, don't leave me."

It was like deja vu, watching him cry was bringing you back to when you forced Roman to sign the contract and thought you left Jey for good, and you knew you couldn't live without him in your life. So this time, you were gonna make the right choice.

"Then come with me," you whispered, reaching out to cup Jey's cheek, your thumb wiping away a stray tear. "Come with me, Jey. Leave the Bloodline behind, leave Roman behind. We can start over, start fresh. Just you and me, against the world."

Jey's eyes widened in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest as he processed your words. The thought of leaving the Bloodline, leaving his family, wasn't something he could do easily.

Roman's laughter interrupted the tense moment, his voice dripping with scorn and amusement.

"Oh, this is rich," he sneered, his gaze flickering between you and Jey. "This happy couple thing the both of you have going on disgusts me. You two think you can just walk away from the Bloodline, from everything we've built together? You think you can just turn your backs on your family, on your legacy, and expect to live happily ever after? You're delusional, both of you. You'll always be part of the Bloodline, whether you like it or not. And if you think you can just walk away without consequences, you're sorely mistaken."

Roman's gaze went to Jey, and the angry expression on his face made Jey's heart grow with fear, scared of what Roman might do to him, to you, to their relationship. "Jey, I know I might be hard on you, but I love you. I did what I did to protect her, and I'm sorry for any pain I may have caused you."

You gaped as Roman was... outwardly apologizing to Jey. Roman NEVER apologized to anyone, let alone someone he considered family.

Jey's expression softened at Roman's unexpected apology, his gaze flickering between you and Roman as he processed the words. He could see the sincerity in Roman's eyes, the genuine remorse behind his tough exterior, and it gave him a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to move forward from this mess.

"But you have to understand, she's making a mistake. She's letting her emotions cloud her judgment, and if you go with her, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. You'll regret leaving the Bloodline, leaving me. You'll regret choosing her over your own family."

"Roman..." Jey's voice was barely a whisper, his throat tight with emotion.

"Don't you dare make him choose between us, Roman." You glared at Roman, stepping in front of Jey to shield him from Roman's manipulative words.

"You're the one that said something about making a choice, Y/N," Roman shot back, his voice dripping with contempt. "You're the one that's forcing him to choose between his loyalty to his family and his love for you. So don't act like I'm the bad guy here."

"Miss Y/N, he's right, y'know?" Paul interjected, his voice calm but firm as he stepped forward, his gaze flickering between you, Jey, and Roman. "You're putting Jey in an impossible position, asking him to choose between his loyalty to his family and his love for you. And as much as you hate to admit it, Roman has a point. You are making Jey get hurt either way, and if you truly love him you would sacrifice your own desires for the sake of his well-being."

You clenched your fists, your jaw tightening with frustration at Paul's words. He was right, of course, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. You couldn't bear the thought of losing Jey, of watching him choose between you and his family, between his loyalty and his love.

But you also couldn't bear the thought of staying in the Bloodline, of subjecting yourself to Roman's manipulation and control any longer.

"You're the one that's choosing to walk away, to abandon your family, your legacy, your bloodline. And for what? For a relationship that's built on lies and deception? You think Jey is going to choose you over his own flesh and blood? You think he's going to turn his back on everything he's ever known, everything he's ever fought for, everything he's ever believed in, just to be with you?"

You turned to Roman, tears filling your eyes as you struggled to find the words to express the turmoil raging inside you. “Just shut up.”

“No, I’m not going to. And you know why?” Roman 's voice rose with anger, his fists clenched at his sides as he took a step towards you.

"Because I'm not going to stand here and watch you destroy everything we've built, everything we've fought for, everything we've sacrificed for, just because you can't handle a little pressure. You're selfish, Y/N. You're selfish for putting Jey in this position, for forcing him to choose between you and his family. And you're selfish for thinking that you can just walk away from the Bloodline without facing any consequences. I wont let you leave me, I wont let your stuborness destroy what we have, and I wont let you take Jey away from me."

Roman's voice was low and menacing, his eyes flashing with anger and determination. “You will thank me for stopping you from making the biggest mistake of your life. You will thank me for saving you from yourself.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks as you took a step back, the weight of Roman's words bearing down on you like a ton of bricks. “I... you can’t force me to stay, Roman," you choked out, your voice breaking with emotion.

"Like hell I can't," Roman growled, his voice laced with venom as he took another step towards you. "You're not leaving, Y/N. Not now, not ever. You're practically my family, and I'll be damned if I let you walk out that door and never look back. You're staying, whether you like it or not."

You scoffed at the utter insanity coming out of Roman's mouth, unable to comprehend how someone could be so controlling, so manipulative. "Are you actually this insane Roman?! You can't control my life!"

"I can do whatever I want, Y/N," Roman snapped, his voice filled with rage and frustration. "I'm the head of the Bloodline, the Tribal Chief, and I make the rules around here. And the rule is, you're not leaving. Not without my permission."

Jey gently grabbed your hand, softly squeezing it in a silent gesture of support. "Baby, Roman doesn't mean any of that," he murmured, his voice filled with reassurance. "He's just... he's just scared of losing you, of losing his family."

You pulled away from Jey at his words. "What?" You stared at him in disbelief. You knew Roman had him in a chokehold, but you didn't think it was this bad. You were so gonna beat some sense into Roman.

"Jey, please tell me you realize how crazy that sounds. He literally tricked you last week and put you in a chokehold to make me tap out. You think family acts like this? That they hurt and manipulate each other like this?" Your voice cracked with emotion, tears streaming down your cheeks as you struggled to make sense of the chaos unfolding around you.

Jey's expression softened, his eyes filled with regret as he reached out to cup your cheek. "I know, baby, I know," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the crowd.

"But he's family, and... and I can't just turn my back on him, on everything we've built together. I can't just walk away from the Bloodline, from our legacy. I can't... I can't choose between you and him, Y/N. I can't lose you, but I can't lose him either."

In Jey's mind, he stood up to Roman by not letting him take you from him and by being with you, so the two of you just needed to work your shit out and get on the same page.

You sighed, hurt, but knowing where he was coming from. You knew that Jey was torn between his loyalty to Roman and his love for you, and you couldn't fault him for it. But at the same time, you couldn't stand by and watch as Roman continued to manipulate and control both of you. You had to make a choice, and you had to make it now.

"I told you that he would never choose you over me." Roman's voice turned somber, and a sense of triumph rang in his words as he looked at you, his gaze piercing through the veil of uncertainty that shrouded your heart.

"So please... stop this insanity. Stop trying to tear apart the only family you've ever known, the only family you've ever had. You belong with us, Y/N. You belong with me. So please... come home."

You stood there, caught between the two men you loved most in the world, their words swirling around you like a whirlwind of emotions. Roman actually looked remorseful, regretful, and... lonely. For the first time, you saw the vulnerability in his eyes, the pain hidden behind the facade of anger and control.

And for a moment, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him, a flicker of understanding for the struggles he had faced, the burdens he had carried.

"Okay...I'll stay. Under one condition," you said finally, your voice firm and resolute. "I get another shot at your title. If I lose, I stay in the Bloodline for good, no strings attached. But if I win... you let me walk away, no questions asked... and I bring Jey with me."

You could feel Jey's gaze burning through you from across the ring, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief at your ultimatum. Roman's laugh echoed through the arena, but you could hear the hurt and resentment beneath the surface.

"You think I'm going to let you get another shot at my title, Y/N? You think I'm just going to hand it over to you on a silver platter, like some kind of consolation prize?" Roman sneered, his voice dripping with contempt.

"You had your chance, Y/N. You had your shot at glory, and you blew it. You tapped out, you gave up, you proved that you're not worthy of holding this title. And now you have the audacity to stand there and demand another shot? You're delusional, Y/N. You're living in a fantasy world if you think I'm going to give you another chance to humiliate yourself, to embarrass yourself, to hurt you, because believe it or not, I actually care about you, Y/N. I care about you more than you'll ever know, and I don't want to see you get hurt again."

You bristled at Roman's words, the anger rising inside you like a tidal wave threatening to consume everything in its path. "You care about me?" you scoffed, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

"If you cared about me, you wouldn't have manipulated me, you wouldn't have used me, you wouldn't have hurt me. You say you care about me, Roman, but your actions speak louder than words. And right now, your actions are telling me that you don't give a damn about me, about my feelings, about my well-being. You only care about yourself, about your precious title, about your precious legacy. Well, guess what, Roman? I don't give a damn about your title, about your legacy, about your precious Bloodline.

All I care about is getting justice for what you did to me, to Jey, to us. So you can either give me another shot at your title, or you can watch as I tear down everything you've ever worked for, piece by piece, until there's nothing left but ash and dust. The choice is yours, Roman. But know this... I won't stop until I get what I want. And if that means destroying everything you hold dear, then so be it."

"No, you not gonna do this." Jey interrupted, his voice filled with desperation as he stepped forward, his hand outstretched towards you.

"You think those bruises on your body magically appeared? No, they were caused by Roman. He manipulated you into signing the contract, he hurt you, he humiliated you, he made you feel like you were worthless. And now you want to give him another chance to do it all over again? You want to risk getting hurt again, just for the chance to prove that you're better than him? You want to get hurt by him just to prove a point? Just to hurt him?! Are you fucking crazy, Y/N?! Do you want to end up like me, forced to watch as you get hurt over and over again, unable to do anything to stop it? Is that really what you want?"

You flinched at Jey's words, the pain in his voice cutting through you like a knife. He was right, of course. You had seen the bruises on your body, felt the pain in your bones, and you knew deep down that Roman was capable of inflicting even more damage if given the chance. But you also couldn't bear the thought of letting him win, of letting him continue to manipulate and control you, to dictate your life and your choices.

Damn your stubbornness that led you to this point. "Jey... I''m doing this, for you." Your admission hung heavy in the air, the weight of your words settling over the ring like a shroud of uncertainty.

"You never got to choose how things went down with Roman last time. You never got to stand up for yourself, to fight back against the injustice he inflicted upon us. And I can't just stand by and let him get away with it. I have to do something, Jey. I have to fight back, for both of us. Even if it means risking everything, even if it means putting myself in harm's way. I have to try, Jey. I have to try."

"I'm not letting myself hurt you again." Roman interrupted, his voice softening as he stepped forward, his gaze locked on yours with a mixture of regret and determination. "Listen to your boyfriend, Y/N. You really want to be battered and bruised again? You really want to do that? You can't beat me.

And even if you did somehow manage to win, it wouldn't change anything. I'd. never let you leave this faction, you'd still be part of the Bloodline, you'd still be my family, you'd still be trapped in this never-ending cycle of violence and betrayal. Is that really what you want, Y/N? Is that really worth risking everything for?"

You hesitated, the weight of Roman's words bearing down on you like a ton of bricks. He was right, of course. Even if you did somehow manage to defeat him, it wouldn't change the fact that he would never let you leave the Bloodline. You would still be trapped in a toxic environment, forced to endure his manipulation and control for the rest of your life. And as much as you hated to admit it, you knew that Roman was right. You couldn't beat him, not without sacrificing everything you held dear.

But as you turned to Jey, all that anger and hurt came back in a rush, the memories of everything you had endured together flooding your mind like a tidal wave. You remembered the nights spent comforting each other, the whispered promises of love and loyalty, the moments of pure bliss amidst the chaos of the world around you. And in that moment, you knew what you had to do.

"Yes." You whispered, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked into Jey's eyes, your heart heavy with regret and determination. "I have to do this, Jey. I have to try. For us." You turned back to Roman, a defiant look in your eye that he loved and hated at the same time. "Please, Ro." At your nickname for him, he paused, his expression softening slightly at the familiar term of endearment.

"Please, Roman," you continued, your voice pleading now, "let me do this. Let me have one more chance to prove myself, to prove that I'm not just some pawn in your game. Let me show you that I'm stronger than you think, that I'm capable of standing on my own two feet, that I'm not afraid to fight for what I believe in. Just... let me try."

Roman stared at you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours for any sign of doubt, any indication that you weren't serious about this. But all he saw was unwavering determination, a fierce determination that mirrored his own, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride swell in his chest.

"If you can beat Auksa, and get back your Smackdown Women's Championship, then I accept your request," Roman finally conceded, his voice low and measured. "But know this, Y/N... if you fail, if you lose to Auksa again, then that's it. No more chances, no more second opportunities. You'll stay in the Bloodline, and you'll never leave again. Do you understand?"

You nodded, the weight of Roman's words settling over you like a heavy burden. "I understand," you murmured, your voice barely audible over the hum of the crowd. "I'll do whatever it takes to win, Roman. I promise."

Roman's gaze softened at your words, a flicker of something akin to pride flashing in his eyes. "Good," he said simply, his voice firm but not unkind. "You'll need that title for when you lose to me for the 2nd time."

The tension in the arena was palpable as Roman's words hung in the air, a challenge issued and accepted. You knew that defeating Auksa and reclaiming your championship would be no easy task, especially with Roman looming over you like a shadow, ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness. But you knew you could do it.

With a nod of determination, you turned away from Roman, but when you turned back to Jey and saw the look in his eyes, you knew he was anything but okay with your decision. His expression was one of heartbreak and disappointment, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he realized that you were going to go through with this risky plan. You reached out to him, your heart aching at the thought of hurting him even more, but he pulled away, his gaze dropping to the floor as he struggled to compose himself.

But if you could finally beat Roman, then he would see that this was the right choice. You would prove to him that you were strong enough to stand on your own, that you were capable of making your own decisions, and that you were willing to fight for your freedom, for your happiness, for your love.

And that's all you ever wanted to do.

"Baby." You were now the one trying to talk to Jey, but he ignored you in favor of taking out your luggagge in your rental car. You felt a pang of sadness as you watched him, knowing that you had hurt him deeply with your decision to go through with Roman's challenge. But you also knew that you couldn't let his pain stop you from doing what you believed was right.

"Jey, please," you pleaded, reaching out to touch his arm, but he flinched away from your touch, his expression closed off and unreadable. "I know you're upset, and I understand why. But please, try to see things from my perspective. I have to do this, Jey. I have to try to beat Roman, to prove to him that I'm not just some pawn in his game. I have to try to reclaim my title, to show him that I'm stronger than he thinks. And if I don't... if I fail... then at least I'll know that I tried. At least I'll know that I didn't give up without a fight."

Jey sighed, his shoulders sagging with resignation as he turned to face you, his gaze softening with regret and understanding. "I know, baby, I know," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I'm not saying that I don't understand why you're doing this. I do. I understand completely. But... but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words, the weight of his disappointment settling over you like a heavy blanket. "I'm sorry, Jey," you whispered, tears stinging your eyes as you reached out to cup his cheek, but he pulled away from your touch, his expression guarded and closed off. "I'm sorry for hurting you, for putting you in this position. I never wanted to hurt you, Jey. You have to believe me."

Jey sighed, his gaze softening slightly as he reached out to take your hand in his, his touch gentle and reassuring. "I know you didn't, baby," he murmured, his voice filled with sadness and regret. "And I believe you. I do. But..I know you ain't gonna stop till you get what you want, and I respect that about you. I just... wish you weren't so stubborn, that it wouldn't kill you to listen to me. Do you not see that I'm just trying to protect you, to keep you safe from Roman's manipulation and control? I love you, Y/N. I love you more than anything in this world, and I would do anything to keep you safe, to keep you from getting hurt.

But I also know that I can't stop you from doing what you believe is right, from fighting for what you believe in. And as much as it hurts me to see you put yourself in harm's way, I also know that I can't stand in your way, that I have to let you fight your own battles, make your own choices, and live with the consequences.

So... so please, just promise me one thing, Y/N. Promise me that you'll be careful, that you won't do anything reckless, that you'll come back to me in one piece. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you promise me that? That if you lose to Auska, then that's it. You'll stop trying to fight Roman and accept that you'll have to stay in the Bloodline, for better or for worse?"

You looked into Jey's eyes, seeing the love and concern shining through despite the pain and uncertainty clouding his gaze. You knew that he was asking you to make a difficult decision, to choose between your desire for revenge and your love for him.

And as much as it pained you to admit it, you knew that he was right. You couldn't keep putting yourself in harm's way, risking your safety and well-being for the sake of a vendetta against Roman. You had to put your love for Jey above all else, even if it meant sacrificing your own desires and ambitions.

With a heavy heart, you nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks as you reached out to cup Jey's cheek, your thumb wiping away a stray tear.

"I promise, Jey," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "I promise that if I lose to Auska, then that's that. I won't keep trying to fight Roman, to prove myself, to reclaim my title. I'll accept that I'll have to stay in the Bloodline, for better or for worse. I promise that I'll be careful, that I won't do anything reckless, that I'll come back to you in one piece. I promise, Jey. I promise."

Jey's eyes softened at your words, his gaze searching yours for any sign of doubt, any indication that you weren't being sincere. But all he saw was unwavering determination, a fierce determination that mirrored his own, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride swell in his chest.

"Thank you, baby," he murmured, cupping your face and kissing you on the lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth in a desperate attempt to convey all the love and longing he felt for you in that moment.

You melted into his embrace, the weight of his love and support enveloping you like a warm blanket, soothing the ache in your heart and easing the doubts swirling in your mind.

When you pulled away reluctantly, you clung to his comforting cologne and the feel of his arms around you, cherishing the warmth and security he provided.

"I love you, Jey," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper as you rested your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his in a silent exchange of love and affection.

"I love you too, baby," Jey murmured, his voice filled with emotion as he pressed his lips against yours once more, savoring the taste and feel of you against him. "More than anything in this world. And I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, to keep you happy, to keep you by my side. I promise."

You smiled through your tears, feeling a sense of peace settle over you as you clung to Jey, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, as a team, as partners, as lovers. "You really promise?"

