#but you know that's still progress for me

[mahalachives]

i love your humor fics and i feel like you’d bring this to life really well <3

https://www.tumblr.com/lili-of-the-wildfire/778338489438814208/need-a-crack-fic-where-reader-was-thrown-in-the

Title: The Mating Bond? I don't Know Her

Pairing: azriel x reader

Summary: You got Cauldron-yeeted into the Night Court, and now Azriel’s losing his mind because you’re his mate. You have no idea what that means.

Genre: crack humor

For: @lili-of-the-wildfire

The Cauldron spat you out, and honestly?

Rude.

One minute you were minding your own business, the next you were being dunked into an eldritch soup that apparently turns humans into fae like some kind of morally dubious fairy godmother situation.

Nesta came out snarling, Elain came out glowing ethereally, and you? You came out coughing up Cauldron water and screaming at the top of your lungs.

“I THINK I SWALLOWED A TOOTH??”

Some ancient power with a flair for the dramatic had apparently decided, “You know what would really spice up this war? One more traumatized mortal!”

You would later reflect on that moment—wet, confused, slightly insulted—as the worst bath of your life.

Fast-forward through some screaming, a deeply unnecessary magical transformation, the quiet internal horror of realizing you now had pointy ears, and suddenly.

Boom. Night Court citizenship.

No orientation. No welcome packet. No free T-shirt. Just a bunch of absurdly hot people talking about “courts” and “power” and “the Mother’s will” while you tried to figure out if you still needed to pee like a human.

And listen.

It wasn’t bad.

Velaris was nice. Beautiful, even.

You had a great view.

You had your own room. Your own bath.

The Inner Circle was… tolerable.

Cassian made good jokes and walked around shirtless enough that you stopped questioning it.

Rhysand had the whole sexy-evil-warlord thing going on.

Mor was sunshine in stilettos and threatened to take you clubbing at least once a week.

Amren was terrifying in an “I will drink your soul like a Capri Sun” way, but she also kind of adopted you. Maybe. You weren’t sure. She once handed you a ruby the size of your fist and told you not to “eat anything cursed this time,” so that felt like something.

Even Nesta—who had all the emotional warmth of a glacier—didn’t actively try to kill you. Which was progress!

Flash forward to the Night Court, where you’re forcefully adopted by Feyre, who is much too excited to give you "the talk" about wingspans and siphons.

Life is... weird.

Everything is dark and velvety, there’s an aggressive amount of dramatic cloak-wearing, and a lot of attractive men with trauma.

Speaking of: enter Azriel.

The Shadowsinger is... acting strange. Like, big strange. He stares at you when he thinks you aren’t looking. He hovers (not in the cute way, in the “unintentionally menacing” way). He disappears for long stretches of time and returns looking stressed.

And the man refuses to make eye contact.

The others notice.

Cassian starts making jokes.

Feyre and Rhys look concerned.

Mor gives you the Look.

And then, finally, the breaking point.

You’re talking—probably about how the House of Wind should stock snacks that don’t require superhuman jaw strength—when Azriel snaps.

Not, like, snaps snaps. But he crashes. Hard.

"You're my mate."

He says it like he’s dying.

Like he's been holding it in for months.

His wings sag, his shoulders drop, his breath shudders out.

A pin could drop.

The room is silent.

You blink. "Okay... anyway, as I was saying—"

Azriel malfunctions.

His pupils dilate so fast it’s honestly concerning. His breathing picks up, his hands flex at his sides, and his shadows do that thing where they slither like nervous snakes. Cassian screeches in the background. Feyre gasps. Rhys rubs his temples like he's getting a migraine in real-time.

"You—" Azriel chokes, "—You heard me, right?"

"Yeah," you say, still crunching your too-hard snack. "Mate. Cool word. Very wolfy. Anyway—"

"You don’t... you don’t understand what that means?"

You squint at him. "Should I?"

Azriel short circuits.

He staggers back.

He sits down.

His entire being enters a psychological tailspin. He’s mumbling now—something about the bond, the Cauldron, why me, Mother above give me strength—and his shadows full-on wrap around him like a weighted blanket.

