#at recognizing my irritation and WHY i’m irritated

[queerdiazs]

how about we don’t generalize eddie fans and eddieblr by saying we’re the ones being atrocious about tommy okay. there’s a select few who are godawful and they deserve to be called out by name but for every shitty eddie fan there’s two shitty buck fans.

don’t be fucking childish. fandom right now is almost unbearable as it is. stop pointing fingers and being weird. block the shit you don’t want to see and stop acting stupid every time you draw in unwanted attention when you seek stuff out. thanks.

[saltywritings]

Unsworn Protector ( Gwayne Hightower x Targaryen Niece! Reader )

Summary: The reader is sent to Old Town with Daeron, however, is left in an uncomfortable situation when her uncle finds her with a pillow.

Warnings: explicit smut under the cut minors do not interact, incest, age gap, reader has a pillow princess moment, oral (female receiving), penetration, Gwayne is giving sub vibes.

Word count: 3,728

The journey to Old Town was arduous and slow, a monotonous trek that seemed designed to drain one's spirit. Few things could be more disheartening than being sent to Old Town, a place that felt like exile. Your mother, the queen, insisted that sending you and your younger brother Daeron there was for the best, claiming it would build character—whatever that meant. Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that she simply preferred not to deal with you. Sending you and Daeron away made it easier for her to focus on Aegon. Despite her intentions, you were frustrated by being uprooted from your home, all in the name of this so-called character building.

When the carriage finally arrived in Old Town, your eyes took in the sights as you traveled swiftly through the city. Having spent your entire life in King's Landing, Old Town seemed exceptionally small. You noticed the tall walls surrounding the castle, some sections near the gate clad in ivy.

"Finally, we're here," Daeron exclaimed as he rushed to the carriage door, eager to free himself from its confines.

With a mix of frustration and disgust, you pushed at your brother’s back as he deliberately blocked the carriage door, trapping you inside. "Daeron!" you shouted, your hands shoving at the coarse fabric of his shirt. "Let me out, you fool!" You struggled against him as he laughed, his mirth only heightening your irritation.

Suddenly, another voice cut through the commotion. "Come now, my prince. Let your sister out," it urged. Reluctantly, Daeron relented and stepped down the few stairs, finally freeing you from the confined space of the carriage.

As you finally freed yourself from the carriage, you realized the voice belonged to your uncle, Gwayne Hightower. Though many years had passed since you last saw him, you recognized him instantly. Stepping forward, your feet now firmly planted on the ground, you shot a sharp glare at Daeron, resisting the urge to shove him, before turning back to your uncle.

"Thank you, Uncle," you said with a small nod.

Daeron, looking bewildered, finally noticed Gwayne. "Oh—Uncle Gwayne. I didn’t recognize you," he replied, prompting you to narrow your eyes.

"I’m not surprised," you said. "You were but a babe the last time he visited."

"Indeed you were," Gwayne said with a warm smile. "I'm surprised you recognize me, Princess. You've grown as much as your brother."

He stepped forward, extending his hand toward you. You raised yours to meet his, and he took it gently, bringing it to his lips with a delicate kiss that conveyed a soft, caring warmth. Your eyes fluttered slightly as you looked at him, appreciating the affectionate gesture.

"You've grown so much," he remarked, turning his attention to Daeron.

"I'm certain I haven't grown that much," you insisted with a modest smile.

Daeron glanced at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and snorted. "Oh, trust me, you’ve grown—just not in height, sister," he mocked. Unable to restrain yourself, you gave him a small shove in response.

Your uncle watched the exchange, a faint smile playing on his lips, and shook his head with a soft chuckle at your sibling rivalry.

Gwayne shook his head with a gentle sigh, his gaze shifting to Daeron. "Now, nephew, I understand why your mother insisted on sending you here. One day, you'll realize the value of your sister's presence. Treat her with the respect she deserves," he urged, his tone firm yet compassionate. You cast a sidelong glance at your brother, a small smile playing on your lips now that your uncle had come to your defense.

Daeron responded with an eye roll, his demeanor defiant. Gwayne cleared his throat, his expression turning more serious. "I'll have your cousin show you to your room, Daeron," he declared, nodding towards him. "As for you, Princess," Gwayne continued, extending his arm toward you. "I will personally escort you to your chambers." You took his arm promptly, grateful for his support and guidance in this unfamiliar place.

Gwayne escorted you up the stairs and down a hallway to your assigned room. As the door swung open, you couldn't shake the feeling of entering a stranger's room. Though the space was well-appointed and fair, it lacked the personal touch of home. Sensing your unease, Gwayne spoke up as the two of you entered.

"This will be your chambers. My quarters are just next door," he explained, his voice reassuring. "Consider me your protector, close at hand." His words were accompanied by a small, comforting smile.

In that moment, you realized Gwayne's striking presence: his piercing blue eyes, chiseled jawline, and eloquent speech. His demeanor offered a sense of security that eased your nerves, prompting you to return his smile warmly.

"You are to be your sworn protector then?" you questioned, eyebrows knitting together as you stood somewhat puzzled. Gwayne couldn't help but chuckle softly as he shook his head.

"No, sweet niece. There's no need for that here," he reassured you gently, "but I promise to watch over you." His words carried a comforting assurance.

You nodded in understanding, your hand still linked with his arm. "Did my mother explain why she sent me here?" you asked, recalling her vague answers and insistence that leaving the Red Keep was in your best interest. Gwayne sensed your unease and took your hands in his with tender care.

"Niece," he spoke softly, "Your mother didn't want to send you away, but you're soon to be married—or at least betrothed. She thought it would be easier for you not to be uprooted from your home like many maidens are." His explanation caused you to look away, a mixture of emotions stirring within you.

"I don't want to be betrothed to a stranger," you confessed to your uncle, your hands still held in his. "The thought of belonging to a man I don't know, who doesn't know me—it frightens me."

Gwayne's expression softened at your confession. He released one of your hands and gently cupped your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. His blue eyes held a depth of understanding as he listened intently to your words.

"Your feelings are valid, my dear. Many women share your apprehensions—I know your mother did," Gwayne said soothingly, hoping to bring you comfort. "Besides, not every lady finds herself betrothed to a stranger. Try not to let fear cloud your judgment until you've had the chance to know your intended," he urged gently, sensing he had eased your nerves.

"I'll leave you to rest now," Gwayne added, seeing your nod of approval. With that, he quietly exited your chambers.

As night descended upon Old Town, you tossed and turned in your sleep, consumed by an unrelenting yearning. The unfamiliar blankets and sheets, devoid of your scent, offered no comfort. Frustrated, you reached for a plush pillow, sitting up and clutching it tightly between your thighs. Slowly, you would rock your hips back and forth, pushing down your core with some friction to alleviate this frustration that burned between your thighs. Your eyes fluttered closed, your night gown slipping from your shoulder as your hips desperately humped the pillow beneath you. You thought of your uncle, you knew you shouldn't, and yet- you could not help but to think of how kissed your hand, the blue of his eyes, how he smelled of sage.

On the other side of the door, Gwayne awoke to a plaintive sound that he initially mistook for a cry. Even through the stone walls, the soft echo of his niece's distress reached him. With concern driving him, Gwayne rose from his bed, the urgency of his duty as her uncle compelling him. He slipped into a pair of pants and quietly left his room.

It was his responsibility to care for and protect her in this unfamiliar place, in the absence of their family. Moving with cautious steps, Gwayne approached her door. Normally, he would have knocked, but in his haste and concern, he bypassed this customary courtesy. He gently pushed the door open, making as little noise as possible.

What Gwayne had come face to face with made him freeze, his entire body tensing up as he looked to the figure of you, the princess, feverously humping a pillow. Your shoulder exposed and hard nipples showing through the sheer of the night gown. Your eyes were still closed as your hips rocked against the pillow. Eyebrows pushed together as soft cries left your lips. Gwayne was more than aware that he should not be there, that he should not be witnessing this, and yet he could not tear his eyes away.

Then you said it, "Gwayne." His name left your lips like a melody and it took one hush of his name to make him impossibly hard. To the point in stung and bulged from his trousers. It was then your eyes fluttered open, and in a few blinks they widened realizing that your uncle stood in the doorway. In a panic your hands grasped the pillow and brought it up to cover yourself.

"Oh, Gods. Princess, I'm -I'm sorry -" Gwayne barely managed to gush an apology as he had went fleeing the room, closing the door behind him as he went rushing back to his room. In the midst of his embarrassment he had been sweating, his heart racing as he stayed in the confides of his room.

He was still hard. Gwayne tried not to think about you. He tried not to think about how you cried as you humped your pillow or how sweetly you spoke his name but he could not.

Gwayne would wrestle with himself for nearly an hour, but at the agony of his own groin he could not contain himself. Gwayne would still be standing as he pulled his pants down, freeing his length as he took it in one hand.

This was wrong, this was so wrong.

And still, he began to pump himself to the thought of you pleasing yourself with a pillow.

I shouldn't be doing this.

He wondered how it would feel to be between your soft thighs, to have you be humping him.

He was almost there.

To have you scream his name instead of whisper it.

Gwayne would soon spill his seed onto the ground as his hand feverishly pumped himself to the thought of you. Gwayne would attempt to find sleep that night but had been unable to do so.

When the next day dawned, you anticipated a conversation with your uncle about the events of the previous night. However, it soon became apparent that Gwayne was actively avoiding you. He didn't join you for breakfast or supper, and your cousin took it upon themselves to entertain you with a tour of Old Town, while another cousin kept you occupied with needlepoint throughout the day. Despite your efforts, the entire day passed without a glimpse of him.

Returning to your chambers in the evening, a growing discomfort settled within you. You couldn't shake the feeling that Gwayne's absence was deliberate. Did he feel embarrassed for having found you in distress? Was he ashamed of you? These thoughts churned in your mind as you lay on your bed, staring up at the canopy for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, unable to endure the uncertainty any longer, you threw off the blankets and stormed out of your chambers. Determined, you strode purposefully to his door, bypassing the courtesy of knocking—after all, he hadn't extended the same courtesy to you last night. You entered his chambers with your face flushed with agitation.

Inside, Gwayne was not asleep. He sat up in bed, bare-chested with the blankets draped over his hips, revealing that he wore nothing underneath either.

"Princess, what are you doing?" Gwayne asked abruptly, his gaze flickering to the sheerness of your nightgown, which left little to the imagination. It was evident that your attire was not quite appropriate for a princess, but after what Gwayne had witnessed the previous night, your choice of clothing was the least of your concerns.

"You walked in on me last night and now you avoid me all day?" you questioned boldly, lifting your chin as you approached his bedside. Gwayne's hands tightened on the blanket, his discomfort palpable as you drew nearer.

"You should go," he insisted, attempting to avert his eyes from you.

"Why?" You questioned sharply as he approached. "Are you ashamed of me now?"

Gwayne shook his head, you had not yet noticed, and he had hoped you hadn't as he looked away.

"It's not that." he insisted quietly.

Your eyes looked down the look of anger seeming to melt from your face as your eyes noticed the bulge beneath the blankets. He was hard, trying to hide it, but failing to do so.

"Please leave." He was begging with all restraint he had. Gwayne could not even look you in the eye as he kept the blankets around him.

You stood there for a moment unsure how to approach but desire beginning to burn between your legs as you looked to him.

"Do you desire me, uncle?" You questioned moving closer to him as a hand gently touched his thigh grabbing a handful of the sheets he was using to cover himself.

"It is wrong- I should not." He said, answering your question without actually answering your question. It was enough for you, his grip tightening to hold the sheets in place as you carefully slid one leg up on the bed, allowing it to rest on one side of him. Gwayne showed restraint, but only little.

"Who says?" you questioned, eyes staring into his as he finally had enough gull to look at you.

"The Gods." he declared. "Common law-" he tried to say with some reason, the one thread of restraint still holding on within him.

"Fuck the Gods," You declared as your hand gave a gentle pull at the sheets. "Fuck Common Law-" He continued to hold on as you pulled. "And fuck me." you said nearly pleading.

Gwayne held the blankets for a moment longer as his eyes looked to you. "You are a maiden, are you not?" He questioned unsure in this moment based on your behavior.

"I am." you declared honestly as you looked to him.

"I can not deflower my own niece." He said allowing a moment of pride to shield him.

"I do not want my first time to be with some lord that I am married off to as a bargaining chip." You insisted nearly pleading. "I desire you, uncle and you desire me." You declared, his grip on the sheet loosening.

Gwayne battled with himself for a moment, but only for a moment, for his strong hands would reach for your face, pulling you gently to meet his lips. Your body pulled onto him as your lips met his. Gwayne kissed your lips with the hunger of a starved man, his hands moved to your night gown and pulled it up, parting his lips to discard it from your body leaving you exposed to him.

He wasted little time in pushing you down onto the mattress, allowing himself to rest above you. In the moon light he took in your bare figure, soon peppering kisses between the valley of your breast and down your body to your cunt. His lips would kiss down to your bud before he grabbed onto your hips. Pulling your thighs to rest on his shoulders as his face pushed into your cunt in a way a pillow never could. It was by this that you were already squirming, back arching at his touch.

Gwayne would not hesitate to allow his tongue to lay flat against your flushed sensitive bud, your hips pushing down slightly as he tried to keep you in place with his grip. Gwayne would lick slowly, tasting your virgin cunt as if it was a delicacy, something he was determine to savor.

Soft moans left your lips as his tongue continued to work against your dripping cunt. Gwayne was carefully when he inserted a finger inside of you. He did not dare to put more than one for with just one finger he could feel how incredibly tight you were. a realization that caused his cock to ache.

Gwayne would slowly pump his finger in and out of you as you moaned loudly, your hands becoming entangled in his long locks, and your thighs pushing shut against him. Gwayne wanted to question you, to ask how you were so sensitive, why you tasted so sweet- but he could not bring himself to remove his tongue if the king himself demanded it.

There would be a hot coil inside of you that would form, growing tighter, as your wet cunt clenched around his finger, and within a moment the coil snapped. A warm orgasm flushing over you as your thighs squeezed his head without mercy, soft tears fell from your eyes as you came down from your high. You were panting as your thighs loosened, Gwayne would pull his finger from you before sticking it in his mouth to suck in clean of your sweet juices.

The two of you locked eyes as you stared at one another for a moment. His hard cock pushed against the inside of your thigh as he debated if he should go through with this.

"We shouldn't." Gwayne gave a small fight once more for the sake of his honor and your own.

"Who would know?" You offered a simple excuse, hoping he would not declare the gods again.

"Who would know . . ." he repeated before he nodded. "You're right. Who would know." Gwayne reasoned as he grabbed his cock as he had carefully begun to move it against the wet folds of your cunt.

"You could drink moon tea after." he suggested again as you nodded in response.

"You're sure?" he asked again his blue eyes looking to you with tender concern but also the last bit of restraint he had in him.

"I am." You said as you pushed yourself down on him slightly causing him to groan.

Gwayne could wait no longer and therefore he lined himself up at your entrance and gently he begun to penetrate you, sliding into your wet cunt slowly.

Your back arched at the feeling of him filling you, he stilled, with only part of himself in you.

"More." You whined out in a demand as you waited for him to fill you completely.

"Patient, princess. Please- I do not wish to be spent so soon." Gwayne insisted, he had slowly begun to push into you. Your legs would soon tighten around his waist, forcing him to put the rest of himself in. A moan came from the both of you as he would soon begin to move slowly.

"Gods, you're so tight." He groaned as he slowly thrusted in and out of you at a slow rate, doing his best not to spill himself inside of you this early.

Gwayne would allow his thumb to return to your swollen bulb, rubbing it softly as he continued to fuck you at a slow and passionate rate. Despite the slow thrust he pushed deep into your warm velvet walls each time, enjoying the feeling of you squeezing his entire length.

Gwayne would continue at this slow rate as you cried out, soon lewd sounds of your wetness would fill the room mixed with your moans.

"I want to be on top." You pleaded, his hips stilled with hesitation. "Please." you begged.

Gwayne hesitated, but even he could not resist. He pulled out of you slowly before allowing his body to fall onto the bed. You wasted no time climbing on top of him and taking his length in your hand. Carefully you lowered your hips onto him.

"Fuck." Gwayne would groan at the sight of you above him. The vision of a Targaryen princess nude above him, as your hips begun to feverishly bounce on his cock. It took everything in him to not spill himself in you at this very moment.

"Princess, please." He pleaded his hands grabbing on your waist to try and slow you down but it was no use, you used him. Moving your hips quickly as you looked to him.

"Hold on, uncle. I'm almost there." You would insisted in a moan as you continued, the feeling of him throbbing inside of you as you fucked yourself on him was enough to let out a cry of pleasure.

"Please get off . . . "He begged, "I shouldn't . . . not inside of you." He insisted more as he tried to steady your hips, though as you moved he relented.

Gwayne could not hold himself back any longer, his fingers dug into your flesh as he came deep inside you. You continued as he filled you with his warm seed. Allowing yourself to fuck every last drop inside of you, peeking your own orgasm that caused Gwayne to grit his teeth. You would roll your hips over him, riding out your high before falling helplessly on the bed next to him. His seed spilling onto your plush thighs.

Gwayne panted as he had looked over to you with soft affection. "I'll have the maester make you moon tea in the morning." he insisted as you looked over to him with a small smile.

"Perhaps if you seed me with your child mother would be forced to marry me to you." You offered looking to him next to you in the bed.

"Or she would have my head." he offered back.

When morning came you were nearly limping as you joined Daeron at the breakfast table, he seemed somewhat restless as he picked at the eggs on his plate.

"There you are." He declared looking to you with dark shadows surrounding his eyes.

"You look like shit." You declared to him with no one else around, he looked to you with somewhat of a resenting look.

"Yeah, well if you're going to fuck our uncle again could you at least keep it down." Daeron declared.

You froze at his comment, you were going to muster up some kind of denial but Daeron spoke again.

"My chambers are on the other side of Uncle Gwaynes." He informed you.

[55sturn]

✮ NEVER GONNA BE JUST YOU

disclaimers: swearing, suggestive content, minor amount of smut [ choking,unprotected sex, cum play ], reader is lowkey a player, slight slut shaming, toxic!reader, plot twist ??

concept inspired by: @et6rnalsun’s recent fic & @mattscoquette !

“fuck baby, you feel so good wrapped aroun’me.” chris grunts, his words slightly slurring together as his thrusts grow a lot less particular as he chases his high, and his breath grows ragged the closer he nears his orgasm, he feels his balls tighten and he’s quick to pull out of you, shooting thick ropes of cum all over your stomach as you come down from your high, your thighs twitching slightly. he’s slightly entranced by the sight of you covered in his cum, and before he can stop himself, he’s dragging his finger around in the sticky mess, writing out his name before bringing that same finger to your mouth, encouraging you to suck it clean before pressing a messy kiss to your lips.

he’s quick to drop his full weight on top of you, your skin sticking together with a mixture of sweat, cum, and heat, your chests heaving as you both try to regulate your bodies after multiple orgasms.

“chris i need wipe this off of me before i fall asleep, i feel way too sticky. can you please grab me a shirt from that hamper?” you hum, batting your tired eyes at him, pouting you lip out as you limply gesture to the white hamper against the wall. he’s quick to press a gentle kiss to your head and climb off of you, grabbing a damp but warm cloth from the bathroom.

you lose yourself in your thoughts momentarily as chris wipes your stomach down before returning to the bathroom to clean himself off. you start off appreciating how sweet chris is, but also finding it a bit irritating how clingy he’s grown, despite him knowing that the two of you are only fucking, but then the guilt begins to gnaw at you, knowing that you’re leading him on and using his kindhearted and obsessive nature to your advantage, and you’re about to dwell on it but the bathroom door swinging open, hitting the wall behind it with a resonating thud breaks you from your trance.

it shocks how quickly his demeanour has changes, he went from the sweet, doting boy at heart that you had a tendency to manipulate, to someone you could hardly recognize because of anger, hatred, and something almost possessive in his eyes, in the blink of an eye.

“what the fuck y/n?” he snaps, his nostrils flaring as he looks between you and the shirt in his hand, and the gears in your mind come to a halt as you stare at the shirt that chris is fisting between his fingers in anger.

you couldn’t believe your other fuck buddy had been so careless as to leave his shirt on your floor. and how had you not noticed it when you did laundry?

“care to explain this?” chris seethes, stepping closer to you as an unmistakable spec of hurt flashes in his eyes as he begins to connect the dots between the shirt and the way the sight of it has your mouth running dry.

that damn pink hershey’s shirt with the stupid fucking teddy bear on it. the same shirt that made you melt every time it was worn.

“y/n, i’m not fuckin’ around, why the fuck is my brother’s shirt here?” he yells, hurt and confusion clouding his mind as you race to find an explanation, the audacity he has to even consider yelling at you when you had explicitly expressed that you two weren’t exclusive, and you were never shy about your other hooks up.

“chris, baby, i told you, it was never gonna be just you.” you state, your voice calm and collected, the simplicity of your comment further angering chris as he scoffs at you, dropping the shirt onto the floor as if it was made up of a contagious disease.

“you’re just anotha’ fuckin whore ain’t ya?” he chuckles, the bitterness of his words giving a sharp clip to the way he speaks to you, his boston accent slipping between the cracks as he stares at you, his once warm eyes now cold and hardened.

“i never said i wasn’t. now you can either climb back in bed, or you can leave and i can finally answer the texts that matt has been spamming me with for the last hour.”

“you’re fuckin’ unbelievable.“ he spits, grabbing his sweats and quickly tugging them up his legs before picking his shirt up, looking at it and tossing it to you.

“keep it, since you like to keep trophies from all the men you fuck.”

“thanks! it’ll make a great addition to the collection!” you chuckle in response, marveling at the royal blue fabric before tossing it the floor, proving that he was just another body to keep you warm.

“i’m outta here.”

“okay tell matt to come by when you get home.” you call out as he exits your room, earning a slam of your front door in response as you roll your eyes, grabbing you phone before unlocking it, pulling up matt’s contact and sending him a text.

y/n: chris knows abt us now lmfao

y/n: u left ur pink shirt here and he found it

matt: Guess we’re even then lol. I’ve known the two of you were fuckin for how long since he decided to brag about it

matt: Damn I was wondering where that shirt went😂

y/n: yeah yeah whatever, come over?

matt: See u in fifteen

STARS CORNER im not back, i just had an idea after reading the credited fic above and decided to put my own twist on it before queuing + posting for y’all.

