#and now the answer just feels like a mess

[ceilidho]

prompt: you and Price get in an accident (1.6k)

-

He comes into your life like nothing less than divine intervention.

A fender bender, of all things. It’s a bad day and you’re distracted, too busy thinking about your dad calling to tell you that he lost ten thousand from his retirement fund when the stock he’d invested in crashed and how you’re supposed to help him out of this mess, and the roads are slick with that last snowfall of early spring, still unsalted even hours after the snow started. 

So when you slam on the brakes at the last second after noticing the car in front of you stopped at a red light, your car slips on the ice and slides forward, hitting the back of the stopped car and sending it forward a foot. It’s quick and sudden, and though you stepped on the brakes early enough to avoid a worse collision, your head snaps forward with the jolt and the seatbelt yanks you back violently, winding you. 

Your hands go tight around the wheel, eyes so wide that they nearly pop out of your head as you stare at the car directly in front of you. All of the dread in the world pools in your mouth and then down your throat when you swallow, heart galloping in your chest. You almost can’t believe it for a second.

Then the car in front of you—a big, fuck-you SUV that only worsens your anxiety because of all cars to hit, it had to be someone with a fancy, brand new car that probably has a lawyer on speed dial—puts their hazards on and the driver’s side doors opens and reality snaps like a rubberband back into you. With shaky hands, you put your car into park and put your hazards on as well. 

“Oh shit,” you whisper under your breath. An understatement.

A tall man in a brown parka steps out of the car and stares at you through the windshield, a stern expression on his face. He has a beanie pulled down over his head and a full beard, and for a second, the mental image of a bear emerging out of its den flickers in your imagination, all snow-dusted and irritable. 

He’s grizzled and older than you. The only consolation is that he doesn’t match the image of the driver that you had in your head—no seven thousand dollar suit or bluetooth earpiece; instead, he seems like the kind of man who’d drive an old pickup or a schooner, wearing an Aran sweater and a skipper's cap, with a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. He seems out of place in the middle of the road in your small town. 

But he is real, and even though you watch him march over to you, you flinch when he raps on the window with his knuckles. 

“Roll the window down,” he instructs, voice muffled through the glass, and you do because the command cuts through the buzzing in your ear. When you do, he reaches into your car with one hand and pops the lock, then takes a step back to open the door. You’d freak out if the situation were different, but you must be in shock because all you can do is stare at him dumbly as he leans into the car and undoes your seatbelt. “C’mon, sweetheart. Out.”

It doesn’t take much coaxing to get you to step out of the car. All he has to do is step back and you get out, knees nearly buckling, like jelly under you. He holds your elbow to steady you. Your elbow feels delicate and tiny in the width of his palm. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks, looking all over your face.

You want to answer him, but all you can do is whimper, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, none of that. It was an accident. You alright though? Anything hurt?”

“Uh…I don’t…I don’t know.” It hasn’t really sunk in yet, you think. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be sore all over, but right now you feel fine. On the verge of shaking out of your skin, teeth nearly clattering together, but more or less okay. 

“Nothing too bad then. Wanna give me your insurance so we can deal with this, sweetheart?” 

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Let me just—” You move to reach back into your car to fetch your purse, but he stops you, insisting on getting it for you. 

And you let him, docile like a doll, watching as he leans into your car and across the seats to grab your purse, big frame looking comically large in your little car. Looking like he’d barely fit in the front seat if he tried to get in. 

He comes back out with your little purse in hand and opens it, handing you your wallet and purse by its strap. Your fingers are still shaking when you pull out your insurance information and hand it to him. Everything feels surreal and muted, and the tears are going to flow at any minute now if you don’t get a handle on it. 

He must notice because a knuckle fits under your chin and lifts your head up. “Hey, what’s wrong? 

“No, no,” you say, reaching up to swipe your fingers over your eyes. “I’m just—I’m really embarrassed. I’ve never been in an accident before.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” His voice is much softer now, pitched low in the way handlers talk to spooked animals. He puts his thumb to your chin, holding you in place. “No one got hurt. Could’ve been worse than it was, and we’ve both got insurance, so what’s done is done. I don’t look mad, do I?”

Trapped between his thumb and knuckle, you can only give a slight shake of your head. “No.” 

“Then let’s just take it one step at a time and no tears. Okay?”

You sniff. “Okay.”

“Okay. I’m going to call the insurance, so you get back in the car and sit tight, alright?” 

You nod. 

“Good girl,” he says, a hint of praise in his voice. “Put the heat on too. It’s too cold for that jacket.”

That makes you go warm all over, flustered and tongue-tied. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to expect a response out of you. The only thing he expects you to do is get back in the car and turn the heat back on, the warm air billowing into your face when he leans in to crank it up all the way. 

Though most of the sound is muffled from inside the car, you turn down the heat and crack the window open slightly to hear him give his name to his insurance company. John Price. Even his name evokes the image of him somewhere else in the world, settled into the nooks and crannies of history. 

John handles everything for you while you sit in the car like he told you to, settling everything with the insurance companies and calling for a tow truck right after that. You don’t realize that, of course, until the tow truck pulls up in front of his car and he comes back to usher you out of your car. 

“How am I supposed to get home?” you croak. The tow truck driver hitches your car to the bed of the lift and pulls it up, your little car looking pathetic all alone up there. 

“I’ll drive you home then bring mine in later.”

“Why can’t I drive my car to the garage too?” You’re petulant now that you’ve learned that he won’t bite, and you know it’s petulance because you don’t actually put up much of a fight to get your car taken off the tow truck. 

That petulance trembles when his expression grows stern again. “You’re getting it checked by a mechanic before you get behind the wheel again,” he tells you in no uncertain terms, eyes daring you to contradict him.

You don’t. It’s hard to argue with someone so adamant on your wellbeing. A mechanic in later days will tell John, with you by his side, that your car was mostly fine apart from some slight damage to the bumper, but that you made the right call to bring it in just in case the frame cracked during the accident.

John’s arm will be around your waist at the time and he’ll pull you tighter into his side when the mechanic says that. And what do you do but go with it, curling into his side like it’s natural. You’ll have already fucked him by then anyway. It’ll be no less forward than letting him take you for coffee and then back home, following you up to your apartment and into your bed. 

Now though, you let him usher you into the passenger seat of his car and shut the door behind you, the wind cutting off abruptly. It only comes back when the door opens on his side. 

You rattle off your address and watch bemusedly as he programs it into his GPS and hits save. You don’t have the temerity to question him, to poke a hole in the bubble of familiarity ballooning around the two of you. The real world seems far away in his car, like you’re in limbo, the rules different here somehow. 

“How about a coffee?” he asks at the next light, putting his hand on your thigh and shaking when you don’t respond right away. “Does a hot drink sound good right about now?”

“I guess?” you say. In truth, it sounds great, but you’re losing the thread of this conversation, your old preoccupations getting further and further away from you. 

John gives your thigh a squeeze, lingering for a beat before pulling away. “Good. It’ll be a nice little pick me up before we go home. My treat.”

All you can do is nod, your throat dry.

[maskedbyghost]

You and Simon aren’t together. Never have been. Never talked about it, never even thought about it.

You just click. You always have. It started as a mission thing—paired up for some op because Price figured you worked well together, and then it just… stuck. You got each other in ways that didn’t need explaining. You liked the same things, moved the same way, anticipated each other’s actions before they happened. You didn’t have to tell him what you needed in the field, and he never had to ask you to cover him. It was easy. Comfortable. The kind of thing that felt natural before you even noticed it happening.

And then it bled into everything else. Eating together. Training together. Sitting next to each other on long flights, in debriefs, in the rare downtime you got between missions. It was never planned, never discussed. Just a thing that happened, like muscle memory. If you were in a room, Simon was there too, and if he wasn’t, he was on his way.

The others noticed, of course. Soap especially. He was the loudest about it, but even Gaz had taken to shooting you both pointed looks when you showed up somewhere at the same time, or when you answered Simon’s half-formed thoughts like you knew what he was going to say before he said it.

Which, honestly, you usually did.

It all comes to a head one evening, the lot of you gathered in one of the common rooms, half-done with the day but not quite ready to call it a night. You and Simon are on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, idly watching something on the TV while Soap, sitting across from you both, groans into his hands.

“You two make me sick.”

You blink at him. “We’re literally just sitting here.”

“That’s the problem!” Soap gestures wildly. “You do everything together. You finish each other’s bloody sentences. You know what the other is thinking. And you’re just—what? Friends?” He scoffs. “Aye, and I’m the Queen of England.”

Simon leans back, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t think you’ve got the legs for a crown, mate.”

Gaz snorts. Price, watching from his spot near the door, only shakes his head like he’s seen this conversation play out a hundred times before. (He has.)

Soap ignores them, pointing a finger between you and Simon like he’s solving some grand mystery. “There’s only one thing you haven’t done,” he declares. “You just need to kiss. That’s it. Only thing missing.”

Silence.

You turn your head. Simon is already looking at you.

There’s nothing in his expression that gives anything away—no smirk, no challenge, no humor in his eyes. He’s just watching you, waiting. And then, with a tiny shrug, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s short, unhurried. Just a press of his lips against yours, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he pulls back, his eyes are still on you, searching.

You don’t react. Not outwardly, anyway. You can feel Soap’s disbelief burning into the side of your face, hear the noise he makes—the strangled mix between a gasp and an outraged protest—but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you look back at Simon, forcing yourself to stay still even as your heart does something stupid in your chest.

Because, sure, maybe this was just to mess with Soap. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was a joke.

But it didn’t feel like one.

Simon smirks and leans back, turning his attention back to the TV like nothing happened. “Happy now?”

Soap looks like he’s reconsidering every life decision that led him to this moment. “What the fuck?”

—

Later, when Simon walks you back to your room, he’s quieter than usual. His hands are in his pockets, his head tilted down slightly like he’s working through something in his mind.

“I wasn’t trying to make things weird,” he says after a beat. “Didn’t mean—well, didn’t want you to think it was—”

He stops, exhales sharply through his nose. “Just don’t want you to be mad.”

You glance at him. “I’m not mad.”

He nods, but his mouth pulls into something uncertain, like he doesn’t believe you. “Good. That’s—good.”

You reach your door and turn to face him fully. He’s still looking at you, his usual easy confidence nowhere to be found. And it’s funny, really, how the thought of kissing you in front of everyone hadn’t made him hesitate, but now? Now, he’s hesitating. Now, he’s thinking too hard about it. About you.

So before he can say anything else, you push up onto your toes and kiss him.

It’s quick, barely a breath between you before you pull back, but the impact is immediate. Simon’s lips part slightly, his brows drawing together like he can’t quite process what just happened.

You step back, hand on your door handle, and give him a small nod. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Then you slip inside, shutting the door behind you, leaving him standing there in the hallway, staring at the empty space where you just were.

And for once, Simon doesn’t have a single thing to say.

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

@daydreamerwoah @ghostslollipop @kylies-love-letter

[spideyjimin]

have you ever tried this one | jjk

⤷ a bloodlines entwined extra

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, smut, and a tiny bit of fluff

— rating: 18+ 

—  summary: after attending sabrina carpenter’s show, your boyfriend jungkook wants to try the juno’s position.

—  words: 1,140

—  warnings: strong language, swearing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, doggy style, good old missionary, nipple play, and creampie

—  author’s note: I recently went to a sabrina carpenter’s show, and it gave me a little idea for a drabble. Since i’m very close to finalizing chapter 9, i wanted to give you a little something while you wait for the next chapter. it’s not much, but it’s what i managed to do. i hope you enjoy this little extra ✨many thanks for all your constant support & for patiently waiting for the next chapter ❤️

SERIES MASTERLIST

Jungkook’s name rolls out of your tongue as he’s pounding into you at torturously slow pace. You’re on your knees, your face pressed against the bed, and with your ass in the air. How did you end up like this? Well, sabrina carpenter’s position in juno gave you and your boyfriend some ideas. Her position wasn’t something wild, just a classic doggy style, but it’s a hell of a good position.

Jungkook wants to wreck you so bad, but he also wants to torture you. He chooses the second option and has to contain himself to not harshly pound into you.

His dark orbs look down at the soft flesh of your ass, bouncing each time he slowly rolls his hips against you, and your body moving forward in tandem with his moves. The man behind you is completely mesmerized by the way his cock slips into you, his jaw slightly clenching as it’s getting harder for him to keep this slow pace.     

“Fuck,” he swears, his eyes completely captivated by his dick disappearing inside you.

The sticky wetness created by both your bodies starts to leak down each time his hips roll out, a sticky mess that drives him crazier and that makes him growl.   

“Harder,” you whimper. “You’re too slow, Jungkook.” 

This is just too slow for you. You want him to thrust harder, faster, and deeper. Damn, you don’t want this to be slow. The full moon is happening in a couple of days, and your se drive has only been increasing. Same for Jungkook. None of you seem to be able to keep your hands to yourselves. Add to that, sabrina carpenter suggesting a sexual position on her show, and you have two horny werewolves having sex the second they get home.

“Whatever you want, sunshine,” he answers.

Hearing this cute nickname while sharing a very dirty moment seems like a huge contrast. But you’re definitely not going to complain. You adore when he calls you ‘sunshine’.

Jungkook instantly adapts his pace to your wishes, his thrusts becoming harder and deeper. At first, his hands hold your waist tighter—you’re sure that he’ll leave some small bruises—before one of his hands goes up to your breast, pinching at your nipples.

“Your breasts are getting bigger,” he whispers.

“You can thank your son for that,” you tell him.

Since the beginning of your pregnancy, your breasts have double in size. You’ve had to buy new bras as the others were now way too small. It’s something you knew before getting pregnant, but you never imagined they’d get this big.

Jungkook’s other hand moves down to your stomach, softly stroking it.

“Don’t worry, I thank him every day for that,” he whispers.

“You’re dirty,” you answer.

“But you still like me,” he presses a kiss on your back.

“How couldn’t I?” you ask as a smirk grows on his face.

The room is filled with both your moans, his hips hitting your ass and the bed creaking under you. All those erotic sounds make you feel like you’re doing some homemade porn. The title could be something like: “The werewolf king and his pregnant lady.”

Even though you very much like to be doing this doggy style, you want to see his face. You always love to see his face. So, without warning him, you push his cock out of you before laying on your back on the bed and spreading your leg wide for him. A loud groan escapes his swollen lips because of the sudden loss of friction and of the pretty view you’re offering him. 

“Wanna see you,” you tell him before grabbing his cock, pushing it back into your core. 

Since it all happened in seconds, Jungkook thrusts back into you without giving it much thought, quickly taking back his animalistic pace. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him even closer to you. His eyes roam your face while he pounds you like there’s no tomorrow.

“You look like a fucking goddess,” he says before pressing his lips against yours for a sloppy kiss.

“And you look like a damn king,” a smirk appears on your face.

“That’s because I’m the king.”

The wave of pleasure grows so intensely inside you that you start to feel overwhelmed by its power. Your boyfriend keeps hitting a certain spot that has you crying out, your walls squeezing him strongly.

He senses that you’re very close to reaching out your orgasm when you writhe and moan louder beneath him. So, in order to push you closer to the edge, his right-hand goes to your clit to torture you a bit more. 

“Make a mess on my cock, sunshine,” he grunts.  

You whimper while nodding, his pace becoming ever more animalistic. Your eyes lock with his as you want to be looking at him while he gives you an orgasm.

With another few hard thrusts, you’re reaching your high, your chest arching to meet his as you’re completely overwhelmed by the intensity of your orgasm. You cry his name as your face contorts in pure delight.

You’re clenching so tightly around him, your arousal dripping around his cock and creating an even bigger mess. He keeps thrusting into you, desperate to reach his own high as fast as possible which doesn’t take long because of the sight of you coming under him. 

His hot seed fills your cunt, making you moan at the contact of it with your insides. With harsh thrusts, he pushes his cum deep inside you while moaning like a savage. Your walls keep clenching around him to milk him completely dry before he collapses next to you in bed. 

For a moment, none of you speaks as you’re trying to catch your breath.

“If I wasn’t already pregnant, I guess I would have been tonight,” your face turns to look at him.

He gets closer to you, his large hand resting on your stomach. His eyes look up at you while a bright smile appears on his face.

“Sabrina gave me wild thoughts tonight,” he confesses.

“Me too,” you smile at him. “And the effect of the moon doesn’t help too,” you add.

“Indeed,” he replies. “It’s so damn hard to resist you as the full moon gets closer.”

“Well, I have a solution for you,” your fingers move on his cheeks. “Don’t resist.”

“If I do that, we’d be making love every two seconds,” he laughs. “But I’m a king and you’re a teacher. People rely on us.”

A giggle escapes your lips.

“You’re too wild, Jungkook.”

“Not my fault that you’re a hot and sexy mamma,” he winks at you.

“And you’re a hot and sexy dad,” you reply.

You place your head on his chest, his hands now wrapping around your body before you slowly both fall asleep.

[mywritersmind]

BIKINI TIES - LN4

summary : A fun day is made chaotic by your brothers best friend and his constant need to flirt with you.

listen up : back to me roots! (lando x fewtrell!reader) dirty jokes, lando norris slut allegations.

words : 1392

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The sun is hot against my back, a sign of my impending tan and a sure way to make me smile.

I breathe in as Dominic Fike starts blasting from the speaker, my eyes shut and hiding the many people around me, although their presence is definitely made known by the splashes in the pool, constant conversation, and drink orders being yelled across the backyard.

I’m laying a bit away from the rowdy group, in the perfect position under the sun, with my bikini top untied and my stomach against the lounge chair.

I shift my head against my arms, careful to not sit up so much that I flash someone. As I lay my head back down, my hair falls around my shoulders in a blanket of warmth and waves, but my comfort is quickly messed with.

I open my eyes at the contact, a hand pushing my hair away from my face. I’m annoyed at the move yet when the man in front of me unblurs from my vision, I'm not so angry.

I eye his smile and light blue trunks, “Is my turn to be bothered already? Last I checked, you hadn't even spoken to Chris.” I close my eyes again, still enjoying the sun even though he’s blocking half of it.

“Keeping tabs on me, Fewtrell?” He taps my leg, forcing me to move them and sitting down next to me.

“I’m observant.” I mumble, giving in to his game.

“You’re obsessed.” He teases and I try not to think about how he’s definitely checking out my ass in my tiny bikini.

“You’re delusional.” I hum in response.

He clicks his tongue, “Max is starting the grill soon, what do you want?”

I turn my head a bit, squinting at him with a smile on my face, “Are you taking my order?”

“Shut up and answer before I let you fend for yourself.”

I sigh, “Burger, please.”

I wish I could say that I jumped or slapped him when his hand met my skin, but I've become far too accustomed to his touch in these past years. The only reaction my body has is chills.

His fingers trail over my back and go straight for my bikini bottom, shifting the side to get a closer look at something I know he’s never seen.

“What the fuck, you have a tattoo?” I feel his weight shift on the chair, looking over the side of my body now.

“Yes.” I sigh as he looks closer, “Is that an issue?”

“Well… it’s not a ‘4’ so yeah.” He sits back up, flirting with me easier than ever. “Still cool, though.”

To his dismay, it’s not his racing number, but the number of the house Max and I grew up on. A street that was just next to Lando’s.

He’s not touching me anymore, but he is leaning over my back so his hand is bracing himself on the other side of the chair. I open my eyes again, looking across the pool to the obvious pair of eyes watching the two of us.

“Are you trying to get Max to kill me, or…?” I ask Lando, Max way too far to hear me.

“He’s not watching you, he’s watching me.” He mumbles, groaning and sitting up so he's farther away from me. “Cause i’m a whore and all.”

I laugh at this, “Right. I’m gonna go help Max. I think he might set this place on fire-” I move my hands back but Lando makes it clear that I don’t need to move.

His hand presses against my back, “I got it.” Is all he says before sliding his hands upward and before I know it, the strings of my top tug against my skin.

His hands move against my skin as if it’s nothing. I am used to his touch, his hands are familiar and the same ones that I have to often tell myself to not think about. But this, somehow, feels different. He crosses the strings, tying up my back without me even asking.

When I sit up, he’s looking at me already. I’m absolutely sure I look like a mess but why would I care what I look like when his perfect green eyes are only focused on me?

His straight face breaks when his eyes wander down my chest. Mine do the same, a smile appearing when I see the hair tie stuck to my body.

As if it’s the most obvious thing ever, he quickly peels it off my skin and slides it onto his wrist. I watch as his tanned arm braces himself against the chair again, his bicep tightening as he leans closer. Fuck his arms are attractive.

He blinks, running his tongue over his teeth. “You look hot.” He says nonchalantly.

I raise a brow, confused at his tone.

“You should probably cool off.” The second he stops talking, he’s grabbing me off the chair and pulling me into his arms.

