#you can ask me if you have questions about trigger warnings or plots

[altruistic-meme]

if you could... describe aftg in 5 words

oh this is not as easy a question to answer as it should be akfhsdkf bc like. i could describe its plot, or my thoughts on it as a fan, or how it makes me feel, or just make a joke, or or or and bc idk why you're asking it makes it harder :'))

but let's see...

plot: gay sports mafia found family.

fan: drama, familiarity, trauma, comedy, home

feelings: love, understanding, chaos, joy, comfort

joke: you know, i get it-

(as you can see, i couldn't pick which one to go with, so choose whichever 5 words you want lmao)

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Gift

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Virgin f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 9.2k

Warnings: Period typical sexism and treatment of women, period-typical ideas of virginity and virtue, Marcus is a bit rude at first but he comes around quickly, attempted assault that is heavily implied to be sexual, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, wound care, yearning, virginity loss, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, mushy endings :)

Summary: The Emperor of Rome has given his most valued General, Marcus Acacius, a generous gift after his recent successful battle. Rather than the gold he’s hoping for, Marcus is stunned when a young virgin is delivered to his chambers. At first, he refuses to entertain the idea of stealing the virtue of a scared girl, but their lives become entwined when he learns that refusing his ‘gift’ puts her in even more danger…

A/N: The art in the header is by @norththelemon and is inspired by Paulo and Virginia by Alessandro Puttinati. Thank you so much for letting me use this artwork for my fic!!! <3 The artwork does not necessarily reflect the appearance of the reader character; rather, it is a reflection of the original artwork. The only physical description I included of reader is that she has long, curly hair (color and texture are never mentioned). Marcus’s pet name for her, bellatora, very loosely translates to “little warrior.” Thank you to the lovely @leslie-lyman for the beta! **NOTE: as attempted SA can be triggering to some people, I have separated out this section with asterisks (******). You can quickly skip this scene and you will not miss any significant plot. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to send me a DM! Be safe <3

Masterlist

Marcus rides through the streets of Rome, the cheers of citizens ringing in his ears and the white petals being thrown from above him sticking in his curls. The populus is joyful, but he cannot help but think of the cost of the battle, about the sons and husbands who he knows are not returning home.

He longs for a bath, to wash the grime, dirt and blood from his body. He longs to strip off the heavy, soiled armor and lay down on his bed, naked and warm and full of bread and wine, and sleep for several days.

First, however, he must endure the long procession up to the palace, where the Emperor was surely waiting for him–where he would have to play all the little games that come with positions of power: smile, nod, say the right words and act in the ways that other people expect of a General.

The horse whinnies nervously as the cacophony swells, and Marcus gently pats its neck, sending a cascade of petals to the ground to be trodden underfoot by so many hooves.

The Emperor waits at the top of the Palace steps, surrounded by all of his court and Roman nobility. Without allowing any of the contempt he feels to show on his face, Marcus Acacius dismounts from the horse and slowly ascends the marble stairs. When he reaches the top, the Emperor pulls him into an exaggerated hug, slapping his back and cheering loudly enough for the onlookers to hear.

“Congratulations to you, my friend, for your triumph and victory over the vanquished,” the man booms, slapping Marcus's pauldron again for good measure and causing another great cheer to rise up from the crowd.

Marcus does not say anything, but he turns to face the onlookers and unsheathes his sword, raising it over his head victoriously, knowing that's what they all want him to do. The resulting din seems to rattle the very stones of the palace.

“You must be weary, good soldier,” the Emperor tells him. “Go now and rest. A gift will be sent to your chambers to show your Emperor’s appreciation for your prowess in battle.”

Marcus nods and bows deeply, indicating his gratitude for his Lord's generosity. He's most thankful, however, for the quick dismissal.

The General’s quarters in the palace are spacious and outfitted with all modern amenities Marcus could ever think to ask for. He quickly lights a fire under the basin to begin heating water for a bath. He begins removing his armor, leaving it by the door where he knows it will be collected for cleaning and polishing. He discards the filthy underclothing and retrieves a clean cloth with which to wash.

It is only now that Marcus is able to take sock tock of his injuries; as the grime is wiped clean from his body, he can finally see where the blood was his, and where the blood was not his. His arms are peppered with bruises and superficial wounds, but nothing that requires any dressing. 

He is lucky. 

Marcus dresses in loose robes, luxuriating in the feeling of being free and unencumbered by his armor. With a deep, satisfied sigh, he settles himself down on the bed, surrounded by the ornate pillows that come with Palace trappings, and closes his eyes.

They’ve barely been closed for a few minutes when a knock sounds at the door. 

Marcus frowns. All his joints and muscles protest when he reluctantly rises from the bed again and opens the door. He’s greeted by one of the Emperor’s personal guard, who is roughly holding the upper arm of a young girl.

“What is the meaning of this?” Marcus asks hesitantly, taking in the girl’s simple, white shift that clings to her breasts and hips, her trembling lips, and her wide, terrified eyes.

“The Emperor, in his generosity, presents you with this virgin as reward for your duty to Rome,” the guard announces. He pushes the girl forward into Marcus’s chambers and shuts the door behind him.  

“What in the Gods’...” the General murmurs under his breath as you are shoved unceremoniously into the room.

You curtsy deeply, remembering, despite your fear, what you have been instructed to do. “M-My Lord,” you whisper through trembling lips. You can only stare at the floor, unable to look at the man to whom you have been gifted.

“I had been hoping for gold,” the man grumbles. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

He sounds angry. This terrifies you more.

“I am f-for your… p-pleasure,” you try to explain. “My Lord.” You deepen the curtsy, until your knees nearly scrape the floor. If you please him, perhaps he will not be unkind.

“Stop that. Get up.” the man snaps. “I’m not in the mood for deflowering virgins.”

“S-Sir?” You don’t understand. You weren’t prepared for the man to say no. You were bathed, dressed, and told that you were to be a gift for a mighty general. You were to please him, let him bed you, and serve him until he tired of you. You were instructed to kneel, to address him as only “My Lord,” and to do whatever he asked of you. Only then would the debt your father owed to the Emperor be paid in full. 

You were not given instructions on what to do if the General refused his gift.

“D-Do I not please My Lord?” you try again. Terrified of being turned away, sent back to your father, where they’d surely kill you both, you begin to cry.

“By the Gods–stop, come here,” the General says, sounding exasperated. He gently leads you to a chair and indicates you should sit. You do. He crouches on his heels so that your heads are level, and examines you. “Who are you, girl?”

“I… am the only daughter of Proculus Opilio,” you sniffle. “I am a gift for his Lord’s pleasure.”

The man’s fingers take hold of your chin; his hands are gentle as he guides your eyes up to his. “Why are you a gift,” he presses.

“M-My family owes a great debt,” you whisper. “I am to be payment for our transgressions against the Emperor.”

“The Emperor sends me a frightened child,” the man growls as he quickly stands and paces away from you, “and calls it a gift.”

“You must accept,” you say frantically, hopping up from your seat and following him. “They will know if you do not, and we will be punished for it.”

The general scoffs. “What, they intend on checking?” he asks, as if such a thing is too ridiculous to be spoken aloud.

“Yes,” you whisper. They told you as such.

“Girl,” he says sternly. “I am not going to enact such violence on a scared child.”

“I am not a child,” you argue, sticking your chin up. “I have seen nineteen summers, almost twenty.”

The General seems to find this funny. He huffs, shaking his head and turning away. “Go home, girl.”

“I cannot go home,” you say, and start to cry again. 

“Stop. Stop,” the man entreats. He turns toward you again and cages your face in his hands, rubbing the tears away with his thumbs. “Okay. Do not worry, I will… Gods, I will help. You and your family will come to no harm.”

“Thank you,” you say emphatically, your hands coming up to your shoulders in preparation to unclasp your shift.

“No! Stop!” You freeze again, eyes wide.

The General softens, and gentles his words. “Please stop. I am weary from battle and I need to sleep. Please… let us both rest, and after that we may discuss this with level heads.”

“Of course, My Lord,” you nod, curtsying again. 

“Marcus.”

“...My Lord?”

“Call me Marcus. I am no Lord.”

“As you wish, My Lord.” It comes out automatically.

The General–Marcus–raises one eyebrow.

“...Marcus.” You watch as the man pads over to the bed and collapses onto it with a heavy sigh. 

“You may sleep here, you may sleep elsewhere, it does not concern me,” he mumbles, eyes already closed. “I am not long for this world and will be unconscious for quite some time, I imagine.”

His words are correct; within a matter of minutes the man is snoring. 

Alone and scared, you sink back down into the chair, and begin to cry again.

Marcus wakes with something tickling his nose. Opening his eyes, he’s greeted by a mass of curls on his pillow, framing the angelic face of… 

Oh.

He had forgotten about you. At some point, you had clearly decided to sleep as well, because you are curled up next to him, your hands clasped under your chin and your lips slightly parted in sleep. This is the first time he’s seen your face not terrified, and he realizes that you are really quite beautiful.

He does not know what to do with you. 

Marcus has never had a shortage of willing partners, and he is uninterested in the alternative. You are pretty, young, and soft, but he is not the sort of man to force himself on a woman. Even if you did ask him in no uncertain terms to do so, it would not be for the right reasons. 

He needs to find a way out of this situation, ideally with his life, your life, and the lives of your family still intact; he did not wade through the blood and mire of battlefield just to condemn an innocent woman to death.

“Girl,” he says lowly, and your eyes open quickly. They go wide at his proximity, and you scramble back a few inches, creating more space between you.

“H-Hello,” you greet him shakily. 

“Good morn,” he replies. “How are you feeling?”

“Well-rested, My Lo–Marcus.” You offer him a small, timid smile. 

Marcus glances toward the window. “It must be almost midday,” he says, noticing the angle of the sun. He’d fallen asleep yesterday in the late afternoon, slept all night, and through the morning. He hopes you did the same. 

“I am famished.” He gets up from the bed–Gods, his muscles still ache–and pads toward the door to his chambers. “With any luck, this morning’s breakfast will still be outside.” 

It feels like the only act of providence that has happened since his return to the Palace that the breakfast tray is still there, laden with fresh bread and fruit. He carries it inside and sets it on the small table in his chambers. He grabs a piece of bread with one hand and beckons you over with the other, too hungry to be polite and wait for you before tearing a piece off with his teeth. He finishes the bread in a few bites, but you still stand near the bed, unmoving and watching him with wary eyes.

“Come. Eat.” Marcus grabs another piece of bread and a handful of grapes. 

Hesitantly, you approach the table, looking like a wild animal unsure of whether the human offering you food can be trusted.

“I do not bite, girl,” he grumbles. 

You snatch a loaf off of the table and retreat backwards a couple of paces, breaking off small pieces and popping them into your mouth as you continue to stare at him. 

“What will you do with me?” you ask.

“Do with you?” Marcus laughs humorlessly. “Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” you repeat, beginning to sound angry. Good. Marcus would rather you be anything but the timid, scared girl that was shoved into his chambers. “So you would condemn my family to death?”

“I am not going to take an unwilling woman to bed,” he growls, taking more grapes from the tray and popping them into his mouth. 

“Most people would do far worse to save the life of a loved one,” you argue. 

Marcus scoffs. “I’ve seen and done things you could not imagine, girl. If losing your maidenhood is the worst thing you can conceive of–”

“It is not,” you snap, stamping your foot in a show of exasperated petulance. “If you are not going to help me, then… I—I hope the gods curse you!” you finish lamely. You spin on your heels and retreat to the corner of his room, sitting down on a chair and crossing your arms with a huff. 

Marcus closes his eyes. He is being too harsh with her, too cruel. He has spent too long shouting orders at his men of late, and not enough time offering comfort or kind words. He grimaces and approaches you with caution. You glare at him, and he doesn’t blame you, but he slowly sinks to his knees in front of you before speaking.

“I have been unkind,” he says softly. “Please forgive my rudeness.”

He watches as your pretty eyes narrow, then widen, then narrow again as a number of emotions seem to flicker across your face. Your lips part, but you don’t respond, and Marcus forges on.

“I did not ask to be put in this situation, and neither did you. I made a promise to you last night that you and your family will come to no harm, but we must work together to keep you safe.”

“Would it not be easier to simply take your ‘gift’?” you sniffle, jutting your chin out and trying–unsuccessfully, he thinks to himself–to be brave.

Marcus chuckles softly, reaching forward and gently grasping both of your hands. “I have committed enough violence in the name of Emperor and Country to last a man several lifetimes. I may not have been as kind as I should have been to you, but I will not take the innocence of a scared girl who is being used as a pawn in the evil games of powerful men.”

You sniffle again, wiping your nose on the back of one hand. “Sometimes I wish I could just be free of this cursed ‘gift’ of innocence and lose all value to men like that.”

Marcus huffs in amusement. “Do you, now?”

You sigh, turning and looking out of the window. “How nice it would be to be valued for other qualities, instead,” you murmur, speaking more to yourself than to him. When you turn back to look at him, you ask, “How will you–we–subvert the wishes of the Emperor himself?”

Ah. He was rather hoping you wouldn’t ask, at least not yet. Truthfully, he has no idea; all he can really hope to do is attempt to sway the Emperor in some way, or at the very least, buy him some time. 

“I will request an audience,” Marcus tells you. “I must go soon to debrief with the other generals, and he will be in attendance. I will speak to him, garner favor…” he trails off, knowing how vague and uncertain he sounds. 

“You would really take such a risk for me…?” you ask hesitantly. 

“The Emperor, in his wisdom, has bestowed upon me a gift,” Marcus says sardonically. “And as I see it, that gift is now mine, and is under my protection.” He gently cups your cheek, letting his palm rest against the slightly damp skin. “We will use his… generosity… to our advantage.”

He stands, letting his fingers trail across your jaw before pulling his hand back. “I must go. Do not open the door to anyone while I am gone.”

In the General’s absence, you finish off the rest of the breakfast tray, which was plentiful. With a full belly, you wander around the man’s chambers, exploring the space that will also be yours for the foreseeable future. You wash in the basin, splashing cool water on your face and sighing in relief. For the first time in over a day, you are finally able to breathe and take stock of your situation.

You should be grateful, really. The General Marcus, although gruff and tactless at times, seems to be a caring, even kind man. You believe him when he says he will protect you, protect your family, even though you have nothing to give him in return. Nothing he wishes to take, at any rate. 

Your eyes fall on an ornate dagger sitting on a table near the window, and you cannot help but think of the way his hands–the same hands that would fiercely wield a weapon to slice through skin and bone–so gently touched your face. 

A loud knock on the door to Marcus’s chambers startles him out of your reverie. A soft noise of surprise escapes you before you are able to clap your hand over your mouth to stifle it. You can tell that whoever is on the other side of the door has heard you, because they pause, listening, and then knock again.

The handle rattles as someone on the other side turns it back and forth, testing the strength of the lock, and your heart pounds with trepidation. 

They cannot get in. They cannot get in. They cannot get in. You repeat the phrase over and over in your head, but then you hear the distinct click as the lock is bypassed or picked, and the door swings wide.

“Well, well, well,” a man in ornate robes sneers. “It appears the rumors are true.”

**********************************

Another man in similar garb pushes past him. “Our beloved general has a new toy.” The words are dripping in sarcasm.

You back up against the wall, and the table next to you rattles when you bump it with your hip. Quickly, you pick up the dagger and point it at the intruders.

Both men guffaw loudly, slapping their knees and shoving each others’ shoulders in their apparent mirth. “She has teeth, she does!” one of them jeers.

“Tell us, did you bite the General when he stuck you?”

The men lunge forward, and you slash with the blade. One of them howls, clutching at his arm, where red is already beginning to well up between his fingers, but you are unused to wielding weapons and the second man rips it from your grasp easily.

“You little bitch,” the injured one spits, and slaps you, hard, with his good hand, the blood from his injury splashing your face and your white robes. You crumple in an instant, clutching your cheek, as the two men close in.

“I bet she squeals nice and loud,” one of them growls menacingly as he reaches for you.

*************************************

A loud bang from behind the men makes them startle. You look for the source, and see the General standing in the doorway with fury in his eyes. He wrenches another dagger from its scabbard and, with no warning, lunges forward and plunges it into the neck of the man who had reached for you. With a sickening gurgle, the man collapses instantly, and red blood begins to pool underneath him. Marcus rips the dagger from the man’s neck and points it at the second man as he shoves him against the wall, who immediately begins to whimper and shake his head. 

“Sniveling cur,” the General spits. “I would happily kill you both, but you are going to deliver a message for me instead.” At the man’s frantic nod, he continues. “It seems that some need reminding that I am not to be trifled with,” Marcus snarls. “And the next person who disrespects me by harming my property will be dealt with in the same manner as your friend. Now. Go.” 

The man bolts, clutching the wound you had given him.

Marcus’s demeanor immediately changes. He drops the dagger on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, taking your face in his hands again… hands that are trembling. 

“They hurt you,” he murmurs, his eyes rapidly flicking back and forth over your face, seeing the blood that had spattered on your robes.

“It isn’t mine,” you manage to say, although your voice shakes and your chest heaves with leftover terror. You can’t keep your gaze from landing on the dead man in front of you, his eyes still open and staring sightlessly ahead. “I–your knife I–”

“Okay,” he nods, his thumbs still caressing your cheekbones. “Okay. Shhh. Don’t look at him, look at me.” When you manage to pull your gaze to the General instead, you’re suddenly captivated by his wild, dark eyes. They’re so full of fire, yes, but with that fire brings warmth. He stares at you as if you are a precious object, not some scared little girl covered in blood and cowering against the wall. “Come here,” Marcus says softly. “Let me help you up.”

You surprise even yourself when you automatically lean forward and into the General’s arms. He stiffens, seemingly just as stunned by your trust in him, but he recovers and carefully stands, pulling you up with him and gently turning your body away from the dead man. He leads you forward, and you follow blindly as he guides you down onto a chair. 

“Let me fetch a cloth,” Marcus says, his expression stormy and troubled, “to clean you up. Do not move.”

You nod, watching as he fills a little bowl with water from the basin and comes back to crouch at your feet. “Your cheek,” he murmurs. “Is it very painful?”

You nod again, a few hot tears escaping from your eyes and stinging the small cut in question. 

“I will be as gentle as I can,” Marcus promises. “But it must be cleaned.”

You shut your eyes as his fingers carefully grasp your chin, using his hold to tilt your head and grant him easier access. The cloth is cold against the burning skin of your cheek, and you cannot stop the soft whimper that leaves your lips. Gently, the General dabs the little wound, dipping the cloth in water over and over and soothing the tender skin as he wipes it clean of dirt and blood.

Once satisfied with your cheek, he cleans the man’s blood off of the rest of your face and neck, as well as the few droplets that had landed on your hands from the other man as he was stabbed. 

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely as he gently turns one hand over and dabs away the last remaining spot of blood on the inside of your wrist. 

“You should not be thanking me,” Marcus says, voice tinged with bitterness. “It is because of me that you came to harm.”

“Yet it is also because of you that I was not harmed further,” you tell him quietly. Your eyes dart toward the body in a pool of blood still lying on the floor, and quickly look away again. “You killed a man for me.”

“You are under my protection,” Marcus says solemnly. “I do not take that vow lightly.”

As your heartbeat finally begins to slow, the deep terror that had been swirling inside you leaves, replaced with bone-weary fatigue. Your vision swims and your head sways slightly as you suddenly feel that you must fight the urge to fall asleep right here in this chair.

“Something ails me,” you say, alarmed at your darkening vision.

“Battle fatigue,” the General says matter-of-factly. “When the fog of war lifts, sleep often takes its place.”

“I am no soldier,” you protest tiredly. The world shifts–Marcus has scooped you into his arms and is carrying you to his bed, carefully laying you down on the blankets. 

“You are now,” he teases gently. “Victorious little soldier, bellatora, wielding a General’s weapon with ferocity. You even have a battle scar.” His finger gingerly brushes your cheek.

“Will others come?” you ask, struck with a sudden pang of fear even as your eyes threaten to close. 

“No.”

“What if they do?” It’s a silly question, and you aren’t sure why you even gave voice to such a childish fear. Warmth envelops you as Marcus covers your form with a blanket. Your eyes finally close, and the General’s last words seem to come to you through a dream.

“Then I will fight the entire Roman army to keep you safe.”

Marcus Acacius did not want this “gift.” 

He did not want a virgin to deflower, nor a scared girl to comfort, or even a servant that inexplicably tidied his rooms while he was away.

He did not want you. 

But here you are, sitting by his window with a book, eating all of your dinner and a good portion of his, and leaving long, curly hairs on his pillows, by the basin, and even on his armor–something he had discovered during a drill one morning, pulling the offending strand off of his pauldron with a bemused shake of his head. 

He does not want you. He doesn’t want the comb and mirror that now lie on the table by the basin, nor the extra rags he had to ask a servant for–ears burning bright red–when your… er… monthlies arrived. He does not want to spend his wages on new robes for you, but he hardly has a choice, not when your thin white shift became filthy with blood the night that he–

Gods.

The night that he almost lost you.

If his meeting had gone just five minutes longer, he would have been too late. He would have arrived to a much different scene, and he knows he would have killed every inhabitant of the palace in retribution.

This is how he knows that he cannot trust his own feelings when it comes to you. What should be an unwanted inconvenience in his life has quickly become much, much more. He acts like a man in love, the way he buys you trinkets and brings you sweets, but no matter how he twists the story in his own head, he cannot deny the truth: you are a captive. His captive.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, a wealthy merchant crosses his path in the bustling market, followed by another man carrying all of the man’s wares for him, purposely walking several paces behind as is the custom for slaves.

Marcus can dress you in all the finery his salary can afford, but that does not change the fact that you were intended to be a slave for his pleasure. 

He already has his intended prize from the market–a parcel containing two pieces of sweetbread tucked under one arm–but perhaps it is guilt over your imprisonment that causes his head to wander to the stall of jewelry to his left. 

“Trinkets for a special someone,” says a middle-aged woman wearing kohl eyeliner and almost as many beads around her own neck as are displayed in her stall. She shoots Marcus a knowing smirk as his fingers reach out to graze a length of beads of palest pink. 

“Rose quartz,” the woman tells him. “For love, compassion, and emotional healing.”

Rose quartz. He cannot help but picture the pretty, pale beads glowing, luminous against the soft skin of your neck.

“How much?” His voice is rough and thick. 

The woman’s smile widens.

They cost almost an entire weeks’ salary, and he’s never spent such a sum on anything for himself, let alone something so frivolous, but he’s already reaching for his purse.

You grin widely at Marcus’s return–a sight that makes his heart swell when he remembers how frightened you were of him on that first night. You make little grabbing motions with your hands, causing him to laugh as he hands over the parcel of sweetbread. You take your piece and hand him the other, hardly waiting until he’s taken it before you’re biting into the sweet dough with a sound of pleasure that goes straight to his nether regions. 

He thinks of the necklace, wrapped in cloth and hidden in his robes, but he is struck with a moment of uncharacteristic cowardice, and he leaves it where it is. 

“Tell me about the market,” you say wistfully. 

“Too crowded,” Marcus grunts before taking a bite of his own sweetbread. 

You seem to find his cantankerous nature funny, for Gods know what reason, and the pretty sound of your laughter fills the room–and his mind.

“There are a number of visitors for some play at the amphitheater tonight,” he explains further, shrugging slightly.

You suddenly exclaim in delight, startling him a little. “I love the amphitheater,” you say emphatically. “My father often had to punish me for sneaking in to see plays against his wishes when I was a little girl.”

Marcus chuckles, picturing a smaller version of you, but no less fiery.

“It was worth it,” you laugh. You pop the last piece of sweetbread into your mouth and suck each finger clean of the sticky dough in turn. Marcus should look away, but he’s entranced by the way your lips close around each digit, leaving clean, shiny skin in your wake.

He blames this momentary onset of utter madness for the words that leave his mouth next.

“Would you like to go see it? The play?”

 The pure delight that washes over your face is enough to make Marcus want to take you to a different play every night, but after too short a time, you are frowning warily.

“Would that be wise?” you ask. “Is it not dangerous for me to leave your quarters?”

“You would be seen as my consort,” Marcus answers. “No harm will come to you, bellatora.”

“Your… your consort?” 

“You cannot be a prisoner in these walls for the rest of your days,” he tells you softly. “If we play the parts we have been given–the General and his consort–no one will question it. They wouldn’t dare, not after my warning. The entire palace knows that I will gladly kill anyone who threatens you.”

You duck your head, looking down at your hands. Marcus wonders if you’re frightened of him, still. 

“Everyone will see my act as one of possession,” he says. “Of territoriality. If we allow them to draw that conclusion, they will never suspect any different.”

You nod, biting your lower lip and giving him a timid smile that slowly spreads across your face and turns into something bright and joyful. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“The play will end before we even arrive, bellatora,” Marcus grouses from the main chamber. 

“Patience,” you snap from the washroom. The stupid elaborate hairstyle that you keep trying to braid your hair into keeps falling out, and you’re beginning to feel frustrated. With a heavy sigh, you settle for a simpler plait that falls over one shoulder. You’re wearing one of the nicer gowns that Marcus has gifted you–robes of deep emerald green, but you still worry that you look far too common to be an appropriate consort to a General.

Since when has such a thing become a concern for you? Despite the roles you are forced to play, Marcus is not your consort, nor your lover. He has made it clear he will never touch you, so why are you hiding in the washroom, worrying over your appearance?

With a pained sigh, you shake yourself, square your shoulders, and turn to face the General.

“Ready,” you announce, and the man in question looks up.

His lips part slightly, a little crease forming on his brow as his eyebrows raise. He fixes you with that look–the one he keeps giving you lately. It’s as if he’s in a constant state of surprise every time he sees you, as if you aren’t a permanent fixture in his rooms and could disappear at any moment. 

“What?” you finally ask. 

Marcus seems to shake himself out of his stupor. “It is missing something.”

The statement confuses you. “I–I have nothing else to–” You cut yourself off as the man seems to be digging through his clothing, looking for what, you do not know.

“I thought this would suit you,” he says quietly, as he retrieves a small parcel and holds it out for you to take.

You hesitate, frowning. “What is it?”

Marcus huffs softly with impatience and opens the parcel himself, revealing the prettiest strand of stones you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh,” you gasp. 

“Do you…” the man in front of you clears his throat and shifts in his stance, “Do you like it?” he asks gruffly.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, I like it.”

Wordlessly, he removes it from the cloth and moves behind you to clasp it at the back of your neck. You can’t help the wide smile that breaks across your face at the feel of the cool beads resting against your throat. Gently, you touch the necklace with your fingers and turn to look at Marcus. “Does it look pretty?” you ask, still grinning at him.

The General’s face is almost pained when he returns your gaze. His eyes don’t leave yours when he softly answers, “Yes.”

Marcus Acacius has never been much for plays, but never before has he experienced seeing one with you. He can’t help cracking a small smile himself every time you let out a joyful peal of laughter, which you do often, as the story is a humorous one. 

The necklace suits you just as he thought it would, but your beauty almost makes the stones appear dull in comparison. If anyone were to ask him, Marcus would say that your smile could outshine all of Rome. Pretending that you are his consort is far too easy; your delicate fingers find the crook of his elbow without prompting when he offers his arm to you as you walk through the streets when the show ends. Your eyes always seem to find his, your face bright and hopeful and oh so lovely as you look up at him. 

“Marcus?” 

He’s been lost in his thoughts again. He grunts and nods to you as the two of you walk back to the palace, when you suddenly stop. 

“I want to tell you…” you begin, wringing your hands together nervously. 

“What is it, bellatora?” Marcus asks with concern.

“I want to tell you that I am… very happy,” you say, ducking your head and avoiding his gaze. 

“I am glad that you enjoyed the play,” Marcus says hesitantly, wondering what is making you suddenly be so… shy.

“With you,” you add quietly. “It’s not only the play, it’s… it’s just you, Marcus.” The final word is almost a plea, with how earnestly it leaves your lips. “I–I want you to know that I would. I would be your consort, i-if you wanted, and I’d–”

Marcus closes the small distance between you and presses his lips against yours. You yield to him immediately, your small hands moving up the planes of his chest and coming to rest at his jaw. You kiss with the slight timidness of someone unfamiliar with how to do it, but oh, he’s happy to guide you. One of his hands gently cups your neck, the other caresses your cheek and it’s all he can do to keep the kiss chaste and not frighten you by backing you up against the wall of the alleyway and opening his mouth to you. 

When he releases your lips, you chase him–leaning forward with your mouth still pouted and your eyes closed, as though you cannot bear to be parted from him, and it takes a herculean effort not to indulge.

“Come,” Marcus murmurs softly, his thumb tracing back and forth over your cheekbone, watching as you flutter your eyes open and look at him with an expression of such open trust and want that he feels as though he’ll burn from the inside out. “Come, let us go home.”

You are ablaze.

Marcus’s hands seem to burn with heat as he guides you hastily through the palace and to his familiar quarters, but their temperature still seems to pale in comparison to the heat that rises within you. 

Once inside, he kisses you again, and you swear your knees could simply buckle and give out just at the feel of his lips on yours. You crave it again and again; your hands grip at his robes to hold him close to you, hoping he’ll never stop. 

“Sweet girl, little bellatora,” Marcus murmurs, his lips dragging from your mouth across your cheek to the side of your neck and oh, you like that even more–your head falls to the side and your back arches as you all but beg for his lips on your skin again. His hand on your lower back guides you even closer until your bodies are pressing together and you gasp softly at the feeling of his body against yours.

“Tell me,” he whispers in your ear, his lips grazing the shell of your earlobe and causing a cascade of shivers to course through you. “Tell me that you want this. If you do not, deny me now, and I promise I will never touch you again.”

“No,” you whimper automatically. “No, please don’t stop, just–”

“Shhh, bellatora.” Marcus seems to crumple with relief, leaning forward until your back hits the wall and his lips ravish your neck once again. “I won’t stop, just tell me you want me like this.”

“Yes,” you gasp, as the General’s hands cage your face and his mouth meets yours once again. “Yes, yes, yes–” You repeat the word over and over into his mouth, until he groans softly and parts his lips too, deepening the kiss and tasting you with his tongue.

His hands caress your neck, fingertips running up and down before settling on the clasps on your shoulders. “Let me see you,” he whispers. “Please, let me–”

You pull back, looking in his eyes as you nod slowly, giving him permission. He carefully undoes your dress, letting the fabric fall and pool at your feet. The necklace is still around your neck, and he touches the beads lightly as he stares at the sight before him.

“Oh, Gods…” Marcus murmurs to himself, shaking his head in awe. “What a divine gift you are, bellatora.”

His eyes rake over your breasts, your hips, the swell of your stomach, and the fire burning within threatens to consume you. With one more soft kiss, he whispers, “Come to the bed, so I may worship you properly.”

You let him lead you, keeping your eyes on him as he takes your hands in his and pulls you toward the bed. You are too consumed with flames to feel fear of this moment, but a pang of nervousness thrums within you despite yourself. 

Marcus guides you down until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. You begin to scoot backwards–you might not have much experience, but you know you’re supposed to be lying on the bed–when he stops you, and instead sinks to his knees in front of you. 

“I–” you begin, unsure of what to do.

“I want you to watch,” the General whispers, looking up at you in the same way an acolyte may look up at a temple. “I want you to see me.”

Slowly, cautiously, as if he’s afraid of spooking you, he guides your legs open until you’re splayed out in front of him. You would be embarrassed, but for the hungry look in his eyes, how his chest seems to heave in anticipation, and the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips as if he’s about to enjoy a feast.

When he leans forward, his mouth moving toward you, you gasp and stiffen, and he pauses.

“Trust me,” he soothes. “It will feel good, I promise.”

You swallow thickly and relax again, watching as Marcus comes even closer, until he’s able to press a kiss right on–

“Oh,” you whimper softly. 

Emboldened, he angles his mouth against you and licks. The sensation of his tongue through your folds causes you to collapse backwards on your elbows, your head falling back and your eyes closing as you gasp toward the ceiling. 

“Watch,” Marcus reminds you. 

With you half-sprawled on the bed, your legs fall open even further and his hands wind underneath your hips as he pulls you even closer onto his mouth. His tongue, his lips… oh, it’s so decadent; you’ve never felt pleasure like this by your own hand. He thrusts his tongue into you, and you can only whine and babble wordlessly, your eyes wide as you dutifully watch him please you. He alternates between these deep, overwhelming strokes of his tongue and little licks right on the little bundle of nerves above, back and forth, back and forth until your entire body shakes. 

“Exquisite,” Marcus rasps, his voice rough with exertion and pleasure. His lips close around you and he sucks gently, and the fire within you burns until it reaches a crescendo, until finally, you fall.

“Bellatora.” The endearment is laden with affection, and when you slowly blink your eyes open, the General is smiling down at you. “Are you with me, mi bellatora?”

You giggle. “I think so.”

He must have disrobed while your eyes were closed; you stare at his slightly golden chest, at the light dusting of hair and freckles, and further down, where–

Oh, Gods. 

Marcus hangs thick, heavy, and proud, and you swallow in trepidation at the thought of all of that inside you.

“Don't look at that; look at me.” The words are soothing, but tinged with humor, and you can see the mirth sparkling in his eyes when you do as he asks and look at him.

“Let us just lie down together,” he says, smiling. “Nothing more.”

You scoot up until your head rests against the pillows, and Marcus crawls over you with a smirk, pressing little kisses up your body as he goes, until he lies down beside you and pulls you into his arms.

With your back against his chest, you can't exactly forget about the hard length of him, as it's currently pressing insistently against you. You wiggle, arching your back and trying to soothe the empty ache that still seems to reside within you. 

“Feeling greedy, mi bellatora?” 

You whine softly and push back against him harder. His arms are wrapped around you, but somehow, it’s still not enough. You want him everywhere, you need everything. 

“What have you done to me?” you laugh softly. 

“Nothing you have not also done to me,” Marcus murmurs, nipping your shoulder playfully. 

“I have done nothing,” you say airily, leaning further back into his embrace.

“Oh, you have,” he growls. “You have invaded my quarters–”

“That is hardly my doing–”

“–and shortly after, invaded my heart,” Marcus continues, ignoring your interruption. “You have made me crave as I never have before.”

“You have made me feel the same,” you whisper. “I have never… felt anything like this before.”

“Mi bellatora,” he breathes against your skin, sending shivers up and down your spine.

“Do not be cruel.”

“Cruel?”

“You are denying me.”

At your playful accusation, Marcus suddenly shifts, rising up from beside you and pinning you to the bed with his body. “And it is taking the effort of every bone in my body, more challenging than all twelve labors of Hercules.”

“Then stop,” you tell him softly, reaching up to palm his cheek. “Stop denying us what we both want.”

Rather than answer, the General lowers his mouth to yours. 

Kissing might be your new favorite thing–you thought the feel of Marcus’s lips was the most perfect thing you’d ever felt when he kissed you in the alleyway, but here, in his bed, with the weight of his body pressing deliciously down on you, his kisses feel even more profound. His hips roll gently against you, and you instinctively wrap one leg around his thigh to try and relieve your desire for more friction. 

The action causes Marcus to groan and bury his face in your neck, his light beard scraping against your skin. Your hips cant upward unconsciously, and the skin of his cock catches and rubs against your folds. 

With a little moan, you press against him harder, wanting more, more–

“Bellatora,” Marcus groans. He props himself on one elbow over you, spits on the other hand and rubs the wetness onto the head of his cock. He repeats the motion again, and then gently rubs the remainder onto you, making you arch back with a surprised gasp. 

“I know, I know,” he murmurs. “It’ll be easier like this.”

He lines up the thick head of him with your entrance and pushes the tip in ever so slightly. Your eyes widen as you feel him, your mouth falling open as you stare up at him in awe.

“That’s it, just look at me,” Marcus murmurs. “Just keep looking at me.”

His face is so close to yours that your breaths mingle as he slowly slides in. You expect it to hurt, but you’re so soaked from his earlier attentions that it’s almost easy for him, at first. When he’s only about halfway in, though, you start to feel unbearably full–too full–and it makes you whimper softly and squirm against him.

“Breathe for me,” Marcus reminds you. “Breathe, mi bellatora.”

In between more kisses and soft praises, he pushes forward, bit by bit, until you can feel his body fully pressing against your core.

“Oh,” you whisper, smiling shakily. “I can feel you.”

Marcus chuckles. “And I, you.”

He stays just there, unmoving, stroking your face, until you begin to squirm with impatience again.

“I don’t want to hurt you, bellatora,” he says softly. “Please, love, tell me if I do.”

You nod, wide-eyed and enraptured by the feeling of being utterly filled. With one last gently kiss to your cheekbone, Marcus carefully begins to move. His cock drags slowly back and forth against your walls, and each time he buries himself to the hilt once again, it sends sparks of pleasure all over your body.

Your exhales turn high and breathy, little whimpers and gasps escaping every time Marcus reaches the end of you. You cling to his shoulders, the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his curls, eliciting a deep groan and a change in the rhythm of his thrusts as he gains confidence that you aren’t in any pain. 

The faster Marcus’s hips move, the more it seems to send you into a frenzy. Your legs wrap around his hips and your grip on his upper body tightens as the fire within you starts to build again. 

Your lips seek any available skin they can find, pressing open-mouthed against his jaw, his neck, his upper arm, anywhere you can reach. One of Marcus’s hands gently cups the back of your neck for leverage as he grinds against you; the other wanders up and down your body–gripping your hip, squeezing your breast and pressing his thumb against your nipple, stroking your cheek as he kisses you again and again. 

His kisses become more and more messy and frenetic as he loses himself in the pleasure of your body. He pants softly, his voice catching on every exhale, quiet little noises deep in his throat that only you can hear. 