SIDE NOTE i will be responding to all the kind, heartfelt, and sweet asks and anons when i return. thank you for the constant support you guys show me, it truly doesn’t go unnoticed. and thank you for 2.6k, i hadn’t thanked y’all yet but i truly love you all. bye bye now, i’ll see you all soon, hopefully!

© 55STURN 2024 ! REBLOGS OF MY WORK ARE NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED !

[limewatt]

soooooo scary actually talking to people on the internet how do people do this i feel like i’m dying

[atsumulogy]

WHEN YOUR CO-WORKER CALLS HIMSELF YOUR “WORK HUSBAND”

synopsis: how he reacts to your co-worker calling himself your “work husband”

featuring: miya atsumu, oikawa tooru, & iwaizumi hajime. fem!reader.

content warning(s): jealousy, possessive boys, weird co-worker, suggestive at iwa’s part 😵 sorry my hands slipped lmao. also grammar mistakes … have mercy i wrote this kinda half asleep + use of wife

naia’s footnote: yk that work wife thing? yeah, that but with a twist with the hq men 🤭 jealous scenarios are my guilty pleasure LOL i wrote this when i was supposed to be doing smth actually productive 😓‼️also i got carried away w atsumu’s haha

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! rb’s & likes are appreciated

#01 — WHEN COMING AS YOUR PLUS ONE IN YOUR OFFICE’S FANCY EVENT, MIYA ATSUMU didn’t want to admit it but he kind of expected to be fawned over by your female colleagues — not that he wanted them to! It’s just … expected, seeing how absolutely hot your husband is (the expensive suit and tie and all). What he did not expect was being introduced to your … what was it? Ahh, yes, “work husband”.

The absolute audacity and sheer nerve of this bastard to call himself that in front of him, the actual husband on the documents and in your heart.

Work husband. He scoffs silently, face scrunching up in irritation, poking his cheeks with his tongue instead of making a fuss in this exclusive event where lots of important people are present. As much as he cares for obliterating this man in front of him, he cares more about you and didn’t want to cause you any issues with your workplace.

(Though, if this ugly scrub touches your arm again and joke about Atsumu being the side chick, he wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t cause a scene.)

Besides, the 24 karat gold necklace hanging around your neck with his initials attached to the chains and the elegant ring on your finger makes it painfully clear that your self-proclaimed work husband has no chance against the Miya Atsumu.

BONUS:

Atsumu may have acted mature about the situation while in the event, but behind closed doors he was whining and grumbling about that annoyin’ scrub.

“— like I still can’t believe he had the guts to say that in front of me!” He scoffs, face scrunching up again, his mouth forming a scowl. “Work husband… tsk, i’m yer only husband! hell, i’ll be yer work husband, house husband, and every other fuckin’ husband title there is!”

Instead of informing your husband that it doesn’t work like that, you nod to every word he said every time he looks at your eyes to back him up on his rant.

“Yes baby, I know. Now why don’t we get you a trophy with all those husband titles, hm?” You jokingly offered, patting his fluffy blonde hair.

Next week a package arrived carrying a shiny gold trophy with the words “Miya Y/n’s only house husband, work husband, and everything else in between” customized on the front <3

#02 — OIKAWA TOORU SCOFFED AFTER SOME IRRELEVANT, MEDIOCRE, UGLY MAN introduced himself as your “work husband”, somewhat offended because someone dared crown themselves a self-proclaimed title as your work husband — like that bastard is even worthy enough to be breathing the same air as you!

He recognizes this man to be the man you ranted to him about that was inappropriately acting like he’s close with you and many other women of your office.

Wanting to do you and the other women of your office a favor, he decided to humble him.

“Last time I checked, there was no side piece. And if there were to be a side piece — which will never happen by the way! — my wife would pick someone better looking than you. As you can see she has great taste, since she married me and only me. But you should know that by now, hm? Our wedding was even on the news!” showing the ring on his finger, wiggling it even to show emphasis, his tone and his (threatening) smile was friendly, but you all know that it was anything but that.

Oikawa Tooru is an intimidating opponent, both in and out of the court.

#03 — NEVER IN HIS 25 YEARS OF LIVING HAS IWAIZUMI HAJIME met a more annoying and repulsive person such as the man in front of him that cockily and casually called himself as your “work husband”.

You felt his beefy arms tighten around your waist, he leans in to you closely, his hot breath heating up your ears as he asked you with low voice, however still (purposely) loud enough for the guy in front of you two to hear. “Baby, do you even know him?”

You nodded, “He’s just some guy in the finance department who’s really weird, Hajime. I don’t even remember his name. Sato? Aoki?”

The man before you deflated, his cocky stance nowhere to be seen as he scoffs defensively, “It’s Nakamura —”

“— Yeah, sure, well my wife and I have somewhere else to be now. So goodbye Ishikawa-san.” He purposely used a different name — politely even, to mock him and push his buttons.

“It’s Nakamu —”

“Bye Sato-kun!” You played along with your husband’s petty antics, waving him off before locking your arms around Hajime’s before snuggling close to him as you two walked away. The both of you bursting out laughing once you guys think the guy was far away enough to not hear you two.

“Have you seen his face! He deserved that humbling experience!” You snorted, Hajime rolling his eyes as he remembers the guy.

“Okay but who even is he really? Is he always so flirtatious with you? What even is a work husband? Last time I checked, I’m the one who gave you that new last name of yours.” He grumbled, irritated at the thought of that bastard flirting with you at work when your husband wasn’t there.

“Aw, babe, you know that you’re the only one for me.” you patted his cheeks affectionately, smiling at him while giggling.

He does. He knows it, a bit too well at times. So he sighs and he lets it go. Because he knows that at the end of the day, he’s the one you come home to, he’s the one you cling onto while watching your favorite shows, he’s the one that rests his free hand on your thighs whenever you two go for a drive.

And tonight, he’s the one that will lay you down on the bed and touch you, talk to you, and feel you in ways that only he can do.

© ATSUMULOGY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ANY FORM OF PLAGIARISM OF ANY OF MY CONTENT WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.

[scientia-rex]

I made that post about how smoking is bad—actually, no, I’ve made two relatively popular posts about how smoking is bad for you. Raises your chances of dying from multiple factors including heart disease and stroke in addition to lung (and mouth, throat, and bladder) cancer.

I am always so baffled by the responses going “well I could die from something else!” Yes. You could. Statistically speaking, you will most likely die of heart disease, stroke, or cancer, if you live in the US. Your average life expectancy is somewhere around 78 for women, 76 for men. Many people die younger than that, for a lot of reasons. Many of my patients have illnesses that will shorten their lives. I hate to split it into “fault,” as if there’s some kind of perfect way to live a blameless life. (There isn’t.) The numbers, however, are both clear and pitiless. People who smoke are more likely to die younger than they otherwise might have.

Medicine is a numbers game. My job is not to psychically predict exactly what will punch your ticket and when. It is to improve your odds. I want you to both live as long a life as possible but also as high-quality a life as possible. I want for you to live a life you enjoy.

It’s that simple; it’s not sinister. I’m not out here going “I’ll tell them not to smoke so they can have LESS FUN before getting hit by a bus at 30!”

Because smoking isn’t actually fun. What it is, is a very quick (and faster = more addictive) reduction in physical feedback systems that heighten anxiety. Withdrawal of an unpleasant stimulus is rewarding. (Technically, it’s a negative reward; the negative doesn’t refer to a moral judgment, but the addition or subtraction of a stimulus.) Something that is very rewarding very fast will be very addictive. It’s why crack cocaine is also so addictive—it is also a very fast and very potent reward. It’s also why benzodiazepines like Xanax are so addictive to so many people; it’s a slower peak blood level but the removal of severe anxiety is profoundly rewarding.

So smoking can make you feel better when you do it. But your body will try to fix any broken signals. It doesn’t just want to be able to signal to you when you need to feel stressed: it has to be able to signal you, or your long-ago ancestors would have been eaten by predators. So it ramps up the signaling. Now you’re not smoking because you feel better than baseline; you’re smoking to get back to baseline.

That’s why quitting sucks. When you quit smoking, all of the sudden your body’s signals of stress that got dialed up to 11 to overcome the nicotine are just out there at full blast, making you feel scared and jittery and irritable. It’s why when you quit benzos (or daily alcohol) cold turkey you can get life-threatening seizures. It’s why when you stop alcohol you’re likely to have sleep disruptions that can persist for weeks to months.

That’s why things that help reduce the suckage can help. Nicotine patches, lozenges, or gum. Chantix. Wellbutrin. Slowly stepping down the nicotine level on your vape. Eating more, eating things you like. (I would 1000% rather have a patient be fat than be smoking. I know other people will be shittier to you if you gain weight. Living is worth it.) Being kind to yourself helps you quit smoking. You need to recognize that “quitting smoking you” is not your baseline you. It is you with an invisible illness that will take weeks to months to get over.

And sometimes you can’t face that hump right now. But if you want to maximize your odds of the longest and healthiest possible life, knowing that any number of terrible things can happen to you at any time, making the effort—over and over again, if you need to—is the best shot you have.

There are a couple of conditions where smoking does markedly reduce symptoms. The well-known ones are schizophrenia and Crohn’s disease. If you feel not just better, but better like this is a medication for you, like you poop blood or hear things without it, talk to your primary care provider, because there are other medicines that might be safer and/or more effective for you. The landscape around pharmaceutical research has shifted dramatically over the last 30 years. We have more options than we’ve ever had before. Maybe this doesn’t have to be the expensive, dangerous medication that half-works for you. And if what you’re self-medicating is your anxiety, nicotine is a pretty crappy medication for that, because it doesn’t fix you; it changes your baseline to an even shittier place.

You have bodily autonomy. You can make your own choices. I will never go to a patient’s house and slap the cigarette out of their hand. But if what you want is the longest and healthiest possible life, smoking makes your odds worse.

The number of people who think that I, as a doctor, would be unaware of how profoundly unfair bodily health can be amazes me. It’s like the first Father Brown story, where Father Brown is explaining to the villain that someone whose main job is to hear about all of the terrible sins people have to confess cannot remain naive. My job is watching people age, or filling out their death certificates. One or the other. I prefer watching them age, but everyone will die. Someday my doctor will be filling out my death certificate. I’ve removed one potential contributing factor from that line—maybe I’ll get diabetes, maybe I’ll get cancer, maybe I’ll have a workplace accident, but “smoking” isn’t going to be on that line anymore. That’s the best I can do. I can’t psychically predict my own death, either; just play the numbers, try to do my best, and hope.

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #108 Part 1

He remembered going to bed in his own bed last night. His own bed in his own room. This wasn’t his room, his bed, or even his pajamas. The body he was in didn’t feel quite right either, almost like it somehow knew he wasn’t supposed to be in it. Part of him wondered if he was dreaming but he was way too self aware for this to be a dream. 

This room didn’t look like any of his brother's rooms either. It had a bunch of space themed trinkets, glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, and NASA posters on the walls. None of his brothers were into space as far as he knew so this had to be a strangers room. He wondered for a moment if he was kidnapped or something, but that didn’t sound quite right either. He was in a stranger's body so he must be in this person’s room. He had to figure out exactly what was going on. 

Just as he was considering his options the phone by the table side started ringing. Damian didn’t really know where the tune came from but it sounded catchy. He looked at the caller ID and while the phone didn’t recognize the number Damian did. It was his own, hopefully he’d be able to get some answers. 

“Hello?” He answered.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about all of this. My parents are inventors and one of their inventions backfired big time. I’m Danny” The voice on the other line was his own, a little jarring sure but it to be expected, if he was in someone’s body there was a good chance they were in his body. “My name’s Damian, Inventions? This is quite the backfire. I hope you have a plan to switch us back.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ve got a couple friends looking into it, they’ll be on their way in a bit to help with all of this.” 

Damian was starting to get irritated a little at how this was going. Bringing outside ‘help’ into the situation just seemed more like a distraction from whatever ‘Danny’ had planned for Gotham.

“Right, Damian, so right now you're in my body and I’m in your’s… so, my parents' invention was only supposed to strengthen the soulmate pull, but because of my weird biology. We switched bodies instead.” Damian didn’t have word’s, the whole story sounded ludicrous. But at the same time, Damian couldn’t help but believe it was true.

The weird things about the body he was in, helped convince him and then, suddenly a thought occurred to him. Hesitantly he lifted his other hand up to his neck to check his pulse.

It was unusually slow, “Why’s your pulse so slow?” he couldn’t help but ask. He didn’t want to admit it but he was starting to freak out a little. 

“Like I said, I’ve got weird biology. I’ll explain, but it isn’t a pretty story. I don’t really want to explain all of this but since you're in my body, you need to know so you can keep my parents from finding out. Deal?”

Having weird biology still didn’t quite explain things but hopefully a few things didn’t quite make sense, “You said your parent’s were researching soulmates? Why.”

“Alright, I’ll give you this one but seriously you’ve got to promise to keep my parent’s from finding out about things. They were a little upset that I haven’t found mine yet, my sister found hers so they were excited for me to find mine. Long story short, bad things tend to happen when my parents get excited.”

So from the sound of things Danny thought they were soulmates. That might have been true but there wasn’t a good way for them to prove anything at the moment. For now it would probably be better to go along with Danny’s plan. He didn’t like it but he could probably get a lot of information out of Danny’s friends if he played along. “Alright I agree to not intentionally reveal anything to your parents.”

“Work’s for me. What do you know about ghosts?”

[writethrough]

A Place to Land

(Billy Hargrove x Female Reader)

Synopsis: You told Billy you love him. And he knows it's time to break up with you.

Warnings: Minor language (I don't think I use the F word), angst to fluff, insecure Billy, drunk Billy

Word Count: 3495

A/N: I'm actually really proud of this one. I think I fixed what was bugging me about it a few weeks ago. Please let me know what you think! I also recognize this is not one of the requests I have in my ask box. I will get to those, but I am weak to the little gremlins controlling my hyper-fixations.

The day Billy realized he loved you, he knew he had to leave. It was only a matter of time before you broke up with him. He felt it when he woke up from nightmares, and you held him.

He felt it if he wanted to leave a party early because the crowds reminded him of how claustrophobic his mind felt under the Mind Flayer’s influence—he thought your frown was annoyance.

Your look of pity each time he didn’t answer you because he flashed back to that time killed him.

Before the Mind Flayer, he wondered why you agreed to that initial date with him. He was an asshole—so angry at everything. Angry at himself. What did you even see in him?

Your date had to be one of his favorite memories. He took you to see The Goonies, bought popcorn to share, and when he took your chin and turned you to kiss him, you waved him off after the third one. He would’ve been irritated; any other girl and he’d have considered the night a bust, but you were so invested in the screen that he couldn’t help his lips turning up. He wasn’t sure you realized you grabbed his hand at one point in your excitement at the film. Neither of you pulled away until it was over to gather your things. He had thrown an arm around your shoulders and tugged you into his side. And when you asked if he wanted to go to the diner down the street, a little jump in his stomach made him say “yes.”

It felt…nice…that someone wanted to spend time with him. Maybe he was interesting enough without sex.

He’d never laughed as hard as he did that night. You were funny and kind, sweet and smart—and dammit—the way you smiled at him? You were so goddamn beautiful. He was hooked.

Now, after the Mind Flayer—after he found out this wasn’t your first time dealing with that creature—he knew he loved you. He felt the beginning of it that first night. And that meant you would hurt him. That meant you would leave.

Exactly like his mom had.

But Billy was a coward.

The day he had decided to end it, he kept pushing it back. He had picked you up, and you smiled, and he thought, “Tomorrow.”

You were in the middle of a date, sitting across from one another, and he had imagined that smile turning into a sneer. He had been so close to blurting it out. Then, you giggled and intertwined your fingers with his.

Then, Steve invited everyone over for a BBQ. He had tackled you into the pool, and when you both emerged, you laughed and splashed him. He warned you with the biggest smile, and you started swimming to the other end of the pool.

Billy watched it all. And he felt sick.

It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t angry enough to be jealousy. It was like confirmation. One day, you could have this when you were no longer tied to him. If it was happening now, then it’d happen in the future.

He had to break up with you.

No matter how much it’d kill him.

—

He pulled in front of your house, barely getting out of the car before you were bounding toward him.

You were so excited to see him that you couldn’t even wait for him to reach the door.

He shook his head slightly. He had to do this, had to beat you to the punch.

“Hey, Billy! How are—”

“We need to talk,” he said, avoiding your eyes.

“Oh? What about?” You tilted your head, scanning over his tense posture.

He let out a slow breath. Just rip the bandaid off.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

“What?” Had you heard him correctly?

“I’m breaking up with you,” he repeated, jaw clenched.

You took a tentative step forward.

“Billy, I—what do you mean? Are you okay?”

It didn’t make sense. You were attached at the hip yesterday; Billy couldn’t keep his hands off you, and now he wanted to break up?

What the hell was going on?

He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets to hide his whitening knuckles. He didn’t trust himself to not grab hold of you.

“I mean, it’s over. I don’t love you.”

You furrowed your brow, inhaling shakily. “I love you, Billy. I’ve been telling you for weeks now. I know you haven’t said it yet, but that’s okay! I’d never pressure you into—”

He had to cut you off if he was gonna get through this.

“And I’ve realized I don’t love you. What? You gonna make me stay with you?” He wished he could get through this without looking at you, but then you wouldn’t believe him.

You’d be okay. You may hate him now, but you’d move on. And he’d never have to know the pain of you leaving him—of you having an everlasting disdain for him. This hate would only be temporary.

“...You know I won’t,” you whispered. “I’d never force you to do anything.”

He'd had enough of that his entire life.

He nodded. “Then I guess we’re over.”

He turned to walk back to the driver’s side, pulling the door open with more force than needed.

“I don’t believe you.” You managed to get out before he got in.

He stopped. His hand was on the car's roof but didn’t look up.

It gave you a bit of hope.

“I don’t believe that you don’t love me. I see it every time you look at me.” You sniffled. “I know you, Billy. You never would’ve been with me for this long—through all this shit—if you didn’t love me.” You wiped at your tears. “But if this is what you need to do, then I guess you have to do it. And I’ll still love you. That’s never going to change.” You took in a shaky breath. “So, when you’re ready, I’ll be here. You’ll never lose me. I promise.”

He didn’t know how you could read his mind. But it had always been like that. You could anticipate what he needed before even he knew.

He wanted to run to you, to scoop you into his arms and apologize, but that nagging in his head wouldn’t stop. The image of you and Steve smiling and laughing. That phone call with his mother—Billy begging her to take him, too.

It felt like you confessed to him just yesterday—that warm feeling in his chest froze over.

You’d leave him eventually. Even if you didn’t think you would, he’d do something to change that. He’d ruin the best relationship he ever had, and then you’d be gone.

He blinked rapidly, getting into his car and speeding away. But not before glancing in his rearview to see the tear tracks streaming down your face.

—

It had been three weeks since Billy broke up with you, and every day your chest seemed to hurt worse. You had spent the first few days hopeful, convincing yourself Billy would be at your door any moment to apologize and explain why he did what he did. It didn’t fully sink in until the fourth day that he was serious.

You had arguments, of course, but Billy was always quick to remedy the situation. He didn’t like when you were angry with him. He said it put a pit in his gut because it reminded him of his anger toward his father. Even if it wasn’t nearly the same thing, Billy still hated the idea that you could ever loathe him that much.

But you didn’t hate him—could never hate him. You just wanted him back, but you didn’t know how to do that. You had called but either gotten Max or nothing at all. You had driven by several times, but Max and Billy weren't home, or he ignored you because—of course—he could tell it was you by your knock.

By week two, you were almost positive you had done something to him. However, you had no idea what. You played through every moment you spent with Billy, and the closest thing you could come up with was that you were a bit clingy. And even when you asked Billy about it, he said he liked it!

That was a few months ago, and he wasn't one to hold his tongue if something bothered him. It was one thing you loved about him. Even though it may come off as harsh—which he was working on—nothing ever festered with him. There was no chance of growing regrets.

You had barely gotten any sleep the past few weeks.

Lying in bed in one of Billy’s shirts, you tried to take your mind off everything with a book when the phone rang.

You sighed but got up to answer anyway. At this hour, it was either Robin or Steve.

“Hello?”

You waited a moment, no one speaking, and then a deep breath came through.

“(Y/N)?”

“Max?” You furrowed your brow. “Is everything okay?”

You’d spoken to her plenty since your break up, but she had never called you after ten. You gripped the phone tighter, ready to listen to anything she had to say, and hoped she was alright.

“I don’t…It’s Billy.” She waited for your response, and when you didn’t give one because of your surprise, she continued, “He’s been drinking a lot since your…since you know…and I’m worried. This is the worst it’s ever been, and I…I don’t know what to do.” She let out a shaky breath. “Can you please come over? I think he needs you.”

Your heart was in your throat. Part of you wanted to refuse. Billy ended things. There was no way he wanted to see you.

But the selfish part of you wanted to see him, to make sure he was okay, to maybe get some answers out of his inebriated state. Even if you didn’t want to hear them. So, you told her you’d be over soon. Not bothering to change, you threw on shorts and shoes and grabbed your keys.

—

You didn’t know what to expect when you arrived. Billy could hold his alcohol, but you didn’t know what frame of mind he was in. The fact that Max called you to begin with set you on edge.

You barely knocked on the door before Max ripped it open.

“Hey.” Her mouth pinched. “He’s in his room. He was…He turned off the music ten minutes ago. I’m not sure what he’s doing.”

You nodded. “...You said he’s been doing this since we…since he—”

“Yeah, I’m not sure what to do anymore,” she said.

You placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll try to figure out what’s going on.”

You weren’t sure if you knocked or not on Billy’s door. The thumping of your heart drowned out the taps.

His slurred “go ‘way, Max” made it nearly stop. Just how long had he been like this?

“It’s me, Billy.”

He opened the door faster than Max, eyes wide as he took you in, almost as if he couldn’t believe you were here.

“(Y/N)?”

The glassiness of his eyes made you want to pull him close and tell him everything would be okay. That whatever was going on in his head, you could face together.

“Is s’tha’ really you?” His knuckles brushed your cheek, testing to see if this was another daydream. And when he made contact, he breathed, “I miss s’you.”

Your nose tingled. “I miss you, too, Billy.”

A singular tear slipped down his face as he cupped yours.

