#Exactly what I was thinking but put into words

[junkissed]

monster

member — incubus!cheol x f reader genre — smut, supernatural (demon), pwp word count — 2.2k synopsis — who said you aren't allowed to fuck your sleep paralysis demon? warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, monster cock!cheol, mean dom!cheol, masturbation (reader), messy blowjob, rough throat fucking, throat bulge kink, choking/breathplay, dacryphilia, some degredation and praise, a little humiliation, throat training (kinda), cum in mouth, sooooo much cum, cheol is a demon both metaphorically and literally, cheol has a tail and uses it for kinky purposes, objectification (of reader), nicknames (darling, sweetheart, slut, good girl, toy, etc.), implied established relationship ? (this is not their first time together) notes — thanks to @multi-kpop-fanfics @kwanisms for help brainstorming the demon part and @cheolism @onlymingyus @beomcoups for proofreading !! i really wanted to put out one more spooky fic before december hehe. if you enjoyed this fic, please remember to reblog!! it's super important for sharing my work and it lets me know this is something people wanna see more of :)

“darling, now what did i tell you about touching yourself without me?”

you startle at the sudden low voice whispering in your ear, and your cheeks grow hot as you sit up straighter on the bed. your skin prickles with the sudden feeling of being watched, tingling almost in excitement. 

you already know who it is even before his figure fades into visibility. his face still obscured in shadow and your room is dark, illuminated by nothing but the faint gleam of the moon shining in through your window. even so, you know his piercing eyes can see through the dark when yours can't. 

he looks different each time he arrives. sometimes it’s the long blond hair, slicked back with gel and a single strand falling across his forehead. sometimes it’s the black hair, shaved close on the sides with half of it tied back in a bun. but the red that he wears tonight has always been your favorite: a bright, unnaturally glowing shade that seems to match his fiery personality.

that’s how he appears to you now, dressed in his usual purple suit, the deep neckline showing off the muscles in his broad chest and his tail curled in a relaxed coil around his leg. a thick silver chain hangs around his neck and instinctively you shiver at the sight of it, the memory of it seared into your skin from all the times he's held you down rough and fast and let it drag across your back, just the way you like it.

“you were expecting me, weren’t you?” he murmurs. his voice is warm and deep like a pool of water, and each time you hear it, it only makes you want to jump deeper and deeper into him.

“m-maybe,” you manage breathlessly, though both of you know it’s so obviously a lie.

he laughs, but his tone isn’t humorous. you can practically see the smirk in his voice even without being able to see his face. “of course you were. or else you wouldn’t be sitting there, soaking through your panties and thinking about me like the depraved little slut you are. isn’t that right, sweetheart?” 

the bedroom suddenly brightens with a warm orange glow, as if lit by a candle, except there's nothing there. cheol finally steps out of the shadows, allowing you to see all of him. the look on his face radiates condescension, yet it only makes the heat between your legs burn hotter. 

you don't give him an answer to his question, and he doesn't pry for one. that's how this usually goes; you both know exactly what the other is here for anyway. once you're sure he's watching, you slowly pull your fingers from your cunt and keep your legs spread to reveal your glistening, sticky arousal that he loves so much, and that's enough of an answer to keep him satisfied for now. he doesn't react, but you can tell he's enjoying the sight from the way his eyes begin to glow a deep, hungry red.

you get up off the bed and start to move towards him, but he vanishes. a laugh sounds from behind you, and you whip around to see him sitting where you had been on the bed.

cheol spreads his thighs apart, leaning back against the headboard of your bed, and you take it as an invitation to move back towards him. you're already starting to feel the neediness returning, the empty feeling only heightened by his presence.

you try to sit down but his hand catches your arm, wrapped around your wrist to keep you at a distance.

“ah ah ah,” he scolds, holding back a laugh at your pout of confusion. “you already had your turn. if you behave for me, then i might consider giving you something in return.”

you nod quickly, and he smirks, directing you to kneel between his thighs instead. “mm… my good girl, always so eager.” 

he leans closer to you and fists his hand through your hair, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull you up and force your head to be level with his. he whispers against your cheek and it raises goosebumps on your skin, his eyes dark and narrowed as he bares his teeth with a grin. “i think you might just be one of my favorites, you know? such a cute little thing you are.”

he lets go of your hair and you reposition yourself to lay as comfortably as you can, now face to face with his cock as he pushes away his pants. you may be one of his favorites, but he's also one of yours. the first time he appeared was the last time you slept with a human man, and as long as you have him you'll never want to again. there's no desire for the mediocre hookups of the past when you have the devil's right hand man using his hands on you. seungcheol fits in all the right places, in all the right ways, and each time with him is even more satisfying than the last.

you tentatively wrap your hand around the base of his cock, trying to guide him into your mouth. this part never gets easier on you, but it's well worth it for the pleasure he gives you in return. 

“relax, sweetheart,” he coos as you slide your lips further down. “you're so tense. you want to take it all, don't you? breathe through your nose, you know the drill.”

to anyone else his words might sound kind, but you know the way he's teasing you is anything but kind. you whimper and try to follow his direction, forcing your jaw to go slack as you try to fit more down your throat. slowly but surely you manage to take him into your mouth, but your lips still only reach halfway down his length.

he pushes his hips up into your mouth once he's given you a moment to adjust, an experimental thrust to see if you're ready. you choke a little and let out a gagging sound, your eyes instantly starting to water as he hits the back of your throat. but you don't tell him to stop, and he doesn't stop.

you keep trying to relax your jaw, letting the length of his cock slide against your tongue with wet, messy noises.

cheol's tail wraps itself around your neck and you stifle a strangled gasp in surprise. his cock is so far down your throat it’s already almost hard to breathe, but the added pressure as he chokes you makes it even harder. you're lightheaded from the feeling but not enough to hurt, teetering on the line between pleasure and pain. 

“you look absolutely pathetic, darling,” he says, a low groan rumbling deep in his chest. “so gorgeous.”

your arms are shaking from holding yourself up on your elbows, but his praise is what keeps you going, choking back a whimper as you take his cock further down your throat. your vision blurs around the edges, but you can feel the spit dribbling from your mouth as it runs down his length. he makes it impossible to focus on anything besides the bruising pace of his cock.

cheol coos in fake sympathy, his tail coiling just a little tighter around your neck. “aw, poor thing. is it too difficult for you, sweetheart? you're trying so hard to be good for me. just relax.”

at this angle he can't see it, but he can feel the way your throat bulges around his length. he can feel the ridges of your throat tightening around his cock with each labored breath you take, barely enough room to allow air into your lungs. if you were in a different position he'd be able to see the faint outline of his cock stretching your throat, expanding and contracting as you struggle to meet his thrusts.

“you're loving this, aren't you? i can tell. i can smell it.” he inhales deeply through his nostrils, as if to prove his point. “ahh. like cinnamon, and… peaches. i can practically taste you from here, my darling. so sweet…”

if your mouth weren't so full and you could speak properly right now, you'd probably be whining seungcheol's name and begging for more. no matter how many times he tells you to forget him, he always ends up back in your bed like this. maybe he really does have a favorite.

he groans and rolls his neck back, his skin flushed red as he looks down at you. fuck, what a sight: your pretty little ass up in the air and your lips stretched around him, looking up at him with pleading eyes filled with tears.

cheol lets out another laugh, his voice just a little strained as he teases you. “if you hadn't already soaked through your cute little panties before i got here, then i'd bet they definitely are by now.”

you choke a little around him, caught off guard by his words, but he's not wrong. you wiggle your hips involuntarily, trying your best to hold still but it's hard to stay focused. your head is fuzzy and your senses are overwhelmed, your throat burning with friction both inside and out.

your grip starts to loosen around the base of his cock but seungcheol just tsks and repeats your name, his tail squeezing once to get your attention. “use your hands, darling, you have them for a reason. now just stay still, relax for me.” he flashes you a grin. “don't want to hurt my favorite toy, of course.”

his thrusts into your mouth grow more hurried, shoving his cock down your throat faster and sloppier with each snap of his hips. the force of his movements is unnaturally strong, and although you know by now that he's right on the edge, he barely looks like he's breaking a sweat. 

he finally releases with a deep groan, spilling down your throat and flooding your mouth. his thrusts don't stop, only slowing down a fraction as he tilts his head back, letting out another satisfied moan.

you know better than to stop without cheol's permission, so you hold your head in place and try to keep up with him. your eyes are brimming with tears as you struggle not to choke, and finally the hot, wet drops spill over and roll down your cheeks from the intense amount of energy it's taking to stay still.

all you can do is focus again on breathing through your nose and swallowing all of his cum that you can. unlike other men you've been with, you're not repulsed by the taste of him, and swallowing would be easy if there weren't so much of it. even when he should be finished he still keeps going, his tip pulsating against your tongue with each spurt.

just when you think you can't hold it any longer, the pressure on your neck suddenly releases and seungcheol uncurls his tail from around your neck. you pull your head away from his cock, gasping and stuttering, and you vaguely register cheol's fingers beneath your chin to support your head, your jaw aching from being held stretched open for so long. 

“mm, there you go. deep breaths, now.”

seungcheol chuckles as if he’s pleased at the sight of you. his tail lifts to wipe the tears from your cheeks, then some of the drool and spit and cum from the corner of your mouth, and you exhale a shallow, shaky breath.

“are you done for tonight? or…” he hums once he's given you a moment to recover, but although his words are kind again, there's no sympathy in his tone. he caresses your cheek gently with his thumb, his crimson red eyes sparkling as he looks down at you.

“… you think you can take more?”

your eyes are heavy and lidded, feeling like all your energy has been zapped from you, but somehow you're still insatiable. there's an itch that you can never quite scratch, feelings that only seungcheol can make you feel, and the promise of that satisfaction is enough to keep you sated and happy for decades.

“more,” you stammer, still catching your breath, but your eyes are fixed on his. “p-please, i can take it.”

cheol's smile widens, revealing his gleaming white teeth, although he'd already known what your answer would be. “oh, i know you can. such an obedient thing you are, always so ready to please and be pleased. you want more, hm?”

you nods quickly as you can manage, your neck still aching a little. that's how he always leaves you: a ruined mess, exhausted and sore, yet you'd still jump on the chance for another round if he offered. and he always does.

before you can blink he flips you onto your back, disappearing almost like magic and reappearing at the end of the bed to kneel between your legs. his thick cock rests against your stomach, still just as hard as before, and the weight of him on top of you already has you shivering with excitement.

“you’ve been such a good girl for me, darling. i think you deserve a little reward for taking my cock so well.” he grins as he traces his fingers down your body, his hands finding your hips as his grip tightens. “you get to take it again.”

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[darkbluekies]

In the hands of a madman 2024 ver

Doctor!yandere oc x reader

Summary: a doctor is very peculiar about his favorite patient, and senses a threat once they disobey him.

Warnings: yandere, poison, murder, cuff restraints

Word count: 2.4k

You gag.

“Yes, yes, I know”, he coos, grimacing and removes the wooden stick out of your mouth. “I’m sorry.”

You're left with a bitter taste in your mouth. Why does he always stick that thing as far down your throat as humanly possible? You thank heavens that it’s not one of the needles extracting blood from your arm, although you’re sure that’s what’s waiting tomorrow.

“Still nothing?” you ask cautiously. 

He meets your eyes and you know immediately. You sigh heavily. Your heart sinks to your stomach. 

Every three months, he’s doing all sorts of tests to see if you’re getting better — or what’s what he’s saying. Every three months, Dr Kry has to check every vital sign on you to make sure that his sickness isn’t getting out of his control. But you don’t like them. They hurt. Badly.

“Will I ever get to go home? I want to.” 

Dr Kry sighs and sits down on his rolling stool, coming over to your bed.

“I know you do, but you that’s not possible”, he says apologetically. “You know that too.”

“Yeah, because you keep reminding me”, you mutter. 

“That’s better than giving you false hope, isn’t it? Wouldn’t that drive you insane?”

It would, but you don’t say it out loud. Doesn’t need to.

“I want to go home!” you say again, louder this time. 

“Saying it louder won’t make you better or me change my mind”, Dr Kry says. 

You sigh and press your palms to your eyes, trying to press the tears back into your eyes before they escape. You’ve been here for too long by now. You’ve been isolated for so incredibly long. ALl you want is to go home. You know no one, talk to no one beside him. The proper, sophisticated man who’s stiffer than a stick. Dr Kry sighs and moves closer. 

“I know that you’re disappointed”, he says and puts his large hand on your shoulder. “But this is for the best. “I don’t want you to get worse.”

“I hate these fucking tests! They hurt.”

“I know.”

He glances towards the white air purifier on the shelf beside the bed. The poisoned air purifier. He’s always making sure it’s not too much, not too little. Just the exact amount to keep you where he wants you — weak and vulnerable, dependent on him. 

“I know it’s hard”, he says encouragingly. “I know that you’re in pain, but you’re doing so good. You can always call for me if you need me, okay? I’m available all day and night for you.”

You press forward a smile, but can’t help but feel a wave of sadness wash over you. Why did this happen to you? Where did you go wrong to end up here? How could a sore throat get you bed bound in a hospital room? If only you knew. 

“Let’s get you tucked in again”, Dr Kry says and helps you lie down in bed. “You shouldn’t be putting to much pressure on your body.”

He pushes up your pillows, having you lie in a 45-degree angle. It helps you breathe at night. He always tucks the blanket close to your body, as if you were a butterfly in a cocoon. He gives you a small smile before standing up. 

“Please don’t go”, you whisper. “I don’t want to be left here.”

The man looks at you, studies you carefully before nodding and sitting back down. He wipes your lonely tear with his finger. He looks at his wet finger, thinking. 

“I feel helpless”, you admit. “I don’t think I’ll ever get well again.”

Little do you know that’s exactly what he wants. 

“It’s okay, Y/N”, he says. “I will take care of you. I will stay with you until you’re well again.”

He has to force back a smile. 

“I don’t want to do these anymore”, you say monotonously. 

“I know you don’t, but you have to”, Dr Kry says apologetically and moves closer to the bed on his rolling stool. “They’re important.”

“They hurt …”

“I know, but you’re doing so good, okay? I’m so proud of you.”

You give him a small, painful smile. 

“I’ll sit here until you fall asleep, don’t worry”, he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You close your eyes slowly. He fades out. 

He takes blood tests the following day. Needles, pain.

“Now, you need to take a nap”, he says and tucks you in. 

The daily afternoon nap. You hate it, but he insists. While you sleep, he’s out taking care of other patients that are not you. He hates it, hates wasting his time and skill on people that aren’t you. Those patients are one time patients that are there for surgeries, consultations or checkups. No long term patients that have to stay in the hospital. Everyone gets to leave after he meets them. Everyone but you. You stay. 

You keep your eyes closed until Dr Kry leaves the room. Quickly, you sit up and get out of bed. After all these fucking tests, you’re deserving of something else than the tasteless cardboard Dr Kry gets you. Just one brownie. Something that has sugar. And maybe some coffee for caffeine too. 

Quietly, you sneak out into the corridor. There’s something about these sterile passageways that makes the hair on your back stand on its end. Is it the dehumanized area or the fact that you’re never allowed here? Is it nerves or excitement? Whatever it is, you decide to speed up your steps and hurry towards the elevators before anyone sees you. They’ll tell him. Just as the doors are about to close, someone stops the doors. A boy dressed in a similar hospital gown as yourself forces his way into the elevator. He gives you a rushed, apologetic smile. 

“Sorry”, he says sheepishly. “I am in a hurry.”

“What happened to you?” you ask and smile halfly. 

“I escaped from the therapist. A real pain in my ass.”

You can’t help but giggle. The young man licks his lips and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Have you met her?” he asks. “The therapist?”

“No”, you say. 

You haven’t met anyone but your stiff and proper doctor. 

“Don’t”, the young man advices you and leans his back against the wall. “She’s mental. I honestly think she should be the one getting interrogated — not me.” He looks at you, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“Do you meet others?” you ask. 

“In the lounge. Have you been there?”

You shake your head and lower your eyes. 

“Did you just arrive?” the man asks. 

You shake your head again. 

“How long have you been here?”

“A while.”

The elevator stops and the doors open at your floor. 

“Are you going to the cafeteria?” the man asks. 

“Yes”, you reply. 

“I’m coming with you. Maybe you can help me blend in.”

“Okay.”

The boy seems frantic, but happy. Running on adrenaline and excitement. Together, you walk through the hospital to the cafeteria and realize that you don’t have any money. Your shoulders fall. Did you come here for nothing? 

“Aren’t you going to order something?” the young man asks. 

“I don’t know”, you reply quietly. 

Before you have the time to come up with a lie why you can’t order anything, you recognise something in the corner of your eye. A blonde man dressed in a white robe. You feel your blood run cold. 

“What do we have here?” Dr Kry asks and you have a hard time reading his tone or facial expressions. “What do you think you are doing out of bed?”

He walks over to you and grabs your shoulder. You flinch. His grip is … tight. Painful. 

“You’re supposed to rest”, Dr Kry says shortly.

He looks at the young man. His eyes seem to go right through him. 

“Where are you supposed to be?” he asks. 

He doesn’t answer. Dr Kry gives him a cold gaze before grabbing your upper arm in a tight grip. He doesn’t say anything as he starts to pull you with him. His steps are quick, steady. Angry. 

“Doctor …”, you try.

He doesn’t answer. Dr Kry pushes you into the elevator and presses the button. He doesn't let go of your arm.

“Doctor, I’m sorry”, you say. 

He still doesn’t answer. You barely dare to look at him. There’s something about his face that scares you. It's stoic, unreadable. But he oozes anger. Like a dark cloud.

The elevator stops, the doors open. His tight grip remains as he drags you back into your room.

“Lay down”, he instructs shortly.

You do, too scared to disobey. Dr Kry walks past you, to the drawers by your bed. He rips out two leather bands that look like belts for dolls. Before you're aware of what he's doing, he's strapped one of your wrists to the bed railing.

“Wait, doctor-”, you blurt out.

“Be quiet.”

He locks your other wrist to the other railing. You tug at the restraints, and find them secure.

“Are they too tight?” Dr Kry asks, still with that short tone that sends icy needles down your spine.

“Doctor, what are you-?”

“Answer the question. Do they hurt?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He turns to his desk, ignoring you.

“Doctor, I'm sorry”, you say.

“You broke my trust”, he says without giving you any attention. “It's important, for your healing, that you do not deceive me. I need to be able to trust that you do as I say. How many times have you done this?”

“Only this time, I promise.”

He doesn't answer. You feel how your eyes fill with tears. Your body is in such a vulnerable state that your body betrays you. You didn't want to upset him, didn't want to put your own health at risk by doing this. 

“I'm sorry, doctor”, you sniffle. “I didn't mean to break your trust.”

He sighs and turns his head to look at you. His blue eyes soften and he rises from his chair, coming over to your bed. He can't stay mad at you, not when you're clearly dumb. You don't understand, he can't be mad at you for not understanding. He should — and is — mad at himself for not foreseeing these situations and making sure you don't do it.

“You know that I only want what's best for you, don't you?” he asks and wipes your tears with his hand.

“Yes”, you reply.

“In that case, I want you to never repeat this mistake. Mistakes are forgivable, but they should be minimized, do you understand that?”

“Yes. Do you forgive me?”

He has to force back a smile. You're so unbelievably cute.

“Yes, I do forgive you”, he says. 

“Can you take off the restraints?”

“No. I might forgive you, but I need you to know what happens once mistakes occur. This is the consequences that follow. If I can't trust you to be where I want you to be, I need to take precautions to make sure you are.”

You lower your gaze.

“Who was that, by the way?” he asks. “That young … man. Why did you speak to him?”

“I don't know, he took the same elevator as me.”

“I don't want you to speak with him again. If he's the one they're looking for, I don't want you getting influenced by his reckless ideas.”

“I don't get to speak to anyone, anyways.”

“And that's how it should be. We don't know why you're sick, and you shouldn't contaminate someone else.”

“What about you, then? You can get sick too.”

“I'm ready to take that risk.”

He's too nice, you think. All he wants is to take care of you and you put his selfless risks to hell when you decide to disobey him. How horrible of you.

“Now, you need to take that nap for real”, he says. “I will sit by my desk. If you need something you can just let me know.”

He walks back to his desk and sits down, starting to file some paperwork. You tug at the restraints. You're not going anywhere.

When you’ve fallen asleep, Dr Kry makes his way through the hospital. They’ve captured that young man and put him back into his room … and Dr Kry wants a talk with him. He opens the door quietly. The young lays in bed, sleeping. Dr Kry circles around him, taking a good look at him. Did you find him cute? Hot? Did you like talking to him? Did you think that he was better than him? Did you enjoy those ten minutes with him more than these months with Kry? Do you want to meet with him again? He glares at the sleeping man. Dr Kry walks over to the supply closet, an identical to the one in your room, and takes out one of the spare pillows. Silently, he walks over to the bed, lifts the pillow and presses it over the young man’s face. He widen his eyes, pulled out of his slumber. He screams against the pillow, his voice getting muffled in the fabric. 

“Normally, I’d make this easy for you”, Dr Kry grunts as the man starts to fight against him. “Out of pity, but you don’t deserve that mercy.”

He screams in confusion, fear. Dr Kry can make out words. What. No. Help. Stop.

“Just give in and give yourself that mercy”, Dr Kry continues. “If you continue to fight against me, you’ll be in more pain.”

The man cries. Dr Kry breaks out into a smile. 

“You’re going to die either way, you can choose to end it quicker.”

The young man doesn’t seem to get the memo. He continues to fight, cry, plead. He drinks it all in. The horror, the helplessness. The dear in headlight. He has seen the light in people’s eyes disappear multiple times during his job as a doctor. To see the moment someone becomes just a piece of flesh. He has never enjoyed it as much as now. The man stops moving. Dr Kry removes the pillow and takes a step back, looking at the lifeless body. He breathes out. Finally, he can calm down. 

And now, all he needs to do is to make sure he can not be traced back. 

He finds you sleeping soundly as he comes back to your room, wrists still locked to the sides of the bed. You make his heart ache. He sits down beside you, brushing his fingertips over your cheek. 

I control your life, my little one. You’re going to say with me and I’ll take every repercussion to make sure you don’t disappear. 

[ms-demeanor]

Some people on the left are discussing whether the left is kind enough to me. Especially after the results of the election like lots of men of some demographics voting for Trump. Do you have any thoughts on that? Seems more about women should be nicer to men in some people’s opinions. And I am not sure about this discourse

i think that the social atomization that contributes to the radicalization of young men also contributes to, like, tradwifery and the radicalization of young women so I think that people are looking at a deep systemic issue with a shallow lens.

I don't think this is so much an issue of people being "nice" but of spaces making people feel *valued.*

The right-wing space full of toxic masculinity where people call disaffected young men "brother" isn't comforting just because people call you brother, it's because they're framing disaffected young men as valuable members of society who have been dismissed and degraded by the left. It tells them they're important and have worth and are necessary for the future of the world just because of who they are.

Of course they're getting called pussies and cucks and are being bullied in that space, but they're also being told that if they perform a certain standard of masculinity they are the future of their nation/race/species/family/etc. The toxicity of that space isn't something that makes them question their value, or whether or not they're a good person, or if they have something to offer the world. It is something they endure to prove that they are a member of the in-group, and that they belong, and that they do have value and are a good person.

