#I JUST WANT TO PROTECT HER AND KNOW HER STORY AND MAKE HER STORY AND SHOW THE WORLD

[seresinhangmanjake]

Hi there! I'm crazy about your stories about Feyd!! Truly brillant!! I've sren your accettino requests...wanted to know if you could a Feyd x reader where they are married and she let him keep the harpies. One day, while Feyd is in a council, reader gets attacked or someone tries to have his way with her and she's saved by the harpies, who kills the man and than take her to their room to care for her, and when Feyd arrives he reward them or something....you choose the endind.

Thankss

Protecting His

Feyd-Rautha x reader

Warnings/Notes: I made it a little bit different, so I hope that's ok. Mention of attempted assault, but it is not detailed. Goes with my His series, but you don't have to read it before reading this. I know this could've been smutty, but idk, the inspiration just didn't take it that route.

Words: 1360

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

“I apologize, my Lady,” the harpy says as she dabs alcohol along the fresh slash on your forehead. “It’ll only be a minute more.”

Your chuckle is a weak breath of air. “You saved me. The last thing you need to do is apologize,” you tell her. 

She briefly pauses her work before continuing. “Our Lord na-Baron will not understand,” she says. 

She’s probably right. Red will be blinding his vision. It’s enough that a guest in your home—an invited guest, a welcomed guest—tried to take advantage of you in a moment when you showed him kindness, but a plethora of additional factors will only heighten your husband’s fury: the fact that you allowed yourself to be alone with another man, even though that was against your intention; the fact that that man touched you and tried to do more; the fact that you’re bleeding because of it; and the fact that Feyd wasn’t the one to protect you, and in his place, one of the harpies was forced to step in. As if they weren’t in enough trouble already. 

He’s been deciding what to do with them for days now, trying to figure out if they have enough use elsewhere to be worth keeping alive, but he’s been coming up short, and you know their fates at the hands of your husband are unlikely to be forgiving. 

They’d been so good for so long, so well-trained after they tried to take a bite out of you—literally—as you slept by Feyd’s side almost a year ago to the day. That act of disobedience cost them each a finger, but from learning their lesson, they eventually became trustworthy enough for Feyd to assign them as your handmaids. And they maintained the position until the unfortunate incident of one of them losing control. 

She tried to take a nibble out of your flesh, and worse, in a moment when you were holding your newborn son. When Feyd learned of this, he lost his mind. Though the harpy acted alone, Feyd banished the three to the other side of the fortress and took the hand of the harpy who tried to have you for her next meal—this harpy. 

You stare at the stump, a bandage replacing where pale, delicate fingers used to be. She’s lost enough. It’s not right that she suffer a lash to the neck simply for being within range of you. It’s not right that Feyd’s rage will have him do the same to the other two. 

“I’ll make him understand,” you promise her as she covers the cut with a strip of tape, and as if on cue, your husband practically blows the door down with the force of a hurricane. 

His eyes land on you and soften with worry at your injured state. They reharden as they find the harpy at your side. “What did she do!” he snaps. 

You quickly rise to your feet, ignoring the dizziness that slightly blurs your vision, and place yourself between him and the harpy. “She saved me.”

He rushes toward her, but with your hands pressing into his chest, you keep him at bay. “She tried to harm you not a week ago!”

“And now she saved me.”

Feyd sucks in a breath through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling, his chest puffing and deflating. His eyes fall to your face. His brow knits as his hands cup your cheeks. He presses a long kiss to your lips, then says, “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” you say. “He would’ve done more if she hadn’t been there.”

“I gave explicit orders—”

“I know,” you intercept. “But would you rather a dead wife?”

It’s a blow. Not a wise one, considering he almost lost you during the birth of your son, but it’s reality. You could’ve died tonight. The man that wanted to hurt you wouldn’t have kept you alive to name him after the fact, whether you’re the na-Baron’s wife or not. He’s much too high-ranking, and without your voice there to reveal his lies, he could’ve pinned the crime on anyone.

Feyd’s hands drop from your face, and during your husband's brief placation, you glance over your shoulder at the harpy. “It’s best you go back to your cell now. A guard will escort you.”

She bows her head. “Yes, my Lady,” she says before she treads lightly around you and your husband to the door. 

Only once she’s gone and Feyd has settled into his seat at the foot of the bed do you say, “Don’t kill her.”

His head snaps up. “You will not tell me what to do.”

“I’m asking.”

“Why?”

You snort. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Feyd crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you teasing me at a time like this? Your life–” His eyelids pinch and he shakes his head. “You could’ve–”

With a sigh, you move to sit beside him on the mattress. “I’m fine,” you tell him. “But you cannot punish her for saving your wife. It’s not right.”

He pauses in his contemplation before he says, “What was she even doing on this side of the fortress?”

“She said she wanted to apologize to me and that you wouldn’t permit it, so she snuck over,” you answer. “You could’ve at least let her do that much.”

“I couldn’t risk it,” he lightly snaps. “I couldn’t risk you and the baby.”

When your hand lands on his forearm, he takes your fingers between his. “And they don’t have to be around us ever again if that’s what you want, but please reconsider hurting them further. They were always kind to me and–”

“Except when they tried to steal you from me to eat,” he reminds you.

“Yes, well, they were more kind than uncontrollably hungry.”

Feyd stares at you long and hard. His thumb rubs back and forth over yours. “You’re serious.”

You give a single decisive nod. “I am.”

—

When Feyd unlocks the cell door and steps inside, two of the harpies skitter across the floor to Feyd’s feet. They paw at the ankles of his pants. One’s head nuzzles the toe of his boot. He pays them little attention, his eyes on the hunt for the one tucked in the corner against the stone wall. She shies away from the blazing ray of his glare. 

“My Lord, we are very sorry for what our sister did,” the first harpy says—the eldest, the tallest of the three. It is most fascinating to see her so low. She tightens her fingers into the pants fabric, but Feyd kicks her off, and her entire body jolts back like a creature freshly injured.

“So very sorry,” the second, who has backed away alongside her sister, mimics.

“Please spare–”

“Hush, I’m not in the mood,” Feyd scolds. 

“Y-You will kill us?”

Feyd finally tears his stare from the huddled harpy to the ones by his feet. “You can pray to the kindness of my wife that I will not be,” he says. “You,” he juts his head back to the other. “You get a reward that I expect you to share with your sisters.”

Her head lifts from where it was resting atop her knees. Her dark eyes widen a touch. 

“A reward?” one of the others says.

“For us?”

Feyd gives a curt nod to the guard behind him, and a moment later, the man who attempted to take you against your will is tossed into the room. Already battered and bruised, he remains face down on the cobblestone flooring. A groan escapes through his lips, but that and the slightly pinkish hue of his skin from whatever blood remains in his veins is all there is as proof of life. 

“A meal,” Feyd says. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

The three glance at the body and then back up at Feyd. He doesn’t say another word as he turns on his heel and signals his guard to relock the cage. He doesn’t look back as the screams begin to echo through the dank halls. He has better things to do, like tending to his wife. It’s been a long day, after all, and she could use the comfort.

[itneverendshere]

Can we get something along the lines of bartender reader maybe working at the country club and some guy has been hitting on her all night, he’s older, creepy, won’t leave her alone, getting drunker as the night goes on and she’s just trying to ignore him but she has to go to the supply closet later in the night or steps away for whatever reason and the guy follows her? reader is gone for too long and Rafe notices, finds her and stops the guy?? I need protective Rafe over reader 😍

ugh i hate creeps, literally felt ill writing this but for the sake of the story i did, bc it's unfortunately very common. thank you for the request lovely 🫶🏻🫂

throw away my faith just to keep you safe - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: unwanted advances; there's a creep.

It was just another Friday night, the usual crowd of kooks indulging in their weekly rituals of wealth and excess. For you, it was just another night behind the bar.

Wiping down the counter, you glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight.

Your shift was crawling toward the finish line, thank god, but the crowd promised at least another hour of pouring drinks and faking smiles. Not that you minded by this point — the tips were decent, and the job wasn’t hard. But sometimes, the clientele was more than you could handle.

“Another round for me, sweetheart?”

You turned toward the voice and visibly shuddered at the sight. There he was again — the guy who had been hitting on you all night, like a stupid plague. He was in his mid-forties, with thinning hair and a sleazy smile. He’d been getting progressively drunker, his advances getting bolder with every drink. You didn’t get paid enough to put up with this shit, but you also didn’t feel like getting fired for slapping someone across the face. 

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, trying to keep it professional. “Sure. Another whiskey?”

He leaned closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Y’know you’ve got the prettiest eyes. Why don’t you come sit with me for a bit? I’m sure the bar can survive without you.”

Internally, you cringed. Outwardly, you kept your smile, though it was starting to drop. “I’m working,” You replied, “I can’t.”

He grinned like he hadn’t heard you — or maybe he just didn’t care. “C’mon, you can take a break. I’ll make it worth your while.”

You’d rather shoot yourself in the face. You turned away, busying yourself with grabbing his drink. You didn’t want to make a scene. You could handle this. You’d dealt with drunk idiots your entire life.

But something about him was different — he wasn’t just annoying, he was persistent, and you didn’t like the way he was looking at you.

Rafe had checked in on you earlier, but you hadn’t seen him for a while. Normally, you could handle yourself, but tonight you really wished he was closer.

The guy’s drink slammed down in front of him harder than you intended, and you forced another smile. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he drawled, eyes dragging down your body in a way that made your skin crawl. “You’re too pretty to be stuck behind a bar. Bet you could find someone to take care of you, huh?”

You barely held back an eye roll as you turned away from him, grabbing the rag to wipe down the counter again just to have something to do with your hands. 

The guy cleared his throat, leaning even closer over the bar. “How much longer do you think you’ll be working, sweetheart?” His voice was low, like he was trying to make it intimate, but it just made your stomach turn. “I’ll wait for you. We could have a little fun after you’re off. I know you’re not gonna go home alone tonight, right?”

“Yeah, I am,” you muttered under your breath, hoping he didn’t hear.

But he did.

“Aw, come on now, don’t be like that,” he said, his grin widening like you were joking with him. “I know girls like you — all tough on the outside, but once someone gives you a little attention, you melt.”

You slammed the rag down, turning toward him, patience leaving your body. “Look, I’ve told you, I’m working. And even if I wasn’t, I’m not interested. So how about you just take your drink and leave me alone?”

His smile dropped for a moment, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “You don’t gotta be a bitch about it, sweetheart,” he slurred, clearly not backing down. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

Before you could answer — or reach for the nearest object to throw at him — a familiar voice cut in from behind.

“How about you fuck off before I make you?”

You knew that tone. It was the one he used right before things escalated. Fast. You looked over to see Rafe standing just behind the bar, his jaw clenched and his eyes locked onto the guy in front of you.

His posture was tense, fists curled at his sides like he was holding himself back from jumping at the guy. “Rafe,” you called softly, reaching out to grab his arm. “It’s fine, I’ve got it.”

But he didn’t take his eyes off the man. “No, you don’t,” he muttered, stepping closer to the bar, “This guy’s been harassing you all night. He needs to leave.”

He looked Rafe up and down, taking in the expensive clothes, the look in his eyes, and the way his muscles tensed beneath his shirt.

“Hey, man,” the guy said, holding up his hands in a show of surrender. “No need to get all worked up. I was just talking to her.”

“You weren’t just talking,” Rafe snapped, “You were being a creep, and now you’re gonna get the fuck out of here.”

The guy opened his mouth to argue, but Rafe took another step forward, and whatever argument he had died in his throat. He grabbed his drink from the bar, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch before he turned and stumbled away toward the door.

Once he was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

Rafe turned to you, his expression softening immediately. “You okay, baby?”

You nodded, but your hands were shaking slightly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks for stepping in.”

He stepped closer, “You shouldn’t have to deal with assholes like that.”

“I can handle it,” you replied, “But I’m glad you were here.”

Rafe’s brow furrowed slightly, his thumb tracing soft circles against the skin in your arm. “I don’t want you handling it. I don’t want you dealing with that shit at all.”

You smiled faintly, leaning into his touch. “It’s part of the job sometimes.”

“Not when I’m around, it’s not,” he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. 

You grinned, your fingers brushing over his collarbone as you tilted your head up to kiss him. His lips were soft against yours and when you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I’ll be fine for the rest of the night,” you whispered. “Promise.”

He exhaled softly, his arms tightening around you just a little. “I know. I just hate seeing shit like that happen to you.”

“Me too, baby.” you admitted, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “But at least the tips are good, right?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Only you would focus on the tips after that.”

“Gotta find the silver lining somewhere,” you teased.

Rafe chuckled, leaning down to kiss you again. This time it was deeper, and for a moment, you almost forgot you were still at work. When he pulled away, he glanced back toward the bar. “You need me to stick around?”

You shook your head. “Nah, I think your little display of alpha male behavior probably scared off any other creeps for the night.”

He smirked, looking a little too pleased with himself. “Good.”

“Go hang out with the guys,” you said, patting his chest. “I’ll see you when I’m done.”

He hesitated for a second, his hand still resting on your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go, but finally, he nodded. “Alright. But if I see him again…”

“You won’t,” you assured him. “And if you do, I’ll let you know.”

He gave you one last kiss, then reluctantly let you go and headed back toward his friends. You watched him for a moment, smiling to yourself before you turned back to the bar.

Forty minutes later, Rafe stood by the side of his truck, fingers drumming against the hood as he waited for you to finish up. He hated this place most days — hated how these old, rich assholes thought they could treat you like you were some kind of prize they could buy. It had taken everything in him not to knock that guy out earlier, but he knew you didn’t want a scene. Still, he’d been fuming ever since.

You’d be out any minute now, and the two of you would go to his house. He just needed to chill. But then, five minutes passed… then six… and a knot started to form in his stomach. You were never this late getting out, and you’d told him you’d be quick tonight.

Where the were you? He checked his phone again. Nothing.

Rafe pushed off the truck and started pacing, his eyes glancing between the front entrance and the locker room doors around the back. He knew you were still inside, but something wasn’t sitting right with him. His instincts were screaming at him now. After another minute, he couldn’t take it anymore. Fuck this.

He strode back inside and headed straight for the back hall that led to the locker room where you always changed after work. As he turned the corner, his heart stopped. There, right outside the locker room door, was the same asshole from earlier — the drunk creep who’d been hitting on you. His greasy hand was on the door, shoving it open, trying to force his way inside.

Rafe saw red.

Without thinking, he surged forward, grabbing the guy by the collar and slamming him back against the wall so hard the drywall cracked. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The guy didn’t have time to react before Rafe’s fist connected with his jaw, his head snapping back against the wall. He stumbled, eyes wide with shock as he tried to raise his hands in defense, but Rafe didn’t give him a chance.

“You thought you could get away with that shit?!” He growled as he shoved him again, pinning him hard against the wall. The guy let out a choked gasp, his face going pale as he tried to squirm out of Rafe’s grip.

“I-I wasn’t—” the guy sputtered, his words slurred from the blow.

Rafe didn’t want to hear it. He threw another punch, this one harder than the first, his knuckles splitting against the guy’s cheekbone. All he could see was you — you, behind that door, completely unaware that this piece of shit had been about to force his way in.

“Rafe!” 

He stopped his fist still clenched, inches from the guy’s face. He turned his head just enough to see you standing in the doorway, dressed in your usual jeans and a hoodie, eyes wide, like you couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

“Baby,” you said stepping forward. “It’s okay. He’s not worth it.”

But Rafe couldn’t let it go — couldn’t let the image of this creep forcing his way into the room where you were out of his head. The thought made him sick. It made him want to tear this him apart piece by piece.

“I should fucking kill you,” Rafe spat, his voice trembling  as he pressed the guy harder against the wall.

“Please. I’m okay. He didn’t get in.”

It took every little ounce of self-control Rafe had, but he finally let the guy go, stepping back just enough for the asshole to crumple to the floor, groaning in pain.

“You come near her again, I swear to god…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The guy knew exactly what he meant.

The creep scrambled to his feet, clutching his bleeding face as he stumbled down the hallway, mumbling something that Rafe didn’t bother to listen to. His eyes were on you now, his breathing heavy as the adrenaline started to wear off.

His hands were still shaking, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, though your eyes were still wide, “I’m fine. He didn’t get in, baby. You stopped him.”

Rafe exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he tried to breathe properly. The thought of what could’ve happened if he hadn’t come inside when he did made him want to throw up. “I should’ve been here,” he muttered “I should’ve been right here with you.”

“Rafe, you can’t be with me every second,” you stepped closer to him. “You did the right thing. I’m okay. Really.”

But he wasn’t convinced. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, needing to know for sure that you were safe. His grip was tight, maybe too tight, but he couldn’t help it. “I swear to god, if he’d touched you…”

“He didn’t,” you murmured, your hands rubbing soothing circles on his back, “He's not going to."

He held you like that for a long moment, his heart still beating too fast, his mind conjuring everything that could’ve gone wrong tonight.

 “No more working late nights here.”