“Hey,” you cooed. “It’s okay.” You wiped it away. “Everything’s okay.”

He shook his head adamantly. “I’m sorry. M'sorry…sorry…”

His shoulders shook, and he could no longer look at you, head hanging low.

You hushed him softly as you led him back into his room and closed the door. His apologies continued until you sat on his bed and pulled his head into your neck.

You brushed through his curls and blinked back your own tears. Never had you seen Billy like this.

He had gotten better at telling you what he felt but still kept a lot to himself. This…This was a sadness you couldn’t handle seeing in him. You wanted nothing more than to take it away—fix it—so you could see that brilliant smile again.

“I lo’you.” He burrowed further into you. “Love you.”

They were quiet confessions, but they held so much conflict.

You were relieved, almost ecstatic, but he was drunk. It might just be because you were here, comforting him.

In any other scenario, you’d be the happiest person alive. However, with every “I love you,” a knife seemed to lodge into your heart.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Everything’s okay. I forgive you.”

He squeezed you tighter in response. All he wanted was to be closer to you. Like that could erase what he had done.

With another kiss, you gently guided him away so you could meet his gaze.

“Let’s get you ready for bed, okay?” You tucked a stray curl behind his ear, and he nodded. It seemed he was content to do whatever you said.

You helped switch his shirt to a clean one and handed him a pair of boxers, covering your eyes when he didn’t hesitate to remove the ones he wore.

“How’s that feel? A little better,” you asked, combing through his hair with your fingers.

He hummed, leaning in.

“Good,” you said. “I’m gonna get you some water and aspirin for tomorrow.”

When you went to pull away, his hand shot up to grip yours.

“Please,” his eyes were near watery, “please, don’t leave me.”

Maybe you were imagining it, but his plea felt like it held so much weight.

He was asking you to stay with him, to sleep beside him so he wouldn’t feel so vulnerable in an already vulnerable state. But it also felt like he was asking you to not walk away from him. That even though he broke up with you, he regretted it. And hoped you would want him back, accept him and all his mistakes. All his flaws.

Either way, the answer was the same.

“I’ll always be right here, Billy.” You squeezed his hand. “You get settled, and I’ll be right back.”

He slowly nodded, letting your hand slip from his.

And when you came back, Billy was on his side, facing the door, a space for you wide open.

Once you got in, he nuzzled into your chest, arms securely around you.

“Love you,” he mumbled, already half asleep.

“Love you, too,” you whispered, heart in your throat.

—

There were three blissful seconds of peace, of the comfort of an arm wrapped around your waist when you woke up. Then last night flooded back.

Billy drunk.

Him crying.

And saying he loved you.

And you had said it back even though you were afraid the next day would bring you more hurt.

He might not remember.

Or worse, he might not have meant it.

Looking up at the peaceful expression on his face pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind.

He’d feel like shit today, so the least you could do was make him breakfast and ensure he was alright.

You had managed to switch positions throughout the night. He had held you like always.

You carefully slipped out and into the kitchen. And as you worked, you prepared for the worst.

—

The ache in his chest might’ve been worse than the one in his head. The sun hurt his eyes, and the cold spot beside him bit at his torso.

You had been there.

He couldn’t remember all of last night. But you had been standing outside his door. And the smell of your shampoo clung to his sheets anew. Back where it belonged. The day it had worn off, he had buried his face in his pillow, desperate for one part of you to still be with him.

But you weren’t here anymore.

He swallowed the aspirin, wondering if Max had put it there. Maybe she took pity on him and was making him breakfast.

The bacon made his mouth water. He just hoped she wouldn’t want him to open up about last night. He didn’t want to relive it, especially when you had left before he woke up.

He dragged his feet in the hallway, one hand grazing the wall with the other rubbing his eyes.

He would've plopped down at the table. He would’ve tucked his head in his arms and maybe drifted in and out until Max nudged him. Instead, he stopped and stared.

You were still here.

His heavy steps must have alerted you because you glanced over your shoulder and gave him a small smile.

“Morning,” you said softly.

“Hi,” he said, blinking once, then again.

You motioned for him to sit at the table, and he did without another word.

You hadn’t left him.

After placing some food down, you sat across from him.

He wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t even sure he was awake right now. After everything he put you through, you stayed.

His mind was still foggy. Add that to the thoughts racing through it, and he didn’t know where to start. Thankfully, you spoke first.

“I miss you,” you whispered, hands folded atop the table.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I miss you, too.”

Without his notice, his hand had sought yours out, his fingers sneaking underneath to trace your palm. “I miss you so much.”

Your answering squeeze was like a switch—it made things brighter.

“I’m right here,” you said.

He nodded, not even trying to keep the smile at bay.

He believed you. Last night was proof. He was at one of his lowest points, and you had shown up—you had stayed.

Still, the smallest part of him had to hear you say it.

“Promise?” He locked eyes with you, pleading.

You took his hand in both of yours. “I promise,” you said. “I love you.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh. “I love you, too.”

You brought his hand up to kiss his knuckles, and he could feel your smile against his skin.

He needed you closer.

Tugging at you, he muttered a “come here,” guiding you onto his lap and pushing his nose into your neck, breathing into you. “I love you so much.”

You said it back, running a hand through his messy curls, then trailing your thumbs around his ears down to his jaw, holding him gently so you could kiss him. You wanted to savor every second of this. You had a lot to discuss, but right now? You just wanted to be with him.

His grip tightened as he returned the kiss.

He wanted to apologize again, to tell you how much he regretted what he said. Before he could, you looked at him as if you couldn't get enough.

“As much as I would love to continue kissing you, I’m starving. And you need to eat.”

He laughed, a genuine, full-fledged laugh, something he hadn’t done in weeks.

You tried pushing off his lap, but he wouldn’t let you budge.

“I’m just gonna get my own plate,” you said, giving him a quizzical look.

He shook his head. “Eat off mine.”

And with the contentment and hope on his face, you couldn’t argue. So, you swiped a piece of bacon, taking a bite as he kissed your shoulder.

"This mine?" he asked, pulling at the hem of your shirt.

"Yeah. I've kinda been cycling through all the ones in my closet," you said.

He hummed, a sullen look crossing his features.

"Been wearing your ring," he muttered, fishing out his Saint Christopher to show you the ring hanging on it.

You toyed with both pieces, rubbing your thumb over the face of the original, then set it back to his chest. You pressed your palm against his heart, and he placed his hand over it.

You leaned your forehead against his, closing your eyes.

He took a sharp breath, then relaxed.

When you finally looked into his eyes, they held security. He trusted you. And he would continue to trust you with something he didn't trust anyone with.

As you ate, one of your arms stayed around his shoulders, sometimes playing with his hair or rubbing his neck. His stayed firmly around your waist, his fingertips grazing up and down your side, trailing further to your thigh.

It was perfect, this moment. Every laugh Billy brought out of you, every kiss you gave him, every word said; it was all a balm. He wasn’t completely healed, he knew that, but he also knew you.

You had reassured him, given him a place to land when he never thought that place existed. You loved him. And that meant you weren’t going anywhere.

[lordprettyflackotara]

Chapter Eleven || Hitchhiker || The Proxies

no tw’s for this chapter

a/n: next chapter finna be just a little just a tad just the slightest bit unhinged

<— previous chapter

“How much longer until she’s awake?”

“There’s not even a rough estimate I can give you. Shes lost a lot of blood. But nevertheless, you need to think of a payment method.”

“Can you at least let her wake up before you start yapping about getting reimbursed?”

“Considering The Operator would hang me if he found out i’m helping any of you, I think not.”

You shifted uncomfortably, stiff metal underneath you as you began to stir. “The Operator hangs people?” You mumbled. You felt your wrist and ankles being restricted, causing your eyes to fly open. You were secured to a metal operating table, leather straps securing your wrist to your sides and your ankles to stay straight. You began to thrash under the restraints, panicking. “Woah woah woah it’s okay, relax,” Brian ushered. Three people stood around you, two of which you actually recognized.

Toby and Brian stood to your left, Toby’s eyes filled with concern. On your right, was someone you’ve never seen before. A blue mask with eerie black eye sockets stared down at you. A jet black hoodie hid any other features, your mind starting to spin. “Holy fuck, what the fuck, what the fucking fuck,” You rambled, trying to move away from the unknown masked man. Brian grabbed your shoulders, trying to hold you down. “Relax it’s just EJ, he here to help,” He said, attempting to comfort you. The tall man known as EJ seemed unamused, tilting his head to the side.

“If this is how she reacts to me standing here, what was her reaction to Toby’s face?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What about his face?” You questioned. You blinked a few times, trying to understand why your vision was so blinded. “J-Jesus Christ dude move the l-lamp,” Toby intervened. He shoved the blinding spotlight out of the way, allowing your vision to settle. Brian and EJ began undoing your restraints, allowing you to sit up. As you did you hissed in pain, grabbing your stomach. “Take it easy. You’ll rip the stitches,” Brian said. He placed his large hand on your upper back, helping you sit up slowly.

“If you rip them i’m not stitching them up again,” EJ grumbled unhappily. He helped Toby free your ankles, your hands rubbing your wrist. “Is there a particular reason you had me tied up?” You inquired. Brian looked at EJ before answering. “There’s a chance that you could’ve had a seizure during your surgery,” He said slowly. You blinked a few times, lifting up your shirt. It was oversized on you and smelled like Toby. You almost asked how your clothes had been changed, but then you remembered Nova. “Yes, when my patients move during my operation it’s quite irritable,” EJ added. Your eyes searched the room, looking past the three that surrounded you.

“Where’s Nova? Is she alright? And Tim?” You asked. You went to jump off of the table, Toby stopping you. “T-They’re fine. They’re outside,” Toby informed you. It then occurred to you that you didn’t recognize your surroundings, at all. You appeared to be in a small cabin, a small fire crackling in the nearby living room. Despite how tiny it seemed, the soft essence made it comfortable. “EJ only let two of us in at a time. And it’s better Nova and Toby don’t get partnered together,” Brian explained. You glanced at EJ, whose soulless gaze seemed to stare directly into your soul. “Those regulations are over, if you’re going to stay here I need to have a meeting with all of you,” EJ said plainly. He sounded so unamused. So unfazed. As he removed his hands from his hoodie you noticed his ash gray skin.

Maybe all kinds of monsters were actually real, not just the one terrorizing you. Toby helped you over to the couch, Brian off to get Tim and Nova. Once you were all seated, EJ stood in front of you. Tim tried his hardest not to look at you, the guilt of almost getting you killed eating him alive. “I have been friends with The Operator for a long time. Longer than some of you have been born,” EJ began. Friends? Was this guy for real? You glanced over at Nova, whose gaze reminded on EJ. Despite her eyes looking elsewhere, she affectionately put her hand on top of yours. You wanted to question her sudden affection, the two of you hardly hugging before you met the boys. “I’m just going to say it like it is. The five of you are not going to make it out of this alive. I estimate maybe two or three of you. But not all of you,” He continued. You were searching for Toby and Brian’s reactions, the two listening intently.

You expected Tim to argue. Toby to interrupt. Brian to mumble an insult. But they all sat perfectly still, listening to the creature before them. Whoever EJ was, he meant business. “Which of the three of you survives depends on how you want to play your cards,” EJ stated flatly. Tim crossed his arms. “Skip over the drama and get to the point please,” He huffed. Despite EJ’s gaze being concealed by a mask, it wasn’t hard to sense that he despised being interrupted. “Nova and Y/n you’re both targets. Given the situation I suspect we won’t have any visitors for a while. He wants to push Nova to the point of suicide and I can only assume for Y/n he wants her as a proxy,” EJ continued. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Toby put his arm around you, pulling you closer.

“I can smell your curiosity. Being willing to die in an instant for someone you care about is noble. Too noble. He wants to exercise that nobility to its fullest extent,” He explained. Could he read thoughts too? What did he mean by he could smell you? “So what’s your recommendation for a plan wise guy?” Tim asked. EJ thought for a moment, his body stilling as he thought to himself. “Keep moving until your legs hurt. Train the girl to look after herself. Maybe start to pray,” He suggested sarcastically. Tim frowned as he stood up, glaring at EJ. “Dont push your luck Tim. You’re lucky she’s made it this far anyways,” The demon said plainly. Tim stormed outside, slamming the door behind him. You rose from the couch, abandoning Nova and Toby to shoot daggers at one another. You brushed past EJ, avoiding his eerie gaze.

You reached Tim on the back porch, a cigarette in between his fingers. “Tim…” You started. The brunette refused to look at you, leaning against the wooden railing of the porch. Endless rows of trees surrounded the cabin, the sun beaming through the leafs above. “You can’t keep blaming yourself for this,” You say. Tim flicked some ash off of his cigarette, before returning it to his lips. “My selfishness and greed landed you here. You know it,” He said harshly. A breeze blew past the two of you, your hand involuntarily cradling your wound. You slowly walked over to him, each step taking all of your energy. “Tim, I wanted this,” You argued. Tim noticed how weak you were, his gaze now avoiding looking at you. If he were to, he’d fold and want to touch you.

“You wanted a life stealing demon attached to you? I don’t think so,” Tim debated. You put your hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I wanted you. The three of you. Everything else will work itself out,” You replied. Tim finally turned to face you, carelessly tossing his cigarette aside. “Tim I can’t do this without you. Masky isn’t enough. I need you too,” You say softly. You bring your hands to his face, cupping it. Tim brought his gloved hands to your wrist, admiring your soft features. When was the last time anyone preferred him over Masky? “I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am,” Tim whispered. His eyes became glassy, internally fighting the urge to cry. “You can show me,” You suggested. This made Tim chuckle, the brunette delivering a kiss to your forehead. “With your stitches healing? Absolutely not. Nice try princess,” He chuckled.

He leaned his forehead against yours, your gaze meeting his. “Hey Tim?” You whispered. You wrapped your arms around his neck, his large hands settling on your waist.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

Tim’s lips met yours, his kiss hungry and soft. He tasted like cigarettes and spearmint, your eyes fluttering shut. Your lips moved against his in harmony, the two of you like magnetics. You couldn’t help but feel more drawn to him, your hands gripping his jacket to bring him closer. Tim pulled away first, his face visibly flushed. He gave you a smile, before gathering both of your hands into his own. “I’m going to do everything to protect you. You’re going to be one of the three that survive,” He promised you. He brought you to his chest, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

In the distance, beyond a few rows of trees, the unknowing couple had an observer. He wasn’t a tall slender being like his boss, no. He was something much worse, much more sinister. Unlike his boss, who deployed mindless drones to continue his reign of terror, he considered himself to be much different. He preferred this. To be alone, slaughtering those he was instructed to. It gave him a justification. It gave him a pleasure so strong it was nearly greater than an orgasm.

He was tasked with finishing what Kate started. Except this time, where the chips fall where they may lay. The Operator was very clear. There were no restrictions now. Masky, Hoodie, and Toby, could easily be eliminated as well if they interfered with his task. Crouched in a tree his eyebrows furrowed as he observed you and Tim. You had three lovers? Possibly a fourth with the hot headed detective? He tilted his head to the side as Tim kissed you again. You were an intriguing target indeed. As he fiddled with his metal claws, he couldn’t help but wonder if any of you had figured out the truth yet.

The Operator didn’t want you as a proxy anymore, he wanted you dead.

\/

“Guys seriously I can get in bed just fine i’m okay,” You protested. Toby and Tim had been carrying you everywhere, determined to baby you to the highest extent. You refused to acknowledge or admit how much your stomach hurt. “You got stabbed through the kidney. It’s a miracle not only that you survived, but that EJ didn’t take the opportunity to eat it,” Tim said. They lowered you on to the bed, the oversized pants you were clothed with sagging. “EJ eats kidneys?” You questioned. You could feel your stomach churn. Tim went silent for a moment, realizing he hadn’t thought twice about what he had said.

“H-he eats much much more than that. But we were ver-r-ry clear in our deal with him,” Toby intervened. You propped yourself up against the headboard, the ancient oil lamp on your nightstand accompanying you with a dim light. “What deal?” You asked. Tim ran his fingers through his hair. “Dont worry about it,” He said, steering the conversation in a different direction. You frowned. Toby made himself quite comfortable beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “Where’s Brian?” You asked. You leaned your head against Toby’s chest, trying to ignore how sore your body felt. “Out on patrol with Nova and EJ. There is no telling who The Operator might try to send here now that Kate’s dead,” Tim stated.

The memory of the blade of the axe slamming down into her skull resurfaced in your mind. The cold blooded killer in question was cuddling you like a teddy bear. He was humming to himself, like he hadn’t committed atrocious acts against God. Tim’s eyes flickered between you and Toby, the brunette swallowing. “Well, i’ll leave you guys to it,” Tim said quietly. He turned to leave, causing you to lean forward to try to grab his wrist. You hissed in pain at the sudden movement, your hand flying down to your healing wound. Your whine caused Tim to turn around, looking at you with eyes full of concern.

“Please stay. I need all of the support I can get right now,” You admitted weakly. Tim glanced at Toby, who gave him a subtle nod. The bed was a full sized one at most. Tim sighed, sliding off his boots and jacket. “You’re lucky I-” Tim began, stopping dead in his tracks once he realized what words were about to fall off of his lips. Your eyes widened, your heart beginning to race. Tim didn’t deserve to say those words to you. He didn’t think he was worthy. “You’re just lucky, princess,” He finished. He shuffled over to the other side of the bed, sliding in beside you. It was then a knock on the door drew your attention, a tired Brian stumbling inside.

“Please for the love of God let me sleep with you guys instead of being on patrol,” He pleaded. You raised your eyebrows, glancing at Tim. “What’s wrong?” He questioned. Brian sighed, shoving off his hoodie. You couldn’t help but momentarily stare at his built chest. He only wore a thin wife beater underneath, the sight making your heart skip a a beat. “EJ and Nova won’t stop yapping. They won’t stop talking and it’s driving me insane. The point of being on watch is to be subtle. Something neither of them know how to do apparently,” He groaned. Brian plopped down onto the bed, carefully laying his head on your inner thighs.

“A demon and Nova. S-sounds like the p-p-perfect match to me!” Toby snickered. You rolled your eyes, elbowing him. Tim laid his head on your shoulder, your right hand lacing its fingers with his. Your left found its way to Brian’s hair, playing with the locs as his eyes fluttered shut. “Shut up Toby,” Tim grumbled. You knew it wasn’t always going to be this easy. Recovery was going to be a bitch. Your mind began to spin, your eyes wide open as fears circulated around your mind. Tim seemed to notice your tension, giving your hand a squeeze.

“Relax princess we’re right here. No ones going anywhere.”

Your feet seemed to carry themselves, trudging through the forest. Thick vines littered themselves across the ground, causing you to consistently look down to watch your step. When you finally looked up, your eyes widened. A rusty gate fenced in what appeared to be a small graveyard. A cold chill ran down your spine, goosebumps rising across your skin as the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. On the gate was a piece of paper, a chaotic and unhinged drawing of The Operator scribbled across the page.

Narrowing your eyes, you grabbed the page angrily. “Stupid drawing,” You muttered. You crumbled up the page, tossing it aside. You shoved the gate open, the fog concealing a clear view of the gravestones. An owl hooted in the distance, the dim moonlight not able to illuminate anything past the relentless fog. You ignored the overgrown moist grass tickling your exposed ankles, continuing forward. Unsettled you hugged your arms, ignoring the eerie feeling of being watched. You did a quick scan of your surroundings, unable to see anything.

Swallowing your fear and unsettlement you walked forward, with each step creating a louder sound of static. You reached the headstones, noticing five of them sat in a perfect row. You managed to see past the fog, your heart beginning to pound as you read the names.

Timothy Wright. Brian Thomas. Nova Parker. Tobias Rogers. Y/n Y/l/n.

You felt your stomach churn, your body boiling with rage. “You can’t have them! I won’t let you!” You yelled into the void. You clenched your fist, your nails digging into your palms. “You hear me you bald fuck!? You can’t have them! They mine,” You screamed. Your voice echoed throughout the trees, your words ringing throughout your ears. You gritted your teeth, the sound of static overpowering your words. You fell to your knees, clutching your head. Your lips were apart, a scream surely escaping your throat, yet you couldn’t hear it.

With every ounce of energy you had left you swallowed, forcing yourself to formulate words. “You’ll never find us anyways you bastard!” You screeched. An abnormally large snow white hand grabbed your shoulder, its fingers digging into your skin.

“Oh my foolish child, I already have.”

—> next chapter

[noosayog]

003 the grudge

✧ wc: 4.1k

✧ warnings/content: itoshi rin x reader, no gendered pronouns used but lease lmk if I missed any! sfw, angst to fluff (hopeful ending), arguments and lots of swearing. another fic where I project bc of messed up things my old romantic partners have said to me, hope y'all enjoy!

✧ GUTS masterlist, regular masterlist

divider from @/cafekitsune

“How come you never ask me how my day is?” you ask. It’s quiet, like you’re scared of how he will respond. But you can’t help it. Every day, when Rin comes home from practice, you’re there to greet him at the door. You always have dinner ready no matter how tired you are. And every day, Rin grunts. On a good day, he gives you a peck on the cheek. On bad days, he throws his gym bag down and heads straight for the bath. Then, he comes to sit at the dinner table and eats silently. 

Just once, you’d like him to ask you how your day was. Maybe come home with flowers or a cake from the neighborhood bakery occasionally. You wouldn’t think it too much to ask, but the years of this routine make your question your every thought. You start to forget that being in a relationship shouldn’t consist of you walking on eggshells every day.

Rin looks up from his meal, swallowing before responding, “because you always tell me whether or not I ask.” 

It’s a reasonable response. But it’s cold and callous. Not the answer you were looking for. 

“But why can’t you just ask?”

He cocks his head. Confused, not annoyed. 

Not yet at least. 

“Why would I? If there’s something you wanna tell me, just say it.” 

“I just want you to want to ask sometimes. Makes me feel less like I’m forcing you to listen to me.” 

“You’re not.”

“I know, but that’s not the point.” 

“So what’s the point then?” 

You recognize the change in his tone. He’s starting to become irritated. 

“The point is that I just want you to show you care sometimes. Without having me to ask you to do it.” 

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear it loud and clear all the same. 

“Is it that unreasonable for me to ask that of you?” 

“Fine. How was your day?” he grits out, forcing a smile that looks more like he’s baring his teeth at you. 