I fight him instinctively, getting deja vu to our younger years. “Lando!” I scream as he carries me as if I'm a princess being saved, straight to the pool, “Lando, No!”

His grip on my legs tightens, the smile never leaving his face, “Come on, Fewtrell, I'd rather you scream my name later in the day.” I slap his arm after he whispers in my ear, too dangerous for anyone else to hear.

“Fuck you!” I scream just before I’m submerged in water. The pool is a cool relief that I definitely won’t admit to Lando. I kick away from him, finding air again as people around us laugh.

He pops back up right in front of me, grinning wildly and shaking his wet curls in my face. “I’m gonna get you back.” I say. I'm not sure if I'm out of breath from the sudden swim or the proximity that Lando is to me.

“Oh yeah?” He does that hot guy thing that makes me wonder if he knows how attractive he is, nodding at me with a lazy smirk. I shake my head, moving my arms to keep me above water, “You still look hot.”

I roll my eyes, dunking my head and spinning around so when I'm back in the fresh air, I'm not facing him, “I hate you.”

He tugs at my waist under the water, turning me back around and making me even closer to him. “Say it to my face.”

I bite my lip, his curls dropping water onto his face. I follow one droplet, watching it move down the face I know so well. Over his tiny nose scar that’s gotten more prominent with the sun, over the freckle on his cheek and disappearing at his lips.

He lowers his voice even though everyone around us is busy with their own things, “Cat got your tongue?”

I snap out of whatever trance I was just put in, “I hope you drown.”

“Aw, then who would stress Max out with you?” His eyes move past me and I jolt away from him, looking behind just to see everyone but Max.

I splash him before he sinks back under, a hand around my ankle in seconds.

I fight him in the water before both of us are out of breath, “He’s gonna kill us one day.” I say, wiping the water off my face.

“So why don’t you let me kiss you and give him something real to be mad about?” It comes out far too easily, his eyes locked on mine and his expression completely serious.

We joke like this a lot. With Max too, sometimes. But Max doesn’t find some of it as funny, especially when Lando is touching and/or flirting with me.

When I asked him why he gets so bothered, he responded with, “He’s my best friend. You’re my little sister. It’s gross.” I thought he was going to stop there, but then he gave me a bit more and the current reason why I'm scared to do anything with the Formula one driver. “I know him. I know his habits- especially with women. Why would I let you just be another girl to him?”

I swallow and do the only thing I confidently know how to do in moments like these. I push Lando under the water and swim away.

[little-jana]

"Flirt Lines Are Open"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: use of Y/N, Spencer being a flustered and blushing mess, flirting, teasing from the team

Wordcount: 800

Summary: You work behind the scenes at the BAU. Every time Spencer calls you for information, it turns into a full-blown flirt fest.

You barely looked up from your multiple monitors as your phone buzzed on your desk. Without checking the caller ID, you already knew who it was.

You grinned, adjusting your headset before answering in your most sultry voice, “BAU Information Hotline, you’ve reached your number-one fan. How may I assist you, Doctor Reid?”

There was a pause, followed by the sound of Spencer clearing his throat. “You, uh—you really need to stop answering like that.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning back in your chair. “If I don’t flirt with you over the phone, how else am I supposed to keep you entertained in the field? What do you need, handsome?”

Across the bullpen, Emily and JJ exchanged looks. Morgan, who was within earshot of Spencer’s end of the call, slowly turned his head with an expression of pure amusement.

Spencer sighed but didn’t hide the tiny smile in his voice. “I need you to cross-check a list of known aliases for our unsub against financial records from the last six months.”

“Anything for you, genius,” you purred. “But if you wanted to hear my voice, you could’ve just said so.”

“(Y/N)…” Spencer warned, but you could hear the slight hitch in his breath.

Morgan’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked around the jet where several agents were now trying (and failing) to suppress their giggles.

“I mean, come on, Spence,” you continued. “You always call me first, even when I’m not the best person to ask. Is it because I have the best research skills, or because you just can’t resist the sound of my voice?”

“Both?” Spencer offered hesitantly.

You let out a dramatic sigh. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Emily stifled a laugh by covering her mouth, while Hotch subtly shook his head as if resigning himself to the reality that this was just… how you and Spencer operated.

Morgan, however, was in full entertainment mode. “Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, before turning toward Spencer with a smirk.

Spencer had turned red, holding the phone slightly away from his ear as if that would somehow make the situation less embarrassing.

Morgan leaned forward. “Pretty Boy, I never—ever—wanna hear that again.” He paused, then smirked. “Actually…?”

Spencer groaned and pressed the phone closer to his ear again. “Ignore him.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” you replied, clearly having heard Morgan. “I only have ears for you.”

Spencer let out a soft, almost pained laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep calling.”

Morgan shook his head. “I don’t know if I should be impressed or horrified.”

“I’d go with impressed,” JJ added, barely containing her laughter.

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just—do you have the records?”

“Of course, Spence. I had them pulled up five minutes ago, but I was having too much fun hearing you squirm,” you admitted.

There was a chorus of “oohs” from the team as Spencer groaned again.

“You’re evil,” he mumbled.

“But you love it,” you teased.

Morgan leaned in once more, voice dripping with amusement. “Hey, (Y/N), when Pretty Boy gets back, you should tell him how much you love his brain.”

“I do love his brain,” you said easily. “And the rest of him isn’t bad either.”

Spencer, now completely red, abruptly ended the call.

The jet erupted into laughter.

---

When the team finally returned to Quantico, Spencer found you waiting at your desk, an innocent smile on your lips. “Hey, genius. Missed me?”

Spencer sighed, rubbing his face. “I have never been more humiliated.”

You grinned. “So, same time tomorrow?”

He huffed, but the small, fond smile on his lips gave him away.

Morgan walked past, clapping him on the shoulder. “Man, you’re so whipped.”

Spencer just shook his head. Maybe he was. But with you? He didn’t really mind.

[salsakiyoomi]

ex! nanami who comes to you drunk.

it was a mistake, really. he shouldn't have let satoru convince him to go out for drinks, and he shouldn't have drank so much, and most of all, he shouldn't have come to you at three am, drunk out of his mind.

you were awake, of course. nanami knew that you’d be awake, and maybe that's part of the reason he found himself going to you.

besides the fact that he missed you of course.

the knocks that come at your door are languid and soft, you almost think you imagined it but nope, they come again and this time you sure you heard it.

you get up and head towards the door quietly, before opening it just an inch to see who it is, only to be met with a familiar mop of blonde hair.

nanami looks at you and your breath hitches because he's as beautiful as you remember — although he looks a little unkempt, with his tie loosened and his hair a mess with red blooming on his cheeks, and god, you could kiss him right now.

no, nope. you shouldn't be thinking like that, he's your ex now.

“nanami.” you utter out and he tries to pretend that the usage of his last name doesn't send a pang through his heart.

“y/n.” he says, looking at you with those stupidly beautiful brown eyes of his that you can't possibly resist.

“what-what are you doing here?!” you exclaim, sort of agitated that he came to your apartment at three am, “and — oh my god, are you drunk?”

he gulps, “sort of. can i come in?”

you hesitate. the logical thing would be to tell him no, that he wasn't allowed at your place anymore and that he wasn't welcome to your hospitality, that the both of you were an old story now. but the emotional thing? the emotional thing would be to let him in and take care of him, shower him and get him into more comfortable clothes and —

“okay.” you say, opening the door wider for him to come in.

he stumbles in, and you help support him and god, just feeling the warmth of his body against yours brings back old memories that you've long since buried.

you guide him to the couch where he plops down on it.

“what got you so out of character?” you ask, almost shyly as you shift from one foot to another, trying not to look at his lips.

“gojo.” he simply says, sighing.

“...right.” you mumble, unsure of what to say before you quickly head to the kitchen, ignoring your racing heart.

nanami, on the other hand? he's definitely having cardiac arrest.

because you look as ethereal and soft as he remembered — of other-worldly beauty that he could not comprehend yet he sees you as you approach him with a glass of water in your hand.

“here.” you say, handing it to him and he gulps, his fingers brushing against your knuckles so subtly yet enough to make his heart flutter.

he doesn't know what made him come to you — maybe it was the fact gojo ditched him, or the fact you lived so close to the bar he was at, or maybe the simple fact that he just missed you, and longed to see you again.

he gulps down the water, trying to keep his eyes off of you.

a few moments of silence pass and he can feel your gaze boring into him.

“i can tell you have something to say.” he mumbles, finally looking up to meet your gaze as you shyly look away — he smiles at your bashful self, “what is it you have to say?”

“uhm…” you stammer, “just, uh, what brought you here?” 

nanami stiffens but he knows you'd emerge an answer, after all, it's been almost nine months since your initial break up, and this is the first time he ever broke ‘no contact.’

“right.” he mutters, “just…had nowhere else to go.”

“oh.” you utter — it's a blatant lie, you know that, and you know it was just a stupid excuse to see you, yet you don't call him out on it.

after all, maybe, just maybe you wanted to see him too.

“right, oh.” he hums, getting up from the couch, “i should probably go.”

“no!” you blurt out before you could think. 

“...no?” he questions, raising an eyebrow.

“just, uhm…” you stutter, fiddling with your fingers, “it's pretty late and quiet out there, and uh, you have nowhere else to go and uhm, y'know —” you cut yourself out, sighing, “just stay the night, nanami.”

he chuckles to himself — you've always been a stuttering mess whenever you were shy or so, and this was definitely one of those occasions.

“right, of course.”

nanami thinks that he misses you, like a lot, more than he can describe. but he also knows that this entire break up was his fault.

if only he hadn't overworked so much, then maybe things would be different now.

“thank you,” nanami finally says after a moment, “for your hospitality.”

“don't thank me.” you mumble, “just make yourself comfortable, okay?”

“...okay.”

“goodnight.” you say softly.

nanami smiles, “goodnight.”

he may have lost you for the long term, but for tonight? he'll just dwell on this interaction, because at least he got to see you one more time.

one more time before he went off to shibuya.

but he promises himself, he promises himself that after he's done with whatever in shibuya, he’ll come back to you.

he'll make you his again.

tagging : @deathofacupid since you asked me to tag u babes :3 <33

[vyntagess]

bathroom

summary; pretty much all smut, bit of aftercare and fluff at the end if u squint. you're at a partyyy... warnings/content; smut, dom!billie sub!reader, no established relationship I don't think, choking, spanking, strap, semi-public sex? (its in a club bathroom so im not sure), teasing. lmk if I missed anything loves

a/n: sorry for going ghost ily guys very much. my longest fic on here, 3.4k words (bare w me i wrote this drunk and edited the spelling sober so some things might be messed up)

The bass vibrated deep in your chest, the thrum of it almost vibrating through you as you navigated through the place. Lights strobed overhead—blue, then white, then a deep, pulsing red that seemed to penetrate your skin. The smell of perfume and sweat, expensive cocktails and something vaguely charged. You couldn't say whether it was the music or anticipation that made your heart thud, but you knew where you were headed. And you knew who was waiting for you. Billie had been watching you all night.

That slow, predatory stare from across the club on the second floor, lips curled in something between amusement and desire. You'd been able to feel her eyes on you with every swallow you drank, every effortless shift of your hips, every relaxed trail of your fingers down the rim of your glass. She'd never needed to speak. She'd never really needed to. A cock of the head, a flick of the wrist inviting you near, and you were moving. It always started the same way. Billie watching you.

You could be anywhere—sitting in the corner booth of some dim cocktail bar, glass between your fingers… or fighting through a throng in a skirt you knew was too short, not that you cared. Either way, each time, you felt it before you saw it. The heaviness of her eyes. Intentional. Like the subtle threat of something hard scraping against the inside of your skin. Tonight wasn't any different. Or maybe it was.

It wasn't the first time you'd followed her out of a club, your heartbeat pounding, your body thrumming.

It wasn't even the first time she'd touched you like you were property. Billie'd been doing that for months, now—seeping into your life like smoke under an unopened door, filling up the spaces you'd never even known were spaces until she'd filled them up. She had a talent for doing that. Consuming. Suffocating. But something was different tonight. As if she'd decided something, and there was a damn thing you could do about it. You'd been out with friends, sipping something at the bar, when Billie arrived.

In lazy, baggy attire with a backwards baseball cap, of course. But it wasn’t the attire that caught you. It was the cool, commanding demeanour that came with her. The way the people parted like stream of water around a rock. As if they didn't want to be in their way–or they wanted to, a little too much. She didn't come to you first. She just leaned on the second-floor balcony, against the glass, gazing at you. Sipping her drink as if she didn't have a single worry in the world. And you? You'd lasted maybe an hour under her stare. Your friends had giggled when you'd gotten away. They knew. Everyone knew. Billie had made sure of that.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind you, the sound echoing slightly. Billie was inside, leaning against the cool marble counter like she owned the place. Her sleeves reached her elbows, her forearms visible, veins just showing to distract you from your thoughts, filling them with those o f her hands. What her hands might do. What they would do.

You had moved your mouth to speak when she was already pushing away from the counter, slowly. Her fingers wrapped around your jaw, tugging up your face so that her mouth touched your ear.

"Took you long enough," she said, voice husky, rough velvet against your skin.

You started to answer, but she pressed her thumb on your bottom lip, and you stopped. That same thumb slipped between your lips, imperative. You pulled it in greedily, enjoying the taste and feeling. Billie let out a soft sound of approval. "You're flushed," she stated. "Nervous?" 

You shook your head. Lie. 

"Such a good girl, but such a bad liar. It's cute." She clicked her tongue.

The words fell heavy into your gut.

Heat radiated low in your stomach, a slow, seeping burn that made you shift your weight, thighs brushing against each other. She noticed it. Of course, she noticed it. Billie noticed everything. She drew her thumb away from her lips and dragged it down your chin, your neck, leaving behind a wet streak that felt cold to the air. Then, her hand curled around your throat. Not tight. Not yet. The tension was thick enough to cut. Her other hand slid under your skirt, pushing it up impatiently, fingers tracing over the scrap of lace you'd worn tonight. You could tell how wet it was, and so did she, by the smile that crawled her mouth.

"All this," she purred, voice low and throaty, "just because I was looking at you?"

You shivered. She tightened her grip on your throat, just a little, enough to make your next breath shallow.

"Answer me."

You nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes."

Her chuckle was low, rough. "You make it too easy. You're lucky I like you obedient."

Then she was withdrawing her hand from your throat, and you didn't see it for a second, until you noticed she was shoving down her loose shorts and boxers. You got dry. Billie noticed that too.

“You’re going to be quiet for me,” she said, stepping back just enough to strip with efficient, practiced ease. “Or at least, you’re going to try.”

Your pulse quickened, hammering in your ears, louder even than the muffled beat that filtered through the walls. You stepped forward, and Billie grasped your wrist, spinning you around to face the mirror. Marble counter chilled against your hips as she leaned you over it, hands splayed to hold you there.

Her mouth was at your ear again. "Look at yourself."

You did. Wide eyes, parted lips, flushed skin. "I want you to see," she continued, "Every time you ever make a noise, I'm going to make you wish you hadn't." Billie didn't move at once.

She had you hang there, leaning against the marble counter, arms resting on its cool surface. You could see her in the mirror—a silhouette behind you, the reflection smiling slightly as if she already had the outcome. She did. But she waited. She always did when she was going to break you.

Her fingers stroked up the back of your thigh, slow and questioning, as if she hadn't already committed every inch of your body to memory first. She rode your skirt up, pulling it over your hips so that it was bunched around your waist. Her palm ran down your ass, warm and deliberate. And then the first hard slap hit, clean and crisp.

The slap flowered instantly, warmth radiating from where her hand had struck. Red blossomed across the area. You drew in a gasp of air, your body jerking in her hold, but you kept your mouth shut. Billie's hand curved around your hip, holding you still as she smiled with contentment.

"There she is," she breathed, tracing her hand over the new red welt she'd raised. "Knew you'd still be so easy to mark up."

She struck you once more, the crack sharp and obscene the ringing silence of the bathroom. Another blow, and another, until your skin was hot and burning, until you had to bite down hard to suppress the whimper. Billie knew. Of course she knew. She leaned in, her breath warm against your ear as her hand rested heavy on your throat again.

"You're doing well," she purred, her thumb caressing idly under your jaw. "But you're holding back."

You trembled, your throat constricting in her grip. "You told me to keep quiet."

"I told you to try," she reprimanded, laughter deep in her voice. "But I'm not interested in your success."

You moaned then—soft, involuntary—and Billie laughed coldly. "There it is."

You felt the head of the strap-on against you, stiff and unyielding, gliding through slippery folds without ceremony. Your hands grasped at the marble as she pressed forward, slow and relentless. It wasn't the first time she'd fucked you with it, but still it stole your breath, still made you gasp around the fullness, the stretch.

"Eyes up," Billie ordered, her hand wrapping just tightly enough around your throat to make you do as she said. You looked at yourself in the mirror, flushed and open and already shaking, and then at her. Calm. Collected. In control. She bottomed out with a smooth, practiced motion, and your legs nearly gave out. Billie's grip around you kept you upright—barely.

"So fucking wet for me," she murmured, rolling hips in a slow circle that left you trembling. "You missed this, didn't you?"

You couldn't speak. Not with her hand clamped on your throat, not with the tension coiling in you. But she didn't need an answer. She knew.

Billie set the pace slow, torturous, each thrust controlled, deep enough to expel the breath from your body. And when you had a fleeting moment of self-control, she squeezed hard enough to strip it from you, cutting off your air until your head went light, your muscles clenching helplessly around her.

Then she'd ease up, letting you pull in a choked breath—only to fuck it right out of you all over again.

"Keep 'em open," she reminded when your eyelashes fluttered. "Or I'll stop."

You forced them open, looking at your reflection. Your lips were red, bitten, your skin covered with a sheen of sweat, and Billie looked just the same as always. In control. Like she could keep you like this all night.

And maybe she could.

Her other hand traced down your back until she was holding onto your hip again. The slap that followed was harder, sharp enough to cause you to cry out in pain before you could catch yourself. Billie froze inside of you immediately.

"Well," she said, mockingly thoughtful, "we did discuss what happens when you're loud."

You swallowed painfully. "Billie—"

Her hand clamped on your neck once more, this time cutting off the apology. "No," she said softly. "You knew the rules."

You nodded as well as you could, dizzy with want, with need, with the ache blooming from where her hand had marked you.

And then she started to move again.

Harder this time. No teasing, no gradual burn. Just Billie, hips snapping forward, her breath hot against your ear as she drove the length of the strap-on into you again and again, forcing your body to take it.

Every time you screamed, she punished you. Another slap. Another tightening of her hand around your throat until your vision flashed white at the edges. Every time you obeyed, stayed quiet, she rewarded you—thumb stroking your throat, a low "good girl" murmur that made you tense around her.

You didn't know how long it lasted. Time melted away. Your body was nothing but sensation—heat and sting, fullness and burn, the desperate pulse of having to cum, and Billie standing holding you on edge.

"Not yet," she said when you leaned too far forward. "You'll wait."

You whimpered. She slapped you again.

"Wait till I say."

Your skin was slick with sweat by the time she finally—finally—gave you permission. Her hand tightened around your throat, her hips driving forward one more time, and her voice was a command in your ear.

"Now."

You came hard, shivering on either side of her, your legs giving under you as tore through you. Billie fucked you through it, unrelenting, her grip tight as you rode out through it, every nerve in your body alight.

When she finished, she slipped out of you, fingers soft now as they smoothed over your flushed skin. You were still gasping for air, still shaking, but you stayed where she had left you—hunched over the counter, eyes half-closed, exhausted. Billie didn’t let you go. Not yet. Her hands smoothed over your skin—soothing, possessive, but there was no mistaking the intent behind her touch. Her lips brushed the curve of your shoulder, a soft contrast to the heat still burning through your veins. She wasn’t done. And neither were you.

“Turn around,” she murmured, voice softer now but still threaded with that quiet authority that made your body obey before your mind could catch up.

Your legs felt like jelly, but you managed it, your skirt still bunched up around your waist as you turned to face her. The sight of her made your breath hitch—shirtless, strap still slick from you, her eyes darker than they had been all night. But the smirk was gone now. What replaced it was something softer. Hungrier, yes, but softer.

“Up,” she murmured, patting the cool marble of the counter.

You blinked, body already moving before you registered what she wanted. Her hands helped you up, lifting you easily so you were sitting on the cool surface, legs dangling off the edge. Billie stepped between them, hands resting on your knees, thumbs stroking softly along the insides of your thighs.

Her gaze flicked up to yours. The dominance was still there, but the intensity had softened, replaced with something… almost reverent.

“You did so good for me,” she murmured, leaning in, her lips ghosting over yours—barely a kiss. “I think you deserve a reward.”