Cassian is crying laughing. Feyre looks like she’s debating whether to explain it or just let this play out. Rhys is 100% enjoying this, the smug bastard.

Azriel? Azriel is currently having a full Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th Edition (DSM-5) moment.

And you? You’re just trying to figure out where the hell they keep the peanut butter.

Later that afternoon, you walked into the training ring where Azriel was sulking like a thundercloud in leather. His shadows twitched when they saw you. He looked like he wanted to run or explode. Possibly both.

You stopped in front of him, arms crossed. “So.”

He stiffened. “So.”

“I know what it means now,” you said. “The whole ‘mate’ thing.”

Azriel’s shadows froze. He didn’t blink. He might’ve stopped breathing.

You nodded. “And, uh… ew.”

He flinched.

“But also,” you added, stepping closer, “like… kind of hot?”

Azriel blinked.

You poked his chest. “So if I licked you right now, would that do something weird and magical or…”

Azriel blacked out for two seconds. Just fully dissociated from reality.

Cassian, from across the ring. “OH MY GOD SHE’S BROKEN HIM.”

Rhysand, appearing from nowhere. “I was not prepared for this arc.”

You, still poking Azriel. “So... do I get like a mate badge or does he just follow me around like a broody duck now?”

Azriel: “I need to lie down."

End

I had fun writing this. Hope you enjoyed!

[sthilarions]

I keep thinking about Edwin claiming he’s never been kissed, because, like… really? He’s been running around getting into hijinks and shenanigans for effectively 70 years (given that he doesn’t take breaks to sleep, eat, pee, etc) and he’s never encountered a ghost from a culture that greets with a lip-kiss? Or one old enough to still do the ‘holy kiss’? Never met someone unacceptably pushy that Charles couldn’t shove off in time? Never encountered magic mistletoe? Never been next to somebody with eyes on New Year’s Eve? Really?

And my conclusion is that logically he must mean he’s never experienced something that he counts as a kiss.

Which then leads me into the wonderful world of what may have happened between him and Charles that he didn’t count as kissing.

They’ve been doing disguises together as different genders for decades and you’re telling me they never told someone they were married and had to prove it with a kiss? I don’t think so.

On New Year’s, and under that magic mistletoe - who else would be next to him but Charles?

Please consider the first time that Charles was doing a bit and told Edwin “bye honey, have fun at work, I’ll have dinner ready when you get home” and got a little too caught up in it and didn’t realize he’d pecked Edwin on the lips until several minutes later. And by god neither of them is ever going to mention it.

…but then a similar situation happened again, several years later, Edwin laid up ghost-sick on the sofa and Charles forced to leave to deal with the case and bending over Edwin to fuss at his blankets and pressing a quick kiss to his lips before standing and promising he’d be back as soon as - wait, back up, he pressed a quick… what… to… who… SHIT.

But the thing is over time they gradually realize that the other genuinely does not care. Like, they’re not going to get homophobic or weird about it. Sometimes you just lip-kiss your bro, you know. It happens. And the fact that they now know it’s not going to cause issues means it happens increasingly frequently, and they progressively lose track of the idea that it might be unusual. Because it doesn’t count as kissing, right?

And eventually it’s 2024 and Crystal’s in the office about to leave with Charles when Charles casually leans over, kisses Edwin, who barely bothers to look up from his book, says “back soon, luv,” and then walks off like absolutely nothing out of the ordinary has happened, while Crystal’s standing there going WHAT. THE. FUCK. Charles I thought you said you weren’t with Edwin. Charles. Charles WAIT UP WHAT THE FUCK, CHARLES,

[count-on-mi]

Crystal Snow (Mina)

A/N: Happy birthday to Mina! It's the repost of my old fluff by adding a smut part. An idol OC with the Mina, she's not the secretary anymore.

Like a wee, crystal star I should drift, I should blow   Near, more near,   To my dear Where he comes through the snow. “Snow Song” by Sara Teasdale

11 July, 2019 JYPE Building

Hello, this is JYPE.