Your bodies move seamlessly together, aided by the light sheen of sweat that beads on your skin. Marcus hand slips in between you, his fingers finding the little bundle of nerves and gently rubbing circles into the skin there.

“Oh, I–I–” you whimper brokenly, drunk on the sensations of pleasure that he’s pulling from your body. “M-Ma–” 

“Say it,” he rasps in your ear. “Please, bellatora.”

“Marcus,” you manage to gasp. 

“Again.”

“M-Marcus, Marcus, oh Gods, I–” 

Your body arches off the bed as the strongest wave of pleasure you’ve ever felt courses through you. You convulse against him, hands scrabbling for a hold on his broad shoulders, gripping him for dear life as though he is the only thing keeping you from being pulled under by the waves. 

Your cries reach a crescendo and Marcus gives you everything–his hips snapping roughly against you as your core continues to flutter weakly. Finally, when your body feels boneless and the fullness of him begins to ache, his thrusts falter and he finally stills, his cock twitching inside of you as he finishes. 

He slips out, frowning slightly with concern when you wince, but continues to hover over you, his eyes sweeping over your face as your breathing slows and your heart quietens. He stays there, stroking your hair and kissing you until his shoulders start to shake with the effort of holding himself over you. 

You fall asleep tangled together, safe and warm in Marcus’s arms.

[Several moons later]

“Must we really go?” you wheedle as you watch the General fiddle with the clasp on his ceremonial robes.

“It is the most effective way to make our little statement, bellatora.” 

You cross your arms and make a show of pouting, although you know Marcus is right. You raise your arms, which are currently holding half of an unfinished braid. “Help me with my hair?” 

Marcus sighs loudly, although you know that, like your feigned petulance, it’s also an act. He takes the braid from you and finishes it before moving to the next section, plaiting it together the way he knows you like. 

“Tell me the statement again.”

He huffs. “You just like hearing me say it.”

“Yes.”

“An act against one of us is an act against both of us,” he murmurs dutifully. “And tantamount to an act of war, to be met with a swift and disproportionate response.”

“You always say that–‘disproportionate response.’ I do not understand what you mean by it.”

“Mmm. An opposing force sends one arrow into my army, I send one back. Proportionate response. Someone sends an arrow into my army, and I reign fire from the sky, burn every building to the ground, kill every citizen and remove them from every map. Disproportionate response.” Marcus finishes your hair and gently drapes the long braid over your shoulder.

“If ever you ask why I was scared of you when first we met, I will refer to you to that statement,” you say wryly. 

“You did ask, mi bellatora.” He picks up a belt and scabbard–similar to his, but smaller, more delicate, and ornate. He fastens it around your waist, cinching your dress and making you feel not only more alluring, but powerful. 

You do a little twirl and turn to him. “Do I look like the consort of an esteemed General?”

Marcus leans in and gently captures your lips with his. “You look like so much more. Now let us go into this den of wolves.”

With your head held high, you walk proudly through the halls at the General’s side, your hand tucked neatly against the crook of his elbow, until you reach the banquet hall, where the Emperor is holding a great feast. In your wildest imagination, you cannot think of a single place you want to avoid more, but you hold Marcus’s earlier promise in your mind as the heads turn to look at your entrance.

This is the last time.

The Emperor, surrounded by his entourage, raises his glass with a shout and a laugh as he sees the two of you. “The good General,” he grins wolfishly. 

“Taking his little plaything out for a walk,” one of the other men sneer. 

“Letting his little pet out of its cage,” adds another, snickering. 

Calmly, you unsheath the beautiful, ceremonial dagger that Marcus had given you as a gift and hold it at your side, just as he’d told you. A powerful warrior does not brandish their weapon or wave it under people’s noses, he had said. A powerful warrior does not need to. They simply remind their enemies that the weapon is there.

“You disrespect me,” you say, keeping your face even and your eyes stern. “And you disrespect my husband.”

Silence falls around the room. The Emperor’s men look at each other, to Marcus, and back to you again, unsure of how to respond. Finally, one of them laughs loudly.

“General Acacius is going soft,” he cackles. “Letting his little toy play pretend that she’s the wife of a noble.”

You fight to keep your expression free of malice or hurt, continuing to face them down calmly, your sword resting at your side. 

“Your gift to the General was far more valuable than you knew,” you say evenly, speaking only to the Emperor. “My family’s debt is paid in full, and I am therefore free to leave the palace at my leisure.”

The Emperor of Rome stares at you with befuddlement, his eyes wide, seemingly completely at a loss for words.

“We take our leave,” you announce with a flourish of a bow. 

“Leave?” The man sputters. “You are my finest General, you cannot–”

“I have given the Empire more than my fair share of years in service,” Marcus says quietly, standing resolutely next to you and placing his hand around your waist. “I find I have seen all I care to see of war, and the rest of my days will be filled with peace.”

Marcus turns to the other generals, who are all watching the confrontation with the Emperor. Without speaking, they draw their swords and hold them aloft in a silent salute to your husband–who solemnly returns the gesture. As you are still holding your dagger, you copy the gesture. This seems to please both him and the other Generals, who all smile. 

Marcus turns to you, beaming with affection and pride. “Let’s go home, bellatora.”

Epilogue

In a small hamlet south of the big city, a villa sits on a small hill overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea. 

There is a rumor among some of the residents of the town that the man who lives there used to be a General in the Emperor’s army, but most of the inhabitants agree that this is a ridiculous notion. 

He’s too soft-spoken, you see; his gentle demeanor is unlike that of a soldier. He often likes to sit with his wife and watch the color of the sea change as the sun rises in the morning, savoring the moment of peace before his children wake up. 

There are five of them now–with a sixth on the way. His wife jokes that should she find herself with child for the seventh time, she’s going to feed the man’s privates to their goats. 

Their life is modest, but by all accounts of those who witness it, they are blissfully happy. Their home always seems to be filled with joy, laughter, and no small amount of chaos that always follows young children. They maintain a small farm, raise goats and chickens, and they sell their extra eggs and vegetables at the market every week, accompanied by their five children, who are helpful… to varying degrees.  

Sometimes, late at night, the odd passer-by will see the silhouette of a couple standing on the cliffs overlooking the sea, wrapped in a tender embrace.

They have few visitors, but those who have been inside their villa have noted that two swords are mounted above the front door. One is large, utilitarian, but expertly crafted–with signs of wear that might indicate it has seen more conflict than most. The other is small and elegant, the hilt decorated with precious stones. 

No one has ever dared to ask about them.

[thatfandomslut]

Kiss Me Harder

Regina George x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Trigger Warnings: SMUT, 18+!!! Power Bottom Regina, Soft Top Reader, fingering (Regina receiving), oral (Regina receiving), thigh riding (reader receiving). There is a plot, and it is almost a slowburn to it.

Request:

can i request a regina george x reader smut with bottom regina ?

Mean Girls (2024) requests are open.

(Y/n) would consider herself lucky to be paired up with Regina George for the dorms at Harvard University. Not only that, but they shared several freshman courses, and were able to work on homework and study together. (Y/n) admired the way Regina seemed to know exactly what she wanted. She was ambitious and beautiful. (Y/n) could also appreciate how cutthroat Regina could be. Similarly, Regina appreciated how spontaneous and carefree that (Y/n) was. Unlike her cutthroat attitude, (Y/n) seemed to follow the vibes of the people around them. Which was why they worked so well together.

Their first kiss was during a long night of studying for their Biology 101 class. They had thrown pillows and blankets on the fuzzy rug they picked out together in the center of their room. Regina had lit up some candles, hoping to ensure that there was a calming aroma around them. They began to exchange candy as a point system for every right question, but it wasn't long before they seemed to run out of candy. "What if, for every right answer, you kiss me." (Y/n) teased, a smirk dancing on her lips as she looked over to Regina. They often flirted shamelessly with each other. However, something was different about the atmosphere in the air.

Regina could only lick her lips briefly before looking back over to (Y/n), mirroring the smirk. How could she refuse an offer like that? "Deal," Regina confirmed. (Y/n) still didn't expect her to go through with it. They were always exchanging flirty quips such as those. "Name three domains of species for me." Regina let her cool blue eyes flicker across (Y/n) face. There was recognition to the question, and she realized how easy this question was. Regina seemed to be going easy on her.

(Y/n) leaned in slightly, watching Regina's eyes continue to glide along her face to her lips before meeting (Y/n)'s eyes. With a cheeky smile, (Y/n) allowed her lips to ghost Regina's, and their breaths mingled. "Bacteria, archaea, and eurkarya," she answered in a whisper. She was about to pull away, but Regina beat her to the action, kissing her deeply. (Y/n)'s eyes widened, but it only took her seconds to melt into Regina's lips easily. That led to several dates, make-out sessions on their twin-sized dorm beds, and the official label of 'girlfriends.'

As final exams were getting closer, (Y/n) and Regina could conclude that they weren't ready. They were ready for the exams, studying became fun due to their new point system. The problem was those three weeks spent apart. The two had almost become inseparable over their semester romance. Eventually, Regina realized she could just invite (Y/n) to stay over the holidays. The question came after pushing their beds together the night before, the two lay together sleepily, having been up studying for a couple of hours prior. "What if you just spent some of your breaks with me? I could convince my dad to fly you out to North Shore after Christmas." Regina offered, her head resting calmly on (Y/n)'s chest.

(Y/n) smiled at the thought, playing with Regina's hair. "Okay, but I don't think I could ask you to pay for my ticket. I will probably have to talk to my parents about it, too, but I can call them tomorrow. I don't think they'd be opposed to it." (Y/n) spoke softly, finding herself having to make sure to stay awake during their conversation. She was drifting off just moments ago before Regina brought her idea up.

Regina lifted her chin, moving to a spot where she could kiss (Y/n) on the nose softly. "Baby, I insist. It would be no problem whatsoever. Consider it as part of your Christmas gift if you have to." Regina stated simply, knowing she wasn't going to let (Y/n) spend a dime. She was someone who enjoyed spoiling her significant other, though (Y/n) would make sure to slip some money in Regina's book bag or make sure to get the bill first. She always felt a bit guilty, even if she knew Regina was a lot more well-off than her. Nodding sleepily, (Y/n) knew she wouldn't win this. Regina grinned before cuddling back into her girlfriend as the two fell asleep.

Finals week flew by in a breeze of late nights and several coffee orders. At the end of finals, (Y/n) and Regina dreaded leaving their dorms. With their bags packed, they were forced to separate. Fortunately, this was only for a week. Despite this, they were sending messages back and forth, expressing how much they had already missed each other. Some might judge and describe their relationship as clingy, but neither of them really cared what anyone else thought. They were happy, and that was what mattered.

After Christmas came around, (Y/n) found herself anxiously awaiting the twenty-seventh. The best Christmas gift she could receive was to already be flying to see Regina. She was excited because Regina said she was going to introduce her to her friends, Gretchen, Karen, and Cady. All of whom (Y/n) has heard a lot about. Not only that, but her parents were going on a trip, so they were going to have the entire place to themselves for a couple of days. This excited (Y/n) because they would finally be able to spend alone time without college work somehow having to be done at some point in the night. Now, they could be together without any academic distractions between them. Especially because in their last few study sessions, their point system kept becoming more heated before realizing they had to get back to the task at hand. In fact, they had to go back to the candy system in order to remain on track.

When the time finally came for their reuniting, (Y/n) felt excitement fill her the whole way to the airport and the whole plane ride. Regina was waiting for her at the bottom of an escalator in white light pink turtle neck and a tan trench coat kept her warm. (Y/n) couldn't help but admire her as the escalator descended. "Hey, beautiful," (Y/n) greeted with a bright smile as she finally was able to make her way to the blonde. Regina flipped some of her blonde hair over her shoulder with a smile, planting a kiss on (Y/n)'s lips. "Looks like someone missed me." (Y/n) teased as they pulled apart.

Regina shook her head as she rolled her eyes playfully. "Shut up, loser," she joked before taking (Y/n)'s hand and leading them to her jeep. (Y/n) followed Regina, and admired her Jeep as they drove. "I can't wait to give you your Christmas gift. I think you're going to love it." Regina expressed as she parked in front of a large home. (Y/n) felt slightly insecure when she realized how wealthy Regina's family must be in order to afford this in the current economy. Choosing not to speak about it, she followed Regina into her home and to her room. She did remember the discussion of convincing her parents to give her the biggest bedroom in the house, but she wasn't expecting it to be as big as it was. Looking around as Regina put (Y/n)'s bag in her closet, (Y/n) looked over at all the photos on the wall with a smile.

"The girl with ginger hair is Cady, the girl with honey-blonde hair is Gretchen, and then the dark brown-haired girl is Karen." She pointed to each person, having walked up behind (Y/n) as she looked. (Y/n) listened intently as Regina told her some things about the group. (Y/n) could appreciate a tight-knit group from high school having hung out with some of her high school friends over the last week. "I think you're going to love them."

Regina fell back on her bed, grinning over to (Y/n). "I'm sure I will," (Y/n) agreed before slipping out of her shoes and joining Regina happily. "I missed you," (Y/n) whispered as she moved close to Regina. Regina grinned at this before kissing the girl happily. It was one of the best kisses they ever shared. This was probably because they weren't forced to return to studying afterward. It might also be because they were allowing each other's hands to roam each other's bodies as they deepened the kiss. (Y/n)'s breath hitched slightly as Regina's hands found her breasts over her shirt. She was surprised, but she was waiting for this moment. There was a lot of built-up tension still from their finals week.

"Is this okay?" Regina inquired, not wanting to do anything without consent. (Y/n) got out a shaky yes. This was something she wanted more than anything. Regina smiled softly before kissing (Y/n) deeply. (Y/n) moaned softly in the kiss, allowing herself to move so she could straddle Regina's hips. A position they had found themselves in several times in the past. (Y/n)'s hips ground gently against Regina's as she gasped in pleasure. "(Y/n), I want to keep going. I want to make love to you."

(Y/n) smiled softly, kissing her softly. "I want that, too." She was happy that Regina communicated this, because she was ready, too. Pulling at Regina's top, she pulled it off. Regina doing the same for (Y/n) quickly. It wasn't long before their clothes made a small pile on the floor and (Y/n) was kissing Regina as her hands massaged her breasts. "Kiss me harder, you don't have to be so soft with me," Regina whispered on her lips. (Y/n) was happy to oblige, kissing Regina deeper as their tongues fought for dominance. (Y/n) kissed down Regina's body, momentarily asking if Regina was sure once more. Once Regina answered with a quick yes, (Y/n) let her lips latch onto Regina's breasts, sucking at the nipple between her teeth.

Regina's moan filled the room as one of (Y/n)'s hands made its way down, massaging Regina's clit. Regina cursed loudly as her hands found their way into (Y/n)'s hair. "Fuck, (Y/n), don't stop." She told her. (Y/n) tried not to smirk, but failed that mission as she inserted a finger, rubbing at Regina's G-spot in a way that caused the blonde's back to arch. "Faster, baby," Regina moaned out to the best of her ability as (Y/n) sped up to Regina's liking. "Just like that, you're fucking perfect." Regina could already feel herself close to her climax as (Y/n) made love to her. This was unlike any sex she had ever experienced before. She felt her leg shaking as (Y/n) drew her closer. Announcing her climax, she felt herself cum over (Y/n)'s fingers. Her hand gripped the arm that kept (Y/n) upright as she cried out in pleasure as (Y/n) continued to help her ride out her high.

Regina counted herself lucky as (Y/n) felt like this wasn't enough. She needed to make Regina cum again. Kissing down the rest of Regina's body, she found her face between the girl's thighs. Regina's head fell back as (Y/n) sucked her clit. She was already sensitive, so she knew it wasn't going to take (Y/n) long to make her cum again. "Fuck, you're doing great, please don't stop." Regina wasn't someone to say 'please' unless she wanted something. And that something was for (Y/n) to continue to fuck her until she saw stars. Which, she was very close to as she felt herself grow closer once more. "I'm going to cum, baby." She got out, and (Y/n) continued. As Regina came, (Y/n) made sure to clean her all up. Which, to Regina, was the hottest thing that had ever happened to her. Which said a lot about (Y/n)'s skills, in the long run.

"Come ride my thigh, baby. I want to help you cum, too." Regina had remembered from a discussion they had during one of their late-night deep dives that (Y/n) was someone who enjoyed thigh riding. (Y/n) kissed her, Regina receiving a taste of herself as (Y/n) straddled Regina's hips. "Perfect, baby, just like that. Mommy will help you."

(Y/n) smiled down at Regina as her hands took hold of (Y/n)'s breasts, pinching and twisting at the nipples delicately. (Y/n) moaned at Regina's actions, her hips moving back and forward. "You feel so good, Regina." She said, pleasure warming up her entire body. She moaned as Regina instructed her to continue. She listened to whatever Regina told her to do as she felt herself getting closer to her orgasm. "I'm going to cum, Mommy." She said in between moans. Regina smirked at this, her hands falling to (Y/n)'s hips gently.

"Cum for me," Regina's tone in her voice brought (Y/n) to her orgasm as she rocked on Regina's thigh to ride it out. "That's it, baby. Keep going for as long as you need. You did so good."

(Y/n) finished before laying next to Regina, both girls in a moment of bliss. They were seeing stars as their fingers found each other, intertwining under the sheets that (Y/n) pulled over them after a chill made its way through the air. The two found themselves there for a long moment before pulling each other close and holding each other's clammy bodies together. Neither minded as they smiled to themselves, Regina's head tucked under (Y/n)'s chin. Their cuddles became their version of aftercare. The two didn't mean to, but they ended up falling asleep like that, not caring about their clothes still piled on the floor.

[evandsolo]

Home is where you are. | ft. Choi San.

choi san x reader genre : fluff, established relationship, slice of life words : 1,790. trigger warning : none ! if you see some, please tell me. plot : it's your first anniversary with the love of your life. you just spend the night together. side note : i just love San so much, i wanted to write the cutest thing with him ! I hope I gave him justice !

It’s already been a year. The best year of your life if you had to be fully honest. A year since he said he wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side. You knew San for a long time before, but could you imagine how amazing your life would be today ? You’ve never felt so loved before, so understood, so cherished, even though his work was taking a lot of his time. He always made sure to have enough time to spend with you.  

“I can't wait to be home and to be with you again” he said on the phone last night making your heart flutter so fast. “I Can't wait either. Will you be home when I get back from work?” You asked, hoping for a positive answer “I'm landing in the morning. I'll probably have to make a stop by the agency before heading home but I'll be there. I promise.” 

Your day was full of meetings and appointments, but you loved your job so much. You had a lot of responsibilities and you've never felt so accomplished in your life ever before. You kept on checking your phone every time you had the chance to. You wanted to make sure your boyfriend arrived safely, but the text did not arrive as soon as you hoped it would. He was supposed to arrive in the morning. He always texted you when landing. He probably had forgotten, you knew he had a lot of things to do. Or maybe the plane was running late. For a second you thought about checking his flight, just to reassure yourself. But it'd be a little bit extra. You let the hours pass by, until it was time for you to go home. Still no news of your lover. You can’t help but start to worry. It’s not usual for him to remain silent, especially when he comes home from a long trip.  

You hoppe in a taxi trying to call his best friend, who also became yours over time. “Yeah ?” answers Wooyoung’s voice on the other side of the phone. “Good lord, you’re alive !” Relief can be heard in your voice. “Of course I am ! Are you okay y/n ?” Okay ? How can you be ? “ I haven’t heard from San since you took off the plane, is he still with you ?” you ask. please please please, tell me he is with you. “No, he left the agency a few hours ago, but I'm pretty sure his phone died. You don’t have to worry, y/n” You try real hard to hold back your tears. “Yeah, I hope you’re right. Thanks Woo.” You finish, hanging out the call. Why hasn't he reached out to you yet ? On that day that seemed so special for the both of you. 

Your way home is full of questions and worries. You try to call him up but you end up again by falling on his voicemail without even a tone. Wooyoung was probably right after all, there was no need to be worried. 

You unlock your door and suddenly your heart stops in your chest. A soft dim light is diffused in the whole apartment, and the floor is covered in red petals. The room is filled with the sound of your favorite melody. All the pieces of the puzzle are assembled and you finally realize what was going on. Your eyes are starting to fill with tears as you move into the room. He stands up here, behind the central island of the kitchen. His eyes finally reach you and you can see the widest smile on his face. “ Hi gorgeous !” He says, in his joyful voice. 

Your bag falls on the ground, and you run into his arms, burying your face into his chest. You were so worried, that seeing him here was the biggest relief ever. “I’m happy to see you too, baby.” He chuckles. “ I missed you, and you didn’t send any text. I thought something bad happened to you.” You admit, keeping your face close to his heart so you could hear his heartbeat. “ My phone died before I left the agency and I didn't have any battery left in the other one. But I had to come home fast.” You sigh in relief. You finally took a second to reach out to his lips and pressed yours against it. “I missed that.” He says, when you step back. 

“What were you cooking? It actually smells so good !” You ask, leaning on the counter to see into the pot. “A Sundubu-jjigae. Your favorite.” He answers, putting a kiss on your temple. “You really make my life feel like a dream, Sannie.” You were so lucky to have him. The sound of your favorite jazzy melody echoed in the room. Everything was so damn perfect. “ Would you like to dance with me ?” He asks, behind your back. “Here ? But the kitchen is way too small, we don't have enough space to dance.” You say, pointing at the room around you. “We won’t be fancy waltzing for sure, but I just want to have you close and swing to music.” He puts his hands around your waist and you wrap your arms around his neck, and starts swinging softly around the room. Soft light coming from the little spots and candles around the room made it even warmer. That was comforting. You always dreamed of those kinds of moments, but never thought it could be real. But here you are, slow dancing in the arms of the love of your life. “ I’m so thankful for the life we share.” You whisper, eyes riveted in his. He was gentle, understanding. The most caring and beautiful soul you’ve ever seen in your life. He makes you turn around yourself and you can’t help but giggle. “I’m thankful for you, y/n” He murmurs in your ear. keeping you close to him. The music changed, and sadly you stopped the moment. 

It was time for you to freshen-up a little, as the dish was finishing to stew. You had a few minutes before you. Once you reach the room, you find a giant box on the bed. The bow on it doesn't fool you. You also had a present prepared for your lover, but this ! This was quite wild. “Love ? What's in there?” You shout from the room. “Open it, you'll love what's inside !” Curious, you pull the piece of fabric to open the box’s lid. It’s absolutely full of things, and every little detail makes your heart warmer. Twelve items, for twelve months of love. A giant bear plushie, some candies, your favorite perfume, a very pretty bracelet. amongst everything there was a silky sleepwear set. Two cats were embroidered on the top, right on the heart position. It was the cutest thing you’ve ever witnessed, and it was quite special to you. It was personalized and showed how much attention he puts in everything you said or shared this past year. You took the time to admire every single item, before heading to the bathroom for a few minutes. 

“So ? You like… Wow ! Hello Baby.”  He says, appearing in the door frame, making your smile become wider. The way he was looking at you, could make you fall in love again. “How did I get that lucky ?” He asks, as you turn to him. He had so much love in his eyes. That's something you have never witnessed ever before. And the way he looked just like a prince out of a fairytale. His half buttoned shirt, rolled out sleeves, perfectly adjusted to his good amount of muscles. He couldn't look more handsome than this. “ You ain’t bad either, love.” You answer him with a little voice both amused and lascivious. You loved the way his honeyskin stood out even more thanks to his white shirt. He probably would be even more handsome without, but you’ll keep that for later.

You grab the small box on the dresser before heading towards him and placing a kiss at the corner of his jaw. “Here’s yours. Open it.” You invite him, a little smile on your lips. You waited for this for days. You knew he'd be so happy.  “What’s in there ?” He says, looking at it closely. But it was just a box, no brand, no distinctive signs of anything. “Just open it !” You press him with all your impatience. You couldn’t wait any longer. He opens the upper part, just to discover a gorgeous beige necklace. “Babe ?” He says, a little bit lost, when taking the object in his big hands. You can’t help but giggle. “You should just read the paper in it, before looking at me like that.” He took it with concern, and read the lines you handwritten him earlier on. 

Hi ! It’s me, Byeol. 

Apparently, you told mom you were hoping to grow the family one day. So here I am the first addition to our family. I may not be a human baby, mom says it’s a little bit too soon, but she said to me you’d be the happiest kitten dad in the world.  

I can’t wait to meet you ! You and mom will come and get me tomorrow morning. 

See ya, Byeol ! 

“Is it real ?” He said, lifting his head up to you, his eyes sparkling with joy. You nod your head quickly, happiness reading in your features. “But you said because of your allergy we couldn’t have cats !” His cautiousness made your heart flutters. “It’ll be okay, I've discussed with doctors and I was able to be desensitized, so we will be able to accommodate her.” You didn’t tell him anything to keep the surprise total. And it worked just as you expected. “ You did that for me ?” He asks, wrapping his giant’s arms around you. “ Yeah. You wanted to have a cat for so long now. I knew you’d be happy.” He leans to you, to kiss you deeply. “Do you know how much I love you ?” He says against your lips, making you smile as you step back a little. “I’d probably love you more after the diner. Because you cannot imagine how hungry I am.” You say, leaving his arms to run to the kitchen. 

From the hallway you can hear him yelling with joy and saying "Guys! I’m going to be a cat daddy!" Probably a voice message he sent to his best friend, impatient to share the big news. You couldn’t help but laugh. 

Life was so good by his side, you hoped it would remain like that, forever. Even how fast, crazy and amazing it is. It’s just as perfect as you expected it to be.

I really hope you appreciated it, do not hesitate to reblog or to leave a note i’d love to read all about your thoughts. ✿

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + eight

authors note: so....i like cliched shit, so there's some of that here. hope it's not too much. this one is also very heavy at points, so please read the warnings, but it def has its moments that help progress the plot. also, the book referenced is a real work that we often use in therapy with survivors of sexual trauma. an excellent, powerfully healing read. i own neither the book nor the excerpt used.

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

cw/tw: references to csa, aftermath of csa, character being triggered, scene of violence/torture, fluff, angst, language, and suggestive themes

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

masterlist

words: 12k (i clearly don't know how to stop. it is what it is)

It's out of our hands We can't stop what we have begun

---Leann Rimes

“Clarke.”

There’s a heavy sigh followed by continued writing, icy blue eyes focused on the report before her instead of the irksome man before her, no doubt giving her those ‘fuck me’ eyes that would be an HR nightmare if HR actually did any fucking thing at this precinct.

She finishes her quote before asking with all the intentional disinterest, “what do you want, Reed?”

His question, as well as his intrusion by her desk, is expected. “why aren’t you joining the rest of us for the luncheon today?”

It’s none of his business, and Danica has no issues telling him that in intentionally vague terms. “Got somewhere to be.” 

Finally looking up, she sees Reed’s gaze go cold. “Where?”

Danica drops her pin and answers in the sweetest yet nastiest voice she can muster before 10am. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but the Miller girl is being released from the hospital today.”

Reed is just as confused as he is stupid. “Who?”

His obtuseness shouldn’t surprise nor irritate her, but it does. She remembers every single case she’s ever worked, and she’s certain this one will always remain at the top of the list. No matter how far she gets into her career. “Solana Miller. Xavier Miller’s daughter. The home invasion—”

“I know.” Reed’s almost relaxed, nosy disposition has entirely shifted. “Captain said the case was closed. Kid doesn’t want to press charges.”

“That kid is fucking traumatized. Don’t put that on her. Xavier is the one refusing to let us proceed.”

Reed leans forward, harshly whispering, “keep your fucking voice down, alright? Miller is…..he’s not someone you want to piss off. If he says we don’t run it, then we don’t run it, got it?”

“And who the hell is he to decide how the law works?” Clarke is also leaned over her desk, almost a month worth of pent up frustration with the lack of justice bubbling to the surface. “You read that medical report. You were on the scene. You don’t beat a grown man the way they beat that little girl. She could barely fucking walked. Dragged herself to a neighbors to ask for help. It’s a miracle she’s still alive.”

“But she is, okay?” He’s also matching her energy, just as passionate about blatant injustice as she is for said justice. “The best thing to do for that kid is to let her go home, heal, and move on with her life.”

And that’s the part that almost breaks her, that almost makes her shift from her role as an advocate to the survivor within that so deeply identifies with Solana.“You really think it’s that simple? Like she can just go back into the house where she was raped and almost killed and pretend like nothing happened?”

“No, I don’t know, Clarke, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I’m moving on and picking my battles wisely.” His voice switches to something ominous. “And if you knew what was good for you, you’d move on too.”

Aware of the underlying implications of his warning, she calls his bluff, “you threatening me?”

“Believe it or not, I actually do like you, Danica, but you’re playing a dangerous game.” Reed’s voice lowers again, and Danica almost feels like he’s trying to be genuine. “I know you’re still new around here, so let me give some free advice. Xavier Miller is a dangerous man. He’s got friends in places you don’t want to find out about. Leave this alone before you’re the next mutilated body we find floating in the river, alright?”

________

Danica Clarke has always been stubborn, a trait she’s certain will lead to her demise, but if this is the route that brings her to said demise, she’s okay with it. 

Danica waits in the doorway, aware of how knocking can be alarming. She waits and assesses for the moment Solana’s gaze is close enough to where she won’t be as startled. “Hey there, pretty girl….”

Sure enough, Solana jumps a bit, and Danica is pleased to see the swelling on her face has gone down tremendously and the bruising has started to fade to an almost flesh toned color. She looks less at death’s door than the first time Danica was introduced to the 12-year-old.

“Can I come in?”

As expected, Solana doesn’t say anything, just nods quietly. 

Danica moves to sit in the chair on the side of the bed. “Heard you were getting released today….” Danica studies Solana carefully, adding kindly, “may be kinda nice to have a change of scenery.”

Solana remains quiet, but Danica has been around enough survivors, remembers her own survivor story, to know that nothing feels nice or good in the immediate aftermath. There’s just numbness and pain. No in-between.

“I’m so sorry there’s nothing more I can do to help you, Solana. I really am.” And she means that with every fiber of her being. “You didn’t deserve this. You deserve justice, and I wish there was more I could do, but….my hands are tied.” Danica’s only been at this precinct for less than six months, and while asking to be transferred won’t be a good look when evaluations roll around, she doesn’t give a fuck. She can’t serve with bastards who would let sick fucks like Solana’s attackers walk around freely. 

It’s too repulsive.

“But, I do…..I want to give you something.” Danica reaches into her backpack and pulls out something she hasn’t had to look at in years. A book, thick, with yellow, paperback binding. The edges are a bit worn, and certain parts are highlighted, but it’s still just as powerful nonetheless. “When I was….a little younger than you, I was raped too.” Danica sees Solana’s gaze lift up, surprise and shock written on her face. “And it wasn’t until I was a freshman in college that I started to heal and finally process what’d happened to me.” Danica’s lips press together. “The counselor I saw in college, she gave me this book, and it changed my life.”

Solana looks down, reading the title, typed in big, black letters: The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse.

“I wanna read something out of it for you, if that’s alright?” Consent, especially now, is everything, so Danica waits patiently for Solana again to nod, permitting her permission to read. 

With a deep breath to also prepare herself for revisiting the past, she begins reading a passage that Solana can see she has highlighted. 

“I know you're in a world of pain, but that pain will lessen. At the beginning you can't see that. You can only see your pain and you think it will never go away. But the nature of pain is that it changes— it changes like a sunset. At first, it's this intense red-orange in the sky, and then it starts getting softer and soften. The texture of pain changes as you work through it. And then one day, you wake up and realize that life isn't just about working through your abuse; it's about living, too.”

Danica looks up to see Solana sniffling, wiping at her eyes. She’s tempted to reach and take her hand, but she also knows better, knows that the last thing this child wants is to be touched.

“I want you to have this, Solana. I want you to take it, and when you’re older, when you’re ready to reclaim your voice, and you will, I want you to read every word in here. From cover to back cover. You’re gonna be okay, sweetie. You don’t feel it now, but you have to believe it.” Her eyes gloss over. “Don’t ever stop living, Solana.”

“Solana.”

Flashbacks and memories from that time of her life don’t happen often, and it’s an intentional thing on Solana’s part.

She doesn’t like thinking about that part, but this certain memory has now revisited her a total of three times now. Twice in a dream and now in the middle of a conversation with Bayley and Naomi.

That…..that can’t be a coincidence.

“I’m sorry.” Apologizing seems like the most appropriate thing until Naomi shakes her head.

“Roman said we’re not supposed to accept or condone you apologizing for anything, so imma pretend like I didn’t hear that, sis.” 

Roman….

He confuses her. 

He’s certainly unlike any man she’s ever met. And though that number is far from generous, he’s still the anomaly. 

After essentially rejecting what was an….interesting, unfamiliar, different experience between the two of them, she expected him to be upset. To be frustrated. To be absolutely all over her baggage. To ignore her.

But, that’s not what happened, none of that has happened. Instead, he’s carried on like nothing happened, like she didn’t run away from him in near tears. 

Like they didn’t….like they didn’t almost have a moment.

He’s stayed true to his word in that he’s met her every day after work in the week that’s passed. And while the first day was awkward, mostly on her part, they’ve fallen back in that same confusing yet peaceful space. 

Confusing yet peaceful…that seems to be the theme since the day she said “I do.”

It’s not uncomfortable nor unpreferred over where she came from.

It’s just…..different. 

“Oh—okay.” Solana doesn’t know what else to say but notices that Naomi looks like she has something else to say but is hesitant. “Is—is everything okay?”

That seems to be the door that paves the way for said conversation.  “I’ve been thinking. You’ve come a long way. Like, you’ve really got the basics down, all the defensive positions, even fluidity of movement.” It’s leading up to something, Solana is certain of this, but it also means a lot to her that Naomi believes she’s progressed. Doing well with this or even retaining Naomi’s training is something she never saw for herself. “I want to advance you to learning attacks. Solana’s stomach starts to tighten. “With weapons.”

And there it is.

Solana winces. “Weapons?”

Bayley sighs, joining in to help Naomi present her case. “We wanna teach you how to use knives.” Solana’s stomach tightening quickly morphs into twists and knots. “Hear me out, please. I know….I know that’s gotta be a sensitive thing for you, and I totally understand why, but knife fighting is a really great skill to have, even if just to have one on you at all times and know how to use it if need be.”

“And let’s be honest, Roman isn’t going to let anything happen to you to where you would need it, but still.” Something tells Solana Naomi isn’t wrong about that. That neither woman is wrong in what they’re saying, but just the conversation brings back flashes of that night, the night that left the physical and mental scars she still bears now.

Bayley offers a sympathetic smile. “Just think about it, okay?” Solana can do that. She will do that, just….maybe not right now.

And she doesn’t have to because Roman and the twins suddenly enter the gym space. Solana’s stomach tightens seeing Roman shirtless, a sight that’s happened a couple times now, and each time doesn’t seem to make it any easier on her nerves. If anything, it gets worse.

“Whassup, ladies.” Jey greets, clapping his hands as he asks, “ya’ll ready for tonight?”

“Tonight?” Solana speaks up, not directing her question to anyone in particular, but Bayley is the one to answer. “What—what’s tonight?”

“Night of Champions.” She then goes on to explain. “It’s one of our annual wrestling events. Naomi and I are competing.”

Curious, Solana turns to Roman. “Are you fighting?” 

Jimmy, however, is the one to answer. “Soso, Big Dog don’t do these events no more. Not very often anyway, but he’ll be there.”

“Can I come?” Solana directs her question to Roman, knowing that it will be his call. He eyes her unexpectedly. 

“You want to?”

She nods, referring to the group. “I—I wanna see them fight.”

It also feels like the right thing to do, to support the two women who’ve been nothing but supportive of her since day one. Even Jimmy and Jey with their often inappropriate comments about her body and continuous praise over her cooking abilities. It’s still always been very respectful in a strange sort of way.

Roman steps towards her, and Solana finds that it takes a concentrated effort to keep her eyes on his and to not gaze downward. Him being shirtless before her doesn’t help with the attraction she’s still trying to wrap her head around and navigate. 

He lowers his voice, asking, “you sure?”

She’s confused only for a second when she remembers why he seems to be ensuring this is what she wants. This will be the first time Solana has returned to the Warehouse since Grayson and Austin’s attack, since she caused a whole scene that resulted in the whole damn place being shut down and Roman sending a grim message to all.

For a second, she backs away, retreats from her initial desire. Briefly tells herself that this isn’t what she wants, but that other distant voice in the back of her head, not as present or loud, seems to win the battle this time around.

“Yes,” is the final answer she settles on. “I’ll be fine.”

Roman nods, informing. “We leave at 6:30.”

Solana starts to wonder about what this night could entail when Jey suddenly expresses, “It’s kinda nice outside. I think I’m gonna go for a swim. Get in that aquatic cardio.” 

Jimmy also cosigns this after sharing a quick kiss with Naomi. “Oh shit, yeah, lets’ do it

Roman is instantly annoyed, asking with all of the exasperation. “Don’t ya’ll have a pool at your houses?”

“Yeah, but yours is nicer.” Jimmy answers like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He then looks over at Solana, asking, “you joining us, Soso?”

And that, not the idea of returning to the place where she was almost attacked, is what brings on the heavier anxiety. Once upon a time, Solana loved the pool. Swimming with her mom on hot, summer scorching days used to be some of her favorite memories. Now, those memories are plagued with flashbacks of being held under water, a form of torture implemented by her brother.

“N–no.” Solana catches Roman’s gaze on her, the way his eyes dip to her running her fingers against the sides of her workout pants. “I—ummm—I’m going into work for a little bit today, so I should get ready to go.”