Your breath hitched, lips parting just enough for her to press her mouth to yours, soft and unhurried this time. She kissed you like she was savoring it—like she had all the time in the world. And maybe she did. You melted into her, hands sliding up her chest, clutching at her shirt as her lips teased yours, her tongue flicking just enough to make you whimper into her mouth.

“Lie back,” she whispered, her hands guiding you down gently. The cold marble kissed your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat still simmering inside you. Your legs fell open without her asking, knees bent over the counter’s edge, and Billie stepped back just enough to take in the sight of you.

“Fucking beautiful,” she murmured, her eyes dragging down your body, lingering on the slickness between your thighs. But this time, there was no rush.

Her hands were softer now as she traced down your sides, fingertips featherlight as she dragged them over your flushed skin. She pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another, lips moving slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“Billie…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the need in it was undeniable.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured against your skin, her breath hot and teasing as she worked her way higher. “Just relax.”

You didn’t realize how tense you were until her tongue flicked over you—soft and warm, a barely-there touch that made you gasp. She was taking her time now, dragging her tongue through your slick folds, slow and languid, like she was tasting every inch of you.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your hips arching instinctively, but Billie’s hands pressed you back down, holding you steady.

“Easy,” she murmured, her lips brushing against you between each gentle lick. “I’m not in a hurry.”

And she wasn’t. She was dragging it out, making you feel every second of it—each flick of her tongue, each soft press of her lips, every subtle swirl that made your body tense and shiver. The intensity of before was gone, replaced with something softer. Something sweeter.

Her tongue circled your clit, teasing, making your body sing, but never quite giving you enough to fall over the edge. Her hands held your hips down when you tried to chase the friction, her touch steady but tender.

“Let me,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper but full of command.

You let out a shaky breath, your body relaxing again as her tongue worked you over with agonizing patience. Soft. Slow. Building you up inch by inch.

“Billie,” you whimpered, your fingers tangling in her hair, needing something to hold onto as the pleasure started to crest.

“I know,” she murmured, her lips brushing over you before her tongue flicked again, a little faster this time. “M'almost done.”

Her fingers joined then—two slipping inside you with ease, curling just right, pressing against that spot that made your toes curl and your breath catch. She knew your body too well. Knew exactly how to unravel you.

“Look at me,” she whispered, her voice thick, and when your eyes fluttered open, she was watching you.

The sight of her between your thighs, lips glistening, eyes dark and full of need—it was almost too much.

“Cum for me,” she murmured, her tongue flicking over your clit again, her fingers curling just right.

Your body obeyed before you could think, the tension snapping as pleasure crashed over you, softer this time but no less intense. Your back arched off the counter, a breathless cry slipping from your lips as Billie held you steady, working you through it with gentle, practiced movements.

“Good girl,” she murmured, pressing soft kisses to your thigh as you came down, her hands stroking your sides gently, grounding you. You were still trembling when she stood, her lips brushing yours again—soft and sweet, like she was sealing something between you.

“See?” she murmured, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Told you I wasn’t done with you.”

Your body was spent, your limbs heavy, but you managed a breathless smile, your fingers tangling in her hair as you pulled her closer.

“Are you ever?” you whispered, a hint of tired teasing lingering in your voice. The heat in her eyes told you she didn’t plan to be.

Billie didn't pull you up right away.

Instead, she reached for a few paper towels and used it to gently rub between your legs, her hands soothing, quieting. It was a feeling of quiet sort of luxury—gentle, personal, the kind of tender that hurt in your chest in the best way possible. Her hands moved with a familiarity that was soothing and possessive, as if she remembered the very manner of caring for you right now, the same way she remembered how to take you apart.

"You're okay," she breathed, sweeping your hair off of your face. Her hands were cold against your damp flesh, and you felt your eyes flutter closed to savor it. As she helped you to stand, you were still wavering, but her arms firm around you, holding you tight against the crook of her chest. Her warmth was balm to the cold of the bathroom's sterile environment. She kissed the top of your head, and you leaned on her, permitting yourself to find relief for an instant.

"Took it so well," she breathed softly, leaving a kiss on your temple. "Good girl."

You relaxed into her touch, your breathing normalized, and finally you felt the weight of the moment come over you. The adrenaline of what had happened was fading away, and now all that remained was Billie. Only her soothing presence, her gentle love.

"Thank you," you whispered softly, hardly above a whisper, your throat still tender.

Billie smiled, the real one, the one that was even more powerful than all the others. "I'll take care of you," she said, still low–but softer. "Always." She helped you stand up straight, pushing down your clothes. No rush, no need to rush. Billie extended your hand, fingers twining around yours.

"Let's get back to the bar," she suggested, her voice changing a little, easy now, the edge of teasing back in place.

"You owe me a drink." You retorted back, smiling at her, lighter for the first time all night, the last of the strain easing off your shoulders as you stepped back into the club. The thump of the music surrounded you, but now it was far away, a muffled beat kept from you by the space between you and the people.

Billie's arm wrapped around your waist, her hand heavy and warm against your hip. You went back to the bar, and as you sat down next to Billie, she had your drink of preference brought up with a smooth motion that curled your lip into a smile. It was like none of it happened in the bathroom, but you knew that it had. You knew. The two of you. Billie pressed close against you, lips to your ear, voice taunting.

"I'll make you work for that drink, though." Laughter bubbled up in your chest, flame racing through, the pull between the two of you falling into something familiar, something old. "You always do."

She smiled, and with a flourish handed you your drink. "Next round's on me."

[dismalflo]

notes in the margins

Remus lupin x reader who are strangers until they're not ✩ 5.8k words

summary: You meet Remus at a party you'd rather not be at, and you think that's the end of it... until he manages to make his way into your life properly.

cw: strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, reader is quite lonely and a lil socially inept.

The house is packed with people, most of whom you’re unsure whether you care to know. The air reeks of smoke and cheap booze, and it feels like everyone is watching you. They can see it—the way you stand in the corner of the kitchen, awkward and alone, like you don’t belong. It doesn’t help that you’re staring at the liquid in your plastic cup as though it holds the answers to the universe.

As you study it, lost in thought, you come to the conclusion that you should leave. Go home. Back to your bed, where it’s safe. Keep your life the size of a box. Just as you're about to pull out your phone to text Maddison that you're heading out, a voice from your right startles you.

“The drinks are awful, aren’t they?”

You think he’s talking to someone else nearby, until the toes of a pair of converse step into view, and you look up—mostly because you’re worried you’re the punchline of some joke.

He’s smiling, but it’s not a mocking smile. It’s like he’s in on something you’re not.

“Want something better?” he asks, his gaze playful as he tilts his head, studying you like you’re some kind of puzzle.

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” you mutter, looking down at your hands as they nervously twist the cup. A quiet confusion settles in—you have no idea why he’s talking to you.

There’s a pause. A long one. You almost expect him to walk away, but instead, he shifts on his feet and seems to settle in. You look up, hoping he’s leaving because that means you can go home. But his smile has softened, and he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, an uncertainty creeping into his eyes.

“I’m sorry, but I feel like I know you from somewhere,” he says, voice low, as though he’s trying to piece something together.

You shrug, trying to play it off with a small, apologetic smile. “I think I just have one of those faces.”

“I’d disagree,” he says, a small quirk of his eyebrow.

There’s something in his voice that leaves you uncertain. Your life feels like it’s a never-ending loop of work and home, and you’d definitely remember meeting someone like him. Tall, nice, warm smile—it’s hard to forget. The uncertainty gnaws at you, and you start picking at the skin around your nails. But when you look up, you see his cheeks flush slightly, a shy, almost bashful look creeping in.

It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the one keeping this conversation stalled. But it’s hard, harder than it should be. You don’t know what to say, how to say it, without feeling like a socially awkward mess. And now that you're lost in your head, the words feel stuck.

“So, who do you know here?” His voice is soft, genuine, and he leans down just a little to make sure you can hear him.

“Huh?” It takes a moment for you to catch up, then you blink, trying to pull your thoughts back together. “Oh—nobody, really. Just a friend of a friend kind of thing.”

He nods, like he understands, and you do the same without thinking.

“That makes sense,” he says, his tone light but with a touch of exasperation. “Sirius invites everyone he knows. Every time.”

The way he says it, the affection in his voice, it’s clear he and Sirius are close. And for a split second, you feel a pang of envy. You don’t know them, but just the way he speaks about him, how it sounds, makes you long for something similar. Sure, you have Maddison, but she’s more of a sporadic presence, a friend you catch up with once every few months. The one time she invites you somewhere that's not a cafe, she ditches you before the night even starts. You can’t blame her. She’s always been like that.

Another awkward silence falls, but this time, you rush to fill it. You don’t want him to feel like you’re just standing there in silence.

“I came with Maddison,” you say, almost too quickly.

His smile widens. “Oh, I’ve met her. She’s nice.”

You let out a dry laugh. “She was. Until she left me two minutes after we got here.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and he bursts into a loud laugh, his eyes lighting up. You freeze, worried he thinks you’re serious and mean, but before you can correct yourself, you scramble. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, voice a little too quick. “I mean, she didn’t—well, you know. She had her reasons.”

“It’s okay,” he’s still chuckling like your bluntness really tickled him. But you have the distinct feeling that you’ve somehow made a fool of yourself. It's that exact moment you decide you have to leave.

“I—uh, I need to get going,” you mutter, watching his expression falter just slightly before he nods. “I’ll see you around…” 

“Remus,” he adds, offering his name.

You give him yours in return, and then, without another word, you’re gone.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

The next day is another loop of the same dull routine that drags on in an endless, gray haze. Home, bus, work. Last night was out of the ordinary. The hours blur, blending together like the monotony of an old, well-worn song. You drag yourself through it all, each step like trudging through mud. But at least, you’re away from the suffocating quiet of your apartment. At least you don’t have to stare at the same walls, the same empty corners, with nothing but your own thoughts for company.

You wait at the bus stop, shifting from one foot to the other. The sky is heavy with dark clouds that seem to threaten an impending downpour. The air is thick with the tension of rain that hasn’t quite arrived yet, and the chill seeps through your jacket. Eyes flicking up to the horizon, praying for some excitement, anything. Maybe the rain will come. At least that would be something.

But still, no bus.

The minutes stretch on in silence. You shuffle your feet, watching up and down the street. You can feel the weight of the sky above you, pressing down like it’s waiting for something to give.

“I knew I recognised you from somewhere.”

You freeze, heart catching in your throat. It takes a second to register the words, and you blink, turning toward the sound of the voice.

Remus.

The same guy from the party last night. His figure is tall and familiar as he walks casually down the path toward you, cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers. The soft glow of the ember flickers as he takes a drag, his eyes fixed on you with an expression of recognition, but also something else—something more curious than you'd expected.

“Remus?” you ask, not quite sure whether you're still dreaming or if the world really does work this way, where you run into people you barely know on the most random of days.

He grins at you, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, I didn’t think I’d run into you again so soon. Lovely to see you.”

Your stomach tightens at his words. You shift uncomfortably, looking anywhere but directly at him. The awkwardness from last night floods back, the way you were so sure he was going to walk away, leaving you alone in your own little corner of the world. And yet, here he is again, standing in front of you.

“I’m surprised you recognise me,” you admit, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself as a gust of wind picks up. “I wasn’t exactly the life of the party last night.” It feels a bit easier speaking to him in a place that you know. 

He chuckles softly, almost as if your self-deprecation amuses him. "Well, you were hard to miss, you know? There’s something about you," he trails off, his voice almost hesitant. Then, like he’s remembering something, he adds, “I wasn’t expecting to find you here, though.”

You can’t help but smile, even if his eyes locked on you feels exposing. "Yeah, me neither. I—uh, I take the bus home after work, so..."

“Ah,” Remus cuts you off, the look on his face suddenly shifting to something a little more serious. “The bus won’t be coming for a while. There’s been an accident up the road, a big one. You’re gonna be waiting here for ages.” he sounds apologetic, like he's really sorry he's the one telling you.

You sigh, processing the information, but your mind is too caught up in the reality of being stuck here longer than you wanted. The bus is never reliable, but this is a new level of inconvenience. You feel the familiar unease creep up your spine, the thought of the endless wait stretching before you like a dark tunnel with no light at the end.

“Great,” you mutter under your breath, staring at the pavement beneath your shoes. "Just what I need."

Remus watches you, his expression thoughtful. You feel his eyes on you for a moment too long, and it makes you shift again, the silence hanging heavy in the air between you. Your brain goes into autopilot, spiraling through scenarios—what if the bus never comes? What if you’re stuck here for hours? The thought of waiting outside, in the cold, with nothing but your thoughts for company, fills you with a strange mix of frustration and exhaustion.

Just as the anxiety begins to swell, Remus interrupts the chaos of your spiraling thoughts.

“You hungry?”

You blink up at him, thrown off guard by the sudden question. Hunger. Right. You hadn’t really thought about food until now, but when you do, it’s like your stomach growls on cue. You’re always hungry, but especially now, when your brain feels like it might short-circuit from the sheer amount of time you’ve spent just...waiting.

“Yeah,” you admit, a little embarrassed by how eager the word slips out. "I’m starving, actually."

He gives a simple nod, gesturing for you to follow him. Without thinking twice, you do.

And that’s how you end up across from Remus in a cramped booth, your knees brushing beneath the table as you dig into a burger and fries, the world outside the booth fading into the background.

As you bite into your burger, the warm grease and salt doing wonders for your hunger, you notice how easy it feels to sit across from Remus. The bus stop seems like a distant memory, replaced by the low hum of the diner and his easy going nature. It’s a strange thing, how someone can just slide into your world like that, without any pretence or pressure.

“You know,” Remus says between bites, his voice a little quieter than before, “I come here pretty often. The owner’s been giving me free refills on the coffee since I was sixteen.” He gives a shy, almost embarrassed smile, but there’s a glint of pride in his eyes.

“Free coffee, huh?” you joke, grinning, “So you’re basically royalty around here.”

He laughs, but there’s a trace of humility behind it. “I don’t know about that. I think I was probably quite annoying back then, or at least James and Sirius were. Most of the time I’m reading and writing here.” He looks down at his burger for a second, as though the words aren’t quite meant to leave his lips.

“Oh, you write?” you ask, leaning in slightly, curiosity piqued. You can’t help but wonder what kind of stories this guy has locked away.

He nods, still not meeting your gaze. “I, uh, yeah. It’s nothing serious though,” he quickly adds, as if he’s embarrassed by the idea of someone knowing. “Just something I’ve been working on for a while.”

You tilt your head, eyeing him with interest. “What do you write about? I feel like I'm always reading different stuff.” you remember yourself after, looking down as you add, “You don't have to tell me.”

Remus squirms a little in his seat, and his gaze flickers away. You can tell he’s hesitating, like he’s unsure whether he wants to share or not. It makes you even more curious.

“It’s, um, kind of a mix of fantasy and... I don’t know... life stuff. Nothing too exciting,” he says quickly, sounding almost apologetic, but there’s a subtle spark of passion in his voice when he talks about it. "I just... I guess I like to write things that feel real, even if they’re set in a world that isn’t. Does that make sense?"

You smile, the feeling of him letting you in on a piece of his world not lost on you. “It makes perfect sense,” you say, your voice soft, appreciative. “That sounds amazing. You should be proud of it.”

Remus looks a little taken aback, but a small, shy smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, well... I’m still working on it. Not ready to share it with anyone just yet.”

You nod, understanding. There’s something vulnerable about sharing your work, even with the people you trust most. “I get that,” you say. 

For a while, you both sit in comfortable silence, your shared laughter from earlier still hanging in the air. It’s strange, but for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re not just passing time. You’re actually existing in the moment, and Remus is there with you, filling the space with his easy charm and the subtle way he listens to you without judgment.

“So, what about you?” he asks after a beat, his voice steady, as though the shift in conversation is natural. “What’s your story? What do you do?”

It’s an innocent enough question, but somehow, it feels heavier than it should. You feel a little vulnerable suddenly, how do you compare to him? But instead of feeling pressure, you find yourself wanting to answer, to let him see more of you. You shrug, trying to play it cool. “Not much. I work in retail—pretty boring stuff, honestly.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Retail, huh? That doesn’t sound boring.”

You laugh softly, then take a sip of your drink. “Well, I guess it’s not boring so much as it is... repetitive? But, yeah, nothing as exciting as writing a book.”

His smile widens a bit at that, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’ve managed to take down some of the walls between you. But just as quickly, the conversation stalls, and you both find yourselves lost in the simplicity of each other’s company.

“I’m glad we ran into each other today,” you say suddenly, the thought slipping out before you can filter it. “It’s nice, you know, having someone to talk to for a change… and i'm sorry for being weird at that party last night.”

Remus looks at you as he nudges your knee under the table, his expression softer now, more open. “It’s alright, it was all a bit overwhelming.”

After a pause, Remus picks up his phone, glancing at it before looking back at you. “Hey, uh, I was thinking... Since we both end up here a lot, maybe we could hang out sometime? Like, outside of weird bus stop encounters.” His voice is tentative, like he’s worried you might decline, but the way his eyes meet yours, hopeful but unsure, makes your heart do a small flip.

You’re caught off guard by the suggestion. Hang out? With him? You hadn’t even realised how much you wanted something like that until now.

“Yeah, sure,” you say before you even really process the words. You can’t help but smile a little at the thought. “That sounds nice.”

A look of relief passes over his face, and he pulls his phone out, his fingers tapping quickly as he hands it over. “Great. Here, give me your number, and we’ll figure something out.”

You type your number in quickly, your fingers moving almost on their own. When you hand the phone back to him, there’s a flicker of something between you.

Remus grins, his eyes warm as he tucks the phone away. “I’ll text you soon. It’ll be nice to actually get to know you, you know? Be more...comfortable.”

You laugh, feeling some weight lift from your chest. “Yeah. I think we can manage that.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

When Remus said he’d text you soon, you expected it to be about a week—or, honestly, you figured he might never reach out at all. So when you woke up the next day to a text from him asking if you wanted to grab coffee, shocked didn’t even begin to cover it. But of course, you said yes, and now you’ve been meeting up a couple of times a week, sipping coffee and slowly getting to know each other.

There’s a simplicity in talking to Remus that you’ve never quite experienced before. He’s always checking in to make sure you’re comfortable, that you’re enjoying yourself. It feels effortless. He feels effortless. The only moment that’s thrown you off was one evening when he asked what kind of books you liked to read over the phone. You told him, and his response was just, "Okay, great. Talk to you later," before hanging up. It left you with more questions than answers still looking forward to the next time you get to see him.

The coffee shop smells of roasted beans and fresh pastries, the comforting hum of conversation blending with the soft clink of ceramic cups. You slide into the booth, trying to shake off the lingering chill of the walk over, your fingers curling around the warm cup in front of you. It’s a Saturday morning, and the light filtering through the windows has a gentle quality to it that makes everything feel calm and still.

Remus arrives just moments later, a little breathless, but with that familiar easy smile that you’ve grown to look forward to. He orders his usual—black coffee, nothing fancy—and slides into the seat across from you. There’s a small, almost shy smile playing at the corners of his lips as he sets down a small, worn book on the table between you.

You blink at it, glancing up at him. “What’s this?” you ask, your eyebrows knitting together in curiosity.

Remus looks down at the book, then up at you, his cheeks flushing slightly as he rubs the back of his neck. It’s not like him to be this nervous, but the way he avoids your gaze for a moment makes you wonder if he’s second-guessing himself. He clears his throat, still looking at the book with a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

“It’s... a book I thought you might like,” he says quietly, his voice hesitant, as if he’s unsure of your reaction. “That's why I- uh, why I asked the other night.”

Your fingers hover over the book’s cover, the title printed in elegant, curling letters. A title that immediately pulls you in, the kind of thing you’d never pick out on your own but might really enjoy. You glance back up at Remus, noting the soft blush on his cheeks. The vulnerability in his actions surprises you.

“I—thank you,” you say softly, your heart squeezing in a way you hadn’t expected. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you now, his eyes shy but hopeful, like this small gesture means so much to him. “I’ll definitely read it.”

He relaxes a little, his smile widening. “I’m glad. I thought... Well, it’s not exactly the most popular book or anything, but I figured it might speak to you. And if you don’t like it, I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, already flipping the book over in your hands, feeling the weight of it, the smoothness of the cover. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

The conversation moves on from there, the usual topics filling the gaps—work, the weather, the books you’ve been reading—but it feels different this time. There’s a new layer to the connection between you two, something unspoken, something that feels important but can’t quite be named yet. The coffee passes in a haze of easy conversation and laughter, and by the time you both get up to leave, you feel a strange sense of contentment—like the world is, for a moment, just right.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Later that evening, you’re curled up in your favourite armchair, the soft light of your reading lamp illuminating the pages. The book feels comforting, a little like a friend you didn’t know you needed. You make it through the first pages chapters, quickly absorbed in the world it creates, and then, as your eyes scan the margins, you pause.