This is an announcement regarding the status of Mina’s health.

Mina is currently struggling with sudden extreme anxiety and insecurity towards performing on stage. No exact diagnosis has been identified yet, and we are consulting with several medical professionals to verify the cause in detail.

After extensive discussion with Mina and members of TWICE, we have decided that Mina’s current condition requires additional treatment, professional measures, and sufficient rest. Along with this decision, Mina will not be attending the following schedule:

– TWICE World Tour 2019 “TWICELIGHTS”

Health of our artist is our top priority, so we will do everything possible to provide the best possible measures including medical treatment and sufficient rest for Mina’s recovery.

We ask for the sincere support of fans so that Mina can recover soon.

Thank you.

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

‘You promised me you won’t let Mina gets hurt! What are you doing?’ Your roar occupies the room, the others try their best to keep their breath as quiet as they can, not wanting to ignite you further.

‘I know, Y/N. But Twice is still growing rapidly, we cannot stop at this moment. Other girl groups are chasing their progress real quick, you know how Blackpink and IZ*ONE success this year. I am really sorry about Mina, but we just… I hope you can understand, Y/N.’ The tone of the CEO seems sad, but you couldn’t feel anything on his face.

‘No matter what, you should not make any of the artist overwork or get any injury. Is this what you call JYP Nation? A family? This definitely not a part of the core value of PD nim’s idea.’

‘Park Jin Young xi is not responsible for the management of the artist anymore, the core value he has maybe different with us.’ The CEO still answers in a tone that he seems really not care.

You cannot hold your manner anymore, you punch the desk loudly, ‘If you think we are not important, then I will not renew the contract with JYP after my contract expire next year, I can do nothing but this to protect me and Mina.’

‘Did you consider your members? Did you consider Mina’s career?’ The CEO does not take your threaten seriously. ‘Maybe you should calm down first before we discuss it again, we will announce you could not attend any schedule by this year. You should take some rest together with Mina.’

Days after Days, you are forced to see other members to participate the schedule, while you can do nothing. You could only spend more time with Mina, either at your home, or visiting the doctor with her. Mina is recovering really good under the accompany of you, she starts to smile again, she is no longer panicking when she is in the crowd. Although she still doesn’t know what you have sacrificed for her.

You have tried to have a date with her outside, but you found that even both of you are covered in mask and caps, it’s too risky if anyone find out that the members of the National Boy group and Girl group are secretly dating, the massive noises are going to torn Mina that have not been fully recovered from the depression. However, at the New Year’s Eve, you still decided to bring Mina go out as you know she has dreamt for the new year’s float parade for long time, she is just unavailable due to the tight year end schedule every year.

The snow has been continuously for 3 days, the whole of Seoul are covered in white, you believe that you and Mina will not be spotted on street easily as usual. You turn your head from the window back to the house, Mina has finished the LEGO car you bought her.

‘Dang, Dang.’ Mina sits next to you naturally, showing the LEGO she has just finished. ‘I finished it before we go out, can I get a new one?’ The way she speaks just like a kid asking for rewards from her parents.

‘Yeah, how would I reject Minari, right? Let’s get you a new year gift then.’ You pull her in your arms and kiss her suddenly, you hug her tightly despite she keeps hammering your chest, showing her protest. ‘I wanna have my new year’s gift first, can I’ Her bouncing chests show that she is still recovering from the fierce kiss. ‘Yah… why are you so naughty…’

‘I don’t know why I am so naughty when I am with you. Perhaps it’s because of love.’ You caress her face lightly, feeling her smile when she hears your confession. ‘You should get some rest before the parade, you must be tired from playing LEGO.’ You put Mina back on the couch and lay your head on her thigh. The silence in the house does not make you feel awkward, instead you are feeling safer than any time when Mina is next to you. The sleepiness slowly takes over your body from the cold, you slowly close your eyes and fall asleep.