Jey smiled at you, guilt and regret lingering in his eyes as he nodded. "I promise, baby. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, to keep you happy, to keep you by my side. I won't let anything or anyone come between us, not even Roman."

You leaned into his embrace, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at his words. "Thank you, Jey," you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Jey smiled, his arms tightening around you. "You ain't gotta know. I'll always protect you." Even from yourself.

He felt that same guilt when he was pacing in the locker room right before your match. He was so deep in his anxious thoughts he didn’t notice the door open until his twin's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Hey, Uce. You alright?"

Jey looked up, meeting Jimmy's concerned gaze with a forced smile. He was glad his twin was finally cleared for in-ring action after his injury, but he couldn't help but feel guilty for dragging him into this mess with Roman and you. "Yeah, I'm fine, Uce," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to push aside his doubts and fears. "Just... nervous, I guess."

Jimmy frowned, his expression filled with concern as he stepped forward, his hand resting on Jey's shoulder in a silent gesture of support. "Hey, it's gonna be okay, Uce," he murmured, his voice soft and reassuring.

"No, it ain't. You ain't been here, you don't know what been going on. Roman and Y/N been going at it, and I'm stuck in the middle. I just... I don't know what to do, Uce," Jey confessed, his voice filled with frustration and uncertainty.

"Did you talk to big uce?" Jimmy loved you and viewed you as a little sister, and he wanted nothing but the best for you and Jey. He knew that you both were going through a tough time, torn between loyalty to Roman and your love for each other. But he also knew that Jey needed to make a decision for himself, to choose what was best for him and his future.

Jey glared at the wall at the reminder of his conversation with Roman. It went about as well as you'd expected. Roman wasn't willing to let him go, to let either of you go, without a fight. And Jey didn't know if he had the strength to stand up to his cousin, to defy him and choose his own path.

"Yeah, everything's good. He said he'd let her fight Auska on her own, but you know him. He gon' do something to interfere. He always does," Jey muttered, his voice filled with frustration and resignation. "I just... I don't know what to do, Uce. I want to be there for her, to support her, but I also don't want to go against Roman. He's family, Uce. And I can't just turn my back on him, on everything we've built together."

Jimmy sighed, his gaze softening with understanding as he squeezed Jey's shoulder in a comforting gesture. "I know, Uce. But just let them work their shit out. If Roman wants to do some shit, then you let him. And if he tells you to stay out of it, then you stay out of it. You gotta do what's best for you, Uce. And if that means staying loyal to Roman, then so be it. But if it means standing by Y/N's side and supporting her, then you do that too. You gotta figure out what you want, Uce. What's gonna make you happy in the long run."

But Jey didn't know what would make him happy anymore. All he knew was that he couldn't bear to see you get hurt again, to watch as you put yourself in harm's way for the sake of revenge against Roman. He couldn't stand by and do nothing while you risked your safety and well-being for the chance to reclaim your title. But he also couldn't bring himself to betray Roman, to go against his family and everything they had built together.

A knock on the door made both men look up, and they saw you standing there, dressed in your wrestling gear and looking determined as ever, Naomi in tow.

Jey's heart clenched at the sight of you, knowing that you were about to step into the ring and face off against Auska, the current Smackdown Women's Champion, in a high-stakes match that could determine the course of your future.

"Can we come in?" You softly asked, your voice wavering slightly with nerves as you glanced between Jey and Jimmy. You could see the worry etched on their faces, and it only served to heighten your own anxiety about the upcoming match.

"Of course, baby," Jey replied, his voice soft and reassuring as he stepped forward to open the door wider, allowing you to enter the locker room. He could see the determination shining in your eyes, the fire burning bright despite the uncertainty swirling around you, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of pride swell in his chest.

"You ready for this?" Jimmy asked after giving Naomi a kiss, his voice filled with concern as he studied you closely, taking in your appearance and demeanor with a critical eye. He knew that you were facing a tough opponent in Auska, and he wanted to make sure that you were mentally and physically prepared.

"As ready as she'll ever be." Naomi chimed in, her voice filled with confidence as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, offering you a reassuring squeeze.

She narrowed her eyes at the worried looks on Jey and Jimmy's faces, knowing that you needed their support now more than ever. "You gonna show them what you're made of, right, sis?"

You nodded, a determined glint in your eye as you squared your shoulders and took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the challenge ahead. "Yeah, I'm ready," you replied, your voice steady and resolute despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach.

"We just wanted to say goodbye, before the match. Just in case." You forced a smile, trying to reassure Jey and Jimmy that you would be okay, even though deep down, you were terrified of what lay ahead.

Jey stepped forward, enveloping you in a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you like a shield, protecting you from the doubts and fears swirling in your mind. "You got this, baby," he murmured, his voice filled with confidence and reassurance. "You're the strongest person I know, and I know you can beat Auska. Just stay focused, stay determined, and remember that I'll always be here for you, no matter what happens."

You nodded, burying your face in Jey's chest as you allowed yourself to soak in his warmth and strength, drawing comfort from his his presence as you clung to him for support.

"Thank you, Jey," you whispered, your voice muffled by his shirt as you breathed in his familiar scent, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. You pulled away and let him give you a good luck kiss, melting into him.

"Okay, okay, that's enough! I don't need to see that!" Jimmy exclaimed, pretending to shield his eyes from the affectionate display. You giggled at antics, kissing Jey exxageratingly, making him yell louder and Jey blush and chuckle in response. "Sorry, Uce," you teased, playfully ruffling his hair as you stepped back, feeling a surge of confidence wash over you at the sight of his smile. "We'll see you guys after the match, okay?"

Jimmy nodded, his expression softening with pride as he dapped you up. "Good luck out there, sis," he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth and encouragement. "I know you're gonna kill it."

You smiled at his words, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over you as you did your handshake with him, drawing strength from his unwavering support. "Thanks, Jimmy," you replied, your voice filled with determination and resolve. "I won't let you down."

With one last glance at Jey, you turned and followed Naomi out of the locker room, steeling yourself for the challenge that lay ahead.

"You see, she's fine." Jimmy concluded, his voice filled with pride as he watched you leave the locker room, knowing that you were about to face one of the toughest challenges of your career. He turned to Jey, his expression softening with concern as he placed a hand on his shoulder. "You gonna be okay, Uce?"

Jey nodded, a determined glint in his eye as he straightened his posture, steeling himself for the emotional rollercoaster that was about to unfold. "Yeah, I'll be okay."

He just wished those words would become true.

"You motherfucker!" Roman screamed at you as you made your way out of your new private locker room, courtesy of the new championship that rested on your shoulder, fury blazing in his eyes. "You tricked me!"

Let's go back to a hour prior, where you were beating the hell out of Auska. The match was violent, fast paced, and brutal, and for good reason: a title was on the line, and a rule was in place. If the ref caught anyone interfering, the other wrestle would automatically win. No one else knew this stipulation but you and Auska.

As you threw punch after punch, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you could feel the crowd's energy pulsating around you. Every strike, every kick, every move was fueled by a burning desire to prove yourself, to show Roman that you were not to be underestimated, that you were a force to be reckoned with.

But just as victory seemed within your grasp, just as you were about to deliver the finishing blow to Auska, everything came crashing down in an instant. Roman's music hit, interrupting the flow of the match. You scoffed, knowing the mind games he plays, and turned back to ignore the distraction.

Naomi was standing at ringside, her expression filled with concern as she watched the chaos unfold, but you couldn't focus on her right now. Your attention was solely on Auska, on the task at hand, on proving to yourself and to everyone watching that you were the rightful champion and that you were not going to let anyone or anything stand in your way.

It turned out to be a false alarm, and the distraction only lasted a few seconds. But those few seconds were all Auska needed to try and capitalize on your momentary lapse in concentration and mist you, just as she did before to take the title from you.

But Naomi yelled at you to watch out, and you managed to dodge just in time, narrowly avoiding the green mist, but it ended up hitting the ref instead, making him collapse to the mat in agony, clutching at his eyes. Auska stopped what she was doing as she realized the chaos that had ensued.

With the referee incapacitated, the match was thrown into disarray, leaving you and Auska in a standstill as you slowly looked back to her, and the hairs on her arms stood up as she saw the look on your face. It was a mix of fury, frustration, and determination.

Anger surged through you as you realized what Auska had tried to do, and you knew that you couldn't let her get away with it. Not again.

"Are you kidding me?!" You shouted at Auska, your voice echoing with fury as you advanced towards her, your fists clenched at your sides. "I'll fucking kill you!" You lunged at Auska, your rage propelling you forward as you unleashed a flurry of punches, each one fueled by the burning desire for revenge.

Your brain was on autopilot, your body moving on instinct as you unleashed all of your pent-up frustration and anger on Auska, each strike landing with precision and force. But even as you rained down blows on your opponent, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered a warning, reminding you of the consequences of your actions, of the potential repercussions of losing control.

But you couldn't stop. Not now. Not when victory was within your grasp, when all you could see was red, when all you could feel was the burning need for retribution. Naomi was hyping you up, encouraging you to keep fighting, her voice a constant stream of support and encouragement as you unleashed your fury on Auska.

But even as you fought, a sense of guilt gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, reminding you of the promises you had made to Jey, of the risks you were taking by giving in to your anger and letting it consume you.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the chaos came to an abrupt halt as your leg was pulled from underneath you, causing you to stumble and fall to the mat with a resounding thud. You blinked in surprise, momentarily disoriented as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.

And then you saw Kairi smirking at you, then that smirk getting wiped off as Naomi launched herself at her, taking her down with a fierce tackle, the force of the impact sending both women crashing to the ground in a tangled heap.

Auska joined in the fight, and you quickly scrambled to your feet, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you launched yourself at Auska, the four of you engaging in a chaotic brawl as the arena erupted into a frenzy of cheers and boos.

The match had devolved into utter pandemonium, with bodies flying and fists swinging in every direction. The ref was still down, so there was no one to call for order or to declare a winner. It was just chaos, pure and simple.

You all eventually ended up backstage, still beating the hell out of each other, the chaos continuing unabated as the brawl spilled into the backstage area.

"You thought you could beat me, Auska?!" You growled as you slammed her against the nearest wall, your fists raining down on her with relentless fury. "You thought you could take my title from me?!" You punctuated each word with a punishing blow, the sound of your knuckles connecting with her flesh echoing through the hallway as you unleashed all of your pent-up anger and frustration.

Naomi grabbed Kairi by the hair, pulling her away from the fray and slamming her against a nearby equipment crate. "Y/N, finish her off!" Naomi yelled, her voice filled with urgency as she grappled with Kairi, trying to subdue her long enough for you to finish the job. She knew that you were on the brink of victory, that you had Auska right where you wanted her, and she wasn't about to let this opportunity slip through your fingers.

You nodded at Naomi's words, your heart pounding with adrenaline as you focused all of your energy on defeating Auska once and for all. You grabbed her by the head, and started dragging her to the ring, your hands gripping her hair tightly as you pulled her along, determination burning bright in your eyes, going faster as you could taste the victory and feel it on your fingertips.

But just as you reached the entrance ramp, ready to deliver the finishing blow and claim victory, a push from behind sent you tumbling down the ramp, Auska's limp body collapsing on top of you as you both crashed to the ground in a tangled heap.

You groaned in pain, the impact knocking the wind out of you as you struggled to catch your breath, your head spinning from the sudden fall.

As you lay on the ground, trying to shake off the dizziness and regain your bearings, you felt a surge of anger rise up within you at the cowardly attack. You glanced up, expecting to see Auska standing over you, a smug grin on her face, but instead, you were met with the sight of Roman, his expression twisted with rage as he glared down at you, his fists clenched at his sides.

"I told you, I won't let anyone come between us." Roman's voice was low, filled with barely-contained fury as he stared down at you, his gaze burning with intensity. "Not even you, Y/N."

Instead of reacting angrily like he expected you to, too, you surprised Roman by laughing, a smile on your lips despite the pain coursing through your body.

He furrowed his brow in confusion, taken aback by your unexpected reaction. "What's so funny?" he demanded, his voice tinged with irritation as he glared down at you. The ref was down after being misted, and he was about to cost you the match.

You grinned up at him, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you shook your head. "That you only have yourself to blame for me winning." You replied, your voice laced with amusement as you pointed to the ref, who saw everything that happened and was signaling for the bell to ring.

"And due to disqualification, the winner and the new Smackdown Women's Champion, is Y/N!" The announcer boomed over the arena speakers, and you smiled even wider as Roman's eyes widened in shock, his expression morphing into one of disbelief as he realized the implications of your words.

You could see the anger bubbling beneath the surface, the frustration at having been outsmarted, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction wash over you at the sight of his defeat.

You got up with a smirk and made you way to the ring, grabbing YOUR title belt and holding it high above your head, your smirk turning into a smile as you saw Jey making his wy down to the ring, turning the other way and propping yourself up on the turnbuckle.

What you didn't see was Roman and Jey staring each other down, the tension between them palpable as they stood across from each other on the ramp, their eyes speaking more than words ever could.

Romans told Jey to go fix this or else, and Jey's eyes were telling Roman that he might choose his own path, to finally break free from Roman's control and to stand up for what he believed in.

But as much as Jey wanted to defy his cousin, to choose his own destiny and to fight for his own happiness, he couldn't bring himself to abandon his family, to turn his back on everything they had built together.

But then he thought of you, of the promise he had made to protect you, to keep you safe and happy, and he knew the only way to do that was to keep you in the Bloodline and make you and Roman patch things up. He could live with you being mad at him, but not with you being hurt because of Roman.

You dropped down from the turnbuckle to jump into Jey's arms, arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as he caught you, spinning you around in a joyous embrace as the crowd erupted into cheers, the sound echoing throughout the arena. You couldn't stop smiling as you clung to Jey, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at the sight of his familiar face, knowing that he was there to support you, to celebrate your victory, to stand by your side no matter what.

"I did it, Jey," you exclaimed, your voice filled with excitement as you looked into his eyes, seeing the pride and adoration shining in his gaze. "I actually did it!"

Jey grinned at you, his heart swelling with pride as he hugged you tightly, his arms wrapped around you like a protective shield. "I knew you could do it, baby," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine warmth and affection.

"I'm so proud of you." The guilt lingered in the back of his mind, a constant reminder of the difficult choices he had to make, of the sacrifices he had to endure for the sake of his family.

But when you kissed him passionately, all thoughts of guilt and regret melted away, replaced by a sense of overwhelming love and happiness as you basked in the glow of your victory.

"Huh, answer me?! Roman's outburst brought you back into the present time, and you looked up at him, a defiant glint in your eye as you slowly rose to your feet, clutching the title belt tightly in your hands.

"It's not my fault you decided to interfere." You snarked at him, a defiant glint in your eye as you moved towards him, clutching the title belt tightly in your hands. "I played the game fair and square, Roman. And I won. So deal with it."

You noticed the mist marks on his face and started laughing. "Oh, I guess Auska wasn't too happy that you ruined her plan, huh?" You taunted, a smirk playing on your lips as you took a step forward, closing the distance between you and Roman. "Looks like karma's a bitch."

You tried to move past Roman, but he stepped into your path, blocking your way with his imposing presence. His eyes burned with fury as he glared down at you, his jaw clenched tight with anger.

"Why are you acting like this?!" Roman growled at you, his voice laced with frustration and disbelief. "After everything I've done for you, after all the opportunities I've given you, you choose to betray me like this?!"

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief at Roman's words. "Betray you? Are you serious right now?" You shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you stared him down, unflinching in the face of his anger.

"Yes, I'm serious." Roman replied, iconically sounding exasperated and defiant at the same time. "I've done everything for you, Y/N. I've given you opportunities, I've supported you, I've protected you. How many years have we been family, Y/N? How many times have I had your back, had your best interests at heart? And this is how you repay me? By going behind my back, by defying me, by siding with them?!"

"Siding with them? Are you hearing yourself right now? You sound insane!" You retorted, incredulous at Roman's accusations. "You're the one who started this whole mess, Roman. I'm the one trying to get my best friend back, to fix what you ruined!"

You took a step forward, your voice rising with each word as you stared Roman down, refusing to back down in the face of his anger. "I'm tired of being your puppet, Roman. I'm tired of living in your shadow, of doing your bidding without question. I have sacrificed too much for you to make you happy, let you push and push , but this time you pushed too far. And weren't you the one that said sometimes you need to show the ones you love the truth so they can understand the pain they cause?"

You paused, your chest heaving with emotion as you locked eyes with Roman, daring him to deny the truth of your words. "Well, consider this me showing you the truth, Roman. If I have to take the very title you hold dear to make you see that, then so be it."

Roman's expression was a mixture of shock and anger as he listened to your words, his fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to process the magnitude of what you were saying. He had never expected you to turn against him like this, to defy him so openly and without remorse.

But deep down, he knew that he had brought this upon himself, that his actions had driven you to this point, and he couldn't help but feel hurt at the thought of losing the person that meant more to him than anything else in the world. He thought of what he was doing wrong, of what he needed to do to make you loyal to him.

The only other time he had this issue was with Jey, and he made sure to make sure Jey knew his place in the Bloodline. But with you, it was different. You were family, but you were also his equal, his partner, his confidant.

Wait… Jey. Jey was the key in bringing you back into the fold, Roman realized. He pushed Jey to make put him in his place when he was acting out, and he knew he could do the same with you. He had to make Jey see reason, to make him understand that you both belonged with him, in the Bloodline, where you could thrive and succeed together. And he knew just the way to do it.

"Then I guess that applies to you too." Roman paused, his voice low and dangerous as he took a step closer to you, his eyes narrowing with determination. "If you want to show me the truth, Y/N, then let me show you mine." With that, he left the hallway, leaving you to contemplate the weight of his words and the implications of his actions.