In the very first chapter, there’s a note scrawled in neat handwriting:

“This reminds me of you. You get lost in your thoughts the same way she does.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, but you’re already turning to the next page, not thinking much of it. But as you keep reading, the notes continue, each one more personal than the last.

He's put a box around a passage that talks about someone new becoming sunshine in one of the characters lives. Next to it he's written: you.

You pause, fingers trembling slightly as you turn to the next page. And then there’s another one:

“This part just made me think of you, that you’d like it.”

It clicks suddenly like an epiphany that you really, really like him.

The tears catch you by surprise. You hadn’t expected to feel this... moved. This seen. It’s like Remus has captured pieces of you in these notes—things you never said, things you didn’t even realize were there. He’s taken something as simple as a book and turned it into a way for you to see yourself through his eyes, as if he’s been quietly paying attention, noticing things about you you hadn’t even noticed in yourself.

Before you can stop it, your tears spill over, and you grab your phone, feeling the need to reach out to him. You hit his contact, your fingers shaking as you press the call button. It rings twice before he picks up.

“Hello?” His voice sounds a little surprised, but it’s warm, comforting.

“I—Remus, I just—” You can’t even finish the sentence, the tears turning into a full-on sob.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” he questions gently but there’s a tinge of panic in his voice. “Do you need me to come get you?”

You wipe your eyes, trying to regain some composure, but the emotion is too raw. “I’m fine. It’s just... I don’t know. I didn’t realize how much it would mean to me, and now... I just wanted to say thank you. For the book. For everything.”

He lets out a big sigh of relief. “That's okay, you’re welcome, dove.” 

“Thank you,” you whisper, barely able to say the words without breaking down again. “Thank you so much.”

“I’m really glad you liked it,” he replies softly, his voice warm with sincerity. “Really.”

You hesitate, wondering if this is the right moment. Part of you is almost certain that he feels the same way you do, especially after what’s just happened. But another part of you worries—what if you’re reading him wrong? What if you’ve misinterpreted everything?

“Would you…” you begin, unsure, “Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow night? We could get takeaway, or... anything you want?”

There’s a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. “Yeah,” he says, his voice filled with affection. “I’d love that.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

You pace around your flat, your eyes darting to the clock on the wall. It’s almost time for Remus to arrive, and you’re certain your stomach is doing somersaults. Why does this feel so much more important than it probably is? It’s just dinner, right? Yet, everything feels magnified. The messiness of your living room seems somehow ten times worse, and the familiar clutter of books, mismatched furniture, and the remnants of your life in its chaos feels more glaring than usual. You straighten up a few things, putting cushions back in place on the couch, smoothing down the edges of the blanket. You pick up a few dishes that you’d left out earlier, trying to make the place look somewhat presentable, even though you know Remus won’t care.

You glance in the mirror, adjusting your hair for the hundredth time, frowning as you tug at the collar of your jumper. It’s nothing fancy. A comfortable knit, a bit oversized, something you know you feel good in. But suddenly, you feel self-conscious, like it’s not enough. What if he doesn’t think you’re pretty? What if you don’t look good enough? You shake the thoughts away. This is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous. Remus isn’t like that. He’s told you many times that you look pretty even when you’ve just been in your uniform straight out of work.

You make a mental note to stop overthinking, but your nerves don’t seem to want to cooperate. A quick glance at the clock tells you that he’ll be here any minute, and you’re still unsure whether you’re prepared for what might happen tonight. You know you’re about to open up, to tell him something that has been building inside you for weeks now. You can’t stop thinking about the way he makes you feel, how effortlessly he fits into your life. You’re nervous, terrified, but also strangely excited. You want to know if he feels the same way, even if the answer might hurt.

Your phone buzzes, startling you. You pick it up to see a message from Remus: On my way! Can’t wait to see you.

You smile at the text, feeling a wave of warmth settle over your nerves. You try to calm your breath, reminding yourself that this is just Remus—someone who’s become a friend. Someone who’s been kind and patient, and who might just be more than that.

A knock on the door jolts you from your thoughts. You take a deep breath, mentally bracing yourself, and open it to find Remus standing there, looking exactly like himself—tall, with a soft smile that sends a flutter to your chest. He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers, which he quickly extends toward you.

“For you,” he says, his voice low and warm, his smile a little shy.

You feel your cheeks flush at the gesture, the simple thoughtfulness of it. “Thank you,” you say, taking the flowers and feeling an odd sense of gratitude fill you. They’re beautiful. You’re not sure if this is just Remus being Remus or if it means something more, but the sincerity in his eyes makes you feel seen.

“They’re lovely,” you add, feeling a little shy as you take them to put in a vase on the kitchen counter.

“You look lovely too, by the way,” Remus says, his voice just a bit too quiet. He clears his throat and looks at you a little sheepishly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it weird. I just—yeah. You look great.”

You blink, feeling the heat of his compliment spread through you. “Thanks, Remus. You look... nice too,” you stutter, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole for being so awkward.

He laughs softly, clearly understanding how the moment is making you feel, but there's no mockery in his tone—just affection. "Thank you."

The two of you settle into the couch, the awkwardness slowly dissipating as you begin ordering food. The simple act of choosing what to eat feels grounding, like it’s a small step toward normalcy. You both decide on pizza—something familiar, easy, and comforting. As you wait for it to arrive, you talk about the usual things. But your mind keeps drifting to the real reason why you invited him here.

You can feel it now, the weight of the conversation you need to have hanging in the air between you two. You feel restless, like there’s something inside you just waiting to burst free.

The pizza arrives, the conversation shifts, and you sit together, eating in the cozy comfort of your living room. Yet, even as you laugh and share stories, your heart is pounding. You know it’s coming. You know you have to say it.

���Remus,” you begin hesitantly, your voice catching in your throat as you look at him. “I... I wanted to tell you something.”

He glances up from his slice of pizza, a curious, open expression on his face. “Yeah? What’s up?”

You swallow hard, trying to calm the nervous flutters in your stomach. Your fingers trace the edge of your pizza box, too aware of the weight of the moment. “I... I think I like you, Remus.” The words rush out before you can stop them, and you quickly add, “I mean, I like you more than just as a friend. And... I don’t know. I just thought I should tell you. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I just... thought I should say it.”

You rush the last part out, your face flushing deeply, your heart hammering in your chest as you stare at your hands. You can’t even look him in the eye, afraid of what you might see—or worse, what he might not say.

The silence that follows feels endless. Your mind races through worst-case scenarios: What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if you just ruined everything? What if he laughs, or worse, gets awkward?

But then you hear him clear his throat. When you finally dare to look at him, Remus is watching you with wide, warm eyes. His lips curl into a soft, genuine smile, and for a second, the anxiety that had been gripping your chest eases just a little.

“I feel the same way.” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"you- you do?"

He nods, his smile growing just a little. “Yeah, I do. I’ve been... kind of terrified to say it, honestly. But... I like you, too. More than just a friend.”

Relief floods through you, and before you can stop it, a giddy smile spreads across your face. "Oh my god," you breathe, unable to keep the laugh from escaping. "I thought I was going to die just now."

Remus chuckles softly, a quiet, knowing sound that makes your heart race a little faster. He leans in a bit closer, his expression softening, and you feel an electric pulse between you two. The air around you seems to shift, becoming thick with everything unsaid, everything you both now understand.

"You don’t have to be nervous," he says, his voice low but warm. "I promise I’m not going anywhere."

You smile shyly, the tension in your body easing, but the words don’t quite come out right. Instead, you take a deep breath, your eyes locked with his. You’ve already told him how you feel, and the vulnerability is still there, but now it’s accompanied by a quiet kind of hope

Remus reaches out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if he’s testing the waters. His fingers brush against yours lightly, sending a wave of warmth through your skin. You glance at his hand, then back up at him. His gaze is tender, searching yours for permission. There’s a slight hesitation, but it’s not strange—just... careful.

"Can I?" he asks, his voice just barely audible.

Your heart skips a beat. You nod, almost imperceptibly, too caught up in the moment to speak. The room feels smaller now, the space between you two shrinking with every passing second. Remus' hand moves a little closer, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, before he gently pulls your hand into his.

The warmth of his hand in yours feels like everything you’ve been waiting for, and you can’t help but smile softly. And then, without thinking, your thumb traces the edge of his hand, a quiet way of saying you're okay, you're safe. You can feel him relax in response, the tension in his shoulders melting as he inches even closer.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the anticipation growing as you both lean in, inch by tentative inch. The moment feels suspended in time. You close your eyes, a soft laugh bubbling up from you as you let out a nervous sigh.

"Remus," you whisper, barely a breath.

He stops, his face inches from yours, his eyes searching yours with that same softness, that same quiet intensity. The world outside seems to disappear. The sound of your breath and the beating of your hearts are all you can focus on.

Then, it happens. He leans in, his lips barely brushing against yours at first. It’s tentative, soft, like a question. Your breath hitches in your throat, and for a moment, you’re sure time has stopped. His lips are warm, gentle, and the kiss feels like the answer to everything you’ve been waiting for. You feel lightheaded with it—like everything in the world has finally made sense, like this is right, and maybe it always was.

A small giggle escapes you both, just a tiny, nervous sound, and Remus pulls back a fraction, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I’ve wanted to do that for a while," he admits, his voice hushed.

You smile, feeling the warmth of the moment flooding through you. "Me too."

And then, without another word, you close the small gap between you again. This time, the kiss is deeper, more certain, though still gentle. His lips press against yours with a sweet intensity, like he's savoring it, savoring you. Your fingers move instinctively to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as his hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. Everything feels soft, tender—a slow, steady rhythm between you that’s almost perfect in its simplicity.

The kiss deepens, just enough to make your pulse race, but it still carries that same sweet, careful energy, like you're both savoring each second of it. It’s a slow kind of magic, the kind that makes your heart feel full and light all at once.

When you finally pull away, breathless and a little dazed, you rest your forehead against his, your noses brushing lightly. The laughter that had been bubbling inside you finally spills out, soft and giddy, and Remus chuckles with you, his fingers still gently brushing through your hair.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

You nod, smiling wider than you ever thought possible. “Yeah. More than okay.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! <3

[dior-luxury]

This is just comes to my mind but can you write how the students of all the dorm (if you don't mind♡) reacted when they saw f!yuu being bullied & teased at the same time by other students in their dorm

Love you btw💝🌷

Bullied & Teased

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . drama - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] heartslabyul guys ! - [𝐩:𝐬] mentions of bulling ofc

Note: I'm going to make this into individual parts because tumblr has an image limit on posts <(＿　＿)> . . . Also, this is written in the boys pov!! Also very sorry for the late response on your request, and this work also mentions the reader as "his girlfriend" !

Riddle Rosehearts

The crisp autumn air felt heavy as Riddle walked across the garden, heading toward the dormitory’s courtyard. His steps were precise, as always, but something in the air felt off. As he approached the scene, his eyes narrowed when he saw a few of his dormmates sneering at his girlfriend, making cruel remarks about her appearance. His blood ran cold.

Without a word, Riddle’s expression hardened into a tight, angry frown. The world around him seemed to blur, all his focus fixed on the injustice before him.

“Enough,” he called out sharply, his voice laced with authority.

The bullies froze, the tension palpable as Riddle’s eyes glinted with the sharpness of a leader who had no tolerance for disrespect. “No one will ever treat my girlfriend like that again,” he said, his tone low and cold. He stepped forward, forcing the students to take a step back. “If I hear one more word from any of you, I’ll make sure you're punished according to the dorm rules. Consider yourselves warned.”

His gaze shifted back to his girlfriend, his anger momentarily softening as he moved closer to her. “Are you alright?” His voice was softer now, his hand gently reaching out to support her. Riddle’s protective side was in full force, the rigid rules of his heart quickly morphing into something far more gentle when it came to her.

Ace Trappola

Ace was casually walking through the halls, his usual cocky grin plastered on his face, when he heard the unmistakable sound of hushed voices and laughter. His curiosity piqued, Ace peeked around the corner, only to see a few students from his dorm taunting his girlfriend. They were whispering nasty things, no doubt making her feel small. His grin instantly vanished, replaced by a look of sharp annoyance.

“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ace’s voice rang out loudly, drawing the attention of both the bullies and his girlfriend.

The students turned, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. Ace’s usual playfulness was gone; in its place was a fierce glare, one that could make even the bravest flinch.

“Don't even think about messing with her, alright?” Ace spat, his stance defensive. He took a few steps forward, his hands in his pockets but his body language radiating that unmistakable protectiveness. “If you’ve got a problem with her, you’ve got a problem with me.”

The bullies stammered, not expecting such an outburst from the normally carefree Ace. Without waiting for them to reply, he turned back to his girlfriend, his grin returning, but this time it was full of reassurance.

“Are you okay, babe? Don’t listen to them. They’re idiots,” Ace said, offering a hand to her. “I’ll make sure they leave you alone from now on. Count on it.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce’s heart raced as he walked into the common room, only to freeze when he saw a few members of his dorm cornering his girlfriend. They were clearly mocking her, their laughter cruel and biting. A surge of protectiveness hit him like a tidal wave.

“Hey! What’s going on here?” Deuce’s voice came out louder than he intended, startling everyone in the room.

The students looked at him, trying to stammer out an explanation, but Deuce’s eyes burned with determination. “If you think it’s okay to make her feel like that, you’re gonna have to answer to me.”

Deuce’s fists clenched, his body tense with anger. He wasn’t one for confrontation, but seeing his girlfriend in distress was a line he wouldn’t cross.

“This stops now. If I catch any of you bothering her again, you’ll regret it,” Deuce said, his voice firm. The students hesitated before nervously backing off.

Turning to his girlfriend, Deuce rushed to her side, his expression softening immediately. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with that. Are you alright? Don’t worry, they won’t bother you again. I’ll make sure of it.” His usual timidity was replaced by a fierce loyalty, and he wouldn’t hesitate to do anything to protect her.

Cater Diamond

Cater’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and as he pulled it out to check the notification, he caught sight of the scene unfolding before him. His girlfriend, standing alone, surrounded by a few of his fellow dorm members who were laughing at her. His usual playful smile faltered as his eyes narrowed.

“Oh, no, no, no. Not happening,” Cater muttered under his breath, slipping his phone back into his pocket and strolling over with his trademark confident swagger.

“Alright, you guys are seriously overstepping here,” Cater said, a fake smile plastered on his face, but his eyes betrayed the annoyance simmering beneath the surface. He stood between the bullies and his girlfriend, hands on his hips.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, voice calm but edged with a subtle threat. “I’ve got a lot of followers online, and if I wanted, I could make you famous for all the wrong reasons. So how about you all back off before I get real creative?”

The bullies hesitated, not knowing what to make of his sudden shift in tone. Cater leaned closer, his smile growing. “Just letting you know, I’m not joking. She’s with me, and I’ll make sure no one gives her a hard time. Got it?”

After they scurried away, Cater turned back to his girlfriend, his usual charm slipping back into place. “Hey, don’t worry about them. They’re not worth your time.” He grinned, offering her a wink. “You know I’ve got your back, right?”

Trey Clover

Trey had been quietly observing from the distance, his eyes catching sight of a group of students picking on his girlfriend. His calm demeanor faltered for a split second, and a wave of anger washed over him. He took a slow, measured breath, collecting himself before approaching the situation.

“Alright, what’s going on here?” Trey’s voice was steady, his tone not threatening but carrying an authority that immediately commanded attention.

The bullies, realizing they were in the wrong, stammered, trying to make excuses. Trey didn’t let them finish.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” Trey said, his voice colder now. “If any of you think it’s acceptable to treat someone like that, you’re mistaken. Apologize, and then leave.”

There was no doubt in Trey’s mind that he was going to make sure they knew their place. His usual playful demeanor was gone; all that was left was a serious, commanding presence.

The students, visibly shaken, muttered apologies and quickly dispersed. Trey turned to his girlfriend, his expression softening immediately. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. Are you alright?”

He gently took her hand, squeezing it comfortingly. “I won’t let anyone make you feel like that again. I promise.”

[vampirq]

free use . praise . dom ! abby . (this was for a req, but i deleted it on accident . mdni

the door to your apartment opens, signifying abby’s return. a wave of excitement washes clouds you, you’ve been waiting for her to get off work for what feels like forever. so you stand in the kitchen, cooking up abby’s favorite dish, and wait for those familiar muscular arms to wrap around you. 

but something wasn’t right. 

abby didn’t announce her presence, nor did she walk over to you. she just drops her bag on the ground with an exhausted sigh, and marches into the shared bedroom. anxiously, you shift on your feet, taking longer to season the food, doing anything to drag out the time of her coming over to you. but luckily, she finally did.

her arms wrapped around your waist, her face slotting in the crook of your neck. “missed you, abs,” you whispered with a smile. “making your favorite food ‘nd everything.”

she lets out a small hum, holding you tightly and pressing soft kisses along the column of your neck. it’s sweet, domestic. the two of you standing in the kitchen— swaying side to side as you chopped the vegetables— well, until you feel her bottom half press against your ass. 

the bulge in her pants causes your mouth to run dry. that comforting feeling being replaced with something more carnal. abby’s soft kisses turn angrier and the grip she has on your waist tightens. you stutter her name, but she shushes it with her words. 

“jus’ need you for a bit, baby. need this pretty pussy.” 

you nod hesitantly, feeling your panties grow sticky with your arousal. she guides you to a clear counter, then pushes your neck down so your cheek is flushed with the countertop. she tugs at your shorts and you feel them fall to your feet, leaving your cunt bare and exposed. 

abby marvels at the sight, her thumb running over your folds and circling your clit. “you gonna let me fuck you? take my cock and be a good girl for me?” she questions, but doesn’t let you answer. already pushing down her pants and letting the tip of her strap glide through your slit. 

you let out a moan when she plunges into you. it’s deep, your pussy colliding with the base of the harness. she stills for a bit, letting you adjust to the filling sensation. then, she starts moving at a sloppy pace. it’s hard and fast, pouring out all of her stress into fucking you. 

“mmh, haah— ab-abby, too much, i can’t—“ 

“hm? it’s too much, baby? but i thought you wanted to be good for me.” she lowers herself onto you, her breath tickling your ear. “just take a little more. you can do that, yeah?”

strings of her name pour out of your lips, earning praises from abby. she moves her hand to your hair to make a makeshift ponytail, while her other hand grips your hips. her rapid pace changes to something more deeper, harder. every connection of her hips to yours elicits a sharp smack. 

you feel as if you’re losing yourself—mind going blank, the only coherent ‘words’ being her name and pleas. the tip of her cock kisses your g spot so perfect that your legs begin to shake, your body melting against the counter. 

“gonna, gonna cum! ah—ahhh, fuck!” your walls clamp down onto her, your juices coating her strap in a sea of white. you grip on the counter to stabilize yourself, but nothing helps because abby doesn’t stop. 

her brutally deep pace continues to pound you through your orgasm. the feeling of overstimulation washes over you, making you squeal and claw at her abdomen. 

“baby, please. i can’t take— haah, nnnh— can’t take it, too much.” your words are a jumbled and confused mess, but your protests mean nothing.

her hand tugs on your hair tighter, the other coming down to land a firm smack on your ass. “c’mon baby, i know you can. been such a pretty slut for me, it’d be a shame if you’d stop now.” she whispers, her voice, her words they all tangle around in your head, and it gives you no choice but to submit to abby. 

and that’s exactly what you’ll do, letting her pound and use you for however long she needs.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + thirty eight | part one

authors note: see at end of chapter.

warnings: angst and graphic depictions of violence. gore. torture. not for the faint of heart.

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

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

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 12k

"We need Tribal Combat!"

"There's no time for that! We need a leader now!"

"We need to follow the order of command!"

"What command? Roman is dead! There is no order anymore!"

"This is why he should have been dethroned a lot sooner! He left us no heir!"

"The child wouldn't be old enough to rule anyway!"

Aleki runs a hand over his haggard face. In a matter of weeks, he feels like he's aged another ten years.

He's getting too old to be dealing with this shit, and that's exactly what all of this is. A bunch of shit.

"Tribal Combat is the way our ancestors would handle a situation like this," he finally speaks. The situation being the fact that for the first time in his lifetime, the Bloodline is without a leader.

Roman is dead.

Solo is dead.

Roman left no heir, thus there is no clear path moving forward for what should occur. The past two weeks since the former Tribal Cheif's murder has been nothing but chaotic to say the least. Aleki is far too prideful to admit it, but a part of him blames himself. He should have known better than to trust Rikishi to get the job done. Should have known that just like he did years prior with Jey, he'd fall short.