“Rin, this isn’t what I want.” 

He puts his chopsticks down loudly. “You just said that’s what you wanted. So I’m doing it.”

“Not like this, Rin,” you say frustratedly, not sure how else you can communicate. “I just want you to want to be here with me. Act like you’re my boyfriend and that you’re happy to do it.” 

“I wouldn’t be here, living with you, if I didn’t. What else do you want from me?”

It’s condescending and patronizing. It makes you feel like you are being the childish one here. 

“Is it so hard that once in a while, you do something extra to show it?” you ask, voice small. “Like getting me flowers or even surprising me with a treat from the bakery I like?” 

Rin runs a hand down his face, not even bothering to hide how foolish he thinks this conversation is. You feel the sting behind your eyes start to build. 

“If you want flowers and a cake or something, just tell me. I’m not a fucking mind reader. How would I know you want those things unless you tell me?” 

“I’m not saying I want flowers or a cake specifically. But-” 

“Then what do you want!” He's yelling now. “I’m telling you I’ll buy the damn flowers if you ask. You’re always expecting people around you to read your mind. Use your fucking words!” 

At that, you shrink away, closing in around yourself as you recall the phone call between the two of you months ago, having very much the same conversation. 

“You always expect the people around you to read your mind. Why don’t you use your fucking words when you want something?” 

That’s unfair, you think. In every other situation, you would agree. You do have a problem with communicating what you want. You know that. But should you really have to ask to have Rin tell you he loves you once in a while? For him to just show he cares by taking initiative and doing something nice for you? To want him to want to do something for you, even as simple as asking how your day was when he gets home without you having to ask? 

But your insecurities get the best of you and objectively, he’s right. You answer in a small voice, “Sorry, Rin.” 

There’s silence on the other line and for one second, you think that he’s going to apologize too and the floodgates would open and you two would open up and share everything that’s been building up. 

Instead, you hear a click. Rin had cut the line. 

When you have nothing else to say, Rin stands up, storming towards the bedroom, muttering, “Jesus, you’re always like this. Don’t start an argument if you can’t finish it.” 

The bedroom door slams. 

– 

Rin is used to silence, prefers it actually. He gets enough noise from the daily racket the Blue Lock team makes. So at night, when he comes home to you, he appreciates the way you let him be. He’s content to sit there, listening to you talk quietly about your day. Your voice is a soothing one in comparison to the rowdy, grating ones of his teammates. 

So when you ask him to take initiative to start the conversation sometimes, he’s uncomprehending. Your daily routine is fine as is; don’t his nods and noises of acknowledgement show that he’s listening to you? He gets enough nagging from Isagi and Bachira to talk more; he really doesn’t need to hear it at home too. 

He can’t understand what it is you want him to do, because you were the one who strong-armed yourself into his life, persistent in trying to converse with him at the coffee shop you both frequented, until he finally asked you out on a date. You were always the one to initiate conversation. 

So when you propose change to the relationship dynamic, Rin feels like you’re throwing a big wrench in the cogs that seem to be working perfectly fine. 

After a long, hot shower, Rin goes back into the bedroom, expecting to find you curled up in bed. Rin isn’t worried. Regardless of whether you were still sulking or ready to go back to your usual self, he knows from experience that he just needs to reach his arms out and you would be eagerly pushing yourself into his side of the bed to get as close as you possibly can. 

But when he enters the bedroom, the room is empty and the beddoor he slammed shut before remains closed. It’s then that he hears some shuffling in the living room, a couple of muffled sniffles and the quiet click of a door shutting. That wasn’t the sound of the spare bedroom door. That’s the sound of the front door. 

Immediately, Rin bolts out to the kitchen. There, he finds all the dishes cleaned and put away, the dining table wiped down. You are not to be found. 

Waves of frustration wash over him again. If you were going to be so upset about this, why won’t you just come find him and tell him? Rin thinks you could not have proved his point from your earlier argument any better than just up and leaving in a tantrum. 

He should call, he thinks. If it were him, he’d just prefer space, quiet, and some alone time, but knowing you, he thinks you’d appreciate at least a gesture. 

No, he rethinks. Just give them some time to calm down. 

Pushing down the wave of worry, he slumps onto the couch, telling himself you’ll come home soon. The seconds drag by like hours so he puts on game footage to rewatch to pass the time. The seconds do not pass by any quicker as he continues to glance at his phone between plays. 

Finally, he can’t handle it anymore and dials your number. The line rings once, twice, then he hears buzzing from the kitchen. Rin walks towards the source of the sound and finds your phone on the kitchen counter. It sits there, the buzzing continuing, mocking him. 

Rin lets it ring for a couple of moments longer before he grabs a coat and bolts out the door. 

Stupid! Who leaves without their phones? 

It’s well after sunset and dark outside. Even if the two of you live in a nice neighborhood, you should know better than to wander around by yourself after dark. Without your phone no less. 

How long has it been since you’ve left? 

As he runs by all the convenience stores in the area and the minutes go by without being able to find you, his irritation at your irresponsibleness morphs into guilt. He should’ve come out much sooner to find you, shouldn’t have let you cry by yourself. Now you’re out somewhere, crying all alone on the night streets of Tokyo. Irrational panic wells up in his chest at the thought of someone taking advantage of your vulnerable state. 

When he exhausts all of his options, he sighs, knowing the only place left unchecked is one of your friend's places. The same friends who he knows dislike him. The same ones who think you can do better. 

He reluctantly pulls out his phone to give your friends a call; if they pick up, he’ll come get you and the two of you will go home together. But the first thing that greets him is a text saying you’re fine and that you are indeed at a friend’s place to crash for the night. Unsure of where that leaves him, he returns to your shared apartment. 

And as Rin sits with the sterile kitchen and unusual quiet of the space, for the first time ever, he really contemplates the idea of you finding someone better. He dimly remembers a similar conversation the two of you had, perhaps over the phone a while back? Through all the years he has known you, he supposes it is a habit of yours to want things without vocalizing them. Like the times the two of you are watching a movie together and you look between his cup of tea and the kitchen until he gets the hint to go make you a cup. Or when you’re eating together and you stare at his plate until he spoons some of whatever he’s having into your waiting mouth. Rin’s not too sure how those unremarkable situations are different from what happened at dinner tonight. 

And while Rin has never minded taking care of you and learning all the ins and outs of your body language, he’s realizing that these little things that rarely register in his mind may have been snowballing in yours. 

But on days when he comes home, totally spent from practice, he acknowledges that he won’t be able to put the effort into fulfilling your unsaid desires. And that’s almost every day. 

So as he sits on the couch, visualizing a life of yours without him, he thinks it might be for the best. He waits at home for you. When you come home, the two of you can have a mature conversation about a future where you are with someone who can make you happy. 

–

It’s late morning when you return home, unsurprisingly but not unexpectedly finding the apartment empty. Rin has gone to practice. 

You berate yourself for even wishing for one moment that Rin would have skipped practice to wait for you.

You suppose it’s like all your expectations of Rin: things piling up that you wish he would do but you never ask him for. 

You busy yourself cleaning, reading, watching TV, napping. The day passes by painfully slowly. You finally hear the click of the front door right as you finish preparing dinner – an elaborate meal of Rin’s favorites as your way of meeting him in the middle. 

You greet him at the door and after he takes off his shoes and drops his bag, he meets your eyes. There’s no detectable expression; he doesn’t look particularly surprised, upset, nor happy to see you at home waiting for you. 

What he does do, however, is walk up to you and pull you into his arms. 

His gesture overwhelms you. It’s not exactly what you’ve been asking for, but it’s enough. You sniffle lightly into his jacket. He just holds you and you let him – it’s precisely what you want and need. 

After a while of the two of you simply standing together in the entryway, your arms around his waist remain tight as you ask, “what are you thinking about, Rin?” 

He’s silent but squeezes your shoulders. 

A smile overtakes your lips. That’s when you remember you had prepared dinner for him. This seems like an appropriate time to offer it up as an apology, but Rin doesn’t seem to be ready to move. 

You let go, intending to lead him to the dinner table, but even as your arms unwind from around him, his hold remains tight. 

“Rin?” 

“I’m thinking about how I’m going to let you go.” 

You freeze. 

Rin doesn’t say anything more. He lets the words hang in the air and no matter how long the two of you stand there, the words don’t change. 

“I thought you came home to make up with me,” you say. 

Rin still refuses to let go. “I’ve thought about it,” he says quietly, slowly. “I think I finally get what you want from me. But I can’t give you that. I can’t be different and that might mean that I can’t be what you want. At least not in an emotional partner.” 

You shove him away. “You don’t know that! How can you know what I want! I never-” 

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I don’t think I can give you what you want without needing you to ask for it. And I think you deserve someone who can.” 

You shake your head, different tears rearing to make an appearance. “You said it yourself, Rin. You’re not a mind-reader. I know I have to do a better job of telling you when I…” 

He shakes his head too. 

“No, I don’t think you’re asking too much. I think you’re completely right. But I can’t do it. There’s definitely someone else out there who can do it for you.” 

“If it’s not too much to ask, then why can’t you try! Why are you just giving up? You’re so unwilling to try that you’d rather break up?!” 

You’re hysterical at this point. Rin’s calm demeanor just makes it worse. 

“I love you,” Rin says solemnly. “but I can’t keep hurting you like this. Especially when I know I can’t change.” 

Rin says every word deliberately, with finality. Every word drains more and more fight from you. 

“Cant? Or won’t?” 

Rin only meets your gaze steadily. 

There are no more words, no more fight you have left. What more can you do but say okay? 

– 

For Rin, everything has gone exactly as he had expected. He would go even as far as to say that the night the two of you agreed to break up, he slept dreamlessly. He went to practice the following day and performed just as usual. He had dinner alone, but he’s no longer in a position to wonder where you spent dinner and so he cleans up and showers and falls into another fitless sleep. 

It’s only when the weekend comes around that something starts to stir. 

As agreed, you decide to move out despite Rin offering the apartment to you. It was a strange feeling when you had told him the apartment had too many memories for you to remain in it alone. He has never thought of it that way before, associating a tangible thing to an intangible feeling, unless it was a soccer ball flying into a goal. 

Sae had come over to help you move out. 

During your years of dating, Rin was aware that you and his older brother got along well. While your friendship with his brother had never really bothered him, he had also never considered you closer to Sae than he, himself, to Sae. 

So he finds it uncomfortable that Sae is the one helping you leave. 

But despite his initial reservations, the morning goes by uneventfully, the two brothers packing your things away into boxes. 

After lunch, you decide to join Sae to pack your half of the kitchen while Rin takes the bathroom. It takes him less than 30 minutes to separate all your items from his, a variety of colorful bottles and jars that he’s never touched. It takes even less time to pack them away into one single plastic container. 

Something strikes Rin in the gut when he realizes how easy it is to pack years into a single box. Unable to shake the punching feeling in his gut, he picks up a bottle of lotion that has been untouched by either of you for years to ask if you’d like to take it. He could care less about the lotion but he needs to walk away from the unfamiliar sight of the sink now only decorated with a sparse scattering of his grey-tone products. 

When he turns the corner to the kitchen, he sees you sitting on the counter, dictating items for Sae to grab from the cabinets. The domesticity between the two of you in his home makes the punchy feeling he wants to run from punch harder. 

He watches Sae point at a matching set of mugs, ones that Rin remembers easily. He surprises himself with how easily the memory of those mugs resurfaces: a vivid image of the two of you in a home goods store picking your first couple’s mugs. You shake your head and Sae moves to the next items in the cabinet. Rin’s gut wrenches at how easily you make your decision to leave those mugs behind. 

The next items are a set of glasses the two of you had bought as a souvenir on a weekend trip to Osaka. They weren’t matching, one of the glasses littered with various cute images associated with Osaka and the other with only printed lettering of “Osaka” on it. Despite the contrasting designs, he remembers you putting the glasses that each of you individually picked out together and squealing over how they look like a matching set. He didn’t understand then but as he watches you direct Sae to pack the glass with the cute images and leave the glass with the simple lettering, he starts to understand. His glass gets left in the cabinets. 

When the cabinet has been picked and chosen through to your liking, Sae moves over to where you’re sat on the counter and offers his hand to help you off. You take it and hop off. The scene that unfolds next is what finally makes Rin realize that the uncomfortable feeling in his chest is akin to that of a heart attack, no, even more pedestrian – jealousy. 

He watches as your expression crumbles and you bury your face into your hands. It hits him that it’s the first time he has seen you cry after the breakup. And on instinct, he begins to walk to where you are to offer comfort, but it’s Sae who wraps one arm around you and runs his hands up and down your arm. 

It strikes Rin then. 

It's one thing to think about letting you go be with someone who is the partner you deserve. 

It's another to actually do it and see it. It's another thing to go through with it. 

And the most jarring realization today is that maybe Rin is more capable of what he had originally thought. Maybe he can’t read your mind, but the years of being with you, living with you, loving you, has taught him that he can understand you without needing you to say anything. 

Like right now. Sae has one arm around your trembling figure, pulling you into his side, but what you really want is someone who will wrap both arms around your shoulders. You’d push your damp face into the nearest neck or collarbone when one arm comes up to cradle your head. You’d whimper when the one holding your nuzzles their face against your hair. It’s muscle memory. 

For both you and him. 

And just like that, Rin changes his mind. 

He charges onto the scene. 

“I’ll take it from here.” 

– 

“I’ll take it from here.” 

Sae lifts his arm from your shoulder, but by instinct, you cower, stepping behind him, just enough to hide your face. It takes you a few seconds to pull yourself together, school your expression to face Rin. When you look up, you find that the brothers have come to some sort of silent understanding, Sae nodding and patting your head before vacating the apartment, leaving you and Rin and the thick haze of tension. 

Sae forgotten, you swipe messily at your face one last time for stray tears, playing it off as wiping the sweat from your forehead. 

You turn back to the cabinets, busying yourself by reaching up for the remaining mugs. “We almost finished the kitchen. I just need to go through a couple more cupboards and…” 

“Hey.” 

You feel him before you hear him. Rin is all up in your space, one hand resting on the counter to your left, caging you against the counter. 

“Stop,” his commanding voice tells you. 

You turn around. 

“Can I take it back?” he asks. 

You fluster. 

“Oh! Um,” you respond, voice startlingly loud. “The mugs? Which one did you want to keep? I didn’t mean to take-” 

“Not that,” he stops your rambling. “Can I take what I said back? About breaking up. I want to take it all back.” 

He pries the mug from between your fingers and sets it back into its home in the cupboards. 

“What does ‘take it back’ mean?” you squeak out. 

“It means I don’t want to break up anymore.” 

Your mouth moves faster than your brain. 

“You can’t just take a break up back.” 

“So how can I do it then? I’ll do anything.” 

“You can’t!” you raise your voice then. “You just… can’t.” the last word uttered as a whisper. 

“Yes, we can. Tell me what to do. I’m sorry. Sorry. I know you do a lot for me and I thought I couldn’t do that for you. But I know I can. I can do it better than anyone else. So please, let me take it back.” 

“Do you even know what we were arguing about in the first place? Do you remember that one time, so long ago, you said the same thing to me over the phone? To use my fucking words? Well maybe you don’t, but I remember every word.”

“I remember,” he says honestly. “And I’m sorry I said it that way. So much that it hurt you. So much that you still remember the exact words I said to you. But I don’t need to read your mind.

“Though I would like you to tell me explicitly what you like sometimes,” he adds thoughtfully. 

“But, I’ve loved you for long enough now that I don’t need to read your mind to know what you need. Maybe I won’t always know what you want, so I’ll still need you to tell me sometimes, but I always know what you need.” 

A lot of the things Rin says are very matter of fact and this is no different. He knows before you do that you’ll give in. 

He closes the small distance and pulls you into a tight embrace. It’s enough to open the floodgates. 

“Do you even know how many hours I’ve spent practicing arguments against you in my head? In the shower, in the car, when I’m getting ready for bed? You can’t just say a few sorry’s and think it’s enough.” 

“Mhm,” he nods, cradling your head in a way you know he knows makes you the most vulnerable. 

“I make you feel so guilty in my imagination. I don’t want to feel like that anymore,” you sob. 

“Yeah,” he says, continuing to stroke your hair.

“And you can’t talk to me like that anymore.” 

“I won’t,” he promises. 

He lets you soak his shirt with tears and after what feels like hours, you finally bring your hands up to clutch tightly at his shirt. 

“So how was your day?” he asks. 

You pinch his sides. “Not now, idiot.” 

You hear him chuckle a bit, the vibrations against your body comforting. He continues holding you, though, just the way you know he knows you like.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + four

authors note: hi! thank you so much for everyone who has left such kind words for this story! i'm so appreciative for the support and interest!

this one, i think, depicts a lot of contradicting thoughts and feelings for our two favorite characters. that's intentional.

i also take some creative liberties with medical and wrestling shit. let's just go with it, friends, por favor.

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

cw/tw: language, violence, sexual harassment, hints at past self-harm, allusions to past suicide attempt, references to traumatic pasts

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

words: 10k

Roman has spent years coming home to a dark, empty house. It’s been his preference for just as long, enjoying the isolation following day after day of shit that needs to be handled. Because that’s usually how shit plays out for him. Roman’s always calling the shots, always figuring out how to navigate difficult, sticky situations. 

It's just what he does.

It’s why he’s been able to advance the Bloodline as much as he has. Because Roman is a man playing professional chess among a group of elementary checker players.

And he’d never voice or admit it to anyone, but the weight does sometimes get to him in one way or another. So, he’s learned to appreciate solitude. 

But he’s not met with solitude upon entering his home, which is both surprising and irritating considering it’s pushing 2 o’clock in the morning.

The only sound he should hear is the sound of his heavy footsteps from the front door to the bedroom. Instead, his feet carry him into the source of said sounds that are more pots banging and dishes being washed.

That’s how he immediately knows who it is without needing to check. But, Roman is more curious as to why she’s in the damn kitchen at this time of night instead of sleeping than the noise itself.

And he goes to ask as such when he gets even closer and realizes there’s more to the sound than clanging pots and running water. A soft, melodic, almost soothing voice singing in a language he doesn’t understand but recognizes as Spanish. 

Solana is singing, and she’s singing well, beautiful even. So much so that he finds himself leaning against the wall closest to the kitchen, watching as she moves about, earbuds pressed in her ears making her oblivious to his presence.

There’s a sense of relaxation to her, an almost smile as she sings. She doesn’t seem nervous nor skittish….just at peace.

That is she turns around and realizes he's standing there, watching her.

She snatches her earbuds out and immediately jumps on the train of unnecessary apologies. “I’m sorry! I didn’t—-you said you’d be back late.”

He chuckles, calmly pointing out, “it’s almost 2am.”

Her face is flushed red with unnecessary embarrassment. “I thought—I guess I figured that meant you’d come back in the morning.”

“I sleep in my own bed, if I can help it.” It’s a comfort thing, a nod to his preference for solitude. He’s never even stayed the night with Samantha, mostly because he knows her ass would see that as a damn marriage proposal.

Well, maybe not anymore.

“Why are you still up?”

“I—I couldn’t sleep.” It’s a simple answer he’s certain also includes a very real, dark backstory as to why she can’t sleep. He’s been there.

He gets it.

“I’ll be done soon—"

“You can stay up as long as you want. I don’t care.” And it’s true. The house is big enough for her to be making as much noise as she needs, and he probably wouldn’t hear anything from where his room is. He also recognizes the misery that comes with wanting but not being able to sleep, so if being in the kitchen is her distraction, then he’s good with that.

Of course, she continues with the apologies. “I’m sorry about the music—I just—the house was too quiet. I—I don’t like the quiet.”

“Solana.” He has to interrupt her. Roman’s not in the mood for her apology tour. Granted, he does hone in on the part of not liking the quietness of the house. Of course she would be the opposite of him. “I don’t care. Do what you want. Shit doesn’t impact me.”

Roman can see she’s unsure of how to take his words, most likely wondering if there’s some catch, if it’s followed up with a stipulation. But, there is none. As long as it doesn’t impact him, she can do what she wants.

“You have a nice voice,” he compliments, because again, it’s the truth. He’d never taken her as the singing type, but gradually, Roman is starting to see there may be more to Solana than meets the eye. 

Her unsure expression remains unchanged with the exception of her blush deepening as she mumbles a quiet, “thank you.”

Compliments of any sort seem to bother her, or maybe it’s less they bother her and more she’s unsure of how to respond because she’s not used to them.

He’d lean more on the side of that being the case.

Nevertheless, Roman decides to leave her be. “I’m going to bed.”

“Okay,” she says almost sheepishly, adding a quiet, “goodnight.”

Roman takes her in, the quietness and passiveness no longer as irritating as he once thought and believed it to be. It might still irk him, but the level of irritation isn’t as high as it used to be.

Whatever that means.

“Goodnight, Solana….”

————

From day one of moving into Roman's mansion, Solana has noticed the watch dogs that occasionally patrol the premises along with the armed guards. And while she’s always been tempted to ask to pet one, she’s also always decided against it. These dogs, like their handlers, are trained killers, not emotional support animals.

They’re not there for her to treat like objects.

But it’s when she walks outside, ready to head off to work, that she notices one guard with a dog Solana hasn’t seen before, a puppy, that she finds it in her to approach. With a couple minutes to spare before she has to leave for work, interacting with a dog seems like a nice way to start off the day.

Hand on her purse strap, she shoves back her anxiety about approaching this strange man, asking in a soft voice, “i–is he new?”

The guard sizes her up and down, answering with a gruff, “yeah.” 

Solana looks down at the dog who’s also staring up at her with just as much curiosity. Smiling gently, she carefully crouches down and waits for him to move closer. There's a generous leeway of his leash that would allow him to do so. 

Sure enough, the dog walks over to her, ears down. Giggling, she cautiously moves to pet him. “You’re so sweet….” And he is. Solana wonders if he’ll retain that sweetness once he undergoes his training. Unlikely. “Good boy…”

“He’s not a fucking pet.” The guard harshly scolds, giving a tug on the leash that makes the dog start to growl. Solana frowns, recognizing he’s annoyed with her interruption.

“I’m sor—”

But before she can finish her sentence, there’s a flash before her that seems almost too quick for her vision to process. But, when she does, she realizes Roman is now present, directly in front of the guard, hand wrapped around his throat. 