You don’t know how long you have been slept, you wake up on her legs again. Mina seems to not notice your awake yet as the book of poems she reads is covering at your face. The smell of the cool cedar aroma surrounding you, all you can hear is the grinding sound of Mina turning the pages of the book from time to time, you just feel every minute is still and peaceful, you close your eyes again.

Mina finally stops after finishing the 11th chapter, she moves her neck to relax a little bit, lowering her head to take a peek of you. When she realizes you have woke up, she closes the book softly, and look at your features gently.

‘So handsome…’ She told herself, no matter how many times she watches you, her Y/N is still handsome.

‘Mina?’ Not hearing the sounds of turning pages, you open your eyes, then you meet her gentle sight with her smile.

‘I am here.’

‘Why did you stop?’ You return to her with a smile.

‘I miss you.’

You are shocked by her direct confession. ‘I didn’t know Minari is good at flirting.’ Seeing she does not refute, you take her hand with a smile and kiss the back of her hand. ‘Which chapters are you watching?’

‘The 11th, Sara Teassdale, “Snow Song”’

‘Can you read it for me?’

‘Sure.’ Mina nods as she smiles, her slim and long fingers open the book again.

“Fairy snow, fairy snow,

Blowing, blowing everywhere.”

“Would that I

Too, could fly

Lightly, lightly through the air.”

Mina studying a poem is always unexpectedly charming, her childhood in America allows her to have good understanding of the American pronunciation, meanwhile her Japanese accent makes it looks cute.

“Like a wee, crystal star

I should drift, I should blow.”

“Near, more near,

To my dear

Where he comes through the snow.”

The snow outside the window is still blooming, and even the occasional whiz of the wind properly matches the situation expressed in the poem. You look at the movement of Mina’s pink lips, her beautiful voice gently entering your ears. You feel so blessed for what you are having right now.

Happiness makes your heart begin to pop, so finally when Mina is finished, you get up and hook her neck. ‘Mina.’

‘Umm?’ She puts down the book.

‘We still have a few hours before the parade starts…’ You kiss Mina’s sideburns with a naughty smile. ‘How about we do something else first?’

Mina only knows what you mean when she feels your hand sneak under her pajamas, the cool touch of your fingertip is like a stone thrown into a calm lake, after stirring up the water named desire, the ripples of soft and indestructible layers appear. Your tender kiss moving from her bridge of the nose down to her lips, Mina’s slender eyelashes uncontrollably quiver with her floating heart.

The air gradually become enchanting, Mina feels herself in a trance that she is farther and farther from the shore, but she is not afraid of it, just…

‘Not here.’ Mina whispers. She only has a moment of clarity after the long kiss is ended, she pushes you away lightly, turns around her head to catch her breath, her ears are notably red.

‘Where should we go then?’ You smirk.

Mina stands up silently, does not uncover your rhetorical spice. She holds your hand, fundus with a faint smile, struggles for a moment but still decide to follow your words. ‘Bedroom, our bed.’

Hearing her answer, you do not hesitate anymore, and directly hug her into your room...

In the bedroom, the warm and soft light was shining on us, Mina was lying on my lap like a budding rose, her long black hair scattered on the snow-white pillow. The lavender silk nightgown that she wears barely covered her thighs, revealing her long and slender legs.

“Minari, what kind of reward do you want?” I tease her as I playing her toes

“Hmph~ you know it...” Mina pouted, but her eyes were so charming that they were going to come out of the water.

Looking at this beauty in front of me, my heart welled up with infinite pity. When I first saw her backstage, that shy and bashful girl seemed like yesterday. Now, she has become my very own angel.

I leaned down and kissed her pink lips, my tongue gently pried open her teeth and entwined with her little tongue, and Mina let out a sweet whimper, her hands unconsciously wrapped around my neck.

I ran my hands up her smooth thighs, sending shivers down her spine. When I touched the thin lace panties, I realized that they were already soaked with her juice.

“Mina is such a little slut, she's already so wet down there ......” I bit her earlobe and deliberately teased her with lewd words.

“Oooh... Don't say that...” Mina buried her face in my chest, her voice was as thin as a mosquito.