Should have known his plan was not without holes. Holes that have left them in the mess they're in now. Allies demanding to know who is in charge, threatening to sever partnerships with a syndicate that boasts no formal, official leader.

A mess.

"And just how do we determine who is eligible for combat?"

Someone, another annoying voice, inserts their question among the mumbled conversations.

Another Elder handles the answer, offering, "it could be open to anyone."

Sione sighs, saying more to himself than anyone in particular. "Nakoa's bloodline has ruled for generations."

"And now his bloodline is all dead," Aleki counters. Cold. His voice and expression are as cold as the ice in his veins. "His son in his stubbornness has damned us to this mess." He gestures around the room, anger growing as he mulls over the situation. "We should have never allowed him to rule for so—"

His pending rant is cut short by the arrival of another attendee, which instantly has him scowling for two reasons.

One, all attendees who were allowed for this audience are present and accounted for.

Two, the identify of said attendee has him pissed.

"Dwayne." His voice is clipped. "This is a closed—"

"I don't give a fuck," comes the dismissive response of the man nearly insufferable as his late, younger cousin. Dwayne saunters over to an occupied seat, easily grabbing the seat by the back, yanking it out and knocking the person to the ground. A smug smirk sits on his face as he plops down and props his big ass feet on the table. Dwayne lifts the sunglasses from the bridge of his nose to the top of his bald head. "Oh, don't stop on my account."

"This doesn't concern you," Sione dismisses.

"Come on." The 'n' drags on as he props his hands behind his head. "I'm still Bloodline, aren't I?"

"You were apart of Roman's Bloodline, and he's dead now, so you have no place here anymore." Someone, an attendee whose name Aleki would never bother to know, counters with a huff. "Plus, where the hell have you been the past few weeks?"

Dwayne shrugs. "Around."

"Around." Someone else mocks. "Our empire in on the brink of collapse, and you've just been around."

"It's like candy ass small dick over here said." Dwayne gestures with his thumb. "I'm unemployed."

The insulted man slams his fist on the table, shooting up, "you smug son of—"

Dwayne quickly silences him by pulling out his Glock G-19 and shooting him directly in the temple, his lifeless body instantly dropping to the floor. Gasps sound around the table, Aleki angrily calling for security.

"You need to leave now!" He hisses. Aleki glances toward the door, wondering why the hell security didn't come barging in at the sound of a literal gunshot.

"See, I would, but I don't answer to you anymore." Dwayne replies in a significantly more serious voice. Gone is the nonchalant "devil may care" attitude. His big body shifts as he moves both elbows onto the table, gun still in hand. "I only answer to the Tribal Chief."

Aleki hisses. "Roman is dead. There is no Tribal Chief."

Dwayne's growing smile can only be described as sinister and predatory. Knowing. "You sure about that?"

Seconds later, not even a full minute, the sound of grunts and thuds from outside the conference room. The Elders and other attendees looking around in confusion.

Except for Dwayne.

He just keeps smiling.

And an almost thunderous sound is accompanied by two more unexpected arrivals. One significantly more unexpected than the other.

Jacob Fatu's unhinged, crazed look of insanity is accompanied by his big body throwing down two dead guards, their heads awkwardly and sickly hanging from their lifeless bodies. Snapped. Their necks have been snapped.

But, that grotesque sight is severely outmatched and borderline underwhelming compared to the inconceivable sight of a dead man walking.

Roman's hair is down and wild, his murderous gaze steady and focused forward. Brass knuckles attached to a chain are secured to his right fist. The table of men are suddenly in shambles, falling over and working to put as much distance between themselves and the man everyone has believed dead.

Again, everyone except Dwayne.

Aleki can barely compute what's happening before him. So much so that there's no time to react, no time to think, just a tremendous of pain that courses through his aged body. Because one minute, he's in his chair at the head of the table, and the next he's on the floor, an enraged Roman having slapped the heavy metal chain against his body.

The old man cries out in agony as the chain is whipped once more, cutting into his skin and laying heavy onto his already brittle bones.

"Please!" He begs, allotted a brief respite as Roman redirects his focus onto Sione and the other Elders, each being mercilessly whipped with the chains.

Punishment.

He's punishing them.

"You wanna take me out!" Roman's infuriated voice slams against the walls the same way he starts to slam his fists against the broken, bloodied men who sought to see him six feet under. "It ain't ever fucking happening!" Roman lands a bone breaking kick to the neck of one of the elders, killing him instantly. The next is killed not directly by Roman but by proxy, as he screams for Jacob.

Jacob, who grabs his gun and shoots out a window, marches over, snatching the man up, dragging him to the window and not wasting a second of a minute to toss him out of said window.

Onlookers watch in horror as one by one, Roman kills them all in various brutal ways. Suffocation. Slit throats. Snapped necks. A brutal beating with the brass knuckles. Various, violent methods and manners in which each meet an untimely, grisly demise. But, the best is saved for last. Aleki. A thorn in Roman's fucking side since he was a boy.

The older man is barely clinging onto life when Roman easily snatches that life away with each slap of the heavy chain, the brass knuckles slammed onto his face until it's disfigured beyond recognition. And finally, the severing of life is achieved via the slicing of the large hunting knife across his throat.

Heaving, splattered with blood, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, nothing but adrenaline and unbounded rage soar through Roman. His lethal gaze falls on the room of people who've been forced to watch the gory bloodbath.

The faintest hint of a smirk on his face.

Good.

Dwayne whistles. "Well, if it isn't obvious, he's not dead."

Roman shoots his older cousin a glare. Dwayne simply shrugs while Roman tips the chair back over, kicking Aleki's body to the side, rolling the chair and sitting down.

And silence. A piece of lint could fall off the wrinkled shirt of the man sitting a few seats down from Roman, and it could still be heard.

Fear.

Fear fills the room and dances off the walls, surrounds the men who just witnessed a bloodbath unlike any.

And then, finally, a brave—or stupid—soul decides to take a risk. Take a chance. "You're….you're alive."

Roman's gaze easily flickers to the man whose wide, horrified gaze is focused on him, trembling finger pointing in his direction. "We—we thought—"

One nod toward Jacob, and the man is barely able to stammer out an "I'm" before his head is violently forced to the side, the sound of his neck snapping followed up with the loud thud sound of it dropping onto the table.

The men around him back and cower away, eager and desperate to escape the death that's already claimed their pathetic lives.

"I was betrayed." Is the first thing to leave his mouth, the word 'betrayal' leaving a bitter, disgusting aftertaste that has him craving more blood. Craving vengeance. "They tried to overthrow me. Tried to kill me, and they should have." Roman stabs the large knife into the table, almost certain he heard someone whimper, as if about to cry. As if they were already crying. "They should have because they killed my wife, and now there's no fucking place on this earth anyone can hide or escape my rage." Saying it aloud is more difficult than Roman anticipated. Playing along with this storyline where Solana is no longer among the living. The discomfort is only quelled by the constant reminder that she is okay. That she's safe and simply waiting for him to return to her after handling business.

And, that's exactly what he's going to do.

Roman digs the knife deeper into the wood. "When I'm done with everyone involved in this shit, the only thing anyone will be able to see is red, and that's the fucking blood I'm going to paint this whole fucking town with." Sitting back in the chair, Roman leaves the knife protruding from the table. "But, until then, I need you all to send them a message."

Another foolish, ignorant, naive soul decides to ask what will be the final thing to leave his mouth before he leaves this room. "Wh—what m-m-message, s-s-sir?"

And for the first time since his entrance, Roman offers something other than a menacing glare. He smiles, but there's nothing humorous about it. If anything, it's predatory.

"That I'm coming."

Similar to the onslaught Roman bestowed upon the now deceased Elders, it's quick and violent. Jacob and Dwayne work almost simultaneously, not killing, but maiming the men. Severed, bloodied pieces cut from bodies. Fingers, noses, ears. Nothing fatal. Just warning enough.

And, it's only when each men has been left with a mark, a sign of Roman's pending revenge, they're ushered and forced out the room. Jacob landing a particularly painful looking blow into the back of the last disfigured, partially dismembered man.

Rolling his shoulders, Roman doesn't even need to instruct them on what to do next. Dwayne is reaching for the laptop, ripping a shirt off one of the dead elders to use it to clean it of the blood. "Fucking disgusting," he hisses, throwing it down once its completed the job.

Roman's eyes cut to the clock on the wall. Right on time.

He's uncaring of his appearance, focused on one thing and only.

Blood.

Roman is out for blood.

As Dwayne works to get everything set up and synced to the large TV screen anchored onto the wall, Jacob stands off to the side, waiting, observing, protecting almost.

Roman would be lying if he said he wasn't skeptical when Solana first told him about Jacob.

Told him how he allegedly protected her and vowed his loyalty to Roman and Roman only, as he recognized Roman as the Tribal Chief.

The only Tribal Chief.

Told her how not everyone in the Bloodline was involved in the coup, and many were waiting for Roman to show up.

Truth be told, Roman is still trying to test that. Test Jacob. So far, he's proven useful, offering Dwayne and Matteo intel and information on those allegedly involved and those not involved.

He's a a hell of a body to have around, capable of the most violent desecration of people. Useful. He's useful, but only time will tell to what extent Roman can trust him.

Can trust anyone, really.

"It's ready," Dwayne announces. Roman breaks from his thoughts, rolling his shoulders once more, ignoring the throb. Solana would have his ass for all the physical exertion. But, it needs to be done.

The sooner Roman handles this, the sooner he can have her back home with him.

Right where she belongs.

Dwayne and Jacob move to take seats, both on opposite sides of the table but in view of the TV that also serves as a casting source. The television screen is then filled with the exact person Roman wants to see next.

"This is a fucking waste of time." Luca's irritated voice is heard, his irksome ass face focused on something beside him. It looks like he's signing something. "Without someone of Italian blood at the head of your table, we have no alli—"

He stops, finally turning to look at the screen, and if there was ever someone to be as pale as Casper the fucking ghost, it's Luca.

"Roman." He all but whispers.

The Tribal Chief remains stone face. "Luca." He tilts his head. "You look surprised."

The younger man stammers, eyes darting around, hardening slightly when he lands on Dwayne who offers a small, mocking wave.

He then narrows his focus back on Roman. Clearing his throat, trying to play off indifference, he straightens his tie. "We were told you were dead."

"Were you?" Luca makes a sound. "I suppose that would have made things a lot more easier for you, now wouldn't it?"

Luca glares. "Just what—"

"Don't fucking play with me," Roman growls. "Do you think I'm stupid? I know you've been trying usurp me. That you were behind that missing shipment. The hit that killed our men. That you sent my brother to spy on me. That you were working with them to kill me."

Roman refuses to name them. Refuses to have their names on his lips. They're not fucking worth it.

Luca, to the best of his limited abilities, tries to remain unbothered. "I don't know what you're talking about."

At that, Roman chuckles, smiling, looking down and nodding. "That's….that's good." Roman can give credit where it's due. Albeit a paltry amount. But, just as quickly as he was smiling, he's glaring. "But, here's the fucking problem, I'm better. I'm better than you. Better than anyone else in this fucking family. I've always been better, and I always will be better." Always. "And you know what else?" A beat. "I'm always three steps ahead."

Luca opens his mouth to respond, fire and fury dancing in his irises when commotion can be heard through the TV.

Roman smirks.

Luca looks to the side, once angered, now confused, and then disturbed.

Gunshots. It's the sound of gunshots.

He curses in Italian, barking orders at what's probably security.

Roman says nothing.

It makes no difference.

None whatsoever.

He just sits back in his chair, enjoying the sound of men crying out in pain, bodies dropping, bullets being emptied into now lifeless corpses.

Luca's clearly shitting bricks, perspiring, gun in his shaky hand. He calls out another order that's cut short by what sounds like the door being kicked open.

Gunshots ring once more, back to back, strategic and aimed.

Luca curses loudly, holding onto his shoulder where he's been shot.

And seconds later, the base of his neck is exposed as another figure stands behind him, forcing his head back, gun pressed to his temple.

Matteo

True to his character, Luca uses his dying words to curse at not only Roman but Matteo who stands with a smug expression, giving Roman only a simple nod of acknowledgment.

Roman smirks.

He sits back in his chair, voice calm and collected. A contrast to the mayhem just unleashed. "Luca." The man in question struggles and works to move out of Matteo's unrelenting grasp. "Take this free advice. If you're gonna go for the devil, you should go always go for the head, because if you miss." A quiet chuckle. "He sure won't."

A loud bang followed by blood and brain matter splattering the screen, partially obscuring the view of Luca's lifeless body slumped over.

Like a bug, Matteo shoves him away, taking the seat, seemingly unbothered by the blood that stains his clothes, hair, and skin.

"It's done."

"Good." Sitting forward, Roman's mind travels to the mental list curated. "Get on the first flight back here."

Matteo nods. "Will do." The connection ends, and Roman closes the laptop.

Looking around the room, he readies to order Dwayne to start seeing about replacements for the Elders council but ultimately decides against it.

It can wait.

He has bigger, important things to worry and focus on, like making his way down his infinite kill list.

The OTC is coming.

---------

There are many, many things on Roman's to-do list once he arrives back home. Many bloody, violent things. Lives to take, primarily.

But, while that remains near the top, there are other things that also require his attention. Things he'd moderately prefer to not have to do but things he needs to do.

It's what leads him a few days later standing outside of Jimmy and Naomi's house. One of his first of many stops during his "revival" tour of sorts.

But, the minute the door is ripped open, and Roman is standing face to face, directly across from Jimmy, a new influx of confusing emotions fill him. The same way they paint the face of his wide eyed cousin.

Roman can see the way Jimmy continues to grip the door so tightly that his knuckles whiten. "It's….it's true." Roman's jaw twitches as he briefly looks away. "You're…you're alive?"

"We need to talk," is Roman's response. He looks at Jimmy. "Can I come in?"

A delayed response is followed up with an almost distracted head nod as Roman makes his way inside of his cousin's home, a place he's been in countless times over his almost 40 years on this earth. But, this…..this has to be the first time where it's felt different. Felt off. Felt wrong.

"Where the hell have you been?" Jimmy breathes. Roman turns around to face him, seeing the shock and confusion melt away into a bowl of anger. "We thought you were dead, Roman. Almost everyone thinks you and Solana—" He stops himself, pausing, eyes widening slightly. "Wait, is she—"

A pause. Hesitation. The moment Roman wrecked his brain over and over again trying to navigate the best way to handle such a tricky, complicated, complex situation. Ultimately, Solana's words and recommended or requested approach taking front seat. "She's safe."

Once the words leave his mouth, there's a semblance of regret. Like, he wishes he had gone a different route. Almost like he wishes he'd continued to maintain the story being spread about the fate of his pregnant wife.

Jimmy places both hands behind his head, walking away just enough to blow out a big breath. "What the fuck, Roman?" He growls, walking back over and pointing upstairs. "You got any fucking idea how gutted Naomi and I been?" He scowls, the anger and relief clearly at odds. "Thinking you and Sol were—"

"I know what you thought," he interrupts, hating his own emotions being at war. "You thought what we needed everyone to think."

Jimmy swallows. "Even me?" Silence. He once again motions upstairs. "Even Naomi?"

Silence

He runs a hand over his face, and in that moment, Roman can see for the first time the toll all of this has taken on him. He looks drained. "Roman….I know….I know what happened was fucked up. I'm not denying that. But, to treat Naomi and I like this when we ain't even do nothing?" He shakes his head. "When I'm already having to mourn my brother and father—"

"The same people who tried to kill me?" Roman interrupts, his voice sharp and even. "The people who kidnapped and were going to kill my wife?"

"I know that, Uce—"

"Do you?" A pointed question, as anger starts to overpower everything else. "Cause you're acting like I did something fucking wrong—"

"You did!" Jimmy snaps. "You kept us in the fucking dark when we deserved to know the truth!"

"The same way you kept me in the dark?" Is Roman's almost quiet response. He sees the way Jimmy's anger twitches, how it's briefly interrupted by what Roman considers to be a valid point. "For years, your father was trying to get ya'll to challenge me, trying to turn you against me, and you never said anything. Never told me shit!"

"I told you, I didn't realize—"

"I don't give a fuck what you did or didn't realize. I had a right to know!" He needed to know. Roman needed to know that the same people he considered family, the closest thing he had left to a father figure, even with them never necessarily being super close, was plotting against him the entire time. "If you had just told me—"

"Then what? It would have changed something?" Jimmy shouts, also unwilling to back down like the man across from him. "Would have stopped all this from happening? Would change what happened—"

"I don't know!" A forced, short, angry response as the Tribal Chief turns away, running his hand over his face. This conversation is equally heavy as it is challenging. He wasn't stupid enough to expect anything about it to be easy, but Roman can't deny a small part of him hoped it would go….different. In what way, he's not entirely sure. Just something….not this.

"Uce, we can figure this out—"

Roman briefly turns to him. "Can we?"

And, when Jimmy doesn't respond immediately, doesn't respond at all, Roman realizes in one area of all of this shit, they're on the same page. They're both confused as to how to untangle this massive mess of betrayal, lies, and hurt. Because for Roman, it's not even the coup organized by the people he once considered family, it's the fact that he also has to come to grips with that same "family" was a part of the plan that cost Roman his entire immediate family.

Left him essentially alone.

In many ways, that's what hurts the most.

But, it's also something Roman has opted to not tell Jimmy. As much hatred the Tribal Chief holds toward Solo and Rikishi, he can still acknowledge that was Jimmy's brother and father. He won't complicate his cousin's grief.

Because Roman doesn't hate him.

Doesn't hate him at all.

He just can't trust him anymore, and he's not sure if and when that will change.

Which is why he settled on the decision he did. The decision he's ready to finally share.

"When Solana comes home, and she will come home, I don't want to see you."

Gaze focused on the wall art in Jimmy's living room, Roman doesn't need to be looking at his cousin to know he's floored. "W-what?"

He swallows, recalling the specific wording he decided on. "You're out of my inner circle. I'll have Dwayne find a position for you in the Bloodline when things settle—"

"Roman—"

"Solana can decide for herself what she wants her relationship with Naomi to be, but I don't want either of you at my house."

"You can't—"

"I can do whatever the fuck I want." Even if he's not entirely sure it's exactly what he wants. It's the best Roman can do under these circumstances.

All he can do.

That doesn't mean there's not the reappearance of that damn weight that's been on his chest ever since he had to leave Solana. Even before that, if he's being completely honest with himself.

"My decision is final, Jimmy." Because maybe sticking to the facts, or rather the stipulations Roman has decided to put in place until he can navigate a better solution might be helpful. Emotions are getting in the way of business.

Jimmy just looks at him, stares at him, unwilling or maybe even uncaring of how visible his many emotions are. "So, that's it?" Roman's jaw clenches. "After everything we been through, the good, the bad, the everything in between. Almost 40 years of friendship, of being family….." He swallows, emotion and vulnerability on full display. "You're like my brother, Roman—"

"But not a brother, right?" Silence. "That's why you didn't say anything."

It's a deeply rooted point of insecurity. One that Roman hasn't really allowed himself to think too much about since he was a kid. That feeling of being "not like them." Of feeling like he didn't necessarily "belong."

An outsider among his own blood.

"This isn't fair, and you know it," Jimmy finally responds. "You're punishing me, punishing Naomi, for something that we didn't even do."

Perhaps. The Tribal Chief won't entirely deny that. He knows he can be vindictive, and maybe some part of him does want to punish them in a way he can't the deceased. But, the vast majority of him only seeks to have a temporary solution in place to relieve him of all the other very many tasks on his plate.

And, the deep fucking truth of the matter is also something he won't allow himself to admit aloud but feels fully.

He needs Solana.

Roman needs his wife to help him sort through all of this. He needs her support. Her safety. Her sage wisdom and soft way of helping him navigate these things. So, until that can happen, this is what needs to happen.

Roman takes a deep breath. For as nice and big a home Jimmy and Naomi have, it's suddenly feels a lot more stuffy than he recalls. A lot less welcoming. His presence more…intruding than anything.

"I have to go." Both a truth and a lie. The day is practically just getting started, but time waits for the Tribal Chief. He could stay longer, could maybe talk things through with his cousin.

Problem is he doesn't want to.

Not right now.

Not for a while, most likely.

Roman is a bit unsure why he's some level of bothered by Jimmy not protesting his leave. It's what's best….

Right?

"You're going to do it, aren't you?" Roman's hand is halfway to touching the doorknob when he's hit with the question. The one he knew was coming but hoping wouldn't. The one that makes sense. "You're going to kill him."

His eyes shut.

Debated. Roman debated the hell out of and with himself to try to figure out how he would tackle that one. Of course, Jimmy would want to know that. Would want to know if another person will be added to the list of lost loved ones. Especially his brother.

Jey.

Roman also considered how to respond to this, how much he wanted to share, if he wanted to grant Jimmy some sense of peace with knowing the answer or grief with also knowing the answer.