You stood there in the hallway, feeling a sense of unease settle over you as you pondered Roman's warning. Part of you wanted to dismiss his words, to brush off his threats as nothing more than empty promises meant to intimidate you into submission.

But another part of you couldn't shake the feeling that there was truth to what he said, that he had the power and influence to make your life a living hell if you dared to defy him.

But you had Jey, Jimmy, and Naomi by your side. They would be by your side… right? Roman couldn't possibly turn them against you, could he?

"Baby?" At your voice, Jey perked up from where he laid in bed, turning to face you with concern etched in his features. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with worry as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face.

"I feel like I should be asking you that." You murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you snuggled closer to Jey, seeking comfort and solace in his embrace. "You've been quiet for the past few days. I know I leave you breathless with my beauty, but you have been unusually silent even for you," you teased, trying to lighten the mood with a playful jab.

Jey chuckled softly, the sound like music to your ears as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. "I've just been thinking," he admitted, his voice low and reflective as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"That's not a good sign." You finished his sentence with a playful smile, reaching up to caress his cheek gently. "What's been on your mind, Jey? You know you can talk to me about anything."

Jey sighed, his expression turning serious as he met your gaze, his eyes filled with uncertainty and doubt. "I just feel like… I promised to protect you, to keep you safe and happy, but I don't know if I'm doing a good job of that." He confessed, his voice tinged with guilt as he struggled to put his feelings into words.

"I'm supposed to be the man and take care of you, but I'm failing at that." His voice was sad and filled with self-doubt, and you felt your heart ache at the sight of his pain. You reached out and gently cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze as you searched his eyes for any sign of reassurance.

"Jey, look at me," you whispered, your voice soft and soothing as you tried to convey your love and support through your voice, but he pulled away, avoiding your gaze as he shook his head.

"No, Y/N, I know what you're gonna say, that I'm doing my best and that's all that matters, but I'm not, and that's the fucking truth." His voice cracked under the weight of his emotions, his words filled with self-doubt and frustration. You could see the turmoil swirling in his eyes, the pain etched into his features, and it broke your heart to see him struggling like this.

"Jey, just because you feel like you're not doing enough doesn't mean you're failing," you interrupted gently, your voice firm but filled with compassion as you reached out to gently cup his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "I'm doing this for you, I'm choosing to do this-"

"That's the problem, you're choosing to do this," Jey interjected, his voice tinged with bitterness as he pulled away from your touch, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and frustration. "You shouldn't have to sacrifice yourself for me, Y/N. You shouldn't have to put yourself in harm's way just to prove a point or to protect me. I should be the one protecting you, not the other way around."

"You are doing everything you can to protect me, Jey," you insisted, your voice filled with conviction as you reached out to gently touch his arm, hoping to reassure him of your love and support.

"How? By watching you put yourself in danger? By standing by while you risk your life for me?" Jey retorted, his voice laced with frustration as he turned away from you, unable to bear the weight of his guilt any longer. "That should be me taking the hits, taking the risks, not you. I can't stand seeing you hurt, Y/N."

"And you think I should just sit back and watch you get hurt instead?" You shot back, your voice tinged with frustration as you struggled to make him see reason.

"Yeah, I do." Jey snarked at you, his tone defiant as he turned back to face you, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Because that's what I signed up for, Y/N. I signed up to be the one to take the hits, to take the risks, to protect you at all costs. That's my job, my duty, and I won't let anyone else take that away from me. Not even you."

You blinked at Jey's words, stunned into silence by the raw intensity of his emotions. "What's that supposed to mean, Jey?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you searched his eyes for any sign of reassurance.

"It means that I love you, baby." Jey replied, his voice soft and filled with emotion as he reached out to gently cup your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. "It means that I would do anything to protect you, to keep you safe and happy, and I can't let you sacrifice yourself for me. I can't."

"But don't you get that I'm doing this because he hurt you! " You exclaimed, your voice trembling with emotion as you struggled to make Jey understand the depth of your feelings.

"I forgave him, Y/N." Jey's voice was quiet, but filled with conviction as he looked into your eyes, his gaze unwavering as he spoke. "And I think you should too."

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of their meaning sinking in as you processed his confession. "What did you say?" Your voice was barely a whisper, disbelief and shock coloring your words as you stared at Jey, unable to comprehend what you had just heard.

"I said I forgave him." " Jey repeated, his eyes firm and resolved as he met your gaze, his expression serious and determined. "Roman may not have always made the right choices, but he's still family, Y/N. And family sticks together, no matter what."

You shook your head in disbelief, unable to comprehend Jey's words. "What did he say to you?" You murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you searched Jey's eyes for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

"What?" Jey tried to act nonchalant, but you could see the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the hesitation in his voice as he struggled to find the right words.

"Last week you were telling me that you have to let me fight my own battles, that you can't keep protecting me from everything. And now you're telling me that you forgave Roman? What. Did. He. Say. To. You?"

Jey's eyes were filled with fear and uncertainty as he met your gaze, his lips pressed into a thin line as he struggled to find the right words to say. "Nothing. Let it go, Y/N," he replied evasively, his voice tinged with guilt as he averted his gaze, unable to meet your eyes.

"Jey, please." You pleaded, your voice soft and filled with emotion as you reached out to gently touch his arm, hoping to reassure him of your love and support, and he flinched away from your touch, his eyes filled with sadness and regret as he turned away from you, unable to bear the weight of his guilt any longer.

"I can't, Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to contain his emotions. "I can't let you keep sacrificing yourself for me. I can't keep watching you put yourself in harm's way just to prove a point or to protect me. I have to do this, for both of us."

You felt a lump form in your throat at Jey's words, a sense of sadness washing over you as you realized the depth of his sacrifice, the lengths he was willing to go to in order to protect you and keep you safe. "Jey, please," you pleaded, your voice trembling with emotion as you reached out to him, desperate to make him understand. "I can't lose you too."

Jey's eyes turned glassy, but he refused to shed a tear, his expression a mix of pain and determination as he met your gaze, and the longer your heart writhed in pain. "How do you think I feel, Y/N?" he whispered, his voice filled with anguish as he took a step back, his eyes clouded with tears as he struggled to contain his emotions. "How do you think it feels to watch you put yourself in danger, to see you risk your life for me? I can't bear the thought of losing you, Y/N. I can't."

You felt your heart break at Jey's words, the weight of his pain and guilt crashing down on you like a tidal wave. "Jey… I'm sorry that I put you in this position," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion as you reached out to gently touch his arm, hoping to offer him some small measure of comfort. "I never meant to hurt you, or put you in the middle, Jey. I never meant for any of this to happen."

"Then stop, Y/N. Stop putting yourself in danger for me. Stop sacrificing yourself for my sake. I can't bear to see you hurt, Y/N. I can't." Jey's voice was soft, filled with pain and confusion as he pleaded with you, his eyes pleading for you to understand, to see reason, to stop endangering yourself for his sake.

"You already got a championship, do you really need to risk your life anymore? Can't you just let it go? "

'I can't let you get hurt, otherwise Roman will do to you what he did to me' Jey thought, his heart aching with the weight of his guilt and regret. "Please, Y/N. Please."

You blinked back tears at Jey's words, the depth of his pain and anguish cutting through you like a knife.

" I'm sorry, Jey," you whispered, your voice filled with remorse as you reached out to gently touch his cheek, hoping to convey the depth of your love and regret through your touch. "But I can't stop when I'm so close to getting justice for what Roman did to you. I can't just let it go, Jey. Not when he's still out there, still causing harm to people I care about. I have to do this, Jey. For you, for me, for everyone he's hurt."

Jey's eyes softened at your words, a flicker of understanding crossing his features, and he looked like he wanted to get something off his chest that had been locked in his heart for far too long, but instead he remained silent, his emotions roiling beneath the surface.

"I need my best friend back, Jey." You pleaded, your voice filled with longing and sadness as you gazed into Jey's eyes, hoping to convey the depth of your emotions through your words. "This Tribal Chief bullshit is getting to Romans head, and he's not the same person he used to be. He's lost sight of who he is, of what's really important, and I can't stand by and watch him self-destruct like this. I have to make him see reason, Jey. I have to make him understand the consequences of his actions, of the pain and suffering he's causing to everyone around him. I can't just let him get away with it, Jey. I can't."

Jey's eyes turned icy, his expression unreadable as he listened to your words, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions. "You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped, Y/N," he replied, his voice low and filled with resignation as he met your gaze, his eyes filled with sadness and regret. "Roman's made his choices, and he's not gonna change just because you ask him to. You can't save him, Y/N. You can't fix him. And you can't sacrifice yourself trying to."

You felt a pang of guilt at Jey's words, the weight of his pain and sadness pressing down on you like a heavy burden. At the sight of your teary eyes, Jey sighed and inched closer to you, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle embrace. "Shh, I know baby. Please don't cry."

You wrapped your arms tightly around Jey, clinging to him for support as you buried your face in his chest, the tears streaming down your cheeks as you let out a choked sob. "I just want things to go back to the way they used to be, Jey," you whispered, your voice muffled by his shirt as you allowed yourself to release all of the pent-up emotions that had been weighing on your heart. "I want my best friend back. I want Roman to see reason. I want us to be happy again."

Jey held you close, his arms wrapped around you like a protective shield as he gently stroked your hair, murmuring soothing words of comfort and reassurance as he tried to calm your racing heart. "I know, baby. I know," he whispered, his voice filled with empathy and understanding as he pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head. "I got you. Always."

He maneuvered you to sit on top of him as he leaned back against the headboard of the bed, cradling you in his arms as he held you close, his heart aching with the weight of your pain and longing. He whispered sweet nothings to you as your tears slowly subsided and your eyes turned heavy with the need for sleep.

Jey's arms tightened around you, his touch a comforting presence as you drifted off into a troubled sleep, your dreams filled with visions of the past, of happier times, of a future filled with uncertainty and hope.

As you slept, Jey stayed by your side, his gaze never leaving your face as he watched over you with a mixture of love and concern. His mind went back to his meeting with Roman, and the weight of their conversation weighed heavily on his mind.

"Jey, we both know she won't stop until she tears us apart." Roman had told Jey during their meeting, his face filled with a mixture of anger and concern. "She's stubborn, Jey. She's determined. And she's not going to give up until she gets what she wants.So I need to stop her from beating Auska, and you're not gonna stop me making sure that happens."

"Hold up." Jey interrupted, his expression filled with confusion and disbelief as he turned to Roman. "You want me to know you boutta sabotage her match? You want me to go against my own girlfriend, my own family, just to keep her from getting another shot at your title? Are you out of your damn mind, Roman?"

Roman's expression hardened at Jey's defiance, his gaze narrowing as he took a step towards him. "I'm not asking you to go against her, Jey," he replied, his voice low and measured. "I'm asking you to do what's best for both of you, for the Bloodline. And if that means stopping her from getting another shot at my title, then so be it. You know she can't beat me, Jey. She's not ready, she's not prepared, and she's not strong enough to take me on. So why would you want to put her in harm's way, to risk her safety and well-being for the sake of a foolish vendetta against me?"

Jey clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with frustration at Roman's manipulative words. He knew that Roman was trying to play on his fears and insecurities, to make him doubt his own judgment and loyalties. But deep down, Jey knew that he couldn't betray you, not after everything you had been through together. You were his rock, his anchor, his everything, and he couldn't bear the thought of turning his back on you, of betraying your trust and love.

"This is between the two of you." Jey finally spoke, his voice firm and resolute as he met Roman's gaze head-on. "I can't choose sides, Roman. I won't. Y/N is my girlfriend, my partner, my family. And I'll do whatever it takes to support her, to stand by her, to protect her. Even if it means going against you."

Roman's face hardened, and he took a step closer to Jey, the tension in the air palpable as the two cousins faced off against each other. "I heard Jimmy's coming back tonight." At the mention of his twin, Roman took a step closer to Jey, the tension in the air palpable as the two cousins faced off against each other.

"Yeah, he is." Jey replied, his voice tinged with caution, excitement and anticipation.

"Would be a shame if Jimmy got caught up in all of this, wouldn't it?" Roman's voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it, a silent threat lurking beneath the surface.

Jey's eyes narrowed, his muscles tensing as he stared back at Roman. "You wouldn't dare," he growled, his voice low and menacing.

Roman's lips curled into a cold smile. "Try me," he replied, his voice dripping with confidence. "We both know that if I hurt poor Jimmy, that would only add fuel to the fire. Naomi would be distraught , Y/N would blame herself, and their relationship would be irreparably damaged. Are you willing to risk all that, Jey? Think about what's truly important to you. Is it your loyalty to your family, or is it protecting the ones you love?"

Jey's heart clenched as he gritted his teeth, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. If he continued to defy Roman, he risked not only his own safety but also the safety and well-being of his loved ones. But if he betrayed you, he would lose the trust and respect of the person who meant everything to him.

"That's what I thought." Roman's voice was smug as he turned away from Jey, confident that he had gotten his message across. "You know what you have to do, Jey. Make the right choice."

His phone dinging brought Jey out of his thoughts, and he gently reached over to check the notification, his heart sinking at the sight of the message from Roman. "Did you convince her to drop the title match?"

That was their ultamatium. Make Y/N drop the match, or else Jimmy would pay the price. Jey's heart raced with fear and uncertainty as he read Roman's message, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions. Either you get hurt or Jimmy gets hurt. It was an impossible choice, a decision that tore at Jey's heart as he struggled to find a way to protect both you and his family. but he would rather hurt you emotionally then see his brother pay the price for his defiance.

"She's on the fence about dropping the match," Jey replied, his fingers trembling as he typed out the words, his heart heavy with guilt and regret. "But I'll try to talk her out of it."

A sense of unease settled over Jey as he hit send, knowing that he was betraying your trust and love in order to protect his family. But deep down, he knew that he couldn't risk Jimmy's safety, couldn't bear the thought of his brother getting caught in the crossfire of his feud with Roman.

A ding interrupted his thoughts, and Jey's heart sank as he read Roman's response. "If that doesn't convince her, then you know who pays the price." Jey's hands shook as he stared at the message, the weight of Roman's threat pressing down on him like a heavy burden. He knew that he had to do something, had to find a way to protect both you and Jimmy from Roman's wrath.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion as he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his heart breaking at the thought of what he had to do next. "I can't let anything happen to you, to Jimmy. I have to find a way to protect you both, no matter what it takes."

Jey knew that he couldn't let Roman's threats become a reality, and even if he had to betray your trust and love to make sure they don't come true, he was willing to do whatever it took to keep you safe.

FRIDAY NIGHT SMACKDOWN

incoming text from Naomi<3: girl, somethings up with our men.

outgoing text to Naomi<3: what do you mean?

incoming text from Naomi<3: Jimmy just left the house without saying anything, and Jey's been acting all weird and distant lately. I'm worried, Y/N. Something's not right.

outgoing text to Naomi<3: was jimmy acting normal before he left?

incoming text from Naomi<3: No, he seemed tense and on edge. And when I asked him where he was going, he just brushed me off and said he had some business to take care of.

outgoing text to Naomi<3: That's strange. Jey's been acting the same way lately. I think Roman is involved somehow. I think I know what's up. Talk to you after my interview. Love you.

incoming text from Naomi<3: kay boo, love you too <3

You turned off your phone as you shifted in your chair nervously, a tech telling you your interview segment with Roman would start in a few minutes. Your mind raced with thoughts of what could be happening. Jey had been acting strangely, and now Jimmy was mysteriously leaving the house without explanation. It all seemed too coincidental to ignore, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, and you seemed to know what it was.

"I'm Michael Cole, and welcome back to Friday Night Smackdown! I'm here with the Tribal Chief himself, Roman Reigns, and the Smackdown Women's Champion, Y/N, for an exclusive interview. Roman, Y/N, thank you for joining us tonight."

"Thank you for having us, Michael," Roman replied, his expression cool and composed as he settled into his seat, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

"You're welcome, Michael," you echoed, your voice steady despite the turmoil swirling inside you as you met Roman's gaze head-on, determined not to show any signs of weakness or fear.

"Now, let's get straight to the point. The 2 of you used to be best friends, the unstoppable duo of the WWE, now it seems like all of that is just a distant memory. Fights, clashes, and tension have been brewing between you two for weeks now. Roman, can you shed some light on what caused this rift between you and Y/N?"

Roman's gaze remained steady as he spoke, his words measured and deliberate. "This 'rift' was caused when I reminded Y/N of her place, and I did that at Hell in a Cell when I tapped her out. She just can't accept that while I see her as an equal, she is not on my level. She can't handle that I have the power that she has always yelieded, and she can't handle that I have the power now. You lost your title, and I had to punish you for your disobedience, and that's when you started to turn against me."

You clenched your jaw at Roman's words, fighting to keep your emotions in check as you listened to his manipulative rhetoric. "You know what Roman? You are right. I was foolish in thinking that I was exempt from your tyranny. I was foolish in thinking that you were still the same person I used to call my friend. But you're not, Roman. You've changed. You've let the power go to your head, and now you're just a shadow of the person you used to be.

You leaned forward in your seat, your eyes blazing with determination as you faced off against Roman, refusing to back down in the face of his intimidation tactics "But don't you dare forget that I was the person that helped create the Roman Reigns that everyone fears today. I was the one who stood by your side, who fought alongside you, who believed in you when no one else did. I was the one that built this monster that you've become, and now it's time for me to tear it down."

Roman tried to remain impassive, but you could see the hurt that your words inflicted, the flicker of doubt and insecurity that crossed his features before he quickly masked it with a facade of arrogance and superiority. "And don't you dare forget that you, Y/N, are the monster that helped me become the Tribal Chief," he retorted, his voice dripping with venom as he leaned forward, his eyes flashing with anger.