You pulled back slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Rafe—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, “This place is full of creeps, and I’m not letting you deal with that shit anymore.”

You sighed, “We’ll talk about it.”

He didn’t argue — not now, at least. But as far as he was concerned, you weren’t coming back here. Not without him.

“What the hell is going on back here?”

You both turned to see Greg, your manager, striding down the hallway. He looked between you and Rafe, his eyes landing on the dented wall and the bloodied handprint smeared across it.

“Seriously, what the hell happened?” He barked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why is there a guy running out of here with blood on his face?"

Rafe stiffened beside you.

He didn’t like Greg — never had. In his mind, he was lazy, incompetent, and more interested in playing golf with the country club regulars than actually managing anything. You opened your mouth to try to explain, but he beat you to it.

“Why don’t you fix your goddamn locks, Greg?” Rafe snapped, stepping forward, “If you weren’t so busy kissing everyone’s ass, maybe you’d realize that your employees aren’t fucking safe here.”

Greg blinked, “What are you talking about?”

Rafe pointed to the locker room door, where the knob was still hanging loosely, as if the creep had almost succeeded in breaking it off.

“Your fucking locker room door doesn’t lock. That asshole was trying to force his way in while she was changing. What the hell are you running here, man?”

Greg glanced at the door, then back at you, his face paling slightly but instead of apologizing, or even showing the slightest bit of concern, he threw his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Look, I didn’t know—”

“Yeah, because you don’t pay attention to shit!” Rafe shot back, his voice rising. “You think you can just let her and the other girls fend for themselves? Is this the kind of place you’re running?”

“Rafe,” you murmured, your hand on his arm again, trying to calm him down. “It’s fine.”

But Rafe was far from calm. His hands were shaking, and his eyes locked onto Greg. “No, it’s not fucking okay. This shit keeps happening, and it’s gonna get someone hurt.”

Greg took a step back, holding up his hands in surrender. “Look, I’ll… I’ll talk to the maintenance guys, alright? We’ll fix the lock.”

“Not good enough,” Rafe snapped, “You better fix it tonight. Because if this happens again, I’m not gonna be so nice next time.”

Greg swallowed hard, clearly shaken. “Y-Yeah. Fine. We’ll take care of it.”

Rafe scoffed, shaking his head in disgust. “You better.” 

He turned his back on Greg without another word, grabbing your hand again as he led you toward the exit. His grip was tight, and once you were outside, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. 

“Rafe,” you said softly, pulling him to a stop as you stood by the side of his truck. “It’s over. I’m okay.”

He exhaled sharply as he looked down at you. “I can’t stand that guy,” he muttered. “He doesn’t give a shit about you or anyone else working here.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in tight, his chin resting on the top of your head. For a moment, he just held you like that, the tension slowly ebbing away. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this shit,” he murmured against your hair.

“I know. Let’s just go home.”

Rafe looked down at you, his brow furrowing slightly, “I’m gonna get you a gun.”

"A gun?"

"Yeah," Rafe said seriously, his grip tightening on your waist. “You need to be able to protect yourself if I'm not around."

"Baby, that's... kind of extreme," you tried to make him understand, "I don’t need a gun." You placed your hand on his chest, your thumb rubbing slow circles "I know you're worried. I know you don’t want me dealing with stuff like this, but a gun isn’t the answer."

He sighed, “I just want you to be safe.”

“I know,” you nodded. “And I will be. I promise.”

He held you close for a few more seconds, his forehead resting against yours. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he nodded. “Okay. No gun. For now.”

You smiled faintly, relieved. “Thank you.”

“But if it appens again, I’ll shoot him myself.”

“Okay, James Bond, get in the car.”

[mapoeggplant]

skip to loafer chapter 64 analysis // spoiler

the desire to be loved that distances her more and more from people: we are finally starting to understand a little more about yasaka's past.

unlike what I thought, the first spark that gave shape to the kyoto arc didn't come from shima or the girl groups, but from one of the most enigmatic characters in skip to loafer: yasaka.

we always knew very little about her and how her story unfolded. all we had was the understanding that she was a very lonely person with a complicated family situation and someone who sought people's love. and now, together with mitsumi, we are starting to understand more about where she was going with when she said that mitsumi had always been too loved to not care about what others thought.

yasaka clearly has a great desire to be loved, but she doesn't know exactly how to make people create stronger bonds with her. she believes that by being a person who is liked and desired by everyone and making these people feel good, she will get everything she wants — and this illusion may have been the result of a troubled relationship with her father, something that I believe is possible due to the small flashback she provides us.

she wants to be loved, she wants people to look at her with affection and not disapproval. being loved, pampered, praised is the way she understands love, something probably the result of a strict upbringing, where demanding anything more would result in a disappointed look. to escape this, yasaka always acts like a good girl, who gives double meaning answers and only says what others want to hear. the superficiality of the love she receives is enough to soften her ego and feed her well-being and the superficiality of the love she gives is enough to protect her from getting hurt.

but of course all of this is just a time bomb that is very close to exploding. yasaka puts on this persona of someone who does not want to be completely understood, but is unable to separate her frustration from the desire to form more meaningful relationships. she is not only shielding herself from people forming more mature relationships with her, but also doing her best to maintain superficiality so that her mask doesn't fall. another thing that solidifies this for me is the central page of yasaka surrounded by “affection” and gifts, showing exactly the loss of her childhood and the desire she still carries within her.

and what I like most about all of this is how mitsumi, someone completely opposite to her and who barely knows her, tries at all costs to cross this barrier that yasaka places between her and the world. by not allowing her to leave and insisting that she stay with the group, mitsumi is basically confirming to yasaka that it's okay for her to have her flaws and receive disapproving looks: her presence is still required and she is still a person who complements the group as a whole.

I really like how sensei is always willing to put two completely opposite characters so that they can externalize their flaws and fight against their barriers — and the relationship between mitsumi and yasaka is exactly another great example of this. on one side we have mitsumi, who grew up surrounded by love and affection, that’s why she’s so sure of herself and doesn’t need to seek validation on others. on the other, we have yasaka who craves affection so much to the point that she will drown herself in any small glass of it.

another thing i want to point out about this chapter is how being in love can blind you for flaws of the one you admire so much. when ujiie realized that yasaka isn’t the perfect girl he always saw, the first instinct he had was to deny it: of course his goddess wouldn’t have a flaw!! she’s 100% that girl he idolizes and loves so much. but what if this was all something he made up inside his mind?? how will ujiie deal with this heartbreaking of a confession?

another month blessed with another gorgeous chapter. sensei keeps surprising me more and more and can’t wait to see what she’s keeping as a secret from us. thank you so much for reading 💛!!

[fandomfablesunleashed]

What are we?

Law x reader (she/her)

English is not my first language

Once again, it was supposed to be something short, but apparently, that's not possible for me.

Just Law being terrible with feelings.

---------------------------------------------------------

She takes a deep breath, her heart pounding relentlessly in her chest, each thud echoing in her ears. This could go either way, and she is aware of that. But she has to ask. She needs to know.

“What… what are we?” she asks, her voice a fragile tremor, barely holding back the storm of emotions beneath. Vulnerability laces her words, hanging in the air between them like a delicate thread ready to snap. “I mean… I know we have this connection, this bond, but… what does it make us?”

Her gaze flickers up to meet his, searching for anything that might give her a clue to what he’s thinking. Law’s golden eyes pierce through her, sharp yet enigmatic. He watches her intently, but there’s a careful restraint in his movements, the same kind of precision he brings to the operating table.

His arms rest on the desk in front of him, unmoving, though his fingers twitch restlessly, as if they’re craving something solid to hold on to—perhaps her, perhaps the truth. The room, typically filled with the quiet hum of the submarine's engines and the familiar scratching of Law’s pen across paperwork, now feels eerily hollow, as though the tension between them has consumed every sound.

Despite his outwardly calm demeanor, the practiced mask of a surgeon that he wears so effortlessly, Law is internally unraveling. A relationship—anything resembling emotional vulnerability—wasn’t a thing he had even remotely prepared for. Hell, he hadn't allowed himself to feel like this in years, hadn’t been with a woman in longer than he cared to admit. He had locked those parts of himself away, buried them deep, refusing to ever dig them up.

However, the mere thought of rejecting her evoked a profound sense of regret within him. Law mentally cursed himself for being affected like this but couldn't help himself. He cares… More than he’s willing to admit.

His mind races, frantic thoughts clashing, tripping over each other as they fight for dominance. A thousand responses fill his head, most of them irrational, some outright absurd.

Could he tell her?

The words—the ones he'd never even let himself whisper, let alone speak aloud.

I care about you.

The thought flashes across his mind like a lightning bolt, and immediately he recoils. How could he possibly say that? It was foolish, reckless, even. People come and go—he knows this better than anyone.

His heart has grown a thick, unyielding shell, a defense mechanism carefully cultivated to protect him from loss and pain. But this woman, this stubborn, damn persistent woman, had somehow broken through his defenses. She’d slipped under his guard, worked her way past his walls, and settled into a part of him that he hadn’t even realized was still there—his heart.

The realization terrifies him.

And yet, there’s an undeniable pull that excites him, too. He’s torn, teetering on the edge of two opposing desires—one urging him to push her away, to protect himself, to keep her at arm’s length, safe from the jagged edges of his soul. The other is stronger, louder. He wants her close; he wants her warmth against him; her laughter filling the spaces of his life; her touch soothing the scars he keeps hidden from the world.

He wants her.

He wanted to hold her close, touch her skin, kiss her, make her laugh, make her moan, and make her his.

He wanted to open up to her. To tell her stories from his past, share his fears, his dreams, and the most intimate parts of his soul.

He wanted to be vulnerable.

But even as he yearns for this, something inside him resists. The thought of being that vulnerable, that exposed, sends a cold shiver down his spine. It feels foreign. Unnatural.

No.

Scratch that.

It is foreign.

For years, Law had trained himself to shut down, to lock away his emotions and never let them see the light of day. Acting on feelings was dangerous—he’d learned that lesson the hard way. The path of emotional attachment only led to pain.

Right?

Yet, the way she looks at him now, her eyes wide and hopeful, her lips parted in anticipation of his answer, makes his heart twist painfully. She’s waiting.

Law clenches his jaw so tightly that it seems like his teeth might crack. The tendons in his neck stand out like cords, tense and strained, as if his body is locked in a battle with itself. He can sense himself caving, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him, threatening to break through the surface.

The silence in the room felt crushing, suffocating, like the very atmosphere was pressing downward upon him. He felt both excitement and dread rising in his chest. Law knew he had to speak.

He had to answer her.

Law swallows hard, the lump in his throat tingling like a jagged stone lodged deep in his chest. He opens his mouth, but the words are thick and unsteady. “I… I don't know”.

Damn it. That was not a good start.

His eyes flick to hers, searching her expression for any sign of her reaction to his reply. He saw her eyes flash in the light, a glimmer of…what was it? Disappointment?

Law cursed himself internally. This was not going well. What the hell was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to answer her question? What did he want them to be?

His grip on the edge of the desk tightens to the point where his knuckles are turning white. Law could feel a frustrated anger bubbling up inside him, mostly at himself. For once, he was at a complete loss of how to act, what to say, and what to do. And that was something that deeply disturbed him.

He felt like a fool. A complete and total fool.

Here he was, this brilliant doctor, an established captain of a fearsome and infamous crew. He could perform delicate, life-saving operations without breaking a sweat. He could lead his crew into battle and outmaneuver enemies who underestimated him.

Yet, all he could do was just sit there, staring at this woman like a dumbass, unable to manage more than a few short sentences.

Inside, Law was screaming, a howl of frustration that echoed in the caverns of his mind. Damn it all! He was never good at this—talking, sharing emotions, laying himself bare for someone else to see. His emotions were like tools, to be kept under tight control, used only when necessary.

But this was different. This was important.

His eyes flick back to her, seeing the shift in her expression, the growing worry, and the faint edge of disappointment pulling at the corners of her lips. The sight of it was like a blade twisting in his chest—sharp and unrelenting. He didn’t want to see that look on her face. He wanted to erase it, to make it vanish, replaced by something else—something softer. A smile. Her smile.

His throat feels impossibly dry, like every word he might say would crumble to dust before it could leave his lips. He has never felt so exposed, not like this, not with his heart laid bare and his defenses crumbling in front of someone else.

Sure, he’d been with women before. But those moments were fleeting, shallow, serving only to dull the edge of his stress, to fill the void of a momentary need. They meant nothing.

This was different. She was different.

He wanted more from her. So much more.

He wanted her trust—her unguarded, unbroken trust. He wanted her time, her laughter, her attention. He wanted her body pressed against his, yes, but not just that. He wanted her.

He wanted her love.

The last word slams into him like a physical blow, knocking the wind from his lungs. Love.

It’s the word he had thrown away long ago, buried so deep in the darkest corners of his soul that he’d convinced himself it no longer existed. It was a word he had told himself he would never trust or let near his heart.

And yet—there it was.

The realization hits him like a punch to the gut.

He loves her.

And the fear of it—of what that meant—gripped him like ice in his veins, numbing him, paralyzing him. His hands shake slightly, the tremor small but betraying the storm of emotions raging beneath his surface. He wants to run, to bolt, to push her away, to deny it all and bury that damned word so deep inside him that it never sees the light of day again.

But he can’t.

Not anymore.

Because she had done something no one else had managed to do. She had stumbled into his life, into his guarded heart, and had somehow found a way to stay there. And now, she wasn’t just in his heart—she was in his thoughts, his very bones.

He didn’t know when it had happened. Maybe it was the first time she smiled at him, that soft, genuine smile that had disarmed him in a way he couldn’t understand. Or perhaps it was the moment their eyes first locked, that indescribable sensation stirring within him as they connected. Maybe it was the way her hand brushed his for the first time, and he hadn’t been able to forget the feeling since.

Or maybe it was the simple fact that someone like her—someone so beautiful, inside and out—had made the effort to understand him, to truly see him for who he was beneath all the layers of cold distance.

He just knew now, without a shadow of a doubt, that he couldn’t deny it any longer.

He loved her.

“Come here”. Law’s voice was a quiet rumble, like thunder rolling low across the horizon, cutting through the thick silence of the room. His eyes, that familiar golden gaze, held her captive. The intensity in them was different tonight. The gold seemed to glow, flickering like embers in a fire, beckoning her across the small but seemingly vast distance between them.

Her feet moved before she could even process it, carrying her across the room with a quiet, almost tentative grace. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the sound of her soft footfalls. She didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, her body responding to the call in his voice, the command in his gaze.

When she reached him, Law hadn’t moved. He remained where he sat, behind his desk, his eyes never leaving her. He watched her intently, as though studying her every movement, every breath, every shift of emotion that flickered across her face.

“Sit”.

He didn't know where this boldness was suddenly coming from, but he went with it. The word was quiet, but it carried the same weight as before—firm, unwavering. He gestured to his lap, his fingers barely moving, but the meaning was clear.

Without a word, without a second thought, she moved. She turned and lowered herself onto his lap, straddling him. The moment her weight settled, Law’s hands were on her, sliding up to her waist, pulling her close until there was no space left between them.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds in the room were the distant, low hum of the submarine’s systems and the uneven rhythm of their breathing. His chest rose and fell beneath her, each breath deep and slow, while hers came in short, rapid bursts.

Law kept his eyes on her, those burning golden eyes, as though he were searching her face for something—some sign, some answer. Her face was so close to his, mere inches separating them. He could feel the warmth of her breath, soft against his skin, and could smell the faint, intoxicating scent of her, earthy and sweet, like herbs and honey.

Her face was so close, mere inches from his. He could smell the faint scent of her skin, like a subtle mix of herbs and honey, and experience the warmth of her body when it touched his. His gaze traveled down to her lips, taking in the full, pink shape of them. He'd felt them before, tasted them even.

The memory of that first kiss had replayed over and over in his head, in his dreams. The taste of her had been addicting, leaving him craving more.

It played in his mind over and over, unbidden, each time leaving him craving more. He’d told himself it was nothing, just a physical need, a fleeting indulgence that he could easily forget. Now he knew how wrong he was. As he sat there, holding her in his lap, staring at her lips, he realized he'd never stopped craving her.

He'd never stopped wanting more.

She was staring at him, her eyes wide, her breath coming in short, shallow pants. And in those eyes, he saw her question—What are we? It was there, unspoken, lingering in the space between them.

He knew he had to answer her, he knew he had to say something. He was Trafalgar Law, captain of the Heart Pirates, a brilliant surgeon, a man feared and respected across the seas. Yet here, now, with her in his lap, he felt completely out of his depth. Words failed him, his thoughts a tangled mess, his heart racing like a storm inside his chest.

Damn it!

Frustration flared within him, intertwining with a deep sense of vulnerability that left Law feeling unbalanced—unsteady, almost weak. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hip, his grip tightening to the point of near pain. Yet, instead of recoiling, she leaned in closer, resting her forehead gently against his.

Her touch was a balm to his burning skin, soothing the turmoil raging inside him. The warmth of her body next to his and the soft, warm breaths she exhaled created a heady mix of comfort and desire. She smelled so good, looked so pretty.