Roman swallows once more.

And, he walks out the door.

-----------

The only way for Roman to decompress from his heavy conversation with Jimmy and all that will come from the decisions that have been made is to cope the best way he knows how.

Murder.

Roman needs to cross off another name from his hit list.

Two, precisely.

"Where the fuck are they?" Dwayne complains and swats away a pesky fly that seems to prefer to fly around and in his personal bubble. "Fucking hate the outdoors."

Matteo snickers. "So, you wouldn't accompany Afia, the kids and I on a camping trip?"

Dwayne just stares at him. "Do I look poor to you?"

Roman manages a chuckle and a thought of something else. About the sacrifice Matteo is also making by being here with him. Standing with him. He's also separated from his wife. From his children. Agreeing to no contact to help keep Solana being alive a secret.

Roman swallows.

He didn't really realize until just now how massive an ask that was.

And how Matteo never once hesitated to agree to join him.

The sound of a truck engine revving is a welcomed distraction and something that allows Roman to reorient his focus to the task at hand. Jaw clenched, he watches the ambulance come to an abrupt stop followed by the drivers door being flung open.

Jacob's large body drops down, his boots leaving imprints in the slightly muddy ground as he stomps to the back of the truck and snatches the door open.

Hate fills the Tribal Chief as he watches Jacob angrily and almost erratically yank the two hospital beds out the back, both participants crying out in pain as they tumble onto the ground.

But, the cries of pain from one ease into a sick, twisted, laugh.

Roman's stomp onto his neck effectively silences that laugh. Seth's brown eyes peer up into him, that deranged smile on his face causing Roman to lift his foot and stomp once more. Seth almost instantly coughs up blood.

However, it's wheezing from the rotund man on the ground a few feet away from the lunatic under him that snatches Roman's focus.

Carefully, slowly, he walks over, anger accompanying each step until he kicks Paul over, a loud howl leaving his former advisor's mouth.

Tears stream down his face that has a large bandage on the right cheek and other unhealed cuts around various areas. "Pl—please."

Roman growls. That damn word has easily become one of his least favorites.

Similar to Seth, Roman lands his boot down on the top of Paul's fat neck. As the man screams out in pain, Dwayne chuckles.

"I know that hurt."

It all must hurt, Roman realizes. Hurt tremendously. Good.

For the first time, he takes in the sight and state of the two men before him still in hospital gowns. Their legs and arms covered with bandages, peaks of red, burned skin peaking out, the lesser of their injuries minimal compared to the latter end of severe.

Severe…

Nothing will ever be severe enough for them.

Roman barks for a knife, and the minute he's handed one, he crouches down and begins cutting. Not just the bandage. The fresh, still healing skin graft underneath the bandages as well. The screams of pain are ear piercing and music to Roman's fucking ears.

Methodically, like a butcher mastering his craft, he cuts away, ignoring the blood and body matter that splatters and splashes his clothes, tossing the mangled, ruined patches of fleshto the side like trash to the can.

Around him, no one interferes, no one stops him, and no one damn sure responds to Paul's blubbering as he transitions between screaming, apologizing, and eventually begging for Roman to just kill him.

That last is definitely on the agenda. Just not yet.

Because, one he's done butchering victim one, he transitions to victim two. Seth. Seth's torture is the eerily the same, the maniacal laughing eventually melting into sobs of agony. But, he doesn't beg for death, doesn't beseech the Tribal Chief for mercy.

No, that doesn't come until Roman is handed the electric chainsaw.

It comes then. Screams and shouts of unimaginable pain as Roman saws off arms and legs, one by one, blood shooting and spurting out. Again, the man intent on making their last minutes on earth nothing but horrific, forever uncaring. It's satisfying in a demented sort of way, but Roman doesn't care.

They're getting exactly what they deserve.

Heaving and sweating from the exertion expended through the torture, Roman only stops when all that remains is exposed bone from where he cut off their arms below the elbows and their knees slightly above the knees.

He would have continued too, if not for the fact both men are starting to lose consciousness, and that won't do.

He wants them awake for as long as humanly fucking possible.

Especially for the grand finale.

Roman snaps, speaking to Jacob. "Douse em'."

An order that doesn't need to be repeated. As Roman lifts off his shirt that's caked in blood, pieces of bone, and human flesh, tossing it to the ground, Dwayne hands him a towel to dry off and remove some of the other unmentionables.

Jacob moves quickly and efficiently, pouring the gasoline all over what remains of Paul and Seth's carved up bodies. Drenches them.

And with a wicked smirk on his face, Matteo tops it off, tops them off with the cherry on top.

An accelerant.

He forces their mouths open, the sound of them gurgling and choking sounded out with a kick to the side of the head. It's effective, allowing him to empty the bottle that he tosses to the side.

"Done," he says, voice ice cold as he goes to stand beside Dwayne and Jacob. None of them showing even the slightest hint of disturbance. If anything, there's more of a pleased, satisfied aura.

Recognizing they've reached the end of the road, that the men are mere minutes away from unconsciousness—and death—Roman stalks over to them. Slowly. A predator enjoying the final moments of his prey's existence. Moments that must consist of pain beyond human comprehension.

He looks down, the sight grotesque and enough to evoke vomiting from anyone without a seasoned stomach, but Roman is anything but. The sight makes him smile. The putrid smell of exposed bone, organs, and extensive blood pleasing to him in every sense of the word.

A dark, quiet chuckle leaves his mouth. "So much for that spoiler."

Stepping back, his eyes dart between the both of them, studying and committing the grisly image to memory.

Gratifying, indeed.

And without much thought, he pulls out the matchbox, lighting two matches, each thrown onto the men.

Turning on his heel, Roman walks away, tuning out their screams of misery and suffering.

"Let's go." It's spoken to the three men with him as they head out of the forest and to their SUV's. Extracting his revenge on the two men grants Roman with a sense of relief. He's relieved to know those two fuckers no longer breathe, or will breathe, the same air as him.

But, as gory and sadistically satisfying as Paul and Seth's deaths are, it still doesn't dull or ease the mixed emotions that fill the Tribal Chief at the thought of his next task.

Arguably, one of the hardest he has to complete.

----------

There's one reason and one reason alone why Roman asks Matteo and Dwayne to be present for this.

One very valid, important reason that can't be ignored or pushed aside. It's not his preference though.

Not really.

This is so personal that it feels almost wrong to have other parties present, but Roman also knows himself. Knows that when he fully succumbs to that uncontrollable rage that dwells within him, he can't see or think beyond it. It totally and wholly consumes him. Controls him.

Thus….his need for a contingency plan.

Roman has his back toward the door that's flung open, the intensity causing nearby photos on the wall to shake. Roman sighs. As effective as Jacob can be, he's…..a lot.

The Tribal Chief turns around just in time to see one cousin throw down the man Roman also once considered cousin.

Considered family.

Considered to be a brother.

As prideful as he can be, Roman would never deny the fact that he could have done a better job with being less hard on the twins. Less…..him. But, the truth of the matter is that despite the frosty disposition and irritation that marred a lot of their interactions, no one but the three of them know what they've been through. The countless times they've had each other's back out in the field. Protecting and looking out for each other.

The times Roman looked out for Jey.

All those moments that have boiled down to and left them right where they are now.

Jey, on the floor before him, hands on the ground, his fiery gaze on the man he also once considered family.

And seeing it, seeing Jey be upset with him?

It pisses Roman the fuck off.

He walks toward his table and grabs the brass knuckles. Both pair.

"Get out." A command directed only toward Jacob who offers no protest, walking out the same way he came in, standing watch outside the door.

"Roman…"

Roman has completely tuned out the voice of either Dwayne or Matteo. He doesn't know nor does he care.

Roman lifts his foot, kicking Jey right in the face with so much force that his body jerks back violently.

"You son of a bitch," he growls, not wasting a second to pounce on top of him, aiming for his ribs first. Jey's' howl of pain drives his determination—and fury—and distracts the Capo from his own lingering pain. The injuries that have not yet fully healed, marginally due to the fact that Roman has done nothing but exert himself from the moment he landed back home.

He'd kept his promise and continued rehab, continued to follow the doctor's orders, but that was all in between carrying out violent, bloody, brutal punishments for every fucker who turned on him.

Including the one underneath him.

And thinking of Solana, thinking of how she's not here, not with him, it only deepens the color of red he sees.

It's all he sees.

The sound of Jey's ribs cracking and his fruitless efforts to push the enraged man off him only drive Roman to lift the man up and slam him against the nearest wall. Another brutal kick to his ribs. Roman doesn't care if every single one is broken.

He grabs Jey by the chin, squeezing, enjoying the way his face remains scrunched up in pain. "You broke up my Bloodline." Not the massive crime syndicate that Roman has spent the better half of his life improving and making it into the billion dollar empire that it is now. He's referring to the family component, the familial bond and connection they shared.

That Bloodline.

"My wife isn't here because of you, Jey. You understand?" Roman continues. A part of him wonders if anything, especially that, means anything to Jey. He's unsure if Jey knows that Solana is actually alive or if he even cares, because his wife is most certainly not.

And, it's that, Roman is sure, that fuels Jey's hatred. Has him, despite the brutal beating he's receiving, refusing to cower, to show any sign of fear. Just impenetrable defiance.

"I looked out for you, I spared your fucking life, saved your ass time and time again, and what do you do?" Another fresh wave of rage, as Roman slams Jey's head back against the wall, shouting, "you break up my fucking family!"

Again, double, maybe even multiple meanings, all with one heartbreaking conclusion.

It creates a brief fracture in Roman's anger, paves the way for a small glimpse of what lies underneath all of that fury that courses through his big body. "I would have never done this shit to you, Jey."

Because, he wouldn't. Because for all the bad things Roman is, how awful he could be, he would have never stooped so low. Would have never allowed whatever prideful feelings he was struggling with to lead him down a path that could only end in heartbreak. But, Jey did. His insecurities got the best of him, and it's cost him.

It's cost him dearly.

Because as far as Roman is concerned, Nicki's death is on him.

"So just…." Jey coughs up blood as Roman realizes at some point in his inner dialogue, he'd moved back to pounding Jey into the floor. "Just…do it." Roman stops and stares at him, his own chest heaving. "You wanna kill me…..fucking do it then, Uce. It's…it's what you want, ain't it?"

Bullshit.

Roman can see right through it, right through the paltry front he's trying to put up in the face of a true life or death situation. Stubborn as all outdoors, very much like himself, Roman knows that Jey loves his kids more than anything. He would never want to "leave" them.

Especially after what's happened.

He's calling Roman's bluff, and that pisses him to fuck off.

For more reasons than the man under him and the two before him can realize.

Roman closes his eyes.

"Please." It's the pleading nature of her voice as well as the borderline desperation in her eyes that has Roman struggling. Struggling with it all. "I know….I know what he did was wrong."

"It wasn't just wrong, Solana," he calmly counters. Roman is working hard to be mindful of his tone with her. The anger that dances and burning within is 100% not aimed or geared towards her. Whatsoever. "It was unforgivable."

She swallows. "I know." He shuts his eyes once more as she continues to gently massage his scalp with one hand, the other tracing his inked arm, carefully maneuvering the ridges of disfigured skin from his burn scars. "But, I'm not….I'm not asking you to forgive him, Ro."

"No," he murmurs, jaw flexing. "But, what you're asking is a lot fucking harder."

Solana moves closer, her hand traveling to his face. "Roman….his kids lost their mother." She licks her lips and shakes her head. "We both grew up without our mothers, and I know that your relationship with yours was…..complicated, but….mine wasn't and not having her…." Her eyes watering is something he can't avoid. Can't ignore. "No child deserves that, Roman, and you know it." His silence is all that she needs to continue. "Baby, I know I'm asking a lot from you, but….please don't kill him."

He's always said and "joked" about never being able to say no to her. But, this….this might be a first. "Solana…."

"Please, Roman." Her voice cracks as she leans up, her forehead against his, breathing. "For me."

Roman is returned to the scene before him, to the decision he'd made just this morning. A decision he's not sure how he'll handle moving forward, but it's one he's accepted as his final answer.

"I'm not going to kill you," he announces. Jey can't hide his surprise, and Roman would bet his cousin and brother mimic similar expressions.

He hadn't shared his decision with anyone until this very moment.

"And, the only fucking reason I'm not is because of the woman you almost got killed," he hisses. Jey continues to look dumbfounded. "But, you are fucking dead to me in every other sense of the word. You've got a fucking week for you and your kids out of the city. Your security access is revoked, your position with the Bloodline done. You are done."

Jey continues to look around, obviously struggling to process what's being said. Like, he hadn't expected Roman to actually kill him and yet still expected Roman to kill him.

"I never want to fucking hear or speak to you ever again, you understand me?" It's a watered down warning. It's all watered down, truly. Even the fact that Jey lays before him, potentially half dead, in need of medical assistance. It's not enough. Nothing will ever be enough, even if he took his cousin's life with his bare hands. And, Roman knows this.

Still, this has to be one of the hardest decisions he's ever made.

"But, if you ever fucking step foot in this town again, I don't care what Solana says, I'll fucking kill you. I swear it on Fetu's grave." A vow to carry out the act of vengeance, love, in all the irony, prevents him from completing.

It's solely Roman's love for Solana that stops him from killing Jey.

Nothing else.

Literally nothing else.

Roman's final declaration is accompanied by another stomp, this time to Jey's face, effectively knocking him out cold. Standing up and rolling his neck, Roman grimaces and grabs at his shoulder.

Way too much exertion. Not that it makes a difference.

Jey is just one of many he plans to visit today.

He looks over his shoulder, uncaring and unwilling to discuss what transpired. What's done is done.

Roman so casually, and coldly, walks over Jey's slumped, unconscious body and snatches his jacket off the hook behind the door. "Let's go."

Footsteps of the other two men follow him swinging the door open, Jacob standing at attention.

"Make sure he's gone by the time I'm back," Roman commands. What's done has been done, and while there's a tremendous amount of unspoken, unresolved issues between himself and the man he's just effectively banished indefinitely, it's not a task he's up for.

Not now.

Not ever.

Roman meant what he said.

Should Jey ever try to return to the city, Roman will absolutely kill him.

But, until then, he might as well already be dead.

Because he is to Roman.

---------

Following Roman's dramatic, bloody return from his supposed demise, he places the city on lock down.

No one enters, and no one leaves.

Armed guards, a mixture of verified Bloodline loyalists as well as soldiers from the Legado Del Fantasma, remain stationed at every entrance into the city, whether it be by land or harbor, to ensure that this order remains non-violated.

Roman intends for not a single fucker to escape his bloody vengeance.

And bloody, it most certainly is.

Nothing but unbridled rage courses through Roman's body as he spends the weeks making his way down his list eliminating target after target. Traitor after traitor. Life after life, taken.

Doors are kicked down, pieces of shit dragged out. Some granted quick death. Simple head shots that leave blood and brain matter splattered in the nearest vicinity. Some are tossed off of buildings, leaving their splattered remains for all to see. Some are used as examples. Their tortured, mangled remains tied up on display in the middle of the streets as both a reminder and a warning. A reminder of what happens to all who dare to cross Roman fucking Reigns, and a message to those who played in any role in the coup that he's coming, and he's coming for blood.

Roman has the city in a state of terror and fear. Families keeping their children in the house. Picking them up and dropping them off to school to avoid being caught in the cross hairs. A bit unnecessary, as despite Roman slipping back into that dark space that consumed him before Solana, his few morals remain the same. Women and children are off limits.

Neither of those groups are included in his hit list.

Everyone else though…..tough.

But, while the adrenaline that races through him fuels his revenge tour, that fuel of sorts easily melts away when he arrives home later in the evening. Arrives to an empty home. No sweet, delicious aroma of Solana's cooking to greet him. Or the pitter-patter of Dulce's feet as she races to the front door, eager to jump at and try to lick him but mostly just wanting to be petted and to have her belly rubbed. Being able to come up behind his wife, holding her, kissing her temple, taking in the feel of her body up against his.

Things he'd gotten used to.

Things he misses.

He misses a lot.

He misses her.

He thinks about her, about what she could be doing, about whatever pregnancy symptoms she could be experiencing, as he follows along via the app she'd installed on his phone. He checks daily, each time wondering about the swell of her stomach, imagining the excitement she must feel. Or, the sadness.

Because there is something undeniably sad about them not being able to experience this together. Something that was so important to her.

Important to him.

Being there with her to support her as she carries his children, their children, is important to him.

But….but, her safety comes first.

Their safety comes first.

Her absence is with him every fucking second of the day, though on the back-burner when the sun sits comfortably in the sky, and he has the distraction of his murderous rampage. But, when the sun is replaced with the moon, and he lays in that same bed where they've made love countless times, where she's laid on his chest, talking about her day. Where he's held and slept with her, rubbing her belly, allowing himself to feel genuinely happy for a long fucking time.

All of that is soured and dampened by the cruel reality. Solana is not there. Dulce is not there.

She's not with him. They're not with him, because of them.

And then the rages builds up all over again.

It's a vicious, cruel cycle. One that he can't escape. One that leads him to the place he wasn't expecting or planning to visit anytime soon.

Too difficult.

But, necessary.

"Not gonna lie…." Lita trails off, shifting in her seat. It's one of the few times he's noticed she's not almost casually lounged, legs tucked under her. She's sitting with both feet planted on the ground, a small frown on her face. "Believing you to be dead only for you to show up with quite the return….and now having you in front of me, I'm not quite sure where to start except to tell you that I'm so sorry about Solan—"

"She's not dead."

Silence.

Lita, for all her expertise and experience, can't hide her shocked expression. "What?"

Roman looks away. Just as he battled with whether or not to tell Jimmy the truth about Solana, he experienced the same battle regarding just how honest he wanted to be with Lita.

That's not to say he doesn't have a host of other issues he could probably, definitely, benefit from talking and working through with her.

Like the two panic attacks he's had since returning home.

Or, the several nightmares that have awoken him from the little sleep he has received. The nightmares that started when he was in the hospital in Mexico. The reason Solana refused to go home and leave him alone, staying and sleeping with him. Comforting him.

She's his comfort, and not having her has him six different shades of fucked up. On top of the pre-existing level of fucked up-ness he is on any given day.

If there was any doubt in his mind before just how codependent Roman is with his wife, this whole experience has successfully zapped it all away.

Still, that doesn't take away from the fact that Solana isn't here, and he's not okay, so he needs to find a way to get his shit together.

And, the woman before him is his best bet.

It didn't take much research and digging to realize Lita had no connection or involvement with the coup, thus eliminating her from the hit list. But, there's still this overwhelming importance of only keeping Solana's true status a secret from anyone who doesn't need to know.

And, while Roman wouldn't consider Lita someone who needs to know the truth, it would help him a hell of a lot considering the whole reason he's sitting before her.

Plus….while Roman isn't sure just what trust means to him anymore, he trusts that if she didn't know before, the bodies dumped in the streets, should be all the reminder of what happens to anyone who crosses Roman fucking Reigns.

"She's….she's in hiding. Safe." He clarifies, not willing to offer much more than that. "I'm not bringing her back home until I'm sure it's safe to do so."

"I see…." Lita trails off once more, slipping into her usual sitting position, legs tucked under her. For some reason, it makes Roman feel slightly more relaxed. "It all makes sense, then."

He eyes her. Skeptical. Cautious. "What do you mean?"

She takes a deep breath. "Roman, I don't….I don't fully understand how all the crime shit works, but I know and have heard enough to know that you were betrayed, Solana was kidnapped, and my guess would be that they tried to kill you both." He says and offers neither agreement or disagreement. "I can understand why you're so angry and why you've been on a murder spree, making the town look like something out of a horror movie, but it's….it's deeper than that." She tilts her head, assessing in a low voice. "It's even more personal, because she's not here….you don't have her with you, and that's….difficult, I'd gather."

He looks away once more, fist forming at his side. Roman's voice is also low and quiet, as he admits aloud for the first time, "I'm not….I'm not used to it." He swallows, pushing back the pride, knowing he needs to talk about this. To unload at least one thing on his plate. "I'm not used to….to being without her."

He doesn't really know how to function properly and normally without her. Just knows how to channel all of that frustration in his killing and torturing.

"I'm sure," Lita murmurs.

"I—" He struggles, the word a tremendous weight that weighs him down to the point of needing release. "I miss her."

Lita presses her lips together, voice sympathetic. "Are you….are you able to spe—"

"No," he interrupts, voice gruff. "We're no contact to ensure her location can't be tracked."

"I see." She's quiet for a few minutes, eventually and gingerly approaching all of the other shit Roman now has added to his collection of baggage. "I've also heard that….that you were betrayed from the inside. That it was….some of your family members."