So, there are people dunking on that post because it does kind of read like "i was almost eaten up by the alt right because women weren't nice enough to me" and to an extent i think that it was ungracefully worded. But i also think that it's addressing something that a lot of people feel in a lot of political spaces.

I do not think that whatever the hell we consider "the mainstream left" in America is particularly welcoming to anybody. I think that it very superficially values diversity while not actually valuing people. I think that it says "You are important! And that's why I need you to donate three dollars to my campaign to prevent the Republicans from harming [your identity group]! I am asking for your help as a senator, a mother, and a person who wants to defeat my opponent in two to four years."

I think that what a lot of people are looking for is not acceptance or niceness but is a community and i'm not at all surprised that people feel like they're not getting that from democrats/the mainstream left/whatever.

I mean. My real response to this is:

I don't think that the *actual* issue is that men don't feel welcomed by "the left," I definitely don't think the issue is women being insufficiently nice to men, I think the issue is that all of us are little cogs in a capitalist machine and actually there's very little out there that is saying to anyone "you are worth more than your productivity."

And it turns out that people will put up with huge amounts of abuse if the abuser makes them feel like they belong. People getting sucked into the alt-right pipeline because it is "nice" to them are exactly analogous to people who get sucked into cults because the cult provides community and affirmation and a sense of belonging.

Anyway, I am once again and as always begging people to put together or join any kind of at-least monthly meetup based on your specific interests. Start a radio club. Start a quilting circle. Put together a free store at the park once a month. Literally join a drum circle. Participate in a community garden. Start a walking club with your neighbors. Go to events at the library on weekends.

As a side note: there absolutely are lefty spaces that function by making people feel worthless or feel like bad people. They tend to have high turnover, short lifespans, and explosive fallout. These are shitty spaces and if your participation in a space is primarily motivated by some combination of guilt and self-flagellation, you should leave that space.

[dirty-daisy]

Oh my god , yes this is exactly what I think! I haven't been able to put it into words!

My favorite part about being sapphic is when the things I love about other women become things I love about myself. One day I was tracing another woman’s stretch marks in a dim bedroom light. And then, seemingly by accident, I was doing it to myself in my bathroom mirror. I loved the feeling of a full hand of flesh when I grabbed a woman’s hips, and then mine didn’t need to be so skinny anymore. I looked at a woman’s lower stomach pudge and thought it was so soft and cute, then never wanted a flat stomach again. Loving women can be so healing when you come from a world that doesn’t.

[goingmerryfics]

Calling them ‘daddy’ - Law, Sanji, Katakuri, Ace

Content: NSFW content, minors DNI. Daddy kink, fem reader in Sanji’s part, kinkshaming, two are accidental slips, pet names, some are established relationships

Law

Shachi grins, continuing the conversation, pulls up another pirate’s wanted poster

“Alright. Daddy, or not daddy?”

It’s such a stupid game -choosing which pirates are hot by labeling them as ‘daddy’- but it makes you all laugh, so you answer

You don’t even hear Law calling you three over the laughter

Fed up with it, he sharply calls out all three of your names

You turn, and in a moment of brain fog, you shout

“Yes, daddy!”

Immediately you see your error, mixing up replying with his usual title of Captain and saying ‘Daddy’ due to your game

It’s not what it looks like, but the damage is done. Shachi and Penguin are laughing their asses off, half the crew is losing it, and the other half is just confused, and Law is glaring daggers into you

You quickly correct yourself by shouting, ‘Captain’, trying to will away the heat in your cheeks

He’s not impressed

“You.” He points to you, “are going to meet me in my office after this.”

Sanji

The both of you were in the kitchen after you’d offered to help him prep for dinner. It was nice to be alone with him, and watching him so focused was fascinating

“Can you cut the carrots, princess?”

and you’d answered, “Sure, daddy.”

You intended to tease him a little, but he doesn't even have a reaction to it. He’s so focused that if it’s not food related, he doesn’t seem to realize what’s going on

So every time you’re asked a question, you sneakily add the word to the end of your reply to him

It takes so long for it to set in, but you know exactly when he realizes it because he suddenly shouts and backs away from the stove, blood rushing out of his nose

He drops to his knees before you, face as red as the cayenne pepper you’d spilled on the counter earlier

he takes your hands, his grip gentle as if handling a porcelain doll

“My sweet, sweet pumpkin pie!”

It takes an hour to get him off of you

Katakuri

“Don’t.”

You’re lying against him, in the privacy of his Merienda, both snacking on your favorite treats

You ask him what he means- don’t what?

“I know what you were going to say.”

He’s so calm about it. You don’t even know what you mean until you remember what you were thinking of- you had been wondering what he would be like as a father

Judging by the hint of blush on his face, easy to see here in the Merienda with his scarf set aside, you realize you were probably at some point going to connect the thought to another and call him ‘daddy’

You end up grinning and poking at him, asking why he’s blushing

He won’t answer you, just looks away with a little grumble. You’ll have to bring it up later to see if his reaction leads to something more

Ace

You were distracted and Ace was pestering you for attention, chatting your ear off and asking you questions

“What’s for dinner?”

“What are your plans today?”

It had slipped out of your mouth without you even thinking after answering one of his stupid questions and now he won’t let it go

You hadn’t even noticed it when you said it- you were too annoyed to pay attention to what words you were using, but he did

You’ve never seen someone turn around so fast. His hat even falls off his head.

“Huh? What did you say?”

He knows damn well what you said, he just wants to hear it again

He pokes at your reddened cheek all day, refusing to say it again and swearing you don’t know where it had come from when you said it

“Say it again, c’mon, I wanna hear you say it!”

Honestly, you have no idea why you put up with this guy sometimes. He’s lucky he’s cute

[always-just-red]

@lunariadew asked: 'Can you write a poly fic maby like a feel good fic or date night or something with all the boys! I’m greedy and I think there’s not enough poly fics as there should be'

Nothing profound this time around! Just some good old-fashioned shenanigans. I've wanted to do a fic with all the boys for SO long (Infold, hire me to write a sitcom-style show for the guys, PLEASE) I've kept it platonic since it's early stages; it's open to interpretation about how many sparks are flying and between whom exactly..... 👀 But if ppl want more of this, I'm all over it. Platonic or romantic? I'll play it by ear!

Game Night

L&DS Boys X Reader

Summary: The most important men in your life can manage one evening together, right? For you? Please? Pretty please?

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: f!reader, some swearing, a lil conflict, non-canon (I know some of the guys probably know each-other but we're pretending they don't 😇)

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Rafayel… what do you think this is?”

The artist stands at your open door, wearing a self-assured smile and one of the flashier outfits you’ve seen him in, and that’s really saying something. Between you is a bouquet of lilies, petals curled like frozen licks of fire that compliment— deliberately, if you had to guess— the warmer fires within his eyes. Those eyes narrow at your question.

“What do you think it is?” he says suspiciously, lowering the flowers.

“…Game night?”

You’re not sure why you phrase it so tentatively. You know what it is; you’re the host. You open your door wider, stepping aside to give Rafayel a better view of the apartment behind you, and the remainder of his smile sinks.

“Hi,” Xavier calls out, and you don’t have to see him to know he’s giving a wholesome sort of wave.

“Hi…” Rafayel answers, barely more than a whisper as his eyes flit between everyone else in the room, because he’s the last to arrive. “Game night, yeah,” he nods assertively, “I knew that.” Then a deep breath: “Can I, like, put these somewhere—”

“Kitchen counter,” you gesture.

“Got it.” He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Closing the door behind him, you watch as he skirts past the lounge and makes for your kitchen, where another bouquet already lies waiting. He zeroes in on it. “Looks like mine’s not the only heart you’re breaking tonight, huh, cutie? What are these—” he pokes at a petal— “daturas?”

“They’re her favourite,” speaks a distinctly low voice.

Rafayel doesn’t look up. He plonks his bouquet on top of the other and winces: “They’re really not, though.”

“He’s right,” you chip in, giving Sylus a sheepish smile, and now Rafayel looks up, beaming.

“She likes roses,” Zayne says, with the calm confidence he’d quote a medical journal. On the sofa beside him, Xavier nods, and you grin at them both.

“Noted,” Sylus chuckles.

Rafayel’s less convinced. “Since when?!”

“Since forever, Raf. I like lilies too, so I didn’t say anything, ‘kay?” You beckon him back to the lounge, ignoring his splutters of disbelief. “C’mere, let me introduce you to everyone.”

The man slinks to your side like a reluctant shadow, and your hands find your hips. “This is Zayne. Xavier,” you point out, putting faces to names; Rafayel’s heard stories about each. Then you nod towards Sylus. “Over there’s Skye.”

From his place by the window, Sylus lifts a hand in greeting.

“So… yeah,” you finish. Oh, wait! “Guys, this is—”

“They know who I am,” Rafayel shrugs, his fame apparently heavy on his shoulders. He glances around the room for validation, but he gets none, so he tries again. “You do know who I am, right?”

“Sorry,” Xavier admits with an awkward smile, glancing back at Sylus: you?

The man has to think about it. You know for a fact he’s traded more than one of Rafayel’s paintings for a profit, but he smirks and gives an even more exaggerated shrug than the artist himself.

Really?

“You’re Rafayel,” Zayne states plainly.

“Yeah! See, I told you, cutie—”

“You slipped on a paintbrush and checked yourself into Akso, right? The nurses still talk about it.”

Rafayel’s enthusiasm drains. He looks conflicted as he mulls over the additional information. “In, like, a good way?” he hazards.

Zayne stares back at him, wielding silence like a scalpel before cutting deeper with a: “…sure.”

You bite back a smile. Leaving the two to discuss the finer details of Rafayel’s notoriety at the hospital, you wander over to the kitchen, where you fish out a vase from the back of a cupboard. You fill it, set it down on the counter, then reach for Sylus’s bouquet. There’s a black satin ribbon; you untie it.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, sweetie?” asks the man himself, joining you discreetly.

The others can’t really hear you— they’re still talking. “What,” you smirk, retrieving your scissors from a drawer, “you worried Xavier’s gonna arrest you?”

Sylus laughs lowly, quietly. “That’s adorable.”

“Good.” You pick up a flower and trim a leaf from the stem. “Because even if he wanted to—” you wave it, just short of his face— “I’d protect you, ok?”

He regards the flower beneath his nose. Smiles smugly. “These can be toxic, sweetie.”

“Really? Whoops.” You put it down, then snatch up a lily from Rafayel’s bouquet. “En Garde!”

“These too.”

“What the hell?”

The flame-red flower drops from your fingers, and Sylus laughs more sincerely. “Stick to roses, kitten. Or…” He moves his hand over his deconstructed bouquet, his Evol pruning the rest of the leaves from the stems. A tendril of it gathers the flowers, delivering them to him so he can hold them out to you with a flourish. “Live dangerously. Who am I to judge?”

You take them, then plop them into the vase. “Cute.”

“I’m here all week,” he grins. “You’d better wash your hands, hmm?”

With a hmph of agreement, you turn to the sink. You spend half a minute, rubbing soap and warm water over your hands, and when you turn back around— still drying them— something is different. The lilies are gone. Sylus is looking at you, innocuous.

“Real mature, Skye.”

He makes no effort to defend himself. You’re about to tell him that his magic better extend to making flowers reappear when your attention is whipped back to the lounge. The voices from that side have raised, so you lean forward on your kitchen island, watching their owners in a sort of stakeout.

“I take it you have a plan,” Sylus whispers, leaning with you.        

You look at him. He looks back. “The plan is for hosts,” you scold, “not guests.” He’s much too close so you step away, reaching for the vase of daturas and holding them threateningly out, like you’re not afraid to use them. “Go back to the guests, deserter.”

Sylus lifts his hands in surrender, smirking in a way that says he knows he’s met his match. You shoo him further, back into enemy lines, then resume your stakeout. Xavier is sharing his own “embarrassing” medical story— talking about a time where he once passed out from exhaustion while fighting at your side, and you think it’s supposed to make Rafayel feel better.

It doesn’t, of course, and even Zayne is gazing down at the floor, self-conscious.

Sylus meets your eyes across the room, signals with a tip of his head: now's a good time for that master plan, sweetie.

Right. Your plan. Your master plan, yeah.

…

“You should have picked the doctor.”

Sylus’s words are near-silent: for you, not anyone else, and you pretend you don’t hear them. “But no,” he carries on, because he knows you can, “you just had to have the artist.”

“It’s Pictionary!” you snap, drawing all eyes in the room.

Lounging beside you, Sylus feigns an amused surprise, as though he hasn’t just been trying to illicit that exact reaction. On the other sofa, Zayne and Xavier stare, taken more genuinely aback. You give a smile of apology.

“Guys, concentrate!” Rafayel clicks his fingers at you. He’s stood in the centre of the space by a large drawing pad, and he goes back to frantically sketching on it. The drawing is… interesting. Abstract. Maybe even beautiful? But you don’t have a clue what it is.

“Thirty seconds,” warns Zayne, studying the little egg-timer he’s guarding.

You tilt your head at the drawing. There’s maybe a— wait, where did those extra colours come from? Where did he even get those pens? Anyway… there’s a circle. “A globe?” you guess. “Earth! No? Umm… oh! The sun! The moon!”

Rafayel shakes his head with every suggestion, adding even more intricate, unhelpful scribbles. Is that a fifth pen?! You nudge your other teammate, calling for back-up.

Sylus regards the drawing listlessly. “A unicorn.”

“What?!” Rafayel’s tone has reached a pitch that almost makes you wince. “No! C’mon, are you even trying?”

“No,” Sylus lilts with a pleasant smile, lifting the drink he’s been nursing to his lips.

You kick his foot. “A bowl of fruit!” you exclaim, determined to make up for the lack of enthusiasm. “A plate? A plate with food? Breakfast! Lunch! Dinner!”

“Time’s up,” Zayne interrupts, and it’s a mercy, really; you deflate with a sigh.

Rafayel puts his hands on his hips as he takes a step back to observe his work. He tucks four fine-liners back into his pocket— purses his lips as though he really can’t see a problem— and he’s keeping you all in suspense.

Sylus is up in an instant, stealing a card from where it’s been discarded on the coffee table. He reads the answer, then rolls his eyes. The original pen was also abandoned, so he plucks it up, then strides to the drawing pad.

He draws an oval. Then a triangle.

“A fish! A fish!” you cry out.

“You’re good at this, sweetie,” Sylus grins. He puts the lid on the pen with a click before dropping it into Rafayel’s hand.

“Is it my turn?” Xavier asks, trying to relieve the tension of the room. He gets up and smiles as Rafayel passes him the pen. “Your drawing is pretty. The composition is really—”

“Don’t,” Rafayel says. “Like, thanks? But don’t.”

“Fair enough,” Xavier chuckles.

You all prepare for the next round: Zayne handing you the egg-timer, Xavier re-organising the stack of prompt cards. Sylus takes a photo of the drawing pad before ambling back over— a moping Rafayel in tow— and they both sink down either side of you. You glance at the latter, giggling. “A fish, Raf? Really?”

“So I didn’t just wanna draw you some basic fish, ok?” The artist crosses his arms with a pout. “But fine, enjoy mediocrity, I guess.”

To your left, Sylus raises his glass in toast to the notion. There’s a noise: Xavier tearing the used page from the pad. You look up. “Xavier, can I have that?”

“Sure.” He brings it over to you.

You look at the drawing again, holding it at arm’s length and rotating it experimentally. You’re seeing a lot, but nothing that screams ‘fish’. There’s a circle, still. Oh! “It’s a fish bowl! Wait, wait, wait— is that Reddie?”

“Yeah!” Rafayel beams.

“Aww!”

The renewed team spirit drops off with Sylus; he’s on his phone, not paying attention. He seems to sense your scrutiny because he peers up, gives a ghost of a smile, then returns to whatever he’s doing. Meanwhile, Xavier is ready for his turn, so he signals for you to start the timer. You give him a thumbs up as you turn it over. “Go!”

He starts drawing.

“A car,” Zayne guesses after all of five seconds. Correct. Next. “A river? No. Oh. A snake.” Yes. “A cupcake?” Also yes. (In fairness, he was never going to struggle with that one.) “A person? Ok. Oh, a scientist, no? Ah, a doctor.” Yes again, and really— what?

Zayne continues to list correct answers, though thankfully, that’s the last of the coincidences. You watch on, vaguely in awe, until you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You check it casually, aware that Sylus is next to you, looking down at it too.

It’s a text from him: The drawing… Can I have it?

You glance up at him subtly, meeting his eyes and giving a discreet yet firm shake of your head. He frowns. You’re not having this debate here, now, so you let your gaze return to the drawing pad while idly retrieving your drink.

A few seconds later, there’s another text: Found buyer

Then another: Quarter of a mil

You almost choke on that drink.

“Umm… cutie?” Rafayel asks, poking you. He points at the timer you’ve left on the coffee table, and the top half is empty.

“Shit, yeah. That’s time!” you call.

Xavier stops drawing. The small, crude sketches behind him have reached double digits. He looks really proud. “Great! How many was that?”

His eyes find you. Zayne and Rafayel’s, too. Were you supposed to be counting? Uh—

“Eleven,” says Sylus, and it’s way too smug to be a lie.

“Awesome!” Xavier flips the drawing pad over to where you’ve been tallying point totals. He adds eleven marks to one side. “That’s—” he counts both— “ah, thirty-three to nine.”

A silence falls over the room. Unsure of what else to do, you give a half-hearted round of applause and Xavier laughs awkwardly, still humble, despite it all. “I think we’re kinda done with Pictionary, yeah?” you suggest, rising from your seat. “I should probably get started on food, anyway.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.”

The insistence came from Xavier, and you freeze suspiciously; he’s never turned down free food.

“You’ve already done so much,” he explains, “setting this all up for us. You should relax, really! Leave it to me.”

The word ‘relax’ is not synonymous with the image of Xavier anywhere near your kitchen, but he’s looking at you so earnestly, blue eyes brimming with warmth, and what are you supposed to say? No thanks, Xavier— I value my life? Everyone’s watching you. Gods help you. “That’s really sweet, Xavier. Thanks.”

Your fellow Hunter’s smile widens even more. He heads off to the kitchen, a spring to his step that makes your heart sink with dread. “Actually—” you glance at your ex-teammates— “could you two go help him? Zayne and I’ll tidy up over here.”

Rafayel and Sylus do as they’re asked, even though their expressions remind you that cooking is not, typically, a three-man job. It’s tactical, though. You wanted a moment alone with Zayne. “Are you ok?” you ask, once the others are out of earshot. “I know this must all be a lot. The guys can be, well… yeah.”

He knows what you mean, right?

Zayne has slipped away from the couch; he’s crouched on the floor, collecting a few prompt cards that have wandered astray. He glances up at you, pushing his glasses back on his nose. “I’m ok,” he assures with a fond smile. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome.” He hands you the cards and you slot them back into their deck. Then you turn to the drawing pad. “You and Xavier make a good team, huh?”

The doctor straightens to his full height. “Mmm. It helped that we didn’t spend the entire game comparing the size of our… drawing abilities.” 

You laugh unashamedly. The pen’s still at-hand, so you pick it up— reward another point.

Zayne chuckles.

“Food’s gonna be a while.”

You both turn, following the voice back to Sylus, who has apparently decided he’s had his fill of kitchen duty. What was that— a minute? He seems to have anticipated your dissatisfaction, because he’s brought a bribe with him: the box of chocolates that had come with his bouquet. It’s already open and he holds it out, tempting you.

He’s right— you don’t know when you’ll next be eating— so you select a heart-shaped chocolate, popping it into your mouth with a smile and a muffled: “thanks.”

Sylus smiles back. Then he holds the box out to Zayne. “Doctor?”

It takes a nod of encouragement from you to prompt Zayne into taking something. He chooses a white chocolate truffle, mumbles his own thanks, but Sylus doesn’t relent— not yet. He shakes the box slightly, incitingly, and he doesn’t move it away until Zayne takes two more.

Your physician shoots you a surreptitious smile as Sylus falls back onto the couch, content he’s won your hearts, and that he won’t be sent back to the kitchen anytime soon. His long fingers lift another chocolate from the box, and he meets your eyes as he slips it slowly past his lips, humming likes he’s enjoying himself.

You cross your arms, unimpressed. He gives you the least convincing look of innocence you’ve ever seen.

There’s an exclamation from the kitchen: “Hey, where did my flowers go!?” 

Shit. You hastily push the drawing pad aside then scurry over to assist Rafayel. You don’t have a plan, exactly; it’s not like you can help him look for them. “Umm… they’re around, Raf. I moved them somewhere safer, that’s all.”

“Where?”

“Uh—”

“Does it matter?” Sylus speaks from behind you, because he and Zayne are close at your heels. “She said they’re somewhere safe.” He leans on the kitchen island. “Don’t you trust her?”

Rafayel scoffs. “I trust her plenty.”

“So prove it. Drop it.”

“Skye,” you caution, “stop.”

Sylus does stop, but not because you asked. He’s done enough already, hasn’t he? Rafayel is bristling with indignance— a lit fuse— and behind him, Xavier sneakily checks the trash can, looking relieved at what he doesn’t find. He gives you a subtle glance: Where actually are the flowers?

You lift a shoulder an inch: Beats me!

There’s a soft, almost imperceptible crackle, and it draws your eyes to the vase of daturas between you all. They’ve caught light— their petals twisting, darkening, within larger flowers of fire.

“Rafayel!” you gasp. “No, no, no, the fire alarm!”

The torched flowers are encased, all of a sudden, in a fine layer of shimmering frost. Sylus blinks down at them, unmoved by their destruction. Zayne’s hand is still outstretched, snowflakes etched over his palm. Then something… odd happens. The ice doesn’t stop. It spreads over the rest of the kitchen island, to all of your bewilderment.

“Zayne?” Your voice is fraught with worry, but you don’t give a damn about your kitchen.

The man winces, and you so rarely see him out of control. The silver-white patterns have crawled up his wrist, and the ice continues to spread; even Sylus steps back. Sharp, jagged crystals start to form— inching out towards everyone.

“Zayne!” you try again.

His chest rises as he drags air through his teeth; it looks like it hurts, but the ice does stop. The others are still, suspended by momentary uncertainty, and you rush to Zayne’s side, taking his hand.

“What the hell was that?” Rafayel remarks, shaking away his surprise and thawing an icicle that’s way too close for comfort.

“He wouldn’t have needed to use his Evol if you hadn’t used yours.”

It’s Xavier, strangely— you would have expected Sylus. The Hunter’s tone is gentle as always, but there’s something behind it, this time: a frustration that lends an edge.

Rafayel hears it too. “Hey, I’m not the one who started this!” He points to Sylus. “He—”

“Has been lighting fires all evening,” Xavier finishes. “But at least his were only figurative.”

Sylus laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh where you just know he’s vying to make things worse. “Look at that,” he says, “the boy next door can bite.”

Xavier’s eyes sharpen. Beside you, Zayne slips his hand from yours. It’s an instinct you know well. This moment is volatile, and you have to be ready. It could go a dozen different ways; it’s just waiting for a spark.

“Guys,” you manage to get out, “please, just… everyone, take a breath, ok? Everything’s fine, we just have to—”

A spark.

There’s smoke. Actual smoke. “Xavier, behind you!” Zayne alerts.

It’s creeping out of the oven and Xavier turns— eyes wide— to open its door before any of you can stop him. Thicker smoke billows out, filling the air, and you all scramble away from it. The fire alarm triggers. You think Rafayel’s shouting something, but you can’t really hear him. Then Sylus is shouting. Maybe even Zayne. The alarm is piercing your ears and making you dizzy— or is it the smoke?