His pulse hammered in his chest, loud and thunderous in his ears. He felt it in his throat, felt it pulsating in his head, and the urge to pull her closer battled with the instinct to push her away.

Say something, Law. Say anything!

His mind raced, tangled in a web of conflicting emotions, while his throat felt impossibly dry. He knew what he should say. I care about you. I trust you. I want you. But the words refused to leave his mouth. He could feel his jaw clenching, his fingers twitching against her hip in an anxious rhythm.

He opened his mouth, desperation clawing at him, but once again, nothing came out. Damn it, he thought, frustration mounting. Why was it so difficult to speak? Each passing second stretched painfully, and in the silence, he noticed a flicker of something in her eyes—something unsettling.

Her forehead remained pressed against his, her breath coming in short bursts that warmed his skin, but the look in her eyes shifted. It was subtle but unmistakable—Resignation? No, not that… disappointment?

His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. No, dammit to hell, he thought. That wasn't the look he wanted to see on her face. He needed to change that. Law’s fingers dug deeper into her hip, his grip nearly bruising.

“No,” he growled, his voice a low rumble filled with urgency. “That’s not what you should look like”.

Her eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of confusion washing over her features. “You’re not supposed to look like that,” he repeated, his tone almost desperate, his frustration spilling over into his words.

“You're too beautiful to look so sad”.

She was stunned by his statement, the intensity in his eyes overwhelming. For a moment, she simply stared at him, her mind struggling to catch up with the weight of his declaration. But slowly, the meaning sank in.

She saw the turmoil of emotions flickering in his golden eyes—the tension in his jaw, the raw strength in his grip on her hip. Law was an individual who tended to refrain from expressing his emotions, however, at this particular moment, he was confronting a deep-seated struggle to articulate his thoughts.

She reached up with a hand, her fingers delicately brushing against his skin, trailing lightly along the side of his jaw. The touch was so gentle, so tentative, that Law almost flinched. But instead of retreating, he leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as if savoring the sensation.

His gaze flickered down to her lips, taking in their soft, full shape. The memory of their brief kiss surged to the forefront of his mind, the taste of her lingering like a bittersweet reminder of something he couldn’t quite grasp. It had been too short, too fleeting, and he had tried desperately to forget it.

He wanted that taste again.

No, he needed it.

Slowly, Law tilted his head, his face moving closer to hers. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, a magnetic pull drawing him in. His breath ghosted over her skin, warm and unsteady. She knew what he was going to do, but she stopped him by gently pressing his chest.

“What are we?” she asked once more, her voice soft yet firm, slicing the tension that enveloped them.

Law froze, his face inches from hers. The weight of her question hung heavy in the air, simple yet profoundly complex. He felt her warmth seep through the fabric of his shirt, and he recognized that this was the crux of everything they had danced around for so long.

What are we to each other?

His jaw clenched, the muscles tightening as an unreadable expression settled over his face. He had avoided this question for months, but now it loomed before him, an insurmountable wall he had to scale.

But how could he?

How could he articulate feelings he hadn’t fully understood himself?

“What do you want me to say?” he asked, his voice coming out rougher than he had intended.

It was a dodging attempt and they both knew it.

She could hear the hesitancy in his voice, see the uncertainty swirling in his eyes. She knew he was avoiding the question, deflecting as he always did when faced with raw emotions. But she wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily this time.

“You know what I’m asking,” she said, her voice steady, soft yet firm, cutting through the fog of tension. “I want to know what we are”.

Law’s eyes darkened further, his jaw clenching almost painfully as he felt the weight of her gaze. She was right; he knew exactly what she wanted to hear. But the words felt like stones lodged in his throat, and he fought against the tide of conflicting thoughts and emotions that surged within him.

Tell her the truth. Tell her how you feel. Tell her what she means to you.

But how? How could he put his feelings into words? Law had never been a man of many sentiments; emotions were his enemy, locked away behind layers of cold stoicism. He was known for his coolheadedness and unshakeable resolve. Yet here she was, this woman who had somehow burrowed her way into his heart, making him feel things he had never felt before.

He felt raw, exposed, and vulnerable. Every thought, every feeling, every emotion was laid bare, and he had no defenses left. His fingers clenched and unclenched on her hip, his head lowered, as he fought against the tide of emotions threatening to drown him.

His fingers clenched and unclenched on her hip, his head lowered. He felt like he was drowning, drowning in his thoughts and emotions. He was a pirate, a criminal, a former warlord. Men like him didn't get happily ever afters, they didn't get someone who made their heart ache.

He didn't deserve a woman like her.

He wanted to tell her that. To warn her. To say, Stay away. I’ll only cause you pain. But he couldn’t. Damn it, he couldn’t.

His chest ached with a potent mixture of guilt, longing, and an insatiable need. He wanted her, needed her, craved her. Her hand on his chest, the warmth radiating from her, her intoxicating scent—it was all too much, overwhelming him, drowning out the sound of his thoughts. He felt like a drowning man grasping for air, desperate to stay afloat.

And she was his lifeline.

He looked up at her, meeting her gaze, those beautiful dark eyes that seemed to see straight into his soul. He was a man who didn’t know how to be vulnerable, yet here she was, gently coaxing him into that unfamiliar territory. Her expression was soft, understanding, yet she held his gaze, silently encouraging him to speak, to be honest with her, and with himself.

At that moment, he realized he couldn’t hold back any longer. The words were right there, teetering on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out.

I want you. I need you. I can't stop thinking about you. I can't let you go.

There were a million things he wanted to say, a million things he should say. But those three words, those three simple words, were the ones that were burning the brightest in his mind.

“I love you”.

They tumbled out in a rush, low and rough, but loud enough to echo in the stillness of his office. As soon as they left his mouth, Law realized he had never really uttered those words to anyone—not to his parents, not to Cora-san, not to any woman he had ever known. Yet here he was, saying them to this incredible woman who had somehow captured his heart.

The confession hung in the air, almost tangible. The strangest part was the relief that flooded him, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he finally articulated what had been burning within him for months.

He waited for her response, his gaze fixed on her face, desperate to read her expression, to decipher her thoughts. Would she be shocked? Surprised? Would there be discomfort?

He certainly wasn’t prepared for the smile that broke across her face.

A slow, soft smile spread across her lips, her eyes crinkling slightly at the edges. The sight made his heart skip a beat, breath catching in his throat. She was smiling. He had just confessed his feelings in a rushed, desperate whisper, and she was smiling.

Law's mind reeled, his thoughts scrambling to understand her reaction. This was not what he had expected. He had prepared for shock, uncertainty, rejection even. But not this. Not that soft, beautiful smile.

He felt a sudden rush of heat to his face. Was he blushing?

Law shifted slightly, uncomfortably aware of how vulnerable he felt at that moment. He tried to act casual, to ignore the rapid beat of his heart, the hot flush on his cheeks, but it was useless. She was looking right at him, seeing straight through his defenses.

“You're smiling. Why are you smiling?” he asked, a mix of confusion and irritation coloring his tone.

She chuckled, a soft sound that sent shivers down his spine. “Is it not expected for a woman to smile when she’s been told she’s loved by the man she also loves very much?”

Law froze, his mind grinding to a halt as her comment sank in. She loved him too.

He had confessed his affections, and she had reciprocated. It seemed so simple, so obvious, now that he thought about it. Yet, it still felt surreal, like a dream from which he feared he might awaken at any moment.

“You… love me?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

She chuckled again, her smile growing wider. “Did you really think I would have stayed this long if I didn’t?”

Law’s jaw worked, but no words came out. Her question was so straightforward, so direct, that it threw him off. Of course, he knew she cared about him. They had fought side by side, saved each other’s lives, and faced insurmountable odds together. But he hadn’t realized the depth of her devotion until now.

He had been so focused on his feelings, his confusion, that he hadn't noticed hers.

He was an idiot.

She was looking at him, the corners of her eyes crinkled in that way he loved, her gentle smile still on her lips. Her gaze held no judgment, no anger, no doubt— only a calm, reassuring gaze that ignited a thrill within him.

“For someone so intelligent, you can be really dense sometimes,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Law tried to glare at her, attempted to act like her words didn’t affect him, but he was sure he wasn’t fooling her. She knew him too well, could see right through him. It was true; he was dense when it came to feelings, especially his own.

“I… I didn’t—” he began, then stopped. He didn’t know what to say. He had made a confession, poured his heart out, and now she was there, smiling at him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He felt naked, exposed, but at the same time, lighter. He had finally told her how he felt, and she had told him she felt the same.

And she was still smiling at him.

His thoughts were a jumbled mess, a tangle of conflicting emotions. He was relieved that she loved him back but bewildered, scared, and vulnerable. He had never been good with feelings, yet here he was, confessing his love to the woman he had once tried to convince himself he merely tolerated.

He had been foolishly convinced that he could keep his longing for her locked away, that he could just continue on with his life, focusing on his goals and dreams. But she had seen through his facade, had seen through him.

And now she was here, in his arms, in his office, looking up at him with that damned soft smile on her face. He could feel her body heat, smell her sweet scent; it was driving him mad—the proximity, the knowledge that she loved him too.

He didn’t know how to handle it, how to process it. Her hand was still on his chest, her touch burning through his shirt. She was just looking at him, really seeing him, and it was almost unbearable. This was the most vulnerable he had ever felt in his life.

“Law”. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. It cut right into his thoughts, anchoring him in the moment.

His eyes met hers, and he was reminded all over again just how beautiful she was. Her dark eyes, her soft smile, her body pressed against his—it was all consuming. He couldn’t look away. He was trapped in her gaze, and there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Her hand moved up to his face, gently cupping his cheek. He felt very hot when she touched his skin, and leaned into her cool palm without wanting to. She was so close he could feel her breath on his chin, and he realized he was holding his breath, his chest painfully tight. “Now, can you answer my initial question?”

Her question shook Law from his trance. Which question? His mind was foggy, thoughts scattered. All he could focus on was the feel of her hand on his cheek and the sound of her voice. He struggled to remember the initial question, to recall what had prompted all of this.

Then it hit him. What are we?

What were they? Good question. They were partners, allies, friends—but that didn’t seem adequate anymore. Not after what had just happened. He had confessed his love for her, and she had confessed her love for him. So what did that make them? A couple? Lovers? The very thought made his stomach flutter.

“I… we…” Law stammered, trying to find the right words, but his brain felt like it was malfunctioning. How does one define a relationship?

He had never been in one, had never felt any desire to be in one until he met her. She had managed to break down his walls without even trying, getting under his skin in a way no one else had. And now here they were, and he had no idea how to define what they were.

She chuckled, the sound soft and tinged with fondness.

“Is it really that hard of a question?” she teased, her hand still on his cheek, her body still pressed against his.

Irritation mixed with embarrassment flashed through him as he realized she was finding this amusing. “Don’t mock me,” he grumbled, his voice hoarse. “I don’t have a script for this situation. I’m not exactly an expert on relationships”.

“Expert on what?” she prompted, giving him a pointed look, her voice still tinged with that same fond amusement.

His irritation flared, but he knew there was no heat behind it. She was enjoying this, relishing the fact that he was flustered and bewildered. “Relationships,” he snapped, the word sounding foreign on his tongue.

Then it hit him again. Why did she make him repeat it? Her question echoed in his mind: What are we?

What were they? Partners, friends, and lovers. The words echoed in his head, each sending a flutter through his chest.

He looked down at her, meeting her gaze. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks and the rapid beat of his heart. He was so out of his element, so vulnerable, yet inexplicably joyful at the same time.

“Lovers,” he said, the word low and rough. “We’re lovers”.

He tried to wrap his mind around it, trying to come to terms with the reality of the situation. He was in love with her, and she was in love with him. He had confessed his feelings, and she had reciprocated. They were lovers. It was surreal, unexpected, and yet somehow felt completely natural.

She let out another soft laugh, her hand remaining on his cheek. Her touch was warm, safe. “Was that so hard?”

He felt his irritation bubbling up again, but it was tempered with an almost overwhelming wave of affection. She was so cheeky, so goddamn bold. He loved it. He opened his mouth to respond, intending to snap at her, but then he caught sight of her smile, her bright eyes, and all words died in his throat.

She was beautiful, smart, strong, incredible. And she was his.

The word echoed in his mind, sending a shiver down his spine.

His.

She was his, and he was hers. It was so simple yet so monumental.

[kittykat-25]

HOME- An S.Coups Fic

Pairing: Seungcheol x F. Reader

Genre: Comfort, Scoups savings the day

Synopsis: you've never had an issue with hiding your relationship with Seungcheol but he does when your ex gets a little too close.

A/N: this is basically the story from the SVT men’s POV. Straight from when they answer Y/n’s call.

Jeonghan sipped his beer, listening to Mingyu tell Joshua the right way to sauté something, poor soul not noticing the evil gleam in Shuas eye. “So you’re telling me I can chop up anything and put it in a pan and it’s a sauté?” He said, voice cracking from hiding his laughter. “Hyunggg” Mingyu whined making Jeonghan smile more. As close as they all were it was rare they got to spend one night free together like this. “Cheol hurry up.” Joshua yelled as the baseball game started back up, none of them really watching. Cheols phone blasting his ringtone snapped Jeonghan out of his thoughts. A warm smile filled his face when y/n filled the screen. “Choi Seungcheols phone, the other love of his life speaking!” Jeonghan said to his best friend, Cheols girlfriend as he switched to speaker. “Hannie-“ her tone alone made all conversation stop. All eyes turned towards the phone, “y/n what’s wrong?” He asked gently. She was out with her friends from the states tonight, he knew she was excited to see them but she sounded almost broken on the phone. Everything he heard was muffled but he picked up enough of the conversation to be pissed. The other three men started at the phone in horror at what her supposed closest friend was saying to her. “Oh please, we both know you don’t actually have a boyfriend. You just want to make it seem like you have it together over here. When clearly you are losing it.“ y/n’s friend spat. “What the hell?” Mingyu said as him and Wonwoo moved closer to the phone. “Fuck you.” They heard you snip back. A small smile graced his face, you were fighting back. Something you rarely did when they met you. You had met them a month after moving here and quickly won over all of their hearts, becoming a sister to many of them. You and Cheol had been dating for the past 8 months and there was nothing their leader wouldn’t do for you.

He heard the long exhale from y/n, “y/n?” He asked gently. “Please come get me.” Y/n said into the phone. Her voice cracking. Joshua walked to the door “CHEOL” he yelled at their other friend. “What?!” He snappped back walking into the room. “Y/n, we need to go. Now.” Joshua said sliding his shoes on as Jeonghan kept you calm. Cheol grabbed the phone from Jeonghan, “Baby? What happened?” He asked, noticing just how pissed his friends were as he shut the car door. ““Her friends are dicks, did they tell you your ex was going to be here.” Jeonghan asked, as the car connected the call through the speakers. Jeonghan tried to control his anger, but looking in the mirror and seeing the same protective anger from his friends. He let out a deep breath, noticing the tight white knuckle grip Cheol had on the steering wheel as you spoke. The air in the car turned icy as the sentence came out of your mouth. “He won’t stop making comments and- touching me.” You add that last bit quieter, knowing your audience well. “Shit.” Mingyu whispered as Cheols grip got tighter on the wheel, the car speeding up. It was Wonwoo who spoke, his deep voice coming out harsher “he touched you?” Y/n sucked in a breath before apologizing, “I’m interrupting guys night, I’m so sorry.” Cheol blew out a breath, “Don’t you dare apologize for calling me when you need me baby.” His eyes fill with worry, before masking back into anger. “We’re five minutes away y/n. We’ll see you soon.” Jeonghan calls to you before he ends the call.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Cheol grounds out, “no you’re not.” Joshua says calmly from the backseat. “You know you can’t.” Cheol blew out an exasperated breath. “He touched her Shua.” Joshua patted Cheol shoulder, “I know but Y/N is perfectly capable of defending herself.” “She shouldn’t have to defend herself against her friends.” Wonwoo mumbled, clenching his fist. “Get her out safely. That’s all I care about.” Cheol said, the voice of their leader silencing them all. “What about cameras? Or publicity for this?” Mingyu asked quietly. “I don’t care, Pledis can handle it or I can but I won’t let the media keep me from getting my girl when she needs me. You can stay in the car if you’re that worried.” Cheol snapped. “Cheol calm down.” Jeonghan said calmly. “We all care about y/n, we all heard the crap spewed at her. We just want you to handle this with a clear head. That’s all.” The echos of agreement from the backseat gave Cheol some peace. They pulled up in front of the restaurant, Cheol had just opened the door when he saw y/n slam a knife into the table, seemingly into her exes hand. Although judging by the lack of screaming, you had missed. “That was hot.” Mingyu whispered, “never call my girlfriend hot again.” Cheol said as he strode over to you, Jeonghan hot on his heels.