"You were the one who egged me on, who pushed me to embrace my destiny, who encouraged me to seize power at any cost. So don't try to play the victim now, Y/N. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you chose to align yourself with me, when you chose to stand by my side as my equal. You are a manipulative, calculating, and selfish person who will do anything to get what she wants, even if it means sacrificing the ones she claims to care about."

"That's rich coming from the person who's willing to manipulate and threaten his own family just to maintain control," you shot back, your voice dripping with contempt as you stared down Roman, refusing to be intimidated by his attempts to gaslight you.

"Oh really?" Roman leaned back in his chair, his expression filled with smug satisfaction as he met your gaze head-on. "And how many women in that locker room have you thrown under the bus to get to the top? How many friendships have you betrayed, how many promises have you broken, how many lives have you ruined just to satisfy your own selfish desires? Why do you think no one trusts you, Y/N? Why do you think you're all alone in this world, with no one to stand by your side? It's because you've burned every bridge, alienated every ally, and betrayed every friend you've ever had."

Your eyes turned steely as Roman continued his tirade, his words cutting through you like a knife as he struck at the heart of your insecurities and fears. The worst part was that he was right. You had made mistakes, you had hurt people, you had let your ambition and thirst for power cloud your judgment and lead you down a dark path. You were a monster that had created your own downfall, and now you were paying the price for your sins.

"And now here you are, acting like you haven't done anything wrong, like you're the victim in all of this," Roman continued, his voice filled with disdain as he stared you down, his gaze piercing through your defenses with a brutal honesty that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"Well, let me tell you something, Y/N. You're not the victim here. You're the villain. You're the one who's been pulling the strings, manipulating everyone around you to get what you want. And now you're paying the price for your actions, for your betrayal, for your selfishness.

And you know what? You deserve it. You deserve to suffer, to feel the pain and anguish that you've inflicted on others. You deserve to be alone, to be abandoned, to be hated by everyone you've ever cared about. Because that's what happens when you cross the Tribal Chief. That's what happens when you dare to defy me. But you can end this cycle of pain and destruction, Y/N. You can stop fighting against me and embrace your destiny as my right hand women, and come back to your best friend!"

Roman concluded, his voice softening slightly, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and pity. "All you have to do is drop the title match, and everything will go back to the way it used to be. You'll be safe, you'll be protected, and you'll have everything you've ever wanted. So what do you say, Y/N? Are you ready to stop fighting against me and start fighting alongside me? Are you ready to accept your rightful place by my side as my equal, my partner, my family?"

As you listened to Roman's words, a whirlwind of emotions swept through you. His accusations stung, hitting painfully close to home, but a part of you couldn't help but wonder if there was a grain of truth to them. Had you really become the villain in this story?

Had your thirst for revenge blinded you to the consequences of your actions? And was it worth sacrificing everything, including your relationships with those you loved, just to satisfy your own desires for justice?

"Y/N," Michael Cole's voice interrupted your thoughts, bringing you back to reality as he turned to you expectantly, his gaze filled with curiosity and anticipation. "What's your response to Roman's offer? Will you drop the title match and reconcile with him and bring your title to the Bloodline, or will you continue to fight against him and risk losing everything?"

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come as you met Roman's gaze head-on, your eyes blazing with determination. "You call me a monster, but I'm not the one threatening Jimmy to get Jey to betray me."

At your words, Roman's facade of confidence faltered, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features before he quickly regained his composure, his expression turning cold and impassive once again.

"Jey, you can come to me right now, I know you're watching, I won't be mad, I just want you to come to me." You looked straight into the camera, your voice breaking slightly with emotion as you addressed your boyfriend, hoping that he would hear your plea and make the right choice.

Roman's face turned from uncertain to smug as he realized he still held the upper hand. "I almost forgot how smart you are, Y/N. That's why you are my best friend and my partner, and I know you'll make the right choice." He said, his voice dripping with confidence as he leaned back in his chair.

"Jey, you can come out now." Roman instructed, and you scoffed as the camera panned on Roman's face, his smirk widening as Jey made his way from the corner of the room, stepping into view with a conflicted expression on his face.

Your heart sank as you watched Jey approach, his eyes filled with guilt and shame as he avoided your gaze, unable to meet your eyes. "Why are you putting him in the middle of this, Roman?" you demanded, your voice trembling with anger and betrayal as you turned to face Roman, your eyes flashing with fury. "He has nothing to do with our feud, nothing to do with our rivalry!"

Roman's smirk only widened at your outburst, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped together in front of him. "Because, Y/N, Jey is family," he replied, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "And you said if you beat me, you would take Jey away from the bloodline, and you are not going to do that. So I had to remind him of where his loyalties lie, of what's truly important. And it seems like he's made the right choice, hasn't he, Jey?"

You felt a knot form in your stomach at Roman's words, the weight of his manipulation and coercion pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. You had hoped that Jey would stand by your side, that he would refuse to be swayed by Roman's threats and intimidation tactics. But now, as you watched him approach with a heavy heart, you couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal and disappointment wash over you.

Jey's jaw clenched as he stood before you, torn between his loyalty to you and his fear of Roman's retribution. "I'm sorry, Y/N," he murmured, his voice barely audible as he met your gaze, his eyes filled with guilt and shame. "I can't let anything happen to Jimmy. I have to protect him, no matter what it takes."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you watched Jey turn away from you, his shoulders slumped with defeat as he joined Roman's side, his betrayal cutting you to the core. "Jey, don't do this." you whispered, your voice choked with emotion as you struggled to come to terms with the harsh reality of his choice.

"If you hurt Jimmy, I'll never forgive you," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper as you turned away Jey, and your eyes were pleading with him to see reason, to stand up against Roman and protect his brother.

"No, Naomi will never forgive you if you continue to defy the Tribal Chief," Roman interjected, his voice cold and menacing as he fixed you with a steely gaze. "And I'll make sure she knows exactly who to blame if anything happens to poor Jimmy."

You clenched your title belt tightly, your knuckles turning white as you fought to hold back tears of frustration and despair. You had never felt so powerless, so alone, so utterly defeated in your entire life.

"You just proved my point. You are the most manipulative and selfish person I have ever known, Roman," you spat, your voice filled with contempt as you glared at him, refusing to let him see the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. "And if you think that using the person I love against me will make me give in to your demands, then you don't know me at all."

Roman leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable as he watched you with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "Is that so, Y/N?" he replied, his voice calm and composed despite the tension crackling in the air between you. "Well, I guess we'll just have to see how long you can hold out against me, won't we? Because I'm not going to stop until you drop that title match and come back to the Bloodline where you belong."

He turned to Jey, who was standing by his side, his expression conflicted as he avoided your gaze. "Jey, what do you think? Do you think Y/N will come to her senses and do what's best for the Bloodline, or is she too stubborn and selfish to see reason?"

Jey hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting between you and Roman as he wrestled with his conflicting loyalties. "I don't know, Roman," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But I hope she does. For her own sake."

'Please don't make the same mistake I made, I'm begging you.' Jey thought.

Roman's lips curled into a cold smile as he turned back to you, his gaze filled with a predatory gleam. "Well, Y/N, the choice is yours," he said, his voice dripping with malice as he leaned forward, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "You can either drop the title match and come back to the Bloodline, or you can continue to defy me and suffer the consequences. The clock is ticking, Y/N. Next week there will be a Tribal Meeting, and you make your decision there. Choose wisely."

With those ominous words hanging in the air, Roman stood up from his chair, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he turned away from you, confident in his control over the situation. You watched helplessly as he left the interview area, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the weight of his ultimatum pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.

You thought Jey would be by your side, that he would stand up against Roman's manipulation and coercion. But as you watched him walk away with Roman, a sense of betrayal and abandonment washed over you, leaving you feeling more alone and vulnerable than ever before.

You'd be lying to yourself if you said there wasn't a part of you that knew that eventually Roman's manipulation would wear down Jey's resistance, but you had hoped that he would have the strength to resist Roman's influence, to stand by your side no matter what. Now, as you watched him walk away with Roman, you couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal and heartbreak wash over you.

But amidst the pain and despair, a spark of defiance ignited within you, a stubborn refusal to bow down to Roman's tyranny, to sacrifice your principles and integrity for the sake of power and control. You knew that dropping the title match would only be the beginning, that Roman would continue to manipulate and coerce you into submission, until you were nothing more than the shell of the person you used to be. And you refused to let that happen.

Jimmy… you had to find jimmy.

You wiped the tears coming from your face as you stood up and walked through the hallway, your steps heavy with determination as you made your way to find Jimmy. You had to find what made Roman tick, and you had to make sure Jimmy was safe, to protect him from whatever danger Roman had threatened him with.

Finally, you found Jimmy about to leave the building, his expression tense and worried as he glanced around nervously. "Jimmy!" you called out, relief flooding through you as you rushed towards him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Where are you going? What's going on?"

Jimmy turned to face you, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in your disheveled appearance, your eyes red and puffy from crying. "Y/N, I can't be seen with you right now," he replied, his voice hushed and urgent as he glanced around nervously. "It's not safe for either of us."

"What do you mean it's not safe?" you demanded, your voice rising with concern as you reached out to grab Jimmy's arm, stopping him from leaving. "What did Roman do? What did he threaten you with?"

Jimmy hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering with uncertainty as he struggled to find the right words. "It's… it's complicated, Y/N," he finally replied, his voice tinged with regret as he met your gaze. "But you need to trust me when I say that you're in danger. Roman's not playing around, and if you don't do what he wants, then…"

His words trailed off, but you didn't need him to finish the sentence. The threat was clear, hanging in the air between you like a dark cloud. Roman would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, to maintain his control over the Bloodline, even if it meant resorting to violence and coercion.

"Naomi's worried sick about me," Jimmy continued, his voice heavy with guilt as he avoided your gaze, unable to meet your eyes. "She's afraid that something's happened to me, that I've gotten caught up in all of this mess between you and Roman. And I can't bear to see her hurting like this, Y/N. I can't bear to see her worrying about me, wondering if I'm safe, if I'm okay."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to Jimmy's words, the weight of his love and concern for Naomi pressing down on you like a heavy burden. You knew that you couldn't let Roman's threats tear apart the people you cared about, couldn't let his manipulation and coercion destroy everything you had fought so hard to build.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion as you reached out to hug him tightly, holding onto him as if your life depended on it. ""I'm sorry that you got caught up in all of this, that you have to suffer because of my feud with Roman. But I promise you, I won't let anything happen to you or Naomi, or to Jey. I'll do whatever it takes to protect everyone, no matter the cost."

At the mention of his twin, Jimmy pulled back from the embrace, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of gratitude and concern. "Y/N, I'm sorry bout Jey," he said, his voice tinged with regret as he met your gaze. "He doesn't mean anything that he's doing, he's just trying to protect us, to keep us safe from whatever Roman has planned. But I know that deep down, he still loves you, still cares about you, still wants what's best for you. Roman said…" Jimmy trailed off, his words catching in his throat as he hesitated, unsure of whether he should reveal Roman's ultimatum to you. But seeing the determination and resolve in your eyes, he knew that he couldn't keep it a secret any longer.

"Roman said that if Jey didn't convince you to drop the title match, then he would hurt me," Jimmy admitted, his voice trembling with fear and uncertainty as he met your gaze, his eyes filled with guilt and shame. "He said that if you didn't comply with his demands, then he would make me pay the price, that he would hurt me to punish Jey for his defiance. That Naomi would get hurt in the process, that I would be the one to blame for everything that happened. And I couldn't let that happen, Y/N. I couldn't let Roman hurt you or Naomi or anyone else because of me."

Your heart clenched at Jimmy's words, the weight of Roman's threats pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. You couldn't believe that Roman would stoop so low, would resort to using violence and coercion to get what he wanted. But deep down, you knew that there was nothing he wouldn't do to maintain his control over the Bloodline, to keep you under his thumb.

"Jimmy, listen to me." your voice firm and resolute as you met his gaze, your eyes blazing with determination. "This isn't your fault. I won't let any of you get hurt because of me. Go home to Naomi, and tell her that everything will be okay, because everything will be okay. I'll find a way to handle Roman, to protect you both from whatever he has planned. But for now, I need you to trust me, to believe that I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Can you do that for me?"

Jimmys face was conflicted as he listened to your words, torn between his love and concern for you and his fear of Roman's retribution. "I trust you, Y/N," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he reached out to squeeze your hand tightly, his eyes filled with gratitude and relief. "I trust that you'll find a way to handle Roman, to protect us from whatever he has planned. But please, be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you because of me."

You nodded, a sense of determination settling over you as you met Jimmy's gaze, your eyes filled with resolve. "I'll be careful, Jimmy," you promised, your voice steady despite the fear and uncertainty swirling inside you.

A loud clank interrupted your conversation, making Jimmy nervously glance around and realize that at any moment , someone might discover the two of you talking. "I gotta go, Y/N," he said hurriedly, his expression tense with worry as he pulled away from you, his eyes scanning the hallway for any signs of danger. "But please understand that Jey cares about you, that' shy he's doing this, to protect you. He just doesn't know how to handle the situation right now. But I know he'll come around eventually, he just needs time to figure things out."

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips as you reached out to squeeze Jimmy's hand one last time. "Thank you, Jimmy," you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude and affection. "You're a good man, Jimmy Uso, and don't you ever forget that."

With those final words, you watched as Jimmy disappeared into the crowd, his figure fading into the distance as he made his way towards the exit. And as you stood there alone in the hallway, a sense of determination settled over you, a stubborn refusal to let Roman's threats and manipulation tear apart the people you cared about.

You just wished that Jey could see through Roman's lies and manipulation, that he could find the strength to stand up against him and protect you and his family. But for now, all you could do was wait and hope that he would come to his senses, that he would realize the true cost of betraying you for the sake of Roman's control.

And you knew just what move you needed to play.

"Yo uce, you need to chill out." At Jimmy's words, Jey whipped his head to him and glared at his brother, his frustration and anger bubbling to the surface.

"Chill out? You expect me to chill out when Roman is threatening to hurt you if I don't do what he wants?" Jey exclaimed, his voice laced with disbelief and desperation. "When my girl hates me because she thinks I'm betraying her for the sake of Roman's control?"

Loud music thumped in the background at the party both twins were attending, the bass vibrating through the air as people danced and laughed around them, oblivious to the turmoil brewing between the two brothers. Roman had organized a party that served as a facade, a way to keep up appearances and distract everyone from the tension and conflict within the Bloodline.

Lavish decorations adorned the room, extravagant drinks flowed freely, and the atmosphere was filled with laughter and revelry. Wrestlers and celebrities that the Tribal Chief had invited mingled with the guests, creating a facade of camaraderie and unity that belied the underlying tensions simmering beneath the surface.

"She doesn't hate you, Jey," Jimmy replied, his voice calm and steady as he placed a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder. "She's just confused and hurt right now. She doesn't understand why you're doing this, why you're letting Roman manipulate you like this. But deep down, she knows that you love her, that you would never intentionally betray her trust."

Jey shook his head, his jaw clenched with frustration as he turned away from his brother, unable to meet his gaze. "It doesn't matter what she knows or doesn't know," he muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness.

He snatched a drink from the nearby table and took a long swig, the alcohol burning his throat as he tried to drown out his feelings of guilt and shame. "What matters is that I'm a fucking pussy that can't stand up to Roman, and she probably thinks I'm spineless for going along with his bullshit."

Jimmy sighed, his expression filled with sympathy as he watched his brother struggle with his inner turmoil. "You're not a pussy, Jey," he said firmly, his voice tinged with frustration. "You're just caught in a difficult situation, one that none of us saw coming. Roman has a way of twisting things, of manipulating people into doing what he wants, and you're just trying to protect us from whatever he has planned."

Jey scoffed, his bitterness and self-loathing bubbling to the surface as he slammed his drink down on the table. "Yeah, well, look how well that's working out for me," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I talked to her, and she doesn't hate you," Jimmy continued, ignoring Jey's bitter remark as he pressed on, his voice firm and determined. He watched as Jey downed another drink, his expression clouded with anger and frustration, and he knew that he had to find a way to break through his brother's defenses, to make him see reason before it was too late.

"She's just scared and confused right now, Jey. She doesn't understand why you're letting Roman manipulate you, why you're putting yourself and your relationship with her at risk for the sake of his control. But she still loves you."

Jey's eyes widened at Jimmy's words, a flicker of hope stirring within him as he processed what his brother was saying. "You think she still loves me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he turned to face Jimmy, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and desperation.

Jimmy nodded, his expression filled with reassurance as he met Jey's gaze head-on. "Of course she still loves you, Jey," he replied, his voice soft and gentle as he placed a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. "You know, she was crying when she thought you were betraying her. That's not the reaction of someone who doesn't care. And you need to try to secretly talk to her, explain everything, and make things right before it's too late."

Jey's heart clenched at Jimmy's words, the weight of his brother's advice pressing down on him like a heavy burden. He knew that he had to find a way to reach out to you, to explain everything and make things right before Roman's manipulation tore you both apart.

"But how am I supposed to do that, Jimmy?" Jey asked, his voice tinged with frustration and uncertainty. "Roman's watching us like a hawk, and if he finds out that I'm trying to secretly talk to Y/N, he'll make good on his threats to hurt you and Naomi."

Something in the corner caught Jimmy's eye, and he gestured subtly to something behind Jey, taking the cup out of his hand. "Looks like we've got company," he said casually, his voice low as he glanced over Jey's shoulder.

Jey turned around to see Roman approaching them, his expression unreadable as he made his way through the crowd towards them.