You feel a hand on your shoulder and suddenly everything changes.

There’s cool air, brushing over your skin, and it’s dark; you’re outside the building. You can still hear the alarm, shrill but further away, and your window is easy to spot: there’s a red light flashing behind it. Sylus leans into your vision, saying your name.

“Stay here,” he tells you, “alright?”

He’s gone in another moment, lost to a flicker of crimson-black darkness.

Gods, you’re so stupid.

…

You sit on a short wall outside of your building, and the street is full of people. You recognise most of them: neighbours. Every single one is mad at you. You’re all waiting for the alarm to cut out— for the all-clear to be given. The fire wasn’t that serious in the end, but there’s still a procedure. You would know; this isn’t exactly your first evacuation.

The guys are safe, which is good, because it means you can kill them later. They’ve all gotten lost in the throng, and your neighbours can keep them. Maybe they’ll kill them for you.  

“Hey, cutie.”

You were staring down at your feet, but you look up at Rafayel’s voice. He’s coming towards you, evoking a sense of déjà vu, because he’s clutching a bouquet of flame lilies. That’s… the bouquet of flame lilies. How?

“Skye gave ‘em back to me,” he explains, chuckling at your expression, and he’s close enough now to hold the flowers out to you. “I don’t know where he was keeping them. His Evol’s weird, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say timidly, taking the bouquet and gazing down into the petals; they still smell sweet.

Rafayel sits next to you, shuffling close, and he leans his head on your shoulder with a tired sigh. You want to be mad at him. You really, really do— but you’re suddenly not.

“I’m sorry, Rafayel.” The admission barely makes it out of your throat.

You feel his head lift. “You’re sorry?”

“I know it was just a misunderstanding,” you speak into the flowers, “but tonight… wasn’t what you were expecting, I get it. I mean, I kinda threw you into the deep end with all this. You didn’t know you were gonna be around other people, and I—”

“Whoa— cut that out, yeah? You’re killing me, cutie. I spend the whole evening causing trouble, and you’re gonna take all the blame? Nope. Not happening. It was a collaborative effort at least, ok?”

You giggle. “Ok.”  

“Good.” His head slumps back down on your shoulder, and yours tilts to rest against it. “Thanks, though. Really,” he whispers, so quiet you almost don’t notice.

Footsteps and familiar voices draw you from the intimacy of the moment. The others are wandering back to you, having finally escaped the veritable mob of your neighbours. They all look tired.

Xavier settles down on the other side of you, and Zayne sits beside him. Sylus takes a seat next to Rafayel with a huff, but he’s not half as unhappy as he’s pretending to be.

All of you sit in silence, gazes flitting between your window— where there are still glimpses of moving figures— and everyone else who’s been evacuated. For the first time all evening, the quiet isn’t tense. It’s peaceful. Easy.

“We’ll do better next time,” Zayne speaks softly.

Next time? You scoff. “Do any of you actually want there to be a next time?”

“I had fun,” Sylus chuckles. He’s taken his coin from his pocket, and he flips it, amusing himself.

“I had fun too,” Xavier grins.

“Cooking again, Xavier?” quips one of your neighbours, as they happen to pass by.

The man beside you laughs, but you can tell it’s forced. Your hand finds his; you give it a little squeeze, letting him know that it wasn’t his fault. His heart was in the right place. It’s always in the right place.

You nudge Rafayel away from you so you can sit up straighter, your free hand rubbing your arm, caressing prickled skin. You’re about to ask for a jacket when something heavy drapes over your shoulders. It’s a coat— still warm— and its owner is stood behind you; you didn’t even notice him get up.

“Thanks, Sylus,” you smile.

All eyes turn to you. What are they—?

Oh.

[onlyhereforthestories]

Chica Medica - Part 6 (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Okay, so the end of this has taken on a world of its own so I've split it into more parts so you get more frequent updates. We are very near the end now so buckle in for the final few parts. Also this outfit on Ale gets me everytime 😍

The first session back after the Christmas break felt different. The usual energy in the training facility was there; players catching up, coaches making rounds, but the tension between you and Alexia was undeniable. She had been avoiding you ever since the team returned from their respective holidays. You’d noticed the way her eyes barely met yours, the clipped tone in her voice when she answered your questions, and the way she seemed to disappear the moment the session ended.

It was driving you mad. After everything that had happened, the gift, the Instagram post, Alexia’s coldness towards you stung. You had thought the necklace meant something to her, but now you weren’t so sure. Maybe you had misread the entire situation. Maybe she had decided to push you away, after all.

After another training session where she barely acknowledged you, you decided you couldn’t let this go on any longer. If she was upset, if something had changed, you needed to know and you needed to know why. You had to understand what had happened between the two of you.

As the players filtered out of the gym, you approached her carefully, trying to mask the anxiety bubbling inside you. "Ale, can I talk to you for a minute? I need to go over some review forms with you for your progress this season. We can do it now if you have time."

Alexia’s body stiffened at the sound of your voice, and for a moment, you thought she was going to walk away. But instead, she turned around, her face cold and unreadable. "Fine," she said shortly. "Let’s get this over with."

You led her into the office, your heart racing in your chest. She sat down across from you, her arms crossed, her posture defensive. You could feel the distance between you, the walls she had put up since Dubai, and it was suffocating. How had you got to this point.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep things professional. "I just need to get your feedback on how you're feeling physically. Have you got any lingering injuries, anything we should keep an eye on for the rest of the season."

Alexia didn’t respond immediately. She just stared at you, her jaw tight, her eyes narrowed. The silence stretched on for too long, and the tension in the room became unbearable.

Finally, she spoke, her voice sharp and laced with frustration. "Are we really going to do this? Pretend like nothing happened?"

You blinked, caught off guard by her tone. "What do you mean?"

Alexia slammed her hand down on the table, her eyes blazing. "Don’t play dumb, Y/N. You know exactly what I’m talking about. All the messages, the gift, the way you made me feel... And then I see you with Leah. After everything, you go back to her."

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. "Alexia, it’s not what you think—"

"Not what I think?" She cut you off, her voice rising. "I trusted you! I let you in, more than I’ve let anyone in for years. I told you things I haven’t told anyone since my dad died. I opened up to you because I thought we had something. And then I see you with her, like none of it mattered. Like I didn’t matter."

Her words hung heavy in the air, and you could see the pain in her eyes, the vulnerability that she was trying so hard to mask with anger.

"Alexia," you started, your voice soft, "Leah and I aren’t getting back together. That night, we were just talking. We needed to clear the air, to get some closure. I would never go back to her, not after everything we’ve been through."

Alexia stood up abruptly, pacing the small office. "Then why didn’t you tell me? Why did I have to see it through someone’s Instagram story? Why did you let me believe..." She trailed off, her hands trembling slightly as she turned to face you again.

You swallowed hard, standing as well, trying to close the distance between you. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you understood what the gift meant, what I was trying to say."

"The gift?" Alexia’s laugh was bitter, her eyes flashing with emotion. "Yeah, I thought I understood. I thought it was your way of saying that you felt the same. But now... I don’t know what to believe. I feel like I’ve been led on, like I was just someone you could toy with until something better came along."

Her voice cracked on the last words, and your heart broke seeing her like this, so guarded, so hurt.

"I didn’t lead you on," you said quietly, stepping closer to her. "I care about you, Ale. More than I’ve been able to put into words. I didn’t think... I didn’t realize how much this was affecting you. I should have told you everything sooner."

Alexia shook her head, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "I haven’t felt this way about anyone, I don’t think ever. I haven’t let anyone in this much, and now I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had just kept my distance, because this... this hurts more than anything I’ve felt in a long time."

Her words hung in the air, raw and full of pain. You could see the regret in her eyes, the regret of trusting, of opening herself up to you, only to feel like she had been left behind.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "I’m sorry, Alexia. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted you to feel like I didn’t care, because I do. I care about you more than you know."

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension between you thick and heavy. Alexia turned away from you, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"I don’t know if I can do this anymore," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don’t know if I can let you in again."

You felt a lump in your throat, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to fix what had been broken between you. But you knew one thing, you weren’t ready to give up, not yet.

"I’m not asking you to make a decision right now," you said softly, taking a step closer to her. "But please, just... don’t shut me out. Not like this."

Alexia stayed silent, her back still turned to you, the weight of everything she had said hanging heavily in the room. You could feel the distance between you, a chasm that had opened up, but you weren’t ready to let her go. Definitely not without a fight.

Months had passed since that tense confrontation in the office. The coldness between you and Alexia had grown into something you had never experienced before. Every interaction was brief, detached, and painfully professional. You felt the weight of her unspoken emotions in every glance she avoided and the way she seemed to slip away before you could even say goodbye after training.

Despite the distance, your feelings for Alexia hadn't faded. If anything, they had only continued to grow, but the space between you both felt greater with each passing day. The tension was thick, but you didn’t know how to bridge the gap.

Training sessions continued as usual, but you noticed Alexia had been pushing herself even harder as the season wore on. And then came the first leg of the Champions League quarterfinal against Wolfsburg.

The game had been brutal. Wolfsburg came out strong, overwhelming Barça with their physicality and relentless pressure. By the time the final whistle blew, Barcelona had lost 2-0. The entire team looked defeated, their heads hung low as they left the pitch. It wasn’t just the scoreline, it was the sense of being outplayed, of the fight slipping away. And with the second leg looming, the pressure was immense.

Alexia was one of the last to leave the field, her frustration clear. You watched her, torn between wanting to reach out and the fear of being pushed away yet again.

Later that evening, as the team had mostly dispersed and the changing room quieted down, you were preparing to leave when you heard familiar footsteps approaching from behind.

You turned, surprised to see Alexia standing in the doorway, her posture tense, her expression unreadable. She looked exhausted, both emotionally and physically drained.

"Can I talk to you?" she asked, her voice low and hesitant, as if the words were difficult to get out. You noted as well that she spoke without looking at you.

You blinked in surprise. After months of icy silence, this was the last thing you expected, but you nodded, your voice gentle. "Of course." You thought twice about adding the you can always talk to me, you didn’t want to push it.

She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her, and stood there for a moment, struggling to find the right words. The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating, and you could tell something was weighing heavily on her.

"It’s all too much," Alexia finally said, her voice quiet but strained. "This... everything. I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this."

You stayed silent, waiting for her to continue, giving her the space she needed to open up.

"The game today..." She shook her head in frustration, pacing the room. "It’s not just the loss. It’s everything that’s been building up. The pressure, the expectations, the weight of everyone thinking I should be carrying this team. And now, we’re down 2-0, and I don’t know how we’re going to turn it around. It feels like it’s all my fault."

Her voice cracked slightly, and you could see the vulnerability behind her words, the weight of the captaincy, the pressure of being the one everyone looked to when things went wrong. The public perception of her being the one that needs to do it all, even though there are 11 players playing each game.

She stopped pacing and looked at you, her eyes filled with frustration and something deeper. "And you..." she continued, her tone softening but still filled with hurt. "I’ve been avoiding you for months because I didn’t know how to handle everything I felt. After what I told you, I regretted opening up. I felt like you led me on, like I let myself get too close, only to see you with Leah and feel like it was all for nothing. Like we were nothing."

Your heart ached as you listened to her. You had known she was upset, but hearing her admit just how much she had been hurting hit harder than you expected.

"Alexia, I—"

"I haven’t let anyone in like that since my dad died," she interrupted, her voice breaking. "And when I finally did, you made me feel like I made a mistake. I haven’t felt that vulnerable in years, and I hate that I let myself care so much about someone who was still hung up on her ex."

You stepped closer, your heart heavy with guilt and concern. "I wasn’t leading you on, Ale. Leah and I were never getting back together, are never getting back together. We just needed to clear the air. I should have told you sooner, but I never want you to think I don’t care about you."

Alexia’s gaze flickered, the anger and frustration slowly giving way to the exhaustion that had been building inside her. "I miss talking to you. I miss... us. But I don’t know how to fix this. Theres this massive gap between us now and I don’t know how we close it."

You stepped even closer, your hand hovering near hers, unsure if she would accept your touch after months of distance. “There’s no gap that can’t be closed, Ale,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “But we have to want to close it. I want to fix this with you.”

Alexia’s eyes flickered with uncertainty, her guard still up. “How?” she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. “How do we go back to... before?”

You took a deep breath, searching her face, seeing the exhaustion in the lines etched into her brow, the pain in her eyes. “We don’t go back,” you said, shaking your head. “We can’t. Too much has happened. But we can move forward. We can try again, take things one step at a time.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor, her jaw clenching as she wrestled with the emotions that had been bottled up for so long. “I don’t know if I can,” she admitted. “I don’t know if I can let my guard down like that again. Not after...”

“You can,” you interrupted gently. “You already did once, Ale. I know it’s terrifying, but you don’t have to do it alone this time. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure it out together.”

Her eyes finally met yours again, and you could see the cracks beginning to show in her hardened exterior. “But what if I do?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What if I push you away again?”

“You won’t,” you replied, your tone steady. “And even if you try, I’m not going to let you. Not this time.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of the months of silence and hurt hung heavy in the air, but there was something different now, a fragile thread of hope, pulling you both together. Alexia’s defences were crumbling, bit by bit, and she was letting herself feel again, even if it scared her.

“You meant more to me than I let myself admit,” Alexia finally whispered, her voice barely audible. “And when I thought you were moving on, I didn’t know what to do with that. I didn’t know how to be anything other than... angry.”

You could feel the vulnerability in her words, and it broke your heart to know how much she had been hurting, how deeply she had internalised everything. “I was never moving on,” you said, shaking your head. “Not from you. I was just... figuring things out. Trying to make sure I could leave my past in the past before starting my future. But not having you to talk to... that hurt me too.”

Alexia nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She let out a shaky breath, her hands fidgeting slightly at her sides. “I’ve been holding onto this anger because it was easier than admitting I was scared. Scared of what it meant to care so much, to let someone in.”

You took a small step forward, closing the final distance between you, and cautiously reached out, gently taking her hand. To your relief, she didn’t pull away this time. Her fingers curled around yours, the touch hesitant but real.

“It’s okay to be scared,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over her knuckles in a soothing gesture. “I’m scared too. But that’s part of this, right? Taking the leap, even when it’s terrifying.”

Alexia’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she squeezed your hand tightly, as if grounding herself in the moment. Her voice was a whisper, full of uncertainty and emotion. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you said, your voice steady and full of conviction. “I’m here, Ale. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She let out a shaky breath, her body relaxing slightly as she allowed herself to trust in your words. “I haven’t felt this close to anyone since my dad died,” she admitted softly. “And it scared me how much I needed you.”

Her words broke the last piece of tension between you, and you stepped even closer, gently pulling her into your arms. She hesitated for only a second before she leaned into you, her body melting against yours as if finally allowing herself to feel the comfort she had been denying for so long.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into your shoulder, her voice thick with emotion. “For shutting you out. For everything.”

You held her tightly, your hand gently rubbing her back in slow circles. “I’m sorry too. We’ll work through it,” you whispered, your voice soft but full of promise. “We’ll get through this together.”

For the first time in months, the tension between you eased, and Alexia’s walls came down completely. She rested her forehead against your shoulder, her breath steadying as she let herself be vulnerable with you.

After what felt like an eternity, Alexia pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. Her expression was softer now, the anger and frustration replaced with something else, something deeper. “I miss us,” she whispered, her eyes searching yours. “I miss... this.”

You smiled gently, your hand brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “So do I.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Alexia smiled, it was small, hesitant, but real. The gap between you wasn’t gone, but you were starting to build the bridge. Slowly, carefully, but surely and together.

The atmosphere inside Camp Nou was electric. The roar of the fans echoed throughout the stadium as you sat on the bench, your eyes fixed on the pitch. This was it, the second leg of the Champions League quarterfinal against Wolfsburg. After a 2-0 loss in the first leg, the pressure was on, but there was a quiet determination in the air. The team knew what was at stake, and you could feel it in every passing glance, every focused expression. Tonight felt different to the last match against Wolfsburg, it felt like the girls had all taken the loss personally and were out for redemption.

From your position on the bench, you watched as the girls took their places dotted around the field. Aitana, Caro, Jenni, and Alexia stood at the ready, their eyes locked on the opposition, the tension almost palpable. Your heart raced in sync with the crowd’s chants, well until your heartbeat grew so loud in your ears that you could barely here the girls on the bench next to you. Tonight wasn’t just about advancing to the semifinals; it was about proving to the world that loss was a small blip.

The whistle blew and within minutes, the tension began to ease. Aitana, always so composed on and off the ball, burst forward and connected perfectly with the ball. In just three minutes, she had found the back of the net. The stadium erupted, and the weight of the first-leg defeat seemed to lift, even if only slightly.

You smiled, feeling some of the tension in your own chest loosen. It was the perfect start, exactly what the team needed. You glanced toward the pitch, where Alexia stood with her teammates, a fire in her eyes that hadn’t dimmed despite everything she had been through.

Ten minutes later, Caro added to the tally with a brilliant finish, sending the crowd into another wave of celebration. The momentum was shifting, and you could see the belief growing stronger with each pass.

As the game neared the half-hour mark, Barcelona were relentless. They pressed higher and higher, refusing to give Wolfsburg a moment to breathe. Then, in the 33rd minute, Jenni Hermoso received a perfect cross into the box and, with her trademark composure, slotted it home.

3-0.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. You could feel the surge of energy coursing through the team, and yet, your focus kept drifting to Alexia. She was commanding the midfield with a quiet intensity, orchestrating every movement, every attack. And she looked really good doing it, although you would not ever share that thought with anyone except maybe her.

And then, just five minutes later, in the 38th minute, it happened. A sharp pass from Aitana found Alexia on the edge of the box. With a quick touch to control, she unleashed a precise strike that soared into the top corner of the net.

4-0.

The stadium erupted in a frenzy, but in that moment, everything around you seemed to blur. Alexia, breathless and triumphant, turned toward the bench, her eyes finding yours. The relief was clear, the weight of months of tension visibly lifting from her shoulders. In that brief second, you shared a silent exchange, a connection that had been buried under layers of misunderstanding and distance. Her eyes said it all without any words needing to be uttered. Thank you, I needed this.

You smiled, your heart swelling with pride for her. This was the Alexia you knew, the one who carried the weight of the team but had finally found a way to let go of some of that burden. To find the joy in the game that she really loved to play.

The game pressed on, Barcelona in full control. Wolfsburg tried to push back and did get a goal, but the momentum had shifted irreversibly. As the clock ticked down, Barça kept up the pressure, refusing to let Wolfsburg find any momentum after the goal.

Then, with just minutes left on the clock, Barcelona were awarded a penalty. The crowd held its breath as Alexia stepped up to take it, the ball resting at her feet. The stadium fell into a tense silence, the kind that only a moment like this can create.

You watched closely, your heart in your throat. Alexia stood over the ball, calm and collected. Then, with the same precision you had seen from her countless times, she sent the keeper the wrong way and buried the penalty in the bottom corner.

5-1 on the night. 5-3 on aggregate.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, a wave of relief and celebration sweeping through the stadium. Barcelona had done it. They had pulled off the comeback, securing their place in the Champions League semifinals. The players on the bench jumped to their feet, cheering, hugging, and celebrating the incredible turnaround.

But your eyes were still on Alexia. As she celebrated with her teammates, a weight seemed to lift from her entirely. The game had been a battle, both on the field and inside her heart, but tonight, she had won on both fronts.

As the final whistle blew, confirming Barca’s 5-1 victory on the night, you stood from the bench, your heart pounding with pride, relief, and something deeper. The crowd was in full voice, chanting Alexia’s name, and you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by everything she had accomplished, not just with the team, but for herself.

Alexia glanced back at you one last time before the celebrations truly kicked off on the pitch. This time, there was no hesitation, no doubt in her eyes. Just relief, pride, and maybe, just maybe, a flicker of something hopeful.

The celebrations were in full swing. The team had gathered at a private club, the sounds of laughter, music, and excitement filling the space. After the dramatic 5-1 win over Wolfsburg, it was time to celebrate not just the victory, but the resilience and unity that had brought the team back from the brink.

Everyone was buzzing, adrenaline still high from the match. Drinks were flowing, and the room was alive with the chatter of teammates recounting the goals, the tension, and the triumph of the night. You sat in a booth toward the back of the room, watching the team’s joy unfold around you. It was one of those rare moments when everything just felt right, well at least when it came to the team.

But there was another reason your heart raced tonight, and it had nothing to do with the match. It had everything to do with Alexia.

You had caught glimpses of her throughout the night, her laughter mingling with the music, her smile wide and free as she embraced her teammates. But every now and then, her eyes would find yours across the room. There was a warmth in her gaze that hadn’t been there for months, and every time it happened, you felt the invisible thread pulling the two of you closer.

As you took another sip of your drink, trying to shake off the nerves bubbling in your chest, you noticed Alexia making her way across the room. She moved through the crowd with that calm confidence she always carried, but this time, her destination was clear, she was headed straight for you.

Your heart thudded in your chest as she approached, her eyes never leaving yours. When she reached the booth you were in, she paused for just a moment, glancing at the player sitting next to you, Claudia, who had been laughing at something Patri had said.

"Mind if I sit here?" Alexia asked, her voice soft but firm making it very clear what she wanted even if she had phrased it as a question.

Claudia glanced up a bit surprised, but not one to argue with her team captain. She smiled at Alexia and nodded, quickly sliding out of the booth to make room and grabbing Patri’s hand as she did dragging the woman with her. "All yours, Capitana."

You could barely suppress the smile tugging at your lips as Alexia slid into the booth beside you, close enough that her thigh brushed against yours. The warmth of her body sent a jolt through you, but you tried to play it cool, glancing at her with a casual smile.

"How are you feeling after that performance?" you asked, trying to mask the nervous energy that had crept in.

Alexia smiled, that familiar spark in her eyes that you hadn’t seen in so long. "Relieved," she admitted, her voice low so only you could hear. "And exhausted."

You chuckled, nodding. "You deserve to relax after tonight. You were incredible out there."

Her eyes softened at your words, and for a moment, the noise of the party seemed to fade into the background. It was just the two of you, sitting close, sharing the relief of the night’s victory, and happy that the months of tension between you was slowly melting away.

Alexia shifted slightly, her leg pressing more firmly against yours as she leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. "I missed this."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you managed to keep your voice steady. "I missed it, too."

She looked at you, her eyes searching yours, as if she was trying to find the right words. The playful, teasing glances from earlier had been replaced with something more genuine, more vulnerable.

"I’ve been thinking," she began, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the edge of her glass. "About everything that’s happened. About us."

You held your breath, not wanting to interrupt her train of thought.

Alexia took a deep breath before continuing, her voice quieter now. "I didn’t know how to face you after everything. It was easier to avoid it, to push you away. But... that just made everything worse."

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words hanging between you. "You don’t have to apologize, Ale. I know it’s been difficult. I should’ve been clearer with everything. I should have been more upfront about Leah, about how I feel."

Her eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. "How do you feel?"

You hesitated for just a moment, then met her gaze, deciding it was time to be honest. "I care about you, Alexia. A lot. And it wasn’t just about the work, or the physio sessions, or even the football. I care about you."