Crossing the space in record time, Jeonghan knew there was no stopping Cheol as your ex raised his hand to hit you. His friend caught his wrist as Jeonghan stepped closer to you. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Cheol spat, shoving him away. Jeonghan watched your bitchy friends face light up then completely crash down as she processed who had come to your defense. “please take her to the car.” Cheol said quietly to Jeonghan. As he offered his hand to help his girlfriend up, y/n turned to walk with Jeonghan, his other friends faces a storm of rage. But y/n was smiling as she strode towards her friends. Jeonghan turned back towards the table, just as Cheol leaned down. “If you ever touch my girlfriend again, that knife will be buried somewhere else.” His voice icy, one of the friends flinched away. “She deserves so much better than any of you.” Jeonghan said looking directly at the other girl who had shrunk away before turning on his heel and following his friends out the door.

A/N: soooo apparently I can’t stop with this story because I’m feeling an epilogue with the car ride home👀👀 if anyone would be interested in that!!

Taglist: let me know if you want to be added

@hi-cherry

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + eighteen

authors note: this one gets pretty heavy and violent at points. please read the cw/tw's carefully in order to make the best informed decision regarding your mental ability to handle such heavy topics.

cw/tw: angst, violence, torture (gore), (light) fluff, ptsd episode, character being triggered, and references to childhood sexual assault

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

masterlist + story playlist

words: 10k

Solana knows Roman well.

She knew to start off the letter the way she did, asking for him to be open minded, because she knew exactly what his answer would be. 

No.

It’s the same answer he still has even after her logical explanation. It’s a selfish thing. He’s a selfish bastard at heart because despite her being vulnerable about her mental state and making a solid point, he still wants and plans to say no. 

Still plans come and take her home in a week.

And while he has his reasoning, believing that she can continue her healing outside of some mental facility, it’s also for his own good. He just wants her home. He wants to not have the house be so quiet and empty. To not have to be reminded of her absence in everything from the lack of the aroma of her delicious cooking to Dulce yelping and whimpering whenever he walks in the door home from work without Solana beside him.

He just misses her, and he wants her home. 

He understands where she’s coming from and agrees she could benefit from continuing to talk to someone, to definitely stay on medication. 

But, those things can continue without her being away from home.

There’s also the matter of safety. Yes, Roman went above and beyond what was probably necessary to ensure she has a copious amount of protection, but that’s still not as safe as her being with him.

And he’s almost certain that the facility she’s talking about is the same one Stratus mentioned to him. The place that’s an hour away.

That’s too fucking far.

From their home, Roman can make it to the hospital in ten minutes, if need be. 

Solana being an hour away from him just isn’t a fucking option.

He needs her…..she needs to be close to him.

He’ll just have to help her understand that. 

But, all of that is easy. 

What’s not easy is the other major takeaway from her letter.

I love you, Ro.

In all of his thinking, perhaps overthinking, regarding his thoughts and feelings about his wife, never did it really occur to him that she could feel the same. He knew she cared about him. She’s said as such to him before. But, for whatever reason, he never allowed himself to imagine that she could love him.

And that she could love him without expecting anything in return. Because she believes him incapable of loving her because of his own trauma, and that’s not entirely wrong. 

He does love her.

Fuck, he loves the living shit out of her.

But, he can’t act on it.

Even with this unexpected twist. Her loving him, which fucks with his head too. The why of it. 

There’s not a lot to love, if he’s being honest.

He protects her. Keeps her safe. Gives her that safe space. Beyond that, there’s not really anything else. 

Her standards must be so low. 

Regardless, Roman can’t allow this new piece of information to change or impact his decision.

He can’t openly reciprocate her feelings.

Even….even if he sure as hell feels the same. It’s too risky. Too dangerous. 

He just can’t.

Roman may love her, but he can never tell her he loves her.

It just has to be this way.

________

Ryan Alexander

Tyler Hawkins

Two men whose lives have been intertwined in various ways in the almost 60 years they’ve walked this earth. It started with a meeting in college, both men playing for the same baseball team, having a few of the same classes together, even pledging to the same fraternity. 

They would end up in the same graduating class and go on to open up their own private security company that offered protective services for upscale clientele. Celebrities, athletes, even politicians.

But…..for the right amount of money, they could do more than just protect lives.

They could take them too. 

The company easily and quickly made its name  known through the right or maybe wrong places. Information falling in the lap of parties who were less interested in safety and more interested in murder.

It’s how Xavier Miller got in touch with them. How Solana’s father hired them to take out his wife and daughter after learning of her plan to run away and steal his children away from him, more his son than anything. He really didn’t give a shit about Solana.

Never did. 

It was why when the hit failed to take out both Nina and Solana, Xavier was able to negotiate so that instead of paying the remaining debt due after the deposit. He got them to agree to slash it in half, leaving him owing 250k. The problem was as it always has been though. Xavier lacks vision, lacks long-term vision. He didn’t think about how finances could change for the negative between the time he made the deal and when payment would be due.

Because when that day arrived, he lacked the sufficient funds. But while Xavier may lack good financial and investment knowledge, he makes up for it in craftiness. 

He formed a new deal. One that truly gave all three men a win-win. Xavier’s debt would be cleared, and Ryan and Alexander would be able to enjoy indulging in one of their favorite sexual pastimes. A privilege they can usually only pursue when traveling overseas where child sex slavery runs a lot more rampant and unregulated. 

By luck though, they got their fill domestically in the form of an innocent, 12 year-old little girl. 

A virgin. 

Xavier’s daughter.

Solana Miller

Now known as Solana Reigns, the wife of the infamous Roman Reigns. The same man who Ryan and Tyler have no idea has been behind the absolute hell they’ve been through in the past almost two weeks. Kidnapped in the middle of the night, subjected to an unauthorized but ultimately approved (by Roman) beating by Jimmy and Jey before they were reunited with Xavier’s ain’t shit ass who had also received a long overdue beating from both Roman and the twins.

That beating, however, was nothing compared to the beginning stages of their demise, a version and level of hell only few experience, but something these fuckers have front seats for. 

Roman is methodical with his torture, and this might be the most determined he’s ever been to maximize pain. 

He’s going to ensure they only take their last breath when he feels it’s time, when he’s exhausted any and all ways to extend their life in order to extend their suffering.

And while many would think it started with the beatings, that’s far too simple, too easy. And Roman is neither of those things. He’s calculated and borderline sadistic when the occasion calls for it, and there’s not been a more deserving occasion for him to act on his dark, evil impulses than this. 

So, it was only fitting that all three men, the rapists and the son of a bitch who organized it all, know exactly what it’s like to experience what they put Solana through. 

And that’s exactly what Roman organized. Having all three men dumped and left defenseless in a maximum security prison. Whatever happened, fucking happened. 

And judging by the battered, stunned, borderline traumatized expressions on their cut, brusied faces, exactly what Roman wanted them to experience is precisely what they fucking got. 

For almost two weeks straight.

Jimmy and Jey toss the three men down on the ground before Roman before moving to stand behind him on either side. 

“Ya’ll like fucking little girls, don’t you?” Jimmy sneers, Roman not even needing to look at his cousin to know he’s livid. “So what’s the big fuckin’ deal?”

“Don’t like it when your assess the ones on the receiving end, huh?” Jey taunts. Fitting. 

But, now…..now it’s time for the real pain to begin. Roman lifts his hand to signify his desire from silence. The twins go quiet almost immediately. 

The Tribal Chief turns up his nose as Ryan spits up blood onto the concrete floor. Granted, it won’t make much of a difference. When Roman is done with them, the room will be bathed red. 

He steps forward. 

“August 7th, 2005 and September 8th, 2007.” Roman shrugs and asks the men, “what’s significant about these dates?” When he doesn’t receive an answer, he takes his gun and aims it for Tyler, emptying the bullet into his knee. The man howls in pain and begins to cry. Roman scowls. Pathetic bitch. “I aksed a fucking question.” 

He gaps,, forcing out through closed eyes. “I–I don’t know.” 

Roman crouches down in front of them, ignoring the stench of piss and perspiration emanating off their pathetic bodies. “August 7th, 2005. A mother and daughter were attacked. Stabbed. Mother died trying to protect her daughter. Daughter survived. She was ten-years-old.” Roman looks away at the adjacent wall, jaw clenching a bit as he recalls the next part. “”September 8th, 2007. Two men break into the house and spend hours gang raping a child in her own fucking bedroom before beating her half to death and leaving her for dead.” Dead fucking silence. “She was 12-years-old.” He turns his empty, stoic gaze back onto them. “Sound fucking familiar now?” 

“You carried out the rape,” he gestures to the set of crying rapists and then a numb looking Xavier. “And you arranged it.” Roman shrugs, rolling his big shoulders. “Seemed only fucking fair you three got a taste of what you put her through.” He then chuckles. “Now, I am a fair man. A fair Tribal Chief.” In a matter of seconds though, his disposition completely shifts, changes into something cold, heartless. “But, you don’t get that. You don’t get that fairness. You don’t fucking deserve it. You tortured her. You made her life a living fucking hell.” 

“But you know where you really fucked up?” He reaches his arm out, pointing toward the sledgehammer, one of the twins placing it in his hand. Roman stands up and kicks Tyler backwards, hesitating not a second as he brings it down to his knees, one by one, effectively and immediately shattering both. “You did it to my wife.” Roman taunts over the sound of the man crying. He then moves to Ryan, aware of the knee he already shot, sticking with one to avoid too much blood. Can’t have the bitch bleeding out just yet. “That twelve year-old girl was my wife.” When he gets to Xaveir, he exerts a special amount of energy to strengthen the impact of his blow as he demolishes the older man’s knees. “That ten year old-girl was my wife!” 

Roman tosses the sledgehammer to the side as someone has the audacity to utter out a pained, “p–please.” 

That infuriates Roman more than what should be humanly possible. “Please?” He sees the word came from Tyler. Snarling, Roman jumps over the man, raining a blow so heavy that it breaks his nose, the sickening crack sounding through the air. “Is that what she said when you fucking held her down and raped her!” 

The thought alone results in Roman continuing to punch the man until his fist is painted red and Tyler is clearly on the verge of losing consciousness. 

Standing back up, he huffs, speaking to the rapists, “17 years. She’s suffered for seventeen years because of you.” He points to a barely there Xavier. “And 29 years because of you.” Roman’s  upper lip curls a bit as he swears, “if I could torture you all for that long, I fucking would, but I can’t, so days will have to suffice.”

He’s filled with another level of rage when the cries and pleads for mercy intensify. “Shut up!” He then forcefully demands of the twins, “bring him in!”

Jey, he thinks, disappears for a few minutes only to return with an also bruised, battered Wes. Roman scoffs with disgust as Xavier looks horrified at the presence and sight of his son.

He coughs out, ribs probably broken or at least fractured. And if they’re not, Roman will make sure they are before the end of the night. “Pl—please don’t do—”

Roman has heard enough. This piece of shit has the fucking audacity to beg and plead for the life of his son but couldn’t even protect his own fucking daughter?

Fuck that.

Fury fills and controls the Head of the Table as he yanks up a barely conscious Wes and throws him against the brick wall, the impact loud enough for the sound of his shoulder popping to fill the room. Roman then grabs the sledgehammer again and rains it down on not only his knees but his hands as well, effectively smashing them, resulting in grotesque hairline fracture, bones protruding from his skin.. 

Xavier cries out and begs Roman to stop, which only fuels his tirade even more. Drives him to continue his brutal assault. Roman slams his fist onto Wes’s face, breaking his jaw before Roman squeezes the fucking life out of Wes’s neck and slams him again against that same brick wall. 

And without second thought, as Wes fights to remain conscious, face almost unrecognizable at this point, Roman reaches for his eye, using his middle and index finger to gouge out his eyeballs one by one, ignoring the horrified screams of both father and son. 

Xavier is full on sobbing but practically screams when Wes body drops to the ground like a ragdoll, and Roman tosses the bloody eyeballs toward Xavier. 

“Waterboard him!” Roman directs to the twins who don’t hesitate to drag a crying Wes out of the room by his limp arm, most likely broken in the midst of Roman’s vicious beating. Breathing uneven, Roman flips his hair back that had come out of his bun and turns his attention back on the three older men. 

“I’m going to make you all suffer the same fucking way you made her suffer,” he vows, every intention on maximixing pain in a way he’s never done before. “You’ll be wishing for something as fucking nice as hell when I’m done with you.”

________

Roman has just finished skinning a patch out of Ryan’s abdomen, the chunk of skin joining that of Tyler and Xavier’s slab of skin and other dismembered body parts. 

Wes is up next on the list.

The fucker strapped to the chair has gone unconscious, but his pulse is still relatively strong, so Roman continues. He’s done this too many times to be deterred by someone tapping out.

Tossing the bloodied knife and saw to the side of the room with the rest of the blood stained tools of torture, he grabs the drill and starts to navigate which drill bit to use when the door opens.

Right away, he’s tempted to use the object in hand on whoever was stupid enough to interrupt him.

Roman turns to see none other than his aggravating ass cousin holding a phone. Of course. Attention back to the task at hand, he bites out, “I told you not to fucking bother me. Whoever it is, I’m busy.”

Jey is about as moved by Roman’s tone as he is by the bloody, gory scene before him. Indifferent but still eager to leave, he instead provides the additional information that he knows will absolutely snatch Roman’s attention.

“It’s Bautista.” Sure enough, Jey can see his cousin’s big shoulders go still. “He—”

Roman stands up, tossing the drill to the side and quickly removing the gloves that are caked in blood, skin, and other anatomical matter. He stalks toward Jey, issuing his harsh demand,“give me the phone.”

Jey does as such, sucking his teeth when some of the blood flicks on him. “Man, that’s nasty as hell.”

Roman doesn’t comment, just walks out the room for privacy and demands to the man on the other end, “what happened?”

Bautista doesn’t hesitate and is quick with an easy response. “She wants to talk to you, sir.”

There’s only a slight decrease in concern levels that Roman experiences in hearing that Solana wants to speak to him versus Bautista having to inform him that something has happened. She’s conscious. That’s good. “Put her on.”

Bautista doesn’t say anything, but Roman hears what sounds like slight movement and hushed voices. It’s followed up with a quiet sniffle and even quieter, “hey….” Another sniffle as her volume increases ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, it’s—it’s so late.”

Roman has no idea what time it is nor does he care what time it is. He just wants to know why she’s crying and who he has to kill. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She takes a shaky breath and follows it up with an even shakier answer, weighed down with the heavy emotions she’s clearly struggling with at this moment. “We—we—we talked about my…my rape in therapy today, and I’ve never—I’ve never actually spoken about it to anyone, and I thought—I thought I was fine, but now…..”

His chest suddenly tightens. “Are you thinking about—”

“No.” Her answer is the firmest he’s heard in the conversation so far. Serious and solid. “Not that. I just—I can’t sleep because now I’m thinking about….about it, and I just….I wanted to hear your voice, and I’m sorry—you were probably asleep.”

No. No, he wasn’t. Far from it. And even if he was, it wouldn’t matter.

She comes first. 

No matter what.

“I’m gonna come see you.”

“No.” The sniffling resumes as does her tendency to try to make herself as less of a ‘problem’ as she can, no matter how many times Roman tries to explain she never has and never will be anything of the sort. “I’ll–I’ll be okay.”

Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, he’s not taking the risk because Roman cannot physically handle hearing her crying, hearing her so upset and not be able to do anything about it.

“I’m coming, Solana. Give me a half hour, okay?” He’d head there straight away right now, but the idea of coming to her after spending house torturing men, blood, bone, and other unidentifiable matter splattered all over him, is the last thing she needs. “I’ll be there.”

There’s another delay, and he’d bet any money it’s her trying to hold back the tears as best she can. “Oh–kay.”

He swallows, asking, “can you put Bautista back on the phone?”

Again, more shifting on the other end. “Hello?”

“Don’t take your fucking eyes off her.” Roman’s tone is hardened and leveled. “I’ll be there shortly.” He doesn’t wait for a response, doesn’t need to provide instructions on how to make sure his wife is kept safe.

Bautista already knows what the fucking deal is.

Roman can’t get cleaned and showered fast enough, ridding his body of all of the telltale signs that he’d spent the majority of the day torturing his wife’s family and rapists. She doesn’t need to know that. 

He’s impatient for the drive that feels much longer than the twenty minutes it actually is. A large part of that being that he just wants to get to Solana. 

She’d called him. She’d reached out to him.

The same thing he wishes she had done that night. Something he still feels strangely about but will learn to sort through later. Not now. 

Now his focus is on just making sure she’s alright.

That she’s safe.

Roman walks in with purpose, uninterested in Bautista’s short briefing, which is essentially more or less him just confirming that Solana hasn’t been left alone, another guard watching her as Bautista escorted Roman into the premises that’s otherwise locked down given it’s almost midnight.

Not that he gives a fuck.

Roman finds Solana sitting on her bed, legs pulled up to her chest. But, the minute her teary eyes land on him, she’s moving up from said bed, rushing over to him. Naturally, Roman catches her, holding her as she silently cries into his chest.

He’s gonna rip that fucking therapist a new one. 