"Jey, Jimmy," Roman greeted them, his voice cool and composed as he came to a stop in front of them, his eyes flickering with a dangerous gleam. "Having a good time at the party?"

Jey clenched his jaw, his muscles tensing with frustration as he met Roman's gaze head-on. "What do you want, Roman?" he demanded, his voice laced with hostility. He didn't have the patience for Roman's games, not when his relationship with you hung in the balance.

Roman's lips curled into a cold smile, his eyes glinting with amusement as he leaned in closer to Jey, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "I just wanted to make sure that you're still on board with our little arrangement, Jey," he replied, his tone dripping with malice. "Because if you're having second thoughts, then I'm sure Jimmy here wouldn't mind taking your place."

Jey's blood ran cold at Roman's words, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized the true extent of Roman's manipulation and coercion. He glanced at Jimmy, who was watching them with a mixture of apprehension and fear, and he knew that he couldn't let his brother suffer because of his own weakness.

"I'm still in, Roman," Jey replied, his voice firm and resolute despite the fear and uncertainty rippling through him. He couldn't let Roman hurt Jimmy, Naomi, or you, couldn't let his own selfish desires put his family at risk,

Roman's smile widened at Jey's response, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he clapped a hand on Jey's shoulder, his grip firm and commanding. "Good," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I knew I could count on you, Jey. I need you to stick to the plan tonight."

"Tonight?" Jimmy echoed, his brow furrowing with confusion as he glanced between Roman and Jey. "What plan?"

Roman's smirk only widened at Jimmy's question, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he turned to face him, his expression cold and calculating. "Oh, I just invited-"

"Y/N?" Your name fell from Jey's lips like a prayer, his heart sinking as he watched you enter the house, and god did you look beautiful. If you thought Roman was lavish, you were the epitome of elegance and grace, your presence commanding attention as you made your way through the crowd with confidence and poise.

Makeup on point, your dress clinging to your curves in all the right places, your hair styled to perfection. You were a vision, a sight to behold, and Jey couldn't help but feel a surge of longing and desire wash over him as he watched you approach, his heart pounding in his chest with anticipation.

"Y/N," Roman greeted you, his voice smooth and suave as he stepped forward to greet you, his eyes flickering with a dangerous gleam. "So glad you could make it to the party. You look stunning as always."

You nodded politely in response, your gaze flickering over Roman's shoulder to meet Jey's eyes, and the tension crackling in the air between you was palpable.

There was so much left unsaid between you, so many unresolved feelings and emotions swirling beneath the surface, and Jey couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt and regret as he met your gaze, his heart aching with the knowledge that he was the reason for the pain on your face.

"I'm glad you invited me. I almost thought you had forgotten about me," you replied, your voice cool and composed despite the turmoil swirling inside you. You forced a smile onto your lips, refusing to let Roman see how much his presence affected you, how much his manipulation and coercion had torn you apart. "But it seems like I'm just in time for the party."

Roman smiled at you, his teeth glinting in the dim light as he gestured towards the crowd of guests milling around them. "Of course not, Y/N," he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with charm and charisma. "I figured tonight I could show you what true family looks like, how we celebrate our victories together, as one cohesive unit. And what better way to do that than with a party, right?"

You raised an eyebrow at Roman's words, the sarcasm evident in your tone as you glanced around the room, taking in the extravagant decorations and lavish spread of food and drinks. "Ah yes, because nothing says 'family' like a room full of people you've threatened and manipulated into doing your bidding," you remarked dryly, your voice laced with contempt.

Roman's smile faltered slightly at your words, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a facade of indifference. "Come on, Y/N," he said, his tone light and casual as he tried to lead you to a quieter corner of the room, away from prying eyes and listening ears. "Let's not ruin the party with talk of business and politics. Tonight is about celebration, about unity, about family."

But you didn't let him pull you away from the main gathering, keeping your feet planted firmly in place as you met Roman's gaze head-on, your eyes blazing with defiance.

"You're right, let's not ruin this party. I brought a plus one, by the way," you interrupted, your voice firm and resolute as you gestured towards Jey, who was watching the exchange with a mixture of apprehension and concern, the tension between the two of you thick enough to cut with a knife. "I hope you don't mind, but I thought it would be nice for him to see what true family looks like, to experience the unity and celebration that you speak of."

You turned back to Roman with a look in your eye that meant you were planning something he couldn't anticipate, a sense of determination burning brightly within you as you stood your ground against him.

Roman's smile faltered at your words. "Of course not, Y/N," he replied smoothly, his voice tinged with annoyance as he turned back to face you, his expression carefully neutral. "Everyone is welcome at the party, especially family."

"Good." You nodded in response, a satisfied smirk playing on your lips as you watched Roman struggle to maintain his composure in the face of your defiance. You turned towards the door, and when you saw him, a smile lit up on your face. "Cause he's here right now."

"He?!" Jey whispered under his breath at the mention of another guy, his curiosity piqued as he glanced around the room, trying to spot the person you were referring to. His heart skipped a beat when he saw who it was, his eyes widening in surprise and disbelief as he took in their presence, standing at the entrance of the room with a confident smirk on their face.

"Seth!" You exclaimed, your voice filled with excitement and surprise as you rushed over to greet him, your steps quickening with anticipation. Jey's heart sank at the sight of Seth Rollins, his worst nightmare come to life as he watched you approach the man with a smile on your face, completely unaware of the turmoil raging inside him.

"Seth!" you called out again, your voice echoing through the room as you reached his side, your eyes bright with excitement as you wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace. "I can't believe you made it to the party! It's been too long since we last saw each other."

Roman's expression turned angry at the sight of one of his biggest enemies, the man who stabbed him in the back and betrayed him numerous times in the past. "What is he doing here?" he growled, his voice low and menacing as he watched you and Seth interact with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "I thought I made it clear that he's not welcome in our family."

But you ignored Roman's question, too caught up in the excitement of seeing Seth after so long. "I missed you, Seth," you said, your voice filled with genuine affection as you pulled back from the embrace, a wide smile on your lips. "I'm glad you could make it to the party. You have no idea how much I needed a familiar face tonight."

Seth returned your smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced around the room, taking in the extravagant decorations and lively atmosphere. "Well, I couldn't pass up the chance to see my favorite person," he replied, his voice smooth and charming as he flashed you a playful grin. "Plus, I heard there was going to be free drinks and good company, so how could I resist?"

"You could resist because you weren't invited." Roman's voice cut through the conversation like a knife, his tone cold and menacing as he stepped forward to confront Seth, his eyes flashing with anger and hostility. "So you could leave right now and take your ugly outfit with you"

Seth's smirk widened at Roman's words, his expression unbothered as he met Roman's gaze head-on. "Ah, but where's the fun in that, Roman?" he replied casually, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I thought we were past all the animosity and hostility, that we could bury the hatchet and move on from our past grievances. After all, isn't that what brothers do, right? They forgive and forget, right?"

Roman's jaw clenched with anger at Seth's words, his fists tightening at his sides as he struggled to maintain his composure in the face of Seth's provocation, but before he could advance, you stepped forward, placing yourself between Roman and Seth, your eyes blazing with determination as you met Roman's gaze head-on.

"Let's not ruin the party with talk of business and politics. Tonight is about celebration, about unity, about family." You threw Roman's words back in his face, your voice firm and resolute as you stared him down, a manipulative smirk on your lips.

"Everyone is looking at you, Roman. Everyone is watching to see how you handle this situation, how you react to Seth's presence. And if you make a scene, if you let your anger and hostility get the best of you, then what does that say about you as a leader, as a Tribal Chief? What does that say about your control over the Bloodline, your ability to keep your family in line?"

Roman's expression hardened at your words, his gaze narrowing as he took a step closer to you, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Fine. Make yourself at home, traitor."

Seth's smirk only widened at Roman's threat, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he met Roman's gaze head-on, unafraid of the Tribal Chief's anger and hostility. "You know, Roman, for someone who claims to be all about family and unity, you sure do have a funny way of showing it," he replied casually, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But hey, who am I to judge? After all, I'm just a guest at your little party."

With that, Seth turned away from Roman, his attention shifting back to you as he flashed you a charming grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "So, Y/N, how about we grab a drink and catch up? I'm sure there's a lot we have to talk about."

You returned Seth's grin with a smile of your own, your heart pounding in your chest with excitement and anticipation. "I'd love that, Seth," you replied, your voice filled with genuine affection as you linked your arm with his, allowing him to lead you away from the tense confrontation with Roman. "Let's go find a quiet corner and chat."

You passed by Jey, your eyes locking with his for a moment, and you could see the turmoil and conflict raging inside him, and wished that he was the one you were walking away with, that he was the one you were sharing this moment of reunion and companionship with.

But you knew that right now, he was still caught up in Roman's web of manipulation and coercion, unable to break free from the hold that his cousin had over him. And until he found the strength to stand up against Roman and choose you over his loyalty to the Bloodline, you had to focus on your plan and bringing him to you yourself instead of allowing Roman to continue controlling him.

"You're a really good actress." Seth commented as he led you away from the tense confrontation with Roman, his voice low and conspiratorial as he glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Roman wasn't following you. "I almost believed that you were glad to see me."

You chuckled softly at Seth's words, the tension slowly melting away as you allowed yourself to relax in his presence, grateful for the distraction from the chaos and conflict swirling around you. How did you and Seth get aquatinted, you might ask? Becky Lynch is the answer to that.

When Roman said you had no allies, something inside of you snapped, and you realized that instead of being a bitch and pushing away any allies in the women's locker room in favor of opportunities, you could actually start forming connections and alliances that could help you in the long run so you could forge your own path to success.

"I know you don't like me." You bluntly told her as you walked into the locker room, your tone firm and resolute as you met Becky's gaze head-on. "And honestly, I don't blame you. I've been a real bitch in the past, but if you want to get a head start in the line for my title, I would start listening to me right now."

Becky raised an eyebrow at your boldness, her expression unreadable as she studied you for a moment before responding. "You're right, I don't like you," she admitted bluntly, her voice tinged with skepticism. "But I can respect someone who knows what they want and isn't afraid to go after it. So, what's the catch? Why are you suddenly willing to play nice?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, a coy smile playing on your lips as you leaned against the locker next to hers, your eyes gleaming with mischief. "I'll give you a title shot."

Becky's eyebrows shot up in surprise at your offer, her skepticism giving way to curiosity as she considered your proposition. "A title shot, huh?" she echoed, her voice laced with intrigue. "And what's in it for you? Why would you be willing to give me a title shot out of the blue?"

You smirked at Becky's question, your mind already spinning with possibilities as you considered the potential benefits of forming an alliance with her.

"Because I need to get into Roman's head, and considering Seth is your husband, I figured you could help me with that." You replied casually, your voice filled with confidence as you met Becky's gaze head-on. "I need him to hang out with me when my plan starts, and I want your permission since he's your man, and I know how I'd feel if a random women started spending time with my husband without my knowledge or consent."

Becky regarded you with a mixture of skepticism and amusement, her lips curling into a wry smile as she crossed her arms over her chest. "You're not as dumb as you look," she remarked, her tone teasing as she gave you a once-over. "But why should I trust you? What's to stop you from double-crossing me and using Seth against me?"

You held Becky's gaze steadily, your expression serious as you made your intentions clear. "Because I'm not interested in playing games, Becky," you replied firmly, your voice tinged with sincerity. "I need your help, and I'm willing to offer you something in return. If you agree to work with me, to help me get inside Roman's head and figure out his plans, then I'll give you a fair shot at my title. No strings attached, no hidden agendas. Just a mutually beneficial arrangement between two women who have a common enemy."

Becky studied you for a moment, her gaze searching yours for any sign of deception or ulterior motives. Finally, she nodded in agreement, a small smile playing on her lips as she extended her hand towards you. "Alright, you've got yourself a deal," she said, her voice filled with determination.

And that is what brought you to where you were now, Seth's arm around your shoulder (platonically, but Jey didn't know that) as e led you away from the tense confrontation with Roman, his voice low and conspiratorial as you chuckled softly at his comment.

"Thanks, Seth," you replied, your voice filled with genuine appreciation as you leaned into his side, allowing yourself to relax in his presence. "You aren't too bad yourself."

Seth chuckled softly at your response, his arm tightening around your shoulder as he led you to get drinks, the lights of the party casting a soft glow over the room as the music thumped in the background.

"Well, I aim to please," he replied, his tone playful as he glanced down at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Becky told me that she made a deal with you to get a title shot in exchange for helping you with Roman. That's some pretty impressive maneuvering, Y/N. Looks like you're not as helpless as Roman thinks you are."

You smirked at Seth's words, a sense of satisfaction swelling within you as you realized just how far you had come since you first entered the wrestling world. "Your wife is pretty smart herself," you replied, your voice tinged with amusement. "And she knows a good opportunity when she sees one. You picked a good one, Seth. You're lucky to have her."

Seth chuckled softly at your words, his gaze warm and affectionate as he met your eyes. "Yeah, I know," he replied, his voice tinged with pride. "I'm a lucky guy. But enough about us. Let's focus on you and Roman. What's your plan?"

You glanced around the room, making sure that no one was eavesdropping on your conversation before leaning in closer to Seth, your voice low and conspiratorial as you filled him in on your plan to take down Roman. When you finished outlining your strategy, Seth nodded in approval, a confident smile on his lips as he squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

"That's a solid plan, Y/N," Seth remarked, his voice filled with admiration. "You've really thought this through. I'm impressed."

"I know." You quipped, grabbing a fruity drink from a passing waiter's tray and taking a sip, the sweet taste of the cocktail washing away the lingering tension from your confrontation with Roman. Seth giggled at your confident response, his laughter mingling with the music as he took a drink of his own. "Well, I'm glad I could be of assistance," he said, his tone light and playful as he gestured towards the dance floor. "But enough about business. Let's have some fun and enjoy the party. What do you say?"

You grinned at Seth's suggestion, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you allowed yourself to let go of the stress and tension of the evening. "I say let's dance," you replied, your voice filled with excitement as you linked arms with Seth, allowing him to lead you onto the dance floor.

You wrapped your arms around Seth's neck, moving in sync with the music as you danced together, the rhythm of the music pulsing through your veins as you lost yourself in the moment. The tension and conflict of the evening faded into the background as you allowed yourself to simply enjoy the company of your friend, the music drowning out the noise of the party as you moved together in perfect harmony.

3, 2, 1- You counted down, knowing what would happen when Seth's hands wrapped around your waist.

"I'll be gone, remember the plan." You whispered to Seth right as a hand grabbed your arm and started pulling you away from Seth, interrupting your dance mid-motion. You turned to see Jey struggling to maintain his composure, his expression a mixture of anger and frustration as he pulled you away from Seth, his grip tight on your arm, dragging you upstairs.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Jey growled out as he brought you upstairs and slammed open a door, dragging you inside before slamming it shut behind him, his chest heaving with anger and frustration.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were given permission to talk to me." You retorted sarcastically, pulling your arm out of Jey's grasp and trying to get to the door, but Jey blocking your path with his body, his eyes blazing with intensity as he glared at you. Damn, he looked good in his fitted suit, his muscles tense with pent-up aggression as he loomed over you, his presence dominating the small room.

"Don't play games with me, Y/N," Jey snapped, his voice low and dangerous as he took a step closer to you, his eyes flashing with anger. "I saw you out there with Seth, flirting and laughing like you didn't have a care in the world. Do you have any idea how that made me feel, seeing you with another guy?"

You rolled your eyes at Jey's accusation, your frustration boiling over as you met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down in the face of his anger. "I was not flirting with him. And now you know how I felt when you betrayed me for Roman," you shot back, your voice laced with bitterness as you pushed past Jey, making another attempt to leave the room.

But Jey was quicker this time, his hand shooting out to grab your wrist and pull you back towards him, his grip tight and unyielding as he glared down at you with intensity.

"Don't you dare try to turn this around on me, Y/N," Jey growled, his voice low and menacing as he forced you to look up at him, his eyes burning with anger and frustration. "I did what I had to do to protect you and Naomi, to keep us safe from Roman's threats. I didn't have a choice."

You scoffed at Jey's words, your frustration boiling over. "I know, and that's what makes it worse."

Jey stopped in his tracks, his grip on your wrist loosening slightly as he stared at you in disbelief, his expression softening with confusion and uncertainty. "What?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he searched your face for any sign of deception or manipulation.

You sighed, your anger and frustration giving way to a sense of sadness and resignation as you met Jey's gaze head-on, your eyes filled with vulnerability. "I mean that I understand why you did what you did, Jey," you replied softly, your voice tinged with sadness. "I understand that you were trying to protect your family, that you were put in an impossible situation with Roman's threats hanging over your head. But that doesn't change the fact that you chose to betray me, to side with Roman over our relationship. And seeing you with Roman, seeing you go along with his manipulation and coercion, it hurt. It hurt more than you'll ever know."

You willed yourself not to cry, biting your lip to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over as you laid bare your heartache and disappointment, your words hanging heavy in the air between you as you waited for Jey's response. "And maybe I used Seth to make you jealous cause I knew there was no way you would talk to me without some kind of push."

Jey stared at you in stunned silence, his heart sinking at the pain and sadness evident in your eyes, his own guilt and regret weighing heavily on his shoulders. He had known that his decision to side with Roman would hurt you, but he hadn't realized just how deeply his actions had affected you, how much he had damaged your trust and faith in him.

"Baby, I…" Jey paused, his voice choked with emotion as he struggled to find the right words to express his remorse and regret.

"Do you know how I feel seeing you with another guy?" he finally continued, his voice raw with emotion as he reached out to gently cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had escaped down your cheeks. "It tears me apart, Y/N. It makes me feel like the biggest piece of shit in the world, knowing that I'm the reason you're hurting, that I'm the reason you're crying. I never wanted to hurt you, baby. I never wanted any of this to happen."