Her breath caught, and for a moment, you saw the same vulnerability in her eyes that she had shown after the loss to Wolfsburg. The walls she had built between you were slowly crumbling, and now, sitting so close, the months of distance between you felt like they were finally closing.

Alexia smiled softly, her hand finding yours under the table. She didn’t say anything at first and she didn’t need to. The simple act of reaching out, of closing that physical gap, spoke volumes.

The room around you buzzed with the energy of celebration, but for you and Alexia, the noise had become background static. All that mattered was the connection between you, the understanding that despite everything, you were still here, still close. That there was still something there to explore.

"Thank you," Alexia finally whispered, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "For being there. Even when I pushed you away."

You squeezed her hand gently. "I’m not going anywhere."

Her eyes met yours again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no doubt. Just the quiet promise of something that had been waiting to be said for months, now slowly beginning to surface.

The celebration carried on around you, but you and Alexia remained in your little bubble at the booth. Her leg was pressed against yours, and her hand occasionally found yours under the table, both of you taking comfort in the quiet connection that had begun to rebuild.

It was only a matter of time before someone noticed. And, unsurprisingly, that someone was Mapi.

From the corner of your eye, you saw her making her way toward you, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Leila followed close behind, a grin already forming as they approached your booth. The second Mapi spotted the two of you sitting close together, she raised an eyebrow, her teasing smirk unmistakable.

"Well, well, well," Mapi drawled, crossing her arms as she came to stand beside the table. "What do we have here? Cozying up after a big win, huh? Looks like more than just the game turned around tonight."

Alexia shot Mapi a warning look, but her lips twitched with amusement. You felt a flush creep up your neck as you glanced between them, unsure whether to laugh or feel embarrassed.

"Mapi," Alexia warned lightly, though there was a smile threatening to break through.

But Mapi wasn’t done. She wiggled her eyebrows, clearly enjoying herself. "I knew something was up when Claudia said you asked for some time in the booth without others. Didn’t think you’d be making moves this fast, though Ale. Capitana’s got game on and off the pitch, huh?"

Before you could respond, Leila, having been quietly observing, stepped in. She gave Mapi a pointed look before swatting her on the back of the head. "Cut it out, idiot. Now’s not the time."

Mapi yelped, rubbing the back of her head in mock outrage. "Hey! What was that for?"

"For being a pain," Leila deadpanned, her eyes darting between you and Alexia, clearly sensing that this wasn’t just light-hearted fun. "Come on, leave them alone."

Mapi looked between you and Alexia again, her expression softening as she realized Leila was right. "Fine, fine," she muttered, though the teasing smile never quite left her face. "But just remember, Ale, I’m watching you." She pointed her fingers at her own eyes, then back at Alexia’s, as if to say she was keeping an eye on things.

Leila rolled her eyes and dragged Mapi away by the arm, pulling her back toward the dance floor where the rest of the team was letting loose. Mapi threw one last cheeky grin over her shoulder as she let herself be pulled into the chaos of the celebration.

Alexia shook her head, chuckling under her breath. "She never lets up, does she?"

You smiled, the tension from the teasing already dissipating. "Not even for a second."

But as Mapi and Leila disappeared into the crowd, the quietness returned between you and Alexia. It was as if, for a moment, nothing had changed. The warmth of her presence, the way she leaned into you, it was all still there, unspoken yet undeniable.

Alexia glanced over at you, her eyes soft with affection and amusement. "I should have known Mapi would notice."

You laughed softly, leaning in just slightly. "I think the whole team’s going to notice eventually."

Alexia smiled at that, the corner of her mouth lifting in that way that made your heart flutter. "Let them. I’m not hiding anything." Alexia’s hand slipped into yours under the table once again, her touch gentle but steady, like the wave that had always connected you.

The tension that had once defined your relationship with Alexia was beginning to melt away. After the celebration following the comeback win against Wolfsburg, something had shifted between you. The stolen glances, the shared smiles, the quiet conversations. They were all part of the rhythm you and Alexia had started to fall into, like finding your way back to something that had always been there, that was just waiting for the right moment.

A few days after the match, with the team preparing for the final of the Champions League, Alexia had sent you a text. Simple, to the point, but it had made your heart skip a beat all the same.

Coffee after training tomorrow?

It wasn’t exactly a grand gesture, but it was the kind of thing you had been hoping for, something normal, something easy, something for just the two of you.

The next afternoon, training wrapped up, and the usual buzz of the team filled the air as everyone began to drift toward their cars. You spotted Alexia across the car park, pulling her bag over her shoulder and heading in your direction. She gave you a small smile, one that made your stomach do a little flip, and you smiled back, trying to hide the nerves fluttering inside you.

A short walk from the training grounds, tucked away in a quieter part of the city, was a small café Alexia had mentioned a few times before. It was one of her favourites because she found it charming and cozy. It was a small whole in the wall shop with a few tables lining the windows and a barista who already knew her order by heart.

When the two of you walked inside, Alexia nodded to the barista, exchanging a familiar smile. "Dos cafés, por favor."

You found a table by the window, the late afternoon sunlight spilling in and casting a warm glow over the café. It felt easy, sitting there with Alexia, even with the unspoken weight of everything that had happened in the past months. Somehow, that weight seemed lighter now.

As you both sat down with your coffees, you couldn’t help but smile. "So, is this the famous café you’ve been talking about all season?"

Alexia chuckled, her eyes bright as she took a sip of her coffee. "This is the one. Best coffee in Barcelona, in my opinion."

You raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from your own cup. "I have to admit, it’s good. I can see why you’re a regular."

The conversation flowed easily, both of you falling into a natural rhythm. You talked about the upcoming matches, about the team, about the Champions League final that seemed to be looming on the horizon. But every now and then, the conversation would drift to lighter things like your favourite places in Barcelona, stories from when you first started working with the team, and little tales about the players that made you both laugh.

At one point, Alexia leaned back in her chair, her gaze soft as she looked at you. "It’s nice, this. Just being here with you."

Her words made your heart flutter, and you could feel a warmth creeping into your cheeks. "Yeah," you agreed softly. "It is."

There was a quiet between you for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that comes when everything feels right, like you don’t need to fill the space with words.

Alexia’s fingers gently brushed against yours on the table, a subtle but meaningful gesture. You smiled at her, feeling the connection between you strengthen with every shared glance, every light touch. It was simple, but it felt important.

As you finished your coffees, Alexia glanced at her phone, checking the time. "We should probably head back soon," she said with a small sigh, though there was a playful glint in her eyes. "Can’t be late to the next team meeting."

You nodded, not wanting the moment to end but knowing that the world of football never truly stopped. "True, but this was nice. We should do it again sometime."

Alexia smiled, standing up and offering you her hand. "How about dinner next time?"

You felt your heart swell at her words but kept your voice steady. "Sounds perfect."

Over the next few weeks, as the games piled up and the pressure built toward the Champions League final, you and Alexia carved out little moments like that coffee date. There were lunches after training, quiet dinners at out-of-the-way restaurants, and even the occasional late-night walk when the city was quiet and still.

Each date felt like another step forward, a chance to know each other outside the pressure of the pitch and the weight of expectations. It wasn’t rushed, it was comfortable, like two people rediscovering something that had always been there, but they hadn’t taken time to fully realise it.

One evening, just a few days before the final, you and Alexia found yourselves at a small tapas restaurant, tucked away in one of Barcelona’s quieter neighbourhoods. The evening air was warm, there was a soft murmur of the city around you as you shared a meal, laughing and talking like you had known each other for years.

At one point, Alexia reached across the table, her hand covering yours. "You’ve been amazing these past few months," she said softly, her eyes meeting yours. "I know I wasn’t easy to be around, but... I’m really glad we’re here now."

You squeezed her hand gently, your heart swelling with affection. "I’m glad too."

It was in these quiet moments, between games and team obligations, that the relationship between you and Alexia grew. It was no longer weighed down by misunderstandings or hesitation, now it was just two people, finally allowing themselves to enjoy the moments they shared.

As the final approached, the nerves and excitement would soon return, but for now, in the warmth of the evening, everything felt right.

[syluslnd]

HII I saw ur post w vanilla CNC and NNNGHHHHHHH I LOVE UR WRITING SO MUCHHHHH

but- what about non vanilla CNC?? Like chasing reader through the woods/house type shi

sylus chasing you through the woods

The cool evening air brushed against your skin as you bolted into the trees, your heart pounding as you put distance between yourself and the house. Sylus’s voice had echoed behind you just moments ago, low and warning, “Three seconds, sweetie. That’s all you get.” and you didn’t doubt for a second that he meant every word.

Adrenaline shot through you as you pushed forward, navigating the shadows of the woods in a rush. The canopy overhead let only slivers of moonlight filter through, enough to see but just barely and it added to the thrill of it all.

Your breath came quick, the sound of leaves crunching underfoot as you darted between trees, trying to listen for any sign that Sylus had started after you.

Then, in the silence, you heard it—a soft, deliberate footstep somewhere behind you and a shiver ran down your spine. You knew he was close, closer than you wanted and the thrill of it was electric.

“Where are you, kitten?” His voice cut through the night, smooth and mocking. “You know I’m going to find you.” His tone was teasing but dark, laced with a promise that made your pulse race.

You ducked behind a tree, trying to steady your breathing, every instinct in you aware of his presence moving closer. But then, just as you thought you might get a moment to catch your breath, you heard him again, even nearer this time. “Your three seconds are up, sweetheart.”

Before you could react, you felt a strong hand close around your wrist, spinning you to face him. His eyes gleamed with a triumphant, almost predatory light as he pulled you close, his grip firm yet unhurried, as if he’d known he’d catch you all along.

“Thought you could outrun me?” he murmured, his voice low as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “I don’t think so.” The amusement in his tone made your cheeks flush and despite the rush of being caught, you couldn’t help but feel a thrill at his words.

Sylus’s gaze swept over you, taking in your flushed face, the slight breathlessness from your dash through the woods. “Now” he murmured, a dark edge to his smile “I believe I warned you what would happen when I caught you.”

His fingers traced your cheek with a gentleness that only made the tension more intense. You swallowed, every inch of you aware of how close he was, the thrill of his presence and the promise in his gaze as he leaned in.

Sylus’s grip on your wrist tightened and before you could fully process what was happening, he was dragging you toward the house. The moment you crossed the threshold into the bedroom, the atmosphere shifted—thick with unspoken tension, the room feeling too small for the heavy anticipation that filled the space.

With every step he took, you could feel the weight of his presence behind you, like a force you couldn’t escape. The teasing from earlier had vanished, replaced by something far more intense, something darker that made your pulse quicken.

“You really thought you could outrun me, sweetie?” he murmured, voice low and commanding, as he guided you to the edge of the bed. His gaze locked onto yours, and there was an almost dangerous amusement in his eyes. “I warned you, didn’t I?”

He stepped closer and you felt the heat of his body against yours, the air between you crackling with an undeniable tension. Sylus was in control, his dominance palpable in the way he moved, in the way his gaze held you captive.

Without a word, he reached for the ropes that were neatly set aside. His fingers moved with ease, the slow, deliberate motions making your heart race. You watched him, breath catching, as he looped the rope around your wrists with practiced precision.

“Don’t fight it” he murmured, his voice a quiet command. “You’re exactly where you belong.”

Your breath caught in your throat, every part of you aware of the strength he held over you. There was no escaping now, no avoiding the situation. You could feel the slight tension in your body, a mix of nervousness and the strange thrill that came with being in his power.

The ropes tightened around your wrists and as he tied the final knot, Sylus’s lips curled into a slight smirk. He took a step back, admiring his work, his eyes dark and filled with intent. “I think you’ll find this to be a lot more interesting than running away, kitten.”

The room felt like it was closing in on you but his presence was undeniable, his control over you absolute. You were entirely at his mercy and the way his gaze lingered on you made your heart race in a way that both terrified and excited you.

“Let’s see if you can handle this” Sylus teased, voice low and filled with an almost predatory calm. His fingers traced the edge of your jaw as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “You’re mine forever now. No more running.”

[kykyonthemoon]

The Day You Were Destined To Be His Caretaker

The cat café you frequent allows customers to adopt cats, and you are thrilled to be a cat caretaker. The fluffy fellow you bring home, though, seems to be more than simply a cat.

── .✦ Character x Female Reader|MC

Included parts in order: Rafayel - Xavier - Zayne - Sylus

♡︎. Tags: Alternate Universe, therianthropy (cat/human hybrids), fluff, soft and sweet, caring, cat cafés.

♡︎. Word count: 4k1

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - currently closed.

── .✦ Ky Ky’s notes:

This story was inspired by Yes, Cat Caretaker version & Meow Time event. It is my entry to the Love and Deepspace Cat Caretaker Assembly - Fan Art Contest.

I really appreciate all your support on my X <3

References to their cat breeds: x

Rafayel - The playful cat

That day, you traveled to a common cat café by the shore. There were many cats at the café that had been adopted by customers. You hoped that you would find one to become your companion too. Then, you met him.

The cafe's largest treehouse at the time featured a little, curly-furred Devon Rex on the top floor. You had no idea how he climbed up there, because unsteady legs made it obvious that he was frightened of heights. His big round eyes scanned the world madly before closing. You were the only one who listened to his tiny meows.

You hurried over, held up your hands to the cat, and said:

“Come down here. I will catch you.”

"Meow?"

He opened his eyes and gave you a serious look. He still did not seem to have much faith in you. This was a cat you had never seen at the café before. Perhaps he was brought here by the owner recently.

“It'll be okay,” you said once again in a gentle and reassuring tone. A staff member approached you and said:

“This cat has been mischievously climbing up there again. It's obvious that he's afraid of heights, yet he just likes to crawl up there. We don't know why. Please give us a moment so we can take him down.”

“No need,” You replied. “I'll give it a shot. Is that okay?”

After giving you a nod, the staff moved aside to observe your attempts to get the cat down. You stood on your tiptoes and your raised arms felt weary. But you always smiled and comforted the cat.

“It's okay. I'll always wait for you down here!"

After pondering for a while, the cat decided to jump down. He rushed into your arms. Immediately, you hugged the small soft cotton ball tightly. From that day on, he followed you home. 

You had never owned a cat before, so in the first few days, you were very tired of having to chase him around the house. What surprised you so much was that while you failed to think of a good name for him, one morning when you woke up, you caught the cat with your pile of old crayons. He had written on a piece of paper the name Rafayel.

Although you found it strange, you decided to call the cat by that name. After a long day at work, Rafayel enjoyed wrapping himself around your feet whenever you got home. However, he was also so mischievous that while you were away, the house was usually in disarray. You once took Rafayel to plant trees in the garden. He enjoyed playing freely, chasing frogs, and catching butterflies there. He was so eager to assist you with digging that he even dove into a pot of dirt, getting his fur all soiled in the process. You laughed while feeling sorry for him at the same time.

“Look! I've just planted a meowing tree.”

Then, you grabbed him by his scruff and took him to the bathroom.

“You're so playful. You got dirt all over your fur now."

You put Rafayel in the tub and turned on the shower. Abruptly, a thin stream of smoke spread across the room. After a moment, your cat was out of sight as the haze gradually cleared. Rather, a man with purple eyes who looked exactly like Rafayel was sitting in the tub.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" You let out a loud scream. “YOU PERVERT! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY CAT?!”

To your surprise, you tumbled to the bathroom floor while defending yourself with the showerhead turned on. Water splashed onto the man's bare chest. He tried to use his hand to shield the water from the shower and finally decided to reach over and turn it off. You were the focus of his teary eyes. He seemed somewhat distressed.

"Who are you calling a pervert? You've been dragging me into bed with you every night for the past few days, as you can see! Just now, you even wanted to give me a bath!”

"Huh???"

“It's me. Rafayel.” He said, pointing with one hand to the ears on his head and the tail peeking out from inside the bathtub. "Do you no longer recognize me, my lady?"

“R-Rafayel?”

“Yes… Meow?”

Although you had heard tales about therianthropes coexisting with humans, you never ventured to think that the cat you had taken in was one of them! For a moment, you were unsure of what to do, and could only mumble to yourself: "Refund... I want a refund... Obviously the café staff gave me the wrong cat..."

“What? Do you want to send me away?” Leaning toward the bathtub's edge to be nearer to you, Rafayel scowled. You always knew that therians had their own charm, but meeting such a picturesque person was beyond your imagination.

He continued to sulk: "The person who just promised to take good care of me for the rest of my life, now wants to throw me away?"

To be fair, you had said that to the Devon Rex, not to the charming curly-haired boy in front of you. You wanted a cat to keep you company, yet ended up with a half-cat, half-human sullen man. You stood up, intending to get out and figure out how to deal with this later, but Rafayel swiftly grabbed your wrist and dragged you into the bathtub with him. 

“Are you really going to leave me? Once you've made a promise to me, you cannot go back on it! Even if you wish to get rid of me, it's already too late! You're stuck with me, no matter what!"

Xavier - The super cat

There was a recent event at the local cat café to allow patrons to adopt cats. The requirement was to be selected by that feline and capable of caring for the little animal companion. It was ideal because you had been searching for a pet to care for. There was only one problem: the cat you had your eye on was the most famous character at the café.

He was a Ragdoll named Xavier, with large, wide blue eyes and silky fur. Ever since he showed up at the café a few days earlier, had been the talk of the town, the "prince" that everyone wanted to take home. However, Xavier showed no concern for the customers. Because he disliked being touched, he typically slept in the treehouse. There were times when you found the cat snarling at others that you had just fed or petted. He would then approach and rub his head on your hand.

At times like that, you could not help but pick up the cat, place him in your lap, and caress that soft belly. Instead of displaying any signs of distress, the cat even purred to indicate how at ease he was. You pondered why none of the other cats dared approach you whenever Xavier was by your side.  Then, the café owner congratulated you that he had chosen you as his caretaker, and that you could go through the adoption process right away.

You set up a cozy mattress for the cat next to the bed on the first night you brought Xavier home. Unconcerned, he sprang into the bed, climbed into your cozy cover, and requested to lay next to you. No matter how many times you scooped him up, Xavier still climbed onto the bed. Eventually, you gave in and let him sleep with you on the bed.

After a few days, Xavier got used to his new life with you. Whether it was night or day, he slept a lot, ate a lot and rarely went out. Additionally, he had a keen sense of other animals' smells. For instance, before going home one day, you went to pet the neighbor's cat. Xavier did not even bother coming to the door to greet you anymore but sat huddled in the corner.

“Xavier?” You called, but your cat did not respond.

You purposefully consoled Xavier by placing the bag of newly purchased cat toys on the table and bringing them out one at a time. However, he simply turned away from you and seemed to be sulking a lot while staring out the window.

"I apologize... I promise not to let another cat touch me next time." You said, taking note of Xavier's demeanor. His ears turned in the direction of your voice, albeit he did not move an inch. “Even the dog next door, the squirrel on the way home, the birds…”

You thought Xavier would be angry and ignore you for good, but when you curled up in the blanket and dozed off, you felt the bed sink. Your hand went to the area beside you. Were you dreaming? Because it was not a cat that you touched. 

The hand belonged to someone else. That person's warmth was quite familiar, and there was a hint of the cat fragrance you sometimes used for Xavier. You attempted to see closer by opening your heavy eyelids. The muscular, exposed chest of someone stood before you. On occasion, he would even softly rub his cat ears on your cheek and nuzzle down on your neck. He draped his tail over your body. It was an all too familiar dream. Since you had picked up Xavier, it felt as though you were having this same scenario every night.

You started paying more attention to Xavier and suspected that your cat may be a therianthrope. Nevertheless, you lacked any hard proof until one day.

The treehouse set you bought a few days before arrived that day. After some effort, you were able to put most of the components together. The top floor was quite high, so you had to find a ladder and climb up. You put everything together and then turned to face Xavier. His tail was still up in the air, and he was still absorbed in the cardboard boxes in the center of the home.

“Xavier? Do you think the treehouse is good now?"

Xavier turned around and looked up at you. From above, it felt like he was just the size of your palm. So small, so adorable. You climbed down the ladder, but it was so unsteady that you slipped. 

“Ouch!” 

You felt like you were falling down with the tilting ladder. You might end up on the cat. Yet, Xavier vanished in an instant. Rather, powerful arms seemed to hold you up, embraced you, and you both collapsed upon the unkempt pile of boxes.

"Meow!"

You stared down at the person underneath you while holding your body up with your arms. These perked ears, this tail covering your legs, even those blue eyes that were gazing at you with affection... You were quite familiar with all of these.

Was it the therian you saw every night in your dreams?

"Xavier? 

He gave you a worried expression. 

“My lady, are you okay?”

“You… You really are… a…”

You were unable to convey how you were feeling at the time—confused, anxious, mixed with a little joy. 

“Hmm?” Xavier glanced at you and blinked. “It's me. Your Xavier.”

“But you… you're a cat…”

While surprised, you saw his face getting closer and closer as he sat up and said to you: "I am a cat. I am also human. My lady, which shape of mine do you prefer?"

Zayne - The cat maid

Lately, you had got the impression that the furniture in the home had sprouted legs on its own and everything was more neat than before.

At first, you assumed it was because you were absent-minded or careless. Despite the fact that you did nothing, your house gradually grew cleaner and tidier. Not only that, but there was always warm water in the kettle when you returned home from work.

You suspected the house was haunted, but this ghost was really a considerate one! You had just recently moved to this cold, snowy mountainside town for work. Being busy with work had left you with no time to rearrange your stuff, and you frequently were ill because you were unaccustomed to the weather. Thus you were quite thankful to someone who came to clean up and care for you discreetly. Without a doubt, the landlord never paid you a visit, and the neighbors saw no one else entering or exiting your home. How strange!

"Hey, do you think our house has a… ghost?" You questioned the large gray and black cat, who was proudly patrolling the home. When he saw you, he lifted his tail and let out a "meow".

You recently adopted this Maine Coon cat. With his significant size and lengthy fur, he provided you with warm comfort while you were alone in this strange, frigid region. You encountered the cat outside a café. The owner stated that stray cats frequently came in looking for food, and if they liked a customer, they would most likely accompany them home. At that moment, your Maine Coon was outside. Snow dropped all over his luxurious fur. He continued to stare at you for a long time. After a time, you decided to walk out to greet him and share with him some of your food.

The cat was not seeking for food, just gently rubbed its head against your palm. He even gently bit you, causing you to cry, "Ouch!" 

Only then did you realize that the cat's two front limbs were covered with overlapping scars. You did not scold him and softly massaged his head and ears.

“You're also having a hard time finding food, right? Do you want to come home with me?”

The cat's distinctive blue and yellow eyes flickered briefly. He followed you home. Sometimes you questioned if he was just a cat or a therianthrope. He gave you the sense that he was actually a person. However, the cat never turned into a human. Back in the home, he rubbed his soft hairy head on your face.

"Alright," you laughed because it was ticklish. "If you see someone else entering the house while I'm away, definitely don't let them run away again."

The cat purred gently. You had to put the investigation on hold for a while to focus on your work. Still, there was one time when you forgot your documents at home, you returned at noon and discovered someone was inside the house.

You moved carefully into the living room. A massive cat tail stood out straight and swung gently behind the sofa. You realized it was your Maine Coon's tail. You called softly:

"Zayne?"

Two cat ears emerged behind the sofa. But this was not the Zayne cat you knew.

The face stared at you both strange and somewhat familiar. His pupils, which resembled your cat's, widened in astonishment. You were shocked when that person stood up straight since he was so tall. He was attired in your black apron with white ruffled edges, carrying a feather duster in one hand and a pile of old books and newspapers you had thrown haphazardly under the sofa.