“I’m sorry—” Roman hates hearing her apologize. He hates seeing her upset, but the fact that she’s apologizing for feeling the way she does is a different layer of irritation. It reminds him of how she used to be. Makes him realize just how much and deep this regression has been. “I just—I don’t want to be alone tonight.” 

He’s just about to once again remind her that she has nothing to be sorry about when her last statement snatches his attention. Alarms him a bit. “Solana….I need you to be honest with me—”

And she must know where he’s headed, because she pulls back, holding his gaze as she shakes her head. “I don’t want to hurt myself. I promise. I just….I just don’t want to be by myself.” 

It makes sense, and he believes her. Somewhat. There’s still that part of him that’s skeptical. He’s not sure if that part will ever go away either.

Solana swallows and licks her lips, asking in that tentative voice, “will—will you stay with me tonight?”

It’s an easy answer. Something he already decided the minute he heard her crying on the other end of the phone.

“Yes.” She looks so massively relieved by that one word. “But not here.” And before the confusion fully sets in, he clarifies, “I’m taking you home.”

As expected, she looks surprised and torn, “Roman, I—”

“You get released in three days, Sol. I’ll bring you back tomorrow afternoon, but tonight, you need to be home. You don’t need to be here.” Roman isn’t a fucking professional, but he knows his wife. Knows that what she’s looking for is the feeling of security. There’s no more secure place than with him in their home. And even with Dulce.

Solana seems to be on the same page, nodding and offering no further protest. “Oh–okay.”

As she’s barely allowed any personal items, it takes less than twenty minutes for her to be ready to go, Roman directing Bautista to handle any issues that arise regarding her departure.

Roman is sure Stratus or even Gail will have issues with his decision. He’s also 100% sure that he doesn’t give a flying fuck. 

Solana needs to get away. 

She needs to be home.

She needs to be with him. 

And, he’s proven correct, because the minute she walks into the house, she’s looking over at Roman, asking, “where is she?”

“Our room.”

Solana can’t seem to move up the stairs fast enough, Roman behind her, partially eager to see this long awaited reunion. He’s not sure who will be happier: Solana or her puppy. 

It’s about a tie though, because the minute Solana moves over to the side of the bed where Dulce is sleeping and gets on her knees, carefully petting the puppy, Dulce’s head snaps up.

And instantly, she jumps at Solana. 

They’re both crying, Solana holding onto Dulce who is a mixture of whimpers, licks, and that tail of hers excitedly wagging. 

Solana says something in her to Spanish, something Roman can’t make out, but he doesn’t need to make it out. It’s obviously something moving. 

Something healing almost. 

Solana looks up at him, laughing and crying as Dulce tries to lick her face. Her voice cracks a bit as she says to him, “thank you.” 

Roman nods, that same, warm, unfamiliar emotion building up. Fucking feelings.

Nodding, he says nothing, watching as she continues to hold onto and cuddle with Dulce. 

Yeah…..

Definitely the right decision.

________

Roman lifts his eyes from the phone that he just put on Do Not Disturb to set his gaze on Solana. Out of the shower, she’s wearing only one of his shirts. Nothing else. He can tell by the way the cotton almost outlines her nipples. 

Placing the phone to the side, he’s slightly taken back when she moves onto his lap. “I—” Her eyes drop downward, her hands grasping at his shirt. “I need a distraction.” He’s confused, but it’s only temporary as she trails off with the specific distraction she’s looking for. “Can we….”

He doesn’t need to hear more. Roman understands just what she’s asking for.

And his answer is simple.

“Solana, I don’t think…..” He has to phrase it correctly, word it so that it doesn’t sound like he is rejecting her. He is, but it can’t come across as just that. “You’re not—”

“I feel dirty,” she interrupts, eyes closing, mouth moving around as she does her best to balance emotion with verbalization. “I—I don’t want to feel that. I want—I want to feel you. I only ever want to feel you.” Solana opens her eyes, pleading almost. “Please.”

Something is telling him to tell her no, to find a way to decline without hurting her feelings or making her feel rejected, because that’s the last thing he wants. 

But, it feels almost impossible. She’s upset. He doesn’t want her to feel the way she’s feeling, and if she believes being intimate tonight will help her, then he’ll give her that. 

Roman nods and gently taps her hip, partially surprised when she moves off his lap, taking his hand as she lays back on the bed, pulling him on top of her. 

Roman’s lips hover over hers as she breathes, “I just want to feel you.”

It’s taking a painful amount of self-control on Roman’s part to refrain from taking here right here and now. Because while he’s mentally conflicted, there’s no denying the hardness that’s growing in his pants by the minute as she lifts her thigh and grazes it against his hip. There’s no properly explaining how much he’s missed this.

He kisses her, tentatively almost, letting her take the lead as she moves her arms around his neck, tugging him closer. Roman’s hand goes to palm her breast through her shirt which makes her breathe against his mouth.

He shuts his eyes for a minute. He’d almost forgotten the sweet sounds she makes, fodder for his growing desire. He moves his mouth to her neck, sucking on the spot he’s learned makes her writhe under him, her nails scraping down his taut back. 

And then, the shift.

Roman feels it only seconds before she acts on it, the way she starts to tense underneath him, the growing unsteady pattern of her breathing, the fear. But before he can pull away, she’s pushing him away, letting out a ‘no’ that comes from a different place, a different time. It comes from her trauma.

Her push is strong, but it’s not enough to get him completely off of her. Roman does that much all on his own, watching as she sits up in the bed and covers her face.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes into her hands. “I—I’m sorry.” Her shoulders tremble as the apologies melt into the bleeding of emotions she tried to mask away with intimacy. “I’m sorry—” Solana falling into a full out crying session, the third or fourth time she’s done as much tonight, is more than enough for Roman to motion her over to him.

“Come here.” 

He’s at least grateful she lets him pull her onto his chest, letting her cry on him as he lays them back in the bed, his protective arms around her. For a second, he berates himself for taking her from the hospital. If they were still there, he’d wake up whoever the fuck he needed to wake up to give her that medicine she was prescribed for moments like this.

Moments where she just needs more.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, crying subdued a bit. But Roman is unsure what he dislikes more: the fact that she’s so upset or the fact that she thinks she needs to apologize for being so upset.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” is all he says. His hand is on the small of her back, moving in comforting circles. “Nothing at all, okay?”

She doesn’t say anything, just continues to cry into him, Roman wishing he could do more to settle her. It kills him to see her so upset. 

A few minutes later, her tears having almost entirely subsided, she murmurs, “I’m sorry we couldn’t….”

He takes a deep breath, willing his voice to remain calm. “Solana, I told you before I don’t need that from you—”

“But, I wanted to. I just…..”

“It’s okay.” He cuts her off, kissing the top of her head. “I never expected that from you tonight anyway.”

He already knew she wasn’t in the mental space for it, but he didn’t want her to feel rejected either, so he went along with it. There’s a bit of regret, maybe more than a bit, but Roman also knows he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Still is. 

“Rest.” He instructs, grateful when she simply nods against him, tucking herself closer into his body. And he watches her closely and intently, an infinite amount of pleasure rising within him when he feels the steady rise and fall of her body, confirmation that she’s finally drifted off into sleep.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep with her. He would actually prefer to stay up and watch her, but the weight of the day, mentally and physically, takes its unavoidable toll. And not too long after she succumbs to sleep, he does the same.

________

“Daddy.”

Roman’s eyes shoot open at the both familiar and unfamiliar voice. Looking down, he sees Solana sleeping peacefully on top of him, her hand atop his chest. But to his right, he finds sad eyes, tear stained cheeks, and a deep frown. 

Naturally, he frowns a bit as well. He hates seeing any of this family upset. “Bad dream?” 

She nods, holding onto the teddy bear in her arms. He’d gotten it for her a couple years back while he was away on business, and it’s become her comfort animal ever since. 

Roman is careful in prying Solana’s arm off him, grateful when the extent of her stirring is simply her turning over on the other side. Over the years, she’s gotten better with not being as easily disturbed or woken up.

And he’s especially thankful for that in this moment.

Moving the blankets down and off, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and rolls his shoulders. She shifts the bear in her arm to one side and reaches up for him to pick her up. “Come here.” Roman does as such, pulling her up as he stands from the bed. 

She lays her head on his shoulder while  he quietly walks them out the room, cracking the door behind him. Roman takes her downstairs into the living room and hits the lamp on the side table before grabbing the remote off the coffee table. 

Sitting down, she adjusts herself in his lap, holding onto her stuffy while he loads up the animated show with the creepy blue looking thing that kids apparently love, his included. 

Especially the twin on his lap. It’s like her comfort show.

“You wanna pick the episode?” It’s a preference. 

She nods and accepts the remote from him, selecting the same episode she’s watched the last 10+ times this has occurred. She almost always starts with this same episode, like she has to or else she can’t watch it.

A repeat and increasing thing, he’s noticing. 

As the opening credits roll around, Roman gently rubs her back, asking, “you wanna talk about it?”

She keeps her focus on the TV while shaking her head no. An expected answer given the fact that she never really likes to talk in general, but as Roman thinks about the increase in how often this is happening, he’s starting to wonder if it’s past the point where she gets a choice in the matter.

For the past few months, every so often, or more often now, he’ll be awoken in the middle of the night by his youngest daughter. Upset and clearly crying, she’ll ask him to sit with her, to stay with her until she falls asleep again. Though at some point, the addition of letting her watch an episode or two of her show seemed to aid in not only calming her down but eventually lulling her back to sleep.

And every time Roman tries to get out of her just what these bad dreams are, she remains quiet, forcing him to wreck his brain over what could be bothering her so much.

The unknown of it all is starting to mess with him.

He can’t help her if he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Sissy?”

Both Roman and the daughter on his lap look over to see her twin rubbing her sleeping eyes as she walks over and climbs onto the sofa, the two adjusting so they’re both seated on top of him. “Did you have the bad dreams again?”

At that, Roman’s brow furrows. Did she talk about them with her sister?

He asks as such. 

“Do you know what they’re about?” Roman and Solana suspected that she’d confided in her sister, her true confidant, but they also didn’t want to risk putting a rift between the sisters by making one feel like she has to ‘snitch’ on the other.

However, an unspoken communication of some sort is exchanged between the twins. The quieter of the two reluctantly nodding as the outspoken one shares, “sissy has bad thoughts…..”

Roman takes the remote and turns down the volume versus pausing as he notices she’s still trying to watch. To some extent. And it’s clearly helping to calm her, so he won’t deprive her of that. But, he does have to ask, “what kind of bad thoughts?”

That could be and mean so many things. And if the situation was different, he wouldn’t be too concerned. The level and standard for ‘bad’ that he has compared to his kids is vastly different. But given how upset his daughter has been getting, there’s gotta be something more severe to the ‘bad’ this time. 

His twin, in more than just looks and demeanor, seems to hesitate for a second, Roman ready to encourage her that it’s okay to be honest with him. He needs that honesty at this point. “She—she has scary thoughts about something happening to you and mama. And—and bad dreams that something’s gonna happen to you when you go on your trips.”

Roman does his best to hide his surprise. And his concern. He wasn’t expecting that. Turning to the youngest of the two, he asks, “is that true?”

She looks down, tightening her hold on her bear as she nods slowly.

Roman closes his eyes and takes a second to gather himself. Comfort now. Process later. It’s become a bit of a routine for him.

Needing both of their attention, he takes the remote again to hit pause. 

“Girls….” Roman has to remind himself to keep it simple and at a level they can understand. “I’m never going to let anything happen to your mom. Or to you. Or to your brother. And nothing is especially going to happen to me.” Seeing the emotion especially present in his youngest, he kisses her temple. “I’m always going to come back home to you guys, okay?”

And that’s a promise.

Come hell or high water, nothing could separate him from his family. 

Especially his kids. 

“Told you, sissy.” She then smiles a little, adding on with a toothy grin. “Daddy’s like a superhero.”

Roman chuckles. Far from it. But whatever helps them. 

Taking over the duty of being the parent, showing that while she has many of her father’s interests and some of his temperament, she also has her mother’s caring nature, she asks, reaching for her little sister’s hand. “Wanna try to go back to sleep? You can sleep in my bed.”

The offer to not have to sleep alone as well as having some one on one time with him seems to be enough to be enough to coax her back  to bed. He watches as the girls climb off his lap, the oldest taking the youngest hand, as she also handles the parting words, “goodnight, daddy.”

He offers a small smile. Their bond is something special. “Night, girls.” Hands still locked, they walk away, heading back up the stairs. “Love you.” He calls out after them. 

An almost synchronized response is what he’s met with. “Love you too, daddy.” 

It brings that warmth back to him, Roman blowing out a deep breath when it’s just him and the paused screen on the TV. He takes a couple minutes to sit on the weight of the conversation. 

He doesn’t like knowing that his daughter is struggling with thoughts. Hates that they haunt her in the form of dreams. He knows better than anyone how difficult that can be. How exhausting.

So does Solana.

Thoughts of his wife and wanting to get back to her before she notices his absence and wakes up, Roman shuts off the TV and starts heading upstairs.

Walking back into their bedroom, he’s only partially surprised to find Solana awake, sitting up against the headboard, their son on her chest for one of his nightly feedings. 

She gives him a sad, knowing smile. “Another bad dream?” 

Roman nods and goes to sit back in the bed next to her. “Found out what they’re about.”

Solana’s eyes widen a bit. “She told you?”

He shakes his head. “The other one did.” He frowns a bit, sharing, “she’s having thoughts and dreams of something happening to us. Me especially.” 

Solana’s frown is deep and concerned. Valid. “What? Where—Where did that come from?”

“Don’t know.” Roman answers. He’d have loved to been able to ask more questions, but it’s also the middle of the night and just getting some kind of answer is a huge win in and of itself. “But, I wanna schedule an appointment with her pediatrician. If something else is going on with her, we need to know.”

Roman has an idea of what it could be, now starting to put different pieces together. Her particular way of doing things, rituals of sorts, thoughts she can’t control. But, he wants to be sure.

“Of course,” Solana agrees. “I’ll call in the morning.”

Good. 

Roman chuckles after looking over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:59am. He glances at Solana, “and you really wanna do this all over again?”

He’s still partially stuck on the fact that even with three kids, Solana is still wanting more. 

The thought alone brings out a heavy sigh just from tonight’s events.

All three of their kids up and in need of something in the middle of the night like he and his wife don’t have work in the morning.

He can’t even really picture an additional child—or two–added into the mix. 

Solana, however, only smiles, rocking gently to help soothe their son. “Only with you, papi.” A beat. “Only with you.”

________

“No!”

Roman is awakened by movement and volume. Both of which effectively deter and distract him from yet another strange dream, a fantasy of some sort.

Or…..something more. 

Regardless, he has neither the time nor energy—nor desire—to think about that. Not with the woman violently stirring beside him. A nightmare. It’s obvious Solana is in the middle of a nightmare.

“No….” Twisting against the mattress, Roman sees the light sheen of sweat on her forehead. He frowns. How long has she been in the middle of this nightmare? “Get off me….”

At that, he stills a bit. With Solana’s extensive trauma, it’s pretty impossible to know just what specific traumatizing incident haunts her dreams and interrupts her sleep. But this….this one is pretty obvious. 

And it guts him.

He moves his hands to her shoulders. “Baby, wake up.”

She starts crying, and Roman isn’t quite sure how much worse and useless he can feel. “No. Please—please. You’re hurting me.”

There’s a heaviness in his chest as Roman deepens his voice and shakes her a little harder. “Solana, wake up.”

It seems the more he says it, the more she writhes and cries, trapped in the throes of trauma. Roman doesn’t want to be physical with her, doesn’t want to exacerbate an already difficult situation, but he can’t just sit here and watch her suffer. 

He moves his hands to her arms, restricting her just enough, raising his volume yet again. “Solana, it’s just a nightmare. Wake up.” He’s not entirely certain if it’s his escalation or just the natural progression, but she shoots up, eyes opening for the briefest second before slamming shut. 

And then, the climax.

Roman is taken back when she starts pushing and shoving him, but that surprise is easily weighed down with sympathy when she starts talking again. 

“Get off of me!” She cries, never once letting up on him.

He takes it all, her fists really of no consequence to him as he continues to try to break her from this torment. “Solana, please—”

“No!” She’s the one with the increased volume, Roman biting back a hiss as a sharp almost burning pain throbs in his shoulder, the area where he was shot. But, it’s irrelevant. His focus is on Solana and nothing else. 

“Baby, it’s me.” He’s no longer restraining her, letting her let it out on him as much as she needs to. Whatever she needs in this moment, he’ll give it to her. He’s not sure what else to do besides that, to be honest.

But, it’s when Roman manages to cup her face, again, repeating the hopefully calming, settling words, “it’s me” that seems to help break through to her. Blinking, wet eyes open, filled with fear. He studies her, watching her focus on him, as the fear starts to diminish. Replaced with recognition. “R–Roman?”

He nods, his own concern settling seeing her anxiety lessen. “Yes. It’s just me.”