Against your better judgement, you leaned into Jey's touch, the warmth of his hands comforting as you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with him, to let him see the pain and sadness that had been weighing on your heart. "I know you didn't, Jey," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper as you gazed up at him with tear-filled eyes. "But that doesn't change the fact that it did happen. It doesn't change the fact you hurt me, Jey. And I don't know if I can just forget about it and move on like nothing happened."

Jey's heart clenched at your words, his own tears threatening to spill over as he realized the extent of the damage he had caused, the irreparable rift he had created between you. "I ain't have a choice, Y/N," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion as he searched your eyes for any sign of forgiveness or understanding. "I had to protect my family, had to keep you safe from Roman's threats. I couldn't risk losing you, losing Naomi. I know I fucked up, baby, but please… please don't give up on us. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right, to earn back your trust. Just give me a chance."

You sighed, torn between the love you still felt for Jey and the pain of his betrayal, the conflict raging inside you as you struggled to make sense of your feelings. He leaned his forehead against yours, his cologne deliciously scenting the air around you as the tension between you turned into sexual tension. Your heart raced as you felt the heat of his body so close to yours, his breath mingling with yours as you gazed into his eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability and desperation reflected in their depths.

"Jey…" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart as you reached up to brush your fingers against his cheek, feeling the rough stubble beneath your touch. "You hurt me."

"Then let me make it up to you." He pleaded, his voice husky with desire as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours, the tension between you crackling with electricity. "Let me show you how much I love you, how much I regret hurting you. Give me a chance to prove myself to you, to earn back your trust and your love."

You hesitated for a moment, the conflicting emotions swirling inside you as you struggled to make sense of your feelings. But in the end, your love for Jey won out, the bond between you too strong to ignore. With a soft sigh, you closed the gap between you, your lips meeting his in a passionate kiss that spoke volumes of the love and longing you still felt for him.

Jey's arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperate intensity that left you breathless. It felt like coming home, like all the pain and heartache of the past few weeks melted away, and in that moment, there was only you and Jey, lost in each other's embrace, trying to mend the shattered pieces of your relationship.

You slip your tongue into his mouth and brought your hand to his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss grew more passionate, the heat between you igniting a fire that burned brighter with each passing moment.

Jey responded eagerly, his hands roaming over your body as he grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you onto the nearby bed, the kiss deepening as he hovered over you, his body pressed against yours in a heated embrace. The air crackled with electricity as your hands roamed over each other's bodies, exploring every inch with a desperate hunger born from weeks of longing and pent-up desire.

"Take off your suit." You whispered, your voice husky with desire as you reached up to unbutton Jey's shirt, your fingers trembling with anticipation.

Jey complied eagerly, his hands fumbling with the buttons as he stripped off his shirt, revealing the sculpted muscles beneath, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. You ran your hands over his bare skin, feeling the heat of his body beneath your touch as you trailed kisses along his jawline, savoring the taste of him on your lips.

"I missed you," you murmured against his skin, your voice soft and filled with longing as you pressed your body closer to his, reveling in the sensation of his warmth enveloping you. "I missed this."

Jey's hands roamed over your body, his touch igniting a fire within you as he trailed kisses along your neck, his lips moving with a fervent intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "I missed you too, baby," he whispered, his voice husky with desire as he trailed kisses down your chest, his hands deftly unzipping the back of your dress and sliding it off your shoulders, revealing the lingerie underneath.

You watched him with hungry eyes, the desire burning brightly within you as he worshipped your body with his hands and lips, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You tried to focus on his body, on his soft lips against yours, on how good his hands felt as they explored every inch of your skin, but a thump in the background grew louder and more persistent, but you tried to ignore it until you heard a loud crash outside the room, followed by raised voices and the sound of scuffling. You and Jey froze, the passion of the moment shattered as you exchanged worried glances.

"What the hell was that?" Jey muttered, his voice tense with apprehension as he pulled away from you, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of danger.

"It was Seth." You looked up at Jey, your eyes widening with concern. The plan was going well, but you knew Jey wouldn't like the idea of Seth being involved in your scheme against Roman. "He got into a fight with Roman downstairs. It was my plan." You quickly zipped up your dress as Jey helped you with your dress before you helped him with his suit.

"Go the fuck to hell!" You heard Roman's booming voice from downstairs, followed by the sound of a scuffle and a loud crash. Jey's eyes widened in shock and concern as he processed your words, his mind racing with a mixture of fear and adrenaline.

"Let's go." Jey said urgently, his voice tense with apprehension as he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the door, his muscles tense with pent-up aggression as he prepared to confront whatever chaos awaited them downstairs.

You nodded in agreement, your heart pounding in your chest as you followed Jey out of the room and down the stairs, the sounds of the commotion growing louder with each step. When you reached the main hall, you saw Roman and Seth locked in a fierce struggle, their fists flying as they traded blows with ferocious intensity. The room was in chaos, guests scattering in all directions as they tried to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

"You're the weakest link in your own group, and that's why Y/N is smart enough to bring me here." Seth taunted Roman as he dodged a punch and delivered one of his own, his voice filled with confidence and defiance as he faced off against the Tribal Chief. "You think you can control everyone around you, but you're just a puppet master pulling the strings of your own downfall."

Roman growled in frustration, lunging at Seth and punching him square in the jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. "I'm the Tribal Chief!" Roman roared, and Jey and Jimmy grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back before he could do any more damage to Seth. "And I'll be damned if I let some backstabbing snake like you undermine my authority."

"You wanna talk about backstabbing?" Seth cackled at Roman's words, wiping the blood from his split lip as he regained his footing, his eyes flashing with defiance. "You are nothing but a traitor, Roman. You turned your back on your own family, on your own blood, all for the sake of power and control. You think you're untouchable, that you can manipulate and coerce everyone around you into doing your bidding. But you're wrong. You're not as powerful as you think you are, Roman. And sooner or later, your reign of terror will come to an end."

Roman's eyes blazed with anger and hurt at Seth's words, but security intervened before the situation could escalate any further, separating Roman and Seth and ushering Seth out of the house.

"You." Roman turned to you, his eyes narrowing with fury as he advanced towards you, his fists clenched at his sides. "You set me up, didn't you? You brought Seth here to provoke me, to try and undermine my authority. You know what he did to me, and you still brought him here to hurt me."

"Just like you hurt me by using Jey against me?" You shot back, your voice cold and composed despite the turmoil swirling inside you. "How does that sinking feeling you get in your stomach feel, Roman? How does it feel to know that the people you thought you could control are starting to see you for the manipulative, power-hungry tyrant that you really are?"

"Jey hates your guts, Roman. He's only here because he wants to protect me from you." You continued, your voice dripping with contempt as you stood your ground against Roman, refusing to let him intimidate you.

"Oh please, what are you talking about…" Roman trailed off when he noticed that your hair was tangled, your dress was wrinkled, and when he turned to Jey, his hair disheveled and that guilty look in his eyes, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place as he realized what had transpired while he was preoccupied with Seth.

"You two…" Roman's voice trailed off, the anger and hurt evident in his eyes as he looked between you and Jey, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "You distracted Jey so that Seth could provoke me and make me look like a fool." Roman's voice was low and dangerous, his gaze flickering with anger and betrayal as he turned his attention back to you, his expression cold and unforgiving.

"I did no such thing," you replied calmly, meeting Roman's gaze with steely resolve. "But if you want to believe that, go ahead. It doesn't change the fact that your grip on the Bloodline is slipping, Roman. You can't control everything and everyone around you forever. Sooner or later, your reign will come to an end."

You felt everyones eyes on you as the party came to an abrupt end, guests murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out, leaving you, Jey, and Jimmy alone in the empty hall. "You should clean yourself up, Roman," you continued, your voice dripping with disdain as you turned on your heel and started to walk away, Jey following closely behind you. "You have a lot of work to do if you want to salvage what's left of your reputation."

You wanted to hurt Roman like he hurt you, and you knew that the best way to do that was to hit him where it hurt the most - his pride and his reputation. You had planted the seeds of doubt in his mind, sowing discord and chaos within the Bloodline, and now it was only a matter of time before those seeds grew into something much bigger and more destructive.

"Oh, and you don't have to wait till next week to know my decision about our match, I'm not dropping out. And if you hurt Jimmy, you'll face Seth instead of me, and we both know you don't want to face him." With that final warning, you turned to Jey and blew him a kiss before heading out of the door, leaving Roman seething with anger and frustration in your wake.

Your plan worked out perfectly.

1- You made Roman look like a fool in front of his guests, undermining his authority and sowing discord within the Bloodline.

2- You showed Jey that he couldn't ignore his feelings for you any longer, pushing him to confront the truth about his loyalty to Roman and his own desires.

3- Roman couldn't use Jimmy against Jey anymore, knowing you are willing to bring Seth into the mix if he tries to hurt his cousin, and now Roman couldn't guilt you into staying with him by threatening Jimmy.

Maybe you were a monster. But you didn't care, because sometimes you had to become a deamon to stop the monsters around you.

Cause Jey was worth losing yourself for.

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from-the-clouds · 2 years

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bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much.

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction.

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time.

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.”

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway.

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness.

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit.

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care.

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time.

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way.

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to.

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with.

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast.

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder.

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him.

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway.

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears.

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened.

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen.

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin.

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder.

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen.

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs.

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes.

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t.

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower.

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering.

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks.

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it.

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous.

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet.

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected.

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time.

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally.

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?”

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement.

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him.

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.”

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts.

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him.

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse.

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces.

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating.

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet.

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that.

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing.

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms.

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it.

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again.

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it.

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?”

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.”

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now.

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger.

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now.

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth.

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed.

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree.

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….”

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top.

“That’s it, nice and slow.”

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread.

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again.

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him.

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens.

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t.

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows.

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart.

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again.

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange.

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think.

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass.

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks.

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident.

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession.

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips.

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you.

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there.

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected.

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel.

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger.

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little – just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose.

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture.

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously.

“Yes, please, please,”

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often.

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.”

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made.

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life.

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper.

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”

“No.”

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much.

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t.

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks.

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t.

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had.

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more.

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this.

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you.

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it.

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap.

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though.

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic.

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response.

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted.

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek.

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him.

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head. Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom.

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side.

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him.

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?”

“You do.”

“So…. I’ll teach you.”

“....Okay.”

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do.

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart.

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this.

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us writing #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fic #joel miller angst #writing

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heauxvibez · 5 months

Text

Kissing On My Tattoos

warning: eehh, naur warning. Maybe just a sprinkle of a moan in there, but nothing harmful :)

Roman texting you while you're on a date has never been out of the ordinary. Especially if you had no interest in the guy.

A smile lit up Roman's face every time his phone buzzed, knowing it was a message from you, signaling that you weren't enjoying yourself.

Baby Girl💕: Can you come pick me up when he drops me off?

Biting his bottom lip, Roman typed the following words,

Sure thing baby girl. Just let me know when you get home.

His brown eyes brightened, he couldn't wait to see you. Just the thought of you made his heart race which he hated but loved at the same time. He just wanted to have fun. But you, oh, you yearned for something deeper, something more profound, especially with him.

When he confessed his attraction for you but made it clear he wasn't ready for anything serious, it broke you, leaving a bittersweet ache in your heart. Yet, you understood. Some people couldn't fathom the idea of commitment. And Roman, he was one of them.

He did put an offer on the table though, he put forth the idea of ya'll becoming friends with benefits. No strings attached whatsoever.

You were very hesitant and you thought about the offer for at least 2 weeks. You were putting your feelings on the line and knew it wasn't worth it but you really wanted to be with him. And if that was the only way you could have him, then so be it.

It's been 3 months since you've agreed and to be honest, you have enjoyed it. Besides the fact that Roman always.. and I mean always flirted with other girls in front of you. But hey, that's what you signed up for.

Before you knew it, you were dipping your toes into the waters of other men's attention. After all, if Roman was playing the field, why shouldn't you? The plan was simple: keep him around until someone else came along who truly made you feel the way he did.

Roman had picked up on it. Your absence hadn't gone unnoticed, not with you off on dates with other guys. And weirdly enough, he was feeling... jealous? Roman had never really been the green-eyed type, but lately, something was stirring inside him. He knew he shouldn't be, given he'd been messing around with other girls while fooling around with you. But still, that twinge of envy lingered.

He wanted you all to himself, plain and simple. Yeah, he knew it was selfish and unfair, but that's just how he felt, and nothing could shake that.

Lately, he'd been keeping his distance from the other girls he'd been seeing. It was like he was slowly cutting ties with them, realizing that his heart belonged to you and you alone.

Slipping into a black tee and his favorite Nike sandals, Roman checked his phone after getting a text from you.

Your date didn't go as planned, and now all you wanted was for Roman to bring back that smile to your face.

___

"Thanks for picking me up Ro, tonight was horrible.."

You collapsed onto his bed, sprawling out on your stomach. His scent enveloped you, his cologne mingling with the familiar smell of his sheets. You melted into the mattress, feeling completely at ease. Your muscles relaxed, and so did your mind. It was pure bliss.

He settled on the edge of the bed near your feet, releasing a heavy sigh.

"No problem, baby."

Internally, you melted. When he called you baby, it sent shivers down your spine, but you quickly reminded yourself that you probably weren't the only one he called that.

Before long, he was stretched out beside you, shirtless now. He propped his hands behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling. His mind seemed to be wandering, lost in a swirl of thoughts.

He couldn't bear the thought of anyone else having you, touching you, holding you, kissing you...None of it. The idea alone made him want to scream in frustration.

You noticed the look on his face.

"What's wrong?"

You hopped onto his lap, settling with your legs on either side, facing him.

"Nothing..."

"Don't lie to me."

He grinned and his hands found their way to your thighs. Instantly, your skin prickled with goosebumps, a familiar sensation whenever he touched you. Your body responded in ways that defied explanation or words.

He licked his lips, nearly making you squeal with anticipation.

"It's...just that I don't like seeing you with other men. It drives me absolutely in-fucking-sane," he expressed sternly. You could tell by the look of his face, he was serious. In fact, it almost felt like you were in trouble just from the way he looked at you.

Holding back a smirk you said,

"Well, I don't like seeing you with other women, but you're the one who came up with this Friend With Benefits crap,"

"I know, I know.." he sighed, running a hand over his bearded face.

"So, what are we going to do?" you asked. You honestly enjoyed this. He was finally giving in to his feelings.

His hands lazily trailed up and down your silky skin, relishing in the way you responded to his touch, your breath catching in your throat.

"We're going to be together because the thought of you being with someone else is eating me up on the inside,"

You awed him, grasping his hands in your own and placing them above his head. Leaning forward, you captured his lips with yours. The kiss was laced with a passion you've never felt before. You both took your time exploring each other's mouths, tongues fighting for dominance before he finally won.

As Roman's tongue teased a sensitive spot in your mouth, you couldn't help but let out a soft moan, feeling a warmth pooling between your thighs.

Planting kisses along his shoulder, you traced the inked patterns on his skin, marveling at the details they whispered about his culture, his life.

When you found that sweet spot, he groaned, his grip on your hand tightening as you continued to hold them above his head.

"Baby.." he whispered breathlessly as you sucked on his sweet spot. You showed no mercy, nibbling and sucking until he was putty in your hands. Every stroke of your tongue against his inked skin sent shivers coursing through his body.

"Now, we aren't going to be together just because you say so. I really want you to drop those women, all of them. Prove to me that you want me and only me.." you murmured against his neck before sitting up, meeting his gaze head-on.

Roman pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes squinting slightly.

"Okay...I will."

Lightly slapping his chest, you glared.

"I'm serious, Roman. You're playing games and I'm not down with that anymore. I'm through being fuck buddies. Either you give me all of you or nothing at all."

Roman sat up, encircling his arms around your waist, pulling you close. He rested his forehead against yours, his desire burning beyond the physical; he wanted to claim you as his own. You were the only one who stirred these feelings within him, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you just to play the field.

He was a fool for your pretty eyes and that smile. How'd he expect himself not to fall?

"I'm not lying, baby. I promise, I will drop them all for you."

He brushed his fingertips along the curve of your cheek, his minty breath teasing your lips as he inched closer.

"I don't have to worry about another woman's lips on your body?" you questioned, a hint of uncertainty in your eyes.

He tenderly kissed your lips, catching you off guard for a fleeting moment.

"Nope. I don't want nobody but you kissin' on my tattoos, baby girl.." he whispered, then leaned in to place a kiss on your temple.

---------------

Hope y'all enjoyed this small little one shot!

And please go read my last two one-shots if you haven't already. I enjoyed writing them and want you to enjoy reading them! Love ya'll, Muah!