I took off her soaked panties and gently spread her legs. The pink clits were fully moisturized and trembled gently with her breathing. I dipped my finger in a little bit of nectar and applied it to her clitoris, eliciting a gasp.

“Y/N, come in ......” Mina twisted her waist, eagerly waiting for me to come in. But I didn't want to satisfy her so easily. I sat on my knees in front of her so she could see my bulge.” Want it? Beg me, Minari.”

“You're so bad...” Mina reached out and took my cock in her hand, gently stroking it. “Honey... Come on ......”

“Lick it for me first.’ I whisper.

Mina hesitated for a moment when she heard that, but she still obediently approaches my cock. She first carefully extended her little tongue and gently licked the tips, before slowly taking it into her mouth.

Seeing my thick rod being held by such a beauty, I was extremely excited.” Yes, that's it, harder ......”

Mina gulped earnestly, making churning noises from time to time. Her technique had improved a lot since we dated, and she knew how to please me. Especially with her deft little tongue, she could always find my sensitive point.

I was enjoying her service while stroking her soft hair.” You are amazing, Mina... keep going.”

Mina sped up, making seductive snorting noises. Her hands were not idle, massaging my balls. Suddenly, she stopped and looked at me miserably, “Oppa... My mouths are sore…”

“Then let me help you relieve it” I smiled evilly and directly rolled over and pressed her underneath me.” Mina, I'm coming in.”

“Wait a minute... Condom ......” Mina looked around in panic.

“It's New Year's Eve, please” I say as I rub her clit with my tips.

Mina thought for a moment, but nodded, “Just today…Ah... So big... Slowly…” I immediately bury myself in her, and my thick shaft slowly pumped into Mina's already muddy pussy.” I tenderly kissed her earlobe, “Baby relax, I'll love you ......”

When the entire cock was fully inserted, I began to slowly thrust up and down. Mina's bottom iss warm and moist, the layers of tender flesh wrapped tightly around me, making me soothed beyond words. Her sweet moans could be heard with every deep thrust, like the most beautiful music.

“Do you like it?” I kneaded her tits, feeling them change shape in my hands.

“I Love it... I love you the most... Ah... Deeper…”

I increased my intensity, each stroke going straight to the end of her channels. At the same time, I leaned down and suck the tip of her reddish nipple. Mina's body shivered violently, and her walls clamps even tighter.

“Mina is sucking so tightly down there... Is she about to cum?” I teased Mina badly and accelerated the frequency.

“Ah... So good... Faster...” Mina hugged me tightly, her nails sinking deep into my back, nearly leaving ten wounds on me.

Looking at her slutty look, I couldn't help but lower my head and seal her lips, while my lower body's movements became more and more violent.” Ummm...” Mina was almost speechless, and could only make vague, indistinct whimpering noises.

I could feel the love juices gushing out of her body, and every time I hit her, there would be a “pop, pop, pop” sound of water. The bed sheets were already wet, but we couldn't care less.

“I can't... Y/N... I really can't ......” Mina begged with a sobbing voice.

“Scream louder... I love to hear you scream ......” I pushed hard a few times, and whispered in her ear, “Do you want it to be more exciting?”

Without waiting for her to answer, I pulled her legs and stood up. This position made my cock penetrate deeper, and Mina instantly fell into my arms. “Ah... This is too deep...”

As I walked, I pushed my waist up, grinding my cock back and forth in her pussy. “Do you want to change the place?”

“Uh... You can do whatever you want. ......” Mina was already completely conquered by me, her face was flushed, and she keep saying the obscenest words.

I put her on the desk and lifted her legs. The contrast between the cold desktop and her hot private parts made Mina shiver. So cold... But so comfortable... Y/N…”

I thrust up quickly, each stroke crushing her sensitive spot.” Tell me... What are we doing?”

“Making love... We are making love... Ah ......”

“That's not right... Say it again. ......” I gave her a vicious push.

“You are fucking me... Fuck me harder...” Mina was in a state of total ecstasy.