She releases a shaky, emotional breath, clearly coming to grips with what just occurred. But, her gaze settling on his shoulder seems to bring back that previous level of horror. “Oh my god, I—I hurt you.” She slaps her hand over her mouth, shaking her head. “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

He looks down, realizing she must have ripped his stitches when she was hitting him, blood trickling down his skin. Roman is entirely unbothered. “Solana, I’m fine.”

She doesn’t seem to be hearing him, too focused on the unintentional thing she caused. “I hurt you…..” 

He lowers her hands from her face, kissing her inner palms. “Baby, it’s fine.” 

“I–I’m sorry. I–She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths, asking him in an unexpected calmer voice. “I—I need to stitch it back up for you.”

Roman shakes his head. “I can do th—”

But, she cuts him off, sounding a little bit more stable and a lot more desperate. “Roman, please?” 

Not wanting to risk upsetting her again, he shakes his head, allowing her to take the lead as she grabs his hand and guides him into their bathroom. Roman sits on the toilet and watches her silently move around, gathering the medical kit and other needed supplies. 

His eyes don’t leave her as she works carefully and tediously to stitch him back up, Roman partially thankful her focus is on something else versus the horrific memories that seemed to have been tormenting her the past couple hours. 

He wants to say something, do something to help her feel better, to especially rip away the guilt evident in her eyes at ‘hurting’ him.

Solana may be the only person on this earth capable of doing as such, but it could never be physically. 

Ever.

“I’m not crazy. I—I promise.” Her voice is shaky, unsteady by understandable emotion as she finishes up, starting to put the supplies back. “I just—I don’t know—”

Roman takes her hands in his. “Sol, I know you’re not crazy.” Feeling an unfamiliar sense of openness and vulnerability, he asks her, “do you know why I was able to help you with your panic attack that night?” Her eyes are lit with confusion as she shakes her head no. Roman’s jaw clenches. He’s never once told a soul what he’s about to share with her. “It’s because I used to have them.” 

Her reaction is exactly what he would expect from anyone to hear such words coming from him. 

“Wh—what?” 

Roman’s eyes divert to the wall beside her as he powers through the discomfort. “It was….it was after my family was killed. I’d have nightmares about it and wake up freaking the fuck out.” Just like her. “That’s when they’d happen.”

“But, I couldn’t tell anyone, because they were already questioning if I would be fit to lead.” He scoffs, “I had to be perfect. I couldn’t let anyone know how fucked up I really was from what happened.” 

He can only imagine that the softness in her voice matches the expression on her face. “Roman….” 

“But, I couldn’t keep dealing with the shit either, so I found this book at my school’s library about mental health and whatnot, and it had a section on panic attacks and how to cope with them. So, I studied and learned them. It’s been fine since then. Haven’t had one in years.” Though that similar budding feeling of panic that used to be present before they’d occur is something Roman’s noticed having versions of for almost the past two weeks.

Since he found out Solana tried to kill herself. 

She lifts her hand to his face, and he closes his eyes. He can feel it. Can sense it. Her sympathy or maybe something different. Maybe empathy. Regardless, he doesn’t want or need it. The point was to not bring attention to his fucked up past but rather help her reduce some of her self-judgment. 

He stands up, forcing her hand to fall down as he instead cups her face, looking and speaking directly at her. “You’re not crazy.” Far from it. And he needs her to know that. “You just….you need help.” His voice shifts into something softer. “And I’m going to make sure you get it.”

Her gaze also shifts. Something both hopeful and sad. “I–I can go?”

Roman only hesitates for a second. “Yes.” 

The answer he gives her is in no way indicative of how he feels about it. He still hates it. Hates the idea of her not coming home for good in three days and instead going to yet another treatment facility. This one longer and farther away.

But, if there’s anything the past few hours have taught him, have shown him, it’s that Dr. Stratus and Gail were right. 

And so was Solana. 

She’s not ready to come home. 

She needs more help.

And he can’t, won’t, be selfish. Won’t be too consumed by his own want and desire to have her back with him. Not when it directly contrasts what she needs. 

And what she needs is continued professional help. 

So, that’s exactly what she’s going to get. 

“I’ll talk to Stratus about what we need to do.” And that’s more so in regards to location solely, so Roman can get a head start on working on safety precautions for her. He’ll keep Bautista with her. That seems to be a good fit. 

Solana, however, is bubbling with emotion again. From a different source. For a different reason. 

She pushes herself into his chest, Roman easily dropping his hands to her waist, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you.” It’s as he holds her, her face buried into his chest that she murmurs those three, sacred, terrifying words. “I love you.”

He closes his eyes. 

It’s one thing to read it but something entirely different to actually hear her say it. 

He doesn’t know how to respond, how to react, what to say. 

Even if does feel the same way. 

So, he says nothing. 

________

“You took her out of the hospital.”

“Sure fucking did.”

Roman has never been so unbothered while sitting in Dr. Stratus office as she paces across, visibly and audibly stressed the fuck out by what occurred. 

After agreeing to let her continue treatment at the other facility, Solana was finally able to get some sleep. Roman as well. Not a ton, of course, because he woke up to her spot in bed next to him vacant. Dulce missing as well.

And if not for the note left for him that read ‘fixing us breakfast <3’, he might have even panicked a bit. Just a smidgen. Of course she would spend time doing something for them rather than herself. It’s such a Solana thing.

Regardless, he enjoyed breakfast with her but hated to see the saddened expression on her face as she said goodbye to her puppy, Dulce’s ears dropping and the whimpering returning as she also picked up on the pending separation.

She’s also felt and been impacted by Solana’s absence. 

But, it’s a necessary absence. 

Solana needs help. 

And it’s that, that oh-so important reminder, Roman keeps repeating to himself as this blonde bitch continues to berate him like he’s a fucking child. 

“Who the hell are you to make that decision?” She continues, pointing at him. “You do not get to remove my patient from my care without speaking to me!”

“I did what I had to do for my wife. She needed to get the fuck out of here.” Roman is a man who doesn’t believe in explaining himself, but given the situation, he makes a small exception. For Solana. Only for her. “But, if you don’t lower your fucking voice, you won’t have to worry about her, or anyone else, being your patient because the dead can’t be fucking psychiatrists.”

Dr. Stratus closes her eyes and shakes her head. “At the very least, you could have just texted me what was going on.”

“Keeping you briefed wasn’t my priority.” At all. “Keeping my wife alive was.”

She opens her eyes, asking, “was she suicidal?”

“She said no.” Roman still isn’t entirely sure he believed her. She could have been telling the truth, but she also could have been lying for a lot of different reasons. Still, that’s not something he feels the need to share. “She said she talked about her rape earlier that day in therapy and was having….flashbacks.”

“Flooding,” Dr. Stratus informs. “It’s when a survivor experiences intrusive thoughts, images, and flashbacks of their trauma.” She then looks at him, almost surprised, “she called you?”

Roman nods. “Said the coping shit wasn’t working.”

The doctor plops back down into her seat, saying more to herself than anything. “Well, I suppose that’s a good sign. That she reached out to you versus….other things.” That’s exactly how Roman feels. “Regardless, in the future, at least let me know what’s going on. I would have told you to give her the Hydroxyzine. We could have seen if it’s helpful.”

Roman doesn’t disagree with her there. The thought of one of her medications potentially being helpful definitely crossed his mind. But, he’s not about to tell this woman that.

He’s got other things he needs to discuss.

“The facility you were telling me about….” Roman looks away, not eager to have this conversation but knowing he needs to. For Solana. “Tell me more.”

________

A loud, guttural, almost animalistic growl leaves Samantha’s mouth at the same time the glass plate is tossed against the wall, shattering and spilling into tiny little pieces all across her kitchen floor.

Not that it makes a difference.

Punching the fridge, she ignores the throbbing in her fist and ineffectively tries to manage her nerves, dissuading the burning urge within to scream. It’s been less than 24hrs since she regained the ability to speak, her jaw finally healed enough and no longer wired shut.

But, now she’s left with nothing but pent up emotion all directed toward one person.

Solana

That fat bitch ruined everything. She stole Roman from her. The man who she’s been with since she was a fucking teenager. The man she always imagined would be her husband and father of her children, who would make her his Queen of the Bloodline, but none of that will happen now.

It won’t happen because of that slashed face whore.

Because Roman chose her over him.

Which brings up unfamiliar feelings towards her former lover.

Roman is an asshole. Always has been. As long as she’s known him, he’s been a dick, so his cruel behavior at times toward her never really bothered her. That’s just his personality. She never took it personally. 

Not until now, at least.

Because now, it’s not just his wife she’s mad at, it’s Roman too.

Granted, her fury toward the troll is significantly worse.

She’d kill the bitch if she could.

“Rough day?”

Samantha nearly jumps across the room at the sound of another person’s voice. She instead is braced against the refrigerator as she lands eyes on the last person she expected to find in her place.

“Seth?”

It takes another second for her to register that it truly is the once friend of her former lover. He sits on her sofa wearing at least three different types of animal print that are all outlined in some kind of bling, hair looking as unkempt as his mental health. 

She’s sly in trying to move closer to the knife set on the counter.

Seth, however, is as perceptive as he is insane. She stills when he casually pulls out a gun. “Ah ah. I just want to talk to you. That’s all.” He makes a face, playing with the gun.“Word on the street is that you got dumped.”

Samantha’s eyes narrow a bit. How does Seth freakin Rollins of all people know about her ‘breakup’ with Roman? Only those close to Roman would know that, and there’s no way anyone close to Roman would be speaking to Seth……

Right?

“Who—”

“You’ll find out about the members of this little crusade once you agree,” he explains, placing the gun on the sofa beside him, casually viewing his nails that are painted a hideous green. Like the color of slime from Nickelodeon back in the day. “Can’t risk snitches, of course.”

More interested than anything, Samantha asks, “what are you talking about?”

“Oh, that’s right.” He giggles, standing up and pulling a flask out of what seems like nowhere. “We’re gonna kill Roman Reigns.” Seth takes a swig as Samantha’s eyes widen, before he adds on, as if he forgot. “And his wife, Sadie.”

“Solana?”

Seth shrugs “Yeah, she can get killed too. Why not?”

Samantha finally laughs, crossing her arms. “You’re even crazier than I realized. You can’t just kill, Roman.” It’s damn near impossible. Does he not know the mountain of bodies that have tried and failed at the very same thing he’s suggesting? “And there’s no way in hell he’ll let you get even close enough to kill that bitch wife of his.”

“Oh, that’s a lot easier than you think.” Seth takes the flask to his mouth again, voice teasing yet malicious. “The Bloodline is full of traitors.”

Samantha goes quiet, wondering how much of this is madness and just how much is true. It seems too asinine to be true. 

But, there’s also the fact that the only way Seth could have known about Roman leaving her was if someone within the Bloodline told him, which would most definitely make them a traitor. And even that feels almost impossible. Roman’s family is notoriously loyal. Who would want to betray him?

The plural form of the word ‘traitor’ is also something that catches her attention. 

Could there be more than one traitor?

Seth meanwhile seems to be in a sense of imaginative blood lust, practically squealing, “the infamous Roman Empire is going to be coming to a gloriously bloody, gory end, and we’re trying to see who all want to be a part of our little murderous, traitorous gang.” 

Again, she’s caught off guard, realizing just now he’s clearly referring to more than himself. “Gang?”

Seth tilts his head, pouting as he says almost mysteriously, “we both know your former lover has no shortage of enemies.”

That is dangerously true, but what’s even more dangerous is this suicide mission Seth is proposing.

“How is this supposed to be any different from any other time people have tried to kill Roman?” As much as she would love to see Solana’s life drain from her ugly ass face, Samantha would rather not lose her life in the process. 

Seth is way too excited to answer. “Because this time, the call is coming from inside the house.” Her eyes widen. “With a little….Nightmare help as well.”

There’s so much to process in that one bombshell of a sentence. “Someone in the Bloodline is orchestrating this?” Not to mention whatever role the Nightmare Factory is playing. That’s just salt on an open, gushing wound. 

This type of betrayal is bound to crush Roman.

Samanth smiles. 

Oh, revenge is so so sweet. 

“I’ll join, but on one condition.” Seth’s brow lifts, a sign he’s ready to hear out her caveat. “That I get to stab and kill that bitch Solana myself. I get to be the one to take her from Roman.”

At the vision alone, Seth’s mad smile grows followed by that crazy ass laugh. “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better.” He claps his hands together, nodding. “You got yourself a deal, curly.”

Samantha nods, pleased with the arrangement. 

Whoever previously took the knife to Roman’s little wife, causing all those ugly ass scars, failed to get the job done. 

Samantha won’t. 

She does have another question, shrugging. “So who all is a part of this shit anyway?”

She’s especially curious about who the traitor is.

Or traitors. 

Of course, it’s just more mental edging with the self-proclaimed visionary. “You’ll get to meet the gang soon enough, but we’ve got one more person to recruit.” Samantha’s curiosity is evident, prompted by Seth casually tossing the flask up and down with a wicked gleam in his empty eyes. “Can’t take down Roman Reigns without inviting his good ole’ pal Brock Lesnar to join in on the fun, now can we?”

[skyfallscotland]

I’m very curious about your (make him worse) thoughts - if you could shape onyx storm however you wanted to, what would you have happen in it? Specifically to Xaden and Violet (and XadenandViolet)? ☺️

I just think seeing Xaden as venin but not tortured by it in a woe-is-me situation would be so much fun! I think it would be very on brand for him to be wild with power and still be one-track-mind in love with Violet Sorrengail. Will being venin really change the man? We don't know enough to say, yet! I mean Jack was already a psycho, he's hardly evidence of power corrupting. What if a bunch of farmers only became venin a thousand years ago to defend themselves because dragon kept eating their sheep? You don't know their side of the story! 😂

I'm personally a bit disappointed Rebecca's editor convinced her to change it so Xaden turned at the end of Iron Flame and not Violet, because I think first-person perspective of veninism would be super interesting too! This also all sets us up for a classic narrative I'm not sure I'm down for.

Personally I'm just hoping whatever she goes for isn't too cliché. My feelings are that we might be headed for a book where Xaden tries to fight against it and ultimately fails, ends up hurting Violet or someone she loves (I think one of two characters is about to meet an untimely end and I'm not telling you who yet) and then takes off to 'protect her' from himself. Next book we'll be in a game of cat and mouse while Violet finds a cure, at the end of the book we'll cure Xaden (I have thoughts on what that will be too) and then we'll roll on into the big battle/war (book five).

So that's what I think will happen and I think it's kinda formulaic and boring. I'll be happy if it's anything else. Not that I won't enjoy that if that's how she rolls with it, I just wish for more, you know? Every time she says "I wanted to do x originally but my editor said—" I die a little inside because her instincts are GOOD, y'all.

As for what I'd do, well...can't tell you yet. I have a little series, I don't know if you've heard of it, it's called Basgiath: Remi's Version and I'd hate to spoil it for anyone 😉

[thatcutenerdygirl]

Bruce..... Calm down

Welp, this was not what I expected. I mean, it was fine, it wasn't bad or good. Bruce goes to talk with Babs. Babs was in the hospital staying with her Dad. Bruce came and talked with Babs about her and the rest of the Bat Kids helping Bruce out.

I know that in like every other post I've been saying like "oh Bruce is being an ass right now" (not those exact words, but you know). BUT he has a little bit of a point and may have swayed me. He freaked out a little, well more like a lot actually.

But he's just a dad who wants to protect his kids. I had my brother who is into DC and is a dad. He said, and I quote "Why the f*** are they mad at him? I get the kids being a little pissed, but he shouldn't be considered bad in this. He's being a good dad".

Babs makes a point though when she said that Dick can think for himself. And that's true cuz he is an adult. But Damion, ehh?

ONCE MORE I'm glad they are doing this, and I know I sound like a hypocrite, but I don't care. I want a well written story, and this episode was in my opinion.

[tsuutarr]

I am actually so in love with all ur yandere ocs!!! putting their designs in the back of my mind for future reference :] who knows, maybe I'll draw them someday tehee :333 I am especially a sucker for yandere angels so ur doing gods work here fr (no pun intended) Anyways I am kinda curious as to how the guys would feel abt a non-binary MC considering so far you've only described them using "she/her" pronouns ^^'' no need to answer if ur not up to it. I won't think of u or the characters any less<3 I'm also curious how they would react to mc having a very close childhood friend. I mean.. Those type of friendships are very likely to lead to more after all uwu~

Tysm for liking my yandere OCs!! I'm very very pleased to hear that you enjoy them <3 I'd be flattered if you drew them!

Yandere angels are so fun b/c they're supposed to be the pinnacle of purity, but what if they get corrupted by their desires? Then they have to grapple with their morals and desires, though their desires eventually win over because they love love love you so much!

Also, I am totally okay with a gender-neutral reader! I try to write mostly gn!reader, but I'm sorry if she/her slips in sometimes since I'm most familiar with an afab!reader's perspective.

As for the guys, they'd all be okay with a non-binary MC~ though, I think Jiu's story would probably work best with a female leaning MC since his whole thing is that he dresses up as a woman to chase guys away from MC. Otherwise, I can visualize any gender for any of my yanderes!