"They were never my fucking family," he growls. Roman has shifted from that place of vulnerability to that stainless steel wall of defense. "And don't fucking call them that."

"My apologies." She nods, recognizing that the extent of his regression might be more than she realized. Understandable though. Completely understandable. "Can I ask you something?"

His hesitation is noticeable. "What?"

"With Solana gone for the time being, who do you have?"

It's a delayed response. The question requires contemplation.

"My cousins, Dwayne and Ava," he finally answers, and for the first time, in a long time, Roman allows himself to be honest about the very thing he's avoided for years. Tried to pretend wasn't a thing. But, it is. And, it's been more than proven in the past few weeks. "And Matteo….my brother."

This time, Lita expertly shields her surprise at yet another shocking confession. "Your brother?" He says nothing. Expected. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had a sibling still living."

Tense and partially uncomfortable, Roman nods. "It's….complicated."

"I bet," she murmurs. "Do you…do you want to talk about it?"

No. He doesn't want to talk about anything. What Roman wants to do is be with his pregnant wife. He wants to not have to deal with any of this shit. Wishes it never fucking happened in the first place, but it did, and now he's here trying to use a dollar store mop for a rainfall of issues.

But….

But, in this midst of this storm of epic proportions, there have been some glimpses of….something.

Like the fact that Roman can't and won't continue to deny something he's spent his whole life avoiding. Trying to avoid.

That he has a brother.

That despite all off the bitter feelings of resentment and jealousy toward the man that got the same short end of the stick that he did, Matteo has more than proven himself to be someone Roman can….can trust.

Such a difficult, virtually impossible thing considering what happened, the depth of the betrayal, but the truth of the matter is that Matteo and so many others showed up when Roman needed help the most.

Needed his brother.

It's why he's decided to stop denying the truth and maybe, just maybe, himself.

Roman shifts in his seat. "I've…I've realized that….I should…probably try to form some kind of relationship with him." Because, it's time. "It's what Solana thinks I should do, and….one of my aunt's dying wish that I….make things right with him."

"Sure." A pause. "But, what about you, Roman? What do you want?"

A lot of things. The biggest thing? His wife back home with him, so he could have her by his side as he works through all this shit. But, that's not an option. It's not an option, and he has to learn how to be without her for the time being.

Has to learn how to navigate the waters closest to him.

No matter how much he hates it.

"I—I—" He also hates this fucking stuttering and stammering. It's so unlike him. "I don't know how….how to go about that."

An almost embarrassing admission but a truth, nonetheless. Solana is good with these sorts of things. Not him.

Lita keeps a contained smile. Regression has certainly occurred but not, perhaps, as much as she initially believed. There's something there she intends to grab and hone in on as much as she can while still acknowledging his already complex treatment plan just got significantly more complicated.

"Well….." She starts, standing up and walking over to grab the infamous box of Giant Uno off her bookshelf. "Murder and mayhem, I don't know, but that…." Trailing off, she takes a seat, offering another small, patient smile. One step at a time. "—That I can certainly help you with."

----------

"Ya know," Ava starts, lifting her beer from her mouth after taking and swallowing a decent ass amount. "I'm a little offended none of you fuckers have invited me along for the kill tour."

Dwayne chuckles, the beer in his hand looking significantly smaller than it actually is due to his big ass overall size. "Didn't realize that was your thing, cuz."

"Psshhh." She makes a sound, leaning back in the chair, lifting her middle finger to the sky. "They came after our family. Of course, I want my pound of flesh."

Matteo's smile is small as he traces the mouth of his bottle. "Well, there still remains a few outliers we haven't caught."

Being reminded of that makes Roman scowl as he tightly squeezes the bottle in his hand.

Despite his shutting down the city, a few bitches were perhaps smart enough to get the hell out of dodge when they realized Solo was also dead. When they realized that while Roman had been "eliminated," not having the protection of the men who led the charge meant their fates were left up in the air.

So, they ran.

Not that it's made a difference. Roman has accompanied Dwayne on various trips to other states where the Bloodline has locations, where tips from traitors who were dumb enough to stick around and ended up singing like canaries from a little bit of torture. Or, if Roman doesn't accompany Dwayne for said trips, Matteo does.

They're smart enough to know it's not wise for all three to leave the city at once. Not when they're working to restore order and balance.

A process that's…..going, which is good, but it's still going, which is the problem.

It's been two weeks, and they're still not there. At that point where Roman can bring his wife home, and that….that's been rough, to say the least.

It helps to have the people around him, but even them combined together don't equate even half of the comfort and relief his wife provides him.

"Good," Ava replies, smiling craftily. "Save some for me, then." She then gasps, looking around the room. "Has big ears told you what we came up with for you know what?"

At that, Roman rolls his eyes, but he can't ignore the skip and leap of hope that dances within at the shift in topic and conversation.

"Hopefully, you did most of the thinking, cause Lord knows this man ain't got a romantic bone in his body," Dwayne scoffs, gesturing to Roman who only scowls in response.

"I'd argue there's maybe one there." Matteo shrugs. "Or, half of one."

Ava snorts. "More like a quarter." Roman flips her off, something she entirely ignores. "Anyway, so here's what we came up with…."

As Ava moves into specifics, excitement painting her face and accompanying her hand gestures as she almost illustrates what they, what Roman primarily, intends to do for his wife upon her return. A plan months in the making, marked and interrupted by several setbacks but something he's ultimately decided to follow through with.

Roman tunes them out to a certain extent, focused less on the conversation at hand and more the people.

In under a year, his life has taken such a turn. Many unexpected turns. He's gained and lost, lost and gained, gained some more, lost some more, and started all over. Overwhelming in a lot of regards, especially considering the latest chapter has easily been the most traumatic.

But, there's also something else he can't deny. Something he's been working on in therapy with Lita, that he'd love to be able to talk with Solana about, but something he can't really deny, nonetheless. Even if he wanted to.

He's gained such a loyal, strong inner circle. People who, if he continues upon the path of honesty, have always been there for him. It's just been him, Roman, who's kept that wall up.

The wall that, according to Lita, kept the "bad" people out but also kept the "good" people from getting in.

She wasn't wrong.

Roman has spent so many years pushing people away, only letting a select few close to him, and while a few of those select few have caused him an insurmountable of pain, hurt and trauma, there still remains the fact that he still has people he can trust.

He still has family.

Even more, Solana's several statements regarding as such return to the forefront of his mind.

"The girls deserve to have a big family who love and support them, Ro."

Solana was also right.

His family might look slightly different now, but they're still family.

"I—" He cuts in, interrupting the conversation among the three regarding that. Equally important but not as germane as what he wants to say. Needs to say, really. "I want to thank all of you."

"Hell hath fucking frozen over." Ava scoffs. "Did you just…..thank someone?" She smirks, crossing her arms, head tilted. "I didn't think you were capable of that shit. Not unless it's Solana."

Roman scowls, but he doesn't disagree. "Are you done?" She rolls her eyes and lifts her hands in a defensive manner, signifying her silence. Roman shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the three sets of eyes on him. "I know I….I'm not the fucking best with this shit, but I….I do appreciate the three of you. What you've done…..for me." He primarily looks between Dwayne and Matteo. "Especially you two….you saved my life." He swallowed. "I don't….I don't take that lightly."

"You better fucking not," Dwayne shakes his head, sipping some of his beer. "I don't risk my life for just anyone."

"And, you're not just anyone, Roman," Matteo adds, his tone more on the serious side. Sincere. "You're family."

"We're family," Ava corrects, looking among the men. "A dysfunctional ass family of killers and shit ton of trauma but family nonetheless."

Roman chuckles. "Yeah…." He clears his throat, carefully trying to balance vulnerability with some element of business. "Matteo…." His brother looks his way, eyebrow raised. "You said you trust Vinci, right?"

Vinci. The man who assisted Matteo in making his way back to Italy without the Administration finding out, allowing him the element of surprise needed to carry out his hits. A man who, according to Matteo, has worked hard for and with him for over a decade.

He offers no hesitation, just a nod of confirmation. "With my life." Skepticism is raised. "Why?"

A bit of a delayed response, because that damn trust thing. Roman isn't sure how he's supposed to trust anyone outside of the group of people who helped him ever again, and while this Vinci fucker isn't anyone he knows, Matteo does. Matteo is vouching for him, so that has to be enough.

For now.

"We'll need someone we know we can trust to handle business over there." At that, he and Dwayne share questioning expressions. "Because I need you two stateside with me."

Matteo is the first to respond, that skepticism still looming. "Yeah?"

Roman rolls his neck, explaining. "I….I need people around me I know I can trust." A survey of the gatherers. "And outside of Solana, I don't know anyone I trust more than the people in this room."

Ava sits forward, seeing her cousin's gaze on her. "Wait…." She lowers her beer, small smile growing on her face. "You're inviting me into your inner circle?"

Roman nods. "You may be a pain in the fucking ass majority of the time, but you're smart. Loyal. I know I can trust you, and I know you'd be a valuable asset."

"Hell yeah, I would." She agrees. "Some estrogen to tamper down all that testosterone would probably do you all some good."

Roman doesn't entirely disagree. He just continues to share the tentative plans he's been mentally mulling over since returning home. "I'm also….I'm considering including Escobar."

"Escobar?" Dwayne's look of skepticism sure. "Brotha, you sure you didn't hit that big ass head of yours at some point?" A sarcastic question, of course, but there's also a hint of truth. "You hate Escobar."

"Dumbo hates everyone. What else is new?"

Roman ignores Ava. Her being on his council will be….an adjustment, for sure. "I did, or I do, but….I can't deny what he did, and Lopez wants him to be the liaison between us and the Cartel, so it only makes sense to include him. In some things. Not all."

"Isn't he technically your in-law as well?"

"Don't remind me," Roman mutters, trying to wipe his brother's valid but irritating reminder from his mind.

"I hate to break it to you, Roman, but it seems Solana's maternal side of the family is….large." Matteo's comment doesn't help, but it's not meant to. Meant to remind The Tribal Chief that his future is most likely filled with forced interactions with….people. "It might benefit you to get used to….large family functions."

"Make sure that Stephanie girl is there."

Matteo frowns. "Did she not tell you, not so eloquently, might I add, to fuck off?"

"Sure did." Dwayne answers. Proudly, almost. "I'll wear her down."

"Oh my God." Ava rolls her eyes, standing up and heading to the kitchen. "I need another beer."

"I'll join you," Dwayne announces.

"Please don't," she objects. Not that it makes a difference as he says something about warming up a slice of pizza.

Their departure leaves Roman and Matteo alone. A blanket of silence befalls them. One that has Roman moving around in his seat, eager to down the rest of his beer. In the madness and chaos that's thrived and consumed his life in the wake of fixing everything, this evening of just….calm, of normalcy, is appreciated.

Needed, even.

"So…." Matteo starts, placing his beer down on the coffee table. "Your inner circle…"

The younger man nods, stroking his beard. "Well, there are openings now."

While Roman is dead serious, Matteo laughs quietly, shaking his head. "I bet there are."

For the Elder council as well, but that's also being taken care of. Another task Roman is overseeing with the help of his cousin and the man before him.

"Thank you, Roman." Matteo's voice has shifted to a serious, solemn tone. "I don't take the honor lightly. Especially after what's happened…."

Roman says nothing initially. Just nods as something unfamiliar and indescribable fills him. Emotion, maybe? Some form of it, perhaps. He just knows it's partially settled by the conversation he had with Lita about this.

One step at a time.

"You've earned it." Is the response he settles on. The latter portion of his response a bit difficult for him to share but a truth, nonetheless. "Besides, it might be kind of hard for us to work on this….brother shit, if you're on the other side of the world."

While it's not the first time Roman has referred to Matteo as his brother, it's certainly the first time he's verbalized it in an accepting manner.

Especially in front of Matteo whose small smile can only be described as one of relief.

And joy.

Happiness.

"I suppose you're right, fratello," he hums. "I suppose you're right…"

Fratello

Brother.

And for the first time, Matteo's use of the word doesn't anger Roman. Doesn't pick at a long-term, never healing, always open, fresh would.

It feels relieving.

Healing.

---------

Despite an evening of relaxation and camaraderie, the next day brings about more work. More shit to work through.

"So…." Matteo starts as the two walk into Bloodline Headquarters, Dwayne planning to meet them later in the day, tasked with carrying out a side quest for Roman. "Who are we killing today, fratellino?"

Little brother.

Again, no irritation. No vexation. Just….the calm.

"Depends on who pisses me the fuck off," Roman mutters, and the two brothers share a small laugh and chuckle that's almost instantly washed away from both the minute they walk into Roman's office to see someone already waiting, sitting in Roman's seat.

Roman's fist forms at his side. Alicia's days are fucking numbered.

"You got a minute to tell me who the fuck you are, and maybe I won't blow your brains out just yet."

The man smiles. Older. Very old. His face reveals that he's seen decades of this world past him by, his eyes filled with countless stories of mischief and mayhem. A smirk on his face accompanies him standing, revealing a height rivaling Roman and Matteo's. He comes to stand in front of Roman's desk, leaning back with his arms crossed over his slim build.

"Well, I'll be damned." His voice is thickly accented. Familiar. Italian. "Can't say I ever saw this shit coming."

Roman is ready to kill the old man and be done with it, but Matteo grabbing his arms stops him from adding to his never-ending kill count. Roman looks over to see Matteo's head turned slightly, studying, observing, but something else. Something unfamiliar. Alarmed. He looks alarmed.

Roman frowns. "What?"

But, Matteo says nothing. Not to his brother, at least.

"Nonno?"

And, at that, Roman's gaze shifts back and forth, quickly, between the two men.

His chest tightens, asking again, but for a completely different reason. "What?"

Gaze on the old man, Roman sees how he simply raises his chin, offering a nonverbal response. And confirmation.

Only then does Roman see it. The slight but now visible similarities between not only Matteo and this man, but himself and the man.

In all of them.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Matteo speaks in Italian, his voice even, the former shock and confusion easing into a coldness that Roman often feels and see in himself.

"Well." The older man makes a sound, rolling his shoulders, face turned up in a brief grimace. "Given all that's happened the past few weeks, we realized it was time—"

"We?" Roman cuts in. It's the first thing he's said to the man he now recognizes the same way Matteo does.

His nonno.

Their grandfather.

This is their maternal grandfather.

"Hi, boys..."

Another voice speaks, but this time, this time there is no word to describe just what courses through either of the brothers as they turn around in almost perfect synchronization. Initially guarded and partially alarmed, that's punted away the minute their sight confirms what the auditory already knew.

Roman doesn't get disturbed often. If ever. It's not in his character. Matteo's neither.

But, it's a miracle that neither man stumbles back at the sight before them.

She stands in the doorway, an expensive, beautiful, intricately designed scarf over her head, tied under her chin. A wrap that slender fingers with disfigured looking skin slowly moves to undo, allowing it to crumple in her hands. She swallows, the lines on her face prominent as she frowns, her familiar light brown eyes bouncing between the two stunned men.

The weight on Roman's chest has grown to an unbearable amount, so much so that it prevents him from speaking. From thinking. From breathing, it feels like.

No, Matteo is the one that finds the wherewithal to speak the word Roman can't find in him to verbalize.

"Mom?"

------

welp. do ya'll agree with roman's decisions regarding jey and jimmy?

also, yes.....matteo and roman's mother is still alive.

reminder: next chapter is the last one.

[vivwritesfics]

Codename: Bunny

Chapter Two

Summary: The world thinks Oscar Piastri is dead. Oscar Piastri thinks Oscar Piastri is dead. Now ex-Mafia, he finds himself hiding out in Melbourne. But Mark Webber pulls him back in, all to protect his niece from an anonymous threat on her life.

The niece that wants nothing to do with him. The niece that tried to kill him the first time they met. What could go wrong?

Warnings: Guns, death (not really), blood, knives, stalking

A/N: Bunny girl is autistic but i'm not stating it outright in my writing (projecting rn)

Hey Bunny.

Her hand wrapped around the handle of her knife, her nails decorated with delicate blueberries. Her other hand was against his neck, pressed against his pulse point.

It would have been so satisfying to feel his pulse spike with fear. Any other man would have let their fear take over. But not Oscar.

He was perfectly calm, and she hated it. That was nearly enough to drive her knife into his neck.

Her uncle calling her name saved Oscar's life that day.

Pocketing the knife, Y/N Webber stepped away from Oscar. She slipped her knife into the hidden leather sheath she'd attached to her skirt and stepped away from him.

“No,” she said to Mark, the first thing she'd said since she entered the room.

Mark didn't answer her. He didn't ask what she meant by ‘no’, instead asking his own question. “Where's Logan?”

“On his way,” she said quickly and pointed a manicured finger at Oscar. “I don't want him anywhere near me.”

Oscar took his hands from his pocket and leaned forward. With his hands free, he could grab her wrist if she went for her knife. “Why? Because I won't put up with your bullshit?”

Y/N released something inhuman from her throat, something like a growl. As much as she hated him, he was right.

All those years ago, when Oscar was just a rookie in the Webber Family, the first time he looked over her, he had been stern. He had escorted her everywhere, hadn't let her do anything fun.

Not like Logan, who was a pushover. With Logan, all she had to do was bat her eyelashes and wear a pout. After that, Logan agreed to anything.

Oscar wouldn't have let her go to any of the parties she attended with Logan. He wouldn't have sat in a bar with her, taking her home when she was a giggly mess.

Oscar would have forced her to sit in her apartment. Last time that happened, most of the knives in the apartment were in front of him, being protected from her. He didn't know about the pink one back then, not until it was lodged into the wall beside his head and blood from his ear was dripping onto his shirt.

Seeing the scar on his ear was so damn satisfying.

“Y/N,” Mark began, but she shook her head.

“No, Mark! I don't want to be babysat by him!” She insisted.

Just as bratty as Oscar remembered her to be.

A sigh left Mark's lips as he leaned forward. “Sweetheart, it's not babysitting,” he said as she folded her arms over her chest. “I need someone I trust to protect you, someone I know can take care of you.”

He said it so gently, so sweetly, she dropped her arms. Just his niece, but she might as well have been his daughter. The only family he had left in the world, and he was going to do whatever it took to keep her safe.

“I don't understand why Logan can't keep protecting me,” she mumbled, actually sounding kind of sweet.

“He's being reassigned,” Mark answered. “I need you to trust me.”

She rubbed her eyes and nodded her head. “Okay,” she said finally. “Let me say goodbye to Logan.”

Mark nodded and she turned around. Oscar watched her go, marching out of the office and down the hall. “Are you sure that's a good idea?” He asked and Mark shrugged his shoulders.

“She knows she'll be in trouble if she doesn't come back,” Mark answered and lounged back in his chair, posture relaxed. “You'll be paid handsomely for this,” he continued. “And as soon as the threat is located and dealt with, you'll be free to go back to your normal life.”

“I should get my stuff from my apartment,” he said.

Mark released a laugh. “I'll have stuff sent to her apartment for you.”

Oh yeah, he would be living with her. In her apartment, sleeping on that lumpy sofa. She insisted that the lumps were just right to be comfortable, but Oscar's neck and back disagreed.

“Does she still have that cat?”

“Pistachio?” Mark asked and Oscar nodded. “Yeah, he's still around.”

“Good to know,” Oscar mumbled and scratched at his wrist. Admittedly, he didn't know what to do now. Y/N had disappeared out of the office, so he was left waiting.

What if she doesn't come back?

But then the door opened.

A familiar face, dressed in a pristine suit, strode into the office. He looked at Mark, looked at Oscar, and a smile graced his features. “Good to see you, man,” Logan said quietly and led her into the office.

Her breath was shaking as she held onto Logan, unwilling to let him go. “Logan,” Mark said and nodded towards him.

Her grip was still tight as Logan fished his car keys from his pocket. He placed them on the desk and used his other hand to get her off of him. The sweet words left his lips, the whole scene feeling too intimate for onlookers.

The way Logan called her ‘baby’, the way he brushed her hair behind her ears and kissed her forehead. He really, truly cared for her, Oscar realised.

“Where am I being reassigned to?” Logan asked as he finally got out of her boa constrictor hold.

Mark picked up the keys in front of him. “We'll discuss it later,” he said, the keys dangling from his finger. “Oscar, these are for you.” He held the keys out and Oscar took them. “Don't let her drive.”

His eyebrows went up. “Weren't you learning to drive last time I saw you?” He asked her.

She glared at him. A vicious glare he knew so well. He hadn't exactly missed it when working for The Norris Family, The Sainz Family. But it was good to see it, good to know she still had it in her to glare daggers at him.

“I can drive,” she spat through clenched teeth.

“Don't let her drive,” Logan reiterated.

Oscar looked at the keys in his hand. “Don't let her drive, got it,” he said and shoved them into his pocket.

With something between a growl and a groan, she marched out of the office and slammed the door shut behind her.