The person who helped you clean every day had revealed his face. The only thing was, you could not believe that it was really your cat.

“Z-Zayne?!”

The tail behind him whipped vigorously. You were not unfamiliar with therians living alongside humans, especially in this town. However, this was the first time you had seen your cat being... no longer a cat. You were deeply perplexed.

You suddenly realized that you had been living with a therian for some days without knowing anything. You carelessly cuddled him and let him sleep with you in bed. You felt so embarrassed. As a result, after that, Zayne sat crouched on the floor and listened to you scolding him for not giving you his true identity from the very beginning.

"I'm sorry…" Zayne responded. He looked up to you, who was now sitting on the sofa. One of his hands paused before placing it on your thigh. He pulled his face closer and longed to rub against you, precisely as when he was in cat shape, yet he was also concerned that you would push him away. "I wanted to tell you before, but I didn't know how to say it so you wouldn't be afraid or detest me."’

Why did he assume you would fear or despise him because he was a therian? You examined him intently, seeking for any remaining Maine Coon features. Dust had left a smear on his angular face. Unexpectedly, you put out your hand to wipe it away. Zayne saw your gesture as a sign of peace. He immediately rubbed his face into your palm.

"Eh…" You were about to withdraw your hand, but his adorable expression made you reconsider. You still didn't appreciate being lied to, and you felt taken advantage of during the last few days. You delicately squeezed his cheek before using both hands to play with his face as compensation.

Zayne appeared miserable, yet he patiently let you play with him. Looking down, you noticed his velvety tail wrapped around your leg. After you were done, he spoke up:

“There will be a snowstorm soon. You're not going to kick me out, are you?” 

“Hmmm. Let's see.” 

You gave a thoughtful pose.. Zayne could not wait any longer before continuing:

“I can clean the house. I can also cook.”

You pondered briefly before pointing to his cat ears. "Can I touch your ears?"

In cat shape, Zayne frequently refused to let you touch his ears. You must take advantage of this opportunity. 

Zayne stared at you for a while. He reluctantly leaned closer to you. One of his ears shifted slightly before your eyes.

“If you allow me to stay here then… All right.”

Sylus - The cat's return

One afternoon, you went to a cat café in a small, wild mountainside village. You had recently moved here for work and had no idea where to go because you were unfamiliar with the streets. You had just heard from a neighbor about the café and stray cat shelter, so you decided to check it out.  

The cats were originally aloof from you, but after an afternoon, they became closer to you. Many cats allow you to scratch their heads and rub their tummies. Most of the cats here were stray; some were abandoned by their prior owners, while others were frequently injured when fighting wild creatures. Seeing how well you cared for the cats, the owner invited you to return here on a daily basis to play with and care for them. You could even bring one home if you wished to.

That day, you went to the cafe when the cats were eating dinner. The owner had prepared their meal. You watched them eat to their hearts' content, discreetly checking attendance and selecting which kitty to bring home with you. All of a sudden, in the far corner was a caracal cat whose size stood out among the crowd. He was pushing the other cats away and taking their food.

The little cats started to fuss. You stepped over and retrieved the bowl of food for the cat who was wailing in your arms. The caracal cat glanced at you. His eyes were crimson; the abnormal kind of red. He was growling even. You grasped the tiny cat and moved away from him.

The caracal cat gave you a furious look. You spotted him heading towards the other cats, attempting to get more food. Letting out a sigh, you entered the cafe to ask for another meal.

When you returned, the caracal cat was there at the entrance. It was as if he knew you were going to bring out more food. You placed the bowl on the porch.

“Here you go. Don't steal other cats' food anymore, okay?”

The caracal cat glanced at you for a time before starting to devour his meal. When he was done, he proudly strolled over to where you were seated to enjoy the cool air with a few other cats on your lap. The cats fled away as soon as they noticed him. You felt sad for him having to face such isolation, but considering how he had just taken the other cats' food, you could sympathize with them.

The caracal cat rubbed against your thigh. You patted his head for a while. He seemed quite nice now, not as intimidating as he did when battling for food. Since then, you constantly brought him an additional meal. Of course, he grew more devoted to you. One day, you questioned the café owner: 

"Why doesn't the caracal cat outside have his separate bowl?"

The owner slowly replied:

“The one that you always feed? He's a wild animal. He doesn't live with us here.”

"Huh?…"

"He always comes to the cafe to fight other cats for food," the owner went on. "We left him alone since we couldn't drive him away. Other than eating a little too much and scaring other cats here, he doesn't cause any trouble. But he appears to really like you. Have you considered adopting him?"

The cafe owner's urgent eyes seemed to be begging you to take this scrounger away as soon as possible. All you could do was chuckle. Through the window, the caracal cat's ruby eyes were still watching over you.

The fact that he would truly follow you home was unexpected.

“Hey, go back to your place. You can't stay here.” 

You chased the caracal cat away. Yet he kept coming back the next day, and the day after that. He spent the entire night prowling around your house. One time when it was raining cats and dogs, as you considered how lonely he must be spending all night outside, you felt quite sorry for him. You opened the door to find him on the porch, sheltering from the rain, his fur partly wet, and he was licking his wounds.

“Come inside,” you said to the caracal cat.His injuries must have resulted from fighting with wild animals. With the intention of taking him to the veterinarian the next morning, you left him in the living room and went to get some bandages. Yet when you came back, he was gone.

There was a noise in the bedroom so you went to check. You caught a glimpse of a caracal cat's tail inside. you were to find a towering man with ears and a caracal cat tail on your bed, countless wounds covered his body. Panicked, you quickly grabbed the clothes hanger, which was the closest thing you could reach for protection.

“Hey?… Mister?…” You called out, using the clothes hanger to poke at that person's body. His eyes, which were as brilliant crimson as two precious gems, opened slightly.

“A therian?…” You said to yourself in a whisper. If the caracal cat you often feed was a therianthrope, he probably would not harm you. It was very difficult given his current state. After giving it some thought, you choose to help him bandage the wound first. 

The caracal cat's eyes were partly closed as he lay still, watching you. After treating his wounds, you said: 

“I'll let you stay here for the time being. Once you recover, I will see how you can repay this."

Therian gave a smile. He waggled his tail beside your feet. He replied: 

“I owe you this time, my lady.”

“Not just this time. How about the times I fed you? They must be accounted for.” 

Your face heated as you remembered that you had previously caressed a therian with affection and that attractive one was now laying there. After gathering the remaining bandages, you headed out. However, he swiftly caught hold of your wrist and pulled you onto the bed.

“Stay here…” He whispered. “Your scent… It's very soothing…”

His breath carried the untamed scent of the forest, enveloping you. Your heart started to skip a beat. "You ask for too much," you replied, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. "Are you sure you can repay me later?"

“I, Sylus, am not an ungrateful creature,” he said, still holding the irresistible, devilish smile on his lips as he nuzzled into your arms. “How would you like me to repay your kindness, my lady?”

[pitchsidestories]

never judge a book by it's cover II Beth Mead x Vivianne Miedema x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1321

a/n: dear readers, this pairing was quite a requested one, so we hope we've met your expectations. 💗💗

warning: mentions of injuries, but despite that topic a whole lot of wholesomeness and fluff. <3

“Beth, Viv tried to call us.”, you noticed concerned after you looked at your phone. A few minutes ago, Renee ended the training, and the Arsenal team felt more optimistic than it had in recent times.

“She did? Weird, she knows we had training. And she hates calls.”, Beth frowned.

“Yes, it must be important.”, you replied before playing the voice mail your other girlfriend had left. Viviannes frustrated and sad voice filled the changing room. It was in stark contrast to the current joyful and happy atmosphere.

“Hi girls. I know you’re busy. Just wanted to let you know that the team doctor checked on my knee again and it doesn’t seem to get better. I’m off to do some more scans now but he said another surgery might be inevitable. They want to operate as soon as possible. No big deal, just wanted to let you know. Enjoy your training.”

“Oh no, poor Vivi. Love, you know what that means, right?”, the blonde sighed heavily.  

“Yes, of course.”, you told her. Clearing your throat, you turned around to face one of your Australian teammates. “Uhm Steph, sorry, we can’t go on our usual coffee walk with the dogs later. Beth and I need to drive to Manchester because Viv needs us right now.”

“Sure. Everything, okay?”, Steph asked alarmed.

“No, Viv puts her brave face on, but she likely has to go through a surgery again.”, you explained with a heavy heart.

“Tell her we’re all thinking of her.”, she responded empathetically.

“Okay, we’ll.”, you promised her.

“See you soon, Steph.”, Beth waved at one of her best friends.

“Bye girls, take care.”, Steph replied.

Your girlfriend and you didn’t waste time, you quickly got everything you needed for your lover and when drove all the way up to the North in a bit over four hours.

Both your hearts pounded hard against your chests, once you rang at Vivianne’s appartement door in Manchester and waited for her to open it. You couldn’t know in which state you’d find her.

“What are you two doing here?!”, the Dutch woman exclaimed surprised while kneeing down despite the pain to hug the dog who wiggled her tail excitedly, clearly thrilled to see her again.

“Looking after you!”, you answered patiently.

“I can handle that I did it before.”, Vivianne clarified as the brunette slowly stood up again.

“Yes, but you don’t have to handle it alone.”, Beth reminded her softly, wrapping her arms around the taller forward.

“Exactly, we’ll be there for you if you like it or not.”, you added, joining their hug, turning the Dutch’s footballer’s cheeks into a soft pink.

“You didn’t have to come.”, Vivianne stated seriously.

“But we wanted to, you stubborn woman.“, Beth huffed with annoyance but her eyes softened at the sight of her girlfriend.

Vivs eyebrows knotted together: “Who are you calling stubborn? You didn’t even call back to ask how the scans went. You just packed your stuff and drove here!“

You shrugged, trying to calm the situation with an innocent smile: “We just knew that we had to be here.“

With that, you marched past her into her living room that you had helped decorate a few months ago.

Vivianne shook her head: “You’re two idiots.“

“Yeah but we’re your idiots.“, Beth smiled and gently bumped shoulders with her as they followed you.

“Yeah, you are.“, Vivianne confirmed with the hint of a laugh in her voice.

You stopped in front of the sofa and started to unpack the bags you and Beth had packed earlier.

“Plus, we got Myle, your favourite snacks and the new book from that author you love. So basically everything you need to start your recovery.“, you told her.

A bit overwhelmed, Vivianne took in the pile of sweets you created on the coffee table. It took a few seconds until she spoke again: “That’s sweet of you.“

“You’re welcome, Viv. So, what’s next for you?“, you asked, sitting down on her sofa.

“For one, it’s surgery and then rehab again.“, she sighed as she sat down next to you.

Beth calmingly laid a hand on Vivs thigh: “When is the date for the surgery?“

“In a few days so you can’t stay here for that.“

As soon as she had finished, Beth and you looked at each other with silent understanding.

You frowned: “You don’t want us to be here for the surgery?“

“You have training.“, the dutch player replied like the answer should have been obvious. And maybe it should have been. But not when Beth and you were determined to be there for your girlfriend.

“Yes but Renee would understand if we would skip one.“, Beth argued which was met with a determined shake of Vivs head. “But I don’t want you to pause your lives for me.“

You barely stopped yourself from rolling your eyes at her typical stubbornness: “It’s not on pause because you are an important part of our lives.“

She considered you for a moment, silently.

“Yes, everyone would understand.“, Beth nodded to emphasize your point.

Another short break until Vivianne finally admitted: “To be honest, girls, I’m a little scared…“

Taken aback, you bit your lip. It wasn’t often that your girlfriend was open about her emotions.

Beths hand slipped into Vivs, her gaze softening: “You don’t have to be. We’ll be here for you and support you every step of the way.“

“What if I’m not coming back from this?“

“You’ll. You’re a fighter.”, the blonde said in a tone which left no room for doubt and was full of certainty.

“And you two will be there? I know I can get.”, the Dutch woman started.

Before she could add anything, you interrupted her gently. “Of course we’ll be.”

“Promise.”, Beth continued solemnly.

“Okay, thanks.”, Viv let out a relived sigh.

“Cuddles.��, you offered.

“Okay.”, she agreed with a half-crooked smile and opened her arms for you both to cuddle into one of her sides each.

“Do you feel better?”, the English player wanted to know.

“A lot. But still you shouldn’t have come.”, the Manchester city football player mumbled.

“We’re not starting with that again.”, you groaned.

“Yes, shut up and be happy!”, Beth demanded laughing.

“Let’s read out to each other with Viv’s new book. Beth could you..?”, you suggested.

“Make some special Meado hot chocolate? Absolutely.”, your girlfriend exclaimed thrilled.

“You guys know I hate the attention.”, the Dutch forward pouted.

“We do that’s why we’ll focus on fictional characters now. Can you already smell the hot drink?”, you tried your best to distract her.

“I hope Beth doesn’t burn the milk again.”, Viv looked worried into the direction where the scent of hot chocolate came from.

“Have a little faith in me!”, Beth yelled.

“I do. Usually.”, the forward assured the other striker quickly who returned with three cups of warm beverages.

“Okay, fine. I won’t argue with you.”, Viv laughed.

“The cover is really awful though.”, you commented while flipping through the pages of the newly acquired novel.

“You’re not supposed to read the cover.”, the dark-haired woman clicked her tongue.

“And not judge it by it’s looks?”, you raised an eyebrow at your lover, you knew exactly to what she was alluding to.

From the outside you looked very tough with your tattoos and muscular built. Because of your outward appearance people were quite intimidated by you until they got to know the human behind the looks. There was a soft and gentle side to you other persons were surprised to find.

“Of all people you must know that looks can be misleading.”, Beth reminded you with a wink.

“Can we read now?”, Viv threw in impatiently.

“Sure.”, you chuckled and began to read the first lines of the new book.  While you were aware that the best love story lay right next to you, listening to every word you said.

[maddascanbe-blog]

The Department of Unearthly Inhabitation

"Ma'am we understand if you don't want to maintain the property, but if you don't sell it soon, it will be repossessed." Cross told the irritating young lady.

"That castle been in my family for generations!" She insisted. This was false. It was bought by the previous owner's parents as extra storage and was maintained by their son while he attended university.

Looker was fully aware of this fact, as well as the fact that this young irritant had refused to pay the remaining staff. They left, and now no one was handling the property in question.

"You can't just steal my inheritance!" The Lady shouted at them.

Cross sighed. "Ma'am, it's not us who would be repossessed it. You can either make sure someone is living there now, or you'll have a non-living tenant soon enough. Then you'd have to find some Mage to chase whatever it is out!"

With it becoming clear that there was no getting through to this woman, Looker marked 'Would not accept assistance' on the form, and both walked back to their truck.

"I take it things went poorly?" Carrey asked from her position in the drivers seat.

"Shut up." Cross snapped, already at his wits end.

Looker took up the passenger seat, and they started driving.

"Where to?" Carrey asked as they approached a crossroads.

Looker flipped open a leather bound book. "We're meant to investigate the Vastly estate. They think something has moved into the property. Someone went missing 7, so it got bumped up on priority."

As it turns out, things had only worsened.

"We don't understand!" Lord Vastly insisted. "We're very careful, even the farthest reached of the property we keep in top form! There are wards against Fair-folk in the woods and fields to prevent circles from forming. But now two of our staff have vanished without a trace!"

Looker put up a hand, "What path are these people taking? Tell me exactly."

They rode the rest of the way with Cross, bemoaning the incoming heache of paperwork they were sure to meet when they made it back to the office.

At the edge of a forested area, they stopped the truck, and Carrey hopped out.

The second her feet touched the soil, she held up a hand to alert the other two.

"Smell that?" She asked.

"No." Cross said plainly. "You know we can't smell things like you, so fill us in."

Carrey took a deep breath. "Smells like rot."

Cross and Looker exchanged glances.

"Perhaps this day might be interesting after all." Looker suggested.

This wasn't bartering with the Fae to get two wayward souls back.

Carrey grabbed a long iron wire from the back of the truck and made a ring around the truck.

Looker took a few seeds from his pocket and pressed them into the ground. Hypericum bloomed after a moment.

Cross was pulling on his jacket and tossed a bag to his teammates.

"Go, record, call the hunters if need be." He told them sternly as they saundered over to the woods.

"Displaced earth." Carrey announced, pointing past Cross and to the left of the group.

"Smell that, did you?" Cross teased, he adjusted the weight on his back.

True to her word, there was a large mound of dirt piled up on two sides of a hole. As they approached, the other smell she'd mentioned, the rot, became clearer, too.

Looker placed a hand to the earth. "Recent. There's something down there, something that just now was let out."

"I'll get the rope." Carrey turned on her heel and headed back to the van, but Cross was too impatient to wait.

He flicked on his flashlight and jumped down into the pit. "Hello! Department of Unearthly Inhabitation! If there is anyone living or non, please announce your presence!"

They heard silence. Cross's flashlight landed on a decomposing newly dead wearing the employee uniform of the property.

"Looker!" Cross called up, "get down here. We've got a body."

Looker's boots hit the floor as he joined his boss. He pulled on a glove and carefully pried open the corpses mouth. Then, I placed a coin inside.

"That'll keep 'em quiet until we can move them." He assures Cross who was still scanning the cavern.

"Looker-" He said again. Showing another two bodies. One had another uniform, but the other was only bone.

Stepping forward again, Cross's flashlight revealed more and more bodies. All of them were reduced to skeletons and in some places were broken.

"Someone's digging up a Pottersfeild…" Looker realized.

"Yeah." Cross began to move back to the entrance. "Carrey! Pull us up!"

"One second!!" Came the slightly far off reply.

"Cross-" Looker pressed a hand to the floor. "Somethings been moving in here, recently."

His boss did not look happy to hear that. "Carrey! Now!"

"I'm hurrying!" She shouted.

The rustle of bone met Cross' ears as he turned to the darkness around them.

"Cross-" Looker said again.

"I know." The man spat.

"Cross!"

"I Know!"

Bones and earth wre pulling together. Not one body, dozens of bodies, recently unearthed.

An unmarked mass grave that some idiot had decided to dig up!

The rope Carrey had retrieved fell down and Cross shoved Looker to it as the mass opened dozens of shattered jaws and screamed an unholy sound at them.

Cross retrieved a long wide balde from his back. Golden runes came alight along the blade.

The Department of Unearthly Inhabitation could hardly leave their employees unprepared, could they?

Two universal constants of high fantasy living:

If something falls into ruin a necromancer will move in 100% of the time

There is a critical mass of gold that will summon a dragon. If you keep accurate records and stay below it you’ll be fine

[wlwjenna]

casual | t.c

summary: after several months of a casual fling with tara, you come to the realization that she was using you for the sole purpose of forgetting about her unrequited crush. tara attempts to make amends and explain that it was all a misunderstanding.

pairing: fwb!tara carpenter x fem!reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: minor cursing, mentions of sex, manipulation.

a/n: this is my first oneshot, i hope you all enjoy it.

A bead of sweat trickles down the side of your face, cascading down your chin until it lands on the bedsheets.

Only then do you realize that the night is approaching an end. You and Tara had stayed up all night, making love and savoring the feeling of being in each other’s presence. Not an ounce of regret filled you; only she did.

Tara stretches her limbs with a soft yawn and rolls over onto her stomach, her skin clinging to the silk sheets. She peers at the clock that reads 4:51 am.

Her lips form into a tired grin, and she throws an arm over your waist, pulling your body flush against hers. “Hm, that was really nice. Best way to spend an all-nighter.” She murmurs, her voice drowsy but tinged with satisfaction. Her touch is gentle as she brushes your hair back behind your shoulders, admiring the artwork of bite marks and hickeys along your neck.

Your gaze locks with hers for a moment before slowly drifting down to her lips. Tara has two rules for this arrangement—no feelings involved and certainly no kissing. Despite that, you can’t stop yourself from imagining. You wonder how soft her lips feel and what they taste like. You hope deep down that maybe one day she’ll let you break those rules.

Tara stares at you, trying to decipher what you’re thinking about. When she notices where your gaze has landed, she lets out a weary sigh and pulls away, breaking the proximity between you. “Have you forgotten-“

“No, no. I haven’t forgotten.” You whisper and nibble on your lower lip in thought, repeating the rules in your mind. “No kissing, no feelings, nothing.” You confirm with a hint of disappointment in your tone.

Tara runs a hand through her hair, trying to tame the messy and sweaty strands. “Look, I like you, but not in that way. I don’t do relationships, and I made that clear the first time you attempted to kiss me.” Tara mutters and rests her hand tenderly on your stomach, trying to offer a small amount of comfort.

Despite the warmth of her hand on your stomach, a sense of coldness seeps through your body.

“I know, Tar. Trust me when I say I know.” You breathe and watch her hand trace gentle circles along your skin, the feeling being both painful and comforting. The vulnerability in your eyes is evident, as is the pain in your tone. “But it just feels like I’m a tool for you. You like Amber, but she doesn’t reciprocate those feelings, so you keep coming back to me to make yourself feel better.”

Your words hang heavy in the air.

Tara falters momentarily at the mention of Amber and glances at you. She hesitates before speaking. “Well, of course, I’m using you.” She casually agrees, as if she’s unaware of how impactful her words are.

“As you said, Amber doesn’t like me, and I need a distraction from that. It feels nice to have someone who caters to my every need and does exactly what I say. Especially if they already like me.” She intertwines her fingers with yours, her grip firm. “Like you.”

Her words hit hard, like a punch to the gut.

You don’t know if you can do this any longer, letting Tara use you while she thinks about another girl. It’s tearing you apart inside, the act of pretending that you’re okay with this arrangement. That it isn’t eating away at you, slowly killing you from within. It’s nearly unbearable.

“I have to go.” You abruptly climb off of her bed to put some distance between you and her. You grab your clothes, slipping into your undergarments before your T-shirt and jeans.

You don’t know how you didn’t realize sooner that Tara only started a fling with you to distract herself from Amber. The most painful realization is that she had taken advantage of your feelings, knowing damn well that you wouldn’t reject such an offer, giving her the endless perks of sex and pleasure.

Tara simply watches without uttering a word, her expression unreadable. When she hears the sound of the apartment door shutting behind you, she collapses against her sheets and lets out a groan mixed with frustration, and self-loathing.

“Fuck, why am I doing this to her?” Her question lingers in the air, like a quiet confession that she can’t quite understand.

-

For the rest of the week, you maintain your distance. When she tries to approach you on campus, you excuse yourself and make a hasty retreat. Her messages and calls go unanswered, left unread, and unreturned.

Tara is well aware of your actions. The prolonged ignorance causes a deep sense of discomfort inside her, a knot in her stomach that feels increasingly tight. The feeling of hope begins to fade, and the idea of mending things feels like it’s slipping further and further out of reach.

After days of internal debate, Tara musters up the courage and pours her heart out to her older sister in desperate hopes of receiving some advice. Sam responds with a stern scolding and paints a sobering reality for her. It’s a wake-up call for Tara, a powerful slap in the face. The realization of her mistakes and the damage she’s caused to your friendship weighs heavily on her.

Despite that, she’s not going to give up. She wants to repair the damage and she will. Even if it seems impossible.

A tired sigh escapes your lips as you tap away at the keys, finishing up the conclusion of your essay. You’ve been sitting at your desk for the past three hours, completely immersed in your work for your English class. It’s a welcome distraction, helping your mind stay occupied and away from recent events with Tara.