Now, what if MC had a childhood friend? Well, here's how my yanderes would react:

Jiu IS your childhood friend, so he's already chased anyone else away from being too close with you since you were both kids. He's super smart in that he lets you interact with people (and even have "friends"), but he manipulates the situation so that you're mostly spending time with him. When someone gets too close to you, though, he'll chase them away, either through anonymous blackmail, some "accident," or something else.

Finley would be so so so sad if you had a childhood friend that was super close to you. He's not really allowed to harm any human but... it's not his fault that your friend is so so so clumsy and fell into a manhole!

Tynan would just kill the guy honestly. Nothing's stopping him from killing your childhood friend, after all. BUT, he's not stupid enough to make it obvious he did it. After all, how else will he console you over your stupid childhood friend's death?

The abandoned water god just kidnaps you so he could care less, frankly speaking. It's not like you can leave him, so why should he worry about some powerless human? Though, talk about your childhood friend too much and your friend may meet an untimely death related to water.

As for the farmer... oh, he'd hate your childhood friend. You're his sugarcube, you know? You're just so cute and defenseless, he has to protect you! So, well, whenever you try to call your childhood friend, the signals all wonky. When you want to drive to visit your friend, your tires are all punctured. And when your friend wants to visit? Oh! Well, your friend can't visit because the area's suddenly super dangerous and there's like fifty bears that might maul your friend!

So, long story short, your childhood friend isn't safe and probably never will be (except Jiu, who is your childhood friend)!

[skellymom]

"Vagabonds" Chapter 21

"AMARANTHINE"

Ongoing fanfic Hunter x Reader/Fem Reader/OC

Hunter meets a smuggler Nomaadi Star Woman with a powerful force sensitive teen who changes the trajectory of CF-99's lives...as they ALL try to escape from The Empire together.

To read Chapter 20 - "DIFFICULT CHOICES"

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/761407251706707968/vagabonds-chapter-20?source=share

Word Count: 2.8 K

Background: The crew splits up: One group to continue repairing the Beldame. The other to take Mad to the Rebel Base. What lies in store for them?

Amaranthine definition: Undying, immortal, eternally beautiful. A deep purple-red color.

THE ACTION RAMPS UP IN THIS CHAPTER!

For anyone new to this series: "LOVE" is the nonbinary/genderfluid neurodivergent/nonverbal Force sensitive kid of the main OC of this series named Mad. Mad is an older single mother, close to almost 50 years of age (not many older female protaganists in stories, so I decided to make one.)

Warning: SW Canon violence, blood, snapped neck, dog mauling human (defensive move for the doggo), some swearing, angst, tragedy.

(Credit: Cool dividers by @plum98 @strangergraphics-archive Pinterest: Hunter)

“The Beldame STILL needs further repairs” Tech voiced his ship wide diagnostic report of the the Beldame.  “It seems the maintenance on YOUR ship hasn’t been kept up for some time.” 

“Not subtle are ya Tech” Mad shot back.  “Before the Coruscant Job, we BARELY fed ourselves.  Jobs weren't paying much of a living wage for Nomaadi during The Republic Era.”   

“No need to be offended.  I was merely stating...” Tech remarked flatly 

Echo comically slapped his forehead with his hand.   

Wrecker, standing next to Tech grimaced and signaled his brother to STOP TALKING. 

Tech was oblivious. 

Hunter just sat there, chin in hand as he rested it on the armrest of his seat, slight grin as he watched Tech unassumingly poke the Dryax.  He wished Crosshair could be here.  Knew the sniper would absolutely RELISH Mad and Tech bickering. 

He’d be eating this shit UP! 

“What I'm saying is LOVE and I are POOR.  Does that spell it out for you?”  Mad sarcastically replied rubbing her belly.  “Was hoping to finish the repairs with the credits from THIS job.” 

Giggles from the kids. 

Tech softened.  He realized his sass was rude.  By comparison, the Marauder was in top condition currently because the Batch hadn’t been estranged from the Republic for very long. 

“Well...an electromagnetic interference such as what LOVE emitted would damage ANY ship.”  This was the best apology Mad would get from Tech.  “If we expect to exit this hyperspace lane, rudimentary power for locomotion to the Beldame must be restored.” 

“I agree.  Don’t know WHY you couldn’t have just kept to the bare FACTS in your status report.” Mad verbally jabbed back.  “Didn’t need that EXTRA remark thrown in.” 

Tech rolled his eyes.  Everyone on the ship snickered at him. 

“So, how much longer before the Dame has some thruster capability?” Mad demanded. 

“Another standard day or two of repairs.  It will be enough to get us out of hyperspace and somewhere we can procure replacement parts.  Otherwise, the Beldame won’t be able to enter hyperspace again.  The Marauder used a considerable amount of power to pull your ship in.  However, it’s wearing on our ship’s engines to continue to do so.” 

Hunter intervened “Can we leave a group of crew members behind to work on repairs while another accompanies Mad to the surface of Taphao Kaew’s Rebel Base?” 

“Seems the only option.” Echo stepped into the conversation. 

Tech continued “Technically the Dame SHOULD be safe for now, but we cannot continue to lurk in this hyperspace lane long term.  Hopefully the Rebel Base will allow us to land and continue repairs on the planet’s surface.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Mad replied “Of course, I want Hunter with me.  Sil, I want you to stay and help fix the Dame.” 

Sil nodded to Mad who continued “LOVE, stay here and protect the ship for the time being.  We still need that shield generator up and working.” 

LOVE immediately shook their head in heated disagreement. 

Omega bounced up and down, hand up...clearly she wanted to be involved.

"Omega?" Mad turned to Hunter. Not wanting to speak for him regarding his younger sister.

Hunter added “Echo and Wrecker can come with us while Tech, Sil, and...” 

Tech interjected “We...will need MORE people to work on the Beldame if we are expected to leave within the expected timeframe.  Perhaps Echo and Wrecker should stay with Sil.  I will navigate the Marauder and LOVE can accompany Hunter and Mad for protection purposes.  That is MY suggestion.” 

“AWW!” Wrecker groused.  “I wanna go.  Been working on the Dame all this time!!!” 

“So have I.” Echo grumped at Wrecker “Don’t hear ME complainin!” 

Omega burst forth "CAN I GO TOO???"

ALL the Batchers simultaneously turned and shouted "NO!"

"Aaaargh!" She stomped her little feet.

Sil threw his arm around Omega's shoulder "You can stay and work alongside me!"

Omega pretended to be grateful...Sil scoffed at her halfhearted try.

Hunter glanced at Mad for her opinion.  She nodded. 

“Everyone in agreement?” He addressed the crew. 

Everyone nodded. 

Wrecker crossed his arms and pouted. Omega eyed Hunter disappointedly.

"Sorry kid...next time." Hunter promised.

“We move out early tomorrow morning.” Hunter announced.  “Everyone hit the sack.  Got a big day ahead of us.” 

Mad didn’t need an alarm.  She awoke to Hunter stroking her hair.  Mad opened her eyes as he traced the side of her jaw sweetly.  She took his hand and kissed it. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Anxious.” Mad rubbed the sleep from her eyes.  “I don’t want to think about what we might or might not be walking into.” 

“Hey...” Hunter kissed Mad’s forehead “I’ll be there.  So will Tech and LOVE.  You got nothing to worry about.” 

Mad smiled. 

He’s worried too.  Trying to put on a brave face. 

She loved him for it. 

“Oof, the BABY pressure on my bladder!”  Mad threw the blankets back... 

Her belly was even LARGER this morning! 

Mad attempted to get off the bed and failed.  She flopped back on the bed and sighed. 

“Help please...” 

Hunter grinned.  He put his arm around Mad’s shoulders to help lift her off the bed. 

“Need me in there too?” 

“No, smartass.  I can pee all by myself thank you.”  Mad sassed.  “But if you’re offering you can scrub my back in the shower.”  

“Mmm...” Hunter pinched Mad’s butt cheek playfully. 

“Don’t get any ideas, Sergeant.  You ordered an EARLY start to this mission.” 

Tech covertly landed the Marauder along the heavily wooded surface of Taphao Kaew.  The plan was to have Tech stay with the ship.  Hunter and LOVE would take Mad to the Rebel Base and radio Tech with any decision the extraction point contact had for the babies.  From there on in, the plan was open to “improvisation”. 

He watched Hunter, Mad and LOVE leave the Marauder and disappear into the strange alien forest.  Tech stood watch at the Marauder’s side hatch for quite a while... 

Eventually his attention-span waned.  It was taking longer than expected.  Tech wished he had advised Wrecker to come along after all.  He could carry Mad all the way there and back easily.  Not that Tech didn’t expect Mad to be able to make the journey, as she was capable albeit slower.  It was more due to Hunter hovering like a father hen, therefore slowing her down considerably. 

Sil pulled out the treat box from the Beldame’s Galley and shook it loudly. 

Nothing. 

“TIGGY!” Sil shouted through the Beldame. 

Quiet. 

Wrecker came around the corner “I’m worried.  Still can’t find ‘er.” 

“Little Menace is probably tucked away somewhere in the Beldame.  Let sleeping dogs lie.”  Echo gestured.  “Got LOTS of work to do.” 

Hunter held Mad’s hand and slung his other arm around her shoulders.  He could catch her lest she slip, protect her from blaster bolts, or an approaching enemy. 

Love hovered behind them, grinning and watching the interaction between Hunter and Mad.  Eventually Mad glanced over her shoulder, leading Hunter to do the same. 

“Wut?” She scowled comically. 

Oh...YOU TWO. 

Hunter picked up the subtle facial micro expressions between LOVE and Mad.  It seemed LOVE was able to control what and when Hunter could communicate with them.  He nodded to Mad, who instinctively understood his inquiry. 

“We’re being...lovey-dovey.”  Mad whispered to Hunter. 

“Not used to it yet, huh?” Hunter pulled up his helmet to expose his face, leaned in and kissed Mad on the cheek.  Just a gentle brush of his lips while walking the forest path. 

Mad roped an arm around his tucked waist, squeezed firmly and affectionately. 

Disss-gustin' LOVE snorted out loud. 

Mad giggled. 

“Stay here.” Hunter abruptly blurted, then nodded to a stunned LOVE.  He let go of Mad and dashed off the trail...quietly.  As if he was a weightless wraith, ghost of a man, vanishing into the deep shadows of the forest. 

Mad and LOVE glanced at each other with wide puzzled eyes. 

Hunter IMMEDIATELY popped back onto the trail startling them BOTH. 

He presented a Wild Rambling Amaranthine Rose.  Its passionate purple and velvety petals emitted a sweet yet exotically musky odor.  The abundantly green leaves nestled against the flower’s petals.  The large, lush blooms while striking were protected by razor sharp 4-inch spikes all over the plant. 

A fitting flower for Hunter’s lady. 

He had SOMEHOW so quickly avoided the thorns to obtain an amazing specimen without injury. 

Hunter got down on one knee... 

“Whaddya doin???” Mad stared down at him suspiciously. 

“Proclaiming my love and devotion to my...lover...lady...special person.  We never settled on a title.”  Hunter preened. 

Mad stifled a laugh.  She was that cynical to think Hunter’s proclamation was a silly joke. He was coming out of his shell, exhibiting a dry humor, but THIS was pure tooth rotting sweetness.  A grown man with the occasional heart of an innocent boy.   

He’s not cynical like ME. He has SO MUCH HOPE Mad thought.  Thank FORCE.  I’ve LOST mine long ago.  I NEED this.  Mad thought guiltily.  She’s been ALONE for so long. Independence was ALWAYS Mad’s go to.  She could STILL have that, but with the luxury of passionate, empathetic companionship. 

Hunter cleared this throat embarrassingly “I’m hoping that WHATEVER is required on this planet...we’ll STILL be together afterwards.  I’ll even settle for whatever time we have left...a day or a lifetime.”  He had a fleeting expression of FEAR in his eyes. 

“Hunter...” Mad was speechless and a bit concerned.   

“I should’ve done this earlier with EVERYONE present.  Didn’t really HIT ME until now.”  

LOVE floated soundlessly watching and picking up on the vibes of the situation. 

Mad took the flower from Hunter, tucked it into the hair of her Mohawk, pulled Hunter from his knees, and embraced him.  He embraced her back with an emotionally hitched breath.  They kissed sweetly and deeply.   

LOVE didn’t feel embarrassed or offended by the open display of affection.  Their mother was long overdue the companionship of another.  LOVE wanted Mad to be HAPPY.  It seemed to FINALLY have arrived. 

Annnnd I pronounce you bonded life partners for many years, boop, beep, boop.  LOVE Force Spoke to them both while waving arms like a total goof. 

Hunter and Mad blushed.   

The group continued their journey. 

Tech leaned over the game on top of Gonky’s head.  Rubbing his chin, while contemplating his next move.  His mind a million miles away... 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!”  

Gonky jumped up and knocked over game pieces as Tech whirled around. 

A green armored Trooper stood inside the Marauder; blaster trained on him. 

“Shit!” Tech swore under his breath, hands hovering over both of his holstered blasters. 

Well, I’ve DONE it NOW!  Tech mused.  Our goose is cooked!!! 

“Where are you from?  Any more crew members?  State your planet of origin!” 

Tech couldn’t help blurting out “Are you a mercenary???” 

The Trooper closed in on him menacingly. 

Tech improvised cooly “My companion and I” he motioned to Gonky “are traveling botanists who sample and study the flora from differing planets of the galaxy.  Today was the day to study YOUR fair planet.” Tech attempted to avoid grimacing embarrassingly.   

He failed. 

Clones are HORRIBLE liars. 

“Botanist with ARMOR and BLASTERS???” The Trooper wasn’t sold on Tech’s lie. 

Tech launched into what he knew “We MUST protect ourselves from many natural dangers.  For instance, the flesh-eating flower of...”  

“I’m NOT INTERESTED in your LIES!” The Trooper slammed his blaster into Tech’s chest... 

Tech put both hands up and steeled himself. 

Then a loud THUD caught the trooper’s attention.  He eyed Tech for a second, blaster still digging into his sternum.  When he felt sure Tech would not resist, the Trooper turned to glance behind him into the half-lit shadows of the Marauder. 

Tech, unable to do anything at that moment, glanced in the same direction as the Trooper...  At nothing but shadows. 

The trooper turned back to Tech “WHO ELSE is with you?” He viciously hissed. 

Tech attempted to come up with something on the fly, but his brain locked up while his eyes widened with concern due to the high probability of having his guts blasted across the Marauders cockpit. 

He didn’t need too much time though... 

A black blur SLAMMED into the Trooper!  He screamed for a brief second before it bit deeply into the gap in his armor.   

Tiggy snapped the Trooper’s neck with brutal precision.  The noise was loud as it silenced the scream immediately.  His body collapsed into a heap on the ship's decking. 

She did it all WITHOUT breaking ANY skin! 

Tech watched as Tiggy released the dead soldier, then guiltily backed up into the shadows.  She was comically visible... 

...until her dark coat seemed to melt and become one with them.   

Only her yellow eyes shone in the darkness.   

Tiggy found the ability to CLOAK herself like some of the undersea creatures of Kamino!  Tech quickly surmised it was due to her enhanced breeding...even if she was only meant for food stock originally. 

Tech’s jaw dropped.  “Fascinating!”  He could see from her eyes Tiggy was NOW cowering in doggy fear.  She closed them and disappeared entirely. 

“Tiggy...” Tech coaxed.  “GOOD GIRL!” 

She LAUNCHED out of the shadows and slammed into Tech’s chest.  Tiggy slobbered his face, the areas where she leaned up against him blending in with his armor, clothing, and pockets...half of her cloaked, half a fully visible dog. 

She knocked the wind out of Tech, and he was absolutely THRILLED for it.  He wrestled her off him, then gave a command. 

“Daab!” 

Tiggy healed at Tech’s side as he stood up. 

She waited patiently for whatever else he required of her. 

Tech then attempted to comm Hunter that the Marauder had been discovered.  

Hunter, Mad, and LOVE reached a small clearing and could see the Rebel Facility... 

PEOPLE WERE RUNNING OUT OF IT. Terrified people!  Frantically trying to escape a figure dressed in green armor, leveling a blaster rifle at them.   

He picked people off with a terrifying precision. 

Hunter drew his weapon.  Mad pulled a blaster out from under her robes, surprising him that she was even packing at all. 

“Didn’t think I'd walk into this without at least a blaster, Hunky?” Mad shot a glance at Hunter. 

“At least?  You’re carrying more???” Hunter quirked an eyebrow. 

“Of course.”  

They both took aim. 

A Rodian dressed in medical attire and an Empire Storm Trooper, dressed in plain white armor, ran towards Hunter and Mad screaming “LEAVE!  WE’VE BEEN INFILTRATED!!!” 

The Rodian grabbed Mad, trying to drag her away with them. 

Hunter and the Storm Trooper’s eyes met.  Hunter IMMEDIATELY sensed he was not a threat. 