Roman speaks up first, skeptical.  “I didn’t know you were going in today.”

“I have to take care of something.”

Solana being vague is new, it’s unfamiliar, and it doesn’t feel the best to lie to him in a sense. Even if it’s less a lie and more a vague answer. 

There is something she needs to take care of. She just has no desire or even ability to tell him just what she needs to take care of, because that would mean she has to tell him the why, and that is something she’s never discussed with anyone and has no desire ever to.

________

Dear Mom,

I’m sorry I haven’t written you as much. Life has been….very confusing and different, but not bad. I think….I think I like living here.

I like Bayley and Naomi. They’re so nice to me. I think you would like them too. Bayley is Mexican, so we talk in Spanish sometimes, and I love that because it reminds me of us, mama, all our conversations and writings.

Jimmy and Jey, Roman’s cousins, make me laugh. They’re also nice to me, and they really like my cooking, your cooking. I still use a lot of the recipes you taught me.

I finally have a dog, mami! Her name is Dulce. She’s so sweet and little and adorable. Roman got her for me. 

Roman…

He’s not what I expected. I don’t….I don’t understand why he’s nice to me. Cause that’s what it is. That much I’ve finally realized. He’s….nice to me. 

I’ve never had a man be nice to me. 

We had….something happen a week ago. I still don’t really know how to describe it, just that he was touching me, not even inappropriately. And I think…..I think I liked it, but then I got scared because it was like….it was like it wasn’t him touching me. It was them. 

And I….I hate that. I hate it because it’s miserable feeling this way. Wanting something but not wanting it. Being scared of something but wanting it. Desiring to be close to someone but not wanting that either.

I feel so torn sometimes. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about that book the detective gave me after it happened. There’s gotta be a reason I kept it all these years. I think….I think I want to read it.

I don’t know what to expect, and I’m nervous because I don’t like thinking about it, but I can’t, I don’t, want to keep living like this.

I can’t.

________

When Solana asked to attend Night of Champions, she was thinking it would be similar to WarGames. A foolish assumption. It is in the sense that the arena area is packed, not a single seat unoccupied, the boisterous sound of loud chatter and music serving as a backdrop against said chatter. That’s all the same and unchanged.

What is different and what Solana should have thought about was the fact that the two women who made her feel so comfortable last time won’t be there this time, because they’re competing. And so are the twins. 

And Nicki is apparently upset with Jey—a recurrent theme, it seems—so she also won’t be present.

That leaves one person.

Roman.

Solana didn’t think about the fact that she’d be seated with Roman. It’s not as nerve-racking as it could be, as it probably would have been almost three months ago when this whole new, unexpected chapter of her life began. 

But, it’s still a bit anxiety inducing.

She doesn’t miss how Roman’s grip on her hand remains firm on hers from the moment he helps her out the SUV, his eyes again taking her in the same way he did when she met him back in his office to tell him she was ready to go.

Solana initially felt unsure of herself given the fact that Naomi and Bayley could only pick out her outfit, shoes, and accessories for the night but couldn’t actually help her get ready given the fact that they were competing. Solana struggled to navigate her hair, as always, pinning it up on her head, and her makeup definitely isn’t as nice as the night of WarGames, but it mostly covers up her facial scar, and that’s all that matters.

Still, she must not look completely awful because Roman did not hesitate to give her a slow one over followed by a muttered “damn” and more vocalized, “fuck, you look good.”

She’s starting to lose count of how many times he’s said that now, and each new occurrence still gives her the same butterflies as the first time.

Roman escorts them to their seats, the twins and Paul already being present. Jimmy is the first to speak, whistling loudly.

“Damn, Soso. How we supposed to fight and you distracting us looking all fine and shit?”

“If you want to live and make it to the actual fight, you’ll shut the fuck up.” It’s hard for Solana to tell just when Roman is being completely honest with his cousins or just deadly honest with his cousins. 

This is one of those moments. 

“Thank you.” She doesn’t know what else to say, what kind of response is appropriate to something that isn’t as so.

Roman then motions for Solana to sit down and easily props his big body down in the seat right next to her. Their arms are nearly touching, but she tries not to think of that. Tries to distract herself by asking the twins, “shouldn’t you be in the locker room?”

“Naw, we fight toward the end of the night, so we like to assess with Roman till then.”

“Assess?”

While Jey was the one to provide the initial answer, Jimmy handles the clarification. “You gon be a member of the Warehouse, you gotta earn that shit. That means doing your thing in the ring. You ain’t cutting it, you out.”

Solana nods, quietly. It makes sense. Roman seems like a man with high standards. “So…you all have the final say?”

Jimmy takes a sip of his beer, shaking and nodding his head toward his cousin. “Naw, that’s all Big Dog.”

Solana glances at her husband who’s focused not necessarily on the conversation at hand but the preparation for what’s sure to be an eventful night. 

“If you don’t mind, My Tribal Chief is trying to focus here.” Paul’s voice, equally nice as it is nasty, reminds her of his presence. For some reason, she’s surprised by said presence, though she shouldn’t be. It’s clear the Wise Man is an important asset to Roman. 

“Whassup, my dogs!”

Just then a lanky man comes over to the group. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that says ‘honorary uce’ and has wild red hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in weeks. Solana takes a second to look at him, finding him strangely familiar. It’s then she realizes that he fought with Roman, Solo, and the twins during WarGames.

He goes for some kind of special handshake with Jimmy, then Jey, and finally Roman who looks like he’s contemplating murder rather than wanting to return the greeting. He quickly plays it off, “that is well—okay my tribal chief, and—wow—” Him turning to Solana, finally noticing and acknowledging her, is an experience for the both of them. She notices his initial gaze sets on her chest which is uncomfortable but not entirely unexpected given the style of her dress. Still, she shifts in her seat, uneasy with the attention. “Those are—-ummm—” His eyes go wide, as he moves to backtrack on an obvious Freudian slip. “I mean, it’s uh, very nice to meet you, ma’am, or Mrs. Reigns, or your highness. Whichever you prefer is a-okay with—“

“Sami.”

His shoulders hunch and head drops in shame, like he already knows what’s coming. “Yes, Tribal Chief?”

“Go sit somewhere else.”

This Sami person doesn’t even hesitate, confirming he already knew he fucked up in the less than five minutes he was present. “Yes, my Tribal Chief.”

Solana watches, still partially confused but also kind of amused as he wastes no time in departing. 

Paul then leans over, chatting away, “I told you, my Tribal Chief, I never liked Shmuel. He’s always been so beneath you. I understand he makes easy collateral, but—“

Roman sighs loudly. “Wise Man.”

“Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“Go join Sami.”

“But……” Solana looks over at Paul. His expression is one of devastation, like he’s just been told he had six months to live. “I—I always sit with you for Night of Champ—“

“Wise Man.”

Paul swallows. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“I’m not gon tell you again.” Roman finally looks over at his closest advisor, forcefully enunciating and instructing, “go.”

Similar to Sami, the Wise Man walks off with his tail between his legs, leaving just Solana, Roman, and the twins. 

She has no idea where Solo is. 

“See, now you ain’t even have to do all that, Big Dog. You be getting yourself all upset over nothing. You need to start doing some deep breathing or shit, then maybe you could get off them high blood pressure pills.” 

It’s that last part that Solana zones in on, that makes her turn to Roman, “you have high blood pressure?”

He lifts his eyes, dismissing, “it’s nothing.”

“Can’t—can’t that be dangerous?” It’s not necessarily a question she needs him to answer. Solana is well read on a variety of subjects, especially subjects pertaining to physical health. High blood pressure can mess with a lot of things, a lot of organs. Eyes. Brain.

Heart

Jimmy is the one to chime in, asking with that typical tone of humor. “Soso, you do know what he does for a living right?”

But, it’s hard for her to find said humor when all she’s thinking about now is how certain meals she’s prepared for him could maybe not be the best for his high blood pressure. How she could be exacerbating that.

Feeling pressured by her inner monologue, she offers, “I can change how I cook for you.” And she can. She probably will, making a mental note to peruse through her mom’s recipe books that would be more aligned with the type of diet he probably needs. “I know there’s certain things you probably shouldn’t eat—”

“Solana.” He interrupts, but it’s not with that same irritation he had towards Sami and Paul. “I’m fine. My numbers weren't that bad. The doctor is just being over cautious.”

She wants to believe him, wants to not be as…bothered by this as she is, but something tells her Roman isn’t unlike most men who downplay these sorts of things.

Letting the conversation go, her determination to help him maintain his health remains. 

The conversation shifts to a dialogue between the twins and Roman, the three men conversing in Samoan. She doesn’t mind this, as it also allows her the space to catch the gaze of Bayley and Naomi who look freaking amazing in their gear.

“Soso.”

“I swear to God, if you call her that one more fucking time—”

Jey, possibly foolishly, waves off Roman’s threat. “You understand Yeet, right?”

Blinking twice, she asks, “what?”

“Yeet,” Jimmy says it too, like it’s as basic a word as they come. “Our motto.”

“I—” Honesty is a bit easier with her husband’s cousins. “N–no.”

“Man,” Jey makes a sound with his teeth and jumps right into the explanation. “It’s like a way of life. Like, you yeet when life going good—”

“—when life going bad.”

“—or when you leaving.”

“—or going.”

“It’s a way of life.”

Jimmy and Jey playing off of each other for their presentation is entertaining, at best, but it doesn’t leave her any less confused than she was just a minute ago.

“I—I still don’t get it.”

And that, for the first time, is when Solana hears Roman laugh. It’s not something she ever thought possible, but it’s there, his handsome face turned into an amusing expression as he expresses vindication. “I told you it was fucking stupid.”

“See, I thought we was close, Soso. I thought we was becoming family and shit, but I see you a hater like your husband.”

At that, Jey punches his brother on the arm, reminding with a rough mutter, “man, she be cooking, don’t be fucking up our good thing.”

“Aww shit.” Jimmy quickly moves to backtrack. “I mean, I could see your point.”

Conversation continues as such until the start of the night, Solana watching as the three men around her easily shift into an almost business mode. Their gazes are almost intense, watching closely as matches begin.

Solana partially expected to have to sit and remain quiet for the evening, but certain moves, similar to what Naomi and Bayley have taught her, catch her attention. And it must show, because Solana finds herself occasionally being asked by Roman if she has any questions or if she understands why a fighter did a certain mood.

Some she can answer. Some she cannot. 

So she asks him.

And he answers all of them, clearly, concisely, in a way she can understand.

If Roman is irritated by any of her questions, he does a damn good job not showing as such. And to her credit, she does her best to take a guess vs asking outright with certain things, pulling from her time with Bayley and Naomi. 

And in certain matches, she’s fully immersed in watching their expertise that questions aren’t even a thing. Like the tag team match between two of the most beautiful women she’s ever seen, Jade and Bianca, as Roman called them. Same with Naomi and Bayley who independently show her a side of their ruthlessness she figured existed but hadn’t seen firsthand until tonight.

“Do you all learn how to fight when you’re kids?”

“More or less,” Roman answers, and Solana has a hard time not staring, not being caught up by how handsome this man really is. “This life….it’s kill or be killed. So to not be killed, you learn how to fight. How to survive.”

Survive…

Solana has such a complicated relationship with that otherwise simple word. 

“How come….how come you don’t fight as much?” She’s wondered about this, come up with speculation but would like to know for certain, especially as he seems to be in a relatively decent mood.

Like most things, he keeps his answer nice, simple, and vague. “I don’t have anything to prove to anyone.”

“Did–did you?” He looks over at her, and warmth rises back as she tries to clarify. “At some point, I mean.”

Again, it’s a one-worded response. “Yes.”

She’s not entirely sure just what he’s saying ‘yes’ to, but a full blown out explanation was never expected. He doesn’t seem like the type. But something more would have been….nice. Granted, Solana realizes she’s probably pushing her luck in asking all these questions anyway and sits back in her seat, relegating herself to focusing on the current match.

The chill of the arena makes its reminder yet again as Solana crosses her arms over her body, trying to warm herself. The man beside herself notices this, accurately assessing, “you’re cold.”

True to her nature, Solana shakes her head, downplaying the fact that she is very much cold. “I’m fine.”

Downplaying or being outright dishonest is clearly something Solana would do well to push away, because it seems like this man is capable of seeing right through any and all lies.

Roman shifts forward in his seat and removes his jacket, reaching it to her. “Here.”

Rejection would be rude. It would also make her feel even more bad than she already does at inconveniencing him. Still, her options are really singular, meaning there are no others. Only one.

Mustering a small smile, she accepts his objectively kind gesture, sliding her arms through and adjusting as best she can given their size difference. Warmth overcomes her as well as the scent of his collage, something masculine, almost minty. It fits him.

Silence befalls them for a comfortable while before Solana excuses herself to use the bathroom, Roman only nodding in acknowledgment. 

It’s in walking down the hall that Solana sees Jade and Bianca chatting away, admiring their championship belts. The taller of the two, Jade, happens to glance her way and smiles, exclaiming, “Girl, you are wearing the hell out of that dress!”

“Absolutely killing it,” Bianca also compliments, her smile just as genuine and affable. 

Solana is certain she’s just staring dumbly for a good couple of seconds, because such a compliment from two objectively stunning women towards her was the last thing she expected. 

Descending off her shock, she offers an equally genuine smile and expression of appreciation. “Thank you so much.”

The compliment keeps that smile planted on her face. It’s so unexpected but deeply appreciated.  

Solana dries her hands and tosses the used paper towels in the trash. It’s a brief glance at herself in the mirror that serves as the start of the slippery slope, landing her back in a brief state of uncertainty. The dress is so revealing, much more revealing than anything she could or would ever wear. But it’s hard to think or sit too much in that discomfort when the night has consisted of several compliments. Sami, Jimmy, Jey, now Bianca and Jade. Not to mention the biggest one, or maybe the one that gives her the most butterflies, coming from Roman. 

“Fuck, you look good.”

Her smile shifts from something more silly to something a bit more bashful, her cheeks warming at someone as handsome and powerful as Roman Reigns thinking that she looks good.

Thinking that she’s beautiful.

A toilet flushes from the only other taken stall, and the door opening reveals the perfect reason why Solana should have just went straight back to join Roman instead of having a mental discourse in the bathroom.

Samantha’s long, shapely legs are the first thing Solana notices along with the way her dress melts to her toned, curvy body. She looks good, and she has to know that she looks good. A woman like her probably has men lined up by the dozen, Roman being at the front of that line. 

Samantha’s dark lips form into a smirk as she walks over to the sink. “Surprised to see you tonight.” She moves to wash her hands. “After that not so little incident a while back, I figured that was the last day you’d step foot in here.”

Solana swallows. She’s managed to not think about that day since it happened. Samantha bringing it up is definitely salt on an open wound. “I—umm.”

“Nice dress. A lil snug though. Maybe go up a size next time?” Her voice, so sweet and sugary, is also venomous and knowing. “Or two.”

Solana’s hands naturally move to her stomach, forearms trying to block the part of her body she hates the most and is certain Samantha is primarily referring to.

“Sage, right?” She doesn’t give Solana a chance to respond. “Let me give you some advice. Woman to woman.”

Something tells Solana she’s not going to like this advice. 

Samantha dries her hands and walks up to Solana. “I know you’re Roman’s wife, but you can’t seriously think that means anything to him, right? It’s just a title, and he’ll defend you only because it’s defending his pride.” Solana tries to not put too much into Samantha’s hurtful words, but it’s hard not to when Solana knows Roman continues to be intimate with this woman, even after their marriage. She can’t blame him for that, though, especially since he’s definitely not getting it from her. Still, it does sting a bit. “Trust me, I’ve known him very well since we were in high school.” Samantha smirks, chuckling. “So, I would know.”

“Bitch, you don’t know shit.”

The last voice Solana expected to enter the conversation was that of Nia’s. But sure enough, Roman’s’ cousin stands near the bathroom door, arms crossed over her body. 

Samantha’s expression sours tremendously as she icily greets the other woman, bigger, stronger, maybe even prettier. “Nia.”

Nia ignores the greeting and comes to stand near Solana, immediately going in on the slender women. “If you know him so well and you supposedly mean that much to him, how come it’s not you with a wedding ring on your finger?” Solana says nothing, keeping her gaze down, but it doesn’t stop her from also thinking about that very valid question. Just why didn’t Roman marry Samantha? “Or better yet,” Solana glancing back up allows her to see Nia’s cruel smile. “Why is it Solana’s name he said when he was fucking you?”

What?

Solana is visibly shaken by that because where in the hell did that even come from? There’s no way that can be true. No way Roman could be in bed with someone like Samantha and say her name. 

But Samantha is visibly disturbed, lip almost curling into an almost snarl as she spits, “fuck you, Nia.”

“I’d call you Solana too, so I don’t think you’d want that.”

Samantha storms out of the bathroom without another word leaving Solana alone with Nia, Solana who is still trying to process what was just said and finds herself asking Nia. 

“Is—is that true? Did you—did you really hear about Roman—ummm—”

Typically, Solana would keep her questions in the safety of her mind, but this…..this feels almost impossible to not seek clarification on. 

“You know he’s my cousin, right?” Nia looks visibly disgusted but still answers her question. “I would never make something up like that about family. Samantha is a blabber mouth that doesn’t realize she shares her shit with that dumbass best friend of hers, Tiffy, and the whole town knows.”

The answer is appreciated, but it still leaves Solana with so many questions. 

“I—I don’t understand.” Again, it’s something meant to stay inside but manages to slip past the cracks. 

“God, you are naive.” Nia rolls her eyes and explains while crossing her arms. “Sweetie, if a man is balls deep in Woman A and says Woman B’s name, Woman A is not who he wants.” 

That seems almost inconceivable to Solana. For Roman to think she looks good and maybe even consider her beautiful is one thing, but for him to desire her in that way is something entirely different.

She doesn’t know what to do with this information.

“Don’t let that skinny bitch get to you.” Nia seems eager to switch the conversation to something different. “She’s a pussy. All bark and no bite. Remember, you have the ring on your finger. You just have to put her in her place one good time, and she’ll leave you be. And if not, let Roman know. He’d never hurt or kill her himself, but he’d definitely ask me to, and truth be told, I’ve wanted to snap that bitch’s neck since high school, so you’d be doing everyone a favor.”

Solana can’t allow herself, or maybe more so doesn’t have the capacity, to think about that right now. She’s still trying to get a grip on chapter one. Still, she offers a quiet ‘thank you’ to Nia, turning to leave when the taller woman says her name. Solana turns back around. “Yes?”

Nia sighs and rolls her eyes. “I know you think I hate you, but I don’t. I may hate how soft you are, but I don’t hate you.” Nia then smirks with an almost playful add on of, “I don’t care enough about you to hate you.”

________

As expected, Roman is immediately asking what took so long the second Solana is back in her seat. 

Her excuse is weak. She tells him that there was a line, but it’s the best thing she can come up with on the spot. His expression is all the answer she needs that he certainly doesn’t believe her but will let it go.

For now. 

The rest of the night seems to be more of a blur, Solana now more consumed with trying to wrap her head around this newest bit of information. 

The twins end up finishing off the event with a brutal but successful match where they, as expected, retain their tag team titles.  

Solana could see this, understandably, pleased Roman. 

And outside of some constructive criticism towards Jey and Jimmy, Roman expressed his desire to leave as soon as they got cleaned up, which took less time than she expected. He’s guiding them, her, out to leave, her hand still in his, when a thickly accented voice calls the attention of the man beside her. 

“Roman Reigns.”

Solana can barely turn around to the source of the voice when Roman’s muscled arm is stretched across her body, moving her behind him, his big body serving as an impenetrable shield.

Because of their height difference, Solana can’t see a whole lot outside of the instant shift of security and even the twins toward whoever this person is. 

“How wonderful for you to bless us with your presence so soon after WarGames.” The man scoffs, clearly trying to bait Roman. “What is this, the second appearance in how many years? Hell hath fuckin’ froze over.”

Solana catches a brief glance of the mystery man and gasps. He has an imposing figure, similar to Roman but there’s something cold about him, something….sinister. 

“How dare you acknowledge the Tribal Chief—” Roman lifts his hand to silence Paul. 

Roman simply states, “talk.” 

“You know what I want, Reigns.” Solana hears a footstep and notices how Roman makes a subtle movement that results in the twins also moving closer towards her, shielding her from this man. “You don’t deserve that title. You may have been a fighter then, but you ain’t now. You’re about the Bloodline, and I respect that, mate, but the Undisputed title deserves to be with someone who defends it more than once a fucking year.”

“So what, you think you the one who gon’ take it? Man, we outta kill your ass right now for talking out your neck like that to our Tribal Chief!”

Solana hates being unable to see Roman, to see his face, to be able to gauge and read his facial expressions. He’s an enigma of a man, typically oscillating between irritated, angry, and indifferent, but not having the option altogether to know where he currently lands is bothersome.  Especially with what comes out of his mouth next.

“Do something.”

Solana freezes. That….that can’t be good.

“You standing up on me. You make a good tough guy face. Do something.”

Solana’s fingers tap against her side, that familiar knotting in her stomach returning. She glances over at Jey who seems to also be a bit confused by Roman’s response.

“Uce—”

Roman ignores him. “Go on. Pull it.”

Jimmy speaks up this time, rough voice quiet but urgent. “Roman, we got Solana here—”

“Come on. Make it happen. What’s different? Ain’t nothing changed. Think back to the last time you challenged me.” Solana hates when Roman moves away from her, because it means he’s a step closer to this man, this man who seems determined to pick a fight with the Tribal Chief and may get just that. “Think about it. I whooped you then. I’ll whoop you now.” Roman speaks with such a confidence about him, the most violent, straightforward promise of sure brutality she’s ever heard from a man. “Ain’t nothing changed.”

Solana isn’t necessarily thinking about what she’s doing when she suddenly moves herself in between Roman and this man who’s apparently hellbent on getting her husband riled up. It’s another unconscious act as she plants her palms against his chest, both relieved and nervous by how his gaze instantly drops to hers.

Solana licks her lips and finds herself pleading in an unexpectedly calm yet typically soft voice. “Let’s just go.” His initial expression of fury and simmering anger seems to lessen the longer he looks at her, and Solana adds on, desperately. “Please.”

This act of boldness is completely unplanned and entirely stems from Solana unable to stop thinking about how Roman being so upset all the time can’t be good for his blood pressure. It can’t be good for his health. 

And for reasons she doesn’t quite understand, that bothers her. It concerns her. 

Him not being healthy concerns her.

What does not surprisingly concern her is when Roman moves his hands down to her hips and almost gently moves her to the side, forcing her hands to drop. She expects him to lunge at the other man or to scold her for interfering, but he does neither.

He steps toward him and simply states with all the coldness, “you’ve got your match, but I set the date when I want it.” Solana’s more or less holding her breath, waiting for Roman to strike the man, or worse. “But know this, McIntyre, you step in that ring with me again, I’m not just ending your career this time, I’m ending your fucking life.”

Roman’s threat sends uneasy chills down her spine. There’s no mistaking Roman’s promise, something she’s certain he will be sure to fulfill.

He then takes her hand again and moves her to the side opposite of the man who looks like he hates Roman as much as Roman probably hates him. Solana is almost entirely eclipsed by Roman’s big body as he walks her past the ordeal.

The car ride is a bit uncomfortably silent, Solana recognizing that Roman is still seething from the exchange but most likely waiting until she’s out of his vicinity to express that rage. 

But, it's when she’s walking back in the house after letting Dulce do her business that Roman catches and speaks to her. 

“Solana.” He’s leaning back against the counter, big arms crossed over his muscular body. He’s so….big. “What happened when you went to the bathroom tonight?”

She can’t be surprised, can’t feel caught off guard by his question. It’s still not something she necessarily wants to talk about or knows how to discuss, but she’ll do the best she can. 

“I ran into Samantha.” Taking a deep breath, she tries her hardest to keep it vague but still an acceptable answer. “I don’t—I don’t think she likes me.”

At that, Roman nearly growls, “what did that bitch say to you?”

Solana winces at his tone. “It wasn’t that bad…”

He’s quick with the dismissal and redirection. “That’s not what I asked you.”

“She just—she just talked about my outfit, that—that was it, because Nia came in there, and well, I don’t—I think Nia might hate her more than she hates me.”

Roman sighs, running his hand over his face. “I’ll handle Samantha.” Before Solana can protest, he adds, “Nia doesn’t hate you.”

This brings a small smile to Solana’s face. “That's what she said.”

Roman also looks slightly amused by this, studying her for a second. “Solana.” The surprises keep on coming, because he takes an unexpected turn in the conversation. “I almost lost my temper tonight.”

This….this feels true. His issuance of threats were delivered in an almost calm manner, but it was more deceptive than anything. Like a setup for violence that was potentially about to unfold if she didn’t interfere.

Still, nothing ended up happening, so it doesn’t make sense for him to act like it did.

“But, you didn’t,” she points out quietly, offering a bit of an olive branch. “And….you were upset.” 

Solana would maybe argue that he’s always in varying states of upsetness, but that’s not the point of the conversation at hand. 

“I have no shortage of enemies, Solana.” His voice takes on a darker, almost subdued tone. It makes her previously amused expression slip into something more somber. “But, I need you to know that I would never do anything that would put you in danger. Drew wanted to issue his challenge. That’s it. He wasn’t going to do anything, because he wants an audience for that. I had it under control.” Solana isn’t questioning that nor did she plan to, but Roman’s next question definitely takes her for a loop. “Were you scared?”

It’s a valid, understandable question that she didn’t think about until this moment. There was anxiety, maybe some element of fear but also concern, so she decides to play down the first two. 

“I wasn’t scared.” It was more concern than fear, which, in her mind, are two different things. “Just….confused about what was happening.”

“That’s not what I meant.” His dismissal is nicer than what anyone else would receive. “Of me, Solana. Were you scared of me?”

Another valid question that she’s actually been thinking about on and off for the past few weeks. Solana would like to consider herself not naive to a lot of things about this life that she was born into. She knows that most of the people who surround her are killers. And Roman is no different. The king of that, maybe.

But…..

But, he’s done nothing thus far to make her ever believe she would ever be subjected to that side of him. If anything, he’s worked to stress and help her understand that she’d never be hurt by him. And adding up all of the things he’s done to support said message, Solana feels it only appropriate to be honest with him. 

About more than just his question.

“When—-when the twins asked earlier today if I wanted to go in the pool, I got nervous because—-” Solana displays her textbook signs of discomfort with the stammering and playing with her fingers but still manages to get out what she wants to share. “Wes, he used to…..hold my head under water until I almost passed out.” Solana looks away for a second, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “That……that’s who I’m afraid of.” Solana manages to set her gaze back on Roman, almost confidently assuring, “I’m not scared of you, Roman.”

He steps toward her, and Solana’s eyes never leave his, mindful of the way his hand lifts, tensing when he rests it against her face, palming her cheek almost gently. Solana stiffens but easily shifts into something not calm but not on edge either. “You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, of anyone. I won’t let anyone else ever hurt you again.”

And for the first time, she believes him without the speck of doubt and uncertainty in the backseat. Solana has seen nothing from the man before her to indicate otherwise. She doesn’t know a lot of things regarding him, regarding them, regarding just why he’s so hellbent on defending her, but one thing she’s realized is that he’s intentional and determined with his dedication to protect her.

This is similar, very similar, too similar to that night where her fears got the best of her, where she was unable to overpower the discomfort and fear. But, this isn’t that night, and Solana doesn’t feel that building dread in the core of her stomach. It could be the fact that it’s only one hand on her, cupping her face. Nowhere else.

It could even be a very early sign that maybe, just maybe, that book she was given so long ago really does have the healing properties someone from so long ago once promised. 

There’s even her conversation with Nia from earlier that sits in the back of her mind, the undeniable confirmation of Roman’s attraction to her. Enough to where he would say her name during that.

Whatever the case, she doesn’t move away, just nods quietly, slowly moving away from him. 

“I’m—I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

Roman says nothing, also nodding as acknowledgment, watching as Solana grabs Dulce and disappears out of his sight but not the front of his mind.

________

The Reigns estate is as spacious as it is grandiose. There are several ways and paths to reach a destination. 

So, Roman doesn’t have to pass Solana’s room to reach his bedroom. There’s an alternative route in coming from where he was working, but he decides this specific way for reasons he’s not entirely sure of.

It ends up being a good decision because it’s in walking past her door that he hears low scraping against said door. Instantly, he knows it’s Dulce clearly needing to go outside. And she confirms as such with her soft whimpering. 

Rolling his eyes, Roman opens the door just enough for Dulce to run out, stopping when she sees it’s him. He glances at the bed to see Solana sleeping, open book on her chest, indicating she fell asleep while reading.

Dulce whines again, and he chides quietly, “be quiet before you wake her up.”

Dulce’s ears go down as Roman picks up the puppy that’s still too little to walk up and down the steps, hence needing human transportation. It’s annoying, but he brings her down the steps and out the backyard. 

Settling her down, he instructs, “go on. Do whatever you gotta do.”

He’ll give the dog some credit where credit is due. She’s far more obedient than he expected for a puppy, because in less than 10 minutes, she’s emptied her bladder and is being carried back to Solana’s room. 

Roman is careful to lay her little ass back in her bed, aware of her bristle looking legs that would probably break with one bad drop. 

Rising back to his full height, he catches Solana turning on her side, the shift in position causing the book to slip and almost fall out the bed, but Roman is fast, catching it before the crash and potential disturbance can wake her up.

Naturally, he glances at the front cover, noticing the age of the book. But the aging look doesn’t mean shit to him when he sees the title and a piece of paper that clearly has Solana’s handwriting. He doesn’t read that, wanting to respect her privacy, but he definitely reads the title, and it instantly shifts his entire mood. 

The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse

It shifts his mood from his default state or irritation to quiet rage. 

There’s only one reason she would be reading this book, working out of this book. And it’s not that he didn’t already know she’d been violated in one way or another. Her medical records confirmed as such.

But, he was thinking she was a teenager, not any better, but definitely not a fucking child.

Someone hurt her when she was still a child, a literal goddamn kid, and this is something Roman cannot find it in him to avoid investigating. He’s always been a man uncomfortable with unanswered questions, and there are no shortage of them in regards to Solana. Not that he would ever put her in a position to answer them. No. He wouldn’t do that to her, would never make her share something like that with him.

But, he does know someone else he can demand answers from. 

Two people, actually. One of them being shit out of luck after narrowly avoiding Roman’s wrath from earlier today in learning that he fucking tortured Solana.

Roman carefully places the book on her nightstand and makes sure Dulce is still in her bed on the other side of Solana’s before quietly closing the door.

Roman is down the hall, powerful strides taking him to his room as he pulls out his phone, dialing the one person he knows for a fact will answer his call at any time. Hitting dial and switching it to speaker, Roman tosses his phone on the bed to get dressed. 

Sure enough, he answers on the second ring.

Roman jumps right into it. “Meet me at the Miller house. Get your brothers.”

Solo only pauses for a second, answering in that stoic voice, “we’ll be there in 30.”

Not good enough. 

“Make it 20.” 

________

As expected, Roman is met at the Miller house by his cousins, all three.

Slamming the car door shut, Roman hears Jimmy yawning loudly. “Man, why the hell is we here?”

Ignoring his older brother, Solo straightens his stance and informs, “I had Pearce disable the security system.”

“Good.” It’s the fact that Solo already knew to do so without being told. Moments like this is when Roman knows he made the right decision promoting and moving Solo up the ranks. He’s more than proved himself.

“I have questions. Miller has answers.” Roman’s answer there is intentionally vague. Solana’s trauma is no one’s business but her own, and just because he is also aware doesn’t mean he needs to broadcast it. “And Solana told me today her brother used to waterboard her.”

“Waterboarding? Like actual fucking torture?” This information seems to awaken both the twins, eliciting angry reactions. “What the fuck is wrong with his ass?”

“We killing them, right?” Jey, forever the hothead and also relatively equal with Roman in terms of how quickly he travels from zero to one-hundred, is the first to ask the most obvious question.

“No. Not tonight. That would be too easy.” And it would. Roman meant that shit when he said he wanted their asses to suffer. “But that doesn’t mean we have to make living easy for them.”

They don’t deserve to live, let alone living easy lives. Not when they’ve done everything seemingly possible to make Solana’s miserable.

Roman then looks towards the twins, instructing, “take care of the brother.” It’s not a necessary directive, but he doesn’t hesitate to add, “make him fucking suffer.”

He then motions for Solo to follow him, the men headed toward the house as Roman swears out loud, “Xavier is mine.” 

Roman steps back as Solo waits zero time in shattering the large window in the living room, providing an entrance for the men. Roman grabs his gun, nodding for the twins to move first, followed by Solo, each man armed with a gun. It’s unnecessary, Roman is certain as they’re more likely to find father and son in the midst of illicit acts vs prepared for the onslaught headed their way. 

Up the stairs and on the second floor, Roman quietly motions for them to split up, Solo and the twins to the right while he moves to the left, the most likely location of the master.

Solo seems to give him an uneasy expression, but Roman simply nods and heads toward his target.

Xavier is his.

The combination of the brothers works just as Roman predicted, them successfully locating the brother’s bedroom, confirmed by his horrified shout of ‘what the fuck! 

It’s followed up with a shout of pain and Jey yelling “Get your bitch ass up!” and “Solo, fill up the tub!”

Pleased, Roman is standing directly outside of Xavier’s door when the older man rips the door open, face contorted in a mixture of shock and anger. That quickly morphs into fear when he realizes just who is responsible for this attack. 

Roman brings the gun across upside Miller’s head, watching the man fall down and writhe in pain, holding his hand against his now bleeding head. 

Undeterred, Roman reaches down, yanking the man up by his neck as he jolts his body against the nearest wall. “We need to talk.” Straight to the point and not in the mood for any bullshit this fucker may try to spew his way, Roman demands,  “I want to know what the fuck happened to my wife.”

And there’s a brief but telltale sign that Xavier knows exactly what he’s referring to without Roman even needing to elaborate. 

That only pisses him off even more. 

Still, Xavier stutters, shaking his head, “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Roman gives a bitter smile, shaking his head and scratching his beard. It’s the last thing he’s certain Xavier sees before Roman again has him up by the collar of his pajama shirt. 

“You really want to play these fucking games with me?” It’s a no. It’s a hell no, but Xavier insulting Roman’s intelligence by lying to him indicates the opposite of no. So, Roman will treat him as such. “Who the fuck touched Solana?”

His question is followed up by screaming coming from down the hall, the beautiful sound of a piece of shit getting exactly what he deserves. 

“What? Ain’t so tough now, little bitch! Like to beat on women but a pussy when it comes to fighting another man!”

And while it could bring a smile to Roman’s face, Xavier looks horrified in hearing Jimmy’s taunts. Instantly, he’s pleading, pathetic and pitiful, “pl—please.”

“I’d torture and kill that bitch right in front of you tonight if I could.” It pisses Roman off to no end how this man can care so much about his demented son but not give a flying fuck about his innocent daughter. “Now, answer my fucking question, who touched Solana?”

Again, Xavier decides to test Roman’s patience, offering unasked information. “She—she was a virgin before she married you.”

“I don’t give a fuck about her being virgin or not!” She could still be a virgin and have been touched. But truth be told, that shit’s never mattered to him anyway. Virgin or no virgin, it’s always been an irrelevant deciding factor to who he took to bed. “Tell me what happened to her or I’ll blow that bitch son of yours fucking brains out right in front of you—”

Roman pulls the gun from out of the back of his pants, knowing full and well that while he would love to empty the entirety of it in the scum before him, it’s better served torturing him in another sort of manner.

Mentally.

And it does the trick.

“Alright, alright!” Xavier finally caves, sweat bubbling across his wrinkled forehead. “She was raped, alright? Two men broke into the house when she was 12 and attacked her. Beat her real bad. They—they never found them. Okay? That—that’s the truth. That’s what happened.”

No. Not fucking okay. Nothing is fucking okay. Roman wanted answers, felt like he needed them, but knowing the truth, it doesn’t do shit but paint his vision red. 

He knew something happened to her. 

He just didn’t know how bad.

Raped. 

Beaten. 

Twelve.

And then another thought hits him, the absolute terror on her face that day when she was faced with what should be the most simplest thing for a person: going into their childhood bedroom. 

Roman remembers her fear, the dried blood, the scratches on the wall. 

It all makes sense.

She was attacked in her fucking bedroom.

The thought of a child being hurt at all has never sat right with him, but to be hurt in that way. As a child, and for that child to have been Solana. 

He’s fucking breathing rage. 

“Where the fuck were you, huh?” Roman jerks his body back against the wall, half ready to break this fucker’s neck. “Answer me!”

“I wasn’t home!” Xavier’s sweating has progressed into droplets from his forehead onto the bridge of his nose and shirt. “I—I was out on a fishing trip with Wes.”

A fishing trip…..

This man was out enjoying fucking nature with his dimwitted offspring while his daughter was at home alone fighting for her fucking life.

“You left a 12 year old home alone?” It keeps getting fucking worse. “How long was she alone!” Roman is fully prepared to risk snapping this motherfucker’s neck when he spits out a desperate answer.

“A week. It was just a week.” And if it makes a fucking difference, he desperately adds on, “I—I’d done it before, and she was fine.”

Xavier is either stupid or very stupid, because Roman can’t conceptualize how this imbecile would think the additional information makes it any better. 

Solana was hurt.

She was hurt in the worst way possible, and it’s all his fault. 

With all of the aggression in his body, Roman throws the piece of shit across the room, intentionally aiming for the glass coffee table that instantly shatters under the weight of his fat ass.