You’re jolted out of your focus as your phone buzzes, signaling that you’ve received a new notification. Your heart skips a beat, a mixture of hope and uncertainty. Reluctantly, you pick up your phone and look through it.

Tara

Please meet me at the park near your house. I won’t bother u anymore after this.

I promise.

Pls show up.

A storm brews inside you. Part of you is tempted to lash out and tell her to fuck off and to never text you again. But a small voice in your head is pleading with you to go see her. To hear her out.

You push aside your anger and resentment, deciding the latter.

The walk to the park is short, just under five minutes. The cool wind gently caresses your face, blowing strands of hair out of your face. Despite the calming breeze, tension and unease churn within you.

You don’t know what awaits you. Maybe tonight is the night that Tara officially ends the arrangement, cutting you out of her life completely. Maybe she already found solace in Amber, perhaps they’ve already become more than friends.

As you enter the park, the sight of someone sitting on the bench greets you. No guesses are needed; you already know who it is. You continue to approach her, your heart beating your chest and your breaths growing shaky. Tara sits there, fiddling with the rose in her hands, and as you get closer, she lifts her head. A small smile graces her lips at the sight of you.

She awkwardly hands you the rose and watches you sit next to her, the silence between you hanging thick and heavy.

Tara swallows past the lump in her throat and turns to you, Sam’s words from last night echoing in her head. She takes a deep breath before speaking. “When you left me that night, I felt so much regret. Regret for using and manipulating you. It was a shitty thing to do, and you didn’t deserve that, especially when you’ve shown me nothing but kindness.” She whispers, her eyes growing watery with guilt and remorse.

“I don’t like Amber. In fact, I never did.” Tara’s words catch you off guard, and you look at her with shock, a sense of hope in your heart. A small chuckle escapes her due to your reaction and she continues. “I had a crush on you all along, but I was afraid of what would happen if I tried pursuing a relationship with you. I feared that if we did start dating, one day you wouldn’t love me anymore and you’d vanish from my life forever.”

A tear rolls down her cheek, and she’s quick to wipe it, feeling vulnerable and exposed. “I had this stupid idea to start a fling with you because I knew you would agree without hesitation.” She confesses, her voice trembling. “In my head, I convinced myself that it’d be alright, because if I ended the arrangement someday, then we would resume being best friends like nothing happened. And I knew it wouldn’t last forever, but I thought that it would be better to have a little piece of you than none at all.”

“I owe you a huge apology for everything that I have ever said or done to you. I don’t expect forgiveness or anything, and I certainly don’t expect you to say anything to me. I’d understand if you got off this bench and walked away. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. I regret it all.” She whispers sincerely, her eyes searching yours.

You’re quiet for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. You can see the genuine remorse in her eyes, silently begging for forgiveness.

Finally, your lips curve into a small smile as you whisper. “You really went through all this trouble, all this bullshit, just because you wanted to be with me?” A mixture of affection and annoyance fills your tone. “God, you’re such an idiot, Tara.”

Then she does something that’s both adorable and endearing; she pouts. “I can’t tell if you’re insulting me in a negative or positive way.”

“It’s both.” You reply with a playful grin, scooting closer to her on the bench. “I’ve been in love with you for the past three years. I doubt my feelings would change like that. You’ve been a complete dumbass, wasting all this time starting this fling when we could’ve been dating for, like, the last five months.”

Tara's frown deepens as realization sets in, finally realizing how much time has gone by. She scratches the back of her neck. “You’re right about both things, me being an idiot, and we could’ve dated a while ago.” She sighs, feeling lost and confused. “Do you think it’s too late for us, though? Are you still open to being my girlfriend?” She looks into your eyes, hope and fear swirling in them.

A surge of excitement courses through you at the very thought of dating Tara. There’s no way you’ll let this opportunity slip through your fingers. With a determined look, you stand up and extend your hand, still clutching the rose in your other. “It’s never too late.” You reply with a reassuring smile. This is a relationship you both deserve.

Tara quickly rises and places her hand in yours. “So, what now?” She asks, her grin widening.

“We’re going on a date.” You suggest, squeezing her hand. “I’m sure that pizza place is still open.” You start to walk out of the park, guiding her with you. Before you can fully exit, Tara tugs on your hand, pulling you back towards her. You turn around with curiosity etched on your face.

You’re about to ask what’s wrong when her lips crash into yours, her arms encircling your waist as she kisses you passionately. She kisses you with everything she has. The feeling is overwhelming, making you feel like you’ve ascended to cloud nine.

While in Tara’s embrace, you’re enveloped by a sense of belonging, realizing that you’ve finally found your place here in her arms.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + twenty five

authors note: this chapter is emotionally heavy and taxing. please be mindful of your mental ability to handle heavy content.

cw/tw: angst, discussion of child abuse, and direct accounts of child abuse from said child.

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

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 10k

Giving Roman his space while also being worried sick about him is the last thing Solana was expecting to experience this week, but it’s exactly where she’s got.

They didn’t leave on the best of terms. It wasn’t hostile, not nasty, and no one was angry. There was just this lingering tension. Some level of animosity and frustration on her part, because he refused to listen to her.

Because he refused to stay.

And that irksome guilt on his part. Solana could see it smoldering every time he looked at her, looked at her face, at the bruise. So much so that Solana went and put makeup on in the hopes that camouflaging it could ebb away some of the undeserved guilt. A fruitless effort because he still packed his bag, still gave her that almost reluctant kiss, still murmured an almost sad ‘I love you’ (that she did not reciprocate), and walked out the door.

He still left her. 

It’s childish to a certain extent. Her behavior during his departure. Solana knows and recognizes this. But, it stems deep down from a deep place of concern. She’s worried sick about him, hates that he hates himself for an accident. 

There’s not a single part of her that believes that man would ever lift his hand to her. That’s not her Roman.

What happened truly was an accident. She just wishes she could get him to see that.

She’s hopeful the item she snuck in his bag will help. 

Even if just a little.

The communication between them in the time since he’s been gone is almost non-existent. He texted her when he arrived in Italy and when he made it to the hotel. For that, she was grateful, but she just couldn’t find it in her to offer a written response, settling for hearting his messages. Again, childish. And Solana can recognize that her behavior also stems from just being frustrated with him, angry with him for not staying and going with her plan.

For going so far away to the point that she can’t help him. She just wants to be there for and support him, and all he can seem to do is….is push her away.

And that hurts.

Deeply. 

Especially when he’s been so good in trying and succeeding in supporting her in all of her mess. All she wants to do is return the favor, but he won’t let her. 

And that’s when the anger sets in. Such an unfamiliar experience. 

She’s not an angry person. But, she certainly feels like one.

It’s why she has the thought—or maybe hope—that training will be a good outlet for her to let off some of this uncharacteristic anger. 

If only it happened that way.

Or maybe Solana was too naive. Stupid, possibly, to think she could just walk into training like nothing happened, like the proof of something happening isn’t literally written all over her face in black and blue.

Solana has barely stepped into the training space when the smiles on both Bayley and Naomi’s faces collapse the minute they lay eyes on her.

“Oh my god, Solana!” They rush over, Solana starting to wish she’d taken the time out to use makeup to conceal the bruise. As much as she could. The pigmentation is deep, and even with the heavy application, it was still visible when she tried to hide it for Roman’s sake. “What the hell happened to your face?”

Solana looks away, already regretting her decision to come here in the first place. “I’m fine.”

“What the hell do you mean you’re fine?” Bayley’s eyes are wide, her face painted in disbelief. “Solana, your face is all bruised up.”

An exaggeration. It’s focused on one side of her face, but given the nastiness of its appearance, Solana can slightly understand the description. 

“Solana, what the hell happened?” Naomi repeats her question, this time her lips formed into a line before she asks, “who hit you?” Solana closes her eyes and shakes her head. This is the last thing she needs to be dealing with right now, especially with the nausea that’s starting to build. 

This morning sickness is clearly about to kick her ass with this pregnancy. 

“Solana….” Bayley cuts in, and almost instantly, Solana knows she’s not about to like whatever is said. “Did Roman hit you?”

At that, Solana’s attention is immediately focused back on Bayley. She was absolutely correct in that she doesn’t like the question. At all. 

She can barely find the words to respond to such a thing. “What?”

Naomi looks past her, motioning someone over by them. “Jimmy! Come here.”

Shit. 

And just like that, the situation is progressing from bad to worse. Yeah….she definitely wishes she’d just stayed home. 

“Whassup?” Jimmy’s jovial voice sounds from behind her, Solana barely able to match his smile before, just like Bayley and Naomi, it’s dropped the second he lays eyes on her. On the bruise. “What the hell?” 

“Jimmy, pl—”

“Solana….” Another indication more anger is about to be stirred up on her part. An accurate expectation given the next question to leave his mouth. “Did Roman hit you?” The second it leaves his mouth, she’s filled with anger, but there’s a matching level of that emotion on his end as well. He shakes his head, voice dead serious, more than she’s ever heard from him since their initial meeting months prior. “The truth, Solana. If that son of a bitch, hit you, I wanna know. I’ll handle it.”

They mean well. She knows they mean well, but it’s a combination of all the things. Of what happened with Roman. Roman leaving. A possible pregnancy. A pregnancy she’s hiding because she can’t tell her husband just yet.

It’s just too much.

“Would you all just shut up?” She snaps, voice raised, several sets of eyes on her with varying levels of bewilderment. “I said he didn’t do it, and the fact that you all even think he could ever be capable of that is disgusting.”

Because it is. Because they should know him better than that. He’s a lot of things, but that has never been one of them.

And the fact that they’re accusing him of such is infuriating to her. 

Shaking her head, she turns on her heel to leave. “I’m out of here.”

“Solana, wait—”

But, she does nothing of the sort, just keeps walking away, never once looking back.

————

Regrets are a tricky thing. Varying in size and impact. Never a major issue for Roman.

Not until two days prior.

Two days prior where demons from his past submerged, resulting and causing him to do the unthinkable.

On a basic level, he knows it was an accident. Knows that he would never intentionally do anything to ever hurt his wife. Especially in that way. But, the key word is intentionally, because regardless of what he intended, she was hurt.

She was hurt because of him. By his hands. And, that’s something Roman can’t seem to make peace with. Every time he thinks of texting her, of even trying to call her, he’s hit with a flash of her pretty, innocent face marred with that hideous bruise.

A bruise he caused her to have.

And he just as quickly puts his phone away.

He instead opts for something different, something he hasn’t dared to touch since spotting it when emptying his luggage and hanging up some clothes.

Roman walks over to the nightstand where the purple journal with tattered edges and  random stickers plastered has sat untouched. Until now.

Solana’s journal.

It’s aged, most likely one from when she was still a child, and he hasn’t the slightest clue when she placed it in his bag, but the minute he opens it and sees a pink post it with her handwriting on it, his stomach twists in a way it’s only done in the past few months after years of dormancy.

It’s a simple, short but powerful message.

You could never be them.

-Solana

Roman closes his eyes. Right away, he knows he’s in for a heavy, brutal insight into the hell she experienced for so many years. A part of him doesn’t want to. Doesn’t feel fully capable or even worthy of reading her vulnerable words. Her journals are a private thing he would never want to invade. However, she placed it in his bag for a reason. She wants him to read it, some of it, at least. 

The least he can give her……is that.

Bracing himself as best he can for what he’s about to read, Roman turns to the first entry.

Dear Mami,

I try really hard not to make dad upset, but it’s hard. He’s always angry and yelling at me. 

I know you always told me to stay out of his way, but it’s hard, mama. He makes me do all the cleaning and cooking like he made you. Sometimes, he doesn’t let me eat. 

I wish you were here.

Love,

Sol

————

Dear Mami,

Yesterday was really scary. Dad yelled at me for almost an hour and was throwing things. He hit me, too. I tried not to cry.

I’m trying to be strong like you, but it’s hard.

I’m not like you, mami. I’m not strong, and I don’t know how to be.

I miss you,

Sol

————

Dear Mami,

I keep looking for Hummingbirds. I know you said they don’t fly here, but I keep hoping I’ll see just one. I just want to see you again, mama. I miss you so much.

I wish they never took you from me.

I don’t have anybody anymore. 

I’m all alone.

Love,

Sol

————

Dear Mami,

I don’t know what I did, but I made dad really mad. He just kept hitting me and hitting me. Then Wes started hitting me too. It was hard for me to get the blood to stop, but I did exactly what you taught me, and it worked.

My body hurts really bad, but I’m scared to leave my room cause I might see dad.

I think I’m gonna sleep in the closet tonight.

Love,

Sol

————

Mami,

I’m sorry I haven’t written you. 

Something….something really bad happened to me, mama. 

The detective lady said it wasn’t my fault, but it was. I was too weak. I’m not strong like you.

I’m sorry I let you down.

I hope you still love me.

Solana

————

It’s that last entry that Roman has to stop at. He can handle a lot. Has handled a lot, but this…..this he can’t.

He always knew Solana went through hell in that house, both from speculation as well as confirmation from her. But, to read her words in real time, to see with his own eyes the extent of that hell.

A child. She was a fucking child.

No one deserves what she went through.

No one. 

And while he understands her intentions, maybe hope, she had with him reading her entries being enough to trigger more self-forgiveness. Thought that him gaining better insight into her abuse would lessen his feelings of guilt towards his actions…..that’s not entirely the outcome.

Maybe to some extent.

But, it’s hard to feel any bit better knowing he’s unintentionally contributed to her massive pile of traumatic experiences. 

Ashamed. Roman feels ashamed. A new, heavy ass experience that has him partially weighed down, even more so now knowing exactly some of the thoughts and sentiments Solana experienced while enduring years worth of torture. 

Eyes shut, he’s tempted to grab his phone and just text her, check in on her. Because while he hates what he did, he also hates how they left off.

How he left her. 

Because she didn’t want him to leave. Because she practically begged him to stay, but he left regardless, because he didn’t feel right being and staying around her after what happened. 

Didn’t feel like she was safe around him.

The way he still feels now. 

Redirecting himself, Roman instead swaps the journal for his phone, choosing to respond to messages from Dwayne and Matteo. Focusing on the business purpose of his trip. He can at least acknowledge that he’s done a decent job completely immersing himself in the role of Capo. A necessity given the purpose of this whole trip.

Well, the original purpose. 

Interactions with members of the Administration thus far have irked him almost as much as interactions with the Elders. Their judgmental expressions of his long hair—that he absolutely wears down just to piss them off—and tattoos—also hidden—do nothing to hide the racist reasons they truly despise him. 

It’s a nice distraction, knowing how much he gets under their skin, knowing that it kills them that he’s as intelligent and successful and fucking good as he is, hence why they can’t find a legitimate way to dethrone him. 

The memory of him putting a babbo down brings a small smirk to his face. A small slice of amusement tucked in between everything else heavy and egregious. It’s short lived, however. Because it’s not pertinent right now. 

No, Roman has other matters to tend to, much more important ones that he’s gone back and forth with himself on for days, ultimately deciding to bite the bullet.

Even with having this newfound piece of information via Solana’s journals. 

Roman moves over to the table and opens up his laptop, a quick glance at the clock on the wall alerting him that it’s time. 

Logging in and getting set up take less than a minute, only for her to not be on, that annoying ass “Your clinician will start the appointment shortly” welcome message taunting him.

And just like that, Roman is instantly annoyed.

Does punctuality mean fucking nothing?

He’s even more irritated when the screen lights up a couple minutes later revealing his wife’s therapist. “You’re late.”

Gail looks like she wants to roll her eyes but ultimately decides not to. A wise decision. “I usually don’t get into the office until—”

“I don’t care.” He honestly, truly doesn’t. There’s a bit of hesitation as he asks, “how is she doing?”

Roman watches her shift in her seat, followed by movement that indicates she’s moving around some items on her desk. “Good. I’m pleased with her progress and dedication to continuing treatment.”

That’s relieving to hear. Much more than he’s willing to let on. Especially after what he just finished reading. “Did she attend yesterday?” He already knows the answer, having stayed on top of Nia via probably annoying, frequent texts reminding her of all the important things. Times of Solana’s appointments. Location of said appointments. Importance of making sure Nia puts Solana’s medication back exactly where he keeps it.

All of the things.

“She did.” He sees it, the unspoken question in her voice. And, he’s prepared to tell her to just ask the shit, letting him decide if he wants to answer it or not. But, she’s two steps ahead of him. “Mr. Reigns, this call wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the bruise she tried to hide with makeup, now would it?”

Fuck.

Roman doesn’t care about her question or the almost implication in said question. What he cares about is the fact that his wife is having to cake her face in makeup to hide the result of his lack of self0control. Is having to lie about how she acquired said bruise. 

It’s……crushing. Truly. 

Reminds him of her haunting words written as a child.

Similar words probably being penned in her most recent journal as a result of his actions. 

His arrogance is definitely knocked down a peg, as he asks in a low voice, “what did she tell you?”

Gail sits back in her chair, answering evenly. “Accident while training.”

It’s believable. Roman will give Solana that, but he’s not surprised. She probably spent years having to explain away bruises as a result of her despicable family. 

It’s difficult to not group himself in that same category, however. 

No matter what Solana says. 

“You said…..you said she’s codependent on me.” Roman’s gaze is focused on the cherry wood table in his hotel room and not on the woman watching him through the screen. It’s…..it’s easier that way. “How attached is she to me?”

Gail’s eyes narrow as she jumps straight to the point. “Roman, what exactly are you asking me?”

Nothing he ever anticipated having to ask. 

Or even consider.

It’s difficult for him to hide the heaviness in said answer. “What do you think it would do to her mentally if we weren’t together anymore?”

————

Here in the night

I see the sun

Here in the dark

Our two hearts are one

Solana grabs her phone and pauses the music, realizing it’s been a while since she took a break.

Sitting in her home library, surrounded by boxes, boxes filled with her books and journals finally transported from her work library has been the activity to occupy her racing mind for the past two hours.

It’s been a nice distraction. That and work itself the past few days. Getting back into her usual routine has been helpful, and coming back to a barrage of letters, cards, drawings, and other heartwarming gifts from the kids really was the highlight of her return. 

She’s never felt so loved than in the moment where they practically bum rushed her with hugs or when Mrs. Jensen handed over all of their “get well soon” gifts they’d brought in while she was away. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes, a welcomed change given those tears came from pleasant emotions.

Not like the ones she’s been crying ever since Roman left a couple days ago. She still hasn’t spoken to him. Not really. Not outside of occasional almost awkward check-in texts that she replies to with just as much awkwardness, if not just an emoji reaction. 

It’s miserable and stupid. She wants to talk to him. Wants to hear his voice, but she’s also trying to be respectful. Then there’s the lingering anger and frustration toward him for leaving, even if it’s subsided mostly into just sadness.

And loneliness. 

She misses him.

Misses falling asleep next to and waking up to him, something she was deprived of when she was away at treatment. But now, she’s right back in the same space. 

And even this, finally being able to start setting up her library/art room he thoughtfully created for her, is a bittersweet thing. She always imagined this being something they would do. Her handing journals and books to Roman for him to place up on the shelves that she cannot reach. His arms around her, frequently distracting her with dirty whispers of promised pleasure later that evening. Her sitting on his lap as she feeds him whatever she decided to make for lunch as they took a break.

It was just supposed to be different from this. 

Solana’s hand falls to her stomach. 

It was all supposed to be different from this. 

Tears pooling once again, she shakes her head, refusing to spiral yet again. She instead grabs her phone and once again ignores the unread texts from a variety of people. Naomi. Bayley. Even Melina and them.

Their messages are warranted given the abrupt almost cold text she sent to their group telling them the girls trip was off and to be postponed for a later date and time.

A part of her feels bad, but she’s mostly relieved. 

She just….she just needs space.

Doesn’t feel like talking.

If it’s not Roman, she’s not interested.

Her husband is the only person she wants to interact with, but she can't. Thus, her self-imposed isolation. 

He’s not an option currently, so until then, she just wants to be alone.

Solana is interrupted by her phone dinging, and the way she jumps with the hope that it’s maybe Roman is squashed the minute she realizes it’s not his notification sound and simply a calendar reminder. 

Appt w/ Dr. Michaels @ 2pm

Solana gasps and curses to herself.

She’d completely forgotten about scheduling that, most likely because she hates the fact that she’s even doing it.

She quickly hits dismiss on the alarm and stands up, sliding the phone in the back pocket of her jean shorts. The space around her is still a mess, some boxes partially open, others still taped shut. This is a project that’s clearly going to need to be completed in phases.  

Thus, she grabs a couple of unorganized journals scattered on the floor and drops them into a box, just to get them out the way, missing how a faded letter with her name written across in neat handwriting slips out one of the books and lays untouched and unseen on the floor. 

Out of the library and into the rest of the house, Solana has little difficulty finding Nia. Her husband's cousin who he somehow talked into, most likely forced, to stay with her has spent most of her time in her room, the gym, or the living room. 

And the latter of which is where Solana finds her, but not only her. Bautista is present, standing near the opposite end of the sofa where Nia sits.

It’s not surprising, however, given his almost “promotion” to guarding her at home, alternating with Solo for some outside outings as well. His service while she was away as well as his friendly disposition and Solana being comfortable with him securing this new arrangement.

Solana nervously clears her throat. “Nia?”

The other woman sighs. Loudly. “What?”

And just like that, the nerves are starting to set in. Nia isn’t going to like this. “I forgot I scheduled a doctor’s appointment today.”

Nia’s groan is also loud as she pauses the show and turns to Solana with a scowl. “Seriously? Can’t you like reschedule it or something?”

Not really. “No. I—I need to go.”

“Are you dying?”

Solana hesitates for a second. “Umm, no, but—”

“Then you don’t need to go,” she says it in the cheeriest voice, grabbing the remote to turn off the TV. Standing up, Nia briefly looks over at a quiet Bautista then back at Solana. “I’m going to take a nap.”

Solana frowns. Does Nia not have other plans then? Because, Solana could understand if her appointment interfered with pre-existing obligations, but if there are none….what’s the issue?

Once it’s just the two of them, Bautista clears his throat. “If…..if I may?”

Solana looks over at him, managing a small smile. “Of course.” It doesn’t matter how many times she tells this man he doesn’t have to behave so reserved around her, he remains firm with his professionalism and manners. 

Regardless, the respect is deeply appreciated.

He walks over to her, keeping a respectful distance but still close enough for her to hear his calm, leveled voice. “Roman Reigns is our Tribal Chief. He sits at the Head of the Table. We all acknowledge him just like we all answer to him.” His tone takes a firmer, almost convictive nature. “You are Solana Reigns. The wife of the Tribal Chief, meaning you sit directly next to him at that table. You only answer to him. No one else.”

Silence.

There’s a heavy but powerful silence that follows his words. A silence that’s filled with thinking and recognition. Solana has always known, never been ignorant to the power her husband holds. All that comes with his status and position. But, it’s not until this moment, not until Bautista frames it that way, that she fully recognizes just how much of that, if not all of it, carries over to his wife.

She is the wife of the Tribal Chief.

And that means something. 

Nodding from a newfound sense of confidence and credence, Solana offers a heartfelt, “thank you, Bautista.” Lifting her chin, she informs, “we’ll be leaving shortly.”

There’s a small smile playing on his lips. “Yes ma’am.”

Pleased and determined, Solana turns on her heel and doesn’t waver as she makes her way up the stairs and down the hall until she’s standing before Nia’s door. 