“A few soldiers and I DEFECTED from the Empire.  CX-Troopers TRACKED us!” The Stormtrooper yelled as he ran past. 

“CX WHO???” Hunter yelled back. 

Then the hair on the back of Hunter’s neck stood up straight.  He yanked Mad out of the way of a blast bolt.  Unfortunately, it hit the Rodian doctor and she fell to the ground.  Hunter berated himself for not anticipating. 

Mad squeezed off a shot.  It impacted the CX’s pauldron, throwing him off balance, but still alive. 

LOVE threw out a Force shield around them all. 

Hunter and Mad provided cover fire while watching the stormtrooper drop to the ground over his comrade.   

The Stormtrooper yanked up his helmet and a Mirialan TEENAGE BOY of no more than 15 or 16 peered out from under the armor. “Reeda!  Let’s get you up.” 

The older Rodian sadly replied.  “No... RUN Jebith.  Take them with you.  Be safe.”  She yanked a detonation device off Jeb’s belt and activated it. 

Jebith embraced Reeda, wiping a tear from his eye, then glanced up at Hunter.   

Hunter, shocked, threw his hand out to the teen.  “Come with us!  We’ll get you off world!!!” 

Jebith grasped Hunter’s arm, and he hauled Jeb to his feet. 

Hunter grabbed Mad and RAN!  Jebith on his heels.  LOVE levitating quickly behind him, keeping the Force shield.  The CX-2 regained his footing, openly stalking and attempting to blast them dead. 

Unfortunately, NOBODY got very far before the device went off.  A blinding flash of light sent EVERYONE flying backwards.  Hunter and Jeb had their armor, LOVE had The Force... 

...Mad was RIPPED from Hunter’s grasp...she had NOTHING. 

LOVE was pushed violently away like a leaf in the wind.   

Hunter and Jebith found themselves thrown like toys.  Jeb cleared a tree by millimeters as he flew.  Hunter anticipated his trajectory and was able to tuck and bounce off a large branch, his clone physique MUCH hardier than a human.  He landed on the ground yards back, continued to roll as he contacted the ground, then flipped up in a crouched standing position. 

Hunter scanned the area around him.  He attempted to see past the smoke and debris raining down.  “MAD?  LOVE?  JEB???” 

Jeb landed HARD, then managed to lift his head in time to see Hunter run off. 

Hunter and Jeb heard a blood curdling wail. 

Hunter went into autopilot and ran blindly towards the sound.  He could almost taste singed flesh, fresh blood, and smell LOVE’S fear as it joined with his.  He ignored the small raining debris and instinctively dodged the larger ones.  Hunter tracked low to the ground, almost on all fours as he wove, dodged trees, and uneven ground. 

The smoke cleared as he approached LOVE howling in emotional agony.  They were holding Mad... both covered in blood... 

I TRIED...I... COULDN’T CATCH HER IN TIME!!!  LOVE screamed inside Hunter’s head. 

...bloody flower petals strewn across the forest floor.  Purple contrasting with crimson red.

A beautiful thing destroyed in an instant... 

CHAPTER 22 TO ARRIVE SOON!

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[vindicated-truth]

It's fascinating to see the way Dongsik was needling Joowon during Jihwa's interrogation of them in a whole new light after you know what really happened.

Dongsik, at this point, already knew for sure that Joowon is not the culprit. He knew, at this point, that Kang Jinmook is the real killer, he just has no strong evidence to back it up.

And there's a sort of bitter irony in all this, for Dongsik of all people to have discovered the real killer, because it's his own experience of not being indicted due to lack of evidence that he also knows Jinmook would not be indicted because there isn't enough evidence.

So what does he do, instead?

He needles Joowon for it. He tries to use Joowon's own "reasonable doubt" against him, despite the fact that he knows it isn't Joowon.

He does this for two reasons:

1) He's confident that no matter what happens, unless someone tampers with the evidence (ironically enough, given what Dongsik also did), Joowon would not be indicted simply because of the sheer fact that he's innocent. That's why Dongsik can "play" with Joowon as much as he wants, without fear of having the wrong man be persecuted, because Joowon is innocent.

2) He needed Joowon angry. He needed Joowon just angry enough to want to defend himself, because he needed Joowon to move. To take action, to be interested in this case if only for self-preservation—because at this point he sees Joowon as just another Han after all, out to protect his image and privilege and nothing more—because perhaps if Joowon is interested enough, he'll pursue the case the way his own father never did.

Dongsik can already see, at this point, that Joowon is a stubborn man, one that's surprisingly determined to solve the case—again, perhaps for self-preservation, given what Dongsik assumed is Joowon not wanting his image ruined for what happened to Lee Geumhwa—and Dongsik can use that stubbornness and determination to bring light to his sister's case once more.

It's all the more apparent when the next scene is Joowon telling his own father, "It's too bad I can't just stay quiet and lay low about this", which is exactly what Dongsik wanted—and what Han Kihwan does not want.

Han Kihwan after all doesn't care if his own son's reputation is ruined as long as his own reputation remains unmarred, hence why he was so quick to throw him under the bus with his public denouncement of Joowon's own public announcement of a 20-year old serial killing.

It makes sense, later on, why Dongsik only smirked and snorted when he watched Joowon do what he did on national television, because it's what Dongsik wanted.

But also—it left Dongsik impressed.

Dongsik only wanted Joowon to be angry enough to defend his reputation. Instead, Joowon went the entire opposite direction and was willing to throw it all away, if it means solving the case. It meant Dongsik was wrong in his assumption that Joowon was doing this for self-preservation.

And I think that's why at some point later in the story, Dongsik grew alarmed and somewhat guilty because he was the one who started all this, provoking Joowon enough to want to solve his sister's case—because it alarmingly looked like Joowon does not care about ruining his life at all.

It's partly why it makes sense then that Dongsik was also determined to stop Joowon from ruining his life, because this was not what Dongsik wanted at all. He just wanted Joowon to solve his sister's case and that of all the other victims'—not for Joowon to ruin his own life in doing so.

And that's the second thing he was impressed by about Joowon:

He's doing all this for no other reason than because it's the right thing to do.

When Joowon, pushed to the breaking point by Dongsik himself, burst out with the fact that he wants to catch the serial killer to bring justice to Lee Geumhwa, vowing that he will never forget her even if no one else remembers her, that—

That's exactly the kind of cop Dongsik needed to solve his sister's case. Except—Joowon isn't even doing this for a loved one. He's doing this for a stranger. Someone he doesn't even have to care about, because she's completely unrelated to him.

And yet—Joowon cares enough to stand by her. Even when no one else at Foreign Affairs or the rest of the institution does. Because she's an immigrant, because she's in the country illegally, because she's a prostitute, because she's Chinese.

Because she's a woman.

And that—that's exactly why Dongsik realizes—

He can't let this boy fight this battle alone.

If Joowon is going down—Dongsik will go down with him.

[erendur]

Beren and Lúthien and the role of magic in Tolkien

This is another post along the lines of “Why I don’t like Beren and Lúthien”. If you like Beren and Lúthien, good for you, enjoy, and Tolkien loves you. If you don’t like reading criticisms of Beren and Lúthien, don’t read this. Fellow non-enjoyers of Beren and Lúthien, welcome.

I’ve already talked in another post about the fact that I find the tone of Beren and Lúthein jarring. I personally do not want to read a fairy tale on the middle of my tragic tale of loss and destruction. Another thing that annoys me about B&L, and the subject of this post, is that I feel it breaks low-magicness of Tolkien’s universe, and it makes the story stand out in an annoying way.

So, bear with me. I think that, overall, The Hobbit, LOTR and the Silm have a rather sparse use of magic. Sure, there are characters who have magical powers, and magical objects, but the brunt of the action happens with non-magical means. The Hobbit is not solved by Gandalf making use of his magical powers ; actually he is sent away by Tolkien at a crucial point, so that the story can happen. LOTR is not solved by Gandalf or Elrond either, but by plain little hobbits. Magic takes a back seat.

In the Silm, I’d say that magic has a mostly infrastructury-role. The Valar shape Middle-Earth, then Valinor, and Ulmo (Ulmo ?) moves an island to get the Elves across the Ocean. The rest of the time, we don’t see them do magic. They don’t magically carry the Elves to Valinor : they have to take a long, dangerous trip. The Noldor go back to Middle Earth by boat, or on foot. 

Melian is a magical being, but the only magical things she does are a) the Girdle (a magical barrier to protect a kingdom - infrastructure) and b) use her gift of prescience to try and give advice that nobody listens to.

Magic also provides Gondolin with a protection (another magicy-infrastructure), and of course we have a couple (a couple ?) magical hidden bodies of water, plus the magic of the Silmarils. Ulmo turns Elwing into a bird. There are a couple of magical rescues by eagles. But that’s it.

The rest of the book, and the action, is pretty magic-free. The Noldor do not fight Morgoth with magic, they fight him with swords, cavalry and their superior physical strength. Morgoth himself, apart from the curse on Húrin and the spell on Maeglin, does not really use magic, or only to create creatures that he uses as soldiers against the Noldor. The Valar eventually defeat him not in a magical duel, Harry Potter style, but by sending a host of soldiers. Eärendil kills Glaurung, sure, but that’s not really the main action.

And I like that, because the story and the actions then happen because of the qualities, or the flaws of the characters. 

In Beren and Lúthien though, we have : Finrod somehow using magic to make himself, Beren and his companions look like orcs ; a magical song competition ; Lúthien escaping from her prison thanks to magical hair and a magical cloak ; Huan the magical dog suddenly choosing sides and speaking ; Lúthien defeating Sauron in another magical song competition, and Sauron shape-shifting and becoming a vampire ; Beren and Lúthien donning a magical disguise to sneak into Angband ; Lúthien putting the whole of Angband into a magical sleep ; a magical rescue by eagles (another one) ; a magical resurrection. 

It’s much more magic-heavy than anything else in the Silm or even The Hobbit, and for me it just lowers the stakes, and makes me care about the character less, because there is no real sense of danger, no real sense that these people are defying odds. I care about Gandalf because he is scared, and looks like a frail old man, and knows he can’t really take on a Balrog, but does it anyway. I care about Fingolfin defying Morgoth because I know he can’t possibly win, but he still manages to wound him. I care about Fingon on his magical rescue missions because, boy oh boy, without magical eagle interventions would things have gone wrong (or even before that). 

I don’t have the feeling that, at any point, Lúthien is in any danger, or not going to get her way (Beren is a bit different : he’s a strong warrior, sure, but a regular guy, and I do feel for him as he’s trying to get to Finrod, holding up the ring of Baradur, without getting shot by his sentries, or when he is in that dungeon with the werewolves - the minute he’s with Lúthien though, I feel like “Eh, he’ll be fine”). That’s also part of the reason why the Celegorm and Curfufin part of that story doesn’t stick with me. Not only do I find it nonsensical (they suddenly have two brains cells and are trying to invent diplomatic marriage, apparently, which would be a first ever since we do not hear of any such marriage in the whole of the Silm, and while most of the Noldor leaders (and Cirdan) seem in no hurry to marry themselves, diplomatically or not), but also, again, there is no real sense of danger. She already escaped once, from a far more secure prison, I don’t buy for one moment that C&C, exiled princes with their dog, of all people, are the ones who are going to best Lúthien. At this stage the only reason she doesn’t escape earlier than she does is because she either likes the food or want to not hurt their pride too much (I am, obviously, exaggerating here for effect…)

And because Lúthien is so powerful, her actions and its effects have to be limited, otherwise she could easily put an end to the story. So, of course, some people feel disappointed, and frankly, annoyed with her. That one so powerful achieves so little, when countless others try as hard as they can with much more limited means. Sons of Fëanor aside, what would Fingolfin have done, had he had a tenth of her powers ? She uses all this power for - what ? Marrying her guy (which she could easily have done post the Sauron episode, by the way - there were only the two of them, and she tells Beren that he could just forsake his oath and roam the face of the earth with her) and giving a Silmaril to her dad, who (checks notes) wanted Beren dead, and imprisoned her (and if we want to go all XXIst century on B&L and call Celegorm a rapist, can we go wtf on this one for a moment ?)

I also feel, and I don’t even know if that’s an aside or not at this point, that the story feels at odds thematically because of that. I see people saying that it fits with the overall theme of hope, but I don’t think the Silm is about hope. That’s LOTR. I think it’s about faith, rebellion, pride and destruction. The characters who drive the action (Morgoth, the Noldor) are the ones who rebel against a legitimate, sacred authority (Eru, the Valar), out of pride (and because of Morgoth’s lies, in the case of the Noldor), and who then reap the consequences of it (death, the progressive destruction of Beleriand).  We are told, several times, that Manwë would have listened to the pleas of the Noldor, had they sent him prayers. They don’t, and they keep suffering because of it.

The positive figures in the story are the ones who keep their faith in the Valar : Fingon pulls off the magical rescue because he cries out to Manwë ; Turgon gets his hidden magical city because he listens to Ulmo (and would have potentially saved all of his people if he’d evacuated his city when told to do so by Ulmo) ; Eärendil manages to save Middle Earth because he puts his faith in the Valar, and not a small amount of effort in trying to reach them. Cirdan, although a very peripheral figure, is also one that is deeply linked to the Valar, and I think that’s why eventually his realm and people survive (even if they take several severe beatings), and he raises/protects the non-arguably best High King of the Noldor ever (Gil-Galad).

The overall message of the story is also that these people are not going to beat Evil, not with their own strength only, not without faith. It’s the host of the Valar that eventually beats Morgoth ; in the Second Age, its a great alliance of Men and Elves that beats Sauron, but the one individual to deal the decisive blow, Isildur, is a mere, non-magical man, characterised by his faith. In LOTR obviously, we have repeated, again, the message that these grand kings, princes and sorcerers, are not the ones who defeat evil once and for all, because, as we’ve seen aplenty in both the Silm and LOTR, these people, the best of the best, get easily corrupted, unless they have faith.

Unless the overall message of the story is that you can’t expect salvation from the pampered daughter of a goddess and a mighty king, because she’s only interested in her own person. In that case, my little Republican heart agrees. Yeah, Beren and Lúthien, the secretly anti-monarchist story of the Silm.

[royalarchivist]

Jaiden: Cucurucho, you have a lot of power, right?

Cucurucho: ...I don't know. Maybe.

Roier: Ah... Yes, you know, don't act like a dumbass, you have it. You have it, man. Eh?

Jaiden: Is there a way for us to protect all the Eggs? Do you know? I don't want anything to happen to the Eggs that happened to Bobby.

Cucurucho: Ha ha ha

Roier: WHAT? [Smacks Cucurucho]

Jaiden: [Bops him] Headpats.

Cucurucho: Maybe.

Jaiden: [Continues to bop him] Headpats. C'mon, I can get it out of you! Headpats! Chin scratches! Belly rubs!

Roier: [Joins Jaiden in bopping Cucurucho, chuckling and laughs]

Jaiden: Yeah? He's comin' around!

[Jaiden and Roier both laugh]

[bixels]

What did/do you like about Pharah?

Uh, gameplay-wise, I really love characters in shooters who rely on three-dimensional movement techs. Chaining together hover and jump to stay in the air for as long as possible and keep momentum is so satisfying, and picking enemies off from the sky made me feel like a bird of prey. I was a good Pharah main.

Story-wise, there unfortunately isn't much to canonically go off because Pharah is so underutilized and neglected. Her personality's pretty boilerplate "heroic hero" (she's literally inspired by Captain America).

But it's the crumbs/bits and pieces that I really latched onto. Pharah's a confirmed lesbian; her short story with Baptiste implies she harbors a crush on Mercy (fucking thank you.). She's biracial Egyptian/First Nations. She has major mommy issues, having grown up both admiring and resenting Ana. She's the bridge between Old Overwatch, inspired by the idealized heroes who surrounded her childhood, and New Overwatch. She's one of the only inter-generational characters in the cast; someone whose experiences span the gap, which is why I seriously believe Pharah would make a great main character.

There isn't much to go off of, though; she's a very uncomplicated character (she's a soldier for a private military corporation, lol.). But that just means she's a blank slate character, so I've seen fanfic writers run wild and create some really interesting takes on her. My favorite interpretation of her's a dense, herbo gym-bro type (a lot of her liens are about work outs, exercising, and playing sports) who's easily excitable under her seemingly self-serious, armored visage. We see how she tends to gloat and hype herself up when she's on a streak too, so Pharah definitely has a competitive and boastful side under her more professional and militant performance.

Now Mercy? Mercy is a real complex character.

[puppyeared]

The garment, worn by those in good standing with Hyrule royalty, has been reworked with the latest improvements, such as a new shoulder guard.

[iicaru2]

“He was a dreamer with fantastical ideas for all of creation...”

“...but he was seen as a troublemaker by the elders of heaven, for they felt his way of thinking was dangerous to the order of their world.”

“Drawn in by her fierce independence, Lucifer found her, and the two rebellious dreamers fell deeply in love.”

“As punishment for their reckless act, Heaven cast Lucifer and his love into the dark pit he had created...”

--

parallels.