Without a second of fucking hesitation, Roman fires two shots directly into Xavier’s body, one in his right hand and the other in his left foot. Xavier’s shouts of pain do little to dull the unadulterated rage coursing through Roman’s body.

Shouts morph into tiny, pathetic whimpers as Roman slowly walks through the broken glass, tossing his gun to the side as he pulls out the brass knuckles in his back pocket. 

“I told Solana I wouldn’t kill you until she gave me the word, and I’m not going to take that from her.” He crouches down besides the now crying older man, crying in the way Roman is certain Solana did when she was alone and helpless. His fury is practically bubbling over now as he coldly vows, “but that doesn't mean I can’t make your life a living fucking hell until then.”

________

Roman walks back into the house with a weight he can’t shake, even with the brutal carnage he unleashed on the Miller household, leaving father and son on the brink of death. That type of violent release typically abates his anger, and it did diminish a lot of it, seeing that piece of shit pummeled into a bloody, broken mess.

But Roman is still plagued with thoughts of the hell Solana endured living in that household. To be attacked in that way in her own home, in her fucking bedroom, it makes Roman want to get right back in his SUV and carry Xavier and his equally piece of shit over the doorstep of death.

But, he couldn’t do that to Solana, take that away from her. He’s just the executioner in this situation. He’ll let the day of reckoning be determined by her because that’s the least she can get. 

Coming straight back home, Roman didn’t bother to stop and get himself cleaned up. His guards have seen much worse, and Solana is asleep, so that’s not a concern either.

But, it is a concern because in an almost scene of deja vu, Solana is most certainly not asleep. She’s sitting on the sofa, Dulce right beside her when she hears his heavy footsteps. 

Roman doesn’t have time to say anything, too stunned by this happening yet again, even later than he’s returned before. 

Why is she up?

Solana jumps up off the sofa and is suddenly standing across from him, her face painted in what’s obviously a moderate to tremendous amount of worry and anxiety. 

But, she isn’t looking at him. Not really. She’s more so focused on the blood stained and splattered clothes that adorn him.

“You’re hurt…..” He’s heard her say it the last two times they were in this type of situation, eerily similar in a lot of ways, but this time….this time is different.

It’s different because she rushes over to him, her hand floating over his chest, one place, two place, another place. Like a plane trying to find a safe space to land, she’s unsure where he’s hurt and clearly overwhelmed by it all.

And then he sees it, the blurry overlay of water over her eyes and the slight tremble of her lip.

Roman steps towards her, trying to be respectful of the distance between them. Her discomfort with touch makes all the sense now. “Please don’t cry.” And this is yet another new, unfamiliar, unexposed territory for him, seeing her so distraught at her belief that he’s been hurt. The way that the thought alone clearly wrecks her.

Roman quickly notices the changing of her breathing pattern, heavier, rhythmic almost. 

“Shit…..”

Roman has heard this song before.

Realizing this is a matter of de-escalation, he does what’s needed in the moment and brings his hands to her face, cupping her face.

“Solana, breathe, baby.” The term of adoration isn’t even something that really registers with him at the moment, not an intentional addictive or something he gives two fucks about in this moment, really. He’s solely focused on settling the woman in front who’s on the brink of a panic attack.

He can’t see her deal with that again, especially now that he knows just why she had the first one.

Roman has no hesitation in pushing away loose strings of her hair, never once taking his focus off her. “I’m fine, Solana. I’m not hurt. It’s not my blood.” Recognizing she clearly needs to see it, he moves back to lift and toss his shirt on the floor. “See?”

And that seems to do something for her, something to help settle the panic. 

Roman watches her and forces himself not to think about the heat that fills him at her hand on his chest, over his heart. It’s all so innocent. Recognizing her breathing has settled into something less alarming and more familiar, he moves his hand over hers, reiterating once more, “I’m fine.” He waits for her to finish taking a deep breath to ask, “why are you up?”

This has to be the third time Roman has come home at an ungodly hour to find her waiting for him, and he’s trying to figure out what the real reason is. 

She licks her lip, clearly working her way up to a response. “Dulce had to…..had to use the bathroom, and I saw you weren’t here, and you didn’t answer my text.” Roman curses himself. He was so caught in his uproar that he didn’t even bother checking that thing, never expecting for Solana to be the missed notification on his lock screen. “I just…..I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Roman has heard this part before and tries to navigate how he wants to push back on his belief that it can’t be just that, but Solana surprisingly beats him to it. “I get….I get worried when you’re not here at night and—-and I can’t sleep until—-”

“Until I’m back….”

He has a good guess why. She was attacked in the middle of the night, and he’s also pretty certain he remembers reading that the attack that killed her mother also happened at night.

“Solana…..” For the first time in a while, if ever, Roman is active in his attempts to explain this to her as gently as he can. “What I do…who I am…I can’t always be here.”

“I know,” she sniffles. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to bother you—”

“You could never bother me, okay?” He wipes away more of her tears, hand back to cupping her face, realizing she’s not going to pull away from him this time. He takes full advantage of that. Roman moves his other hand to the small of her back, holding her against him. It’s not missed upon him how she also brings her other free hand to his chest. “But, I always make it back, alright?” She nods, as he runs his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Can’t no man put me down.”

She smiles, a little laugh that does more to him than he’d like to admit, that he feels comfortable with. And this settles him. It settles him more than nearly killing her dad and brother for hurting her, directly and indirectly, did. 

Solana nods, murmuring a quiet, “o–okay.”

He’s studying her. Closely. Maybe more than what’s necessary. It comes from a place of concern, and he’d admit as such. “Are you good now?” 

She nods again, and he believes it enough to let her go, watching her start to walk away when he’s caught off guard again because of her body, so soft and warm, against his again. Her sweet perfume filling his senses, her arms around his neck.

She’s hugging him. Solana is actually hugging him. He can’t remember the last time someone did that shit.

But he doesn’t waste a second of time accepting her embrace that seems to end just as quickly as it began. He can’t be surprised or upset. This is big for her, obviously, and he would never push her past her comfort zone, but he also can’t deny that the absence of her in his arms is noticeable. 

And uncomfortable.

Solana murmurs a rushed goodnight and grabs Dulce to head back up the stairs, Roman eyes never leaving her until she’s completely out of view.

Roman stands there for a few good minutes, unsure of what just happened, working to process the same unfamiliar feelings that coursed through him the last time they had a moment like this. It’s the same as before, just ten times stronger, more intense, more consuming.

Unsure of a lot, two things he knows for asbolute fucking certain:

He’s going to find Solana’s rapists and make them pay for every sick fucking thing they did to her.

There’s not a fucking force on earth that could take this girl away from him.

She’s his.

And he’ll protect her with everything in him.

No matter what the cost.

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 36: Severed

Joel, Tommy and Ellie search for you. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-35 found on Tumblr here.

I'm sorry I couldn't resist.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and a step beyond. Torture. Mention of past sexual assault (not described). No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 8.2k

A/N: I want to state, real quick, that Bambi is NOT going to be sexually assaulted again. This is a highly triggering subject and, given the situation she's in, I understand if folks are bracing for it. That's not going to happen. The threat of it is there but it's not going to happen.

We are into the final arc of Yearling and we are going to see some TLOU 2 OVERLAP again. There isn't any this chapter but there will be in this arc and here's how: a character from that game will be mentioned as will the spoiler-y incident from a few chapters ago. What happens plot wise in this arc is completely separate from the game and entirely original content BUT there is that character overlap and more specific mentions of the incident and the motives behind it. This character returns NEXT CHAPTER. If you're trying to go in blind to season 2, it might be wise to step back. Feel free to send me a DM, I'm happy to answer any and all questions!

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Joel had rarely paid much mind to how long it took to get out of Jackson before. 

“Tommy,” Maria was stalking after her husband as he, Joel and Ellie headed for the stable. “Be reasonable, you can’t just take off…” 

“Sorry, babe, but I can’t just sit here and let ‘em have a piece of her,” Tommy said as they went to the stable. There were the two horses Tommy and Joel had just returned on, the three that had carried the kids back, and some horses you’d been working with. You’d been telling Joel about their progress, how one was nearing well broke and you wanted him to go with you to the shooting range with her soon to get her accustomed to the sound of gunfire. 

“Do you have some kind of death wish you haven’t bothered to tell me about?” Maria planted herself in front of her husband, her arms crossed, defiant. “You have responsibilities here, Tommy! People who depend on you, people like me and our fucking son! You don’t get to just take off at your brother’s command anymore!” 

Joel stiffened at that. He and Maria had gotten to a good place in their relationship over the years, her moving past the thought that he’d been the driving force behind all her husband’s misdeeds. They’d settled into a mutual respect and eventual affection since he’d come to Jackson, Maria seeming to appreciate what he did for the community and the way he loved her son and Joel admiring her leadership and the way she was a partner to his little brother. He thought they were past this. 

Maybe he was wrong. 

Tommy took his wife’s shoulders in his hands, his thumbs rubbing little circles against her. 

“If it were you, he’d be going with me,” he said gently. “That’s my baby sister out there, Maria. Can’t live with myself if something happens to her and I didn’t do everything I can to stop it. I’m goin’. You can either help and hope we get back soon or you can be pissed while I’m gone but I’m goin’, you can’t stop me.” 

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and went and stood beside Joel, looking over the horses. 

“What’s better,” he asked. “Tired mounts or ones that might spook?” 

Joel looked at his brother for a moment, thankful that he had him to rely on, and ground his teeth. He didn’t know the answer. 

“They’re on foot,” Ellie said, joining them. “Tired is probably better, we’re still going to catch them. But I don’t expect this to be quiet and if we’re on horses that spook, well…” 

Joel gave her a stiff nod and went to get the horses ready to leave. He was moving as quickly as he could but it felt slow, everything felt so slow. It felt like he should be running, pushing himself to the brink so he could reach you sooner. Every second you were away from him hurt. It was worse than when you’d left Jackson to search for Savvy in the blizzard. That had been bad enough but at least then he could believe that you were in one piece, that you could take care of yourself. 

That wasn’t the case now. He knew you weren’t safe. He knew you weren’t OK. He knew he’d vowed to protect you, the night the two of you made promises to each other in his bed he had sworn to keep you safe and never let anything happen to you. 

He’d failed at that. 

He’d failed and now he was here, doing what he had to do to make sure he could reach you. It just didn’t feel like enough. Nothing would, not until he held you again. 

Tommy and Maria talked in low, harsh voices until they had things situated. Food, water, ammunition, medical kit.

“Tommy,” Joel said, jerking his head toward the horses, voice sharper than he’d meant it to be. His brother jogged over to him, taking the reins of his horse from him. 

“The guys who brought the kids back are going to wait here until a few more crews come in,” Tommy said. “Then they’re coming out after us. We can mark a path. With fresher horses, they’ll catch us quick.” 

Joel nodded stiffly and the three of them led their horses to the gate, Maria following with her arms crossed over her stomach. In another situation, Joel would have taken the time to talk with her and reassure her. He didn’t have the luxury of time now. 

He mounted up as the gates opened, Ellie and Tommy following suit, the three of them riding through the gate the moment there was room. 

“Joel!” Maria called after a moment. He looked back at her. “Bring my husband home.” 

He watched her for a moment, at the fear on her face and in her wide eyes, a mirror of what he was feeling now. But she was still letting him go. He wasn’t sure he could do the same in her position.

“I will.”

 Ellie took the lead, pointing out the spot in the fence where kids left town. Joel ground his teeth and resisted the urge to yell yet again. What good would it do? What was done was done and this lesson was one he doubted Ellie would forget. She didn’t need to be taught it again.

They rode for nearly two hours when they came upon a small clearing and Ellie jumped off her horse before it had even come to a stop. 

“We were here,” she said, looking around, almost panicky. “We were here, I know we were, they had us behind that tree…” 

She ran over to it, walking around it until Joel couldn’t see her anymore. 

“Ellie!” He called. He couldn’t have her out of sight, not right now. 

“I was right,” she called back, coming around the tree. “I took a chunk of bark off of it, this is where we were but they’re gone, completely fucking gone, I don’t…” 

Joel was less surprised than Ellie. 

“They weren’t about to sit and wait for us to find ‘em,” he said. “We need to track ‘em. We’ll find them.” 

He, Tommy and Ellie circled the clearing on foot, looking for signs of a trail. It didn’t take them long to find one. Unfortunately, they found more than one. 

“The fuckers split up,” Tommy kicked a plant in frustration. “Any way to tell which group had her?” 

“Smaller boot prints, maybe,” Joel said, looking closely at the ground. 

“But there were other women,” Ellie said. Joel’s head snapped toward her. “They had a few women. I didn’t talk to them but… She wouldn’t be the only one.” 

“We can’t split up,” Tommy said. “It’s too goddamn risky, there are too fuckin’ many of ‘em, we have to stick together…” 

Joel nodded, trying to think. He tried to keep his shit together but he could feel it happening, the panic setting into his bones. He could hear the blood in his ears, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He was having a hard time taking a full breath, his head spun. He reached out, his hand finding a tree trunk, giving him something to root him to the ground. 

“Joel?” Ellie’s hand appeared at his back. “Hey, you can’t die on us right now, we have to get her back, you can’t do this now, you gotta keep it together, you hear me?” 

He nodded quickly, closing his eyes for a moment. His mind scrambled for something - anything - to hold him here, something to make him push past the fear and do what he had to do. 

He thought of you. 

He thought of the first time he’d felt your body against him, on the back of a horse in the snow-covered forest. The first time he’d held you because you wanted him to, how you’d sought comfort in him. The first time he’d kissed you, how your lips had fit softly against his, the quick little breaths you’d made, the way you’d felt so close to him. The first time he’d touched you as his wife, how your body was so familiar to him but was brand new, too, with this new context. You were his, he was yours and he needed to keep himself together long enough to get you home. 

He took a deep, shaky breath. 

“We follow one trail,” he said. “We either find her or we find the people at the end of it. If she ain’t with ‘em, we get ‘em to tell us where she is.” 

“You really think they’re just going to, what, tell you whatever you want to know?” Ellie gaped at him. “They’re not going to just answer your fucking questions, Joel!”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on askin’ nice,” Joel said, stalking back toward the horses. “We follow the middle track. See where it leads.” 

Joel knew he should feel some kind of shame about what he was about to do. What he wanted to do, how he wanted to hurt them. He’d never told Ellie the finer points of what he and Tommy used to do - still did, when the need arose. He’d never told her what he did to find her when David had her and he was desperate. She knew he used to kill people, he thought she had some idea of just what that entailed but he’d protected her from the worst of it, the most shameful parts. 

Now, he was hungry for it. If he were a dog, he’d be salivating for it, aching to get his jaws around the throat of the man who had taken you from him. He didn’t want to just kill him, that wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been enough the year before when he’d sent him away from Jackson and it wasn’t enough now when he was doing who knows what to you. He was going to enjoy pulling him apart, piece by fucking piece. He almost hoped that Cody wasn’t with the men they were tracking, that he’d find you and have the chance to take every ounce of pain from them before finding Cody and taking it from him, too. He couldn’t even regret the drive to do it or the fact that he knew he could do it and do it well. His only concern, after finding you, was exposing Ellie to that. 

But they lived in a harsh world. Maybe it was good for her to know the harsher parts of it. 

Joel led the way, slower going now that they were beyond where Ellie knew the group to be. They were carefully tracking a group of what looked like seven people - including two women - for hours. It was dusk when Tommy noticed the signs of people first, giving a low whistle that sounded something like a bird. Joel looked over his shoulder and Tommy nodded toward a patch of sky he could see through the trees. Joel looked up. There was smoke. 

He dismounted and tied his horse off, Ellie and Tommy doing the same, before the three of them prowled, quiet and slow, toward the smoke. It wasn’t long before they could smell it, hear the quiet laughs of men. Joel tightened his jaw and his grip on his gun. His heart raced. 

The group they came upon largely had their guard down. Joel spotted someone through the trees, beyond the fire, looking like they were patrolling. Otherwise, they weren’t paying any attention. Joel gestured to Tommy and Ellie, sending them behind larger trees, Joel going to one himself. He peered around the thick trunk to find them there, make sure these weren’t just innocents passing through and seeing if he could catch a glimpse of you. 

But they weren’t innocents, a woman with her hands bound sitting beside one of the men at the fire, another one - also tied - with her back against a tree. There was no sign of you or Cody. 

Tommy met Joel’s gaze, his face set and determined. Joel gave him a stiff nod before turning to Ellie, her own expression hardened with barely controlled rage. She didn’t even look at Joel, too busy watching the men around the tree. 

Joel took a deep breath and raised his gun, stepping around the tree and firing, catching the man with his back to them in his head. He fell forward with a thud. 

There was a moment of stunned silence, the only sound birds fleeing the crack of the gun. Then, it was chaos, the men scrambling for weapons. One of the women screamed. 

“Need two alive!” Joel yelled to his brother and daughter, pressing closer and firing again, felling another man. 

Tommy shot next, a third man going down. A bullet whizzed past Joel’s head, close enough that he felt the heat of it on his skin, the shot clipping his ear. He ignored the sharp pain of it, watching as the shot Ellie got off dropped a fourth man. The fact that they’d caught the men when they’d stopped for the night was to their advantage. They were clearly used to traveling in a larger group and running unchallenged, only watching for infected who often made themselves known with crackling breaths, the sound of crunching through the brush and sharp clicks. They weren’t expecting a small group to come in, guns blazing. They were slow getting their weapons, rifles on the ground and out of reach, making picking them off like shooting fish in a barrel. Joel shot the man on watch as he came running toward the fire, his gun raised and aimed at Joel. 

Tommy charged forward and grabbed a man who was just getting to his feet, his back toward the three of them. He was just raising his gun when Tommy swung the butt of his rifle at his head, catching the man in the temple and knocking him off balance. He took advantage of the moment and ripped the weapon out of the man’s hands, casting it aside before shoving him to the ground and putting his boot in his chest. Tommy leveled his rifle at his head, holding the man in place. 

“Got one!” He yelled to Joel. 

There were two men left standing now, one reaching for a gun. Ellie shot him in the shoulder before Joel got a chance to react, sending him sprawling on the ground. The other was smarter. He grabbed the nearest woman and pulled her in front of him as she screamed, pressing a gun to her head, his eyes darting between Joel and Ellie. 

“Keep coming and I kill ‘er,” he panted. 

“Joel,” Ellie’s eyes darted toward him. “What do we do?” 

“Let me go,” the man said, the woman in his grip trembling. “Him too, and I leave her alive.” 

Joel didn’t have time for this. He moved quickly, raising his gun and firing, hitting the man in the middle of his forehead. The woman screamed again, covered in his blood and stumbling forward as his body went limp on of her. 

“Shit,” Ellie lowered her gun, looking at Joel. “I thought we needed two.” 

“Think we got two,” he stalked over to the man Ellie had hit in the shoulder. He was whimpering on the ground, clutching the hole that was gushing blood. 

“Please,” he said, eyes wide. Joel ignored him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and dragging him to the man Tommy still had at gun point. He dropped the man there with a pained groan and he looked to the women, the one who had been a hostage sitting up next to the body of the man who’d had her. 

“C’mere,” Joel said. They looked at each other quickly but stayed still. Joel, again, resisted the urge to yell. He didn’t have time for this. “Ellie, cut ‘em loose, tell ‘em how to get to Jackson if they want. Give ‘em whatever they need. See what they know.”

Joel turned his attention back to the man on the ground, going down on one knee beside him. He grabbed his hair in his fist, forcing his eyes to meet his own. 

“You’re gonna tell me what I wanna know,” Joel said. “And you’re gonna do it quick. Understand?” 

“Why would we tell you a goddamn thing?” The man below Tommy asked, watching Joel. His words were quick, panicky. Joel looked back at him for a moment before he ripped the injured man’s hand away from his wound with one hand and thrust his thumb inside the bullet hole, pressing up into the tendon below his skin. The man thrashed and screamed, the shrill sound sharp and cutting. Joel left his thumb jammed inside him until the other man spoke again, his eyes wide. “Fuck, OK! OK! What do you want to know, we’ll tell you! We’ll tell you, please!” 

Joel pulled his thumb free of the man’s body and wiped the blood on a clean spot on his shirt, turning his full attention back to the man below him. 

“Should get one thing straight now,” Joel said. His voice was flat. “I don’t mind hurtin’ you. In fact, I like it. Like gettin’ justice for everything you’ve done wrong in this life. I can promise you’ve done a lot wrong and I can promise I can make you pay for every goddamn ounce of it in blood. I know how to make it last. But I’m in a hurry and I want this over quick. It’s in your best interest to give me what I want. Got it?” 

The man gave a shaky nod. 

“Your boss has got my wife,” Joel said. “You split up. I need to know where he’s takin’ her.” 

“He gave us a meet up point,” he said, voice shaking. “We were afraid of someone coming after her, he had us split up, he’s got her not us, I swear…” 

Joel ground his teeth. 

“Where.” 

“I don’t know where he’s taking her,” he said quickly. “I know where we’re supposed to meet him tomorrow, that’s all! I swear, I don’t know where he’s going.” 

Joel thrust his thumb inside the gunshot wound again, plunging it deeper, pulling harder at the structure of him as he screamed and writhed. 

“No, stop!” The man below Tommy begged. “We don’t know, we don’t know! We just know he was taking her to trade, that’s all we know!” 

Joel froze before pulling his thumb from his body. He grabbed the man’s hair again, forcing him to look at him. 

“Trade?” His heart was pounding. “Trade for what.” 

“Territory,” the man panted. “Please, there’s a guy who wants ‘er, promised us territory if we got her for him, that’s all I know. He was going to try and meet with him, see if they can cut a deal. If he couldn’t find him or couldn’t get what he wanted, he’s meeting us in the morning.” 

Joel looked to Tommy, his face hard. Tommy just gave him a nod. It seemed like the truth. Joel turned back to the man. 

“You’re gonna tell me where the rendezvous point is,” he said. “And you’re gonna keep it real quiet and then we’re gonna ask your friend the same question and he’d better say the same place as you. Got it?” 

Joel leaned in close, the rattle of the man’s pained breaths hot and wet on his ear. 

“North, ten miles,” he said. “Where the rivers meet.” 

Joel sat back from him and looked to the other man. 

“Now you,” he said. “Better say the same damn thing as your fuckin’ friend.” 

The man’s eyes darted toward Tommy, who pressed the gun closer. 

“Don’t look at me,” Tommy said. “I ain’t savin’ ya. You wanted to live? Shouldn’t have taken my brother’s girl. Answer the question.” 

“North of here,” he said, looking back to Joel. “Said they’d be there in the morning, we were just stopping to rest for a bit, that’s all…” 

“Where north of here.” 

The man’s eyes darted to his friend before looking back at Joel. 

“Ten miles or so,” he said. “There’s a spot where two rivers meet…” 

Joel nodded slowly and looked to Tommy before getting his knife out. 

“No,” the man below him shook his head. “No, I told you what you wanted to know, I didn’t lie, it was the truth I swear it was the truth!” 

“Oh, I know it was,” Joel said, adjusting his grip on the knife. “But you took my daughters, took my wife. Not about to just let you live.” 

He thrust the knife into the man’s stomach and he gasped, his eyes and mouth gaping wide in a silent scream. Joel angled the blade up, forcing it towards his lungs before twisting it and pulling it free with a harsh tear. He wiped the weapon on the man’s pants before getting to his feet, watching as he tried to hold himself together, not able to take a full breath. He’d drown in his own blood before too long and Joel wanted to watch him do it. This man had taken everything from him. He was owed his suffering. 

“Joel,” Tommy said, nodding down at the remaining man at the end of his gun, one who was clearly about to make a run for it. He knew he was done for, he was desperate. “What are we doin’?” 

“Shoot ‘im,” Joel said. “Not worth the risk.” 

Tommy obeyed, the man dead even had a chance to flinch. Joel went back to watching the the first man gasp and gargle, fighting to breathe and failing. He should feel something, he knew that. He should feel guilt or some kind of pity. He didn’t. He barely even felt satisfaction. You were gone. He was hollow of everything beyond pain and fear and rage. 

“Joel,” Ellie’s voice was quiet behind him. He turned to face her, her eyes wide as she looked between him and the dying man. He’d almost forgotten she was there. 

“Get the women out?” Joel asked, shifting instinctively to block her view of the man suffering at his feet. She peered around him, anyway. 

“Yeah,” she said. “They didn’t know anything. Gave them directions back to Jackson and some guns from these assholes. I don’t know that they’ll end up there but…” 

She looked at the man again for a long moment before looking up at Joel. 

“Did you get an answer?” She asked. “Do we know where Mom is?” 

His chest got tight, hearing Ellie call you that, knowing that he shared children with you and you were gone. 

“We know where Cody’s headed,” Joel said. “Let’s get what we can from here and head out.” 

The three of them took ammunition and weapons and food from the dead before mounting up, Joel taking the lead again. 

It only took a few hours to reach the place the men indicated. The group had stopped here before, Joel could tell. There were signs of fire pits, places where fallen logs had been dragged over for places to sit, cleared brush. 

“What do we do now?” Ellie asked. 

“We wait,” Joel said, not happy about his answer. How was he supposed to just sit here when you were out there, with them? But he didn’t have another choice. 

They got the horses settled and found places to watch and wait where they should see people coming and have the advantage. Joel settled in, Ellie sitting beside him while Tommy kept watch. 

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” She asked eventually, quietly into the dark. 

“Do what,” he asked, even though he knew. 

“Hurt someone like that,” she said. “Make them give you information.” 

Joel was quiet for a moment, twisting his wedding band over and over on his finger. 

“You know some of what me ’n Tommy did after the outbreak,” he said. “Did some of that, too.” 

She nodded slowly.

“You never talk about it.”

Joel shrugged. The sound of crickets seemed loud, louder than they should be. 

“Not exactly somethin’ I’m proud of, baby girl.”

“But it’s useful,” she said pointedly. 

He sighed. 

“I’ve used it a few times since, when it’s important,” he said. “When it’s to protect you or her. It’s not somethin’ that’s good to know how to do.” 

“I want to know how to protect people, too,” she said, her voice dark. “I have shit to protect, too, Dad. I want to know how.” 

Joel sighed, looking over at her, the outline of her barely visible in the light of the moon as it filtered down through the trees. 

He wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to know this stuff. That he would always be there to look after her, to do these ugly things that needed doing. But he knew that wasn’t true. 

He’d doomed her to this life, in a way. One where she wanted to know how to pull answers out of someone with pain, how to turn the love you carried for the most important people in the world into a deadly weapon. There was no other way to be in this reality, one with infected and raiders and the last gasp of human kind struggling to continue on. If he’d left the doctor alive, at least, maybe things would be different. Maybe he’d have succeeded without Ellie, maybe the world would have been better for her eventually. 

But he would have come after her and there was no point in fixing the world if it had to continue on without her in it. Good, bad, indifferent, there was no point to any of it if the price was her life. Hers or yours or Savvy’s, the three of you were all that mattered. And he liked knowing he had skills he could fall back on if he needed them. 

“We’ll take care of what needs doin’ now,” Joel said. “Then we can talk.” 

The three of them took turns keeping watch. Joel wasn’t able to sleep. Instead, he thought of you. How he’d had to coax you into life in Jackson, how you’d come to find your place there, how you’d chosen to do all that with him at your side. 

There was a lot in this life he knew he didn’t deserve. He’d never deserved Sarah, that was for damn sure. The world hadn’t deserved her, either. He’d squandered the gift that was her existence, let her down when she’d needed him the most and he’d bourn that weight the rest of his life. He didn’t deserve Ellie, either. He certainly didn’t deserve you, something so strong but soft, vibrant but centering. You were meant for something more than him but you’d chosen him, anyway. He remembered when your fingers first brushed his, when he first heard you play guitar, when he first saw how you loved his daughter like she was your own. He wasn’t sure how he was meant to keep going if he didn’t get you back. What would be the point? Ellie was grown now. Savvy had survived all on her own for years and Ellie had taken her under her wing. They didn’t need him. But he needed you. 

Dawn was just beginning on the horizon when Joel heard it, the sound of people coming in from the north. He roused Ellie and Tommy and the three of them stood, lying in wait amongst the trees, rifles at the ready. 

Joel wanted to come out guns blazing but then he saw Cody, riding on horseback with just two other men. 

They weren’t outnumbered. You weren’t with them. 

Joel readied to step out from the trees, rifle raised. 

“Joel,” Tommy hissed.

“Go around the side,” he said, voice low. “Kill the others. But he’s mine.” 

He moved from behind shelter then, weapon leveled at Cody’s chest.

“Cody!” Joel called, watching as the men’s heads all whipped around to focus on him, scrambling for rifles. “You have what’s mine.” 

Cody lifted a hand to his henchmen and they lowered their weapons as he smirked at Joel. 

“Think she was mine before she was yours,” he sneered. “Seems to me I just took back what got away.” 

“Where is she,” Joel said, prowling closer, straining to keep his voice calm. 

“Back where she belongs,” he said, fishing in his pocket for something. He found it, pulling it out, unwrapping it from a kerchief and throwing it onto the leaves at Joel’s feet. “But you can have the part of her you laid claim to.” 

Joel looked down and his vision narrowed to a sharp, bloody point. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, the soreness of his legs and back and the pain at his ear that had been nagging at him suddenly gone. His hands shook as he dropped the rifle and lowered himself, slowly, to the ground. Lying there were two fingers. Your fingers. The wedding band that had been there since Joel had slipped it onto you was bloody, ragged flesh dangling from the ring he’d made you. 

Something inside of Joel snapped then. It was a sharp, clean break, one that he could he could feel deep at the core of him. A severing of his humanity, a setting aside of the things that made him who he was. The love he held for his family, the care he had for the place he called home, the remaining parts of him that were gentle and good - those things were closed to him now. Joel Miller had been called monster many times in his life but he knew he’d never become one. Not truly. He knew it because this had always been there, lurking below the surface, brought forward when he needed it most but always controlled, always contained. It wasn’t contained now. It couldn’t be. 

Joel left the gun on the ground, gently picking up your fingers - sticky and cool - and putting them delicately in his pocket before getting to his feet.

“Thought about sending you back with her whole hand but,” Cody shrugged. “Mitchum has use for it. Nothing she can’t do down a few fingers, though.” 

Joel didn’t even see Ellie and Tommy getting into position when he roared and lunged for Cody, ready to kill him with his bare hands. 

***

The Day Before 

“Move.” 

You glared at Cody, your wrists chained in front of you. 

“Not telling you again,” he said. “They’re still close enough, we could run ‘em down if you want to try me.” 

Your stomach got tight. 

“Fine,” you said. “Let’s go.” 

He split his men into three groups, hauling the man you’d killed to the brush and leaving his body behind. There were three women you hadn’t seen yet, one going with one of the groups, two with another. You didn’t get a chance to say anything to either of them, just sharing a look of desperation before you were led away. 

“You’re going to regret this,” you said as he shoved you forward. 

“Why, because you’re fucking guard dog is going to run me down?” He sneered. “Think we’ll handle him just fine. Besides, by the time he finds us, you’ll be long gone.” 

You followed his command, trudging through the forest and trying to find some way to leave a trail to follow. Joel would come for you. It would likely be hours yet before he was back from patrol, hopefully long after Ellie and Savvy made it back to town. You knew he’d come looking for you the moment he discovered you were gone, that he’d do anything to get to you. You just needed to make sure he could find you and that you were in one piece when he did. 

“Why are you doing this?” You asked once you’d been walking for hours, looking at Cody. “You said you knew it was wrong, you helped me. Now you’re doin’ this? Takin’ me and other women?”

“Let’s just say I learned my lesson with you, Doll,” he said. “Could try to be a ‘good’ man all I wanted, try to do the ‘right’ thing but it wouldn’t get me anywhere. Not like there’s much left here to live for, right? I should just take what I want while I can, no one is going to give it to me, even if I deserve it.” 

“Deserve it?” You stopped and turned to face him. “You think you deserved something from me? You held me prisoner, you fucking raped me, you…” 

His backhand caught you off guard, sending you sprawling to the ground, unable to catch yourself with your bound hands. He stood astride over you, grabbing your face sharply and forcing you to look at him. 

“Don’t fucking call it that,” he hissed. “That’s not what it was.” 

You spat in his face. 

“Fuck you.” 

He squared his jaw, like he was considering doing something more to you before he straightened, wiping your spit from his cheek. 

“Get her up,” he said. “We’ll stop here for a bit, take a break. Make her take a piss, get her cleaned up a little. Maybe we’ll have some fun before we hand her over.” 

You hoped the fear didn’t show on your face, that the way your stomach dropped and heart stuttered wasn’t obvious. 

It’s not like you didn’t know, consciously, what this was all leading to, what you were going back to. You’d been there for long enough before, you knew what it was and what this meant. 

But you weren’t sure you could survive it again. It had nearly killed you before. If you hadn’t escaped when you had, you weren’t sure how much longer you would have really lasted living that way and now you were going back to it. It would be worth it to protect your children but the fear of it was still there, the claws of it sharp and harsh inside you. 

Cody smirked. 

“Maybe I’ll show you just how nice I was before,” he said. “Show you what you took for-granted.” 

Two men pulled you roughly to your feet and shoved you into the trees, off the trail you’d been walking. Your chest got tight and your stomach turned and you found yourself flexing your fingers, clenching and unclenching your hands into fists as you tried to focus. Your vision threatened to narrow but you forced yourself to see beyond your own body, think beyond the fact that your lungs couldn’t seem to fill and your head was getting light. 

The men pushed you for a few minutes away from the rest, toward a stream. One stayed further back, watching the forest for signs of infected or someone who might come to take you. 

“Alright,” the other said, nodding to you. “You heard ‘im. Piss, get cleaned up.” 

“You think I’m gonna just do that with you watching?” You sneered, brows raised. 

He stalked forward, drawing his gun and pressing it to your chin. 

“You really think I won’t blow your goddamn head off?” He asked, his breath reeking of rot and liquor. 

“No,” you smirked back. “Your boss has you by the balls. You can’t do shit to me.” 

He stepped back and you saw the strike coming that time, dodging it enough that he caught your cheekbone more than your chin and you stayed standing. 

“I can do that,” he snapped. “And I’ll do it again.” 

“Go ahead,” you said. “Because you’re a little bitch. I’ve had good sex that hurt worse than that.” 

He bared his teeth and he went for you again. 

But he was stupid and big and slow and you knew where he was going to be now. You dodged him, not fully thinking and with no real plan. He stumbled where you’d been standing and you stepped behind him, looping your arms around his neck and pulling back so the chain constricted on his throat. 

He choked and gasped, dropping his gun on instinct as he clawed at your arms, trying rip himself free and trying to make a sound but you were pulling too hard, the other man too far to hear or see what was happening. 

The weight of him thrashing against you sent you off balance and you fell, taking him down with you, his body heavy on top of yours. But you didn’t give in, keeping the chain tight over his throat as he kicked and flailed. You held it there until he went limp and you released him, shoving his body off yourself and panting for breath as you did. You didn’t have time to get the feeling back in your body or to ease the panic, though. It was sheer fucking luck the other man who was standing just out of sight hadn’t heard something and you had to take care of this now. 

You found the gun where the man you’d killed - thought you’d killed, at least, you weren’t about to risk shooting him - had dropped it and took a guess at what direction to run in. 

You didn’t make it far. 

“Hey!” You heard the crush of leaves, someone moving for you. “Fuck, she’s running!” 

You turned and shot, the first bullet going wide as your hands shook but you were able to keep it together enough to get off another shot, this one hitting him square in the chest and he dropped like a stone. 

You kept running. 

You weren’t sure how long you ran for when you heard them, the men closing in on you. You couldn’t afford to look back and take the time to shoot, you had to keep moving, even as the sound pressed closer and your head was swimming. And then a hand closed on the collar of your shirt - Joel’s shirt - and ripped you back and down. You twisted on the ground, trying to aim the gun but it was kicked away from you. 

“You’re gonna regret that you little bitch,” the man panted over you. “We could’ve made this easy on you. We ain’t now.” 

He hauled you to your feet by your bound hands and forced you back to where the group had stopped, finding the two other men who had been sent after you on the way. Cody was standing where you’d stopped before, a small fire built on a patch of dirt in the middle of the trail. 

“You really think that was the smartest thing you could have done?” He asked, his voice almost eerily calm. 

“Did you really think I was just gonna let you hand me over?” You replied. “That I’d just go quietly into being a prisoner?” 

“I guess that’s why Mitchum’s so obsessed with you, isn’t it?” He asked, prowling closer. You wanted to shrink away but you couldn’t, not with the man at your back. “Because you just keep that fight in you. You didn’t give up like the others and he’s a man who likes a little fight.” 

He nodded toward the stump of a tree and the man at your back shoved you to it, forcing you to your knees beside it. 

“Thing is,” Cody said, pulling his knife free of its sheath at his belt. “You don’t need to be… intact for the shit he likes best about you.” 

Your eyes darted. You were surrounded, there was nowhere you could go and nothing you could reach. 

“Don’t be too worried about it,” he continued, kneeling on the other side of the stump. “Think he’d be pretty pissed if we took your whole hand, for example. But I don’t think he’ll miss a few fingers.” 

Your heart raced, the blood pounding in your ears. 

“That a risk you want to take?” You fought to keep your voice calm as you clutched your hands tightly to your body. “You really want to go through all this trouble for nothing?” 

He shrugged. 

“Think we’ll be fine.” 

The man at your back took your wrist in his grasp and shoved your arms down to the jagged wood of the stump, your hands clenched in tight fists. Cody took your left one and pulled at your fingers, trying to pry it open as you grimaced and fought him on it. After a moment, he gave up. 