I was thrilled to see my normally innocent and lovely girlfriend say such vulgar things. ”Good girl Mina... Want more?”

“Yes... Minari wants more...” Mina wiggled her hips to meet my rhythm. I carried her back to the bed and grabbed one of her long legs and slung it over my shoulder. This angle allows me to enter deeper, and Mina immediately arches her back.” Oh god... It's inside... Y/N...”

I pumped while nibbling lightly on her inner thighs.” Minari's thighs are so delicious... So slippery...”

“Ah... Not there... It tickles... Honey, don't stop. ......” Mina grabbed my hair, her whole body was trembling slightly.

“Minari's getting tighter here... Is it time for another orgasm?” I blew hot air in her ear.

“Yes... It's coming again... Hubby gives it to me ......”

“Call me master... Beg me ......”

“Master... Please... Give me an orgasm...” Mina had completely let go of her reserve and was enjoying the pleasure of lust to the fullest.

I accelerated my speed and went to the bottom every time.” Baby... How's Master's cock?”

“Great... Master's rod makes me feel so good... Ummm… I'm going crazy...”

Looking at the girl in my arms drowning in lust, I felt a great sense of accomplishment. “Call me master again.”

“Master... My favorite master... Give it to me... Ah ......” With a high-pitched scream, Mina had her third orgasm of the day.

I also reached my limit, and after a few dozen final strokes, I pushed to the deepest and all of my thick essence shot out into her womb.

I collapsed next to Mina, gasping for breath as I caressed her body. This girl's skin was so smooth, like silk. Especially after her orgasm, her skin was tinted with a light pink color, which made her look even more attractive.

“Hubby... You're really great...” Mina nestled in my arms, her fingers unconsciously drawing circles.“That's because I have a sexy and cute Minari...” I pinched her nose.

“Hm... Just a smooth talker...” Mina rolled over and wrapped herself under the covers. I lifted the quilt and went in, hugging her from behind.” Honey, look...” I scraped the essence dripping from her clit and spread it evenly on her breasts.

“Ouch... So sticky ......” Mina tries to hide, but I hold her firmly in place.“It's a shame to waste it... It's all protein ......” I smiled badly and smoothed the liquid on my hand.

“I hate it... You always have a reason ......” Mina grumbled with a red face, but didn't stop me.

Looking at her shy face, I couldn't help but get hard again.” Mina... Can you still hold out?” “No... I'm a bit tired ......” She rubbed back, rubbing her hips against my erected rod.

It was a naked invitation, I rolled onto her body and was about to launch another new round.

“Wait a minute... I want to be on top this time. ......” Mina pushed my chest lightly, stopping my invasion.

“Yes, my Lord Knightess .......” I lay back cooperatively and looked at her expectantly.

Mina straddles me and sits down a little with her honey hole against my shaft. ” Ah... It's still this big …”

“If Minari feels uncomfortable, I can help.” I smiled badly and thrust my hips up a little.

“No... I'll do it myself…” Mina held my shoulders and started to slowly move up and down. Looking at her serious face, I found it both cute and erotic at the same time.

“Honey... Do you think I screamed well just now?” Mina asked while shaking her ass.

“Huh? What did you say?” I teased her.

“Nasty... You know what I said. ......” Mina's face was as red as a ripe apple.

“I don't know... What did you say again?” I cooperated and thrusted up a little.

“Ah... You're so bad...” Mina was so shy that she buried her face in the crook of my neck.

I took the opportunity to lift her hips to help her save her strength.” Minari rides so well, I love it.”

“Really? Then I'll try harder...” Mina got encouragement and accelerated her speed. I enjoy her performance and reach out to knead her bouncing breasts.” Minari's tits jiggle beautifully.”

“Nasty... Stop talking... Concentrate ......” Mina protested.

“Yes, Minari.” I smiled wickedly and pulled her closer, nuzzling her earlobe.

“Ah... You're so... I'll... I won't be able to stand it ......” Mina's voice started to tremble again.

“Where can't you stand it?” I asked.