“Speak to her like that again, and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out your mouth.” His voice is as menacing and terrifying as the fire in his eyes. Roman shoves the man forward and demands. “Apologize. Now.”

The man is coughing, struggling to regulate his breathing but still manages to cough up a muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Solana feels and probably looks stumped at hearing such a thing. She can’t recall the last time someone has ever uttered those words to her. Understandably, she doesn’t know how to respond or react. 

“Leave,” Roman demands. And Solana isn’t sure she’s seen a man haul off as quickly as he does, guiding the dog along with him. 

Roman takes in her appearance as she stands up, nervously brushing any invisible lint off her pants. “You good?”

She nods, still not quite knowing how to take this. How to take Roman seemingly defending her. Or maybe he’s just defending what belongs to him. It has to be the latter of the two, because why would he care about defending her?

Red-faced, she tries to explain her actions. “It—it was my fault. I just—I saw the dog, and I just—I wanted to pet it.”

“Why are you apologizing for someone being rude to you? Does that shit make sense to you?” When he says it like that, no, it doesn’t. But it’s clearly meant to be rhetorical, as he then asks, “you like dogs?”

Nodding, she clarifies. “Small dogs, mostly. Big ones, umm, they kinda scare me.” As do most things. This, she’s sure, he’s noticed by now. “Uhh—what time do you want dinner ready?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll be back late tonight.”

“Oh.” Solana is unsure why there’s a strange sense of disappointment in her belly at this. Late….

In her experience with her dad and brother, that usually means they won’t be back until the next day, most likely in the morning. 

This should make her feel a bit relieved, not having to be on edge, feeling worried about upsetting him. 

Even if the only thing regarding her that she’s seen upset him is when he perceives she’s being disrespected.

She’s not quite sure what to make of that either.

“Ayo, Lil’ Soso.” A new voice enters the conversation, one she’s gradually growing comfortable and used to. Jey walks out with a rubbermaid container in his hand, chewing obnoxiously as he approaches Solana and Roman. “What are these things? They’re pretty good.”

There’s a couple of things to process in that one interaction, starting with the nickname Jey has used to refer to her in the times she’s run into him in the house. The twins, along with Paul, seem to be at the mansion often. The interactions though, have allowed her to feel less tense around him. Around Jimmy too.

She hasn’t had enough interaction with Paul to feel that way about him, and she’s certain that won’t change. He seems only concerned with Roman and no one else, which is valid and fair considering his role as Roman’s chief advisor.

Going back to his question, she answers, “conchas.”

“Con what?”

His expression and delivery make her smile. “Conchas. It’s a Mexican pan dulce. Sweet bread.”

“I don’t know half of what you said, but this shit good as hell. You got any more?”

“Don’t you have fucking food at your house?” Solana would never show or admit to it, but it’s sometimes funny to her how Roman seems almost always annoyed with his eccentric cousins. There’s no doubt in her mind though that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill for them, that he’s probably done so. And vice versa.

But they also seem to get on his nerves just as much. 

“Man, Nicki on that shit again, talking about she ain’t cooking until I start treating her right. Me and the kids been eating out.”

Kids? That surprises her. She didn’t know Jey was a father. 

“Solana! When you train with Naomi, can you exchange some recipes with her or something?” Jimmy also joins in the conversation, walking over while rubbing his stomach. “Cause I don’t know what that meal was in the blue container, but shit slapped.”

It takes a minute for her to remember which one that was. She’s always been a bit meticulous about separating her meals accordingly. “Carnitas Huevos Rancheros.”

Jimmy hesitates. “Yeah sure, that.”

“Am I running a fucking food pantry?” It’s hard to tell if Roman is genuinely annoyed. Something tells her it’s that type of irritation he naturally gets with the twins but won’t actually do anything about. “It’s not her job to feed you idiots.”

“I don’t mind,” she offers, adding. “I–I like to cook.” And it’s the truth. It reminds Solana of her mom, of all the times she’d spend in the kitchen learning from and spending time with the one and only person on this planet who ever loved her. 

“See, Uce, she likes to cook,” Jey points out, wiping the crumbs off his fingers on his pants and tucking the now empty container under his arm. “I’ll just take this off your hands.”

Solana’s watch vibrating, reminding her that her shift starts in half an hour, is the perfect reminder that while this conversation is comical, it’s also interfering with her schedule. She’s also certain Solo is waiting patiently, or impatiently, by the SUV for her to jump in so they can get a move on. “I—I’ve gotta get to work, but I can have the food ready by tomorrow. I’ll just come home and cook after training.”

“If you feel like it,” Roman adds, and she knows better than to push back and tell him cooking is one of the few escapes she has. It’s become even more of an escape without the anxiety and pressure of her dad and brother demanding the food always be ready in sometimes unrealistic time frames and lashing out when that doesn’t happen.

To Roman’s credit, if he’s ever been annoyed with waiting a few extra minutes for meals, he’s done a perfect job not showing as such. 

She simply nods, acknowledging his stipulation, offering a quiet ‘bye’ as she jogs off to the SUV with Solo ready to escort her to work.

It’s when she’s gone that Jimmy walks up beside Roman. “Man, she can cook, she don’t got a smartass mouth, and she got a body? Shit, Uce, ain’t you glad I told you to go with her?” Roman doesn’t offer a reply, but he definitely gives Jimmy that look that lets his cousin know to get away from him. Roman’s always been big on personal space.

“Does she cook every night?” Jey comes up, asking with an almost level of excitement. “Shit, me and the kids finna start coming over here.”

“Shut up.” The hell they will. Roman is still adjusting to living with someone. The last thing he needs is his cousin and his spawns running around his place, making noise, breaking and touching shit. Not going to happen. “Is Paul already at the office?”

“Yeah. He’s got the updated figures for you to go over. And the RKO proposal was sent over as well for you to review.”

Nodding, Roman starts to create a mental agenda for tasks he needs to complete for the day. And it goes without saying that he’s forever impressed how his cousins are easily able to slide back and forth between professional bag and bumbling morons. 

It’s one of the reasons he keeps them around and as high up in command as they are.

“Good,” Roman acknowledges, sliding his sunglasses over his eyes. “Let’s go.”

————

“Hey!”

Naomi’s smile is just as bright and genuine as the first time Solana met her, and that’s something she doesn’t know how to take. A part of her figured Naomi was just being nice to her because Roman was around, because she was given an order, and no one defies the Tribal Chief’s orders.

And maybe she could even chalk this up to being an order as well, Roman tasking her with training Solana on how to fight, hence the continued kindness.

Regardless of the motivating factor, this woman is clearly a capable and trained fighter. A killer. 

Solana would do well to stay on her good side.

“It’s good to see you. We didn’t really get a chance to talk much, but obviously, I’m Naomi. Jimmy’s wife.” For some reason, Solana can see it. Can see these two together, even if she’s only been around both less than a handful of times. “I train a lot of the new recruits, mostly women, some men.”

“Men?”

Naomi chuckles. “That’s typically their reaction too. Right before I remind them who I am and what I can do.”

Solana isn’t sure she wants to know the answer to either of those. 

“Just out of curiosity, do you have any kind of combat training? Fighting knowledge in general?” It’s a valid question that only has one embarrassing answer. Solana guesses that Naomi picks up on this embarrassment, adding gently, “it’s okay if you don’t. It just gives me a baseline on where we should start.”

“No—I—I’ve never done anything like this before.” And she’s still not sure if she wants to, not sure what Roman thinks she will get from this. Him, along with everyone else around her, learned how to shoot a gun at the same time they learned how to walk. She doesn’t think she’s ever even held a gun. There’s no way humanly possible she could ever be even a fraction as good at this. 

And Roman has to know this.

So, why is he making me do it?

Again, either Naomi is insanely perceptive or Solana is much worse at hiding her emotions than she initially believed. 

She’d bet on the latter of the two.

“He doesn’t want you to be like us. He just—”

“He wants you to stop being so damn weak,” a new voice interjects. Solana recognizes the tall, intimidating woman from before when Roman had taken her to the Warehouse. She hadn’t had any direct interaction, but just the mere fact alone that she’d simply looked at Solana with disgust told her all she needed to know. “Wants you to grow a backbone.”

“Nia.” Naomi’s smile is dropped, traded for an intense stare. “Lay off her, okay? You heard what Roman said.”

“Oh yeah, we have to be nice to her.” Nia’s smile is mocking, her unimpressed gaze taking in Solana from head to toe. But Solana focuses on what Nia just said versus her judgmental countenance. Did Roman really tell them to be nice to her? Why? Why would he do that?

Nia walks over, crossing her arms over her body. “Well, here’s some kind advice, I can tell from one look at you that life hasn’t been very nice to you. But that doesn’t make you special.”

Naomi steps in. “Nia!”

“Bad shit happens to people all the time. At some point, you have to stop allowing yourself to be a victim.” If not for the fact that Solana knows Nia can’t stand her, she’d almost think Nia is offering what she believes to be genuine advice vs judging her. “You’re here. You survived it. Make that survival worth something.”

Naomi pushes Nia away from Solana, saying something to her that appears to be in defense of Solana, which she’d appreciate if not for the fact that she’s now in her head.

Nothing Nia said is inherently wrong. The world is undoubtedly both good and bad, perfect yet imperfect, wholly and incompletely balanced. These are all facts she’s well aware of, but what Nia doesn’t know or understand yet is that a person still being here doesn’t mean they survived. 

Solana is already broken.

There is no survival.

There’s just existence.

“Don’t listen to Nia,” Naomi advises. Looking around, Solana sees that at some point in her dissociation, Nia departed. Naomi continues with that same warm smile. “She can be a bitch sometimes, but she does mean well…..occasionally.” Hands on her hip, Naomi brings the attention back to the whole reason Solana is even at the Warehouse. “How about we just start with flexibility and mobility? Most of us are smaller than the men, and you definitely are, girl.”

Small……

That’s a word Solana has never thought to use to describe herself. 

“Being smaller means we can move around faster, can navigate around an attacker in a bit of a quicker way. But, you also have to be able to move in a way that’s lithe. Don’t worry. I gotchu, girl.”

They are reassuring words, words that Solana is grateful for, especially as they begin and she feels completely out of her element. Because she is. Solana isn’t the least bit lithe, and she’s certain her hand eye coordination is straight up shit.

But regardless of all that, Naomi remains kind, patient, and even makes conversation with her.

It doesn’t feel like she’s being made to do this, but more like something she gets to do. And Solana is grateful for that interaction, for the space to not feel like she’s burdening someone. That feels nice. So, so nice.

But equilibrium is a hard thing to achieve and even harder to maintain, so while one safe space is being created, another unsafe space is gradually forming in the midst of her oblivion.

Austin Theory and Grayson Waller, two upcoming, arrogant, fighters and wannabe heads have used the Warehouse for their training space for the past few months after finally proving and gaining access to the elite training grounds. 

And while the initiation and acceptance process was brutal and would ward most off from fucking up their membership status, Austin and Grayson have always been hardheaded, too blinded by their own hubris to recognize when they’re about to shoot themselves in the foot.

And shooting themselves is the least of their worries when Grayson is casually surveying the gym to see who’s present, his eyes landing on a woman in particular who catches his interest almost instantaneously. 

“Well, who do we have here?” Austin is confused initially, Grayson motioning across the way to where Solana completes her cooldown with Naomi. 

Immediately, Austin scoffs. “Since when does this place offer a weight watchers class?”

Chuckling, Grayson still pushes back. “Hers is in the right places though, mate,” Grayson again advises Austin to watch Solana as she happens to be leaning back, palms flat on the ground making her top hug against her chest.

Austin makes a face. “Decent.”

“Who is she?” Grayson asks again as Austin notices a semi-familiar face walking nearby.

“Melo.”

Carmelo shifts his Beats headphones so they’re no longer covering his ears. “Whassup?”

Austin subtly gestures to Solana, asking, “who is that?”

Carmelo follows the line of vision and almost immediately snatches his eyes back to the duo. “Yo. You fuckin’ crazy?” 

“What?”

Carmelo repeats himself, a sense of urgency in his voice. “Do you know who that is?”

“Pretty sure that’s what we just fucking asked you, dumbass,” Austin slaps him upside the head. “Now who is she?”

“Solana Miller. Well, Solana Reigns now, I guess.” Carmelo lowers his voice, as if speaking too loudly will attract too much attention. And he’s not entirely wrong. “Roman’s wife.”

Grayson makes a face, looking between Carmelo and Austin for elaboration. “Reigns got married? Bullshit. That bloke is the last man to ever walk down the aisle.”

“You two would do well getting your head from up your asses every once in a while. It’s a recent thing, but still a thing. So unless you want your insides literally ripped from out of you, it’d be best to leave her the fuck alone.”

Austin, the most smug of the two, is the first to protest. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those. Everyone makes Roman out to be this big bad who can’t be touched. He defends, what, once every six months?” Austin scoffs. The fear that the “Head of the Table” seems to have over everyone has never made sense to him. Sure, he’s heard things, even seen some things, but that’s always been because Roman called the shot. He’s not the one actually taking or making them. “Everyone knows he has his heron boys do his dirty work for him.”

“Plus, isn’t the guy pushing 40? What the fuck is he going to do?” Grayson laughs.

“Break his fucking hip trying to chase us.”

Carmelo shakes his head as the two dipshits laugh at their unfunny humor. “I’m telling ya’ll. Messing with her is a death wish. Plus, I heard she’s not even like that. That’s she’s like….shy and shit.”

If intended to ward the two off, it does the complete opposite. Theory smirks. “Those are always the freakiest.”

Carmelo backs away, lifting his hand in a surrender motion. “Can’t say I ain’t warn you. Dig your own graves.” With zero interest in having any part of what these two are clearly planning, Carmelo puts his headphones back over his ears and jogs off to start his training. 

And it’s a wise decision as Austin and Grayson, forever the patient predators stalking their prey wait for Naomi to walk off, time it well so that there’s an appropriate enough time for Solana to walk off to the showers, get clean, and walk out at the same time they happen to be lurking in the halls that lead to the locker rooms. 

That’s exactly how it plays out too, Solana looking down in her bag to grab her phone and text Solo that she’s done and ready to leave when a voice nearly knocks the wind out of her.

“Hi there.”

Solana gasps as loud as the sound of her back colliding with the brick wall behind her from how startled she is.

Instantly, she’s met with a set of cold blue eyes and wicked smile. “Solana, right?”

Breathing feels like it’s an optional thing, her hands still gripping the brick wall behind her. She can only nod her answer.

“Austin.” He then nods to the other man that Solana realizes is leaning back against the wall opposite her. The anxiety intensifies. “This is my buddy, Grayson. You must be new around here?”

Solana doesn’t want to speak, doesn't want to be near these two who have her practically cornered. But, she also doesn’t want to piss them off either. “Y—yeah.”

Austin’s eyes twinkle with nothing that seems good. “You really are shy, huh?”

“They make the best.” Grayson comments from his propped up position. Solana doesn’t allow herself to think too much about what he’s implying. She just wants to get the hell away from them. One look, and she knows they’re up to no good.

It makes her sick to her stomach.

The idea of walking past these two brings a visceral, physical response that has her mouth watering. She feels like she’s going to throw up, but she also knows she needs to get the hell away from them. “I—I have to go.” From where the next thing to come out her mouth stems from, she doesn’t know, but it’s blurted with all the nerves in her body. “R-Roman is waiting for me.”

He’s not. She actually has no idea where he is, but there’s a part of her that wonders if reminding them of who she is, who her husband is will make them back off.

“Of course,” the one with an accent speaks, motioning with his arm for her to leave. “Don’t want to keep the Chief waiting.”

The mockery in his tone unease her even more. Does he not realize just who Roman is? What he’s capable of. 

Regardless, the second Austin backs away a bit, she’s darting through the hall, trying to put as much distance between herself and the two men, but she’s not far enough to miss the ominous departing statement from Austin.

“See you around, Solana.”

Something tells her this won’t be the last time she runs into them, and it leaves a deep, disturbing feeling in the pit of her stomach.

This isn’t good. 

It’s not good at all. 

————

Dear Mom,

I’m still alive. 

That’s a good thing, I guess. Life with Roman has been….a strange experience. The most important thing is that he hasn’t hit me yet, but I’ve been trying really hard not to upset him or get on his bad side. I do my best to make sure all of his meals are ready and on time, which I guess helps. 

But to be honest……he kinda confuses me. 

He hasn’t been unkind, and I don’t think I’ve ever experienced him really yelling at me. Not like I’ve seen him yell and scream at others. So, that’s also good. It’s a bit of walking on eggshells, just waiting for him to snap and hit me, but not as much as I was thinking.

I don’t know….it hasn’t been as bad here as I thought it would be. For the most part, he just leaves me alone. We don’t even eat dinner together, which is fine, cause I can’t see why he’d want to spend time with me anyway. 

But, he confuses me because it feels like sometimes he’s defending me or something, which doesn’t make sense because why would he do that? That would mean he has to care to some extent, right? I keep trying to remind myself that it’s probably not me he’s defending but his pride and standing, because I think being mean or disrespecting me is like disrespecting him? I’m not sure, but it’s definitely a new experience.

I haven't spoken to or heard from Wes and dad. Roman made me get a new phone with a new number that I’m not sure either of them have. I don’t know if I want to think too much about how bad it’s going to be when I finally do see them again…..

Wes made it clear I was supposed to be keeping in contact with them, but that hasn’t happened. Truth be told, I try not to think about that. Think about the fact that I’m somehow supposed be figuring out a way to…..to kill Roman. I could never do that. I could never kill anyone. You know that, mama. 

Even more….I feel like Roman is growing on me, like maybe he’s not as bad as I thought, like maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye.

I think….I think that I could learn to like living here.

—------

“WarGames?”

To Solana, it’s a simple question, because it’s definitely not an everyday term. But that’s clearly not the case given the startled expressions on both Bayley and Naomi’s face.

It’s becoming something she is slowly starting to enjoy. Not necessarily the training part, but the socialization. It’s something Solana has been deeply deprived of over the years, so to have someone to talk to, someone who wants to talk to her means a lot. 

Even if it’s technically a job she was assigned by Roman, Naomi has never made her feel like their interactions are forced. 

Moreover, it was just in last week’s training session, Solana was thoroughly and pleasantly surprised to find out Bayley is also a member of the Warehouse and friends with Naomi, that reunion almost giving Solana a sense of giddiness. 

She’s wanted to reach out since the wedding but never followed through based upon her fear that she’d be bothering Bayley. 

Clearly, that’s not the case. 

Solana is certain she’ll never forget Bayley’s kindness on a day where she really needed to believe in something, believe that there is always at least one reason to keep breathing, to be alive.

But, it’s when Solana asks about this topic Naomi and Bayley were discussing that attracts confounded expressions. 

“You’re kidding right?” Bayley is the first to speak, glancing between herself and Naomi. “He didn’t tell you?”

Still confused, Solana presses, “tell me what?”

“I’m not surprised Roman didn’t, but someone definitely should have.” Naomi shakes her head, shifting into an explanation.. “War Games. It’s an annual match. Super big deal. It’s a show of strength and dominance for the Bloodline. Kinda hard to explain. You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

It sounds….intense. “I—I don’t think I’m invited.”

“Your hubby has clearly been a bachelor for way too long for him to realize that he has to tell you these things.” Bayley rolls her eyes but protests Solana’s belief that she would somehow not be invited to one of the Bloodline’s most important yearly events. “You’re definitely invited. As Roman’s wife, you have to be there. It would be seen as a sign of great disrespect to him if you didn’t.””

Disrespecting Roman…..never a good idea.

“When is it?”

Naomi seems to hesitate before answering. “Tomorrow night” And before Solana can panic at such short notice, Naomis is reassuring her that it will all work out. “Don’t worry. Bay and I will help you get ready.”

“Hell yeah.” Bayley already goes into strategizing mode. “I’ll handle your hair and makeup, and Naomi can find you a kickass dress.”

“Red, of course. That’s the only non-negotiable. Bloodline thing, ya know.” Solana figured as such. She also briefly wonders if that’s why Roman has been coming back home late the past few weeks, because he’s been training? “But, I will say we usually dress….well, like we’re going clubbing for these kinds of events, so it’s gonna be short, tight, and a tad bit revealing.”

That is something that gives Solana pause. None of those things scream appealing to her at all. She doesn’t have the body to dress like that. Not with the rolls, stretch marks, and scars that mar hers. 

“I—I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she finds it in herself to voice her opinion. A rarity. “I don’t—I don’t think I’d look good in something like that.”

Both Bayley and Naomi cast her confused expressions, Naomi being the first to speak. 

“Why?” Naomi presses, gesturing up and down. “Girl, you have a nice ass shape. You would fill out a bodycon dress nicely.”

Solana has a hard time digesting what Naomi is saying. She would look great in a dress like that. Naomi is both fit and curvy, the perfect amount of curves in the right places without unnecessary fat. Same for Bayley.

For Solana, the less skin she’s showing the better, though she wonders if the kind of attire they’re describing is some type of dress code, meaning there is no room to protest. 

The last thing she wants is for it to get back to Roman that she’s being “difficult.”

Defeated, she murmurs an ‘okay’ as the two of them engage in more conversation about this WarGames as well as fashion options. To be fair, they try to include her in, but Solana is too into her head about what this alleged night is as well as what it could include.

—---

Naomi wasn’t lying when she said that Solana would have to see WarGames for herself to understand it. That’s the absolute truth. 

It’s a spectacle, to say the least. 

For one, it’s a ton of people packed around the ring, the massive room where fights take place. The noise is boisterous, almost deafening, people drunk, swearing, placing bets, most of which are on the Bloodline.

And thankfully, Solana and Co. are seated in the upper area, a VIP box of sorts, away from the unruly crowd. She’s thankful for this for a lot of reasons, one of the biggest being the fact that she feels extremely uncomfortable in her dress. And just in general, but mostly with how much scarred skin is showing.

The dress is exactly as Naomi said it would be: short, red, and a bit revealing. Thankfully Naomi picked out a dress with a halter neckline that prevents any cleavage from showing, but there’s a split high up on the thigh that she finds herself trying to constantly adjust.

“You look great, Solana.” Bayley wears that same friendly, encouraging smile from Solana’s wedding day. “And I get that you’re self-conscious about your body, but I can guarantee these men would line up by the dozen for a chance to go home with you if not for your psycho-killer husband.”