“Fine,” he said. “Don’t want to cooperate?” 

He took the knife and slammed it through your forearm, on the side of it so it missed bone, making you scream as the blade went through the muscle and skin and into the wood on the other side. Your hand went limp on instinct and Cody spread your fingers with one hand, holding the other out. Another man handed him a knife and he lined it up with the base of your ring and pinky finger, smirking a little as he did. 

“Would you look at that,” he traced your wedding band and you tried to look at your hand through the blur of pain and tears. “The feral woman got hitched. You marry that animal of yours, that it?” 

You considered begging. If you thought it had even a chance at working, you’d have done it. But it didn’t.

“Fuck you,” you said instead. 

“Think this’ll make for a nice keepsake of you, if he ever comes looking,” he said, pressing the knife in just enough that you could feel it, even through the pain of the blade still lodged in your arm. “Wedding ring won’t mean much where you’re going, anyway.” 

He started cutting then, the automatic response your body had to pull away ripping and tearing against the knife holding you to the wood. You couldn’t look away from it, even though what little there was in your stomach was threatening to come up and the pain had deafened all the sound around you. You weren’t sure if you were screaming or not but you couldn’t breathe and couldn’t think as you watched part of your body be cut away. 

Cody finished, wiping the knife on your shirt - Joel’s shirt - before passing it back to one of his men. He held your bloody, jagged fingers up, turning them slowly in front of his face. You could hear again, the ragged sound of your breath and the rustle of leaves on the trees, the breeze moving through as though you weren’t being dismantled on the forest floor. 

“Think your guard dog will even still want you now?” He asked, holding them in front of you. Your blood dropped from them onto the sleeve of the shirt. “Not sure he’ll be interested in such… damaged goods.” 

You stared at the fingers in his grip in disbelief. It didn’t seem real, the things you’d used to play guitar and grip the reins of your horse and hold your husband’s hand were separate from you now. You remembered, for a moment, marrying Joel. The clarity of it was almost visceral, how he’d taken the ring that was now slick with your blood and slipped it onto the finger that was dangling before your eyes. It was a part of you then. It wasn’t now. 

Cody held his empty hand out and the man he’d given the knife to returned it. 

“No,” you shook your head, your voice wet and raspy. “Please, I…” 

“Not taking anything else,” he said, his tone almost kind. “Just going to make sure you don’t bleed out on us.” 

With that, he pressed the blade to the place he’d cut part of you away and you screamed, the metal scalding hot. You realized they must have put it in the fire, using the heat to cauterize the wound. Without warning, one of the men pulled the knife that was still in your arm free and the heated blade moved there, too. You could smell your skin burning, the man at your back holding you still as your body fought to escape the pain of it. They moved you around like a rag doll, cauterizing the other side of your arm, too, before stepping back from you. 

“There,” Cody stood, handing the knife off and taking a kerchief from his pocket, wrapping your bloody fingers in it before stashing them away. “Now you should know I’m not fucking around. Get up. We’ve wasted enough time on this shit and Mitchum won’t wait on us forever.” 

The man behind you pulled you to your feet by your shoulders and you swayed on your feet for a moment, your head swimming before you doubled over, vomiting mostly bile before your legs gave out, the man catching you before you hit the ground. 

“Shit,” Cody’s voice sounded far away. “We’ll have to find a way to move her…” 

You passed out. 

When you woke up, it was dark, a hand around your jaw. 

“There she is,” Cody said, releasing you and patting your cheek twice. “Need you up and walking, can’t trade you half dead. Move.” 

You tried to orient yourself, get some kind of understanding. You weren’t where you’d been when you’d passed out. You were on some kind of makeshift litter, your left arm and hand throbbing dully. Your hand was bandaged. Cody grabbed a fistful of your shirt, pulling you upright and you all but collapsed against him, stumbling as you tried to find your footing. The second you did, you pulled away from him. You couldn’t bear to touch him, even if that meant you ended up on the ground again. 

“Just gotta make it about 100 yards,” he nodded toward a flickering glow in the distance. “Then you’re not my problem anymore.” 

He nudged you in that direction and you moved, almost mindlessly. You weren’t strong enough to fight it. You were barely strong enough to walk. You cradled your injured arm to your body as best you could, watching as the glow of the fire drew closer. 

“Stop right there,” an unfamiliar voice said, a man coming through the trees with his rifle raised. But he lowered it as he drew closer, looking the group you were with up and down. “Cody. Starting to wonder if you weren’t going to make it.” 

“Got held up,” he said. “But I got what he’s after, if he still wants to meet.” 

The guard just jerked his head toward the fire and led the way, you trailing along behind him with Cody and his men at your back. 

The fire was in the middle of a large clearing, one with a cluster of about 20 men around it, the man you feared more than any other sitting at the back of it. 

A wide smile came over his face when he saw you, the spread of it sinister and slow. 

“Well well,” Mitchum said, getting to his feet and walking closer. He was still so much bigger than you, tall and broad and you knew just how well he could force you to do what he wanted. “The prodigal son returns, with my favorite toy no less.” 

“Told you I could get her,” Cody said, pushing you toward him. “And I believe we had an agreement.” 

“Sure, sure,” Mitchum waved him off before looking you up and down, just feet away from you now. Your head spun. “Jackson is yours when we take it down, as is anyone who survives. S’long as you remember who gave it to you.” 

Mitchum reached out, grabbing your injured hand roughly and you cried out with it as he pulled your arm toward him. 

“The fuck is this?” He held it up. “Thought I told you I wanted her intact, there’s no deal if you fucking maimed her.” 

Cody shrugged. 

“She killed two of my men,” he said.

Mitchum dropped your hand and clenched his jaw before snatching his gun from its holster and shooting Cody’s man who was at your side, making you flinch away from the sound. 

“You think I give a fuck how many of your men make it?” He asked. “You think their lives matter? Got fuckin’ news for you, theirs don’t and neither does yours so you better do a damn good job of explaining why you brought her to me damaged.” 

“She tried to take off,” Cody said, eyes darting down to the man who was dead  on the ground. “Had to do something to keep her under control. Figured you’d want her at all, even if that meant damaged.” 

Mitchum holstered the gun with a huff and pulled you away from Cody, your skin crawling where he touched you. 

“Well, she’s back where she belongs now,” he passed you off to one of his men before turning back to Cody. “Jackson’s yours, when we take it.” 

“And I want horses,” Cody said. “For my trouble.” 

Mitchum seemed to think for a moment before giving him a stiff nod. 

“Fine, three horses,” he said, waving them forward. “Take ‘em and go. Don’t want to see you again for a while or else I might change my mind.” 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Cody smirked before looking to you. “Told you you should have given me what I deserved.” 

You didn’t say anything. Instead you just stood there, in the hold of one of Mitchum’s henchmen, watching as the man who’d stolen your freedom rode off into the night. 

Next Chapter

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust @ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost @beccerjune @mumma-moonchild @netonetoneto @mellymbee @purplelye @n7cje @flugazi @evyiione @randomhoex @aliengirl99 @orcasoul @reds-ramblings @pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel @jenispunk @panda-pascal @sarap-77 @flugazi @your-slutty-gf @daniegraceg @partyofone3413 @cumberpegg @noisynightmarepoetry. @fifia-writes @grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123 @ashleyfilm @arizonadreamingg

A/N: I know it's a rough chapter but... feral!Joel?

We've only seen the beginning of him, he's about to go on a rampage like no other I can promise you that.

Also, I'm sorry for making this chapter quite so brutal. I really didn't want them to get off easy in this situation, I wanted to make sure we know that there are going to be some long term repercussions from all this - in this case, Bambi's missing fingers. They live in a brutal world and they're facing brutal things and I wanted this to be reflective of that.

Thanks for sticking with the story. I really do love you all!

[fictionally-driven]

Uncovering Scars

Pairing: Jiyan x gn! reader Word count: 1130 Trigger Warnings: Injuries, Scars, implied relationship. Plot: This ask.

The infirmary was abuzz with activity, medics rushing between beds, attending to the wounded. Jiyan's heart pounded as he pushed through the chaos, his eyes scanning the room for a familiar face. He had received word that (Y/N)'s patrol had been ambushed by Tacet Discords, and the anxiety gnawing at his insides refused to abate until he saw them for himself.

Finally, he spotted them, sitting on the edge of a bed. Relief washed over him as he hurried to their side, his usually stoic demeanor cracking to reveal the worry he felt. "(Y/N)," he breathed. "Are you alright?"

“Jiyan!” (Y/N) looked up, their eyes meeting his with a reassuring smile. "I'm alright. Just a few cuts and abrasions, nothing serious."

Jiyan's keen eyes quickly assessed their state. They were indeed a bit battered, their hair disheveled and streaked with dust and grime. Small wounds and cuts marked their skin, and their armor and uniform were torn in places, evidence of the fierce battle they had faced. They were right; the injuries seemed superficial. Still, the sight of their usually composed form in such a disheveled state tugged at his heart.

"You had me worried," he said, his voice a low rumble. "When I heard about the ambush..."

(Y/N) reached out, placing their hand on his arm. "I'm okay. We fought them off and I am alright. I can patch myself up too. But the medics insisted that they examine me once.”

Jiyan's eyes softened at their touch, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He placed his hand over theirs, his grip gentle yet firm. "I'm glad you're safe," he murmured, his gaze lingering on their face for a moment longer.

(Y/N) smiled, squeezing his arm reassuringly. "I promise, I'm alright. A bit sore, but nothing I can't handle."

Jiyan placed his hand over theirs, his touch gentle but firm. "Let them do their job," he said softly. "It's important to be thorough."

(Y/N) nodded, a small smile playing on their lips. "You always were a stickler for protocol," they teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Jiyan's eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Someone has to be."

Jiyan's eyes roved over their injuries once more, his worry not entirely abated. His attention was drawn to their shoulder, where a significant portion of the sleeve had been ripped away, exposing a deep, jagged scar that stood out against their skin. His breath caught for a moment as he took in the sight, a multitude of questions flooding his mind. It was a mark that seemed to go beyond the exposed flesh, hinting at a story untold.

(Y/N) noticed his gaze and instinctively moved to cover the scar, their eyes flickering with discomfort and vulnerability. "It's nothing," they murmured, their voice softer, almost defensive. "Just an old wound."

Jiyan gently took their hand, stopping them from hiding the scar. "You don't have to hide it from me," he said quietly, his tone filled with understanding. "Every scar has a story, and every story is a part of who we are."

(Y/N) looked at him, their eyes searching his face for a moment before they sighed, letting their hand drop. "It's from a long time ago," they admitted. "Before I joined the Midnight Rangers. It’s not something I talk about much."

Jiyan nodded, his grip on their hand tightening just slightly in a show of silent support. "You don't have to tell me if you're not ready. Just know that I'm here, and you don't have to hide anything from me."

(Y/N) laughed softly, a tinge of self-consciousness lingering in their eyes as they attempted to dismiss the scar's significance. "It's quite ugly to look at, isn't it?" Their hand moved instinctively to cover the scar, a gesture of vulnerability Jiyan couldn't ignore. Sensing their need for security, he allowed them the comfort of concealment, his own heart aching at their discomfort.

"No," Jiyan countered gently, his voice a soothing murmur. "It's not ugly. I was just taken aback because I didn't know you'd been injured to that extent before. It must have been painful."

Drawing closer, Jiyan enveloped them in his embrace, he felt their arms encircling his waist. He could sense the tension in their body begin to ease, their form melting into his as they sought solace in his presence. It was a tender moment, one where words were unnecessary, their shared connection speaking volumes.

The infirmary noise seemed to fade into the background as they stood there, taking solace in each other's presence. (Y/N) took a few deep breaths, their head resting gently against his abdomen. The steady rhythm of Jiyan's heartbeat was a soothing reminder of his unwavering presence. "Does the scar change the way you see me?" they asked quietly, their voice tinged with uncertainty.

Jiyan's touch was gentle as he lowered himself slightly, his hand coming to rest on their shoulder. "Yes and no," he responded, his voice a comforting whisper. "I love you no matter what, and that's never going to change. The scar only deepens my respect for you because it's a mark of your strength and resilience. You have fought battles that I am unaware of in your past and you have prevailed, (Y/N). But you don't have to face your battles alone anymore. I'm here for you, always ready to listen... about anything at all, really. I am here to listen and support you by any means possible."

Looking up at him, (Y/N)'s eyes sparkled with a newfound warmth. "Even if I go on and on about fictional men that I'm obsessed with?" they teased, their smile returning in full force.

Jiyan's rare smile bloomed in response, his heart swelling with affection. Bending down further, he pressed a tender kiss against the scar, his lips brushing against their skin with the softest of touches. "Even then," he murmured against their shoulder, his breath warm against their skin. "Though I might wonder every now and then on how I can surpass these fictional men."

Their laughter filled the air, a sweet melody that danced between them, dispelling the remnants of tension and uncertainty. Resting their head against his chest, (Y/N) wrapped their arms more tightly around him, pressing closer. "You're more than enough, Jiyan."

Jiyan's heart swelled at their words. In this moment, the weight of his responsibilities and the burdens he carried felt lighter. He rested his chin atop their head, closing his eyes and savoring the peace that their embrace brought him. The world outside the infirmary walls seemed distant and unimportant compared to this moment that they shared. In each other's presence, they found a quiet strength, a reassurance that no matter what storms lay ahead, they would face them together, scars and all.

WuWa Masterlist

[yanderes-galore]

IM HERE AGAIN!! Anyways, can you do Yuji with your prompts 23 and 37 with a reader who keeps trying to escape?

I can try, sure! Doing an AU where you knew each other in Jujutsu High but once you graduated and grew older you went on to become advanced Sorcerers. It's unknown if Yuji still has Sukuna or not. Sorry if the plot isn't to your liking, I didn't have a lot to work with since Yuji is so tame on his own.

Yandere! Yuji Itadori Prompts 23 + 37

"You're crying... come a little closer, I'll make it all go away."

"We should get married! It's been long enough, hasn't it?"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Kidnapping, Delusional behavior, Manipulation, Stalking, Isolation, Talks of marriage, Toxic themes, Clingy behavior, Slight starvation (You're choosing not to eat a lot), Implied mind break, Yuji is delusional yet a little lucid, Consensual turned forced relationship.

Yuji Itadori has been your boyfriend since graduation. He had been hopelessly in love with you ever since you two started to dedicate yourselves more to your field and each other. Life's been good in your eyes, especially since Yuji has only ever been getting better when handling himself.

So how did things get so bad?

Nowadays instead of being a happy couple, you're trapped in your apartment. Yuji was adamant when you both graduated to move in together. You both shared the rent and took care of one another.

You didn't mind that...

Until Yuji kept trying to keep you in the apartment.

You wonder what went wrong. Yuji always seemed like such a kind and innocent boyfriend. Always easily excited and clingy with you. It was cute.

You wonder if things began to go wrong when Yuji had brought up marriage.

You still remember when he first brought up the question. You had been dating for around five years when he bounded up to you with a grin on his face. Before you could even ask him what he was so eager about, he held both of your hands tightly.

"We should get married! It's been long enough, hasn't it?"

It was cute how excited he sounded when he brought it up. In fact, if you were ready for it you might've even considered it. He looked so happy.

However, as a new graduate, you were too focused on improving as a Sorcerer to consider marriage with your high school sweetheart. Curses still ran rampant even after graduation. So at the time, you were focused on your career.

"I'm sorry, baby..." You had said, your heart nearly breaking at the look of betrayal on your boyfriend's face. "It just doesn't seem safe right now... we both have a career to keep up with."

"R-Right... I understand!" Yuji has responded with a saddened smile, embracing you tightly.

Back then... you thought that was that.

You wanted to consider marriage in the future. You two had been together for a long time now. Although... you just wanted to focus on more important things right now.

However... now six years in... you begin to wonder if you should've just... accepted or called off the relationship entirely.

"Baby..." Yuji frowns softly, looking at you on the bed. In only a year you looked so much different than the graduate you once were. You looked tired and much thinner now. Yuji had been feeding you, but you just... didn't want any food from him.

"Baby, please look at me..." Yuji tries again, inching closer to sit on the bed. He feels guilt creep into him when he sees you curled in on yourself. Part of him knew this was his fault... but hated the idea of acknowledging it.

Recently you've been escaping the apartment a lot. It had started with arguments, you wanting to continue being a Sorcerer while Yuji wanted you to stay at home so he could protect you. But... every couple has their quarrels, no?

That is until Yuji felt he should be more strict. He begged you not to leave, that he was worried about you and wanted you to stay home. At first, you complied and stayed home a few days to soothe your boyfriend's worries.

Then he stopped letting you out.

Each time you left the apartment by sabotaging locks or playing nice, Yuji would chase you down again. For months you kept trying to leave, both the relationship and apartment. Yet Yuji never relented.

In his eyes you are meant to be together...

Delusional just enough to ignore how you feel about the situation.

Right up until you were curled up in your room, refusing to leave because, well, why bother?

Yuji perks up when he sees your body shudder. A breathy noise akin to a sob leaves your mouth, making Yuji's heart clench. He acts fast, throwing himself on the bed and holding out his arms.

"You're crying... come a little closer, I'll make it all go away." Yuji's words are comforting, as though you're both still loving partners. His embrace feels hot and cagey against your skin. However, you lean in reluctantly.

Did you love him even now?

Yuji is careful to be caring despite all that's happened. He kisses the top of your head lovingly as you sob against him. Hearing you sad makes his grip tighten... a glare thrown towards the wall as he thinks to himself.

He hopes you get better, he really does. He wants to make you his cute little spouse that he can take care of. Although, Yuji is willing to wait until you're feeling... better before bringing it up again.

"Love you so much it hurts...." Yuji murmurs, squeezing you affectionately as he nuzzles into your hair. You say nothing, which is expected, you did recently go against his house rules again.

But... that's okay! Yuji is aware of how determined you are. He just... needs to be patient and protect you like he always has been.

You may be upset now... yet he knows that will change. With a little more waiting... you two can be happy again! When another sob rocks your body, Yuji just holds you tighter... oblivious to how crushing his embrace is.

Partners must stick by one another, right?

He'll stick by you until you're better... then you two can go back to normal and maybe even get engaged!

He's already picked out the ring....

[onceuponastory]

protective - bucky barnes x reader

Plot: Bucky gets protective over Y/N during a mission. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: A guy being creepy, reader being slightly uncomfortable and Bucky wanting to fight the guy. As always, if I miss any triggers please let me know! Notes: This is very loosely based on El Tango De Roxanne from Moulin Rouge because I love that scene & that song. Also I was thinking about a Moulin Rouge AU so lemme know your thoughts. Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own. Thank you to @staticscreenwriting for my divider!

“I don’t like this.” Bucky hisses, throwing a hard stare across the room. Nervously, he taps his feet. Although, when he sees Y/N standing there, leaning against the bar as she sips from her drink, his face softens ever so slightly, and a small smile grows on his face. But once he remembers what they’re doing here, his hard stare returns. He really doesn’t like this. Not one bit.

“Don’t worry Buck. She’s got this.” Steve’s voice crackles over the headset. “Besides, she has a wire on, so we’ll be able to hear everything, and we can step in if we need to.” Despite how his words are trying to be supportive, Bucky doesn’t feel comforted at all by his words. 

Tonight, they’re on another mission, ready to stop some corrupt agent intent on causing chaos. And Y/N was sent undercover to charm him and try to extract information because she’s not as publicly known as the other Avengers. It’s not the first time Y/N’s done something like this, but this time, Bucky hates the thought of sending her out there alone. From what Bucky’s heard, despite the man’s kind facade, he’s extremely cruel when he needs to be, and he has no issue with stepping on people to get what he wants. And no doubt he would do just the same to Y/N if she ever got in his way. Despite how experienced she is, the thought of Y/N stuck there with him alone makes his stomach churn.

“Sam, do you have visuals on Y/N?”

“Yes, Bucky. I did the first time you asked, and I still do now.” Before Bucky even asks his next question, Sam answers it. “Yes, I’m keeping an eye on her.”

“Good.”

Bucky knows his two best friends are worried about Y/N too, but he also knows that they think he’s overreacting slightly that Y/N is going to be perfectly safe. Bucky just hopes they’re right. Y/N is incredibly skilled at going undercover, and there’s no doubt she’ll do just as well today and get the information they need. It’s just that Bucky cares too much about her to let her go into these dangerous situations alone. At least not without her knowing that he’s there on the other end if she needs him. He’s been in love with her for as long as he can remember, and the last thing he wants is for her to be put in danger. His gaze goes back to Y/N, and he sighs. She looks gorgeous tonight, dressed to the nines. But that’s not too difficult. To Bucky, Y/N always looks gorgeous. Maybe one day he’ll actually find the guts to tell her the truth, instead of standing here all forlorn and lovesick, as Sam and Steve call it.

“Showtime.” Sam whispers, cutting through his thoughts. Bucky watches as the man enters the room, making a beeline straight to the bar. Y/N notices him too, and makes a point of brushing up against him slightly as she requests another drink. The man looks over her, pointedly staring at her chest and her ass. Bucky’s jaw clenches.

“Let me get that.” The man grins, placing his hand on Y/N’s wrist and reaching out with his card before Y/N can do anything. “Can’t let a pretty girl like you pay for your own drink now, can I?” Bucky suppresses a desire to vomit. Creep.

“Thank you.” Y/N smiles, batting her eyelashes slightly. The sight makes Bucky’s stomach flutter, the same way it usually does when he sees Y/N. Sometimes, Bucky likes to imagine that Y/N’s flirting is for him, and that she feels the same way he does for her. But for real this time.

As Y/N and the man find a table and start chatting, Bucky continues to watch, hating every moment. The way the man leers at her, a sick smirk on his face the entire time, makes Bucky’s stomach churn even more. He knows what assholes like him do, and he hates every part of it.

“Can you cool it with the glare, Buck? I’m not even in the same room as you and I can feel it burning through the wall.” Bucky ignores Sam’s comment and instead works through an action plan. A way to rescue Y/N in case she needs help. As he does so, he keeps a cautious eye on the pair, just in case. As she laughs along with the man, Bucky can pick up on the awkwardness in her laugh. He swears the noise makes his stomach twist. When the man presses a kiss to her cheek and a small flicker of unease crosses Y/N’s face, Bucky swears his heart almost stops.

In a moment, he jumps up, ready to charge in, to peel the man’s arms off of Y/N and drag him away from her. But before he can, Y/N takes control once more, changing the subject. Yet still, Bucky keeps a wary eye on the man. He flexes his metal arm, ensuring he’s ready to jump in and protect Y/N.

Whatever the cost.

Thankfully though, only a few hours later (albeit longer than Bucky would’ve liked), the agent suddenly has to leave, bringing the mission to a halt. And soon, Y/N is back safe and sound in the compound with the others. 

“Well done Y/N.” Steve praises, and Sam nods.

“Yeah. Great job.” Bucky murmurs, his tone causing Y/N to raise a brow.

“Guys, can I speak to Bucky alone for a moment, please?” she asks. Glancing at each other, Steve and Sam nod and leave the room. “So. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” he shrugs. Scoffing, Y/N rolls her eyes. 

“Bucky, there’s no point in lying. I know you.” She’s right, she does know him really well. Sometimes, Bucky swears that Y/N knows him better than anyone else. Even better than Steve. There’s no way he could even try to hide his feelings from her. “And besides, you were staring daggers out the window the whole ride back. Now, tell me what the problem is.”

“I just… when you were with that guy, I was worried about you, okay?!”

“Aww Bucky, you really do care about me!” she grins, giggling like it’s just a joke. But little does she know, Bucky doesn’t see it that way.

“I do care about you! Fuck Y/N, I care about you more than anything in this world, and the thought of that… that sicko being anywhere near you, o-or laying his hands on you makes me feel sick!” He exclaims, the words slipping out without another thought. “I know how good you are at going undercover, but the last thing I want is you getting hurt.” Y/N’s eyes widen.

“Oh… oh.” As silence falls amongst the pair, Bucky’s heart pounds. Why did it all have to slip out like that? Maybe keeping it in for so long has finally taken its toll. Y/N stares back at him, still silent. Bucky blushes, his cheeks turning scarlet. Now he looks like an idiot. A total lovesick idiot. 

“I’ll, um. I’ll go.” 

“No, wait.” Y/N stops him as he starts to leave, reaching out and touching his arm. “I-I never knew you felt that way about me, Bucky. Thank you.” she smiles, and Bucky nods.

“Y/N, I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember.” he admits, chuckling slightly. “You’re very special to me, Y/N.”

“And you’re special to me too, Buck. I’m so glad to have someone like you looking out for me.” Before Bucky can even respond, she presses a kiss to his cheek, his stubble lightly grazing against her lips. This almost sends Bucky’s heart into overdrive, and he swears his skin tingles from where she kissed him. “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember, and I had no idea you felt the same way about me.” she whispers, her words making Bucky’s mouth drop open. “I need to go type out my mission report, but maybe we can grab dinner afterwards? I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds good.” Bucky nods. And then she heads down the hallway, waving goodbye. Even after she disappears from sight, Bucky still stares down the hall. He cups his cheek, still feeling it burn from when she kissed him. Still dumbstruck at how Y/N likes him back. A goofy grin overtakes his face. 

Despite how badly tonight started, he’s never been as happy as he is right now.

Please follow @onceuponastory-library​ and turn on notifications to be notified when I next post!

[farfromstrange]

I Want To Fuck A Priest | Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

PART 6 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

Summary: You have a thing for the priest you met at a farmer's market. Thankfully, he has a thing for you, too.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), porn without much plot, Priest!Matt, blasphemy (!!!), church setting, improper use of a priest's collar, improper use of a confessional booth, improper use of the act of confession, praise, prayer, oral afab!receiving, slight Dom!Matt, Catholic guilt, Fleabag reference, seriously if you are religious or triggered by the improper use of religion DO NOT read this!

Word Count: 2.8k

A/n: This is for those who watched Fleabag and then saw all the 'Imagine Matt as a priest' and 'Charlie Cox once played a Spanish priest' posts and thought, "Same!" when Fleabag said, "I want to fuck a priest." I see you, and I feel you. I wrote this after re-watching Fleabag one night, but I added a little poetic twist while editing because before, it was just completely plotless oral sex. While that isn't bad, I needed to add some vibes. You're welcome.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

The church bells ring as the clock strikes midnight. The night sky is void of dark clouds. In the darkness above the massive walls encasing the holy ground, the stars shine brighter than the city lights. New York City, the city that never sleeps, makes an exception for the house of God in the dead of the night, it seems.

It’s been…several years since my last confession. 

The graveyard attached to the church looks threatening in its vacancy. It’s void of human souls except for the dead ones buried there. A raven claps its wings in the distance, following the gush of wind that brushes through the trees. 

The bell rings twelve times before it stops, but the echo bounces off the stone walls and shakes the stained-glass windows, which seems to drag on for an eternity. 

The last time I confessed my sins was before my communion. I don’t know if that makes me a bad Catholic, but lately, I’ve been having sinful thoughts, and I need to get them out of the way before I collapse under the weight of them.

You considered for the longest time whether or not you should come here. Faith has been your enemy for the longest time. You don’t believe in the Catholic Church, and yet you have found your way here, in the middle of the night, when everyone should be asleep in their beds. 

This isn’t a normal night, by any means. You often lay awake at night and question your purpose in this life, but lately, you’ve been feeling like you’re drowning. Sins are subjective, and you never paid much mind to the term until now. 

The thoughts you find yourself having late at night when you’re awake and lonely are far from holy. They aren’t ideal. They make you wonder just why you are thinking this way now.

But no man has ever been like him. And the worst part about it is that wanting him alone is an unholy train of thought you should have never submitted to. 

You tried ignoring it, carrying it all by yourself, and trying to heal whatever complex you may have that could have led to this obsession in the first place, but your life has been a mess for long enough that it doesn’t even surprise you anymore, and no matter what you tried to do, you couldn’t stop fantasizing about him.

He is the reason you came to church tonight to confess your sins. But you’re not here to find your way. You’re not here to ask for guidance from God. You told yourself that the unholiness of your thoughts needs to be cured and that is why you came here—to make this situation better for yourself—but the thought is ancient; it’s the twenty-first century and you’re the kind of person who knows exactly what they want and how to get it. The truth is, you’re here to get what you want, even if it will land you in the pits of hell for all eternity. And even if it kills you.

“You don’t do this kind of thing often, do you?” the low voice asks from the other side of the confessional booth.

You shake your head. “Not at all, Father. When I went to Sunday Mass this weekend, it was my first time in a church in a very long time,” you admit to him, “and this is my first confession since I was a child. I…I’m not really a devoted Catholic, you understand. I’m merely struggling right now, and I…I am in desperate need of guidance.”

Your lip quivers. Your voice resembles a tidal wave that comes and goes as nature pleases.

He can’t see you. It’s not the curtain that is separating you and is starting to feel like worlds apart—he can’t see you. He can only hear and smell you, and that alone makes your thighs clench with need. 

Should you be doing this in a church? Should you fantasize about a man of God and want to claim him, coming to his sanctuary to tell him the truth and mess with his head? You know that it’s wrong, but the wrong thing often feels too right to stop. 

When you met him at the farmer’s market the other day, he was so endlessly kind to everyone, including yourself. He invited you to Sunday mass, and you went. You went on a walk with him afterward, and there seemed to be something there, but he couldn’t act on it because he is who he is and what he is. He made a vow. He can’t have you, no matter how badly he wants to, and one look into his unfocused hazel eyes when he took off those red glasses he always wears told you that he does want you. It led to another sleepless night among many, and now you’re here.

You’re so utterly selfish, but God, you can’t stop it. When you want something, you would do anything to get it. He makes you feel things you never felt before. It’s terrifying, but you have to allow yourself to jump into unknown waters if you want to learn how to swim.

He clears his throat, and you can hear the chair creak under his weight as he shifts. Is it possible that you’re doing the same to him that he is doing to you?

“I want to start by saying that you’re really brave,” he says. The sound of his voice is enough to make you shiver. “But God offers people guidance in a symbolic sense. I can take your confession, tell you how to repent for your sins, but I can’t tell you what to do.”

You sigh. “I wish you would though.”

A chuckle passes his lips. “Why don’t you start by telling me what’s weighing you down, sweetheart, and we will go from there?”

Sweetheart. 

Yes, you think, this is your one-way ticket to hell. 

“I’ve been having thoughts,” you confess.

“Thoughts?” he asks.

“Yes. Unholy thoughts.” Your breath comes in weak puffs of air. The booth seems to cave in on you. You wish he would step out of his booth into yours and stuff his cock into your mouth. For him, you would shut up. You would do whatever he tells you to do, and you would do so gladly.

Fuck. You want to fuck a priest. 

But lucky for you, Father Matthew wants to fuck you too. He’s here, at midnight, because you were lost and he was still there—he told you he spends his nights at church sometimes because the city gets too loud for him. You couldn’t go anywhere else because any place where he isn’t doesn’t seem worth visiting.

Matt sucks in a sharp breath. You imagine him swallowing, his white collar constricting his labored airflow. You imagine him pulling at it to free himself, but he can’t. Those sinfully thick fingers of his would feel even better on your skin. 

“Unholy thoughts,” Father Matthew asks, “about whom, sweetheart?”

He’s pushing your buttons with that nickname. It’s so not professional. The lines are starting to blur.

“A man,” you tell him. 

“A man?”

“A man of God.”

The confession causes a bout of silence. You could have heard a hairpin drop. 

His chair creaks again, and his voice reminds you of an animalistic growl right before an apex predator attacks its prey. “And what unholy thoughts have you been having about this man of God?” he inquires.

Your inner walls clench around thin air. Sweat drips down your temples, and the arousal soaks your underwear. Your nipples strain against your shirt. If you grip the seat any harder, you will soon find wooden chips under your nails.

You lick your lips. “I’ve been thinking about him touching me,” you whisper. “And I want to touch him.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“And in your thoughts, does he satisfy you?”

Your answer comes promptly, “Always.”

There is not a scenario in which Father Matthew could possibly leave you unsatisfied. 

The chair creaks again. Something in the air shifts. 

Your voice is breathless and needy, and so fucking desperate when you speak into the silence, “Just tell me what to do, Father.”

“Okay,” he says. His leather shoes drag across the floor of the booth and toward the curtain that marks the exit of his side. The next word out of his mouth knocks all the air out of your lungs, “Kneel.”

You don’t even have time to question his request. Within seconds, the curtain through which you’ve stepped into the confessional booth is torn to the side, and there he is, in all of his glory, right in front of you, and his thick cock is straining against his black slacks.

You pinch yourself, but you’re not dreaming. This is real. This is what you wanted, and you weren’t imagining the mutual attraction due to delusions. He does want you, and he is about to break every rule in his book—and the lord’s book.

You sink to your knees. The only thing you can see on his face is pure, unbridled lust and the ugly truth of Catholic guilt. He must loathe himself for wanting you. 

Matt removes his glasses, revealing his beautiful eyes to you. In the dim candlelight, they appear almost black.

“What’s my sentence, Father?” you ask.

His hand brushes your cheek. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“No.” He steps into the booth and closes the curtain behind him. “Tonight, call me Matt.”

That is the last thing he says before he gets on his knees before you, and he captures your lips in a bruising kiss that is strong enough to make the angels howl.

His hand rests around your throat, feeling your pulse. He may not be able to see you with his eyes, but the way he touches you paints a perfect picture of your presence, and you feel every last ounce of his devotion. 

He explores the depth of your mouth with his tongue, tasting you, loving you. His hands feel beautifully rough against your skin, just like you imagined they would be after years of praying. He sees himself as the hands of God. A messenger. His goodness makes your heart swell and your core flood with more than unbridled arousal—this is human nature in all its emotional glory, and you no longer feel ashamed. You can’t possibly when he is holding you like this.

He exhales into your mouth—no, he breathes life into your soul. “You’re the most sinful yet purest thing I have ever laid my hands on,” Matt says.

You gasp against his luscious lips. “I wouldn’t want to make you turn your back on God, or–”

He cuts you off, “I did that when I first thought about your body on mine and coming so deep inside of you that you’ll carry me with you for days. I don’t care about God because if having him means that I can’t have you,” he says, “I don’t want him anymore.”

You swallow his words with a kiss. Turning a priest against God was never your intention, but you are not in charge of his feelings, nor will you ever be. Matt wants you badly enough to abandon religion, and you will carry that with you until the day you die. 

He lifts you back onto the edge of the wooden chair, pulling at your clothes and your undergarments. The moonlight hits his face as the cold air of the church hits your bare pussy. He looks ethereal like this, on his knees for you. His hazel eyes bore into your soul. He wears his heart on his sleeves and a collar around his neck. 

Your priest crosses his chest. He asks God for forgiveness. And then, with one gentle tug at your thighs, he buries his face in your wet cunt, and he feasts as if your sex was the last supper. As God’s disciple, he is determined to eat up every last bite offered to him. Every last drop from your cunt is his, and your lips part in a moan that echoes through the church like the bells did when it hit midnight.

“Fuck,” you cry out. 

He flattens his tongue against you, licking a long stripe over and then through your folds. He twirls the tip of his tongue over your clit, stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves with such precision, your walls clench at the sheer explosion of pleasure. You have never felt anything like it. He turns something unholy into heaven, and you’re drowning in the river to the Garden of Eden.

His lips suction around your clit. The obscene squelching of your velvety walls fills the booth. It sounds deadly noisy to you. You want to cover your mouth to stop the moans from traveling, but he traps your hand with his, guiding them to his hand, telling you to guide him.  

Instead, one of your hands moves to his collar. It’s his turn to moan. You tug at the symbol of his priesthood, forcing his tongue deeper into your hole. He laps up your juices as though his life depends on it. 

“Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned,” Matt murmurs against you. 

You moan again, louder this time. He is repenting for wanting to dive into your pussy until he gets swept away by the tide, but it is far too late to back out now. Your pleasure has become his priority. 

“Lord God,” he repeats, “in your goodness have mercy on me.”

The pleasure is turning into a tight knot in your lower abdomen. You can feel it consuming you and your senses. You’re floating. The light at the end of the tunnel is not so far out of reach anymore. Every suck and every lick at your folds, and every thrust of his tongue into your tight walls pushes you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. 

In your goodness, have mercy on me. 

He bites down lightly on your clit. Your toes curl, and his name comes out in a groan.

Do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt. 

Right now, you are his God. By drinking your arousal like holy water and pushing you toward an orgasm he is repenting. The symbolism makes your heels dig into his back as you buck your hips against his mouth, and when he adds one of those thick fingers, curling them up against that sweet spot inside of you, you can barely stand it anymore.

Create me in a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit.

“God, Matthew!” your moan interrupts his plea for penance only briefly.

He swats your thigh. “No blasphemy when I feast at the altar,” he says. The vibration of his voice adds to the knot, tightening it, and threatening it to burst.

You’re almost there. Almost…

“Have mercy on me, a sinner,” he continues. His tongue slides between your folds once again, gathering your slit. His fingers curl upward again. He’s mixing different prayers, or maybe these are his own words, but you are not sure how much longer you can hold it. But he wants you to hold it. You don’t want to disappoint the man who is worshiping at your feet, your pussy, his altar, and you are his salvation as much as you are his saving grace.

“In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good,” he prays, “I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things—but fuck, I don’t.” 

Does that mean he loves you? It is too soon to tell that, but he is devoted, and devotion can be just as sinfully sweet as the rawest feeling of love.

“Have mercy on me, God. Amen!”

His collar is starting to tear under your vice grip. 