“Down there... It's so numb down there... It's cumming”

I immediately sat up, held her waist and started to vigorously push upwards.” Cheer up, baby. Let's cum together...”

“Good... Together... Ah... Hubby... Give it to me... Give it to me!” Tears welled up in the corners of Mina's eyes.

“Here it comes... All for you, Minari!” I pushed hard, releasing all my essence again, synchronizing with Mina's orgasm.

We embraced each other and collapsed back on the bed, letting our sweat and body fluids intertwine. After a long time, Mina was able to get her strength back.

“Y/N... I love you ......” Her voice was soft but extraordinarily clear as she lay on my chest.

My heart skipped a beat and I gently cupped her face, “Mina, I love you too.”

Mina leaned into my arms and played with my still erected cock.” It's so strong today... Is it because of the New Year’s Eve?”

“Maybe... It's the first New Year’s Eve that we don’t need to work.” I scratched her nose pamperingly.

“It's only 8pm...” Mina surveyed my still-energetic little brother thoughtfully.

“So?” I raised my eyebrows at her.

“Honey... I want more...” Mina whispered as she came up to my ear.

“Really?”

“Of course it's true... It's New Year's Eve... And there are still sometime before the parade starts.” Mina has already started to tease me with her hands.

You underestimate the magic of love, when you and Mina arrive at the area of parade, it is approaching the end of the event already. You cannot see a single float on the street, although the crowd has not disbanded yet.

‘Sorry…’ You press the cap on your head and shake Mina’s hand with regret.

‘Umm? Why sorry?’ Mina turns her head at you, asks curiously.

‘We miss this year’s parade because of me… We may not have a holiday next year.’

‘But because of you, every single day of this year I feel so happy.’ Mina interrupts your apology, but you know she is not lying, her smile cannot be covered by her mask. She pulls down her mask a little bit to kiss your cheek and then put her arm around you. ‘Are you hungry? Should we buy some food before returning home?’

‘Sure.’ You happily hook back her arm and walk towards the night market.

Both of you are walking past the night market, the bags on your hands are becoming more and more, but you still cannot find the Taiyaki you are looking for. When you thought that you are going to be disappointed tonight, ‘There!’ Mina points to a red sign board at the end of the street, it’s a big Taiyaki sign that signals they are selling the snack that you have searched for all night.

You take Mina’s hand, walking faster to the shop, but you were soon blocked by two girls standing in your way.

‘Hi! Sorry! Are you Y/N Oppa!?’ One of the girls asked.

‘You must be Y/n Oppa right? We are your fans! We love you very very much! Can we get your autograph?’ Another girl says.

‘Ummm… yeah, thank you for your support.’ You hesitantly look at Mina, you have no idea when she has let go of your hands and waiting aside of you, don’t wanna spotted out by your fans. Her thin feature looks weaker under the streetlight, you don’t know why you would feel sad suddenly.

You take the pen that your fans give you, wanting to finish the little autographing session as soon as possible, so you can bring Mina leaving here. However, right after you finished signing for those two fans, more fans arrived and soon you are surrounded. ‘Y/N Oppa! I love you so much! You are so handsome!’

‘Thank you, thanks a lot for your support. I really gonna go now, happy new year and please keep supporting ADDiction next year.’ Until your hands start to feel tired, you finally decide to reject the newcomers, you give a bow and turn around to leave quickly.

‘Mina!’ You look around nervously, but you can’t find the figure of your love. You bit your lips regretfully, totally forgot you could contact her with your phone. You keep running on the road, shouting Mina’s name occasionally.

‘Perhaps Mina has returned to home already?’ You told yourself, not hesitate anymore and run to the direction of your home. Even though the light of the Taiyaki sign is still shining brightly, all you want now is to catch Mina on her way.

You get closer and closer to the Taiyaki shop, you find a familiar figure coming out from the store. ‘Mina!’

Mina could hear you calling right after she leaves the store, she looks at the direction of the sound, all she see is you are flying to her. Mina feels this scene is kind of familiar, she moves her lips, just trying to ask you did anything just happened, the next second she already feels herself hugged in your arms tightly.