Bayley playfully nudges her shoulder, and while Solana can emit a chuckle, she can’t bring herself to laugh. That line of men would be just as disappointed as she’s sure her psycho-killer husband was on their wedding night.

But, this isn’t the time and place for that.

“You look nice,” Solana compliments, partially a deflection technique but mostly the truth. Bayley, Naomi, and Nicki, who she met earlier that night and learned was Jey’s wife, all look exceptional in their numbers. Bayley is the only one not wearing red, for obvious reasons, but the jade green compliments her complexion well.

“We all look nice,” she says loud enough for the other two to hear.

Nicki opens her mouth to respond when the lights in the arena start to shift.  “Ugh. This bitch again.” Nicki’s scowl and expression of irritation draws Solana’s attention to the woman in the ring, who now has the spotlight on her, a woman she immediately recognizes as being there that night Roman woke her up from a nightmare.

The woman is tall, curvy in the right places, beautiful, bouncy curls cascading down her back. If she has a lot of makeup on, Solana can’t tell because it’s painfully obvious she’s been blessed with natural beauty. Everything about her is just so gorgeous.

At the time, she didn’t think anything of it, too caught in the haze of trauma. But now, curious and believing she can receive an answer, Solana asks, “who is she?”

“The most annoying person ever,” Nicki answers, taking a swig of her drink. In only knowing Nicki for less than an hour, Solana both does and doesn’t understand the compatibility between herself and Jey. They seem very much alike yet dissimilar. It makes sense why they fight as much as they do.

“That’s Samantha.” There’s no way to misinterpret the disgust in Nicki’s voice even as she pronounces Samantha’s name with undeniable distaste. “She does the announcements for events, but her daytime job is being a professional hooker.”

“Nicki!” Naomi shakes her head. “I think she’s a paralegal for a lawyer or something, but she’s mostly known as a pain in everyone’s ass. Always has been. Ever since we were in high school. She thinks because she’s light skinned with ‘good hair’ that she’s better than everybody.”

“Don’t forget about Roman,” Nicki chimes with her nose upturned. “She really thinks she’s hot shit though because she’s number one on his ‘I want my dick sucked’ list.”

This causes Solana to pause for a second. “What?”

She’s not stupid. Why else would this Samantha have been over at the house that late at night? And with Roman? Solana figured early on that if he isn’t getting any from her, then he has to be getting it from somewhere. Truthfully, even if their marriage did involve sex, she’s not sure he still wouldn’t find his way in between the legs of another woman.

But, there’s something about having it confirmed, hearing for herself that he gets around, that he clearly has a high sex drive that adds a whole new layer of insecurity.

She’s known from day one she could never be anyone he wanted or needed, and he expressed as such that day at the library, but this conversation makes it feel more…..real.

And she’s unsure why or just what makes this bring on a sense of sadness.

“Come on, I get you’re quiet and innocent and shit, but everyone knows that man is a hoe. If you’re black or black–ish with a vagina, fat ass, and big titties, he’ll fuck you. Cause none of them fools fuck with white girls.” She glances at Bayley, almost sympathetically. “No offense.”

“I’m Mexican.”

This serves as a brief, nice distraction for Solana. She suspected that Bayley wasn’t entirely white, but hearing that she’s Hispanic, Mexican, makes Solana feel a small slice of excitement. She makes a mental note to ask her if she speaks Spanish. 

Solana hasn’t been able to communicate in the language her mother made sure to teach her in secret given Xavier’s protest since her murder. So, the idea of being able to communicate with another person in that language makes her feel a bit excited. Maybe more than a bit.

Nicki is dismissive, though there’s a hint of humor there. Like she knows and is just messing with the other woman. “Sure you are, Bay.”

Bayley rolls her eyes and assures Solana. “Don’t listen to her.”

“Ya’ll, don’t lie to this girl.” Nicki seems dead set on stressing this point, and Solana can’t figure out if it comes from a good place, a drunk place, or somewhere in between the two of them. “If it wasn’t common knowledge he don’t fuck none of these bitches raw and makes most get on birth control, I’d tell you to not let that fool touch you with a ten foot pole.”

Bayley is watching Solana, sees the discomfort growing at this conversation and moves to change the conversation. “Why don’t we talk about you and Jey and why I literally saw him flirting with Sasha the other day?”

At that, Nicki drops her drink, cussing loudly, “man, fuck him! I don’t give a fuck about him or that bony heifer! I’ll beat the shit out both of them.”

“Nicki. Shut the fuck up. You may beat her ass, but you gon be right back to drunk spilling about how good Jey’s dick is when it’s all said and done.” Naomi dismisses, and something tells Solana she’s not wrong. Nicki and Jey seem to have a bit of a…..tumultuous relationship.

“I mean it this time!”

“Uh huh, sure sis.”

“And if you don’t give a fuck about him, why are you here?” Naomi challenges. 

All eyes on her, even Solana’s slightly curious gaze, Nicki falls back in her chair and mumbles, “cause that’s my man.”

Naomi and Bayley are a chorus of laughter and whooping and hollering, roasting Nicki for her contradictory statements.

Flashing blue lights illuminate the arena as everyone immediately moves to their feet followed by opening music that almost instantly brings chills up Solana’s arms. The lights then transition to a combination of red and blue, the sound of cheering intensifying as she redirects her focus back to where the first group entered. 

Solana’s eyes instantly, maybe even naturally, land on Roman. He stands first among the men, shirtless, ula fala around his neck, championship belt around his waist, a look of fierce determination and stoicism painted across his handsome face. 

And that body…..rippling muscles glistening under the heat of the lights.

It’s a strange and miserable experience. Feeling all of the sensations and attractions a human typically has to another human being but having an almost inability to act on them. It’s not that Solana isn’t attracted to Roman. She finds him to be sinfully attractive. The issue is that whenever she thinks about what physical acts take place when two people find each other attractive is when her head is swarmed with vivid memories and flashbacks of being violated in the worst way possible.

And the attraction is stumped by fear and trauma. Fear of being touched. Fear of being with anyone in that way. 

It’s like Roman said. He can get that from anyone, so why would he bother with her?

When he has someone like Samantha, prettier, smaller, easier, at his disposal?

It brings a wave of sadness over her that she’s grateful isn’t noticed by the other ladies who are focused on the start of the match.

And to her credit, Solana tries to pay attention, grateful and thankful for Naomi and Bayley occasionally pointing out certain aspects of how it works, why the two groups are separated, individual members from each side periodically being sent into the line of fire.

“Roman always goes last,” Naomi explains at one point.

“Save the best for last type shit,” Bayley adds, finishing off her beer and asking for another. 

“More like once he gets his ass in there, it’s a wrap. Everyone left getting smashed.” Solana believes this wholeheartedly. She’s just not sure if she wants to see that, see that side of him up close. 

It exists, obviously, but it’s hard to compare the killer she knows he is to the man he’s been to in the short duration of their marriage.

Almost….almost kind. 

The fighting, brutal and bloody, all occurs in the ring, but Solana constantly finds her gaze falling back to Roman. He remains seated, patiently or maybe impatiently waiting for his turn, never once ripping his gaze from the match. She sees Paul outside the cage, occasionally speaking to Roman, advising as he always does. 

Solana can tell he’s completely immersed, focusing solely on the match before him. 

And it’s when there’s some type of in-ring argument between the twins and the other member-in-training of sorts, Sami, she thinks Naomi called him, that she turns to the ladies. “What are they doing?”

“Sealing a death wish,” Nicki answers with a shake of her head. “Roman gon’ have all they asses for this.”

Naomi sighs loudly, advising Solana after the bickering results in one of the men from the other group getting the upper hand, landing a particularly brutal looking kick to Jey. “There’s been some….contention between Sami and the twins, mostly Jey, but Nicki isn’t entirely wrong. They should know better than to let that shit interfere with a match. Roman will most likely make them stay after and……yeah.”

Solana doesn’t need a detailed explanation. She has a good idea of what Roman making them pay will look like. It’s also not something she wants to see.

The match, in and of itself, despite the excitement and pure interest of everyone around her, isn’t necessarily something she wants to see. Solana has seen, been exposed, and experienced enough fighting violence to last her a lifetime. 

This is entertainment to them, but for her, it’s been her lived experience.

So, she doesn’t feel any sort of adrenaline rush watching grown men beat the crap out of each other, blood, sweat, and bruised, battered bodies putting themselves through hell. It gives her some relief to see that the Bloodline, for the most part, remains with the upperhand. Even with their in-house argument earlier in the fight. 

But, it’s when the timer that ends with another man joining the brawl moves to a ten second countdown that her interest grows a bit more. It grows a bit because Roman is finally about to enter the ring.

She watches him, has mostly just watched him this entire time. He’s just as unbothered as he was the minute he walked in. Adjusting his gloves while Paul clearly tries to bestow some last minute wisdom before he makes his entrance.

It feels a bit redundant. She’s certain this man doesn’t need anyone helping him with anything.

And as soon as the timer winds down to zero, Roman gradually making his way to the ring, Solana knows she was right. Knows he doesn’t need help, because he’s been studying and planning for the past almost 45 minutes. Strategizing.

It shows the minute the men, all 10 of them go at it. It’s hard to keep track of all of the mayhem, fists flying, kicks landing in areas that are sure to require a couple days to recover. But, it’s Roman who still manages to catch and hold Solana’s attention. He moves with such precision and accuracy, blows every bit as barbarous and violent as his reputation warrants.

There’s a small part of her that experiences something she can’t quite label or understand when he takes a hit, especially when a member of the other team manages to catch Roman off guard, sending him into the table, the weight of him snapping it in half.

At that, she nervously starts to move her fingers up and down the side of her dress. But, Roman, while clearly impacted from the blow by the blood starting to stream down the back of his arm only seems further enraged. Like being attacked has somehow refueled him, recharged his already pre-existing rage.

“They are in trouble now….” Naomi murmurs, shaking her head, as if she knows what’s about to come. “Roman hates getting hit, and they made him bleed too?”

It’s the blood part, maybe, that bothers Solana. It’s silly given who he is and the fact that he’s clearly holding his own just fine, but Solana wonders why he doesn’t or can’t have that tended to. It has to hurt.

But, then again, it all hurts, so maybe the pain just numbs itself out.

And maybe Roman is clearly caught up and consumed in adrenaline, in the mad rush of the battle, because it seems from the table slam on out, no one is touching him. He’s all over the place, strong blows resulting in grown men crying out in pain. She’s certain those closer to the actual ring can hear the sound of bones crunching, an inevitable thing given the abnormal distortion of limbs she sees on the other team.

He yells and taunts his opponents, one by one, laying them out with the somewhat assistance of the rest of the men. Truth be told, Roman could have probably tagged out the other four men and handled the other team all on his own. 

He’s just that effective.

And when there’s only one man standing, barely, Roman moves to the other side of the ring, face turned up in rage, watching and waiting for the perfect moment for him to dart across, laughing into a spear so forceful that it knocks the man unconscious instantly, guaranteeing an instant, easy pin.

The crowd erupts in cheers, Roman’s music sounding as Samantha formally announces the Bloodline as the winners.

There’s a strange sense of relief that Solana has at that, at the fact that this is all over, that the fighting is done. That Roman is done, because her mind keeps going toward the fact that he probably needs some level of medical attention and when said attention is going to happen.  

But while she expects the Bloodline to start their exit, she’s instead met with security dragging the unconscious bodies of the losing team outside of the ring.

“What’s happening?” Solana asks Bayley, realizing that the women are starting to pack up to head out. “Isn’t—isn’t it over?”

“For us, yes.” Her eyes set on the twins, Solo, and Sami. “For them, it’s just beginning.” Solana reflects back on their in-ring argument and Naomi’s foreshadowing about this happening, about this punishment.

And one glance at Roman, his hulking shoulders lifting and lowering with his heavy panting. His eyes are flaming with a fury he clearly intends to take out on his team.

“Come on.” Naomi draws Solana’s attention. “I’ll ride home with you, cause Solo ain’t gon be free no time soon.”

None of them will.

Solana recognizes this and agrees, but it’s not without a sense of disappointment at not leaving with Roman.

And that confuses her. It confuses her a lot.

She didn’t arrive with him, so why would she leave with him?

More importantly, why does she care that she’s not leaving with him?

—----------

“I–I can do that for you.”

There are some things meant to be thought and some things meant to be said. This is one of those things that should have stayed in Solana’s head instead of rolling off her tongue the way it does. 

She was only supposed to ask him if he wanted her to make anything in particular for breakfast tomorrow, not offer to freaking suture stitches for him.

Well, that’s not entirely true, because as it’s almost damn midnight, she could and should at least be in bed trying to sleep. She’s been home for almost two hours, showered, changed into her oversized shirt and sweats. 

She shouldn’t even be standing before him, but there was some type of unease she had at trying to fall asleep without making sure he made it home, without seeing to it that he tended to any injuries he sustained tonight.

Solana almost feels like that’s what she should do, like she should make sure she’s available to assist him with anything he may need. Like it’s just another thing that could keep him from directing his anger from earlier towards her. 

And it’s slightly less stressful for her in knowing that he’s more likely to harshly dismiss her, maybe even chastise her for unintentionally implying he’s somehow incapable. However, instead of a rebuff, he simply looks at her, asking, “you know how?”

Solana doesn’t know why, but she takes this as a sign that he’s accepting her offer. Walking over to where he sits at the kitchen island, she sees he already has the supplies laid out. “I—I’ve had a lot of experience.”

Some of it from patching up her dad and brother but most of it from patching up herself over the years, from watching and learning from her mother tend to her wounds after sustaining beatings from Xavier. “My mom was also a nurse. She—she taught me a lot.” Like the proper way to suture. “Did—did you already disinfect?”

Solana is slightly nervous when he says no. That means she’s the one that’s going to have to inflict that brief but potent burning pain.

Lovely.

Nonetheless, she readies the cloth, holding it over the cut before warning, “this—this might sting.”

“I don’t care.” And she believes it. Seeing him in the ring tonight, his prowess, his brutality, she’s not sure if anything could hurt him.

Solana proceeds to clean and disinfect the area before grabbing the sutures to start stitching him back up.

Roman suddenly asks her. “Did you want to go into the medical field?” Roman recalls from the file he read on her that she never pursued any higher education beyond high school, something else he marked against her at the time. Education and knowledge have always been important to him.

But meeting her and slowly learning more about her backstory, he wonders if that was of her own choosing, hence his asking.

Solana, meanwhile, can’t figure out why he’s even talking to her in the first place. He seemed, justifiably, annoyed with and not wanting to be bothered with any and everyone post match. Now he’s asking her questions about things she hasn’t thought about in years. 

Still, she answers with the truth. “I—I wanted to be a nurse. Like my mom.” 

This doesn’t surprise Roman as he follows up with, “why didn’t you?”

A lot of reasons. Many of which she has very little desire to share, not that she could or would even want to ever voice as such to the man sitting in front of her. 

That’d be an instant death wish.

“My—my father. He, umm, didn’t want me to leave home.” It’s a version of the truth, the unabridged version being he didn’t want her to leave home because he wouldn’t be able to control her if she did so.

And Solana has a feeling that she doesn’t need to share all that, that Roman already knows this.

“Why didn’t you just leave?” Roman’s delivery, like most of the time, is insensitive. But, he genuinely wants to know. For what reason did she stay there all those years, in a house of horrors instead of just leaving and never looking back?

It’s a fair, simple question with a complex, layered answer that she greatly simplifies. 

“I tried. It—it never worked out.” And it’s when Roman hears the sudden sadness in her voice, sees the way her eyes temporarily shift to her inner forearms, horizontal faded scars that he’s just now able to see from how close she is to him that he gets it.

He realizes that she tried in more ways than one, none of them being successful.

And in a truly coincidental way, Solana notices he’s also cut on the back of his bicep. It’s also in her being so close to him that she realizes underneath the intricacies of the tribal tattoos on his forearm, there are scars. Burn scars, nothing severe, but visible enough for her to notice. 

It makes her wonder about where he got them, how he got them, not that she’d ever have enough bravery to ask.

She instead clears her throat and gestures to the cut. “Do–do you want me to do that one too?”

It takes a second for Roman to think about what she’s asking. “Is it deep enough?”

Without thinking about it, she brings her hand to finger to lightly feel the cut that was clearly poorly and in a rush patched up post fight. Nodding, she explains, “it’s deeper than about 1/4th an inch, so yeah, I—you should let me.” And in realizing she’s touching him, like she isn’t doing the same thing while suturing, she snatches her hand back, apologizing quietly.

He doesn’t think he’s ever had a woman apologize for touching him.

“Okay.” 

And that’s it, he doesn’t protest, doesn’t chastise her for making it seem like he doesn’t know or understand injuries. He just allows her to work on him, Solana doing her best to ignore the fact that he’s so close to her, his big, strong body, even while seated, overwhelming her. 

But while this would typically cause Solana to go into panic mode, being so close to a half dressed man, she doesn’t feel that with Roman. She doesn’t feel anything at all. No anxiety, no fear, just some nameless emotion that doesn’t evoke her typical nervous responses.

“Okay.” Finishing up, Solana moves to clean up the supplies, discarding what is no longer usable. “Just….don’t get it wet for next few hours, and apply the ointment as needed, but—I’m sure you know all this already.” She feels silly for speaking to him as if he hasn’t patched himself up or been stitched up countless time before. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna go to bed now.”

Not wanting to risk embarrassing herself further, she turns on the heel of her foot and starts walking off, only to stop when he calls for her. 

“Solana.”

She turns around, and Roman is briefly caught up in how she presses her lips together, trying to suppress a frown. She thinks she’s done something wrong.

One more sweep of her frame from bottom to top, remembering the stunning complement and contrast of the red dress against her complexion. He compliments, “you looked beautiful tonight.”

She looks absolutely taken back by what is an obvious statement. Taken back and confused. “M—me?” She’s pointing to herself, brows arching together. And for a second, there’s a small hint of a growing smile as she asks, as if he could have made a mistake. “Really?”

He didn’t.

Roman doesn’t make mistakes

Solana has a lot of things fucked up about her, but one thing not a damn person can deny is that she’s absolutely gorgeous with a body to match. That’s just a fact, why he felt the need to express said fact is a bit beyond him, but Roman doesn’t allow himself to think too much about it. It’s not a sentimental thing at all, just a plain fact being stated, if anything.

“Thank you,” she finally says as he notices the reddening of her cheeks. “Umm, good night.” Solana’s hand is on the banister, her finger squeezing tighter than the coils in her stomach. “Roman?”

It would be a hell of a lot easier if he would have just ignored her, but he doesn’t. His gaze snaps up to her from the phone now in his hand.

The same hand she witnessed just tonight pummel grown men, just as muscular and intimidating as he is to a bloody pulp. The same hand that could easily take her life, could have her clinging onto life with just one beating. And that’s all she can see at the thought of telling him about Grayson and Theory messing with her, that it’s now happened twice, they’ve caught her off guard and alone, sexually harassing her. 

Nia’s words from the other day return to the front of her mind.

“He wants you to stop being so weak.”

He’ll blame her. He’ll blame her the same way her father blamed her for what they did to her. He’ll blame her for being so weak. That’s what Solana knows will happen. Knows he’ll say she was leading them on, that she must have done something to garner their interest in her. And he’ll be angry.

He’ll be angry at her.

And nothing good ever comes out of Roman Reigns being angry.

She’s seen it for herself firsthand tonight.

Determine to find a way to deal with this on her own, she shakes her head, “nothing. S–sorry.” She’s turned back to the steps when he says her name this time. His tone clear and authoritative.

She jumps, immediately turning back around to face him. He’s now standing near the steps where she stands, halfway between rescue and ridicule.

Something flashes in his gaze at her obvious nervousness, but he quickly refocuses on the topic at hand. “You have something to say, so say it.”

A deep layer of regret and anxiety settles in at the realization that there is no lying to Roman. He’s adroitly skilled in reading between the lines and seeing through bullshit. Or maybe she’s just that bad at lying.

Hopefully not the latter because another lie is about to roll right out.

“I was just—I was gonna sleep in tomorrow, but I have to make your breakfast, so I’ll just—”

“You don’t have to do anything, Solana.” 

Roman knows she’s lying. Knows she just pulled that out of her ass instead of sharing whatever it is she initially wanted to say. It’s probably something stupid too, something he won’t give two shits about, but something she thinks he gives two shits about. And he’d push her if not for the fact he can tell she’s getting all nervous and shit on him again. The last thing he needs is her having another panic attack. 

“Sleep in,” he directs. This is a conversation, much to his chagrin, that will have to take part in sections. And it’s too late in the evening to hash out one of those sections. And to be fair, there is a part of him that recognizes she probably does feel like she needs to be up at the ass crack of dawn like him to have his first meal of the day ready to go. And his lunch. And his dinner.

Granted, Roman can’t and won’t complain about all of it, because the girl can cook her ass off.

But, it’s not necessary.

He’s more than capable of taking care of himself.

He’s done so since he was 10 years old.

“Thank you.” She does that thing again where she smiles like he’s just told her she’s won the lottery or been given the cure to world hunger. It’s the simplest things that seem to make her happy. Considering the bar has already been set so low, it makes a bit of sense.

It makes a lot of sense.

“Goodnight.”

Roman is certain she’s intentional in the way she turns on the heel of her foot to move up the stairs, putting as much distance between the two of them to avoid a follow up question. Her avoidance behavior is a bit impressive, irksome, but still impressive, nonetheless.

And it would be remiss of Roman to not sneak a peak of her retreating form moving up the steps, his eyes glued to the sway of her ass, again remembering that short, red dress that momentarily distracted him when he laid eyes on her at the match.

Roman would never deny his physical attraction to her. That’s just a fact. She’s shaped in a way that makes his dick hard at the thought of having that body underneath his, writhing, begging for him to not stop fucking her in all the ways he would if he could.

But, that’s a fantasy. It’s a fantasy because the reality is that he can’t even touch this girl without her freaking out on him, something that would annoy him greatly if he didn’t realize there’s a reason behind her jumpiness.

Something that’s beyond just her shitty father and brother. 

Roman doesn’t allow himself to travel down that path, to see what it might lead to because just the thought of what might be the reason she doesn’t like being touched has his fist forming at his side, nostrils flared, and anger brewing at an accelerated pace that doesn’t make sense.

It also doesn’t make sense when he grabs his phone, navigating to the desired thread, sending a text he doesn’t think much about.