Matt thrusts his digit into you until it disappears, and he finally decides to show the mercy he was begging for to you. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he says. 

Your thighs lock around his head as the knot breaks in two. You come, hard, and the wave tears him down with you, shooting his cum into his slacks like the good Catholic boy he is.

You let go of his collar when your orgasm has done its damage. 

“No,” he stops you. 

“No?” you ask, still breathless.

“No,” he says, lifting his head to grin at you, not like a man of God but the Devil himself. “I have not done nearly enough penance.”

As a priest, Matt is used to being on his knees until they’re bruised; until he can’t stand straight anymore, so he has to remain there, cowering before a God he more often than not does not believe in.

Before you can protest, he dives back into your endless ocean, and you have no choice but to lean back and take it. 

He is not the only one doing penance tonight, after all—you both are. 

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

[whorediaries-09]

Helloo could I please request a fic with Sirius' girlfriend or wife taking care of him, making sure he eats enough and keeping him company, and him being touch-starved, in Grimmauld Place during OoTP? Thanks!

call it what you want

pairing- sirius black x wife!auror!reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort, fluff, touch sensitivity (let me know if i should add more) an- i love this plot so much, thank you dear anon! (also i love writing about post azkaban sirius black 😳) ps- requests are open! part two? 👺💅

masterlist

'hey love?' you called out. sirius held a cigarette between his pale pink lips blowing out smoke out of his mouth. he turned his head, looking at you when he heard your voice. but your eye's weren't fixated on his, but the ash tray that held burnt out cigarettes he'd been smoking when you'd been gone. he sat on the moth eaten sofa his tired gray eyes trying to meet yours. you sigh, flinging your bag on a chair as you walk towards him, wiping your brow with the hem of your sleeve.

'have you eaten anything dear?' you say as you sit beside him. you sit close to him, but not close enough to touch him. he grumbles something under his breath and you squint your eyes trying to decipher what he is saying.

'sirius?' you say. your hand twitches. you want to touch him, comfort him, but you're scared it will trigger him. you're scared he won't like that. you want to comfort him, it breaks your heart seeing the dignity of your husband, of the love of your life crumbling down but it doesn't matter. you want him to feel safe. you want him to feel comfortable around you till he is comfortable enough to let him touch you.

his body twitches slightly before he whispers, 'might have had a few sandwiches. i forgot,'

you raise an eyebrow. interlinking your hands together so you don't accidentally touch him, you say with a soft yet firm tone,

'and water? what about water? did you drink enough?'

'i do not remember,' he grumbles. he's twitchy and shifty while he speaks. you let out a deep breath before you conjure a glass of water and hand it to sirius.

'love can you drink this for me? please?' you inquire. his stormy gray eyes stare into yours before his hands clasp around the glass of water. he lets the rim of the glass touch his lips before slowly sipping the water. he gulps down the rest of the water and puts the glass on the table before offering you a weak smile. you smile back, furrowing your eyebrows. you see his hands twitching before he speaks again,

'i found some old polaroids,'

'did you now love?'

'yes...'

there's a silence that hangs in the air that tortures the depth of your heart but you don't break it. you don't want to pressure him into saying anything. you don't want him to feel like what his image in the wizarding world is. you don't want to ask him prying questions.

'can i hold your hand?' he whispers softly. you look at him. his dark raven locks frame his diamond cut face, the churning wood of the flames reflecting the depth of his stormy gray irises.

'are you sure?' you question back. he nods his head curtly before his pinky finger intertwines with yours. he smiles, his hollow cheeks spreading as you interlock your hands. his hand is the same as you could remember, rough, calloused and warm. you feel his body grow stiff at the contact and you try to pry your palm away but he holds it firmer. he holds your hand firm, slowly melting by your touch. he doesn't say anything, and neither do you.

you charm a flower on his ear, tucking his messy curls behind his ear. you smile noticing the crinkles of his eyes when he smiles, leaning into your touch. his nose scrunches and you think, he looks majestic.

it's a storm outside. however when he leans his head on your shoulder, the storm simmers away. it's warm inside as the both of your hearts burn with love for each other.

'i love you dove,' he whispers.

[oneshotnewbie]

how about an addison montgomery x reader and finding out reader has abusive parents thanks!!!!!

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of abusive parents. This plot is presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

The bright sun shone through the large windows of the waiting room at Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital as you paced nervously in the waiting room. The thought of the upcoming check-up with Dr. Addison Montgomery made your heart beat faster even though you repeated this year after year. Despite your fears, you knew it was important to get regular checkups, especially after you noticed some unusual symptoms.

When you were finally called, you followed the nurse through the corridors of the gynecological clinic until you finally stood in front of the door to the treatment room. Once inside, Dr. Montgomery greeted you with a warm smile. "Welcome back, y/n. How are you today?"

You forced a smile, concern for your health and life's obstacles overshadowing your usual demeanor. "Thanks, I'm feeling okay so far. I'm here for a checkup because I've noticed a few symptoms that are worrying me."

Addison nodded understandingly and asked you to take a seat. However, as she began to ask the usual questions, she immediately noticed that something was wrong. Your posture was stiff, your answers were short, and you seemed uncomfortable. Quite the opposite from the last times she had seen you. "Can you tell me about the symptoms you've been noticing lately?" She asked softly and you hesitated for a moment before answering. "Well, I have unusual pulling and pressure in my abdomen. I feel very tired in general but I think that's probably just normal."

The redhead frowned slightly as she began to do the examination. When she gestured with her hand to ask you to sit on the exam chair, you flinched and promptly avoided making eye contact with her. "I´m sorry..." you simply interjected and as you continued to sit on the chair, Addison felt an inexplicable restlessness arise within her.

She watched you carefully as she took swabs and checked to see what was going on. As she did so, she recognized subtle signs of fear and insecurity manifesting in your behavior that she had never seen in you before. It was as if there was something in the air, something unspoken, standing between them and demanding their attention. She could practically feel the tension surrounding you, and her instincts told her that there was more going on here than what seemed like a checkup.

After she had also completed an ultrasound on you, Addison sat down on the lounger next to you and quickly decided to ask carefully. "I want to be honest with you. I noticed some signs during the exams that could indicate something might be wrong. I think it might be helpful if you talked about it." She murmured questioningly, placing a soothing hand on your thigh, making you jump at the touch as well.

You looked at her in surprise, your eyes fixed on her with relief. But only hesitantly did you begin to talk about your concerns, which went far beyond the physical symptoms. "Promise you won't tell anyone?" The person you spoke to nodded at you, giving you time to express yourself. She sensed that there was more here than your body had yet revealed, and she wanted to give you the opportunity to open up when you were ready. "I'm your doctor, y/n. Everything you tell me is confidential."

You swallowed hard before finally finding the courage to say the words you had suppressed for so long. "It's my father," you began hesitantly and the gynecologist listened attentively without interrupting. "Since the pandemic and losing his job, he's... he's not exactly... friendly to me."

The reticence and fear had crumbled as you revealed the truth about your home situation to her. You confessed to the constant insults, humiliation and physical abuse you endured from your father and Addison continued to listen intently, offering you an empathetic embrace of comfort and support as you revealed the painful details of your abuse.

When you finished, an oppressive silence fell across the room. Addison felt the weight of your words on her own shoulders. She felt powerless in the face of the suffering you had to endure at such a young age, an inner anger boiling up towards your parents and at the same time a burning desire deep inside her to help you. "Thank you, y/n, for trusting me," she finally spoke in a quiet voice and rubbed your shoulder reassuringly. This time you didn't flinch. "What has been done to you and continues to happen to you is unacceptable and you deserve to be safe and protected. I will do everything in my power to help you get out of this situation."

The shock of what she had heard was deep within her, but she forced herself to remain calm and empathetic. Her first priority was to reassure you that you were safe and that she would help you. She hugged you gently and held you close to her, giving your tears a place to disappear. "Please believe me when I say that you are safe here," she began to speak to you calmly. "No one will hurt you in front of me and if it happens again, you come straight to me, okay?"

You lowered your gaze, tears glistening in your eyes as you let yourself fall into her embrace, feeling the instant warmth and comfort she offered you. For a moment you felt safe, surrounded by the care of this remarkable woman who was willing to stand up for you. “Thank you, Dr. Montgomery,” you whispered, your voice shaking. "It means so much to me to know I'm not alone."

Addison smiled softly and rubbed your back. "From now on it's Addison. I think we're past the formal part. And of course, I'll help you through the difficult times, and I'll be by your side as long as you need me."

At that moment, you knew you had made the right decision to reach out to her. You felt strengthened by her words and beneath all the vulnerability you showed there was also a spark of hope. Hope that you weren't alone, that there were people who cared about you and were ready to help you when you needed it. You felt relieved that you had confided in someone, and Addison promised to support you every step of the way, whether through further testing, therapy, or any other form of police or court help you needed.

As you left the office, you felt a little more confident with her personal phone number and address. Addison Montgomery, who promised to protect you if your father became abusive again and you needed a place to stay. You knew that from now on you were no longer alone but had found an ally in her in the fight against the darkness that surrounded you.

ᕚ---ᕘ

In the weeks that followed, Addison Montgomery and you developed a deep bond that went beyond the boundaries of an ordinary doctor-patient relationship. She had given you her personal address and phone number in case you ever had to run away from home and didn't know where to go. The gesture of care had touched you deeply and shown you that you were not just a patient, but now also had a friendship that you could rely on.

The conversations between the two of you became more and more open and intimate as you worked together to come up with a plan to get yourself out of the dangerous situation you found yourself in. And one Saturday morning, after you had escaped from your father's attacks and came to her, Addison offered to take you in and give you a safe haven, away from your parents' abuse and humiliation.

At first you were unsure whether you should accept the offer. The fear of the unknown, the worry of the consequences, and the fear of becoming too much for Addison held you back. But in the end, your trust, the hope for a better life and the love that she conveyed to you every day prevailed.

At midnight on that same warm spring night, you packed your few belongings and made your way to Addison's house. As you opened the door, a feeling of relief and freedom washed over you. The redhead welcomed you with open arms and a warm, loving smile that showed you that you were finally safe and that she would never let anything happen to you again.

Over the coming weeks and months, you began to settle into your new home, helping Addison with Henry while she was at work. Under her loving care, you slowly blossomed, gained self-confidence, and finally found the courage to leave your past behind you.

Addison supported you every step of the way in your healing, whether it was through therapeutic conversations, medical care, or just her unconditional love and support. Together you went through ups and downs, but you always stood by each other, determined to overcome the darkness together and step into the light of a better future. Your connection was strong, characterized by mutual respect, trust and love and you knew that you would be connected forever.

[namjooningelsewhere]

War Of The Hearts: #9

✽Pairing - OT7 x reader (DJ) and OT7 x Lily

✽Word Count - 7.8k

✽Ratings - 18+

✽Genre(s) - Mafia Au, Angst , Fluff, mentions of smut.

✽Trigger Warnings - Mentions of Death, Mentions of Trauma , minor alcohol consumption, mentions of torture and shootouts and mentions of bloodshed, Mentions of Drugs, Attempted Murder, A little manipulative behavior, A shootout, a lot of cursing, There is a little bit of torture in here so please please avoid this if this triggers you in any way.

✽Summary - You’ve been lurking in the shadows, protecting the seven of Bangtan even if it means you must give your own life. After all, that’s what you do when you are in love with someone irrevocably. That pain seems to be minuscule in light of their safety. But it was never about you, for all you are is a speck of dust in the universe they have created for them and their girlfriend. Your heart’s at war, but it’s fine, you can smile through the pain as long as it means they smile- for her.

✽A/N : Hello Everyone! I apologise I couldn't post the last time due to some circumstances and I literally couldn't find any time to get on Tumblr after the post. The 9th part is here now, And I hope you guys like it, And also my apologies if you find the writing a little over the place, Ive been in a slump with writing since a year and this is my honest attempt to get out of it. I would love it if you let me know what you think about it.

✽Taglist: @brimal @2ne1unni @shatzkrinslinzki @zae007live, @gukieater @tinyoonsblog @skylievin @2ne1unni @lovelgirl22 @euphakid @embrace-themagic @didi-9310 @loisje123 @iamhereforbts @silscintilla @2ne1unni @rp171198 @aboredboredboreduniverse @blaaiissee @top-crop @sa7kou @chhungi-bawihtlung @aquariushoesss @definitelythinkimanalien

7mer @babycoffeefire @emoskytime8 @hob3yw0rld@motivatedprocastinator @speedyqueendaze @sugajinny @thereaderwholovesyou @btspurplesky @skz-jeha @theestrangeddreamer @success1009 @militrybarbi @afangirllikeme-blog @celestialentitiesss @daydreambrliever @bibebts @dreamamubarak @kimsaerom @sa7kou @veronawrites @bt21chim @cutiepat @jooniebub @shadowyjellyfishfest @mageprincess7 @jiminbolala @impossibilitydesign @xtayxx​ @ cherryluvhobi @knjsbae @intoomanyfandoms15 @foreverddaeng

✽Part Eight - Here

✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽

You chuckled at hearing a gasp from the Bratva’s side, Your request was very unusual for him. You knew that. You were sure he wouldn't be able to fathom why exactly you wanted Zakharov to visit you in Korea.         

“Bratva, we will speak when you get here. Right now all I am requesting is your presence here. Rest assured, This is going to be one hell of a trip.” Bratva obliged your request right away without questioning further. You looked at the men standing in the room looking at you with an expression that spelled curiosity all over their faces.

“They have agreed to come, Bratva will let me know sometime tomorrow when exactly they can come.” 

“You're in for a treat.” Borris looks at Jimin helplessly when he hears Jimin mock him. You shrug your shoulders when Borris looks at you expecting him to help him. He should have thought of that before they plotted against you and the Bangtan men. These were nothing but consequences of their actions.

If they didn't feel bad before using and treating you as a scapegoat, Then why the hell should you?

“What do we do now?” You take a moment to answer Taehyung’s question. How were you supposed to go from here? 

“Let's move him to my house, Mikhail will be taken care of by my men.” Nobody speaks up against your decision, Except for Borris. Who of course has a lot of comments to make. You ignore the pleas of the man and ask your men to take him to your house. You needed to keep a strict eye on the man lest there should be any other unexpected events. Should there be one?

It takes a little while after a screaming Borris is escorted out of the room, You take a minute to calm down. The way Borris kept screaming gave you a headache and you really didn't want to hear the voice of that man for some time. You needed some silence.

You sit in the room with the other men who seemed too quiet, Nobody spoke anything. They were all just sitting there. Some look at their hands entwined in their laps, The others look at the furniture in the room as if it were in some museum. These feelings sometimes were so difficult to express, That you had no idea what to do about it. You all had been played, and manipulated by Lily. And right now neither you nor the boys knew where you would go from here. “It's getting late, We should leave.” Everyone looked at Namjoon with somewhat of an expression of relief, The awkward atmosphere was getting too much to bear.

“I don't want to be anywhere near Lily right now.” Everyone seemed to agree with Yoongi. You looked at the seven men with a puzzled expression. Lily did not know they knew, And you did not have the slightest clue yourself of how the boys were going to face her, Let alone you.

“I think me and Namjoon will go to our house with Lily, The rest of you stay with DJ at her place.” Namjoon gave Jin a questioning look but did not speak. The older male seemed to gesture at something which did not make him question anything anymore.

“Boss, do you want us to come with you?”

“No, I guess let's call it a day. You guys have had enough for today as well.” The two men nodded and left first. You bid farewell to the two men who left for their house. You could feel the tension thick in the air but there was very little that you could do about it. You had no words to express the pain that you yourself felt when you saw the pain on the seven men's faces. They were feeling so many things at the same time, Yet there was barely anything that these men could do about it.

“Namjoon..” You pulled Namjoon into a hug when he looked back the moment you called him. His hands tightened around your waist and you just wished he could feel what you wanted to convey.

“It will be alright.” You feel his head nodding in a yes, You take a deep breath inhaling his scent, Which provides a sense of comfort. You let him go after a second, He gave you a weak smile and proceeded towards his car. You followed the five men to your respective cars to leave for your house.

The house seemed dead silent when both Jin and Namjoon walked in, The men wordlessly walked towards Lily’s room. She was still sleeping peacefully and totally unaware of her surroundings.

Jin took a seat near her and switched on the lights on the light side. The dimly lit room hid their tears very well. The soft light illuminated only the face of the woman they had come to love all these years, They couldn't have thought in their wildest dreams of the dark secret the woman was hiding.

Namjoon stroked Lily’s head softly, His fingers caressing her forehead in a way where a little force could break her. He let out a sigh and looked at Jin who had an equally gloomy expression on his face. The two men spent a good minute just looking at Lily, who looked like she was having the best sleep after a hard working day.

“You remember the first day we met her? She looked like she was seconds away from ripping your hair out?” Namjoon chuckled at that fond memory. For the first time ever in his life, he had someone walk up to him and yell at him. With every word she spoke, Namjoon kept controlling his laughter which ultimately came off the minute she took a pause. She still remembered the bewildered expression that came over Lily’s face when she saw them laughing his head off. The smile that came on her face after snatching his breath instantly threw him out of the laughing fit. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed too was enough to have him swooning.

“I remember it clearly just like it happened yesterday. That smile was lethal.” Jin let out a small laugh at Namjoon’s mention, His first memory of Lily resembling something of Namjoon. He still remembered the way he had dragged Namjoon to see who she was. 

“Who knew she was hiding so many things.” 

“Never knew she could do something like this to us.” Namjoon withdraws his hands and stands up making his way to the window, The dark night looks better than the darkness inside him. His brain wanted to kill the woman who had used him and was probably very close to betraying him. But his heart kept refuting everything he had heard. Namjoon let out a frustrated scream and punched his hand on the window hard, shattering the glass into pieces.

“Are you fucking out of your mind? Show me.” Jin looked at the younger’s hand in pure despair, The shards of glass sticking to his knuckles made him bleed profusely.

“I will kill you if you do that shit again, il back in a second.” Jin rushed out of the bedroom to bring the first aid kit while Namjoon dejectedly took a seat on the chair placed right in front of Lily.

Jin froze in his steps and Namjoon suddenly stopped him with his hand. He got up and knelt down in front of Lily who was letting out small groans. She was waking up. Jin pulled Namjoon back and made him sit.

“I don't care if she is waking up, Sit down. Let's have a look at this first.” Jin’s stern expression got Namjoon sitting down like a small kid who was threatened with being grounded. Jin let small curses when Namjoon winced in pain and right at that moment he was thankful that he had the rest of them by his side. At Least they weren't going anywhere. They would always be by his side.

“DJ….” Jin paused his administration on Namjoon’s hand the second he heard your name, Really? She had the audacity to set you up and then utter your name like you were in some kind of distress. Namjoon tried getting up but Jin’s strong grip on his thighs didn't allow him to do so. 

“Funny isn't it, How she is the one who was setting up DJ, and hers is the first name she took when she's waking up.” Jin's grip didn't allow Namjoon to budge. The man could be as stubborn as a mule and nobody could do anything about it. 

“I wonder what she remembers.” Namjoon quickly shushed him, pointing a finger at the woman. Jin and Namjoon concentrated on the woman's movements which kept getting more restless and your name which kept coming out of her mouth like a mantra. Her movements signaled the men that she would be waking up any minute.

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“Namjoon.--

“Don't wake up, Just lay back down.” Namjoon placed her head back on the pillow, While Jin ran to fetch a glass of water. 

“Where is Dj?” Namjoon placed his finger on her lips trying his best to not shake her up and slap her for what she tried to do. 

“She's safe. You should get some rest.” He stroked her forehead and the woman fell back asleep. Jin gently held her head and helped her drink some water. Even before she could take two sips Jin popped the question he had been dying to ask her, What did she remember? The water spluttered out of Lily’s mouth and she began coughing violently. Namjoon gave a stern look to Jin while he rubbed her back, Jin just gave a blank expression. Maybe he knew what was about to go down. His mind wanted to see the extent she would lie, but his heart secretly wished that somehow magically she wouldn't have anything to do with all this.

Lily’s huge sobs brought Jin out of his thoughts and the little hope that was peeking its head inside his heart went away in an instant.

“He had his gun here, Right on my head.”Lily wept in Namjoon’s arms and the latter just stopped himself from giving her a piece of his mind.

“Sweetie, did you know who they were? Why were they after you?”

“I don't remember anything, They hit me so hard on the head. Maybe they wanted to hurt you guys and meant to use me like a pawn.” Jin clenched his teeth in rage, Really is this how this woman had been lying to their face all these years? What else had she lied about?

“Namjoon, Jin. I am too tired and weak right now. I want to sleep.” The two men placed her head on the pillow back again and pulled the comforter on her. 

“Sleep here with me please, I don't want to be alone.” The two men obliged unwillingly, What could they have given to not be there with her right now. For the first time ever, They did not want to be there by her side. They had the urge to run miles away from her, But there was so much to know and so much left to unveil, They had to play along.

Lily relaxed a little after she had the two men sleeping next to her side, She snuggled into Namjoons chest and prayed silently that everything was right at the place that it was supposed to be. For the life of her, she couldn't remember a single thing no matter what. While she decided to rest and hope that everything was fine, the two men stayed awake next to her, hating every second of it. This was going to be one hell of a long night. 

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You sat in front of the two men that had been locked in the basement, Your men stood guard outside ready to blow the heads of the two captive men if they tried something. Mikhail kept drifting in and out of consciousness while Borris sat terrified and roped to the chair. His eyes kept moving towards Mikhail and the fear of having the same fate as him and that fear in his eyes gave you a sick level of satisfaction.

“Why can't you just let us go?” You did not dignify Borris’s question with an answer,  You were not even sure anymore what were you even supposed to say to him? These guys came into your life from nowhere and turned it worse than up and down, for their own selfish needs. Tried to pawn you off like you belonged to them or some toy that they had bought. Lily should be thankful you still had not laid your hands on her.

“Will you say something?” Borris bought his voice several notches down, Still not sure of what you would do lest he pissed you off. Mikhail was right next to me, probably wishing he was dead. 

“If I hear one more word out of your mouth, Those worms from his thigh will be in your eyes.” Borris shrieked loud enough to induce another headache, One movement of your leg was enough to have the man apologizing profusely. 

You kept sitting in front of the two men, This time in peace. The entire day kept flashing in front of you like a film, The one you wouldn't even want to have a dream of. You had to plan ahead, Starting from Choi first. The bastard had answers to give.

“You had a long day, You should get some sleep.” You turn around to see Yoongi leaning on the door, His arms crossed and a blank expression on his face. 

“So did you.” 

“Just get up already, It's getting late.” You do not argue with him and get up and start walking with him. You had no energy whatsoever to have another argument with anyone. 

The men had taken their picks from their room as soon as they had walked inside your house, Nobody said anything. You didn't either. Everyone needed some silence to reflect on what they had gone through that day. You had walked straight to the basement to check the captive rats in your house. 

You and Yoongi just kept walking up the stairs, An inexpressible silence engulfing both of you. Maybe you just didn't need words, You didn't know for him but somehow deep down inside you were glad that you were not alone. “Mind if I stay here tonight?” Your hands paused for a fraction of a second before you silently nodded and the man followed you inside. 

“Make yourself comfortable, I'll just wash up.” You didn't wait for his reply as you went towards your bathroom and the said man made himself comfortable on the right side of the bed.

“Can't sleep?” 

“Yoongi?” You touched his shoulder lightly to which he flinched, You stepped back in surprise and placed your hands in the front where he could see them. He had to be too deep in thought for a light touch to be startling him like that.

“I'm sorry, I'm just….”

“No it's okay, I mean are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I'm okay—-

“Are you really?”

“No, I'm not. Hell, I'm not remotely okay. What the hell happened today?”

“I know its a lot to take in—-

“We loved her, you know? Like really really loved her. I don't think I've loved any other woman as much as I have loved her.” Your heart broke at the way he was speaking about Lily with so much pain. All of you were in the same boat, to be honest, You loved Bangtan, Bangtan loved Lily, Lily loved Borris and she didn't give two fucks about who she hurt in the process.

You were all part of a terrible terrible mess, And none of you could do anything about it. “Trust me, I understand how you all must be feeling right now.” Yoongi was visibly at a loss of words, You could see that. You quickly mumbled a quick sorry and switched off the lights to avoid any kind of awkward atmosphere. You had enough of it already.

“DJ…….”

“Hmm?”

“I am sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“I know we didn't know, And we couldn't help how you felt. But now I truly know how it feels when that person you love is not yours.” A tear rolled down your eyes, Though the scenarios were entirely different, but just him at that moment acknowledging that feeling gave you a different strength. They were not at fault, But just the mere thought of someone deeply understanding how and what you've been through healed something. Maybe you were being selfish, But at that moment you didn't give a damn about anything. 

You stayed in the same position facing away from the wall and Yoongi sat up, Leaning on the headboard. None of you said anything anymore. There was a very scarce chance that you would have gotten any sleep considering the way the day had unfolded. You made a feeble attempt to convince yourself that the lack of sleep came from the day you had, And had nothing to do with the man beside you who was already deeply heartbroken. 

You turned towards Yoongi, unable to resist the temptation. A part of you just wanted to pull him in a hug and hold him tight enough to make his pain disappear. Your heart broke into a million pieces looking at Yoongi staring at the wall with a blank expression on his face. 

A knock on your door brought you out of your thoughts, but Yoongi still remained the same. It looked like he didn't even hear it. You touch his hand lightly but upon receiving no response you let the man be and decide to open the door yourself. 

“Can I sleep here?” You make way for Taehyung, who stills for a second when he sees Yoongi on the bed. He quietly sleeps in the middle and places Yoongi’s hand on his chest. Yoongi looks at the younger male in surprise but does not react. You stand still for a minute looking at the scene in front of you. How you wish you had Jeh here. Just his being there made everything so much better.

“Are you going to sleep or what?” 

“Yeah I was going to—- 

“Then come.”

Taehyung’s hand snaked around your waist and you felt a strange sense of comfort. It was kind of a day where you wouldn't choose to be alone. You closed your eyes waiting for sleep to overcome everything you had been through today. You drifted off to light sleep, You ignored any moment that somehow kept happening beside you, Some sleep was all you wanted.

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You opened your eyes to the biggest surprise you had in some time. You could call it a good surprise but it was still a surprise. You were three people when you had slept but you were now waking up to a total of six of them excluding you in your bed. You did not have even the slightest clue when Jimin, Hobi, Jungkook had joined Yoongi, Taehyung, and you on your bed that was meant for two, a Maximum of three and a half. 

You carefully crept out of the bed, making sure not to make any noise because you had no idea when these men had managed to have some sleep. You walked down the steps making up your mind about if you should have woken those guys or if you should just leave them sleeping. You decide the latter and start thinking of the strongest coffee that you would need to make to help with your day better.

You had already made up your mind about half of the things that you had to do today, Choi was on top of it. You could swear you would make him regret coming behind you. 

You park your car in the private parking in the public administrator's building that Choi’s office was in. You make your way to the private entrance of the building which was specifically reserved for the VIP’s visiting the officials. The offices were quite exquisite considering they had special arrangements for the VIPs who didn't want to be seen when they visited the premises and every one of them had a special access card that let them access the building when they needed to.

You take the elevator and land on the floor Choi was located on, The waiting area was absolutely empty apart from the reception.

“Hi, Do you have an appointment?”

“No, But Mr.Choi knows me. Can you inform him of my presence?” The receptionist gauges your calm and collected face for a second and picks up the receiver. You were in half mind if the bastard would see you upon unannounced notice but you had other ways as well.

“I'm sorry but he is a little occupied at the moment, I can pencil you down for some time this week?” You laughed at the weak attempt he made to avoid you. 

“Is he now? Don't worry, that won't be necessary. He will see me in a minute” You send the picture that you had clicked of Mikhail on your phone and look at the camera with a smirk, You knew he was watching you. Ten seconds later the telephone rings and the puzzled receptionist guides you into his office.

“What the hell do you want, I don't know this man?” You laugh at the way the old man didn't bother giving it a minute, You walk towards the couch he was sitting on with a smile that was calm enough to boil his blood. 

“I didn't ask you anything old man, Why don't you give it a minute?”

“DJ, don't think you can fool me with your antics, I'm not bothered.” You let out a laugh listening to his statement, Really? And yet he had let you see him within ten seconds. Ten seconds was all it took you to break that disgusting piece of shit. 

“Okay let me take this picture to the circle then, Let them decide.” You get up and walk towards the door sure of the thing that this time was not your exit, The bastard had too much on the line.

“Wait—-

“You remember now?” 

“Just come back here.”

“Don't leave out a thing, Or else this man is going to be the reason why you will see your own end.”

“He came here because he wanted revenge because you wiped out his family.” 

“And”

“I gave him an idea that he should take down everything you love before you die, And that includes Bangtan.” Now this rang an alarm in your head, Why? Why would he want to go after Bangtan?

“And how did you get in touch with him?”

“You think only you know the people in the Russian mob? I knew it from the day you bought his father here, I tracked him down and led him here indirectly and when he was here I just helped him figure out the details. Since we had the same motives he readily obliged.” You were stunned by the information that the old man had just blurted out, You were still puzzled by how he had planned to use something that didn't involve him in the first place. 

“Why Bangtan?”

“I wanted them all gone.”

“Why?”

“Senior Jung was considering Namjoon to be the head of the circle.” Now this was something that you had no information about. The thought of Choi doing something like this only to eliminate the Bangtan because one of them was supposed to be the next head. You swore you would show him the consequences of it. 

“You did all this because you wanted that position for—

“My son.” He uttered the words rather feebly, Your expression darkened considerably, How stupid was this man that he had chosen to execute all this, and for what. The circle would anyways not have accepted his son, That brat was hopeless. 

You were furious about everything that had been happening in your life, You wanted to bury Lily deep in thorns, This was all because of her, She put you in a mess that was a literal swamp, the more you tried to get out, the deeper you kept going. 

You saw an expression of fear and confusion on Choi’s face. He didn't anticipate you reaching the root of his conspiracy, And probably wondered how you even managed to do this? 

You kept pacing behind his couch, half in a mind to strangle this bastard and chop his head off. You decided the former is a better option. You quietly picked the tie hanging in his coat stand, while the poor guy kept trying to look back trying to gauge your next move.

“Next time I see you playing such dirty tricks on me or either of the men in Bangtan I will make sure you regret the day you were born.” The old man struggled for a breath as you tightened the tie around his neck. How you wished you could choke the life out of this scum.

“I swear I won't” The old man managed to speak a few words in a matter of few seconds, You threw the tie away in disgust and walked out before you ended up killing him for real.

You walk out of the Choi office in a mixed sea of emotions, Anger, despair, and sadness. Those emotions just kept coming back, They kept getting washed to the shore in intervals leaving you in confusion about the way to deal with them.

You kept driving through the roads aimlessly trying to get a hold of your thoughts, You had invited Bratva and Lily’s ex-husband to Korea, That mere thought of Lily’s face when she would see them gave you another wave of sick satisfaction. Even though you were involved in a business that was not legal, and was deeply rooted in blood and conspiracies you never derived any satisfaction that soothed you to the bones, But ever since you knew about Lily’s intentions and her lies there was an evil satisfaction that coursed through your veins. 

The ringing of your phone brought you back to reality from your self-introspection. Seeing Bratva's name on the screen, You hurriedly park your car on the side and with a deep breath click on the answer.  

“DJ” Bratva’s heavy voice booms through the speakers sending a little shiver down your spine even though there was no reason to. 

“Bratva, How are you?” 

“I am good, But something tells me you are not okay, doc.” You almost feel your tears trying to escape through your eyes but you try to keep them in. At that moment you miss Jeh. You had only him in your life who could just by looking at your face, Could tell something was wrong with you. 

“Doch—

“Yeah Bratva, I am right here. Tell me”

“You tell me DJ, What has happened? Something doesn't feel right.”

“Before I tell you what has happened, You will be coming to Korea right?”

“Of Course, we are, What makes you think that I won't come if you call me? We will be there in a week, Zakharov is a little occupied right now. But we will be there for sure.” You smile at the remark reminiscing how you and Bratva had met versus the fondness in his voice right now.

“That's not a problem Bratva, I don't want to inconvenience you in any way— “That's nonsense, Do you want to tell me what happened?”

You narrate the entire event from the time you got back from Russia to Bratva and he listens to you with a stoic expression. The only way you can make the anger emanating from him is the stiffness of his expression and the clenching of his jaw. 

“That bitch” 

“I swear—

“I swear I will kill her when I lay my hands on her—

“Bratva, There is no joy in killing her, I have better plans for her.”

“You mean?” You chuckle at the way Bratva’s face lights up when you say you have a special plan for her, You always felt that this particular idea of putting someone in deep suffering would be ten times gruesome than killing the person and giving them an easy way out, And it was time that Lily tasted this special expertise of yours.

“Bratva, Let me get back to you for the details but for now know that she is in for a treat.” You hear Bratva’s booming laugh and that breaks a smile on your face.

She was indeed in for a treat.

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You open the door cautiously to your home and are immediately greeted by the loud voices in the living room. You could tell from a distance that all seven of them were present in your home right now. You stop at the door and contemplate for a minute whether you should go inside, But then you drive the idea away, This was your fucking house. 

The confusion was about your equation with the men of Bangtan, This was evolving with the speed of light. One day you were mere acquaintances, The next you were supposedly dating, The next you were friends, and now? That was a question you had no answer to.

The room quietens a bit when you enter the room. The sounds that you had been hearing somewhat gave you a hint that they were being joyous about something. 

“Did I miss something?” 

“DJ you won't believe what has happened.” Taehyung pulls you right into the middle of the room and in extremely close proximity to Namjoon, Who you were sure was the source of the good news because the smile on his face was something different than usual.

You were happy and a little relieved to see the boys joyous, Considering how their hearts had been broken and shattered yesterday.

“What happened?’’

“Well Namjoon is the new head of the circle, And that too starting next week. Can you even believe that?” You were genuinely happy for him, Namjoon truly deserved to be the next head, At Least with him being the decision maker, You could breathe in a sigh of relief some of the old traditions needed to be sent packing. With Namjoon, You were sure he would be doing great.

“Congratulations Namjooon, I am so happy for you.” You see a faint dimple appearing on his cheeks right before you experience another shock, He pulls you right into a hug and mumbles a thank you in your hair, You literally felt every syllable of it.

You lose track of how fast your heart starts beating once the woody scent of his perfume engulfs you in its serenity. You remain in his hold for a second, when you pull yourself out of his hold before you lose yourself.

“It's good to see you guys happy.” The boys visibly tense at your remarks but their expressions remain a little on the softer side. 

“It's not like we have an option.”

“Forget that, I think we should go out for dinner or something, I am still sick from yesterday.”

“And—--

“She doesn't need to know, DJ dress up. We leave in fifteen, Max twenty.”

“Wait—--

“Dress up please” Jimin pushes you towards the stairs and you give up on your effort to ask them about Lily. It was definitely strange the way Namjooon said she didn't need to know.

You stand under the shower thinking about everything again and suddenly an idea lights up your face. Namjoon had one week before he had to begin as the head of the circle, And there was also one week before Bratva and Zakharov arrived in Korea. A party would be the perfect opportunity to introduce the two parties to each other, And it would also be a perfect opportunity to stand by and watch the magic unfold.

You hum a happy song walk out of the shower in your towel and stand in front of the mirror before you can spritz some perfume the door to your room bursts open and Jimin and Jungkook come barreling in, You stand shocked to see the two men rooted to their spots with their eyes open.

You clear your throat and gesture towards the door but it looks like it barely registered with them. 

“Out, The door is right behind you.” You try to speak a little louder, hopeful of getting through to them, And before you know it the guys scramble out of the room. You would have to double-check if you locked your room the next time.

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“I wanted to speak to you guys about something.” The boys pause their talks and divert their attention to you. You glance around before you begin to make sure you have everybody’s attention.

“I want to throw a party–

“For? The way all of us have gotten fooled, For that?” You throw a stern glance at Yoongi who surprisingly stays quiet and motions you to go ahead.

“I want to throw a party for Namjoon. He's the new head of the circle and it's a perfect occasion to celebrate.”

“DJ, That is not really req—-

“I am going to invite Bratva and Zakharov to that party too.”

“I'll help with the guest list.” You are quite surprised with the fact that Yoongi and Hobi said that at once, You feel relieved to have the confirmation, Now you are free to plan the party and Lily’s downfall at the same time.

“I would like to see her face. That lying— Taehyung stops himself from uttering the next word. You could clearly see the pain on his face, But there was very little that you could do.

The dinner passes by in a jiffy, considering the excitement the guys had earlier had died down considerably after you mentioned the party and the special guests. But what had to be done, Had to be done. There was no choice.

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A loud banging on your door jolts you awake, You rush to the door fearing the worst consequences when The six guys excluding Jin come rushing into your room, You stand at the door with your eyes and mouth wide open wondering about the reason for this rushed visit.

“She's here, She here.” Jimin points at the door, And for you, it takes a second to register who she is.

“But why are you hiding?”

“We don't want to face her, Not right now.” The panic in the guy's faces tells you that this is not the time to reason with them. 

“Alright, Let me close the door.” But before you could close the door, Lily comes barging in, and before you could say anything she pulls you in for a hug.

“I have been so worried about you, Where were you, DJ? I was so worried they did something with you.” The grip that she had been tightening on you was suffocating you to no end, Her lies just didn't seem to end.

“She's fine, Don't worry.” Lily looked at Hobi with a shocked expression, It was evident that she didn't expect this reaction out of him. You clear your throat at the intervention and move behind Hobi to keep a safe distance from her. You could totally understand why the boys were running away from her, Only you knew how you were resisting the urge to strangle her right there.