She doesn’t even bother with knocking.

Opening the door, Solana finds Nia laying in bed. She jumps up and removes her sleep mask, irritation all over her face. “What the he—”

“I said I have an appointment.” Solana has never felt more assured than she does at this moment, not a bit of her reluctant as she orders, “be ready in half an hour.”

And with that, she turns on her heel and walks out without another word.

It’s not needed.

She said what she said.

————

Despite an excellent, earlier display of assertiveness, to say Solana feels good about her decision, as a whole, would be a lie, because she doesn’t. Going behind Roman’s back is what she feels like she’s doing, and that is an awful feeling. But, she’s in this tricky situation where she doesn’t want to tell him about the pregnancy if there is in fact no pregnancy. And if she is pregnant, she doesn’t want to tell him via a text or phone call because that feels too impersonal. And, she also just doesn’t want to tell him, period, because he’s already beating himself up over what happened and him knowing that she is pregnant could only make it worse.

And yes, she could just take a home test, but at this point, she needs to know with absolute certainty. A home test can’t do that for her.

But, a blood test can.

Thus, where she currently sits: in the lobby of the private clinic where her husband’s doctor operates out of. Because she needs a medical professional, but she doesn’t know who to go to. Doesn’t know how this is supposed to work. She just knows that if she is pregnant, it’s important that it doesn’t get out for a lot of reasons.

Especially since she has to be the one to tell her husband.

Just when the time is right. 

“Why exactly are we here again?” Nia’s bored voice cuts her from her thoughts, Solana looking up from the thread she has opened. The one between her and Roman. “It’s probably just allergies.”

As part of doing her best to hide her pregnancy, Solana wisely made up an excuse of her throat feeling weird and a headache to explain to Nia and Bautista this otherwise random appointment. So far, it seems to be working. “Maybe, but I just want to make sure. You know Roman had the flu not too long ago.”

Nia rolls her eyes and wisely says nothing else, focusing back on the book in her hand. It’s not missed upon Solana how her gaze briefly darts to Bautista.

She’s not sure what exactly is going on there, but Solana could get behind it. In a strange sort of way, they just make sense to her. 

He could maybe help Nia level out the way Solana tends to help Roman with his temper.

“Mrs. Reigns?” 

Solana looks up to see the nurse standing by the door. She turns to Nia and Bautista. “I’ll be back.”

“You sure you don’t need us to wait in the hall or something?” His question is valid as is the concern on his handsome face, but Solana can’t risk them somehow overhearing the truth behind this appointment. 

“No, I’ll be fine.” She manages a small smile that probably doesn’t reach her eyes, turning on her heel to follow the nurse to the back. 

Solana is most definitely experiencing heightened anxiety that only intensifies when she spots Dr. Michaels coming from the other end of the hall. 

He’s not alone, however. A tall man, about the same height as the doctor. Smooth chocolate skin with a decent build for a man who looks to be in his fifties is beside him, focused on whatever Dr. Michaels is saying to him. 

“......firefighter, doctor, what’s next? Police officer.” She overhears her husband’s doctor who wears a teasing smile. “You’re just crossing them all off the list, ain’t you?” A friendly set of blue eyes settle on her when the gap between both is closed. “Well, what a sur—”

“Solana……”

Solana finds herself frowning, her attention directed to the man who she’s never seen before this very moment but who somehow knows her name and is staring directly at her. It’s not a predatory stare or even something inappropriate. It’s almost…..sad.

He’s looking at her like he’s just seen a ghost.

Dr. Michaels is also looking at the man next to him but with a different kind of expression. One that screams, you can’t just address the Tribal Chief’s wife so informally like that. “Mrs. Reigns, I apologize for the wait.” 

Solana shakes her head, still unsure why this stranger keeps staring at her. “It’s okay.” She hugs herself, looking past him to see if she can spot whatever door is open that could be the room they’ll be in. “Are you ready or…..”

“Of course.” He turns to the man beside him, offering a handshake. “Good to have you on the team, Dr. Adams.” 

Dr. Adams.

Yeah, not familiar at all. 

This Dr. Adams finally removes his gaze from her to accept Dr. Michaels handshake, only nodding as he gives her one last, almost regretful look and carefully moves past her.

Solana frowns in the wake of his absence. What was that?

Dr. Michaels apologizes again. “Sorry about that. Come with me.” Wordlessly, she follows him, moving to sit on the patient bed, anxiety growing once again as he closes the door. “Now, I hear you’re having some—”

“You can’t tell Roman I was here.”

It’s certainly not what she planned to say. Not yet, anyway. But, it’s exactly what comes out, Solana closing her eyes and going to correct herself. “I mean…..I’m gonna tell him myself. I just….I just need time.”

Time and a plan. Along with many other things she doesn’t need to tell the man before her.

His jovial disposition has shifted into something almost nervous and uncomfortable. “Solana, what’s going on here?”

She takes a breath, head tilted back, giving herself one final boost of encouragement before answering. “I need…..I need a pregnancy test.”

The release of what she’s been holding in for the past couple weeks is both terrifying and relieving. She hates that the first person she’s uttering the words to, even if just a thought of pregnancy, isn’t her husband. But, she also knows that she’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Even more, she needs to know for certain, and Dr. Michaels is the only one who can provide her with that answer.

He looks only slightly less confused. “I see…..” Shifting the tablet under his arm to in front of him, he speculates, “and Roman doesn’t know that you might be…..”

“No,” she answers, voice small. “I’m—I’m going to tell him, but I want to know for sure first.” Again, only a part of a much bigger, complicated story. 

“Well, I can absolutely do a blood test, but I’m general medicine, Solana. I’m not an—”

“OB-GYN. I know. I just…..I didn’t know who else to go to. You’re Roman’s doctor, so he obviously trusts you.” Enough to manage his health, at least. “And I don’t know if there’s a specific doctor the Bloodline uses—”

“There is,” he supplies with a small smile. “I’ll make sure to give you her info before you leave. Even if….” He trails off, clearly not wanting to state what Solana would be shocked to find out is a false alarm.

She feels pregnant. 

He clears his throat. “I don’t mean to pry, but have you told anyone e—”

“No.” It’s an easy, truthful answer. “I haven’t said a word to anyone, and I won’t. Not until I find out if I am and definitely not until I tell Roman.”

He nods, clearly agreeing with this plan. “I will say, the big guy might order that this pregnancy stays just between you and your care team. And I guess me now,” he ends with a chuckle. “You’re the Tribal Chief’s wife who might be carrying his first official heir. That target over your head just got a hell of a lot bigger.” It’s weird, but his words don’t come across as fearmongering or even a scare tactic. Just a genuine warning of what’s to come. “But, that’ll be discussed between—”

“How is he?” It’s a breathless almost thing that falls out of her mouth. An unintended question but one she finds herself asking, nonetheless. “Roman, I mean, like….his health.”

Because on top of worrying about his mental state, being in front of his doctor has her curious about the physical side of things. 

“You’re a smart young lady, Solana.” Dr. Michaels starts, voice tentative almost. “You know how HIPAA works…..”

She closes her eyes. “I’m not asking you as a patient’s wife. I’m–” She takes a deep breath, voice firm and solid. “I’m asking you as the Tribal Chief’s wife.”

Bautista’s words still playing in the back of her head, Solana has never really considered what role she plays as Roman’s wife. Never thought to pull that card, because it’s almost out of character. She’s always been more inclined to shy away from status than to use it to her benefit. But, this is different. This is about Roman, and there isn’t much she wouldn't do to help him or even to know if and what he needs help with. 

And he’s been mum regarding his blood pressure as of late, so her curiosity is only naturally piqued. 

There’s obvious hesitation, but he relents, partially to her surprise. “He’s doing alright. Numbers look decent. Seems that he’s finally recognizing how serious this could be if he doesn’t do what he needs to do to keep from progressing to another stage again.”

“Wait. What?” Solana frowns. “Stage? What….what are you talking about?” A brief look of panic flashes in his blue eyes, alerting Solana that something is very much not right. “What stage?”

“Fuck…..” He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He didn’t tell you….”

“Tell me what?” Solana presses, her anxiety almost through the roof  “I’m not—I’m not gonna ask again.”

Dr. Michaels sighs with defeat. “Look, the last time Roman was here, his numbers were bad. Like, he jumped from prehypertension to stage one actual hypertension bad. I had to up his dosage and increase his follow up appointments as well as bloodwork check-ins.” Solana’s heart swells and her stomach jumps, and Dr. Michaels clearly sees how devastated this news has her, thus him adding, “but, like I said, he’s been on top of it and is looking good…..”

It’s hard for her to focus on that ending bit when all she can think about is one thing.

Lie.

Roman lied to her. 

She asked him. She fucking asked him how his appointment went, how his blood pressure was doing, if he was okay. And, he lied. He lied to her face. He told her he was fine, and he wasn’t.

He still isn’t. 

And this time, instead of lying, he’s just left.

Ran away. 

Like he always does. 

“Solana…..”

It’s the almost gentle way her name is said that alerts her to the fact that she’s crying, tears spilling down her face as she clutches her stomach. 

“Can I just have the test, please?” Because that’s all she wants and needs at this point. She just needs to know for certain, and she needs to get the hell out of here. 

She just needs to get away from it all.

————

Solana has never considered herself an irrational person. Most definitely not impulsive. Even with both of her suicide attempts, they may have been impulsive in the moment, but they didn’t indicate a truly impulsive personality or even disposition. 

But, that hasn’t been the case for the past three days.

No, it hasn’t been the case, because Solana’s current situation is the direct result of impulsivity.

She sits in her bedroom, Dulce sleeping peacefully in her bed on the floor beside her. Bautista and Nia are somewhere in the house that is not her main home, but the house purchased by her husband for her.

She’s in Isla Mujeres.

And has been for three days now.

Coming home from the shocking appointment, Solana found herself packing a small bag for herself, one for Dulce, and telling both Nia and Bautista to get ready because they were flying out that night. 

Her command left no room for argument, and that’s exactly what occurred, hence how Solana ended up where she is.

It’s been a true form of escape.

Feeling overwhelmed with all of it, Solana knew she needed to just not be around any of it.

And this place has served as a site of refuge, providing her with some level of tranquility that’s been escaping her back home.

Again, her random text to the group chat regarding her “going away” for a couple of days was met with another round of bombarding messages and calls. And Solana isn’t stupid, she knows and can understand her friends being concerned about her.

But, it’s not like she’s entirely alone. She has two people who are making sure she’s safe despite her perhaps strange behavior, and that’s all that matters.

Because she just needs space.

And in an unexpected turn of events, Roman has been added to that list.

He lied. He lied to her. Lied to her about something so important, something regarding his health, of all things. Was dishonest with her.

Again.

It’s becoming a bit of a theme, and she’s not naive. She can somewhat understand why he didn’t tell her. At first. Because she was in the midst of treatment.

But, she’s home now. She’s been home. Why would he not come clean?

Tears burn her eyes. It’s hard to balance understanding with feeling betrayed, because this isn’t the first time her husband hasn’t been honest with her.

And if she’s being honest with herself, this “reason” for the dishonesty being because he’s trying to protect her is…..it’s getting old.

She’s just so frustrated with him. 

So much of this could be avoided if he would just talk to her, and she’s running out of different ways to help him understand as such. 

Wiping at her eyes, Solana grabs a journal off the nightstand. Something she’s discussed with Gail in therapy as of late is the importance of never forgetting where she came from, how far she’s come. Remembering that she’s moving in the right direction.

It’s a strange thing, too. 

On one hand, reading journals from when she was a child and teenager could and maybe should be triggering. And it is. To a certain extent.

But, Solana is proud to say that she can revisit these painful memories and not be drawn back into those dark emotions but rather recognize that was how she used to feel. Where she used to be. 

Who she used to be.

But, not anymore.

Never again.

Solana leans back against the headboard and opens the journal, unsure what she’s about to read but ready regardless.

Dear Mami,

I miss you so much. I’m so so sorry for everything. I’m so sad now that you’re gone. I wish you were here. Daddy is so mean to me. Wes now too. He hates me because it’s my fault you’re dead. 

I’m so sorry. 

Love,

Sol

————

Dear Mami, 

Everything is so much badder now. Daddy is angry at me all the time. Wes too. They call me names. They hurt me, mommy. 

I wish I could be with you.

Yours,

Sol

————

Dear Mami, 

I’m sorry I haven’t written you lately. Daddy got mad at me for spilling some juice, and he broke my arm, so I couldn’t write.

I just got the cast off this morning. 

It still hurts a lot, but at least I can write you.

I got all A’s this quarter, mami! I’m trying to make you proud.

Hope you’ve forgiven me.

Solana

————

Dear Mami,

I feel so sad. Nothing makes me happy anymore. I try to think of you. Remember the times we would draw and sing and cook together. But, it’s not working anymore.

Mommy, I have times where I feel like I can’t breathe cause I feel so sad.

And sometimes when I just don’t want to breathe anymore at all.

Solana

————

Dear Mami,

I don’t want to do this anymore.

Solana

————

Mom,

It was a rough day. I had those thoughts again. I was able to fight them, but it’s so hard. 

I try to think about how you always told me to never stop dreaming. Never stop believing that life is a gift. I try, but it’s hard. 

I try to dream that not all men are like dad and Wes. That not every man in my life will hurt me. That maybe……just maybe I can fall in love someday. Find and marry someone who’s actually nice to me, who treats me with kindness, who loves me.

Kind of like my prince charming.

Do you think I could ever have a happily ever after?

Love,

Sol

Reading the entries definitely stirs up emotions, but it’s the last letter, however, that has her tears subsiding and the weight on her chest decreasing. A complete shift away from the heavy, depressing entries from such dark times in her life. 

A man unlike her dad and brother. 

Roman.

A man who would never hurt her like her dad and brother. 

Roman

A man she could love and marry. Someone who treats her with kindness and loves her. 

Roman 

Solana snaps the journal shut and cries a little harder, feels a little deeper, the realization hitting her like a stack of bricks over the head.

Roman isn’t perfect. He may seem like it sometimes, but he isn’t. He’s just a man. A human being like any other human being. He has his faults, the same way she has hers. He has his demons, just like she has hers.

But one thing that’s always remained consistent is him. He’s been her pillar since the beginning of their marriage, even when things were rocky and they were trying to learn each other. He’s been there for her.

More than any other man in her life, and this rough patch for him, for them, should not be anything that has her questioning him or their relationship.

Roman loves her. Plain and simple. 

The same way she loves him. 

And it’s that love that’s going to get them through this.

Wiping at her eyes, nodding to herself, Solana takes a deep breath. Swapping the notebook in her lap for the phone on the nightstand, she navigates to the unheard voicemail from Dr. Michaels.

The one that’s sat there for three days now, Solana not feeling well enough to receive that answer.

But, not anymore.

It’s time.

Eyes closing for a second, her hand drops to her stomach as she finally hits the play button.

Almost instantly, a new, male voice fills the room.

“Hey Solana, it’s Dr. Michaels.” Her heartbeat is a mile a fucking minute, Solana having to take a deep breath to help herself calm down. “Got your test results back and looks like you and the Big Guy better start babyproofing that big ole’ house of yours.” And just like that, Solana smacks the pause button on the voicemail before doubling over, a sob leaving her mouth.

She knew it. Felt it. But, there’s something about hearing the confirmation. Knowing without a doubt that she’s pregnant that’s almost overwhelming. 

In the best possible way.

Sniffling, she smiles down and rubs her hand across her stomach.

She’s pregnant.

“Now, I don’t want to freak you out, but your hCG levels came back pretty high, which isn’t anything bad. At all. But, it can indicate a multiples pregnancy. Meaning you could be carrying twins, and if that’s the case……”

It’s difficult for Solana to continue to focus on the rest of his message, something about him reminding her that Dr. Sharmell is the go-to OB-GYN for Bloodline pregnancies, as well as a phone number she’d guess for this doctor. However, as appreciated as that is, it’s mostly in one ear and out the other, because all she can hone in on is one word.

Twins

Twins like the ones she’s had several, frequent, recurring dreams about over the past few months. Dropping her phone altogether, Solana places both hands on her stomach, somehow, someway already knowing that he’s right.

She is carrying twins.

Smiling, laughing faces that are the perfect combination of herself and Roman rushing to the front of her mind, deepening her smile, increasing her joy.

Her babies.

Overcome with happiness, Solana finds herself grabbing her current journal that was also sitting on the nightstand, trembling hands skipping to the end of the book that she’s damn near completed. Using the pen in the middle, Solana shares the news, officially, with the only person other than her husband who she would give anything to have to celebrate with right now.

Dear Mami,

I’m pregnant. 

With twins. 

I’m getting my happily ever after, after all.

Love,

Sol

She must reread it almost a dozen times, each reading widening her smile. It’s such a strange thing, how quickly emotions can oscillate. She’d traveled the feelings spectrum from one end to the other over the past week, but this stop…..this stop is one she’d be okay with staying at for a while. 

Solana grabs her phone again, fingers navigating to Roman’s contact. She’s not going to tell him. Not like this, but this avoidance game they’ve been playing needs to stop. A glance at the time as well as her pulling up the world clock reveals it’s almost midnight in Italy, but that doesn’t stop her from dialing the number regardless.

It’s time to talk to her husband.

Except, it’s not.

Because the phone goes straight to voicemail. 

Solana frowns. She can’t recall a time where Roman’s phone has ever been off. On Do Not Disturb, sure, but off?

Never.

Not since she’s been with him, at least.

The beeping on the other end alerts her to the fact that she can either leave a message or hang up. 

She decides on the former of the two options.

“Hey….” Clearing her throat, she does her best to keep her voice steady, a tricky task considering the life-changing news she’s sitting on. “I—I wanted to talk to you. I—I miss your voice. I miss you.” Swallowing, she smiles, wishing she could bask in this moment with him. “Call me back when you get a chance….I love you.”

Hanging up the phone, Solana scoffs, still slightly in a state of disbelief. Looking down at a still sleeping Dulce, a soft giggle leaves her mouth at thinking about how her fur baby is going to react to there being a real baby in the house.

Two.

Climbing off the bed, phone in one hand, Solana moves over to the dresser and grabs a change of clothes before heading to the attached master bathroom.

She’s done a lot of sulking while in her supposed happy place, engaged in a lot of avoidance behavior. 

No more.

She has a reason to smile, to be happy, to be excited. And she wants to lean into that.

Solana starts to make a mental list of things she wants to do before leaving in a couple days. The item at the top is to go see Paloma. She’s barely spoken to the older woman with kind eyes and a warm personality since first meeting her months prior.

It’s time to see her again. 

But, as much as she would like to focus on an agenda for the remainder of her trip, it’s difficult for her mind to not keep gravitating back toward the news.

To the thought of life growing inside her. 

Two lives formed from a beautiful though flawed love. Two individuals who have lost so much yet stand to gain so much more through the lives they’ve created together.

Solana knows Roman will be an amazing father. He’s been so good to her, so patient, so loving. Seeing that extended to their children just fills her with all of the butterflies.

They’ll definitely have to make some changes. She might have to cut back work hours. He could maybe work from home more, if that’s even a thing. No nanny. Roman probably wouldn’t trust anyone anyway.

And the guest room closest to them could easily be the shared nursery for both children. It only makes sense for the babies to be close to them, getting different, separate rooms as they get older.

Standing in the shower, continuing to go over any and all the details, there’s a small bit of sadness at not being able to share the news with her friends. She knows they’re all going to be so happy for her, and Solana knows they’ll plan the biggest, most elaborate baby shower that she’ll probably have to bribe Roman into attending.

All of it, even the maybe stressful things, keeps her smile on her face. 

It’s just been some time since she’s felt so happy. A well deserved thing following an almost week of anything but.

But, it’s as Solana steps out the shower, wraps the towel around her and checks her phone, her smile dims at her lock screen being littered with notifications.

1 missed call from Jey 

3 missed calls from Jimmy

4 unread texts from Jimmy

2 unread texts from Jey

And just like that, her stomach drops.

Something is wrong.

Given Jimmy is the one with the most outreach attempts, she bypasses reading any messages and just skips right to calling him.

Pacing across the bathroom, each ring on the other end feels like an eternity. Finally, he picks up. “Solana.”

“What’s wrong?” It’s blurted out, her desperation and fear loud and present. “What happened?”

A heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. “Solana…..”

“What happened, Jimmy!” She doesn’t mean to yell, but she does mean to stress that she needs this man to tell her just what the hell is going on.

Another pause. “Fetu took a turn for the worse.” Her heart stops. “She’s…..she’s probably not going to make it through the night.”

Of all the things to come out his mouth, Solana could have never guessed that would be it. She’s instantly in a brief state of shock. This can’t be……no, it can’t.

“What?” Is all she’s able to muster, leaning back against the counter, heart rate a mile a minute.

“I don’t….I don’t know all the details. Ava was too upset to talk, but—”

“Roman….” 

Jimmy blows out a deep breath. “He’s already on a plane here. He…..he was actually already on his way.” Solana’s frown deepens. “He wanted to surprise you.” And the knife just keeps twisting. “He knows and should land in a couple hours, but I don’t know if—”

“Don’t,” she cuts him off. Solana can’t even fathom the notion of what he’s about to say. It can’t…..no. “Don’t say it.”

“Solana….” She’s never heard Jimmy sound so despondent. “From the way Ava was talking, she doesn’t have a lot of t—”

“He’s gonna make it.” There is no other alternative. None that Solana can consider. At least, not in this state. Because she’s still trying to sit on the fact that Roman’s laughing, smiling, hoot of an aunt is now suddenly at death’s door. It doesn’t make any sense. They were supposed to go see her. Solana had already texted and talked with Ava about surprising Fetu with a visit when Roman returned. 

And now…..

“I’m on my way.”

She can practically picture Jimmy’s surprise. “Solana, I don’t—”

“I need you to meet me at the airport and take me there,” she continues. Because Solana has only been there once, she doesn’t know how to get to Fetu’s place. But, Jimmy does, and something tells her Roman will land back home before she does, and she doesn’t want him wasting a second waiting around for her so they can go together.

“Solana, you’ve never…..you’ve never been around Roman when he’s lost someone. I don’t—I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you—”

“I am not letting him deal with this alone,” she vows, anger replacing the fear. “Prepare the jet for me.”

“Solana—”

“I said I’m going!” She snaps. Solana is certain her shout bypasses the perimeter of the closed bathroom door, travels into her bedroom and permeates throughout the house. “If you don’t want to help me, that’s fine. I’ll find a way. I will fucking swim back home and walk my way there if that’s what it takes, because I am not letting him deal with this alone.” There’s absolute silence on the other end. “Now are you going to help me or not?”

Jimmy is quiet for a good minute before answering. “I’ll be there when you touch down.”

There’s a small slice of relief that fills her at his agreement, but it’s nothing to sit in given the weight of the situation. “I’ll see you then.” 

Hanging up the phone, Solana hurriedly applies her deodorant and slips on her bra and panties. Walking out the bathroom, she moves over to the dresser, pulling out some sweats and a shirt. Once her sneakers are on, she’s grabbing Dulce, apologizing for waking her up as she moves out the room and down the stairs.

She finds Bautista and Nia in the kitchen, not hesitating as she informs, “pack your stuff. We’re leaving.”

Their surprised, borderline confused expressions make all the sense, but it’s Nia who speaks up. “What do you mean we’re leaving?”