Roman: Get me a list of dog breeders. Small dogs. Preferably local. We can travel if necessary.

Paul: Sir?

Roman: Just do it.

Paul: I’ll have it to you by tomorrow morning.

[onlyswan]

summary: in which a shameless ex-lover makes your bad day worse and jungkook can’t help but to go wherever you are.

> fluff, dashes of angst / wc: 4k

> warnings: mention of blood bc oc gets scratched :( + is ready to throw hands at jk’s ex and then cries lol, taehyung cameo and mentions of yeontan :P + a line of jk reminds me of the orpheus drabble <3

note: last one for a while as i take a rest from writing and process jimin’s album <3 reblogs and feedback are always appreciated! it goes a long way :]

—

“jungkook, you’ve been in there for an hour! answer your phone!”

you click your tongue in annoyance, bouncing your thighs up and down as you fiddle with the controller and collect your kills with reckless tenacity. the ringing of the third phone call he’s receiving in the past ten minutes is overpowering the volume of the game, which you turned all the way down just enough so that you can faintly yet clearly hear it. well, right now, you can’t anymore. again.

“baby, you’re home?!” jungkook yells in surprise, and you spare him a glance.

half of his naked torso is peeking out of the bathroom door, and he looks like a maltese puppy who heedlessly jumped into a swimming pool, hair still dripping wet and pure excitement painted all over his face.

“who’s calling anyway? you can answer it for me!“

“can’t. i’m playing call of duty.”

“you’re what?!” he exclaims, but his voice enters your ear then escapes from the other as you remain deeply absorbed in the game. he disappears for a minute before emerging from the bathroom, half-naked with a striped white and khaki towel wrapped around his waist down to his knees.

you’re situated on the floor with your back leaning on the couch. he stands beside you with his hands on his waist, watching the television screen in sheer curiosity, which then morphs into astonishment. “wow, you’re actually playing it… i haven’t seen you touch your controller in months. but why are you sudden- yah! what is this? how are you doing so good?!”

the phone lying on the center table lights up once more. the incessant noise is seriously getting into your nerves and you’ve had enough of it, gritting your teeth as you snap. “i’m begging you. answer it. or i might break something.”

the irritation embedded in your voice makes him jut out his bottom lip sadly. more than that, your facial expression and body language evidently scream that you’re feeling on edge. you didn’t even bother to let him know that you’ve come home, and he’s uncertain if you nearly muted the volume because you don’t want to listen to the ear-shattering sounds of ammunition being fired or you don’t want him to hear them.

he picks up the phone per your request, eyebrows knitting in confusion when he fails to recognize the number flashing on the screen.

“it’s an unregistered number. i don’t know who- oopsie-” he scrunches his nose, chuckling because he accidentally ended the call when he muted the device. it vibrates with a new message from the same person not too long after.

“it’s my ex?” he blinks with a blank expression on his face. he intently reads the content of the text, tugging at the silver ring piercing the corner of his lower lip. “uhhh- she’s… asking me to put in a good word for her… because she applied to be an in-house choreographer at- at the company.”

on the other hand, you feel like a bucket of ice water was dunked over your head at the mention of your boyfriend’s ex-lover. your vigorous focus on the game wavers, but luckily, you’re already so close to finishing, and you still maintain half a mind to end the game in your own terms. the word ‘victory’ flashes on the giant screen, and you almost break down into tears because god knows you needed a fucking win today.

jungkook gasps in amazement, whipping out the camera app to capture a photo of your achievement. “did you just fucking win solo versus squads?”

the thing is… you’re not the biggest fan of these games. sure, you play occasionally (only using his accounts because you like how he already has most items unlocked and you can freely play around… you like to pretend that you’ve never been scolded for making him rank down before), but you prefer the relaxing types with adorable and colorful graphics. and just like he said, you haven’t touched your controller in months, which must be the reason why he’s pleasantly surprised. you won’t be shocked if you get bombarded by his gamer friends to play with them tomorrow, by the looks of your boyfriend proudly typing away at his keyboard while smiling from ear-to-ear.

“don’t move on too fast.” you breathe out a deep sigh before standing on your feet. “which ex? that bitch you broke up with because she kept on picking stupid fights with your friends? and now she wants to work with them?”

the combination of your harsh intonation and the recollection of dreadful memories make him wince. that relationship didn’t end on good terms, so this is confusing to him as well. it was a person he wholeheartedly liked, but they barely lasted six months because the way she treated those who are near and dear to him, unkind and discorteous, eventually turned him off and made him nothing but angry. she tried to convince him that she could change, but it was his decision that could no longer be changed.

does it even matter? he didn’t dwell on it too long, anyway. because then, he met you.

“yes,” he shortly answers, flipping his phone so the screen is facing you.

your brain chooses to not register any of the other characters used in the text except for those at the end: the flirty ‘Thanks babe! I miss u so much. See u around soon. Let’s catch up’ and winking emoji blowing a red heart next to it. you release yet another sigh, this time shaky and frustrated, and you gently move his hand aside to get the phone out of your sight. a headache is beginning to blossom at your temples, and you truly do not have the energy to deal with this bullshit right now.

“you must know how i feel about this, right?”

“i’m not sure-”

“like if she calls you ‘babe’ infront of my face i won’t hold back and i will claw her eyes ou-“

“okay, okay, baby, i got it!” he chuckles, taking a hold of your arms to pull you closer to him. he plants a sweet kiss to your lips, hoping that would aid in putting your mind at ease. “i won’t let her call me that again, hmm? or do anything that will make either of us uncomfortable for that matter.”

“good. i trust you. do whatever you want.” you speak softly, giving his rosy cheek light pats. he always looks a dash more attractive when fresh from the shower, so entrancingly hypnotic when bare-faced that it makes you want to fall on your knees and worship the stardust making up his existence.

unfortunately, your mind is too clouded and restless and you can’t stay to admire him some more. you withdraw from his hold, the cold drops of water from his hair sliding down to your forearm and you wipe them away on his towel.

“i’m going out for a bit. i need to buy something at the convenience store.”

you don’t wait for him to answer. you head straight to the bedroom to collect your essentials.

“wait for me. i’ll go with you!”

you return wearing a long purple jacket over your blue t-shirt and white sweatpants, also carrying your phone, wallet and pepper spray.

“i’ll be fine alone. i got this.” you wave the small bottle infront of him before stuffing it in the pocket of your sweatpants.

the front door rings as it opens and shuts, and jungkook despises the weight sitting on top of his chest— heavier and heavier with your absence. he still wanted to insist on tagging along, worried because it’s already late at night, but he gave up when he sensed that you really need to be left alone.

“shit, let me take care of this first.” he tilts his head to the side, and then the other, cracking his neck before he scrolls through his contact list to make an important call.

—

the soles of your sneakers scratch the rough asphalt as you lazily drag yourself to the convenience store. you’re having one of those kind of bad days- you woke up this morning mad at the world for a reason you couldn’t decipher, and it only got worse after you left the house for work. you brushed against someone while chasing the bus and the zipper of their bag scratched your arm that it bled uncontrollably. the nearest restaurant to your workplace was closed and you had to walk an extra kilometer. you didn’t have the time to text jungkook and complain about the shitty day you’ve been having. and you had to suffer the bus ride home beside an old teacher from high school who never ran out of uninteresting stories to tell.

oh! and how can you not mention that you were subjected to remembering that your boyfriend fell in love with other people before he knew you? the mere mental image of jungkook being emotionally and physically intimate with somebody else is a strong punch in the gut that makes you want to run in a corner and hurl.

and to rub salt on the wound, his ex-girlfriend, who is more than comfortable to reach out to him with an old term of endearment, wants to work at close proximity with him after saying ‘i miss you so much’… was the ‘so much’ necessary? was saying ‘i miss you’ necessary at all? you don’t know her intentions or if she even has any, and you don’t care if they’re good or bad. you simply cannot bear the idea of having to be constantly plagued by these vexatious musings.

maybe a good cry would help, but the tears won’t come out of your stinging eyes blinded by bright and flickering neon shop signs lined up beside the street. they’re saltwater in your lungs, making it difficult for you to breathe and to make sense of why you don’t feel like yourself today. it’s hormones. it’s always the hormones, you try telling yourself.

—

you’re sitting infront of the glass wall separating the sidewalk and the convenience store, watching the humans and the cars speeding past without much thought in your head… except for the hellish torture you’re inflicting on yourself. you sniffle loudly as you chew the spicy noodles in your mouth. your tongue is tingling and almost numb, but you lift up the flimsy wooden chopsticks to eat more of it because somehow, this is exactly what you needed. perhaps, it wasn’t accidental when you ended up pouring most of the buldak sauce.

however, your own little bubble gets popped by a tattooed hand you recognize all too well. it sets down a bottle of cold water infront of your cup of noodles.

“hi there.”

jungkook kisses the top of your head before occupying the stool on your left, which is the second seat farthest from the door that chimes every time a new customer walks in. he is very much not naked anymore, wearing a plain white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. his hair is still damp, bangs forming a perfect comma on his forehead, and the thin silver chain dangling from his delicate neck sparkles when the light grazes it.

“aigoo, why are you so messy?“

the doe eyes behind his glasses smile at you warmly as he wipes your swollen lips, the paper napkin you’ve been neglecting now stained with the dark red sauce.

“you’re here?” you ask dumbly, wanting to slap yourself right after the words escape your mouth because yes, what the fuck, he’s here. he’s touching you, and he’s real.

“of course, i’m here,” his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek before he answers, sounding upset. he removes his glasses and places it on top of the long white table. “i just wore the first things i saw then speedwalked here. i was sorting out the laundry and your handkerchief had blood all over it! care to explain?”

you guiltily avoid eye-contact, reverting your attention to the food as you poke and mix the noodles that have gone dry due to the cold air. “you didn’t have to. i already cleaned the wound twice- my left arm just got scratched.” you shrug your shoulders meekly. “i had a bad day, that’s all.”

“who do i have to fight, huh? who hurt you and ruined your day?” he takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, lifting it up to make you look at him. his sincere concern is written all over his widened round eyes and creased forehead. “tell me, baby. i’ll make them pay.”

“well,” you anxiously sink your teeth on your bottom lip, a hesitant effort to control yourself because the particular word tastes too sour on your tongue. “your ex was just my last straw, you know? i don’t even want to call you ‘babe’ anymore.” your voice gradually quiets down in exasperation.

“why not?!”

you roll your eyes with a huff, pushing his hand away. “you’ll just remember her every time i say it.”

you grab the bottle of water, twisting off the cap and hissing when its ridges scratch the heel of your palm. you take big gulps of the beverage, feeling refreshed after the burning onslaught that assaulted your mouth.

“oh, come here. you- i need you closer.”

you squeak when you feel the heavy metal chair moving closer towards jungkook’s direction, one hand flying to your mouth and the other gripping his shoulder in fear of falling. he jokingly copies you when you send him a sharp glare. he puts an arm around you to affectionately hold the curve of your waist, anchoring his elbow on the table to rest his face on the palm of his hand.

“i took care of that, alright? i asked the company and they told me they put her on the waitlist. pretty sure she knows, too- that she’s not getting the job.“ he raises his perfectly shaped eyebrows in jest, playfully sticking out his tongue. “i told her i can’t help her, and not to contact me again in the future because i’m in a committed relationship. with you.” he squeezes your hip to reiterate his words. “then i blocked her number. i thought i did it before, but i guess i forgot to? ah, i don’t know!”

a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips and he happily grins when he notices, deep dimples making an appearance. unable to resist the urge, he briefly draws closer to kiss your cheek.

“besides, i forgot she even existed. why would i think of her when my favorite person is right infront of me? that’s absurd.”

he was truthfully flabbergasted at the foggy memories that resurfaced when he read her name, had one of those ‘oh, that’s right, this happened,’ and ‘why the fuck did i like this person again?’ moments.

“you’re the only one i think of when i hear the word ‘babe’. and when i hear love songs, or breakup songs, because they make me imagine us breaking up and i get so fucking sad.” his expression crumples into a look of sheepishness after spitting out the unplanned confession.

it’s terrifying at times, how an imaginary breakup with you feels more painful than his past heartbreaks combined. he almost lost you once, and he won’t let that happen again. he removes his hand on your waist to tenderly caress your hair when you bury your face in your hands.

shaking your head, you giggle at the genuine distress lacing his voice when he said the last sentence. “what are you saying?”

and then it finally happens.

restrained sobs replace the carefree giggles racking your body. your hot tears soak the palm of your hands until they drip down to your wrists. your frail voice comes out trembling, shattered, and disgustingly vulnerable for a space scattered with prying eyes and ears.

“…i just- fuck, i don’t want to say this but- i don’t think you understand- that i’m selfish. and i want you all for myself. i can’t stand that everybody wants to have you. i hate it, jungkook.”

your name rolls off from his tongue with a soft sigh as he pulls you in for a tight embrace. the comfort of his love and warmth further breaks you down, and you almost make yourself bleed to keep your cries quiet. his silken lips brush against your temple before he puckers them for a kiss that lasts four, five, six… seconds. you begin wondering if he might just stay like this forever, not that you mind, until he detaches himself to speak and you hear the smooching sound that signals the end of it.

“shhh, trust me, baby. i do.” he rubs your shoulder to soothe your tensed up body. “but i don’t care about that. they can die trying because i only want to be yours.”

you swallow the lump in your throat as his reassuring words tug at your heartstrings. you wiggle out of his secure arms, wiping your tears with the paws of your jacket as you force a smile. “it’s embarrassing. i don’t want to cry here.”

“how about in there, then?” he teasingly undoes the third button of his shirt, exposing more of his honey skin to the cool air. it reveals the rest of his silver chain, and his defined pecs are also peeking out. you whine in protest of his scandalousness, pounding his chest lightly with your closed fist.

he chuckles, corners of her crinkling with mischief as he buttons himself up again. “i’m kidding, i’m kidding-” he cradles your face in his hands, gingerly wiping away the tears still rolling down your cheeks.

between the two of you, he admits that he’s the one who cries more easily. it takes a colossal build-up of emotions for your tears to be released, and today’s influx caused your sink to overflow at long last. seeing you weep, it feels like a direct stab to the heart— especially unbearable, twisting deeper, when he’s part reason why. even so, it’s a big relief when the weight you’re carrying is being unloaded. but he understands that you don’t want to do that here… not here.

“as if you’ll let someone steal me away from you, huh? i know you, you cunning minx.”

you feign innocence, batting your eyelashes. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“that’s exactly what i’m talking about.” he smirks before planting a chaste kiss on tip of your nose. “don’t cry anymore. i love you.”

“i love you, too. but-” you sniffle, frowning at him as you motion at the cup of noodles infront of you. “why did you have to go and make me feel better? i don’t feel like finishing this anymore. it’s too spicy.”

“yeah, i can tell. look at your face. oh-” he squeezes your puffy face in one hand. “you were already crying eating that, poor baby… i’ll just finish the rest, how about that?”

“please,” you smile sweetly, delighted with his preposition. “i’ll buy ice cream. do you want anything? beer?”

“beer-” his face lights up like a christmas tree when it dawns on him that you said the word simultaneously.

you beam proudly, recounting the time you’ve been well-acquainted with every nook and cranny of jungkook’s essence of being. “did i pass the test? i’m taking my master’s degree in kookology.”

—

after jungkook finished your spicy noodles, he claimed his appetite only treated it as an appetizer and it demanded to be served ramyeon for the main course. that brings you to this moment, your boyfriend applying bandaids on your arm while he waits for his food to be cooked. concurrently, you devour your cone of vanilla ice cream.

“babe, i think two is enough.“ you attempt to stop him from opening another one of the teddy bear patterned bandaids. he found them displayed by the counter when he paid for the ramyeon, and only then did he realize that he forgot why he ran to you in the first place.

“they’re not- it goes all the way down your elbow.”

and you can’t argue with him because he looks undoubtedly pissed off, his expression instantly darkening when he saw the damage that damn zipper did to your skin. if this happened to him, he would be in a terrible mood for the rest of the day, too.

he plants a healing kiss on top of each one and your heart flutters at the loving gestures, but you feel a little ridiculous walking around with three bandaids running across your arm. you decide to wear your jacket again in order to hide them, since you’re freezing beside the airconditioner anyway.

jungkook starts eating his second round of noodles, but not before boasting that he perfectly separated the wooden chopsticks unlike you. you roll your eyes at his cocky grin and tiny dance of celebration, taking another bite of the cone you’ve consumed halfway.

the two of you comically freeze at the same time when a familiar ringtone tickles your ears.

“who would be calling at this hour? it’s 1am!” jungkook puts down his chopsticks to fish out his phone from the depths of his pocket, his thick satoori accent slipping out as he chides the person on the other line. he shakes his head with a laugh when he sees the name written on the screen. “ey, of course, it’s him again. i knew it.”

you watch him with an amused smile, his reaction giving you an inkling of who it is.

he answers the video call and props up the phone on his tall can of beer, grabbing his chopsticks to resume eating. “hyung, did you just wake up again?”

judging by the background, taehyung is in his gaming room. the given keywords being messy hair and eyes as puffy as yours, you’re pretty sure the answer to your boyfriend’s question is yes.

his deep and rough voice rumbles through the speaker. “jungkook-ah, i just caught up to our gc. where’s ___?”

“with me. why?” jungkook answers, words muffled as he chews and bounces his legs with the pleasure of having his food craving beyond satisfied.

taehyung ignores his question for the second time, instead calling out your name to catch your attention.

“whyyy?” you mimic his sulky tone, slightly shifting the phone to the side to show him your face.

you snicker when he flashes you his famous boxy smile, almost choking on your ice cream when his following remarks cause jungkook to throw a fit.

“play with me. no one else is awake and i’m getting bored of jungkook. he doesn’t want to play new games.”

“yah! you know i can still hear you, right?!” he takes a break from chugging his beer to throw his retort.

“i know, i wanted you to.” taehyung blows a raspberry at his best friend.

you grimace, stealing the opportunity to butt in before their banter lengthens. “listen, i’ll play with you if you let me play with tannie again.”

he opens his mouth to answer, but he quickly closes it again to stare at you nonchalantly. you impatiently quirk an eyebrow at his silence. “soooo?”

“wait there. i’ll think about it.”

and then he ends the call.

jungkook throws his head back, bursting into vibrant laughter after witnessing the interaction, and your head drops on the table with a pitiful whimper.

with bam staying at the training center for the meantime, you awfully miss the rush of happy chemicals flooding your brain in the company of man’s best friend. it was two weeks ago when you and jungkook hung out at taehyung’s house. you spent some time with yeontan at the park after you complained about getting bored watching them play ‘i’m on observation duty’. and he wasn’t… very happy when his dog started flat-out ignoring him in favor of your presence ever since you came back from the walk. tannie was adamant on sitting on your lap during dinnertime, even almost following you past the front door when it was time for you to leave.

“aww, my baby.” jungkook strokes your back with faux sympathy. “he hasn’t moved on from it yet. give him some time… maybe, like, five more minutes?”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[lovekz]

told you

syn-> rindou’s friends don’t believe him when he says he’s got a girl. and she’s fucking crazy

warnings : reader is possessive (not too bad), rindou gets no play, alcohol mention, reader drinks, crack

-

“wanna go out tonight?” shion asks, laying across the couch.

rindou was typing away on his phone, legs propped up on the coffee table.

every saturday, shion would come over and spend a night at the haitani’s, seeing as he was best friends with the younger one.

he was always welcomed, as long as he brought his own clothes.

which rarely happened anyway.

“depends. where?” rindou asked, not taking his eyes off his phone.

shion shrugged, before leaning back and thinking.

rindou didn’t rush him, and decided to continue what he was doing on his phone.

after five minutes of hearing loud videos from shion’s phone, he sat up immediately.

rindou looked at him with a raised brow, not understanding why he was so excited.

but the minute he took a look at his best friend’s phone, he understood why.

shion was showing him some club called angels that opened up a few months ago.

“think i’ll pass on that.” rindou chuckles, before leaning on the arm rest with a yawn.

“what? why?! all the hotties will be there, and drinks- and your best friend! why wouldn’t you wanna go?” shion complained, throwing his hands up.

rindou rolled his eyes immediately at shions little tantrum.

it happened a lot over the years, so it wasn’t like it was new to rindou.

besides, he’s got a valid reason as to why he doesn’t want to go.

“izana said he’s having a party at his tonight. besides, i have a girlfriend. i’m loyal.” rindou explains shortly, looking at shion from the corner of his eye.

shion grows silent, watching rindou with an unreadable expression.

the front door opens, and ran walks in with izana and kakucho following in tow.

ran immediately looks around suspiciously, knowing his home too be too quiet for shion madarame to be here.

his eyes finally landed on the two, slightly confused as to why they were sitting in silence.

until shion burst into loud, obnoxious laughter.

he laughed so hard his face had begun to turn red.

“you? have a girlfriend?! ha!” shion yelled loudly in his face, tossing his head back with howl.

izana immediately catches on to shion's outburst, and breaks into laughter right beside the boy.

kakucho tries to hide his laugh behind a cough, but anyone could recognize it fighting his throat.

ran joins in as well, putting a hand on rindou’s shoulder as he holds his stomach.

“no way! you haven’t kissed anyone since second grade!” ran teased, laughing loudly in his ear.

rindou was getting irritated, looking at everyone in the room mocking him. his so-called 'family' making him feel small.

was it really that hard to believe he got a girlfriend?

“why not tell us where she's from, rin? an a.i app?” izana snickered, making shion laugh louder.

now he felt embarrassed, although he knew you were real.

he’d met you around campus, and even had multiple class with you.

but for some reason, everyone around him didn’t think that you were an actual person.

rindou stood up from the couch, stuffing his phone in his pocket and shoving ran off him harshly.

“I’m going out.” he says, shoving izana out the way out of anger.

izana doesn’t react to it, just watches rindou as he puts his shoes on.

“be safe rinnie. tell your girl I’m having a party tonight and she’s invited.” izana giggles, watching rindou slam the door immediately.

if that was the case, rindou would prove them wrong by tonight.

-

“babe can you get my shoes?!” you yelled from upstairs in your room, fixing your dress.

you stood in your mirror, fixing your top and spinning in different angles a few times, making sure you liked the outfit.

it was the fifth outfit you put on, and you didn’t wanna be any more late than you were.

rindou came up stairs with your shoes, placing them before you and helping you into them.