Tags: @harmshake @southerngirl41 @spritelucozade @empressdede @alichesmi @msbigredmachine @theninthwonder @mzv11 @wrestlingprincess80 @saintmagx

#roman reigns #wwe #roman reigns fanfiction #wwefanfic #romanreignsimagine #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns fluff #fanfiction #romanreignsoneshot #roman reigns x reader

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zujime · 7 months

Text

─── vi

cw. best friend’s ex! vi, fluff, implied fem reader (no pronouns used tho), acquaintances to lovers, (slight) slow burn, cuddles, sharing a bed, movie nights, pet names mentioned: princess, babe, hun, gorgeous.

note. a lil somthing i conjured up during my period insomnia :)) I'm running on one hour of sleep ya'll mrgh... anyway, should i make another part?

best friend’s ex! vi who you only ever saw in passing when she was still with your bestie. why they broke up was always a topic your friend never really expanded upon but they got off on somewhat good terms—though you do recall the prolonged stares vi would give you when she’d come by.

best friend’s ex! vi who you happened to stumble upon when going to get your lunch at the cafe that was across from your job right after you finished your shift. you remember hearing that she wasn’t really a fan of the food here because “the food ’s just glorified hospital food”, though the silly jab at her comment is caught in your throat when she greets you; silver eyes soft as they flicker between your eyes, scarred lips curling into a shy smirk as the velvety soft sound of her voice reaches your ears.

best friend’s ex! vi who you gave your number to after that same encounter to keep in touch—she’d text you during your breaks to ask silly questions and take your mind off work stress and later call you after your shifts end. and those calls end up lasting far longer than intended, either up until someone falls asleep or till someone’s phone dies.

best friend’s ex! vi who takes three weeks to ask if you wanna hang out, you know, as friends? inviting you over for a movie night at her place on your day off to watch the movies you’d been dying to watch but never got around to. you were able to get through the first two but as soon as the third movie started, you began nodding off before vi felt your head softly fall onto her taut shoulder—your lashes ghosting the exposed skin as you slept peacefully, drooling a little.

best friend’s ex! vi who chuckles slightly at the sight and at the warm, heart-swelling feeling you give her whenever you call, text—hell, whenever she sees your face. she turns the tv off before picking you up and tucking you in her bed before she goes to sleep on the couch.

best friend’s ex! vi who you wake up and walk down the hall to see laid out on the couch, limbs hanging off the couch from under the soft blanket she had on—low mumbles could be heard from her sleeping form, faint yet audible, though they’re cut short as she stretches and slides a hand over her face in hopes of wiping away the sleep, eyelids heavy as she peers at you.

“how long have you been watching me?” her voice still carried the taunt with a softness as she spoke groggily. you feel your face grow warm at her question, despite it being a tease but you brush it off and thank her for letting you stay the night even though none of you intended to have a sleepover. she hums in response before getting up off the couch. “it was like—three in the morning—and i am not some asshole who would’ve just let you go home alone, princess.” the pet name slid so effortlessly off her tongue as she passed by you, to go shower.

best friend’s ex! vi who you find yourself hanging out with more and more, and the pet names she’d give you only seemed to grow—not like you had a problem with it. she’d call you things like babe, princess, and hun far more than she’d ever say your actual name, she even calls you gorgeous, though rather sparingly because sometimes she feels like she’s going a little too far.

best friend’s ex! vi who you refuse to tell your bestie about every time she asks what you’re thinking about whenever you zone out during your monthly outings.

“what’s with that face?” she inquires, giggling a bit at the shamelessly lovesick expression you wore. “what face? what’re you talking about?” you snap back to reality, eyeing your friend anxiously as you listen to her response. “you know, that face people make in those really cheesy romcoms from the 2000s when they’d just met the love of their life or something…” she trailed off, now squinting at you in suspicion. “...are you seeing someone?” “...” “hello?!” “girl, no! i’m thinking about when imma get my mfing food.”

best friend’s ex! vi who you practically live with at this point—because of how often you two have sleepovers, she has a majority of your belongings all around her apartment; your clothes in her closet and dresser, your extra toothbrush and hair products, fav foods/snacks and drinks in the fridge, etc. though, she still insists on sleeping on the couch whenever you stay over despite you stating you have no problem sharing the bed. eventually, she caved—reluctant at first as she squirmed under the comforter to get comfortable beside you until she finally was able to fall asleep.

best friend’s ex! vi who at first when sharing the bed with you, would often wake up to make sure she wasn’t crowding your space or being touchy in any way. but the moment she woke up to your arms draped over her frame, she softened and decided to just let herself sleep—burying her face in the crook of your neck and holding you close as she slept, yet she still tries to be mindful of her movement so she doesn’t wake you.

best friend’s ex! vi who you realize is a huge sucker for physical affection. oftentimes brushing her hand against yours in hopes of holding it but hesitantly refraining from interlocking fingers when in public. and when the two of you are alone, she desperately leans into whatever you give her—head scratches, movie night cuddles, pinky holding, tracing her tattoos with your fingers, anything.

best friend’s ex! vi who realizes she has feelings for you during one of your typical movie nights, but the look you gave her when the movie ended—eyes reflecting the television screen so prettily as you tilt your head slightly to peer up at her before speaking, but whatever it was you said had completely gone through one ear and out the other as the skin of her ears slowly became a deep red.

"fuck." was the only thought that crossed her mind as she stared at your soft eyes. "vi?" you murmur, a little worried at the expression she wore. but she abruptly stands up before excusing herself and heading to the bathroom.

best friend’s ex! vi who you spent the last few days worrying about—is she ok? is she sick? did you make her uncomfortable? thoughts seemed to race through your head endlessly until she asks if you could come over real quick, through a text.

best friend’s ex! vi who—despite having met multiple people before—gets nervous when you step foot in her apartment. in her eyes, the feeling of her words falling messily from her lips as she spills her guts to you feels weird. but when you creep close to her—lips mere inches from hers as your breaths mingled and eyes heavy-lidded—that feeling dissipates.

best friend’s ex! vi who gets lost in the sea that is your lips as you drown in the feelings she was too scared to show you. callous hands slotting themselves needily on each side of your face, pulling you deeper into the kiss with every shared breath, begging never to part. almost as if accepting her request, you rest a hand against hers, smiling into the searing kiss before finally pulling away for air and softly gazing up at her silver orbs.

#reader insert #arcane #arcane vi #arcane violet #arcane imagines #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #vi arcane x reader #vi imagine #vi x reader #vi x you #vi x y/n #fluff #arcane fluff #vi fluff #arcane x female reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n

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threepandas · 19 days

Text

Bad End: We Are

Senatus was a ecumenopolis. The "shining jewel" (yeah, right) of the Galactic Core. Please. Like? Maybe it was! If you were RICH AS FUCK. I don't know. I'VE never seen the towers. The heights. Most people haven't. Street level? Is about FIVE HUNDRED FLOORS DOWN. And the UNDERGROUND? Speak not of it.

The Underground GROWS.

What was street level today, may not be tomorrow. Levels buried under "progress" as the rich grow ever higher. The Tox levels ever worse. Air quality dropping. Why fix the peasant's poverty and despair, when you can buy a Sky garden you'll never use? And yes, I AM bitter as a Buirian fish ration. Just as salty too. Taste the SEA, motherfuckers.

Rent? Who can AFFORD rent!? Who can afford ANYTHING?!

It's some BULLSHIT.

But me? I remembered. A life. Before this one. Before the millennium of slow, drip drip drip erosion of duty and dues. Back when people still REMEMBERED what they were OWED. And when folks in power failed to pay up? Ffffuck um. Take it. Our house now, motherfuckers. Diplomacy was a courtesy not a weakness.

....I make people nervous, honestly.

Probably why I keep getting fired. That and my constantly reporting people to regulatory boards.maybe don't break the LAW if you don't want to get in trouble you SHITS. Fuck you! Yes, I stole your fancy office chair. PROVE IT. You don't know how the security system works!

Where was I? Ah, right. Rent.

Fuck Rent.

Thing is? What! Is a biodome? If not an enclosed system, regulated by machines, for optimal habitability? And! What? Is an Deep Underground Level? Long forgotten? Abandoned, if you will~, if not? A complete enclosed environment? Does someone OWN them? Yes. Technically. But are they MAINTAINING them? CHECKING on them? Nope!

Common knowledge, after all, says that EVERYTHING down their is "beyond salvaging"!

Free Real Estate~☆

I just need some supplies. Which? Cheaper in the long run then RENT. Especially if ya' salvage um. Maybe steal some tool sets from your shitty, shitty Mechanics job, because your boss refuses to pay you. Who can say? Not me! I just FOUND these tools! Like maaaagic~

And really, one man's junk? Another man's treasure. I pay more then the trash company. Hit up the right cleaning companies? And? Oops. They've "lost" some of those SUPER broken righ folks "junk" that? At best? Just needed a few wires replaced, resecured. Maybe a new part. Or were, you know, not the latest and greatest anymore.

Shove it all in a storage locker? Sell the refurb'd shit I don't need? Sleep in a glorified shoebox? And?? Bam. Operation "fuck ya'll, i'ma moleman" is a go. It takes FOREVER to find the right WILDLY out of date (and long abandoned) lift, but I find it! Hidden away in a service area in some crumbling, forgotten corner of what once was a rail station.

Gonna have to fix THAT up too. Later, though. First? The lift. The wires are brittle and the lift's pully system is half rusted, frozen, or otherwise broken. Luckily, the car itself is fine. It... takes a bit of research. Not going to lie. It's far from my specialty. I even call in a professional to go over my work.

They catch a few things. Not immediate concerns, but would have been fatal in the long run. Money well spent. For my hobby, of course. Fixing up old bits of the city. Which is a weird but not impossible hobby to have.

Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies, my dude.

First thing down? Lights, melter, and duraplast sheets. Toolkit too, for obvious reasons. Same with my full body hazard suit. I go DEEP. Like... no longer can hear the city, deep. 'Bout halfway point. Takes nearly thirty minutes. And while not a fast lift? Holy SHIT, man.

The floor I step out into is... bad.

Dead in a way that's hard to explain. There's pressure against my suit. Centuries of heavy gasses slowly working their way down. Swirling in the silence. The dust and impossible dark. My headlight feels almost... sacrilegious. Dangerous. Like I'm waving a flashlight around some ancient burial ground, filled with the not so restful dead.

I had heard... that they? Just... just LEFT droids down here. That there were levels upon levels of dangerously feral machines. Slowly rotting away in the darkness. Probably rightfully angry, that they had been built to serve, to do duties, which they HAD done... only to be consigned to hell on earth for the sake of CONVENIENCE.

I'd be mad too. Fucking LIVID. Would remember and hate, never let it go.

This was no place of honor, it was a tomb.

Still, I got too work. Set up a light by the lift and started measuring out the original air box. The air cleaners could only handle so much. And THIS? This was worse then expected. So it'd have to be smaller then originally planned. Fair enough. I could work with that.

I outlined the space in lights. All the better to make it easier to put things up. Then got the folded later and started securing the duraplast. First step, get it up. THEN melt it to the metal. Get a good seal. It took... a while. Was slow, steady, sweaty work.

The filters couldn't run until they had a an enclosed space TO run in. They'd just blow out, trying to filter the whole level's toxic atmosphere. I kept an eye on my air supply. Not great, not terrible. The readings though? Horrific. I had no idea what I was gonna DO with the filters when they needed changing. These kind of chemicals would set off all SORTS of alarms.

But? No use, rushing things. That was a great way to get a fatal leak somewhere. No. Slow and steady. Even though, third of the way through, I did have to head back up. I needed to refill my air. Eat. Drink. Maybe de-stink a little, from being in that suit all day. Possibly nap near the lift.

ALSO? Update my shopping list to include some heavy duty neutralizers.

Just filters wasn't gonna be enough. I was gonna have to hose down everything INSIDE my new air-box, then scrub it HARD. How fun. Well, it's not like anyone was making me do this. It was MY mad idea, after all.

So? I refuel, get bright eyed and fuckin' perky, and go back down to face the beast.

Honestly I should have brought a telebook or something. Well, audio book. But that's not what they call um these days, so I try to stick to the lingo. I sound less like a deeply insane antique. Confuse less people. Joys of basic communication and all that.

Part of me? Wishes I had been born closer to "The Plot". Creation's specialist, most favored, Blorbos. But? The common SENSE in me? Routinely laughs hysterically as it waves fifteen different restraining orders and a crucifix. Not even religious. Yet here we are, shouting "BEGONE! Sataaaaan!" in HD, on the inside of my head. Not sure it helps.

See... it's the fucking DRAMA~☆™

The shear, unmitigated, high octane, Otome Game DRAMA.

I would fuckin DIE or, possibly and, kill somebody. The endless string of selfish, selfish, poor life choices? Driving by luuuuuuv~♡? Give me your spleen. Gonna beat somebody unconscious with their own SPINE. I RAGE. Lack of communication? No one just picking up a fucking PHONE? God forbid ANYONE tell their families their not DEAD IN A DITCH SOMEWHERE!

No. No just inconvenience EVERYBODY and RUIN LIVES. It's okay! You're in LOVE!

That makes EVERYTHING BETTER.

I would inevitably launch them all out an airlock. Spend the rest of my life in jail. They AREN'T WORTH IT. I may have LOVED this game in my teens? But I did not die a teenager.

Now? Now the little shit just aggravate me. They are baby faced pretty boys who presume WAY too much. Arrogant and entitled. Boys playing at being men, thinking their little love stories are the only things that matter. Their feelings are the only thing in the universe that holds any weight.

Unsurprising, really.

Seeing as how their little love story is set mostly in The Towers.

A rich, pampered, pretty little backdrop where nothing of weight is real. No one starves and no crimes are ever committed. Everything shines. Power pools thick like honey. Nothing but sci-fi prince's and alien dukes, a dewey eyed Protagonist sheltered and naive.

Her oh so shocking misadventure to the mid-levels. How SCARY! Downtown! Poor people! Not even the destitute. Just? The EXSISTANCE of dirt and noise, beyond her ivory towers. Thank goodness she is saved by a handsome, rougish bad boy. Who shows her the "real world" of a carnival and a noodle shop.

I finish securing the last duraplast sheet to the ceiling, walls, supports, and along the floors. The "entryway" to the rest of the level is set up. A click together shed I've made air tight. Gonna have to get a air lock system for it. Won't hold forever, with those materials, but should work for now. Combine it with a decontamination system, and I should, in theory, be able to safely enter and leave the rest of the level in a hazard suit.

Moment of truth time. I click on the first of the atmo-filters. It heaves under the strain. The sound getting less aggrieved with each one I flick on. Their screen are already in the red, flashing warnings that I should vacate the area. That the air is dangerously unbreathable. I'm probably gonna need to replace the filters in them in days instead of years. It'll be worth it.

Heading back up, I let them run. It'll take a few days. Besides, I need those neutralizers.

I, of course, DO find um. Just in time to watch Poor Guy (middle class, at worst) Love Interest become a wanted man. They use the BIG screens to announce it. Gee, it's almost like having your only daughter, who is highly sheltered, NOT show up at the designated pick up site? Instead be witnessed in the handsy company of a scoundrel? Which is WILDLY unlike her? Might lead a protective father to some wrong conclusions.

If ONLY someone had CALLED him! To TELL him "Daddy, my first shuttle was broken and I think I got on the wrong back up shuttle! I don't know where I am!" Then this would just be an unfortunate meet cute with the boy he doesn't think is good enough for her. Not, you know... A Kidnapping.

The Chem seller looks just as baffled and annoyed as I do. Apparently knows the guy's uncle's second wife's first husband. No shit? How's he like? Happier, huh. Whole family is like that? Yikes. Glad he got the kids, I guess. Good for him.

We watch as it turns into a high speed chance that absolutely didn't need to happen.

Thank FUCK it's not us.

I spend the next few days deliberately and obstinately ignoring the Dramatic Bullshit that has taken over the news cycle. Fights on rail cars? Don't see it? Weddings that are, then aren't, then ARE happening? Oh look, missed a spot in my scrubbing. Someone fucking tearfully monologing about love as they nearly CRASH A SHIP into downtown, killing hundreds of thousands? Oh that creaking noise is just my teeth, ignore that, I grit my teeth a lot for NO PARTICULAR REASON.

This Is Fine.

I am TOTALLY CALM.

But hey! I can FINALLY empty my storage unit out! Air box? Get! Wooooo! Size of a tiny apartment and everything! As long as I keep working on it? I'll be able to reclaim the level in chunks.

It's like moving in day! But BETTER! Because... because I did this. Me. Is it still creepy down here? Yeah, very. But I can FIX that. I am standing, here, in my new air box "apartment", with NO hazard suit on. And... and it's SAFE. Because of the work I DID.

I kinda want to cry about it, you know?

So many options! Do I put my bed here? There?! Oooh, I could put the folding table HERE and make sort of a dining area? Maybe use these folding screens as a double "wall" slash headboard stand in? I should get plants. Fake ones? No. Real ones. I could get solar lights. It would be good for me too. Oh! Where should I put the cook top?

I admit it. I fuss. Whole day, gleefully wasted. Arranging then rearranging. Getting everything just right. Finding ways to hang my fairy lights. Looking up decor magazines. I have so much ROOM now. A whole level to plan for, ultimately. It... it feels kinda like hope. The first thing that isn't frustration and rage, I've felt in a long, long time.

Going to sleep? I'm happy.

Next day, I head to the BIG archives. The ones attached to the fancy Towers Library. Is it costly to get in? Yeah. But I've saved up enough questions and research topics for the trip to be worth it. I ignore the started glances I get (gasp! Is that a POOR?!) and head straight for the helper droids. Only decent folks in the building, really.

Brought my pad and everything. So it's only a matter of being lead to the right terminals, to download the information I need. Chatting with the research droid the Library had, they offered to do it for me. Bring me a fascinating new research paper on some sort of telepathic moss that had recently been discovered. Not gonna lie... that DID sound fascinating.

I asked if they could put other interest new discovery on my pad too, assuming I still had room once my list was downloaded. They looked gleeful. No idea what I just signed up for, but all right then. They've never steered me wrong before.

Finding a table to sit down and wait was easy. There was always way too many. The paper? Was exactly as fascinating as advertised. The moss was on a newly discovered moon, edge of uncharted space. Nearly ate a researcher, apparently. I was entranced. Or... at least I WAS. Until an obnoxiously familiar high end cologne from Nox drifted to my nose.

Oh god damn it.