Solana ignores her, carrying Dulce to the backdoor and letting her out, keeping her eyes on her puppy as she finds the patch of grass to relieve herself. 

Nia, of course, refuses to let it go, pushing her at a time where Solana is already trying not to sink into panic. “Look, you have been an impulsive mess all week. Randomly making us fly out here and now you’re making us randomly fly back. What the he—”

“Would you shut up!” It’s similar to the way she snapped at Jimmy, but angrier. More personal. “I don’t answer to you, Nia. I said we’re leaving, so we’re fucking leaving!”

And at that moment, Dulce hurries herself back inside, Solana slamming and shutting the door as she storms past a bewildered Nia to go back upstairs and finish packing.

Shaking hands, quiet sniffles, and silent tears accompany her preparation. She tried to call Roman again, only for the phone to once again go to voicemail, further worrying her.

He’s been pushing her away all week, but this…..this feels different. 

He’s icing her out, and it hurts, but not for her. She hurts for him, because he was already in a not good place before leaving. And now this?

“Please don’t take her from him…..” Solana finds herself pleading, praying for the first time in a long time. “He can’t…..he can’t lose her.”

Because he can’t. 

Because Solana can’t even imagine what losing Fetu would do to Roman. She isn’t sure how he’d handle it. 

If he could handle it. 

Less than twenty minutes later, Solana and Co. are out of the house and on their way to the airport. Dulce, forever perceptive, remains in her lap, every so often licking her arm and whining, cuddling close to Solana.

To her stomach. 

It’s appreciated. 

Necessary.

Because Solana is a nervous, emotional wreck sitting on the jet, Bautista and Nia wisely keeping their distance, leaving her alone in the bedroom with Dulce close by her side.

Solana tries to call both Roman and Ava one last time before takeoff. Neither answers.

It’s not unexpected, but it does make that despair lingering in the pit of her stomach grow.

Makes Solana think back on the letter she has tucked and hidden away at home. Makes her reflect on that almost ominous interaction with his aunt. 

Fetu shakes her head, Solana looking down when she places a white, sealed envelope in her hand. “I need you to give this to him when the time is right.”

Those words now haunt her, cause her to wonder just what is contained within that letter. If….if it was intended for a time like this.

A time where she’s no longer around.

Solana shakes her head, a sob breaking through as she tries to gather herself. She’s an emotional mess, yes, pregnancy hormones probably not helping, but regardless, she can’t be.

She needs to be strong. 

For Roman.

It’s what she keeps telling herself, reminding herself of as she’s forced to utilize some of her coping skills to settle her anxiety. Because it’s not just her she has to think about anymore.

It’s her babies, too.

Solana is nearly running out the jet the minute it lands and they’re clear to exit. She leaves Dulce with Nia, instructing her to take her back home.

Nia doesn’t argue with this.

But, the minute she steps foot out of the jet, her feet on ground, her eyes locked with Jimmy who waits near a black SUV…..she knows.

She just knows.

Solana’s hand goes to her stomach. “No……” Jimmy’s eyes shut as he runs his hand over his face, unshed tears glistening once he reopens his eyes and looks over at her. “Please, no…..”

“Solana….” 

Her voice breaks. “Don’t say it.”

But, he does. He absolutely says it. “She’s gone, Solana.”

She knew it. Knew it the moment her eyes locked with his that are filled with such tremendous grief, holding a truth she’d give anything to be anything but. But, on top of the grief that now fills her body the same way it fills Jimmy, there’s an entirely different layer that nearly grounds her when that realization settles. 

“Roman.” She’s almost scared to ask, but she has to. She just has to. “Did he….”

And it’s the way Jimmy’s sadness deepens as he shakes his head no that Solana’s already wavering resolve crumbles, that she breaks down in front of her husband’s cousin. Jimmy moves over to her, letting her cry into him at the second horrifying realization bulldozes into her with the weight of solid concrete.

Roman didn’t make it in time.

He didn’t get to see Fetu before she passed.

He didn’t get to say goodbye.

[magniloquent-raven]

@chaussettecanape your art of tommy in bucks sweater did this to me 💀

**

It’s been seven days. Almost to the hour.

Not that Tommy’s been counting. Not exactly. But sometimes he can’t help glancing at the clock and think, it was 8:48 when I got in my truck that night. His brain does the math from there.

After twelve hours and six minutes without Evan, he gave in to tears. Wholly. He wept, staring at his blurry bedroom ceiling as the morning light crept in. It was the first time in six months he’d woken up to an empty lockscreen. Dragging his fingertip up the picture he took of Evan's sunny smile said yielded nothing but No Older Notifications.

Three days and eight hours after he walked out of Evan’s loft for the last time, he sat in the locker room at work, phone in hand, scrolling numbly through their old messages. He read every I’ll be there in 15 and Wanna watch a movie tonight? until he got to a solid block of text that started with, Hey, Tommy! It’s Buck. Evan. He was sweet and excited, but so unsure. Self-conscious even through text.

For an uncharitable moment Tommy thought to himself they both would have been better off if he’d left Evan on read and never given him that tour. But it wasn’t fair. He knows their relationship was important to Evan. Transformative, was how he put it. He discovered something about himself, and now he gets to live a fuller life because of it. And Tommy wants to be happy for him.

He will be. Eventually.

Five days, four hours, and twenty-six minutes into one of the worst weeks of his life, he found Evan’s blue hoodie shoved underneath a throw pillow on his couch. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw Evan wearing it, and has no idea when he took it off and discarded it there.

He should’ve paid better attention. If he’d known he was running out of time, he would have. If he knew when he was seeing Evan smile for the last time. Kissing him for the last time. He would’ve savoured the moments he stole while he was still allowed to. He wishes he knew why this hoodie and this cushion. Wishes there was a memory attached to it beyond the shadow of their entire relationship haunting his every step.

He left the hoodie where he found it, shoving it back into hiding.

But now…it’s 9pm on a Thursday night, and he’s sitting alone in his bedroom, wearing his ex’s sweater.

He’s been thinking about the damn sweater for days. It might be an excuse to see Evan again, but it would be a flimsy one. Pathetic and transparent. After a rough call yesterday he almost caved, pulled up his phone and typed out three words of a message he never sent.

But he’s being strong about this, he reminded himself. He’s not taking calls from Howie because he wouldn’t be able to talk to him without asking after Evan. He hasn’t even checked the text he got from Eddie the day after the breakup. And he’s staying out of workplace gossip, because God knows the 118 inevitably comes up one way or another.

It’s better this way. Cleaner.

Today was his first full day off since last week, and the empty hours have been chipping away at his resolve. His house is so quiet, and his thoughts are so loud. Tinkering with his truck’s engine did nothing but keep his hands busy.

The sweater has stains on it. Black smudges along the side and spots on the back. Tommy thought he’d been careful not to touch too much, not to get his dirt all over Evan at his sister’s wedding. It wasn’t until later that he noticed Evan parading around with handprints all over.

Tommy pointed it out to him afterwards, but Evan didn’t seem to care, just kissed the frown off of Tommy’s face and changed the subject.

Knowing Evan, he expected him to google cleaning tips and have the sweater looking brand-new by the next day, but he left Tommy’s soot-stain fingerprints where they were.

Tommy can’t fathom why.

He traced the path of his touch along the seam when he pulled the sweater out of his couch a second time. Remembering what it felt like to pull Evan closer, colliding with the solid lines of his body and molding to fit into the space between his palms.

In the end, it was catching the scent of sugar and pine that broke him. The warm notes of his aftershave clinging to the collar of his hoodie. Tommy pulled the sweater over his head, just to feel that softness against his skin again.

He’s been puttering around the house in it all afternoon, trying not to look at his own rumpled, unshaven image in any reflective surfaces, but he ran out of meaningless chores to do and now he’s got nothing but time to think about his phone sitting six inches to the left of his knee.

At 9:12 his screen lights up. It’s a text. From Evan.

The hollowness that’s been gnawing a hole in his stomach for days turns to lead weight dropping into his gut.

He’s tired. Bone-deep exhausted. Sleep has been hard when his dreams are a confusing muddle, snippets of sunshine, Evan’s smile nestled in the dip of his collarbone, memories that crack into nonsensical pieces under the weight of his guilt. When he’s not fruitlessly trying to strong-arm his brain to sleep, he’s working, picking up extra shifts and deep-cleaning his house until it’s in better shape than it was when he moved in.

Between deepening the ache in the middle of his back and peeling the callouses from his fingertips, he’s repeating a mantra. Reminding himself that Evan will heal better without Tommy picking at his scabs.

It’s a marathon he’s running on empty, and he’s not sure how he’s going to keep going.

His fingers itch, and putting his hands in the pocket of his—not his, Evan’s hoodie, does not help.

Two minutes go by, his phone buzzes a second time, reminding him he hasn’t checked the text yet. Like he’s forgotten.

He catches a glimpse of the message.

Can we talk?

He wants nothing more, but the real question is should they. He knew from the beginning that falling for Evan was inevitable. He knew, and he didn’t even bury it that deep to pretend he didn’t. The problem was it was just so easy to forget how dangerous that fall would be. Just being around Evan made him reckless. His sweet words and sweeter smile made Tommy weak in the knees and he let himself ignore the steep drop he was about to step over.

It’s a bad idea. Maybe he’s a coward, maybe he’s always been a coward, but he’s terrified of what losing Evan would look like if he lets himself be vulnerable again.

But he’s so tired. He aches, and he just wants to lay down somewhere warm. Somewhere safe.

He wraps his arms around himself, fingers brushing the soot-stains on his side.

Then grabs his phone.

Ok.

[thedoritodealerofthewoods]

OooHOOOHOO

Man

Copy pasting my thoughts from my ramble at the friend who showed this post to me because I'm satisfied with the way I put them. Spoiler warning for wof arc 1 below

How does this work? Does she know the prophecy is fake from the moment Morrowseer visits the cave to observe the dragonets? Maybe he wasn’t thinking about it well enough for her to realize he doesn’t believe the prophecy - “hmmm…. This one isn’t good enough. This one will work better. This one will accomplish the need very effectively-” could all be interpreted as someone who doesn’t trust in fate to do it’s own work. Maybe this annoys her, but the truth doesn’t register.

Or does she deny obvious “lol this thing isn’t real” thoughts with the certainty that he’s wrong. And maybe she hates him because of it right off the bat - though she might not tell the others exactly why beyond a potential cryptic “he doesn’t even know what he’s talking about!” To which she gets the average response of “lol alright Sunny. Anyway I want to punt him into the sky because he hates Glory” - !!! Right - iirc, Morrowseer tells the guardians to kill her, but to the side where the dod don’t hear him. (Can’t check atm cause cat on lap). Maybe Sunny gets all bolt-upright-shock at a certain point and starts frantically trying to convince everyone that Glory is in danger the second he leaves, before anything is overheard. They maybe think she’s overreacting, that of course he hates me Sunny I’m a rainwing and yeah but they wouldn’t go that far haha - but eventually the conversation is overheard and they all realize the truth and the escape kicks off (with the difference of Sunny being in on it this time - unless they maybe still think she might accidentally let something slip).

Also - the moment in the tunnel with Morrowseer fits a little too well to change at all. He opens his mouth to gloat, to tell them all the truth, and no, no, no! She’s pleading for him to stop before he speaks a word because she knows, she knows, and maybe she always has, maybe she should have seen it sooner but it’s the only hope the others have, the only reason they’re still trying and she can’t let them lose it. She can’t lose it. She can’t lose them.

Oh! Also - does she tell the rest of the dod? Probably not, I’d guess. Starflight would be crushed. As far as they all know till the last book, she’s just a weird SandWing. Not only did Starflight fail to have any powers, but she got both. Maybe she tried to tell them before it occurred to her that it might hurt him, but no one believed her. She’s just supposedly really good at picking up on stuff. Can’t hide anything from her.

Also - mindreading and foresight would only feed into the hyper-empathy. She’s so worried about everyone all the time because she can hear their pain, she knows what they’re worried about, she can hear their hopes and dreams and she can see the fates everyone tumbles through. When the dod eventually find out about her powers, I can see Tsunami probably saying something along the lines of “hey, if you can see in everyone’s heads, why did you still trust the guardians so much? Why do you still care about them? Why do you still want to help everyone when everyone is trying to KILL US!??” To which she simply responds that that is the reason.

thrice-moonborn sunny :)

[deputyrook]

In Her Absence: Lucanis/Rook/Spite.

A03 link! Female Crow Rook x Lucanis. Lucanis POV.

Takes place when Rook is in the fade prison, because 1) I love angst and am a big softie; and 2) I wanted to try to work out the logistics of what the team did in Rook's absence, and how they managed to reach her.

---

In the four days that Rook’s been gone, the Veilguard has devolved completely into infighting.

Taash wants to know why they can’t just “break into the fade and pull her out.” And no one really wants to hear Emmrich’s overly technical explanation as to why that’s not feasible, least of all Taash, who’s grieving and angry. Davrin keeps saying that it should have been him instead, which isn’t helping, and no one even wants to think about what’s happening to Bellara right now. 

Harding is dead. Bellara is kidnapped by Elgar’nan and Maker knows where. They’re a mess as a group, angry and hurting. And Rook...

Rook’s gone.

Neve is the only person who remotely has their shit still together, and for that at least, Lucanis is thankful. 

Because he absolutely does not have his shit together. Maybe the others can’t tell, since he’s not arguing or yelling or breaking down, but his thoughts are spiralling so badly that he’s barely said a word in three days. All he can think about is Rook.

He loves her. He loves her. And she’s lost somewhere, trapped and alone, and they have no plan whatsoever on how they’re going to get her back. 

He never told her. It’s tearing him up inside. The thought that he might never hear her voice again. Never hear her make some stupid pun, or hear her teasing, or hear her give them all one of her legendary pep talks. Never hear her laugh again-

“Lucanis,” Neve’s voice is firm, dragging him out of his despondency, “You need to focus.” 

How can he possibly focus? “You’re right,” he says instead, voice tight, because Neve is right. Standing around brooding isn’t getting them any closer to getting Rook back. What he needs to do is act- but how?

Solas is a God, and even he couldn’t break out of that prison. This isn’t the kind of problem Lucanis can solve with a dagger. He can’t stab at the prison walls until they crumble away- but Maker knows if that could work, he would stab until his daggers shattered and his body collapsed. 

What is he supposed to do? What can he do? How can he help them, when all he knows how to do is kill things?

No. Spite says to his left, his voice hard and determined, No! We will find Rook. Won’t leave them there. 

Neve puts a hand on his shoulder, and gives it a squeeze. 

“When has Rook ever been content to sit and wait to be rescued?” Neve says, and he lets out a long, even exhale, because it’s exactly what he needs to hear. “I’m worried too. But Rook would chew off her own leg to escape a trap. If there’s a way to get out, she’ll find it. Have some faith in her. In all of us- and in yourself.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice quiet. After a moment, he adds, “…Someone should let Viago and Teia know.”

That, at least, is a burden he can bear. 

But the days stretch into weeks. Elgar’nan seizes control of an already broken Minrathos, and even Neve has a hard time keeping herself together after that one. 

Lucanis is in no place to offer comfort. Without Rook’s leadership and steadfast optimism, the lighthouse has gone dark, leaving them all ships to smash into a rocky coast. He won’t soon forget the way Viago’s eyes widened when he told him what had happened to Rook, nor the look of horror that flashed across his face before his expression settled into stony devastation. 

Strangely, it’s Spite that keeps him from falling apart completely. He refuses to accept that Rook is gone. Every time that Lucanis’ mind whispers to him that this happened because he wasn’t good enough, and that he’ll never see Rook smile at him again- Spite cuts him off with an angry, defiant hiss of NO. 

Rook is strong. Rook is smart! Rook will not allow herself to die in a prison. She would not let you die in prison, either. We will not let her. We will find her. We will find her!

He repeats the words in his own head, holding onto them like a buoy. Right, yeah. She’s good at prison breaks. It’s enough to make it through the day.

Sometimes- although Lucanis would never admit it to the others- he realizes that Spite is the one who has been moving his body,  keeping him working while he’s been stuck in his mind, ruminating and aching with missing her. It’s been Spite that’s forcing him to eat, to bathe, to sleep. Spite is keeping him alive. 

Will not let you do this to us. Rook needs us.

It’s that thought that ultimately gets Lucanis to snap out of his despair. 

It’s not over yet. He agrees, finally. Rook needs us. 

Finally! Spite snaps back.

---

First, they try to make a copy of the dagger. Something that will be able to slice through the fade prison, so that they can cut Rook out of it. That’s how Solas left, after all- by tricking her, and stealing the dagger to cut himself free. 

But a dagger of pure lyrium isn’t exactly easy to replicate. Brilliant as they are, Emmrich and Neve can only do so much. So after days of meticulous work, they end up with a dagger that looks identical to the real thing, but doesn’t actually work. Great.

Next, Emmrich hypothesizes that in order to get to Rook in the fade, they’ll not only need to figure out how to access the fade prison, but also to figure out where the prison actually is, physically within the fade.

It is, apparently, not as simple as yelling out “ROOK? CAN YOU HEAR US?” from the top of the Lighthouse, which has been Taash’s strategy. Spite, too, is ready to start just travelling through the fade, for as long and as far as he needs to until he finds her. Lucanis is doing what he can to support the group, cooking the meals and making sure Emmrich and Neve are able to stay on their feet.

Word gets to them that Solas is in Minrathos, keeping the rebellion alive. The news poisons Lucanis so thoroughly with hate that he nearly can’t stomach it. Spite has been so determined to save Rook that Lucanis almost forgot how it felt when he was really, truly spiteful. 

Hearing Solas is pretending to be a hero in Tevinter, after consigning Rook to take his place in a prison? Yeah. That’ll do it. The things he’d wanted to do to Illario after his betrayal had left him conflicted. He is not remotely conflicted about what he wants to do about Solas.

What they want to do. Spite agrees with him on this one. He hurt our Rook.

Finally, Emmrich and Neve work out a real plan, with the help of the Veil Jumpers. It’s based largely on luck, but it’s something. It’s a sliver of hope. It’s enough to keep them all going.

First, they need to find a spot where the veil is particularly thin, where the fade peaks through the seams of reality. Then, they need to use an artifact of the Veil Jumper’s to do… magical, fade, location-y… stuff. Emmrich actually uses a bit of Rook’s blood for this part, located on some stained clothes that Assan had dug out in her room. 

Blood magic. Ordinarily, Lucanis would be opposed. But no one says a word against it. They are all desperate for this to work. 

The first day they try it, it doesn’t work. They make some adjustments, and try again.

The second day, it doesn’t work. They make some more adjustments, and they try again.

On the fifth day, Spite says it in his ear, voice sharp with excitement.

I can smell her- I can smell Rook!

Lucanis’ heart feels like it’s about to burst from his chest. He’s yelling, “Rook?” into the rift before he can stop himself, but the team’s caught on already that this isn't like the other times they’ve failed to make their plan work. The rift is spitting and spasming sparks of magic, and they can see through it in a way they’d never been able to before. They can see a light in the rift.

Emmrich seems to throw caution entirely to the wind, rolling up his sleeve and plunging his arm into the rift. The energy is wild, unrestrained, and they’re all calling out to Rook, reaching and trying to get to her.

“I’ve- I’ve got her!” Emmrich yells out, and Lucanis swears he can see Rook’s wavy form on the other side of the rift. Like looking through a fishbowl, or the walls of the Ossuary.

He reaches in too and grabs her hand with Emmrich, and they yank. Rook stumbles out, collapsing onto the ground.

“Varric’s dead,” she says, voice hollow and wobbly.

Neve shoots Lucanis a confused, concerned look, but he’s too relieved to care. He’s grabbing at her shoulders, pulling her into a tight embrace, and his throat feels like it’s closing up on him. Tears prick at his vision. She’s safe. She’s alive, she’s free, and she’s safe. She’s back with them.

They all want to hug her, and make sure she’s actually, really okay. But Lucanis gets to first.

Told you. Told you, told you! Spite repeats, ecstatic, She’s back!

“Are you okay?” He murmurs, pulling back and looking her over critically, trying to see if she’s been hurt or if anything has changed. But no. It’s just her. Like not a day has passed.

Rook nods slowly, and Lucanis smooths a hand down her hair, before cupping her cheek in his hand. All he wants to do is hold her, but he can’t be that selfish and drag her away from the others. Not yet, anyway. 

Pulling back, the others take the moment to rush in, making similar careful assessments and doting over Rook. The last few weeks have been almost unbearably difficult. There’s been little to celebrate. But this is joy again. Hope. With Rook back, not everything is completely fucked.

Davrin pulls her into a crushing hug, and Taash joins in, and they’re all hugging and crying a little. The trip back to the Lighthouse is a blur, with Rook thanking the Veil Jumpers and swearing to them she’ll get Bellara back.

How she can already be so determined, so ready to act, Lucanis will never know. He is, as he has so often found himself, in awe of her ability to forge forward, the light cutting through the swathes of dark that seem to surround them.

Spite is just about ready to try to crawl out of their skin in impatience, but they have work to do first. They all brief Rook on what has happened in her absence, and learn- horrifically- that she’s somehow been brainwashed into believing Varric has been alive, for months, by Solas.

Not for the first time, Lucanis feels anger and spite bubbling in his veins and vows to himself that he will not let Solas get away with hurting Rook. God or not. He finds it hard to fathom why he would mess with her head like that, if he wanted her to succeed in at least stopping Ghilan’nain. It reminds him too much of the mind games that his captors would play on him when he was in the Ossuary, tormenting and confusing him for no other reason than to break him down. Was that what Solas had tried to do to Rook, too? To break her down mentally, so she’d be easier to manipulate and trick?

It seems to take forever, but finally, Lucanis gets to see her alone. She’s lying down when he enters her quarters, her eyes closed, but the words spill out of him before he can even consider leaving her to rest.

“I cannot believe we found you,” he says, voice soft. All of the fear he’s felt for weeks, the doubt and the despair that Spite had helped him just barely keep at bay… the relief, now, is making him lightheaded. 

“I’m a little surprised too, honestly.” It’s a testament to the gravity of the situation that she’s not trying to make light of things. The words aren’t meant as a joke. 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admits.

“And I didn’t think I’d ever get out of there,” Rook tells him in turn. It leaves him cold, to think of her there, alone and believing she might never be found. “How do I know if I really did? This could be... more of the fade.”

Lucanis realizes then, that he’s never seen her vulnerable like this before. Emotional, yes, but lost? Frightened? Rook has always been the solid centre of the group. Unmoving, unyielding, steady. Utterly dependable. 

It’s almost surprising that she’s not actually invincible. She’s so consistently been their guiding light. But more than shock, more than anything else-

He wants to protect her. He wants to hold her until her worries melt away, to chase away the horrible memories of the last several weeks and see her smile at him. He wants her to know that he won’t let anything hurt her. He wants to kiss her until she feels safe and warm again. 

So he does. Kneeling down in front of her, holding her hands in his own, Lucanis reassures her she is real. There’s so much he wants to tell her, that he’s been praying he’ll get the chance to say. But now that Rook’s in front of him again, he can’t seem to find the words for everything he’s been feeling.

So he kisses her. So, so gently. And when he keeps kissing her, pressing her back against the chaise as she wraps her arms around his neck? It seems Spite is right there with him, because the wings unfurl right in that moment, curling around them both protectively, like he wants to help shield them from anyone in the world who might try to hurt them.