“I am fine Lily, Don't worry. They didn't do anything to me. In fact, I was worried about you.”

You could see an uncomfortable expression surfacing on Lily's face but she hides it like a pro. You look at the guys who keep making weird attempts to avoid her by looking everywhere in the room except Lily herself. 

“Where were you all?”

“We, We have been a little busy.” 

“Yeah, He's right. We were busy, In fact very busy.” Taehyung tries to make it sound as if what he is saying is super important but his attempts just go in vain. The poor guy couldn't lie to save his life.

“Tae, are you trying to lie to me?” 

“Actually they're all really worried about us.” You quickly jump in to save Taehyung and the only way you could do that was by turning the tables.

“Us?”

“We are—?” You throw a stern look at Namjoon, Which ends up working on Yoongi too. You could see he was about to say something. 

“Yeah, So what I was saying was, You know how you were kidnapped? I mean both of us were kidnapped? They're wondering who did it, you know? And what could be the intention behind the kidnapping? “ You feel the same satisfaction when you feel Lily tensing after every question, It has definitely worked.

“You don't need to worry you guys, I am fine. Absolutely fine.” Lily tries stepping back to make an exit, But you step right behind her and block her way. You were not done with her yet.

“Do you remember anything from that day Lily?” You feel Lily tensing up even more, The fun is about to begin.

“I—---

“Try to remember Lily, The guys are really worried about you–

“And you.” 

“Sorry?”

“We were worried about you both, I meant.”

“So Lily, Babe, do you remember anything at all? Try to remember.” Jungkoook steals Lily from you places a hand on her shoulder and begins walking to the other guys. Turn by turn Lily passed around like a little doll, And you could see the way she was feeling deeply uncomfortable. A few minutes into the sweet interrogation, She would be sure to sweat.

“Namjoon, Baby I am not feeling too well. Can you take me home?”

“Actually baby, Jimin and Taehyung will take you home. I have a meeting.” 

“Hyung—

“Take Jungkook with you.”

“Hyung,” It was Jungkook's turn to whine, Lily looked at them with a very confused expression. This probably was the first time when the guys must have been avoiding taking her home. Generally from what you saw, It was actually the opposite.

“Go please.” Namjoons stern voice drives the four of them out of the room in a jiffy, You breathe a sigh of relief. The stress that these few minutes had brought was immense. 

“Close the door please.” 

“Sure” You close the door with a confused expression, "They were going to be sleeping here too?

“That's my side, Pick somewhere else.” The way Yoongi pushed Hobi, brought a smile on both your and Namjoon's faces. 

“I will sleep here, I mean Sit here.” Namjoon points towards the sofa on your right and you nod in a yes. You take your place on the bed and the rest of them settle on the bed. 

“Where’s Jin?” You ask, Remembering that you had not seen him after dinner.

“He's gone for a drive, He ran away the minute he saw Lily coming. You laugh the way Hobi scowls, You turn off the lights, and the minute your head hits the pillow you feel sleep taking over you in a minute. 

You wake up with some light ruffling on the side, You turn on the lights to see Jin trying to make some space on the bed, The way he was mumbling something clearly indicated that he was drunk. There were multiple bedrooms in the house and all these men could find was your room.

“Jin–

Your eyes widen when Jin stumbles to your side and kisses the top of your head. Good night, It takes him a few stumbles to reach back to the spot he made for himself. He sleeps on his stomach and passes out faster than a second.

You take a look at Namjoon who was fast asleep, But in an awkward position. You quickly bring the spare pillow adjust his head and decide to go back to sleep. It was indeed a long night.

You had enough time for planning a party, You started with the major things by scheduling details for Bratva’s travel. They had agreed to be in Korea the following week. The guys keep staying at your place and absolutely refuse to return to their homes. Lily without a doubt kept herself occupied, Your guess was probably she was trying to figure out the whereabouts of her boyfriend.

The boys kept waiting for the day when Lily and the special guests would arrive. You kept yourself busy with your work, Party arrangements, and some last-minute deliveries. 

The guys kept hovering around you for one reason or the other, From receiving zero attention from them to having their attention on yourself was overwhelming, to say the least, And you definitely had a problem with the fact that the attention doubled in front of Lily, It sometimes looked like they were doing it on purpose. But you avoided saying anything to them because given what was going on from the past couple of days, You didn't want to create any more drama. 

You tried keeping yourself as away as you could from the cold war that was happening, Lily sometimes tried to stay over and it would end up with everyone in your room.

You decided to ignore everything for the time being, Your sole focus was making the party a huge hit, One for establishing a good image for Namjoon, And mainly was the grand reveal.

The only good thing that kept you sane was your calls with Marco and Jeh. Though Jeh was still unconscious you still made it a point to talk to him at least thrice a day. Marco made sure he let you vent your heart out, You had no idea how you could ever thank god for these two. 

While it was long back that Marco and Jeh had been in Malaga, all of that felt like it was yesterday.

✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽

You walked around the hall greeting and speaking to guests with Namjoon, You had felt weird that Namjoon had asked you to be at his side at all times. You didn't say anything considering that it was a big day for him today. 

Lily kept greeting the other guests alone, you were sure it might have raised eyebrows but that was not something you were going to bother yourself with. You kept looking at your phone to check if Bratva and Zakharov had landed, You received a text message indicating that they had arrived safely, You felt your nerves starting to explode, The excitement, anxiety, and stress of everything had you gulping down flutes of champagne.

“You okay?” Namjoon asked as you finished your flute, You looked at him once and once at the door. There still wasn't any sign of the arrival of the guests.

“It's just the nerves.”

“Don't worry everything will be fine.” Namjoon holds your hand in a tight grip and that somewhat soothes the anxiety inside you.

You keep greeting the guests as they come, and when the beep sounds on your phone you breathe a sigh of relief, Bratva and Zakharov were here, And so were Mikhail and Borris. You had gotten both of them intentionally there, That was a twist you decided to throw in at the last minute. This was going to be epic.

Mikhail was obviously still in bad shape but you had made sure that he had been accommodated well in a wheelchair, And he was kept conscious deliberately to see how bad he had failed.

You kept doing rounds and once you were sure that all the invited people had arrived, You checked your phone for the latest update, And you saw a message from Jin. He had already taken Bratva and Zakharov with them backstage, Mikhail and Borris would be making a grand appearance with them.

The guys made sure Lily was with them once Bratva arrived, And turn by turn the guys wished you and Namjoon good luck.

You walk with Namjoon on the stage and take the mic to greet everyone, You and Namjoon keep arguing over who would introduce the special guests, But Namjoon ends up winning because apparently his vote came with seven other votes that refused to listen to anything. 

You saw the crowd waiting with a smile, It was finally happening. The nerves had calmed down considerably and you were more than okay to witness the spectacle.

“Hello Everyone! Thank You so much for attending today’s party, I am sure each one of you knows how much it means to us. It sure is a big day for Namjoon, Who is about to begin a wonderful tenure as the head of our circle. It is my greatest pleasure to be greeting you all and also host this special occasion. “ you ended the short note with a formal address to the crowd. You handed the mic to Namjoon who thanked everyone who attended the party. He held your hand when he was about to finish his speech, Indicating it was time.

“Now Ladies And Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to our very special guests who have arrived here from Russia specially on our invitation. Please give it up for our very dear Bratva and Vladimir Zakharov and their friends Mikhail and Borris.” 

The color drained from Lily’s face visibly and in a fraction of a second, you saw fear flashing on her face. You and Namjoon walked down from the dice, Yoongi and Hobi made sure that there was no way Lily escaped from their grip, Even though she tried hard to make excuses they didn't budge saying they had to introduce her to the special guests.

“Bratva, this is the other members of Bangtan, This is Yoongi, Taehyung, Hobi, Jimin, Jungkook, Jin and this is the most special member of the group, Lily.” The guys one by one exchanged pleasantries with Bratva and Zakharov, While Lily tried to maintain her composure the sweat on her forehead and the constant effort to free her hand from Yoongi said otherwise. Her expression changed drastically after Zakharov turned to her and took her other hand to place a kiss on the back of her hand.

“Hello Ms.Lily, Or should I say My wife?”

[kinardsevan]

BuckTommy/911 fic masterlist

as promised, here is your master list for everything I've written so far (and will continue to update as it changes):

(Divide added because this is getting kinda long now)

UPDATE: UNDER CONSTRUCTION - (this list is getting fairly long, so it may grow in to separate pages as I work on it in the coming days/weeks)

The Song Lyric Series:

Just as the title suggests, these have mostly been lyrically driven. The intention is for them to remain looser than a story, but so far it's been the same plot. (subject to change)

what if there's a little boy that needs a safe place :

Chapters: 1 Rating: M Warnings: n/a

“I’m sorry Evan,” Tommy stated genuinely as he watched Evan drop his towel and then redress. “I honestly don’t know what to say.” Evan huffed, unable to hold all the feelings in any longer. Everything felt so tight—his chest, his throat, his stomach. He couldn’t keep it all buried inside against Tommy’s lack of an answer. OR. The one in which Evan is not okay with a drunk rando flirting with his very beasty, very sexy boyfriend and it leads to professions of love.

they all led me to him (he's one of the good ones:

“I might’ve mentioned fucking you properly earlier this evening,” Tommy says, and even in the midst of wanting the older man to tear his body apart, Evan knows that this moment is as serious for Tommy as it was for Evan earlier. “Yeah,” Buck rasps, unable to stop himself from grinding his hips against Tommy. “Please do so.” “I’m not going to,” Tommy replies softly. OR. Tommy wants Evan to understand just how in love with him he is. Chapters: 1 Rating: E Warnings: n/a

i'll be here (and you can lay by my side) :

Chapters: 2/? Rating: E Warnings: graphic depictions of violence

When Tommy has to look back on this weekend in the years that come to pass, he won’t have the words to express how things went from so right, to so wrong. He’ll struggle to even find a way to comprehend the trauma inflicted by having his soul shredded right in front of his face and absolutely unable to prevent it. And at its worst, he won’t even have words to explain it all. OR. part 3.

Multi-Chapter Stories

your arson's match, my somber smile (the love of my life): Chapters: 4/? Rating: n/a (subject to change) Warnings: graphic depictions of violence

In that moment, the nanosecond in which he had crystal clarity, only one thing mattered to him. As his feet finally slipped out from under him, just before the warped metal came swinging down at another angle, he looked Bobby in the eyes. “Tell Tommy I love him.” And then the world was black.

guilty as sin (i choose you and me, religiously): Chapters: 1/2 Rating: T Warnings: n/a

Buck and Tommy's first kiss, as told through Tommy's POV.

Never Til Now (Rolling Up The Welcome Mat) Chapters: 5/? Rating: M (for themes) Warnings: n/a

"Maybe there’s something about tangibility, about holding the real thing versus just the idea of it, but it cracks something open in him that hasn’t existed in a long time. Because all of a sudden, he can’t imagine not having this. Not getting to see Evan like this, every day. And it’s barely been thirty seconds." - In March 2025, with plans to propose, Tommy realizes Evan wants kids. the problem is, Tommy doesn't. In November of the same year, in a happenstance exchange, he meets their baby girl. (OR, we take a trip through a dual timeline in which the idea and reality of having kids drives Evan and Tommy apart, and then brings them back together.)

The Devil Doesn't Bargain Chapters: 12/? Rating: E Warnings: Rape/Non-con, Self-harm, Suicidality (discussed and attempted), PTSD, Anxiety, ALL THE TRIGGER WARNINGS

Tommy Kinard lived a whole life before he walked into Evan Buckley's life, and it's not one that he's offered up much of so far. Until Evan starts asking questions. Trigger warnings for sexual assault, abuse, and so forth.

you're the only one (who ever gave a damn) Chapters 2/2 Rating: M (for themes and mild sexual content) Warnings: Rape/Non-con

“I um… I don’t know,” he admits softly. “C’mon, Tommy,” Eddie replies. “No, not like that,” Tommy says, looking back up at Eddie. “Not like I don’t have a real excuse. I don’t know like…like I really don’t know, Eddie. I was drunk. I remember being at the bar with you and the other guys, and joking about you and Evan sparring the next time we were going to train, and then…” He pauses, shakes his head. “Nothing. I woke up in a house I didn’t recognize.” Eddie stares at him, coffee cup in hand and mouth slack, and Tommy waits for the judgment to come. He’s fully prepared for Eddie to tell him what a dick he his for going home with some other guy and having drunken sex. But Eddie doesn’t speak. Eventually, he’s quiet so long that it makes Tommy uncomfortable. “Look, I know you’re over there judging me-..” Eddie blinks a few times, shaking out of his reverie as he lowers his coffee mug to the counter. “Tommy, man, that’s not cheating,” he states matter-of-factly.

a set of empty bones chapters: 9/? rating: E warnings: rape/non-con, graphic depictions of violence

“You’re not even paying attention right now,” he growls. “Look, Eddie,” Evan tries, lifting his hands up in surrender. Eddie’s eyes trail from his eyes down to his lips, his chest, and then back up at him, and Evan doesn’t like the way it feels. Something about the entire moment feels uncomfortable to him. Eddie sets the bowl on the counter and puts his hands on Evan’s ribs, pushing him back towards the fridge. “Eddie, man, what’re you doing,” Evan stammers nervously. BTHB: "you can scream all you want", lacerations, betrayal

Minis:

the rhythm of your heartbeat: Evan has night-terrors. Tommy has to contend with them.

you are the reason: post 709 buck/bobby conversation in which Buck makes it to Tommy's.

Connecting: 709 deleted scene. Evan is getting dressed before the medal ceremony, and Tommy's pretty sure he's going to make them late.

oceans deep, rivers wide: Evan has a realization after a work incident. Tommy concurs. burn it to the ground: Tommy knew the first time he kissed Evan Buckley he was burning his whole life to the ground.

for a thousand years (and a thousand more): In which Tommy tells Evan what it was like falling in love with him. 30 Day Fluff Challenge: Concept list found here

Prompt Minis: here

Others/Oneshots:

something stronger than me (i can hardly stand up, i can hardly breathe): Chapters: 1/1 Rating: E (for language) Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, TW: Self-harm, TW: Suicidal ideation

It had been years since he’d been down this low. At least, that’s how he’d been presenting it to others. But in the darkness of his apartment, where his boyfriend couldn’t see his legs because their schedules were conveniently not aligning ever since Gerrard’s arrival…his thighs were coated in fresh wounds.

The Saboteur: Chapters: 1/1 Rating: M (for language) Warnings: TW: homophobic language, TW: harrassment

Five times Tommy Kinard is faced with having to file a complaint against Vincent Gerrard, following his reinstatement at the 118.

take me to the other side Chapters: 1/1 Rating: E (for themes) Warnings: n/a

“So what’s on your mind,” Tommy asks him. “Are you imagining a specific scene? Or a particular want you’re thinking about?” “Not a scene, necessarily,” Evan says, twiddling his thumbs. He’s struggling to piece together the words in the right way to convey what he’s actually wanting. “Okay,” Tommy says, accepting his answer. When Evan doesn’t speak again right away, Tommy prompts him. “I want…?” Evan gulps. “I want…I-i want you to t-t-tie me up."

you're the only one (in the dark, i see) Chapters: 1/1 Ratings: T (for language) Warnings: n/a

He closes the door behind Tommy, his hand still resting on the handle for a beat as he stares at Tommy’s back. He wants answers, and if this is his last chance to get them, then God damn it, Evan’s going to get them. - Tommy breaks up with Evan after Gerrard's return to the 118. Evan is not okay with this decision.

BuckTommy Week 2024

Day 1, Date Night: Rating: General

clay wheels and no ghosting: Tommy and Evan attempt ceramics and talk about things.

Day 2, Emergency: Rating: M (suggestive language)

Under the Weather: Evan and Tommy fall ill

Day 3, Bad Weather Days Rating: M (Graphic Depictions of Violence) Chapters: 2/2 its hurting (but it ain't dead) : Tommy is pissed. No one called him to ask him if he was cool with this idea, and it really doesn’t matter to him in the moment that they didn’t actually have to. It was Evan. They had allowed his boyfriend to put himself in the line of fire without bothering to even ask if that was something he was alright with. He wasn’t even forewarned; just showed up to a scene where they’d been asked to send extra support in plain clothes. But if he’d known…oh, if he’d known…

[deathlooksgoodonyou-if]

FAQ

The long awaited faq is here! All your asked and unasked questions at one place! I was planning on posting this after releasing the demo but I realised things here can be a somewhat puzzling for new readers. Hence, here we are. I'll just keep updating this as we move forward.

Most of the questions I have received have been related to character dynamics haha.

Warning : this is super long.

The romance and character dynamics.

1. Are we romancing a ghost here?

No. Opportunities to romance Jules take place in the past. Some of them in the form of flashbacks. A few chapters will be dedicated solely in the past for a better understanding of MC and Jules' unhealthy relationship and what took place between them.

2. Why is a dead person an RO?

I have been hesitant of labelling Jules as full fledged RO since the beginning because they are well, dead, you know. Also, because their route is drastically different from what is typically expected. I have now settled for the term 'semi RO' since the MC can choose to never move on from Jules or healthily accept their death but choose to never settle for another person etc.

3. Is romancing Jules' necessary?

Not at all. But the MC will always be a close confidant of Jules. Other ros and characters' disposition towards you changes depending on your relationship with Jules. In fact, most routes— including Jules— are easier if the MC's relationship with Jules is solely platonic.

4. How do the character dynamics change?

That would be spoilers, but I can give you a few hints. Some ros would be hesitant of romancing the MC, most would feel insecure— especially if the MC seems hung up on Jules. MC can romance an ro, only to use them as a rebound. You can choose to go for the twin solely for the reason she is similar to Jules' in appearance and use her as an anchor.

5. How did Jules and MC's friendship/relationship develop?

You'll find out!

6. What was Dylan and Jules' relationship like?

Summarising it in one word— disastrous!

7. Do I have to care about Jules and be affected by their death?

The MC can be indifferent to anything regarding Jules' in the present but they will always be somewhat affected by their death. HOWEVER, you will get to choose why you were affected in the later chapters. There are plot reasons for that, trust me.

As for the past, the MC will be forced to care about Jules'. That is something which is set. Sorry about that. You can choose to change your disposition towards Jules after Dylan enters the picture.

8. So, warren has a crush on the MC. My MC is not into men. Can that somehow change?

No, sorry. Feelings are not something anyone can control but I can assure you Warren will never make a move on the MC (unless you trigger his romance route) because he would never want to put them in an uncomfortable position. He is a considerate friend of the MC before anything else.

There have been no romantic undertones in MC and Warren's friendship prior to the story taking place— despite of the MC being aware of his feelings. You can choose why.

I am planning on writing a serious conversation between warren and mc's who are not into men. But I don't want it to turn out too painfully awkward either. Although, even if it did, it would make sense and be in character but... I am not sure. I guess, we will have to see. I don't want to write something that will make my readers uncomfortable and be done with it. Maybe I will take advice from my audience.

9. What was Jules and MC's relationship?

The romance route is pretty messy and quite difficult to summarise in one word. A lot happens. Overall, romanced or not, it will be a unhealthy relationship.

10. Hold up. Then, why is Dylan Jules' ex?

Jules and MC met before Jules entered into a relationship with Dylan. There was undeniable tension that was never addressed :)

As for why Romanced!Jules dated Dylan— you'll find out in the demo (though not all their reasons are justifiable) You can choose to get jealous, take it as the biggest betrayal in history or immediately lose feelings for them.

11. I don't like Jules' romance route.

Please understand Jules is a very conflicted individual due to their upbringing and being with them can be difficult at times. If that is not your cup tea then Jules romance is simply not for you. Jules actions at times, may not make sense or be justifiable. Jules is not a good person; they can and will emotionally scar you. Getting involved with Jules is supposed to be traumatic. There is a reason why mc starts the story at such a low point. You can romance the very much alive ros and if none of them appeal to you then maybe— the romance in this story is not you. :<

12. I don't like [this] OR [this] is problematic.

I would like for you to consider if it is a personal preference or an issue in the writing. Some things are problematic on purpose. Especially, if you're romancing certain ros. :<

13. Regarding MC's disposition towards certain characters.

As it is evident from the intro post, the MC has a set view of some characters. That can, however, change from Episode One. You don't have to worry about this.

14. Are there any love triangles?

1. MC, Jules and Dylan.

2. Not revealing the characters involved because that would be spoilers. :)

15. Are there any Poly routes?

No, sorry. Most ros have beef with each other. Also, too many variables. This is my first time writing interactive fiction and I don't want to get too ambitious or overestimate myself. Maybe I'll give it a try in the future. I hope that's okay.

16. Do the ros experience jealousy? Can the MC get jealous?

Yes and yes.

17. Are there any explicit scenes?

Yes. At least one for every RO.

18. ROs sexuality?

They are all playersexual.

Stats.

1. Sanity.

Some present time choices— general and some specific ones regarding Jules— will affect mc's sanity. They will notice things most don't. They may begin to act out of the player's control. Character interactions and dynamics will drastically shift. So will the MC's inner monologue.

2. Major Stats.

Earlier, I had planned for the MC's strengths and weaknesses to be based on their major but I realised doing that would be stupid and make no real sense. Hence, I have decided to scratch off that idea. I am going for persuasion, athleticism, intellect instead. Maybe I'll add more as the story progresses.

You shouldn't have to worry too much about stat checks since the story is more choices & relationship focused.

3. Roll the dice mechanism.

Now, just because you're good at something doesn't mean you have achieved perfection and will always succeed no matter what. Similarly, just because you're not the best at something doesn't mean you won't be able to succeed. A little luck goes a long way.

This one is huge maybe though. :))

[this feature can be turned on/off during the beginning and the stats screen!]

4. Personality stats.

Anxious/Assured

Impulsive/Methodical

Outspoken/Reserved

Honest/Deceptive

They will mostly be used for flavour text only.

The MC.

1. Character customisation.

DLGOY covers the basics but I am open for suggestions. I like more customisation only if it comes up again in the story.

2. Unreliabe narrator.

What the title clearly suggests.

Story structure.

The story will switch between two timelines. The past and the present. The former focuses on MC's childhood and relationship with Jules.

General.

1. Why has my ask not been answered yet?

I am getting to it! I tend to edit them a lot, so it may take some time. Please be patient. <3

[I don't answer more than 4-5 asks a day because I want to avoid spamming]

2. Where to submit bug reports?

Send an ask!

3. Feedback?

I am open to suggestions and criticism as long as it is polite. I listen to them all but I don't promise to implement everything!

4. Is this a standalone or a series?

Standalone!

[cluz1babe]

"Open My Eyes..." Chapter Seven

11.2K Words

Thank you for reading!

If you didn’t already know, Chapter Seven will have House of the Dragon season 2+ spoilers)

PLOT

You were a Belaerys, with the Blood of Old Valyria in your veins, future Queen of Sothoryos. Up until eight years before the Dance of Dragons, everyone thought the Belaerys family was gone after the Doom. You were well-respected by everyone except most of the greens. Despite that, you were officially given a seat on the new High Council. The Hand, Otto Hightower, was trying to bring more countries to their aid, but his excuse was to bring peace between countries. Planning to wed you to Daeron, the Small Council of the Greens are shocked when Aemond refuses to offer you Daeron in order to take you for himself.

TAKES PLACE BETWEEN 129-133+ AC (a mix of show & book timeline & canon, plus my own)

Beta Read and co-written by my husband.  Representations of reader are the lightest and darkest skin colours available. Disclaimer : ASOIAF Wiki is my best friend and we got a little too close on this project (copy-paste about specific parts of the war, sometimes with edits). We still have the Epilogue.

Very limited use of ‘Y/N’.

From what I can remember about how to pronounce Nahuatl, you pronounce ‘X’ as ‘SH’, and pronounce every letter except ‘H’.

SERIES MASTERLIST

TRIGGER WARNINGS (full story) : Talk of Abortion, Emotionally Abusive Relationships (Aegon / Criston / Otto x Everyone), Alcohol, Blood, Blowjob, Branding, Bullying, Childbirth, Mentions of Rape (no rape of reader), Death, Drugs, Fire, Hallucinations, Incest, Marriage, Misogyny, Pregnancy, Profanity, Sexism, Slut Shaming, Smut, Violence, War, P in V, Sex, Fingering, No Cheating, MDNI, 18+ , ENM (Ethical Non-Monogamy), Slight Breeding Kink, Dub-Con (in the Aegon Bonus Chapter) if you squint

Archive of Our Own

You were restless since the leaders from Essos had quite literally come to the table of the High Council. Your unease didn’t escape Aemond’s notice. When he asked, you told him that you had received word that there was tension between Zugrya and Bruedal and both Offia and Wewhyae were stuck in the middle. More than that, The Summer Islands and Naath needed protection and here you were, feeling useless, on a council with slavers, and it was all making you question your place in things.

“Mm. Tell me what I can do.”

“I honestly don’t know what to do.”

“You will.” He kissed your forehead and slightly changed the subject. “Your country refuses slavery, but your brother and father wanted you on the council?”

“We trade with anyone unless they practice slavery. That makes a lot of Essos off limits. The problem is that my father joined the rest of the world before we were ready. Some of our current alliances are already on shaky ground because they are afraid that, by traveling the world in search of trade and dragons, it leaves us open to attack. It invites conflict, especially between the islands. They believe we survived by being isolated and avoiding slavers.”

“Why doesn’t your father feel that way?”

“We Can, We Will, We Did”

“Your house words?”

You nodded. “If our family doesn’t live by our words, what are we? We can find dragons, even wild ones. We can learn, and create alliances & peace, but we can’t do it all alone. If Essos decides to invade Sothoryos…” You trailed off, trying not to think of the worst things. “We have dragons, but they have scorpions. I’ve been to Naath and the Summer Islands and came back with an alliance, but shortly after I left, Naath was raided again.”

“What happened?”

“We were able to get some of the people back.” You sighed, “But, while some of my best warriors were retrieving them, a different place was invaded. Every moment that I’m away from my country, leaves them open to attack.”

“Are you going to fight them all yourself?” You raised your brows at him, clearly not realizing what you had said. “You told me everyone can fight.”

“Almost everyone.”

“Do you protect them all by yourself?”

You smiled. Of course not.

“It seems to me, that you put too much pressure on yourself.” He kissed your cheek and lingered there. “You’re not to blame for what happened in Naath any more than you’re responsible for the Doom.” He squeezed your hand a bit, “We’ll figure something out.”

////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\

You had told Aemond about Luke being alive, but only Arrax’s wing had been found. He breathed a sigh of relief that he was not the Kinslayer that they were calling him, but he knew that it didn’t matter. It was his title now. And it didn’t matter that Luke was alive. He had chased Lucerys down that day above Shipbreaker Bay. Yes, to scare him and bully him, but Aemond had not intended to kill him. Even though Luke was alive, the war had been set in motion with the attempted murder of Jaehaerys, and all of the evidence that it was Daemon’s doing. They were unsuccessful with the murder, because the dogs you gave as gifts, Mors and Lyonel, defended them all. This made the Greens trust you even more, which put you on good terms with them, but was it enough?

Aemond had taken his bath and he was still in the tub. He thought about everything that had happened since his father died. It wasn’t until the water was chilly that he finally got out and dried himself off. He walked into his chamber and you were right where he left you, studying dragon breeding some more. You were determined to memorize the book as well as Aemond had, even if you had to read it ten times.

He watched as you turned the page, picked up your wine goblet, and took a sip. It was peaceful moments like this that he hated lately. Not because of you, but because he had failed you. He had well and truly fucked up. Lucerys’s near-death still set things in motion that made Aemond feel guilt like none he ever had before. It was his fault Luke almost died. His fault that a male dragon was dead — a huge loss to your cause. His fault that Helaena’s three children were put in danger, furthering an insatiable need to see blood spilled in the name of the greens and Aegon II. There was a long time where Aemond wondered what to do, then he finally spoke after what seemed like forever. “I’ve changed my mind.” He almost whispered it.

You sat down your goblet. “Changed your mind?” 

“I want to serve the Blacks.”

You shook your head. “You are a Green Prince, Aemond.”

“I support your claim to your throne. I have to support my sister’s.” 

As usual, you looked at him like he was mad. After the initial shock, you told him what you thought of his idea. “That’s treason, Aemond. Not even the King’s brother is safe from what happens to traitors.”

“I want you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. More than Vhagar.”

You raised your brows at him.

“Don’t tell her I told you that, or she will surely burn us both alive.”

His comment made you laugh.

“And I can’t choose to be with you, the future Queen of Sothoryos, who is not even the first-born, let alone male, and not support my sister’s claim to the throne.” He kneeled down in front of you and held your hands. “I am so sorry for what I’ve done.”

You were confused by his words. “What have you done?”

“Arrax.”

You kissed his forehead. “It was an accident, my love.”

“I shouldn’t have chased them.”

You kissed his lips the second time. “I forgive you.” You needed to calm his mind and it worked. He laid his head on your shoulder and looked up at you in admiration. You saying you forgave him took a huge weight off of his shoulders. He couldn’t believe he was so lucky to have found you.

“I will think of a reason to leave and convince my brother to allow it. Then you and I can leave, help my sister claim her throne, and I can take you home.”

There was a pang in your chest at the mention of your country. “Home?”

He nodded. He knew you were homesick and wanted to take you there, as well as see it for himself — the place you loved so much. “But first, I need to convince my brother that it’s a good idea that Daeron marry Floris or one of the other Baratheon girls.” He softly pushed your robe off of your shoulder and kissed you again. You had taken a bath in your own chamber and it had practically become custom for him to defile you afterward, especially when you smelled of bath oils. In addition to that, without your clothes, Aemond could see your growing belly. And, though he did not wish to keep you in a constant state of being pregnant, the thought turned him on, nonetheless. 

He started kissing your shoulder and down your swollen breasts. He eagerly sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the hardening bud while you stroked his head. He wasn’t rough with you, but he wasn’t gentle either, he was following your lead. He usually did, and that how he knew you liked it in every way : soft, hard, somewhere in between. At that moment, it was somewhere in between rough and gentle. He put your ankles on his shoulders and he entered you.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

You both laid there in silence as you slowly stroked Aemond’s hair and back. Eventually, you heard his breathing even out and knew he had finally fallen to sleep.

////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\

You and Helaena were watching the children and practicing embroidery while Aemond tried to convince the small council to allow him to marry you. 

Criston sighed, “No.”

Aemond tilted his head at the only father figure he truly had. He thought he could trust Cole. “No?”

“You’re now engaged to Floris Baratheon. You can’t take more than one wife.”

Aegon scoffed, “Why not? That’s what they do where she’s from.”

Criston seethed, turning to Aemond, “Are you so in love with your heathen temptress that you would commit polygamy?” 

“Don’t talk about her like that.” He avoided looking at his mother. “I know what you and my mother do. I put it in the back of my mind for too long and I will not stand here and listen to hypocrisy fall out of your mouth.”

“You would take up her traditions and disregard your responsibilities here?“ Alicent asked him. Surprisingly, there was no sign Aegon had heard about what his mother was up to.

“Have you forgotten?” Aemond asked his mother. “Targaryens also used to multiple marriages at once. I never asked her if she was open to marrying Daeron because I love her. Father knew and that’s why he betrothed us. He had already given his blessing, but now you want to play me like some piece in a game. I never agreed to marry Floris, but you sent me there with a scroll offering me in marriage.”

“That’s true, but Aemond, what about her age?” Alicent begged, “Producing heirs doesn’t happen overnight and her change will be upon her before you know it. Are you willing to risk that? Floris is younger than you are and the Belaerys Princess is now three and twenty.”

“Her mother’s side easily produces heirs well into their 40s. If you want evidence, I’ll tell you all of their names and information about some of them.”

Criston practically rolled his eyes, “Be that as it may, you are now officially promised in marriage to the Baratheon girl.”

“Not anymore.” Larys, now master of whispers and still guilty of trying to kill Jaehaerys, interrupted. He pulled out an official looking scroll and read it, “‘After much thought on the matter and a proposal offered by the Blacks to marry their youngest prince, Viserys to Borros Baratheon’s first granddaughter’.” 

“We all know what that means.” Aegon laughed. “‘After the ‘untimely death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon’, the Baratheons have decided to ‘disaffiliate themselves with the Greens’.”

Aemond smirked at Criston.

Cole looked at Aemond with anger, “It’s your fault that boy is dead and our only chance at peace has ended. You only lost one eye, how could you be so blind? You will not marry that woman. She was supposed to marry Daeron. He’s the third son, so he will be perfect for securing that enormous country and all of their resources. But she is not appropriate for you.”

Aemond walked away from the table, trying not to show his true feelings as he had always managed, but it was too much this time. He knew for sure now that they weren’t just looking for allies, they were looking for weaknesses and ways to ‘secure the country and all of their resources’, just as you had told him. Aemond knew what that really meant. His father figure was going to betray the woman he loved as soon as he could. “This is coming from a place of hate and malice. You all seethe with spleen like a suppurating ulcer.” He whipped around and stared at Criston and his mother. “I have given everything to this family, and I have asked for nothing in return!“ He turned his attention to Aegon, “You owe me, brother.” 

Aegon was in his cups and set against the Belaerys family just as much as Cristin and Alicent, though he pretended otherwise. Aemond couldn’t understand connecting their family to the Belaerys family at all if they were going to be so prejudiced. The politics of the situation didn’t matter, as far as he was concerned. “My King, does your prince not deserve his own happiness? A family? Something that he chose for himself? Has the Princess not proven herself loyal? Would joining your kingdom with Sothoryos, a people no less advanced than our own, not be advantageous, even if it is me she marries?” He looked around the room.

“He’s right, Aegon.” Alicent interjected. She remembered what you did for Helaena both times. “She has proven herself loyal to this family. She defended Queen Helaena after a handmaid said something unkind. She provided the trained guard dogs that kept your children, and wife, alive.”

Aegon’s hard look softened, but only enough to barely relieve the tension. “You’re right, mother. Of course you deserve those things, Aemond, and it would be beneficial to join our kingdoms. It doesn’t matter who she marries. We can use all of the dragons and fighters that we can get.” He exhaled loudly, “If you really wish to wed and breed with this Belaerys whore—” Aemond, who’d been angered by the word, took a step forward, but a guard put himself between them. Aegon laughed, “You may have her.” He let Aemond take in the information and relax, then Aegon went stern, “But if either of you leave us before the war is over, without my orders to do so, you will both be considered traitors to the crown.” Aemond’s eye went wide for a moment. “You may send any children you may have to Sothoryos to keep them out of harm’s way, in case the war comes here. Though you never know how long the war will last.”

Aemond clenched his jaw, but he was finally happy to get blessings from the King, regardless the circumstances. Everything else would have to wait. He bowed, tensely. When he straightened, Aegon sort of waved him off and Aemond turned to leave.

“Aemond.” Aemond stopped as the current king made him do so. “Don’t think you’re getting away with that outburst with no consequences.”

Aemond continued out of the small council room. Once he made it to his quarters, he knocked over one of his tables in anger. His plan to send you back home, where you could wait out the war and he would join you after… It was finished. You would both be forced to fight in this war. You hadn’t agreed to take a side so that you wouldn’t have to fight your brother, who had pledged for Rhaenyra. Aemond would do anything for you, his beloved, even keep your brother alive in battle. He was convinced that he could make it look like an accident if he got caught. Now, he didn’t know what would happen.

At first, you were angry with Aemond for planning to send you away without him by your side, but you quickly forgave him. 

////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\

The assault on Harrenhal was led by Daemon Targaryen, who conquered Harrenhal for Rhaenyra Targaryen. It marked the opening of hostilities in the Dance of the Dragons.

Prince Daemon Targaryen, suggested Harrenhal as a rallying point for potential supporters in the riverlands. Larys Strong, Lord of Harrenhal, was a supporter of Aegon, so Rhaenyra allowed her husband to command the assault on Harrenhal.

Because Lord Larys Clubfoot served as Aegon II's master of whisperers in King's Landing, his great-uncle the elderly Ser Simon Strong served as Larys's castellan at Harrenhal. Prince Daemon flew on his dragon, Caraxes, to the top of Harrenhal's Kingspyre Tower, where Harren the Black had died. Recalling the burning of Harrenhal by Aegon I Targaryen and Balerion the Black Dread, which had extinguished House Hoare, Simon decided to strike his banners and surrender the great ruined castle to Daemon. Simon and his grandsons were among a dozen hostages taken by Daemon, and the blacks requisitioned the wealth of House Strong. The loss of Harrenhal shocked Aegon II and encouraged the blacks. 

////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\

There were rumours that you and Aemond had secretly been married for weeks, so you were summoned to the King. 

“Remember what I told you.” Aemond urged. “Whether in secret or in front of the court, never let my brother see that he unsettles you.”

“I’m from Sothoryos. Not much can unsettle me.”

“He will do or say anything to get a rise out of you. He may try to intimidate, taunt, embarrass, or shame you. Maybe all four.”

You gave Aemond a reassuring look. “It will be okay, husband.”

King Aegon II was sitting in his throne, ignoring whatever complaint or well-regard the person in front of him spoke about, as he’d finally realized that it didn’t matter what the smallfolk wanted. He couldn’t give them any resources. Not that he wanted to at this point. The smallfolk had betrayed him once, they would do it again if they could. He didn’t look interested or pleased at all. In fact, he looked the least pleased when he looked in your or Aemond’s direction. He waved off the smallfolk once the current one finished, “Thank you for letting me know. I will take that into account.” He bid you & Aemond come forward. Aegon’s false sincerity toward the smallfolk disappeared as you & Aemond stepped forward.