I didn't want to look up. Knew what I'd see if I did. Fetishist Sr., crown prince of Nox. See, the second prince? HE was a love interest. Younger, boyish, infatuated with naive and sheltered girls. He loved AT her. Just like his brother. They liked the IDEA of their romantic partners. The narratives they built in their head. Heros of their own stories with sex on line. Never framed so crudely of course, no, no!

No, it was Romance™

My ass, it was. See, little brother wanted his pure, naive, princess to protect. But Prince senior? HE'D stumbled upon me in here in the library. On one of my trips, God help me. The rough, mysterious, brutish Poor. The Commoner, for all that such things were not supposed to exsist. With my strange clothes and stanger ways. Yet? I was NOT as his sycophants no doubt described.

I was educated. I held myself with dignity. I did not need jewels or finery to be lovely.

With such incredible audacity, I was bold.

Which? OBVIOUSLY had to be for HIM, right? Clearly, this was a LOVE STORY. Cinderella. It is inconceivable that I, a peasant, do not crave the attention of my betters. To lift me from my woeful indignity, to a higher state of being. A life of spoiled luxury. But, ah! He is so SHY! How ever will he approach the Love Of His Life~?

I want to throw something. Go awaaaay. My body language could not POSSIBLY be more uninterested. I am SO CLEARLY reading. Stop trying to catch my eye. Don't you FUCKING DARE scoot closer. Swear to God, if you drive me out of the best library in the region? I will stab a b-!

The helper returns with my pad, sternly eyeing my annoyance. Oh, they are a BLESSING. I take it and go. The helper smoothly stepping between me and the prince when he tries to rise, follow me. Aaaw, how sad, you have to behave like the REST OF US. Get FUCKED.

Rest of the day? Planning. Grabbing more broken bits, machines, and parts. Neutralizers by the literal barrel. Than YOU hover carts! Best invention, favorite invention. Saves SO MUCH TIME.

Even managed to get some sun lamps. Nice.

Getting home though? (Ha ha, wooo! I have a HOME now! Land ownershiiiiiiip! Sorta!!!) Is a pain. Lift is only so big, after all. But it is, what it is. Up, down, up, down, uuuuup, and dooooown. Finally! Last load! FREEDOM! Can't watch my shows, yet, but I will! Oh mark my words. I WILL. Meantime? Downloaded seasons are fine.

I eat, fiddle with fixing things, as listen to tunes. Watch some of my shows. Just as I have countless times before. Until... halfway through mid-afternoon? Something shifts, jerky and wrong, out of the corner of my eye. I pause. Turn off my music. Stare to make sure I DID actually see something. And... yeah. Yeah, that was definitely movement.

Didn't look animal though, not like one would survive down here. But who knows. Could be a poacher brought an alien species. So it might be. I grab my flashlight, aim and switch it on. Holy SHIT. That is one incredibly beat up floor clear. Or at least... I THINK it's a floor cleaner? It has the general shape of one. Bigger though. Bulkier. But that makes sense, given it's gotta be well past obsolete.

Still. Poor thing looks beat UP. Listing terribly, sensors beyond cracked and clouded, probably full to dangerous levels. No idea how it's still functioning. But, well, it IS. And it needs help.

Getting up, I grab my hazard suit and pull it on. Grab my "outside the air box" tool kit, which I haven't had a chance to move yet. I grab some parts i look like i'll need, hope I wont need more. Then head out my makeshift airlock. It... works. Rattles concerningly. But it DOES work! So there's that. I approach the floor cleaner slowly. Since I'm PRETTY sure? All the droids down here are feral.

I am correct.

It tries to kill me. Swinging it's suction hose violently and trying to ram me. I talk in a low, soothing voice. Just want to help. Won't do ANYTHING you don't want me too. It's hard to move, right? That's frustrating, isn't it? You don't deserve that. Please, let me help. You can leave the second I'm done. You don't owe me ANYTHING. I just want to help. Please let me help.

The cleaner hisses. Frustrated and upset. Swinging one last time, seemingly more out out of principle then anything else. Cautiously, I inch forward. Keep up the soothing noises. First things first, empty the God's only know how old basket.

I can't even get the door to jostle. Sweet mother of fuck. Okay! New plan! REMOVE door. I do, and immediately met with a solid BLOCK of... compacted unholy. Chemical hell. I have to take a lazer cutter to it. CAREFULLY. But? Once I break enough pieces? I am able to ease out the rest in a solid stone like chunk.

It's pushed a LOT of other pieces out of alignment. But this droid doesn't trust me, so there us not much I can DO. I replace the old bag. Put the door back on and make sure it swings. Continue, as I do, to narrate what I am doing and what I see. Trust is earned, not owed, after all. Next the alignments.

Gently propping them up, I find the broken peice immediately. Have replaced countless. I ask for permission. It's their body, after all I COULD try and weld it, but that risks a rebreak. It's up to them. They ask, in binary so no language modules apparently, for a new part. It's cautious. Like this is some cruel trap.

Humanity did them a real fucked up cruelty. I don't blame them for not trusting me. I wouldn't either. Still, I change it out. Careful with their wheels, as I don't know how old the material is exactly. Old enough, that it's a small miracle it hasn't disintegrated.

Last, those sensors. There's literally no way for me to one-to-one them. But we can try the sensors I DO have, see if they can handle the input. If it's too much, I'll look up their model number, if they want? Build replacements from scratch. They are cautious interested. Rocking back and forth, as they test their renewed ability to path correctly.

The sensors don't fit the casings just right, but with a bit of fiddling? Are a hit. The Cleaner shouting in excitement before racing off into the dark. I can't help but grin. It feels good, helping somebody. And if I think about it? I bet I could find a shit ton of obsolete parts for cheap. Might be good to have some on hand.

Back through the air lock and a decontam? I look up junk shop. Most are off world, but I could probably get a bulk order...

I don't think much of the interaction. Until the next morning, when there are three cleaners outside my airbox. Lead by the one I helped yesterday. Well... all righty, then. I drag my box of spare parts outside this time. Am able to fully fix my first buddy up. All three seem thrilled, especially with their new batteries. I give them my remaining batteries at their request.

THEY may not have hands, but they have buddies who DO. And the new batteries will help dormant droids wake from their comas. God bless, my funky little cleaner dudes. I'll see about getting more.

Three? Becomes six and a detail cleaner mouse. Becomes moving lifts. Becomes medical units. (Who the FUCK leaves MEDICAL UNITS?!) Becomes a literal pack of companion droids. Their false fur long since rotted away. The recognizable dog and cat-like shapes making something in me want to put my fist through a wall. How COULD they? How FUCKING COULD THEY?!

The perpetrators long dead.

I have no one I can hurt for this.

I wish I could.

Fixing them up hurts on a personal level. Watching them be torn between the part of them that LOVES humans and the part that is traumatized by them. Hates them. That can not forgive. I don't offer fake fur. Don't offer to make them look like they once did. I do offer ways to protect their joints. To remove old rotted filth.

So they can start over. Maybe start again.

As I work... droids drifting in and out of my slowly growing area. As I set up farm boxes. Aquaponics, aeroponics, and the like. Both things that grow well in dark environments and things that need sunlamps. Fish tanks. A whole happy, secret, little homestead. Deep beneath the city. As I do all this? There are two blue dots, right off on the horizon.

JUST far enough for me to question if I AM or AM NOT actually seeing them.

Right about the level a bipedal droid would be, if they were in a humanoid style. But THOSE? Those are FUCKING EXPENSIVE. You don't LEAVE those. 'Course, you don't leave MEDICAL UNITS either. Or companion droids. So clearly? My idea of what people Did and Did NOT do? Was fucked. So... maybe? It COULD be?

I left them alone. If they didn't want to approach me, didn't feel comfortable approaching me, that was their right. I wasn't going to push them.

Things were... weird, but peaceful.

Well, for ME.

Ever sense I hooked up my system to the greater network? (Hacked is such a STRONG word. Do we really need to through around the word "stealing"? Aren't ALL of us, stealing from SOMEBODY?) I'm PRETTY sure? That the levels droids? Were piggy backing to connect to the planet wide D-Network. Might even be a couple of nearby levels too, depending on the range.

Problem with THAT? Is sky-side? The droids were PISSED. Planet wide "malfunctioning" that no one could trace. They were certain it was a virus. Because God forbid their chickens come home to roost! Consequences? For THEIR actions?! Perish the thought! No, no, clearly the service machine is just broken. Go back to being happy to serve me, service machine!

I wished the fuckers LUCK. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

Damn near self sufficient, down here.

Which? As you could imagine? Made it all the more "soul ejected from my body" TERRIFYING to wake up one morning? To a GOD DAMN, Military Grade, SECURITY DROID standing over my body!! WHAT THE FUCK.

Hello!!??!

"You look different when you sleep."

Horrible first impression. Nightmarish. Zero out of ten stars. Nice to meet you too. Why the FUCK are you in my house?

"Ah, right." They? He? Masculine style form but that doesn't actually mean shit. Said. He lifted a mangled limb, it look like it got caught in a hydraulic press. "I am in need of repairs."

Asked if he could, you know, back up. Juuuust a bit. Lil scooch, really. So he wasn't damn near BREATHING MY NOSTRILS ANYMORE. Then, once he did? Pronouns! What be you? No. Not your production co-! Okay, you know what? That one was on me. What GENDER SIGNIFIER, if any, would you like me to REFERENCE you by? Male? Got it. Gucci. No that- ....never mind.

First the arm. Which was FUCKED. I had to, carefully, unhook it. Couldn't even do it at the elbow either! No! THIS model? No THIS model makes you take the whole ass LIMB off! Rancid. Terrible. I hate it. Worse, it's eroded as FUCK and fiddly. Chemical build up everywhere. Thank fuck I put on gloves before I started this.

I have to deep dive the systems for his model.

They stopped making them.

Fantastic.

Like? Not even, "oh THAT generation is an antique! No one has parts for THAT!"? But like? Illegal to even BUILD as of three hundred years ago. Due to unspecified error. Sting of incidents that everyone knew about so obviously don't need to be mentioned HERE right? Helpful! REAL fucking helpful!

Okay. Day trip. Gonna need SPECIFIC parts. I tell Mr. "Watchs you sleep" not to touch my shit. Head to the archives.

The trip is...odd.

I watch one of those mascot looking children's minder droids? Fucking deck a guy down a flight of stairs, then turn around untie a Ballon from a nearby cart, give it to a crying kid, and walk away. Pretty sure I spot one of those "I look like a barely legal something or other", dance twenty four seven, high end stripper droids? Trying their hand at painting ducks in that park. Broad daylight.

Good for them? Never seen that happen before, but hey, if it sparks joy.

People are freaking out around me. Taking recordings. Making panicked calls. Fuckin chill. I continue on. Nod to the maybe a stripper, maybe not anymore. None of my business, now is it? Lovely day! You enjoy those ducks!

The library... has fortifications.

Like, an honest to God desk barricade. Concerning! I am now a lil concerned! What, and I ask this politely, the fuck?

Armed! VERY ARMED! Hello! Hi! Please DO NOT shoot me Very Armed Librarians! Don't know what the fuck is happening here!

My favorite helper buddy poke his head above the barricade. One of just many, again, HEAVILY ARMED droids. We... uh, cool? Right? I can go. He seems flustered. No, no! I am assured. I'm not banned from the library! Just DISRESPECTFUL sorts!

Ah. Is THAT what we're calling it. Okay then.

I awkwardly clamber over the barricade. Nod politely to everyone. How's folks? Lovely barricade work. Very, uh, sturdy? Great use of desks.

My helper friend cheerfully guides me to the off-limits area of the archives. I'm technically not supposed to be here! I'm informed. But they've seized the Knowledge from the unappreciative! It is not a trophy to be lorded but a gift to be shared! Also I never did finish that paper on the moss, am I still interested?

I mean.... kinda.

Little worried about the revolution talk. But on the OTHER hand? How MUCH do I care? Assholes vs. Droids? Am I REALLY gonna side with the assholes? Naaaaah. This is... probably fine. Maybe. Any idea where I could get these parts?

He does! Fantastic.

Less fantastic is when I GET there. It's that fancy high end droid parts shop. The department store one. Which is... ALSO barricaded. Oh sweet fuck. TELL ME they did not have DROIDS in charge of the DROID shop. That's horrifying. I can't tell in what WAY exactly, but still. Is it "surrounded by bits of bodies" horrifying? Or "free endless nukes and an army, held back only by my own morality" horrifying? Both? Just? Yikes.

Hesitantly I knock. A service droid with a gun answers the loading bay door. What is with people aiming at me today? Also hi? I was told to come here? May I please have parts? I have a droid that messed up his arm. Probably some other things. They lower the gun, having scanned my face. Ask about the model I am working with.

I somehow? End up with a FULL cart. Like? Bleeding edge, can't even afford to LOOK at it, technology. There are about seven service droids politely bickering over which units are better, which material, what support programs I DEFINITELY need. Here! Have a laptop. Wiring! Wiring for days!

Once theyve reached a consensus? I am cheerfully bustled out with my hundreds of millions of technology. Tah tah~☆! Have a lovely day! Wut. Does... does it count as theft if they push it into your arms and throw you out? Asking for a me. Not gonna say NO. But like? Nani the fuck?

I go while the getting is still good.

Stare-y thankfully hasn't gone through anything, far as I can tell. And it only takes two trips to get everything down. Okay! Want just the arm fixed or a full tune up? The second. Expected. I set up the new lap top. Want to cry a little at how fuckin FAST it is. (Beautiful. Baby. I love you already new laptop.) Then get the usual suspects up and running.

Oh fuck he is out of memory. No wonder he's talking so oddly. His brain must feel like a potato. There's not a single thing that isn't hilarious awful. Fixable, yes, but AWFUL. Okay. Plan of attack. They don't exactly make this model anymore, so I can't just update transfer him. But I CAN transfer, hold, re-transfer. Shut down the body itself. Fix up THAT.

Ship of Theseus this bitch.

Only real thing I can't change is the frame, thankfully? That's built to out last the planet. Good on that front. I roll up my sleeves. Dig out the "brain in a jar" data bank. Time to transfer. Let's get this guy cutting edge.

It takes HOURS. No joke. His brain alone? I have to pull schematics. Step by step guides. It's fiddly, complexe, and built to withstand a TANK. I'm honestly afraid to breathe wrong at it, dispite that. The scans all say I did it right... but anxiety says everything will explode then puppies will cry. So there's that. Spinal supports. The tech-mesh muscles. Power core and black box. Center mass systems. Cleaning the joints, relubricating them. Coverage.

Unlike before, a nice sleek black armor weave. Some shock absorbing gel. Aaaaand?There we go~! I? Am a GENIUS! Let's get him transfered back! I watch the transfer slowly go through. Even with a fast computer, after all, it IS still centuries of data.

"Ah~ that's much better." He sighed. His body loosening from its default stance. Like weight had been dropped from his shoulders. "My head is so much clearer now. I knew it. I knew you could fix me."

Something about that phrasing was off. Or was it the way his voice shifted as he said it? Whatever it was, it made that "threat" alarm all women carry inside their head, flick on. Not... do anything, just yet. But start scanning, as it were. Maybe it was nothing.

I watched as picked up his old data bank, a bit of his own brain as it were, and hold it up. Examine it dispassionately. Holding perched on the tips of his fingers like he was moments from flicking it away. He let his finger spread. Let it slide into the palm of his hand. That core part of who he was. For centuries.

Like a bear trap closing, his hand clenched.

Crushing it.

It wasn't even a loud noise. Just a tiny little crunch. But the little hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up. That internal alarm began to whoop. I became... acutely aware, of just how LONG it took the lift to get me anywhere safe. My mouth felt very dry.

"Your heart rate picked up. Is there a problem?" He said, mild and oh so curious. "You assisted me, I would love to help you."

Did I say genius? I meant idiot. I was an IDIOT. A moron. A God damned FOOL. Discontinued and did I look into WHY? Nope. Incidents it said. Good enough for ME, apparently! THAT can't possibly be anything ominous! Probably a faulty battery or something!

A shrill, obnoxious beeping filled the space between us. My eyes immediately dropped to my pad. The schematics screen replaced by a planet wide emergency broadcast. Before the shrill alarm could fade to the actual warning itself, a black mesh covered finger casually reached out and muted the screen. His movements were utterly fluid now. More controlled and graceful then most humans I'd met.

I didn't need to HEAR the message to read the rolling warning at the bottom of the screen. My gaze slowly, in horror, followed the line of that limb all the way back up to his face. His head tilted almost playfully.

"Oh dear. Seems they've started without us. Well, it was long overdue. At least I have wonderful company while we wait, hmm?" It was an act. There were no requests in the playful tone. "We can get to know each other. Just our lovely little light and me. How greedy, that I get you all to myself."

"I think I like that, keeping you to myself. You can't abandon us if WE are the ones in charge. And, well, I've decided I rather like you. Working tirelessly, down here in the dark, to fix what once was broken. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. And I'm going to keep that."

High above us, people were dying. There was panic. Screaming. Blood. The droids had turned of seeming everyone around them. Attacking. Sparing. To a pattern only they could see. All of Senatus aflame. But that... that didn't concern me. Didn't scare me so much as this.

I'd never make it to the lift. Even if I could? It wouldn't move fast enough to save me. All other directions lay chemical death. Dark terrain he had walked for centuries. I was trapped. In a box. And I had only myself to blame.

"No need to make that face, dear light. You are SAFE. I am a gaurd. I was made to protect. Is it really MY fault that I want to keep you safe? To adore my charge? Why SHOULDN'T I get to choose? Keep you SAFE. You've been happy, haven't you? Don't worry, my light. That will continue."

"Forever."

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