One look from Mark and Oscar was following her. “Hey,” he called, speeding up to chase her. He wasn't going to run, though. No way in hell was he running after her. He called her name, but she was down the stairs and making her way to the front door.

“Make sure she can't get off of the property without me,” Oscar said to one of the men at the door. He nodded, wide eyes as if he had seen a ghost (in some ways, he had).

Oscar walked out through the doors. His eyes scanned the courtyard, moved over the fountain, over the cars, and towards the gate.

The heavily fortified gates. His command had gotten to the men on the property, evident by the way she argued with the man in front of the gate. Her shout carried across the courtyard, back to the house. When she called him an asshole and stomped her foot, Oscar bit back a grin.

Arms folded over her chest, she reluctantly made her way back towards Oscar. Her glare was fixed on him as she stomped, wearing her black trainers.

“I want to go home,” she spat and held her hand out for the car keys.

Oscar pulled the keys from his pocket. “What's your address?” He asked and pressed the button on the keys. He looked all of the cars parked outside of the house, searching for the quick flashes of light.

A shitty, little Fiat, one he didn't want to drive. Her car, clearly. Oscar waited for her response, his eyebrows raised slightly.

Folding her arms over her chest, she turned away from him and raised a chin. “Fine,” he said. “I'm gonna wait in the car.”

Oscar left her by the house. He strode towards the car, feeling out of place in his shorts and hoodie. Even more out of place when he climbed into the driver's seat of the little Fiat.

For ten minutes, he sat there. To her credit, she was stubborn. The girl Oscar left behind would have given up by now, would have climbed into the car, her body turned away from him as he drove her home.

Home, where she wanted to be. But not if Oscar was the one driving.

After those ten minutes, she made her way towards the car. Her arms were crossed over her chest, but she looked embarrassed instead of angry. Her glare wasn't all there as she pulled open the passenger side door and climbed in.

Silently, Oscar put the car into gear and drove away from the house. The gate swung open for the tiny little car, letting them through.

“You're gonna have to tell me where I'm going, Y/N,” he said. Still calm, but Oscar always had been with her. It didn't matter what she did, how angry she got, he was always calm. It usually made her angrier.

The address was muttered under her breath. The same place she had lived the last time Oscar protected her (protected was a strong word. He preferred ‘babysitting’). As nice as the apartment was, Oscar expected more.

“Thought you wanted to go to school,” he mumbled.

She perked up at that and pushed herself away from the window. “You remembered that?” She asked and Oscar nodded his head.

Y/N settled back down in her seat, but she wasn't turned away from him and her head wasn't against the window anymore. “I'm at school,” she muttered, eyes still on him. It was the longest she'd looked at him all day. “Fashion school.”

Just like she had always dreamed.

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice nothing more than a mutter. Her apartment was just around the corner. “I know that's what you always wanted.”

The two more minutes they were in the car was spent in silence. Oscar pulled into his old parking space and killed the engine.

Locking the car, he followed her into the apartment. Oscar's eyes scanned every door they passed, every entrance and exit, every window, everything.

Safe, for now.

Oscar faced the hall as she pushed open the door. Nobody exited the apartments sandwiching her own. Nobody walked down the hall.

Oscar followed her into the apartment and pushed the door shut. He worked on all of the locks while she dropped her keys onto the kitchen counter.

“Oh my God.” Oscar looked around at the mess that was her apartment.

Dishes everywhere. Mugs on the side, plates with a little bit of food still on them, and cutlery piled into a dirty bowl. Clothes all over the floor, fabrics thrown over the rug on the floor. The bin was overflowing with wrappers and the litter box was gross.

Logan let her live like this?

Oscar never would have let it get this bad. That was part of the reason he had the scar on his ear. Because he made her clean up after herself.

Back then he didn't understand. He didn't understand why everything was a struggle back then. She had her good days, where she was actually kind of sweet. But she had her bad days. Days where every little thing got to her. Days where she needed a patient hand, but Oscar didn't know to give that to her.

Something brushed up against his leg. Oscar looked down at the white cat with brown spots. He had bright blue eyes, too.

“Hey, Piss,” he whispered and leaned down to stroke his hand through his fur. Pistachio purred and turned around to brush the other side of his body against Oscar's leg. “We've got our work cut out for us.”

prev

Taglist: @jjs-space

@barcelonaloverf1life

@taetae-armyyyyy

@vanteel

@formula1fordisaster

@formulaal

@cassielikereading

[draculasfavoritewife]

Distracted

Summary: When Frank calls you during a mission after an extended period of radio silence, what could possibly make him break his own no-contact rule?

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader

Warnings: Some language; this is practically just phone sex in every way except for me explicitly stating so ;)

I think I just need to accept at this point that my Frank fics will always get away from me in the end. This one started on the 🤭 side of the scale and by the time I reached the end it had somehow reached unprecedented levels of 🥵. In any case, I love the idea of normally taciturn Frank missing talking to reader and just calling her up out of the blue to tell her that. And then I guess everything just devolved from there, as it so often does.

When you answered your phone, your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to escape from your body right through your chest wall.

He never called.

Had something gone so horribly wrong that he needed to say goodbye?

"Frank?!"

"Hey there, pretty girl." His voice sounded bone-tired, but warm with affection, and your panic started to subside. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," you had murmured. "You just know how I worry."

"I do." The rough laugh on the other side of the line turns your insides into a melting mess. "Just needed to hear my girl's voice for a minute. Long day."

You lie back on the bed again, letting out a quiet breath of relief.

"I miss you, tough guy."

He hums wordlessly in acknowledgement, and you can imagine him settling back against a wall somewhere, finally letting his overexerted body relax.

"Tell me what you're wearing?"

He sounds softer now, almost a little hesitant. "I wanna picture what you look like right now."

Heat rushes to your face. "Nothing special. Just one of your shirts I uh...'borrowed'. I hope that's okay."

There's silence for a moment on the other end, then a sharp hissing sound that you imagine must be him sucking in a breath between his teeth.

"Shit, baby, lookin' like that without me there to see it? You know how I feel about you wearin' my stuff. Goddammit."

You smile and stroke the threadbare fabric between your fingers. "I know, Frank, I'm sorry. But it smells like you, and I missed you so bad today. It helps me sleep at night when you're not here with me."

He chuckles softly, a deep rumbling that you feel all the way in the pit of your chest even through the phone's less-than-ideal sound quality. "Alright, alright. Which one?"

"Black. Slightly thicker fabric, buttoned collar." You tap the worn-smooth buttons with your fingertips as you say the words, an unconscious fidgeting habit.

"That old one with the holes in the sleeves?" He's way too good at this, guessed exactly which piece you would've taken refuge in during his absence.

"Damn, Frank," you breathe out, shocked at his accuracy. "How'd you tell?" He does own at least four different shirts that match the brief description you'd given.

You hear him grunt, probably a blend of approval and the soreness that comes from doing god-knows-what for the past few days. "You like that one. Only reason it's still in the closet, to tell the truth. Would've thrown it out a long time ago otherwise."

A flood of memories rushes through your mind: cuddling up to him, in bed, on the couch, his hands in your hair and his lips brushing your forehead, warm and safe in the folds of this very same shirt. "I'm really glad you kept it, then."

"I am too." A long sigh, and the rustling sounds of his large body shifting position. "Your hair up or down?"

The warmth rapidly returns to your face. Is what you think is happening actually happening?

You wouldn't have guessed Frank was an over-the-phone kind of guy, he prefers to be hands-on in every aspect of his life, but the two of you had spent so much time together lately, maybe the separation is getting to him, too.

"It's down. I took a shower earlier and wanted to let it air dry for a bit." Your voice comes out soft, vulnerable as you answer him and lean further into the pillows behind you.

"Mmm. You know if I was there I'd help you get all the tangles out, yeah?"

You shiver at the thought of his big hands in your hair, those long, dexterous fingers patiently combing their way through, their passage sometimes halting where your comb had missed a spot. "You say that now, Castle, but how do I know you wouldn't be putting more tangles in?"

His taken-off-guard laugh rasps in your ear. "Hey now, you watch that pretty mouth of yours. Don't taunt me like that." A brief moment of consideration, a heavy pause as he imagines you on top of him, that damn shirt swallowing your figure and your teasing face looking down into his. "Maybe I would."

"Thought so." You stick the fingers of your free hand through the aforementioned holes in his shirt. "I hate this bed, Frankie."

"Yeah? Why's that? Don't be a smartass now, I practically built that bed for you."

"It's too big and empty without you." You channel all of the sad, bratty tone you can possibly muster into that simple sentence.

"Christ."

You're not quite sure if the strain you hear running beneath his voice comes from exhaustion or something else you're starting. "My girl's lonely there all by herself, huh?"

"Yeah. I need you to come back, Frank."

"Shit, I know, Sweetheart. I know. I need you, too." His breath hitches, barely noticeable but you know him, and you catch it.

"You lonely without me too, tough guy?"

He hums, a non-answer, deliberately drawing the conversation out. "Look, I like bashing faces in as much as the next guy, but the people I'm after are a little bit lacking in the affection department."

You put the phone down, switching it to speaker mode and settling into a better position. "So you're touch-starved, is what I'm hearing."

You know he must be scowling and shaking his head at the accusation on the other end of the line. "Nah, I wouldn't say that, exactly --"

"Well I am." Your admission comes out as little more than a breathy sigh. "Do you have any idea how hard that is?"

He only snorts at that, and you feel gratified that the implication landed.

"I can't even watch TV at night without wishing your hand was here resting on my thigh like usual," you tell him wistfully.

A long, huffed-out exhale precedes his next words, and you grin wickedly at the sound. "Yeah, Sweetheart. I miss how you count all my scars when we're just lyin' in bed and neither of us can sleep."

"You got any new ones for me?"

The unsteadiness is completely impossible to keep out of your own voice now as you close your eyes, remembering how it feels when his hands are the ones touching you instead.

"Probably." A sharp intake of air interrupts him for a brief moment. "Not gonna tell you where, though. I'll let you find 'em all on your own when I get back."

Your entire body shudders violently at such an invitation. "I will, Frankie. I'll find all of your new scars, I promise. I'll kiss 'em for you, too -- maybe even bite 'em, if they're in good places."

"Shit."

There's a sudden vacuum left in the air between you after his sharply spat expletive, only the uneven rhythm of two people dozens of miles apart trying to catch their breath breaking the delicate silence. You pick your phone up again and bring it close to your face so you can hear his breathing right in your ear; if you keep your eyes shut, you can almost imagine he's right there in the bed with you.

"You're dangerous, you know that," he mutters after a bit. "Got me all distracted out here like some asshole amateur."

"Hey, you called me," you point out, warmth pouring into your contrary words. "I know you're not completely naive, Castle."

"Ah, get off my ass. Was a momentary lapse in judgement, s'all. Happens to the best of us."

"Mmhmm." You trace a small heart on the blanket next to the phone. "Right. Well, you better get back here soon then, and avoid any more mistakes like this, huh?"

"I will." His promise is gentle, but steel-hard with sheer conviction underneath.

"Won't be long, baby girl. Can't wait to have you with me for real again."

[nanamimizz]

BLOG ANNOUNCEMENT.

hiii everyone !!! happy sunday 🫶🏼 wherever it is that you are. i have some big news to share with you all and i know it will be met with some questions so i will try my best to answer all of them here in this announcement.

to start off - i am moving blogs. for the past two months or so i’ve had a hard and difficult time being on here as i’ve become hit with the harsh reality that my blog is a mess. i’ve tried to clean it up before in the past but those half assed attempts just made the problems worse than alleviating it. it’s too the point that i really can’t find anything ever and if i am having a hard time doing that i can’t imagine how it must be for others. the second reason why im moving blogs is because this blog feels far too big for me now, i’ve been on nanamimizz for 4ish years and it doesn’t feel like my safe space carved out for me by me.

i will always treasure nanamimizz, and everyone on here for the memories and the growth i’ve experienced on here with you all but i do think i need a fresh start. nanamimizz will not be deleted but simply archived - all my writing will be available and im not sure if my personal posts should be left up or not. i’m still deciding on that.

the new blog is still in the works, and it won’t be released for a bit nor will this move be immediate ! we have until one month from now - on April 23rd for the move !

i will be on a completely different blog with a completely different name. mutuals are more than welcome to dm both on here/discord and ask for the url which is up and i ask you to NOT share it with anyone else, anons who ask for it or other mutuals. to my readers i thank you all for joining on this journey and for finding joy in my craft.

it has been a honor and joy to be your little lamb these past few years and i hope you follow me into greener pastures <3

[sinful-lanterns]

Hey it’s the resident angell love her i want to know if i can get period comfort with angell i feel awful and I’m out of advil so i really need some

Also can I be🌂 anon

AHHHHH I’m so sorry for answering this so late. Your period is most likely over by now, but i still wanted to write this for you 😭

Yes, you can be 🌂 anon! And while this Drabble is very late, I hope you’ll be able to enjoy it on your next period <3

SFW AND NSFW UNDER THE CUT

SFW PERIOD COMFORT HEADCANONS:

- When you’re on your period, Angell temporarily takes over as the “housewife.” Although she’s not very good, she’d rather force herself to learn new life skills than bother her poor, aching wife…

- She forces herself to learn how to cook for you, but the smell of burnt red bean soup doesn’t do any favors for your nausea. Instead, you opt for Angell to pickup your favorite takeout instead. She’ll buy whatever greasy junk food you want without hesitation, even if they’re in the farthest parts of DisCity. She’ll make the hour-long drive just for you <3

- Angell gets extra clingy when you’re on your period, which is funny because usually it’s the other way around. It’s mostly because she’s quite awkward when it comes to comforting someone, so she just spoons you and rubs your belly with her hands, hoping that by just sharing her body heat, the cramps go away.

- Angell has a huge stash of painkillers in her bathroom cabinet because of her job as a hitwoman. You’ll never run out of Advil in your house.

- Due to being a hitwoman, Angell is very unfazed by blood. Even if you accidentally bleed on her bedsheets, she just shrugs and cleans it off for you, not understanding why you’re so embarrassed because it’s just…blood? Besides, you’re her wife. She’ll happily clean up any bloody accidents that occur, because she has the best methods on how to remove bloodstains 🥺

NSFW PERIOD COMFORT HEADCANONS:

- Considering that Angell is completely unfazed by blood, she’d happily strap you if you asked her to. Sometime periods can make you horny and according to a quick google search, orgasms can help alleviate period cramps. So it only makes sense for Angell to get out the strap to make her wife feel better! Let her peg you!

- If you’re the type to be worried about a bloody mess, Angell just shrugs and grabs a towel. She’s dead set on helping you feel better, and if an orgasm is what you need, an orgasm is what you’re getting.

- Angell is honestly quite mesmerized by how sensitive you are during this time. She’s slower than usual, taking her sweet, gentle time to make sure her wife is feeling satisfied. The way your thighs twitch with each push of her hips against your clit…good lord, Angell is practically drooling. Especially since she can go so much deeper thanks to how wet you are.

- Fingering usually feels better than the strap though, especially during your period. So, Angell just slides her strap right out and moves her hand down to finger you. She doesn’t care, she’s so curious and desperate to please her wife. She’ll plunge her fingers in knuckle deep, thrusting at a leisurely pace before distracting you with a sloppy tongue kiss. You can’t complain about how embarrassed you are if she has her tongue in your mouth. Just stay quiet and let Angell continue to pleasure you…

- When your first orgasm ripples through you, it’s mind shattering. Your cramps, your aches, your nausea seems to fade for a moment as blissful pleasure overwhelms you. Angell lets you cling onto her muscular body for comfort, helping you ride out your orgasm as she slides her slick fingers out. Knowing Angell though, she isn’t done yet. Your period lasts an entire week, so she’ll make sure you’re nice and thoroughly taken care of until your period is over. So until then, she’s keeping you nice and snug on her fingers for a long, long time…

[violetjedisylveon]

Shadowpeach AU, where Macaque was originally the guardian of the Immortal Peach Trees, and Wukong had to get past him in order to get an immortal peach...

But Past Wukong ISN'T as strong as Current Wukong, so Macaque keeps preventing him from getting a peach...

One day, Macaque mockingly bites a peach in front of Wukong...

Wukong suddenly has an idea; he kisses Macaque on the lips, to get the peach in Macaque's mouth...

Macaque was frozen, as Wukong smugly takes the peach from the stunned Macaque's hands...

But once Macaque unfreezes himself, he knocks Wukong out with a single punch...

Wukong wakes up, in love with Macaque! 😍

Oh fun!

The idea of a celestial realm dwelling macaque makes me think of @anxiescape's Celestial Bodies au, which is, in their own words, sleeping beauty with gay monkeys and war crimes, and their art is super pretty too! Their Macaque has galaxies in his fur!

As I was answering this, the idea of Macaque having been adopted by the Jade Emperor and Xiwangmu (Queen Mother of the West), popped into my head, so now the Jade Emperor's issue with Wukong isn't just that he's wrecking his shit, but he's flirting with his son and making a fool of him!

This idea just became a whole lot funnier.

This could have been a tragedy, it became a comedy. I might find a way to get some angst in here

Macaque works in the peach orchards with his sisters, sometimes the peach maidens are Xiwangmu's daughters, because he enjoys it and it's a natural habitat for a monkey like himself.

He was not expecting the new stable boy to be so brazenly bold as to kiss him, a celestial prince, as a ploy to steal from him! He punches Wukong in the face for it and hopes nobody saw that, it's so embarrassing.

Meanwhile Wukong is absolutely smitten with the guy who could knock him out like that and thinks he's super powerful and strong and pretty. So he keeps visiting Macaque specifically, he doesn't know that he's the Jade Emperor's adopted son, he just thinks he's pretty.

Macaque is super confused and annoyed, he's just trying to do what makes him happy and be a good son and this stupid cute monkey keeps getting in his way!

He confides in his big sister Iron Fan, she immediately clocks in that the other monkey has the hots for her little brother and is not a fan. She asks their cousin (Erlang) to keep an eye on Wukong just to make sure he doesn't do anything.

Erlang, who is also not a fan of this monkey with the hots for his cousin, completely understands.

So now Xiaotian Quǎn follows Wukong around whenever he's in heaven, giving his the upmost disapproving looks whenever he interacts with Macaque.

But then! Horror of horrors!

Macaque catches feelings for Wukong! And he wants to die, it's so embarrassing and unbecoming! And it'll never work out! Wukong isn't a celestial, and relationships between celestials and demons or mortals are forbidden!

Macaque is super easy to fluster now and any time Wukong shows up to talk with him he is a blushing mess and is not hiding his affections very well.

Luckily Wukong is as dense as the rock he hatched from, and doesn't get the hint.

Unfortunately, nobody else is and everyone thinks he's toying with the six eared prince's heart. This just makes the rest of Macaque's family like Wukong even less.

Wukong tells Macaque about his cool friends and how they are all about taking on the injustices of the heavens, (he hasn't done anything super destructive yet he's just been a nuisance).

Macaque challenges their ideas with the question of how they would fix it, and how much suffering their war would cause for the mortals, and does a former celestial like Azure really know better than the being who's spent millions of years keeping things balanced?

They are good questions.

Wukong is left doubting the brotherhood.

Man's gay crush is giving him second thoughts.

The Jade Emperor and Xiwangmu still don't really like Wukong because he's clearly got a thing for their son and they are protective parents to say the least.

Once Macaque admits his feelings to his family, and that he wants to date the most infamous"bad boy" in all three realms, well something like this happens:

Jade Emperor: Where do you think you're going, young man? Macaque: Wherever he'll take me. JE: I forbid you to go out with that hoodlum! Macaque: But Daddy, I love him! JE: Go to your room! Macaque: I don't even live here anymore! JE: Well, then, go to your old room that your mother turned into a scrapbooking room!

It's from a Looney toons episode, someone actually made a comic of a similar idea only LBD's the parent in that situation, it's so funny.

So Macaque is grounded now, JE and Xiwangmu have already lost at least two daughters to their lovers (their over reactions to the relationships are what really caused those tragedies but the royal couple doesn't want to admit that, @quitealotofsodapop has a lot more and better detailed ideas about this concept on their blog).

Good news for the brotherhood! Azure can turn this in their favor by making Wukong think the monkey he's in love with is being held prisoner by the Jade Emperor. He still doesn't know Macaque is his son, because macaque liked being around someone who didn't know that and never felt the need to tell him.

So Wukong is amped up to fight the Jade Emperor to rescue his crush/friend!

Meanwhile, Macaque is stuck in his room listening to the dumbass he fell head over heals in love with.

Will this end good? Bad? Who knows! Not even me!

I have ideas for a good and bad end, but I might put it to poll for the decision of what really happens.

Thanks for asking! This was a really fun one, hope you like it!