“you’re sweet rinnie, but you didn’t have to.” you smiled, letting him help you out regardless.

rindou nods, before buckling them and standing up straight.

“do you like it? think i should change again?” you question, spinning in a circle to show off the outfit.

“mm-mm, don't change. love it.” rindou mutters, pulling you closer by the hips and kissing your lips softly.

you knew he was genuine, not just because he didn't want to wait another ten minutes downstairs.

you smile into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you.

he maneuvers you over to the bed and towers over you, beginning to tug on your shirt.

you immediately press a hand to his chest and push him lightly, smiling up at him sweetly.

“let’s save this for later. we got a party to go to honey.” you whisper, hooking your pink acrylic onto his chain.

he stares down at your own, his name engraved in it with a heart.

you got it custom made for his birthday, along with his name on your thigh.

rindou would never get over it.

-

when you make it to the party, you immediately leave rindou’s side to go hang with your own friends before meeting his.

he let you know not to get too drunk, but you didn’t have to listen.

so you only handed him your bag that had your emergency slippers and your purse and made your way to the kitchen.

once you left, shion immediately draped his arm around his shoulder and walked him to izana with a cheeky grin.

they were all sitting around in the living room, talking about god knows what.

when they don’t see rindou with a plus one he claimed he'd bring, they burst into loud laughter.

“rin! what happened to your plus one?!” izana asked immediately, tossing his head back and laughing.

rindou rolls his eyes and takes a seat on the loveseat, holding your things in his lap.

his brother notices the extra items, and laughs even harder.

“oh my god you went and bought those? that’s why you weren’t home?!” ran cackled, bringing attention to the items.

rindou puts his middle finger up, rolling his eyes.

“I have a girlfriend. she’s with her friends.” rindou sighs, slouching in the seat a little more.

izana snorts, muttering something about her also being with her other boyfriend.

the group laughs at that.

they make fun of him some more, until the topic of the girlfriend rindou 'doesn't have' grows a bit stale.

shion changes the topic sooner or later, finally in the mood to talk to any female around.

“aren’t they bad?” shion brings to attention, gesturing to the two girls that were standing by the speaker.

rindou shrugs, not paying attention and being loyal to you.

shion groans and snatches rindou’s phone out of his head and looking at him.

“come on! let’s get you a real girl and not a ai. not imaginary either.” shion jokes, before standing from his seat.

knowing shion, he would say some shit that probably wasn't true, or worse.

get everyone's attention.

once that thought runs through his head, rindou grabs his arm and shakes his head, trying to get him to sit back down.

“don’t do it shion. my girl is seriously fucking crazy and i wanna have a good night.” rindou practically begs, looking at his best friend.

ran kisses his teeth and looks at the blond boy, before waving him off.

“go introduce him to one of them. he’s so picky.” ran scoffs in annoyance, looking at his younger brother.

ran seemed to be growing annoyed with his brother's supposed lie.

rindou doesn’t get to object, because by time he tries to, shion is already running over to them.

he talks to them for a while, and the girl in the white mini dress that barely covers the top of her breasts looks over to him.

she sends a wave and a wink, to which rindou just jerks his head up in a small, lame greeting.

he doesn’t show any interest, just looks back down at his phone.

eventually, he feels weight next to him and a head leaning over his shoulder to look at his phone.

at first he believes it’s shion, fresh off rejection and in pain silently.

until he sees a shiny white nail tap on his phone.

he knew yours were baby pink with both your little zodiacs on it with a heart, of course.

rindou had paid to get it done after he broke your other set last week.

“his videos are hilarious. i love watching him.” the girl fake giggles lightly, smiling big at rindou.

it was the girl that had winked at him earlier, now sitting next to him closer than ever.

it wasn't like he'd recognized her from anywhere other than here, or even cared to figure out her name to tell her fuck off.

he was only worried about you.

his eyes immediately began to scan the room for you, but you couldn’t be found anywhere.

shit.

“yeah i bet you do.” rindou says shortly, still sounding completely unamused and uninterested.

shion and the other girl was sitting across from them, while ran, kakucho, and izana returned with drinks.

ran hands his brother a cup, probably the same thing he had.

so he takes a little sip of the orange looking liquid and hums at the fruity flavor.

the girl grins and sits up, looking into the cup.

“that looks good. can I try some?” she says sultry, and he knows she’s pushing boundaries.

rindou still can’t find you anywhere in the room to help him out.

before rindou can politely reject her though, she snatched the cup out his hand and drinks from the exact spot he drank from.

she left her lipstick stain on it, smiling at rindou as she licked her lips.

“mm, I was right.” she whispers, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in.

before her lips could try to connect with his, rindou feels her arms forcefully ripped from his neck and his face pushed back.

before long, the entire bottle of taylor port and pink whitney was dumped on her.

“why the fuck are you touching my man?” you asked, giving her the ugliest look ever.

the party seems to pause, music turned down and the entire friend group looking at rindou.

the girl doesn’t get the chance to reply, because she’s receiving punches faster than she can think about it.

she’s throwing her hands in the air and trying to defend herself, making rindou stand up immediately.

your coat was long gone, and your breasts were beginning to spill out your tube top.

rindou grabs you up off her, but then you shove him off and start fighting her friend.

“oh shit!” izana curses loudly, only because his drink was spilling all over the place during the maneuver.

now you’re fighting both of the girls at once, winning even though you were obviously drunk.

rindou groans and lifts you into the air, before shoving the other girls off you by their face.

“i’m not the one, ask about me bitch!” one of them yell out to you from in shion's arms, making you laugh.

“don’t gotta, you’re pussy and butt!” you yelled back, throwing your middle finger up.

rindou takes you up to izana’s bedroom in silence and sits you on the bed with a light frown.

you cross your arms with an angry pout, seeing yourself in the mirror across the room.

your hair was a mess and the tops of your areolas were showing.

rindou fixes your shirt and sighs, not sure of what to say.

“baby you think I won that?” you question with a smile, still a bit tipsy as you stand.

he holds you by the waist to steady you and looks into your eyes.

it was almost as if you didn't just get into a fight with two girls you didn't know over rindou.

not like he didn't expect it though, since it has happened at least twice before when you started dating him.

“didn’t have to do all that mama. was gonna stop her.” rindou says, rubbing your thigh in soft circles.

your skirt was hiked up during the fight, showing off your red thong.

you shrug, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling big.

“gotta make sure they know you’re mine. I didn’t get this jewelry and tat for nothing.” you whisper, rubbing his cheek.

the door opens and rindou shields you from the view, looking behind him to see who it was.

it was izana and the rest of the friend group, still a bit in shock after the altercation downstairs.

rindou rolls his eyes, before turning back to you and fixing your skirt.

“who’s that? is it your friends? the one's you want me to meet?” you ask, peeking over his shoulder to see.

rindou nods, before deeming you decent enough and letting you go.

you wave sweetly, fixing your hair. “hi! sorry you had to see all that.” you giggle, having a seat on the bed once more.

izana nods, waving you off and sitting on the corner seat. he won't lie and say he didn't enjoy watching it.

“you’re.. his girlfriend?” ran asked in a unsure tone, looking you up and down.

you cross your legs and raise your eyebrow, nodding at him.

“there a problem with that or something?” you ask, immediately feeling offended by the question.

everyone shakes their head, recalling how you handled those two girls down there.

rindou stands up and sighs tiredly, before handing you your purse and your slides.

“gonna go get your sweats out the car. we’re leaving.” rindou informs, kissing the corner of your mouth.

you nod, smiling at him and waving a bit.

“oh! can you see if you see my coat? and my nail? damn, mira’s gonna kill me!” you cursed, looking down at your hands with a pout.

rindou nods, knowing he was just going to end up paying for another set on sunday.

when he closes the door behind him, all eyes are on you.

it stays silent for a bit, before izana speaks up first.

“so how much is he paying you?” izana asks, still in disbelief that you were his girlfriend.

and you were just as crazy as he said you were.

your outfit : <3 rindou's outfit : <3

[graceofagodswrath]

Menstrual Cycles and Aliens

“I apologize, but Williams is doing what?”

Kate sighed, brown eyes rolling at Ka’oolai’s stiff confusion. “Bleeding Niagara Falls out of her uterus. She’s gonna need a couple days.”

“Katy.” Jasmine hissed. “That is not how you explain this shit to people.”

Kate’s lips thinned in exasperation. “It makes them listen! God knows how many times I had to describe it so graphically to get all the men in my family to understand that you can’t just ‘suck it up!’”

The three sat in the dining lounge, a room on the transport ship meant for relaxation for workers on their breaks. Ka’looai, the ship’s second-in-command, had inquired about Pilot William’s ask for absence. Kate Blanche, the engineer and second roommate to De’maya, had answered in her usually blunt way. Luckily, The third roommate and Quartermaster of the ship, Jasmine Lativos, had been there to cushion Ka’looai’s immediate confusion.

Ka’looai held up their four hands to the two humans, insectoid limbs the notable deep, iridescent purple of their native race, Yamogai. They resembled a mix of a beetle and praying mantis, tall with hard, spiny exoskeletons. They displayed a variety of colors like humans (tho more vibrant), but the most common was purple.

“I apologize… I do not understand. Does Pilot Williams have an open wound? Do they need to go to the medibay?” Ka’looai’s voice sounded like the vibrating of beating wings, so they had to pronunciate other languages precisely in order to be understood. So they spoke slowly and with a deliberate concentration. This voice also gave way to an accent that made them pronounce certain letters like ‘v’s. There was a running joke with humans that Yamogai were related to Germans, as their accents were similar when speaking English.

Jasmine shook her head. “No. She’s experiencing a part of her menstrual cycle, the human female reproductive cycle.” Ka’looai cocked their head, so Jasmine continued. “Every month, we expel the inside lining of our uterus, the organ that develops a human fetus if the female is pregnant. If a female isn’t pregnant, our uterus removes the old lining of tissue and blood and gets rid of it from our body to create a new lining in case she does become pregnant. It’s the same muscle contractions as childbirth, though at a smaller fraction. This process can be extremely painful for some, if not most people, and De’maya is one of them. So she just needs some time off to deal with and recover from this experience.”

Ka’looai stared for a moment, mantis-like eyes seeming to stare through the humans souls. “I… see. I will inform the captain, then. Is there anything else we must know about this… event? I assume you two experience it as well as you said every human female does?”

Kate shrugged, long brown braid shifting in her shoulders. “Mine isn’t so bad usually. I’m one of the lucky ones. I get irritable and the occasional back pains, but I don’t need time off recuperate necessarily.”

“Irritable?”

Jasmine smiled, more of grimace for those experienced in reading human expressions. “Annoyed. Aggressive. The process increases the amount of estrogen and testosterone in our bodies, hormones that can heavily influence our emotional states. So we can be a bit…” Jasmine paused to think. “Intense.”

“Ah.” Ka’looai’s antennae twitched emphatically. “That is why I sensed the rise in strange pheromones. So this increase of chemicals affects you physically, emotionally, and mentally. I see why Pilot Williams asked for an absence then. Will the two of you require the same?”

Jasmine made an expression that Ka’looai could not understands. She bared her teeth while narrowing here eyes and scrunching her nose, dark skin wrinkling. Her hands rolled synchronously back and forth, a gesture the Yamogai recognized as a sign for uncertainty. “My cycle is more chaotic. Many factors can influence the way it is, and I tend to be influenced heavily by those.” She gestured at the other human. “Whereas Kate’s average is light and less painful, and De’maya’s average is heavy and extreme pain, mine can be either depending on my situation. If I’m stressed and haven’t taken care of myself, it’s usually pretty painful. If the opposite, I can usually function pain free. It depends.”

“What do you mean by light and heavy?”

“That refers to the amount of blood and tissue we expel. Light is very little, medium is a bit more, heavy means a lot. Some people have more lining than others. The heavier the flow can also increase the amount of pain.”

“Is this process different for every human?”

Both women nodded.

“And you still work through such obstacles?”

“Pretty much.” Jasmine confirmed.

“Interesting.” Ka’looai hummed, the sound vibrating the air rhythmically. “So human females expel a large amount of their own blood and tissue every month simply for not reproducing. And it is incredibly painful, yet some of you still function through it. No wonder females are in higher demand than males. You are a hardy species.” Their laugh sounded like the erratic buzzing of fly multiplied by ten. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Oh, there’s a shit ton if you wanna properly educate yourself on human reproduction.” Kate waved a scarred, oil darkened hand. “But Jaz gave you the basics. Hah, you may know and understand it better than the average human male.” Kate chuckled dryly and Jasmine huffed. “But that’s a debate hole that can be saved for another time.”

“If you want to learn more, read some human biology books, and we can answer any questions you have.” Said Jasmine. “Make sure they’re recent ones tho, the outdated ones are full of a lot of misinformation.”

“I see. I will do so. Human biology continues to fascinate. I have always found learning about other races to be rather intriguing, and humans never disappoint.”

“Yeup.” Kate leaned back and threw her arms behind her head. “Just don’t start making jokes about us leaving puddles and shit everywhere, or not being trusted behind the wheel.” Her eyes narrowed and she bared her teeth in a not-friendly-smile. “I will commit some “transgressions,” if so.”

Ka’looai’s antennae twitched. “Understood.”

~~~~~~

I’m currently going through this month’s rounds, and felt like distracting myself. Finally had the motivation to write and of course it was during a shitty time of my life. Needed me some alien feels that understand my woes better than my own family. I know this prompt has been done a lot, but I wanted to give my own take on it.

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Thinking about Actress!Reader who finally got to change into a pair of shorts and a crop top after being in a corset and long dresses all day after shooting was done for the day.

Actress!Reader who gets invited to go get Gelato with Peter to help cool off after being stuck in such stuffy clothes for the past six hours.

Bodyguard!Miguel who had to suppress a scowl when you told him that you were basically going on a date with your fellow actor. But that didn’t deter him from volunteering to watch over you both when you went to walk through the streets of Rome. He’d rather be the one watching over you than Peter’s bodyguard.

Actress!Reader and Actor!Peter who didn't notice when a group of passersby recognized them, snapping a few pictures of you both without your knowledge. You weren’t completely used to the whole “having photos taken of you without your permission or contact” but that was unfortunately a price to pay when you’re new and on the rise.

Actress!Reader who finally went home to relax, getting a good night's rest now that the jet lag has finally stopped.

Actress!Reader who wakes up the next morning with 24 missed calls, 35 new messages and her name trending on twitter.

—

Jake (Manager): (Y/N).

Jake(Manger): (Y/N), call me when you wake up.

Peter 🐝.: Did you look at Twitter yet?

Peter🐝.: Or like any social media yet?

Bestie💝: Girl…

Bestie💝: You’ve got some explaining to do.

“What’s… happening?” You mumbled as you scrolled through your new messages as you waddled into the kitchen of your hotel suite, where Miguel was already drinking his cup of coffee. Glancing up at him for a moment as he greeted you.

“Morning.” He mumbled as he placed his mug down. “Your manager told me to have you call him when you're up.”

“Do you know why?” You asked him as you scrolled to Jake’s contact info, receiving a grunt in response, a no.

“(Y/N) (L/N), would you like to explain what went on yesterday after you finished up on set?” You felt like you were five years old and being scolded by your mom all over again, except you genuinely didn’t know what you did.

“Um, I went to go get a snack with Peter. Why-“

“A snack.” He repeated, his tone questioning despite it being deadpan.

“Yes, a snack.” You huffed, your confusion turning into irritation as your brows furrowed together. “Why? can't I have a snack after work with my coworker?”

“You can have a snack after work, but from what I’m looking at here it doesn’t seem like it’s with a coworker.” His words make you pause.

“What?” All attitude now gone, confusion settles back in. “What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t seen the pictures yet?”

“What pictures?”

“Oh dear God…” Jake mumbled under his breath, before letting out a sigh. “Go on twitter, and check the trending tab.”

You put him on speaker and did what you were told, waiting for the little bird app to load, before clicking on the explore tab. Eyes widening as you read out the headline at top.

“Peter B. Parker and (Y/N), coworkers on a new upcoming movie, spotted out on date?!?”

Miguel almost started to choke on his coffee after he heard you recite the words, having to hit his chest to clear his windpipes as you frantically started to scroll through the tag.

“No, no it wasn’t a date though Jake, it wasn’t-“ Your words died on your tongue as your finger stopped scrolling once you hit a particular picture.

A picture of Peter making you try his flavor, by spoon feeding you.

Fuck how can I be so dumb? How could I forget that happened? It was only 2 seconds Max. And now it’s trending.

“I need you down at set an hour early. We have some things to discuss with Peter and his team.” Jake sighed before you heard the dial tone of him hanging up the call.

Shit.

—

Part 4<

Part 6<

Not proofread.

Word count: 600

Taglist: @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st

@mcmiracles @mangoslushcrush @queerponcho @yournextbimbogf @tinybirdhideout

@laysmt @migueloharasoulmate @fruityfucker @pigeonmama @scaryplanetdestroyer

@migueloharastruelove @krentkova19 @genny1019 @maiyart

@stressed-cherry @haveclayeveryday @miguelzslvtz @scaleniusrm @xerorizz

@enananawoah @messicampeon @anastasia1972 @lauraolar14 @huniedeux

@bluesidez @nommingonfood @chrishy973 @m4dyy @night-spectrum

@electricgg (to be added click here)

[dailydegurechaff]

Tanya²

Today's Daily Degurechaff is… I’ll do you one better: Tanya³

(+ a small fic I never finished.)

Erich… isn’t sure what he’s seeing. He knows he’s wearing his glasses and he definitely has not been drinking… So what in the world is going on here? Why is he suddenly seeing things in triplicate?

Three of them. There are three little Degurechaff Devils in an office where there should only be one. 

When he’d knocked on her door, she’d called out that she needed a second. He hadn’t listened to her and opened it anyway. He’s regretting that now. Staring at them, both his head and his stomach are starting to hurt. 

All three of them are staring back at him. One is looking at him in abject horror, the next one’s eyes flash in recognition and she actually smiles (even more shocking, she does it in a way that isn’t uniquely terrifying, but perhaps actually cute), and the final squints at him a bit, as though she doesn’t know him. 

One of the three, the one who looks absolutely horrified, opts to greet him after a moment, “Ahaha—… Colonel Lergen… did you need something?” She sounds like she might be freaking out a bit. Erich feels similarly to her.

The second Degurechaff, the one who had smiled at him, turns her head to look at the first. She looks confused now. “Did you just say ‘Lergen?’ Not Rerugen?”

The first responds again. While she sounded nervous a second ago, it’s forgotten as she turns to her counterpart, “Seriously? You’ve been speaking this language for over a decade and your accent is that bad? Yes, I definitely said Lergen. Why would you pronounce it Rerugen?”

Now it’s the third one’s turn to speak, “No, I agree, it’s definitely pronounced Rerugen, but… this isn’t him. Rerugen has dark hair and brown eyes… and if I’m going to be honest, a fairly unfortunate haircut too. This guy looks too normal to be Rerugen.”

Degurechaff One immediately disagrees, “What are you even talking about? Lergen’s always had blonde hair and blue eyes.”

The second one backs her up, “Yeah, I agree this is definitely the right sort of coloration, but… now that I’m looking at him, Rerugen is supposed to be more handsome than this.”

“Handsome?! Has Being X poisoned your brain that badly?” Number Three yells at Number Two.

Two snaps back at her immediately, “That’s not what I meant at all, and you should know that! I meant by conventional standards! You know, stronger jawline, sharper features!”

Did— did she just say he was ugly?

Before the other two start arguing, the first one cuts them off, “Hold on. Are we sure we’re all talking about the same person here? Maybe you both are thinking of someone else, this is Colonel Erich von Lergen, my superior, formerly a part of Personnel, but now he works in Operations in the General Staff. He’s been looking out for me for a while now. For example, he made an effort to keep me off the frontlines, and when I was stationed in the southeast, he gave me a preliminary warning that Dacia would invade. Things like that. He’s a very good superior. Does any of that seem familiar?”

“Ah… that does seem to match up with who I was thinking of. I wonder why he’s so different from what I know…”

Now that Erich’s kind of over the shock now, he’s a bit tired of being talked about like he isn’t here. Interrupting the conversation between them, he finally speaks, “Degurechaff… what is going on here?”

All three seem to remember that Erich is actually here and a part of the conversation suddenly. They turn back to look at him, but none of them seem to really know what to say, faces varying shades of hesitation, confusion, or irritation.

The way they act and carry themselves is… actually slightly different. Looking closer at them, maybe it’s only that there’s one Degurechaff and two extremely close doppelgängers? If he studies them, yes they’re close enough to be siblings, but there’s differences between each.

The first one is the one he recognizes, the one who looks as he expects her to and also is getting his name and appearance correct. She’s just the slightest bit taller than the other two, but it’s a marginal thing. She’s paler than the other two in all aspects, a corpse-like pallor to her skin, hair colored platinum blonde, and eyes the color of ice. When he meets her gaze, it’s easy to tell her apart. It’d be impossible to mistake those disconcerting eyes that look a bit dead, or perhaps look like she’d want everyone around her dead if it’d bring her a bit of peace. So this one he mentally categorizes as ‘Original Degurechaff,’ or perhaps more accurately ‘The Degurechaff That I Know.’

The second one that he heard speak— the one who had called him ugly?— is the smallest of the three. Of course, Degurechaff has always been small, but this one beats the other two. Actually, she even looks younger than the others, if that was even possible, and honestly she kind of acts like it as well. She has shorter, curlier hair than the others, and it’s much brighter in color— much closer to gold than platinum blonde. Compared to the one he knows, she seems more… emotive, perhaps the best word for it is. So this one has to be ‘Little Degurechaff’ or something to that effect.

The third one is about a midpoint between the two in hair color and stature, though her hair is a right mess. A prominent flyaway sticks out of the top of her head, refusing to lay flat. Framed by pale lashes, her eyes are a more vibrant blue than either of the others, but they’re just as cold-looking and tense. He wouldn’t call any Degurechaff patient, but this one gives him the impression she’s much more irritable than the others. Her uniform is also starkly different from the other two, who are almost matching, but all three carry a recognizable Silver Wings Badge. This one… perhaps he should denote her as the ‘Irritable Degurechaff’? She’s always been irritable, though, hasn’t she?

The designations are a start, but still he has to wonder... Why? Why is this happening?

Ah, hold on. Is that it? Is this a punishment from God, specifically designed to torment me?