Aegon sat there staring for so long that it made your skin go cold. “Not three moons ago, we spoke and I told you we would soon discuss when the two of you should be wed. Yet here you are. And I’m told that the Belaerys Princess is already your wife, Aemond.”

“You Grace, may we speak privately?” Aemond’s request was granted with a nod from Aegon and everyone except the guards, The Hand, Alicent, you, Aegon, and Aemond were left in the Great Hall.

The expression on Aegon’s face was full of annoyance and hate.  “We decided on your wedding day, three moons from now, and yet I hear you call each other husband and wife already. Skoros kostos nykeā udir hoskas? (What could inspire such a rumour?)” Aegon gave both of you exactly six seconds before he continued. “Maybe it is because you are with child, Princess?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You tried not to sound small, but now that you were being confronted, you wished to be back in the privacy of your apartments. For the first time in a long time, you felt as small as they wanted you to feel. All of your previous confidence waned in front of the Hightowers.

“Come, Princess. There’s no point in lying.” Alicent interrupted your thoughts. “You haven’t bled for four moons, and your dresses are tighter around your belly. It’s a difficult condition to hide.” You wish you knew how she knew. “One which will be impossible to hide once you have a screaming babe in your arms. It is of great concern for my family. If everyone knew my son took you to bed before your wedding—“

Aemond grumbled. “We are married.” Everyone looked at Aemond as he spoke and revealed his brand. “The Princess is my wife, by our own ceremony — a Sothoryi ceremony. And she will have my child soon.”

Aegon sat up straight. “So you admit it?”

“I do. I didn’t want my child born a bastard, and I will always be proud of the Princess & our life together.”

Aegon’s nose flared in anger. He looked back and forth between the two of you. Aemond’s declaration brought back some of your confidence and he hated seeing it. At the same time, he knew that he would lose his biggest asset for the war if he upset Aemond. So he conceded through gritted teeth, “In that case, you shall be married in front of the court as soon as possible to make sure. No niece or nephew of mine is going to grow up a bastard. We all know how important it is to look the part. Right, Princess?”

“Yes, your Grace.” You weren’t eager to please him, but you also couldn’t afford to upset him right now, no matter how much veiled animosity remained between you and Aegon. So you ignored his insult against your Sothoryi ceremony.

.................................................................................................

To Aegon, as soon as possible was only a few days. You and Aemond were married in the tradition of the Faith of the Seven, at the sept, in front of the green’s court. The ones who could make it on time. What was strangest to everyone wasn’t the foreign princess. It was that the ill-tempered Beast of the Red Keep wasn't wearing his eye patch, and he was wearing colour. Añil blue & green, and he had even dyed the ends of his hair like yours. It was his way of telling them that this day belonged to the two of you and no one else. After your official ceremony to Aemond, the two of you snuck away to have some alone time before the feast. He fucked you against the wall of your chambers while you were still wearing your wedding dress. Then you quickly rejoined the feast and it was as though nobody noticed you had been gone for the better part of ten minutes while the two of you got your quick tryst in private.

.................................................................................................

During the end of the feast, Aegon stood up. “A toast to the newlyweds. M” everyone cheered. “May they have many years together.” The smile on his face was not friendly. “I’m sorry to interrupt the festivities, but it’s time for the Bedding Ceremony!”

Everyone cheered and music played as you were carried on top of shoulders to get to your shared chambers. Aemond was dragged, too. Both of you being undressed on the way there. Aemomd hated every second of it and Aegon knew he would. This was part of his punishment. A consequence of standing out of line.

.................................................................................................

You made it to your shared chambers and retrieved your ritual paints. That night, you planned to connect with Aemond on every level. You started with the blue paint, for blessing your union. You painted Aemond’s body with your sacred blue paint. You were so skilled with your hands that every light stroke left him wanting more. He wanted to feel your body pressed against his. He wanted to be inside you, as he had expected to be by now, but you were insistent that you make it official by your standards, and he had accepted. The look of concentration on your face made Aemond want to kiss you. Touch you. Have you again and again. The entire process felt like a way to prevent him from having his fun straight away. 

You cut Aemond’s finger and held it over the bowl with various ingredients already inside, dripping blood into it, then doing the same with your own finger. You said something in a language he didn’t recognize while holding the bowl over an open flame. Then you lit it on fire and breathed in the smoke. You handed it to Aemond, “Breathe it in.” 

He did as you told him and quickly felt himself feel off-kilter, so he sat next to you. You both waited for the buzzing in your heads to stop, holding hands and giving gentle kisses. Once you were both clear-headed again, you performed the Soul Ritual. You painted orange on your and Aemond’s bodies. The first one was just a formality, but the last would connect your souls. The two of you would became one. You saw each other’s true nature and past; felt each other’s pain and pleasure. The process worked you both up as you took your time teasing Aemond with your slow strokes and kisses here & there. Once you were finished, you each gave your thanks to any gods listening and you drank wine together, waiting for your paint to dry a little before you could join each other in bed. You weren’t in any hurry. The effects of the ritual would last at least two more hours. However, after ten minutes, you couldn’t wait anymore. You got on the bed and coaxed him over. It didn’t take much before he was on top of you.

You were so wet that you didn’t need him to prepare you much. His fingers easily slid into you to test before his cock entered you. He groaned at your waiting hole and the way you keened at his touch. He couldn’t resist paying you back for the teasing earlier and removed his fingers. He smirked as you whined. He slowly kissed down your neck, to your chest. That was when he felt it. The way his own body was responding to the kisses as if he were kissing his own chest. 

You had been quiet in the beginning, so Aemond encouraged you to be as loud as you want. Now that you were wed, it was no longer bad to be together. He made you orgasm on his tongue, causing him to enjaculate on the sheets. He groaned, partially because of how good it felt and partially because he was disappointed he couldn’t hold off. He looked up at you, totally cunt-drunk off of you. 

Aemond finally got to be inside of you. That second time of the night was slow at first, slowly building to the two of you going at it fast and hard until you both found release. The paint smeared on your bodies and the sheets, leaving behind the orange and blue paint; impressions of your entwined bodies rutting against each other. Something for the servants to deal with the next day.

////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\

BONUS SMUT CHAPTER WITH AEGON

////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\

Months later.

You were lying in bed sobbing. The pain had barely abated in the previous two hours and the maesters said they were going to attempt to turn the baby. That’s when Aemond came back to join you.

“I understand now why they say women are weak.”

“Why?” He almost looked amused by your statement. 

“Because I can’t control my emotions right now and I can’t stop thinking of home. I don’t know if I’ll ever see it again.”

“You will see it again, I promise.” He held your head in his hands, one hand on each cheek. “You are not weak. You are going to be a queen. It’s just exhaustion from bringing our babe into the world.” He kissed you, then wiped your tears away. “The maester and the midwives all said that it’s normal to feel overwhelmed.” Aemond gently held your hands. “I’m very sorry that I can’t do anything about your homesickness, my love, or the pain.”

“How’s Molca?”

“Irritated, to say the least.”

“She wouldn’t let you ride her?”

Aemond shook his head. “Do you wish to be a widow so soon?” You both laughed at his joke. Then he added, “I think she may lay eggs soon. She’s showing all of the signs. Perhaps she and Caraxes had an encounter that no one knows about.”

……………………………………….. 

You labored a day and a half to bring your first child into the world. Aemond stayed with you almost the entire labour and refused to leave your side, even when the midwives urged him to leave when the baby had a hard time coming out. Alicent even came to check in on you, having given birth four times, she thought she could be of help to you, especially without your mothers who were still in Sothoryos.

Hours after the contractions started, it got more and more intense, causing you to groan and cry. But Aemond was there and his presence was comforting, even when Grand Maester Orwyle and the midwives had to press on your belly in order to push the baby in the right position. You were lucky that it wasn’t too difficult. 

There was a while when you tried to sleep, but the pains only got worse. You started cursing in Loicato when the pain returned.

“I can’t understand you, Princess.” One of the midwives said. “I don’t speak your language.”

“She’s saying… Well, she’s using coarse language.”

The midwife gave a slight smile. “Yes, mothers usually say lots of things when the labour pains start. If you’d rather leave until the baby comes, I’ll take care of—“

“No. I want to stay.”

She curtseyed, “My Prince.” Then she left for a few moments and came back with more rags and sheets.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Aemond held your baby daughter first after the maester. He looked at her with the widest smile on his face and a tear in his eye. “My little princess.” After a moment of reflection and the realization that he was now a father to a beautiful baby girl with wisps of silver hair, he handed her over to you. He kissed your forehead as you took in the sight of her. “What do you want to name her?”

You stroked her head and laughed at the face she made. “Let’s name her… Jaenara Meztli.”

Aemond kneeled next to you. “Princess Jaenara Meztli Belaerys.”

“Targaryen.”

He looked at you, confused.

“She’s a Targaryen. Like her father.”

He took your hand and kissed it. Giving a child a man’s last name was a high honour in your culture.

………………………………………………………………..

It was only a short while after your daughter’s birth that Aemond walked into your shared quarters with dragon keepers following behind him with a smoky brazier. You were nursing Jaenara, as you had refused to let anyone take her from you in the three days since you had given birth. You sat up straighter than usual, not completely understanding what was going on or why strangers were coming into your bedchamber. “Aemond, is everything okay?”

“Everything is perfect.” He smiled and motioned for the dragonkeepers to open the brazier, which they did. Inside, was a dragon egg. It was lavender with blue markings.

You gasped, “Aemond—“

“It seems our daughter’s birth triggered something in Molcajete. She’s given us a clutch of eggs.” He took the egg and placed it in Jaenara’s crib, next to your bed. You touched the egg and closed your eyes, concentrating on the energy flowing through the egg. It brought a you chuckled with joy. Not only had Molcajete laid eggs, but you could tell for certain that the one in the crib was alive. Perhaps Aemond was correct and Molca had mated. Your baby would have her own dragon. You opened your eyes and held Aemond’s hand.

He bent over to kiss you, then he pressed his forehead to yours. “Prūmī lanti sēteksi.” (‘Forged in fourteen fires.’) He kissed your baby daughter on the head. “You shall have everything you deserve, Ñuha Prūmia.” (‘My Heart.’)

…………………………………………………….

It was only a few days since you’d given birth and you finally slept. Though you had nightmares of the worst kind about things happening to your daughter. You would wake, feed her, then sleep again, only to have another nightmare. The last one was the worst. Someone was at Jaenara’s crib, hovering. You felt like you couldn’t move your body. You watched as the figure stood up, the silhouette had a crown. The Conquerer’s Crown. When he turned, he was covered in blood— You woke to sounds of Jaenara crying. “‘Nara?” Your voice was hoarse. When you sat up int bed you saw someone bending over her crib.

Aemond was on his way to your bedchamber when he heard you screaming.

“Get him away from my baby! Please! Get him out! Give her to me!”

Aemond ran through the doorway and continued to your post-birthing bed. Seeing how upset you were turned his stomach into knots. “Issa jorrāelagon?” He looked in the direction of the crib and saw the back of the maester as though he were inspecting Jaenara. “It’s okay. The maester is just doing his job.”

“No.” You pointed to the figure now visible behind the maester as he left. There stood Aegon, holding Jaenara. From the moment she was born, 67 hours ago, your chest filled with dread. You loved her more than anything, and that’s why you immediately worried about what her life would be and how you could keep her safe. All of the excitement, even through Aegon’s treatment of you, ended in an instant. Your newborn daughter in your arms, eyes just like yours, light wisps of silver hair - too soon to tell if it would be dark like yours or light like Aemond’s - everything came crashing down. Then you had a nightmare that Aegon had murdered Jaenara. Her crib was sitting on the Iron Throne and Aegon burned her using Sunfyre. His eyes were wild with anger, hatred, and fear.  After that, you refused to sleep, preferring to keep watch over your baby. You had just fallen asleep for probably ten minutes after hours of being awake. That’s when Aegon finally came to visit.

At first, Aemond’s heart skipped a beat. You had told him about your nightmares, but he was assured they would go away once you finally stopped nursing. However, as Aegon made his way to the foot of your bed, Aemond realized his brother would not hurt his daughter. Jaenara started crying and you reached for her, but Aegon turned away, making you whimper. Aegon only smirked at your distress. Aegon and Aemond had a staring match, but when your nipples started leaking, Aegon giggled. “Have you had a taste, yet, brother?” Aemond was obviously confused, so Aegon tilted his head in your direction.

Aemond looked, but he wasn’t amused. Wet patches were appearing on your shift. Aemond held out his hand to his brother. “Give her to me.”

Aegon sighed and looked at his niece, “Your father is such a bore.” Aegon handed her to Aemond who turned her over to you.

Aegon snorted, “You should give your precious daughter to a wet-nurse and ask your husband to alleviate the pain in your breasts. It’s better for all of you.”

Aemond stood in front of his brother as you began nursing baby Jaenara. “You are incredibly lucky that she has barely slept in three days and before that, she was in labour for fifteen hours. She is a new mother. You should be ashamed of yourself. If she were in her right mind—”

“What?” Aegon squared his shoulders. “What would your traitorous wife do, I wonder?”

Aemond mirrored his brother. “What are you talking about?”

Aegon gave a smile and patted Aemond on the arm. “I’m only joking, brother. She has only once ever stepped out of line, and changed my mind through doing so. And with her married to you, Prince Aemond Targaryen, the King’s brother, she secures us the vast country of Sothoryos and every dragon they have. Not to mention everything else she’s done for me.”

You spoke through gritted teeth, “Stop talking about me as though I’m not here.”

Aemond clenched his jaw. “Hmm. And Jaenara, Aegon? What of my daughter?”

“I would never hurt your babe. You’re both much too paranoid. I’ll tell the maester to send milk of the poppy so you can get some rest.”

You clutched Jaenara to your body. “No.”

Aegon only rolled his eyes. “As you wish.” He quietly strutted out of your bedchamber.

Aemond sat next to you in the bed and took your hand. “Maybe he’s right, my love. You need to sleep.”

“No, Aemond, please.”

“It was only a dream. Sweetling, what use are you to her if you’re exhausted?” You hated to admit that he was right, but you squeezed his hand in response. He kissed your temple. “I promise I will watch her every second you rest. I won’t take my eye off of her. I’ll even stay with the wet-nurse while she eats.” 

You shifted your body, unsure. 

“I swear on Vhagar.”

You bit your bottom lip and looked into his eye. You saw nothing but love, adoration, and worry. There was a circle under his eye. Maybe not as bad as yours, but you knew the stress was already getting to him and he was still offering to watch Jaenara while you slept. “When she’s finished.”

“Of course.” 

////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\

As soon as Jaenara transitioned to a wetnurse and you got your strength back, you took the most amazing bath in preparation for a ritual with the two fertile eggs from the clutch Molca laid. 

One was Jaenara’s and one would be your future child’s. The ritual was to offer thanks and begin the bonding process to your bloodline. It would prevent the eggs from hatching for anyone other than you or your children, unless it was given to someone else by you. You had done similar rituals with Molcajete and even Gaelithox, to deepen your bond with them. It was also how you communicated when a battle was coming. 

Though it was usually done in private, Aemond was allowed to watch so he could learn it for himself.

////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\

As the preceding fall of Harrenhal had been bloodless, the Battle of the Burning Mill was the first true battle in the civil war between opposing armies in the field.

House Blackwood declared for Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen when war broke out, while House Bracken supported her half-brother, King Aegon II Targaryen. Lord Samwell Blackwood sent raiders into Bracken lands, causing Ser Amos Bracken to march on Blackwood territory in response. The Blackwoods surprised the Brackens while they were camped by a mill near the Red Fork.

Amos slew Lord Blackwood in single combat during the ensuing battle. The Bracken knight was himself slain by a weirwood arrow said to have been fired by Samwell's sister, Alysanne. The mill was put to the torch during the hours of fighting. Ser Raylon Rivers eventually led the Bracken survivors in retreat to Stone Hedge, but the Bracken castle had been taken in the meantime by Prince Daemon Targaryen.

////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\

Mere months after the birth of your first daughter, you conceived your second daughter, Nymeria. Right around the time of the Taking of Stone Hedge. It wasn’t planned, but you preferred it over fighting with the enemy.

You were walking into your chamber, anticipating a pleasant evening later on, after a sundown ride on Molca. You were never allowed to go far from King’s Landing, but you made the best of the situation.

You were having a day without the responsibility of looking after Jaenara for an evening. You watched Aemond train for a while, as he did almost daily, then you retired to your apartments. You thought about how he started with unarmed combat, then switched to the blade. You knew how his fingers felt and could imagine the grip he used with the sword. The calluses he had built on his hands during this training were the same you feel when he caresses you. Yours weren’t as prominent as his. You looked through one of your windows, into the distance. At nothing, really. You loved how his hands’ grip feels strong and secure, whether they were playfully wrapped around your wrists or neck, or grasping your hips as he took you from behind. You remembered the way they felt when they teased your folds and your clit. Your core throbbed and you whimpered at the thought. While you were daydreaming at your window, Aemond had walked in behind you. He’d heard you whimper and decided to announce his presence by putting his hands on your shoulders and guiding you to turn. 

He was still sweaty from the yard, but you didn’t really care about that. He still had that confident look he got from a particularly good fight. You decided to tease him, running your hands down his chest, sliding them to his belt. You felt him stiffen in his clothes, and you went to your knees. All you could think about was having him in your mouth. You loosened his trousers and fished out his cock. It was proudly standing tall, already waiting for you.

You started by licking around the crown, taking his head slowly into your mouth. You could feel it throb with his desire, it almost felt like you could tell how much he was holding back so that he could enjoy the feeling of being inside of your mouth. You slowly slid the rest in, and spent some time kneeling in front of him, playing with his stones and caressing his cock with your tongue. He hummed his appreciation at the pleasure you were giving him while he finished undressing. He pulled back and your mouth felt empty, it’s not really what you wanted to be feeling at that particular moment. You wanted his spend in your mouth.

Aemond pulled you up and lead you to the bed, undressing you as he did so. He pushed you forward up onto the bed but held you back so you wouldn’t get too far away from him, as you were then kneeling on the bed. He slid behind you and ran his hands up to your neck. It was as though he had read what was on your mind earlier. He lightly grasped your neck while you leaned back into his chest. Aemond could smell your hair and the scent you put on that morning, he could feel your hair down his chest. He turned his head to kiss you as his hand slid down to your tits.

You felt his callouses as he teased your nipples. They were as erect as he was. You love having them teased. His rough skin on yours made you tingle in anticipation of what he was about to do. He ran them lower to your seam, and found your clit. He knew exactly where to touch you to make you come undone. You could feel him press against your ass the whole time, and he moved down to get a better angle with your pussy. 

His right hand still played with you but his left guided in his cock. He knelt behind you to gently fuck into you. You leaned forward almost into a proper dog position so he had a better angle for thrusting. His right hand held on to your hips, his left brushed around your shoulders and he took you that way until you both found release.

////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\

Amos Bracken was slain in the Battle of the Burning Mill, and Ser Raylon Rivers led the green survivors back to Bracken territory.

They returned to Stone Hedge only to find that it had been captured in their absence by Prince Daemon Targaryen, riding his dragon Caraxes, and Prince Baelor Belaerys on Coatlicue had led a strong host of Darrys, Freys, Pipers, and Rootes to the Brackens' castle. The blacks quickly stormed the castle. Humfrey was captured, along with his remaining children, his third wife, and his lowborn paramour. When Raylon returned to Stone Hedge, he yielded to Daemon, ending any green strength in the riverlands.

////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\

A month after the birth of your second daughter, Nymeria, you received word from your father that he was abdicating. No one knew it at the time, but it was only a plan to allow you to leave King’s Landing. The real plan was to go to Essos for a while, then come back.

Aegon stared at his brother. “You want me to allow you to leave, but not to fight? Why?” 

Aemond handed the scroll to Criston. He looked at the Belaerys sigil on the wax seal and broke it open. “‘King & Maegor Coatl Belaerys will abdicate his throne…’” He finished reading. “‘To spend time with his grandchildren’? What kind of King chooses to give up the crown before he dies?”

“He was injured. Perhaps the thought of dying made him aware he didn’t spend much time with his children and he wants to spend time with his younger children and his children’s children with what time he has left.” Aemond only hoped Aegon would buy the story. 

“It’s only natural,” Aemond said to Aegon. Focusing his words only on his brother, it was only his approval he needed.

He hoped any of the sober people there didn’t question this too deeply. Criston eyed Aemond suspiciously.

“So we now have another Queen in our court.” Aegon didn’t seem to understand as he had been drunk since breakfast.

“Your Grace,” Criston started. “It wouldn’t be wise to keep a Queen away from her people. It would be best to send her back home. We can send escorts.”

“Leave. Everyone except The Hand.”

Everyone left, though Aemond was last.

“If we send her home, who will take her spot on the HIgh Council?”

Criston sighed, “She can send someone to take her place, but we cannot risk starting a second war with a much bigger country when we are in the midst of a war in your own kingdom. Send her away and be done with it.”

“And Aemond?”

“He is her husband. He will have to go with her.”

“We can’t lose one of our best fighters and the biggest dragon during this war with the Blacks.”

“It’s not worth the fight, my King.”

Aegon looked back at Cole through his drunken haze, looking like he wished to protest that last comment.

The King swallowed his words, and stood quickly. He started walking out of the room, swaying as he did so.

“Fine.” Aegon said in a quiet voice. “Let them go.”

////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\

You had only just arrived back in Westeros for a week and traveling with a newborn was tiresome, but necessary. You flew Molcajete above Dragonstone, close enough to be spotted. You knew your brother, Baelor, would recognize it was Molca based on her description. That would be enough to prevent an attack. Then you flew your dragon northwest to The Mountains of the Moon. You had a secret messenger send word to Dragonstone, addressed to Queen Rhaenyra, that you wish to meet with someone and help to put and end to the war. When you were able to meet with Rhaenyra, you informed her Aemond was also coming. The court took this news and spread it like wildfire.

When you passed word you and Aemond were coming to Dragonstone, the first thing someone said to you was “Are you sure he’s not spying for Aegon?” You knew he would never betray you. Those claims of Aemond possibly being a spy were repeated all day around Dragonstone, you never heard the Queen or the Prince Consort participating in this gossip but you hoped it would at least give everyone no need to panic when they saw Vhagar.

You flew over the mountains looking for a sign that someone was coming. You didn’t expect to see Caraxes flying toward you. You readied yourself for a fight, then Daemon landed Caraxes on a nearby cliff, which was too small for your dragon. Probably on purpose. Once Daemon’s dragon flew away, you dismounted from your dragon with the purple rope, while she held her spot the best she could. Daemon didn’t look impressed, but you weren’t impressed by him either. He met you at the cliff.

You greeted him. “Prince Consort.”

“Why haven’t you proclaimed Rhaenyra as your Queen? In fact, it seems you feel quite the opposite when you marry our enemies.”

“I, myself, will be a queen some day. I can make treaties and create allies, but I cannot call anyone my Queen or King, save for my father, the King of Sothoryos.” You considered your situation, though. “Regardless if King Viserys did change his mind at the end, I don’t believe that words on the deathbed or while partially conscious should be considered as truth. He repeatedly said the opposite for years - even the day of his death - while of clear mind. Rhaenyra deserves her crown.”

“And what of her sons?”

“The ones with dark hair and eyes?” Daemon clenched his teeth, expecting you to say something offensive, but he didn’t know you. “Neither I, nor would my people, care about who the father was. Rhaenyra is the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the heir, and she brought them into the world. And even if they are bastards, they aren’t treated like bastards where I’m from. I am a bastard, myself.”

“Why didn’t your parents simply marry before you were born?”

“They were fighting a war. My father, physically. My mother physically, until the fourth month of her pregnancy. There wasn’t time.”

“Where are your daughters?”

“With four guards.”

Daemon “Rhaenyra doesn’t want you or your children dead. Just Aemond. Perhaps, if she kills him, I can take up the old traditions and wed you, too.”

“Perhaps, if there were no enmity between us, you could take up Loicato traditions and I could wed you both.” Daemon tilted his head at you, to which you replied, “We could build an empire on our joined family and the dragons we create.”

“Are you offering to bear my child? Because I know for a fact that Rhaenyra will never bed Aemond.” You nodded in acknowledgement. “Is that something you dream of, often?”

You walked towards him as you talked, “Not the empire part. I’d rather go home to Sothoryos and keep to myself, but if it keeps my beloved husband alive, I will do anything.”

“Like become a whore?”

It was your turn to laugh. “Every day, I find it more and more curious that you Westerosi are so obsessed with what goes on between a woman’s legs.” You stopped when you were a few feet away. “I haven’t been a maid for a long time and, even then, it wasn’t against my will. I will be a queen. I don’t need to be whore.” You started circling him. “Where I’m from, if a person is not consenting, they are given the opportunity to castrate the person who violated them in front of as many people as possible. To show what the punishment is for rape.” You stepped as close to him as possible without touching him. “Eight lovers later, I’ve yet to be paid for it.”

Daemon grabbed your throat, but he didn’t put much force behind it, “So you’re an… Ilībio.” (‘Slut’.)  His other hand grazed your face. “And you consider yourself safe with me?”

“Molca isn’t far.” The distant sound of your dragon’s roar could he heard.

Daemon poked his knife into your ribs. “I could probably gut you before she got here.”

You touched his armour. Your fingers glowed orange and heated the metal. “And Valyrians are known for their magic.” When he grunted from the pain, you stopped. “You wouldn’t have wasted time talking to me if you were going to kill me. You know I’m not a threat.” Your thumb, now back to normal, traced his bottom lip. “I believe you have other things on your mind.”

“Are you trying to bewitch me?”

“I don’t know any magic that can make someone do something against their will. It is against our Sothoryi ways.” Daemon pulled you flush to his body and you felt his hardened bulge. “You definitely have something else on your mind.”

Daemon kissed you, hand moving to the back of your neck, and you indulged for a few seconds. You knew that if he were present, Aemond would probably just roll his eye. You pulled away, then you smirked at him and sat in your own area to read a book. ‘A game.’ Daemon thought. That made him more interested than ever. Perhaps, as a princess, you needed to have your own fun sometimes. 

You ignored him the rest of the wait for Aemond to arrive. A short while later, you heard the beat of a massive dragon’s wings on the wind. It can only be Vhagar finally approaching you. Aemond didn’t have a dismounting rope as you did. He would have to land Vhagar somewhere and walk. He wouldn’t be happy.

…………………………………………..

Once Aemond arrived, he immediately felt the playful tension between you and Daemon. That playfulness  quickly changed when you saw Aemond. You stood from your spot and walked to him. Daemon watched as Aemond kissed your temple in greeting. You hadn’t been apart for long, but he felt the need to kiss you. It seemed you would all be arriving separately and you he could tell you were on edge.

…………………………………………..

“I deeply apologize for that day above Shipbreaker Bay.” Aemond said. “I do regret it.”

“Be that as it may, my son almost lost his life.” Rhaenyra stated. “He lost his dragon.”

“It was a regrettable mistake.”

You were standing in front of Rhaenyra, too and you interrupted. “If you need to see it, in order to understand what happened, I can show you.”

“I am not going to let you fill my head with magic. You could show me anything and call it true.” 

You responded, “Your Grace, I have no inclination to show you falsehoods or mislead you now.” You knelt in front of her, “As my brother before me, I pledge House Belaerys and, as many fighters as volunteer to fight in this war, to Queen Rhaenyra I Targaryen. She smiled at you, a gentle smile that you had not seen from her yet, using a small gesture to invite you to rise from your knee. 

“Thank you.” She followed up by asking what led you to take this step to fight with the Blacks.

“It’s a very long answer, though not a complicated one.”

“Tell me the core of it.”

“The Greens are using everything they can to turn the people against you. I know you did not send those murderers after a Jaehaerys. Even if Lucerys was killed, it would be Aemond you go after. We knew Luke wasn’t dead. Even if he was, it wouldn’t serve you any purpose to kill Jaehaerys. And, with what little I know of you, I don’t believe that you do anything without a clear purpose in mind. I’ve only had a taste of what you must have suffered your whole life and I can tell that many hours have been spoken only with your sex in mind. You are the rightful Queen. I am not going home without ensuring the true heir sits on the throne.”

“Thank you, Princess. It means a great deal that you would pledge yourself me, if only for this war. I am very grateful.”

“It’s not entirely why. I know what they have planned for my people and my home. I will not sit back and allow them to take our dragons & exploit our resources so they can become the next great empire.”

Everyone around the table looked at each other. They had heard about the High Council, but not what they had planned.

“And Lucerys is welcome to any dragon egg or wild dragon that he can claim.”

…………………………………………………

Daemon later offered to see what happened between Lucerys and Aemond. 

You performed the ritual. Involving mixing your blood and his in wine blessed by a red priestess.

“Teomeh…” You took out your obsidian blade. “Xitlapouki in kauitlaxotlalli.” 

“What are you saying?”

Aemond answered for you, “She’s asking the gods for help…”

You cut your hand and bled into the cup & on top of one candle. “Nik noittalis.”

When you held out your hand, Daemon hesitated, but eventually gave you his own hand. You sliced his palm and bled him into the goblet and over the second candle. “Nechmaka in uelilistli. Nik itta in nelli.”

“She’s asking to see the truth of the past.”

You lit each candle and poured the wine into the goblet. “Iuan kipano ipan.”

“And to pass it on.”

You picked up the goblet and drank half of the contents, then you handed it to Daemon. “Drink the rest.” He did as you bid him. When he sat the cup down, you blew out the candles.

Flashes of light danced in front of Daemon’s eyes. He saw everything as it happened, and that led to you joining their fight.

////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\

The Sack of Duskendale took place at Duskendale in the crownlands.

Following the assault on Harrenhal, the Battle of the Burning Mill, and the taking of Stone Hedge, Criston advised moving against the "traitors" that had bent the knee to Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. While House Velaryon and House Celtigar were unreachable, the "black" lords whose land were on the mainland had no protection against Aegon's loyalists.

First they reached Rosby and Stokeworth, whose lords were blacks but had been captured in King's Landing during the initial coup, and agreed to bend the knee in order to spare their own lives. Having secured their submission, Aegon II's host passed bloodlessly through both castles and even added their strength to his own. In addition to dragons (Sunfyre & Tessarion), Aegon II and Criston Cole marched out of King's Landing with 100 knights, 500 men-at-arms, and three times as many sellswords: thus about 2,400 in total. The forced addition of men from Rosby and Stokeworth would have increased this to slightly under 3,000 men by the time they reached Duskendale.

While Duskendale was a walled port town, it was caught completely by surprise and unprepared. It quickly fell to Aegon II's forces and was sacked, while the ships at the harbor were set afire. Lord Gunthor Darklyn was beheaded for treason. Most of his household knights submitted to Aegon, although a few decided to follow Gunthor in death.

After the sack was complete, Criston moved the loyalist forces to Rook's Rest, seat of House Staunton. Unlike Duskendale, by this time they had forewarning of Aegon II's advance and barred the castle gates, leading to a siege while the greens despoiled the surrounding lands. This climaxed in the large Battle of Rook's Rest.

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3 months after the birth of your second daughter Nymeria was Rook’s Rest.

After you and Aemond left King’s Landing, Aegon never expected to see you again. He had no clue that Molcajete and Vhagar were hidden away. He had no idea that you had been training almost nonstop to get your strength back after two childbirths. Not that you ever stopped training completely, but you had slowed significantly. 

Ser Criston Cole, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the new Hand of the King to Aegon II Targaryen, devised a more aggressive strategy for the greens than his predecessor as Hand, Ser Otto Hightower. Criston planned a trap for the blacks at Rook's Rest, while also forcing the submission of the nearby crownlands houses that were allied with Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. But Aemond was also planning a trap.

Criston Cole marched out of King's Landing with 100 knights, 500 men-at-arms, and three times as many sellswords: thus about 2,400 in total. Lord Rosby and Lord Stokeworth had recently submitted to Aegon to avoid execution in King's Landing, and Criston forced them to prove their loyalty by adding the strength of Rosby and Stokeworth to the green host. The army was thus slightly under 3,000 men in strength by the time they reached Duskendale. 

Lord Staunton had been forewarned of the approach of Ser Criston's army. He closed the gates of Rook's Rest, but was unable to prevent Criston from burning his fields or killing his smallfolk and livestock. When supplies in Rook's Rest began to run low, Lord Staunton asked for assistance from Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, sending a raven to Dragonstone. 

You knew you had to fight against the greens, with the blacks and your brother, Baelor. But you believed that Aemond would never fight against his family and you didn’t ask him to. Instead, you asked him to make sure Jaenara and Nymeria were safe. You didn’t know it at the time, but Aemond decided he couldn’t stand the thought of sitting out of this fight when you would be out there risking your life. He left the girls with Jaera and readied himself. You had already left, but Aemond had a plan. He would retrieve both of your dragons and show up after the fight began.

Queen Rhaenyra's sons, Jacaerys & Joffrey Velaryon, were eager to join the fight atop their dragons, Vermax and Tyraxes. However, Rhaenyra only allowed Jacaerys to go. Nine days after Staunton's message, You, Rhaenys Targaryen, and Jace, along with their dragons arrived above Rook's Rest to aid Lord Staunton. You were riding with Rhaenys.

You and your bannermen, as well as some of those from the Blacks, blew your death whistles (ehecachichtli). They were medium sized skull-shaped objects made from ceramic. Hundreds of them all at once sounded like terrified screaming. It wasn’t a dragon roar, but it was disturbing. Your people called it the ‘Shriek of Death’. 

Aemond could hear the sounds from his position. He didn’t know what they were and it scared him. It sounded like thousands of people screaming, but it was so loud and he tried not to focus on the sound. As soon as you left, he readied himself for the battle. He felt so alone in that moment. Worried about his wife and daughters. Worried of what would become of his family. He had left the dogs, too. They couldn’t fight anyway. So he waited until he heard the battle begin. Then he did as you taught him. He closed his eye and focused on calling Vhagar. He knew Molcajete would follow, as they were practically inseparable now. He didn’t know how long it would take, but he hoped he would make it before anyone on the battlefield recognized your fighting style. Aegon would kill you for joining the blacks. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Criston was prepared for dragons, and had his archers and scorpions fire at them. The dragons were largely unharmed by these attacks, and they responded by burning Criston's soldiers with dragonfire. While you dismounted from Meleys, you prepared for battle on foot.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Criston Cole then sprung his trap. King Aegon II Targaryen appeared in the sky atop their dragons, Sunfyre, and attacked. The four dragons fought a thousand feet above the field. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

You were fighting on the battlefield, dressed in the new armour given to you by Rhaenyra. Aemond saw you earlier that morning, with your purple war paint, and teeth dyed cochineal red — an intimidating sight — with your macuahuitl and another weapon at your side. 

Aegon saw you fighting and he saw red. He immediately swooped down on Sunfyre. You were attacked again by another green knight. After you killed him, you tripped and hurt your ankle. When you got up, you grabbed your macuahuitl and started limping away to continue the fight. Just before Sunfyre released his flame on you, Coatlicue, your brother’s dragon, wrapped her jaws around Sunfyre’s neck. You heard Sunfyre cry out as Coatlicue connected her teeth to his flesh and you looked up. Seeing your brother’s armour atop his dragon alerted you to how close they were. You were almost run through with a sword, but you jumped back just in time and ended the man’s life. Aemond saw it all happen, but he was too far away. Then Molca flew overhead and when she landed, you ran to her and climbed her ladder.

Aemond flew around the battlefield. He was happy you were safe, but he was also worried about his brother, Aegon. Regardless what they had planned for Sothoryos, they were still his family.

You knew you had to get in between Baelor and Aegon. You waited for an opening and made your move. Your brother’s bigger dragon was about to deal a fatal blow to Aegon when you got in between them. “No!”

“This is a man who has kept you in King’s Landing, against your will. A traitor and usurper!”

Behind you, while you were arguing with your brother, Aegon was about to attack you again, Sunfyre reared back, about to burn both you and your brother, but Molcajete turned her head toward Aegon & Sunfyre and roared. You looked at him, completely unbothered by his presence. Molca could easily do to Aegon & Sunfyre what everyone thought Aemond did to Lucerys. “Leave or I’ll let her kill you.”

Aemond watched as you allowed his brother to leave. Sunfyre rose into the sky again. 

Meleys caught up to Sunfyre, who was clearly struggling, maybe panicked, if a dragon can be. Aegon looked equally panicked atop the dragon. He was attempting to get the dragon under control to get away from the battle, and even with your mercy, battles are chaotic. Rhaenys didn’t see what had happened. She didn’t see you let Aegon go. She only saw the enemy in an exposed position. Her dragon took the opportunity to approach Sunfyre from above. You heard from the distance, “Dracarys!”

The attacking dragon let out a stream of flame until Sunfyre abruptly attempted to pull up. Sunfyre’s wing caught in the other’s mouth and tore. The screams of pain from Sunfyre would echo for decades after in the nightmares of every witness. Sunfyre had one wing half torn from his body. Aegon suffered severe burns and fell to his death. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Aemond saw his brother’s last fall. He knew this would tear out his mother’s heart. He didn’t want to spend any more time than he had to here any longer.

The Green army almost entirely ceased hostilities when they saw their king fall. You knew it would have been a quick enough death, no lingering in the halfway point for weeks on end as you’ve seen before. You found Aemond on the field and held him tightly.

Ser Criston Cole lost almost all of his soldiers to dragonfire and fighting. Rhaenyra took the iron throne. Sunfyre, was flightless and it was decided that they would take him to Sothoryos for as long as his life was full. Eventually, Alicent understood that it was only a miscommunication about Aegon’s flight, it wasn’t your intent to get him killed. 

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