No one knows how long did you two hugging, the warm sensation of the embrace magnified her senses, she dazed for a second, finally understand why the scene right now is so familiar to her.

It' s the scene of the 11th poem. Should she do the same thing as the poem for next?

'Can I kiss you?’ Mina did not even wait for your answer, she grabs your face and kisses you with a smile. Mina’s kiss is just like winter snow falling on shoulder, soft, cool and delicate. At the moment when the whole world is filled with snow, you suddenly recall the 11th poem from this morning.

At the last day of 2019, you once again determined that, Mina will be the only snow for the rest of your life.

I should fly to my love Like a flake in the storm, I should die, I should die, On her lips that are warm.

[twotommyolivers]

"Harris/Walz would not advance progressive causes" would have been a valid conversation topic that would've persisted throughout their time in the White House had they been elected.

"Harris/Walz would have been just as bad as Trump/Vance/Musk" is an indication to me that either you needed your parents permission to visit this site or you're a Trump voter cosplaying as "the libs".

Signed, someone who also misses the days where the "status quo" as imperfect as it was meant that you could go to bed at night knowing all the departments of government would still be there in the morning.

[vinnyvamppp]

Hey love you are a great writer so much so i had to request you to write a fic This story idea is super toxic This would never be a real scenario But I'm twisted so here's how it goes sinister mark or whom ever you choose is trying to study and girlfriend is just trying to get his attention kissing him, loving on him taking pictures with him and his snaps and accidentally hit her. He doesn't think that she will fight back though turning into this toxic love hate f$ck

You would be doing a great service (to me mostly😩)

Attention Hungry

NOTE: The person requested and the people have agreed! Typing this on my phone in staples while they fix my computer made me lose brain cells. Sorry in advance! Didn’t stray too far from the request. @nefertiti2003

Warnings: Rough Sex, Accidental Assault, Mild Choking, Mutual Orgasm, Hate Fucking, Power Imbalance, Pussy Eating, Dom!Invincible Variant, Power Bottom!Reader, Biting, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Love/Hate Relationship, Porn w a Plot, etc.

Sinister!Mark x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,072

Mark is at his desk, the glow of his tablet screen reflecting against the sharp angles of his face. His brows are furrowed in concentration, scanning lines of text faster than any normal person could. The lamp above casts long shadows, stretching across his strong frame, making him look even more unapproachable than usual. You should know better than to bother him when he’s like this. Focused. Distant. Untouchable.

But you never listen.

You step behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pressing your chest against his back. His body is warm—too warm, like a furnace barely contained beneath his skin. A normal person would melt under the heat of him. You just take it as an invitation. “Mark,” you murmur against his ear, letting your lips brush against the skin just below it. He doesn’t react. Not at first.

You tighten your arms, fingers splaying over the solid muscle of his chest. “You’ve been sitting here forever.”

Nothing.

You try again, trailing your fingers up his neck, into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. His jaw tenses. Progress. A smirk tugs at your lips. “You’re really gonna ignore me?” Still nothing.

Alright then.

You grab his phone from the desk and spin away before he can snatch it back. “Smile,” you tease, pointing the camera at him. He doesn’t even glance up, still reading, as if you’re nothing but background noise. So you step closer, angling yourself into the shot, pressing against his arm. Click. The flash goes off, illuminating his sharp features, and his unreadable eyes. Blinding you in the process. That gets his attention.

It happens fast. Too fast.

A blur of movement—his hand shoots out. A hard impact. Your head jerks to the side. The sharp sting spreads across your cheek before you even register what happened. For a second, everything stops. Your breath catches. Your heart slams against your ribs. Mark’s hand hovers in the air where your face used to be, fingers still curled slightly from the slap.

You gasp. He blinks.

Then—he exhales sharply through his nose, something unreadable flashing behind those crimson-tinted eyes. A mistake? No, he doesn’t make those. His mouth parts like he’s about to say something, but you don’t give him the chance.

Your hand flies before you even think about it, striking him across the face just as fast. The crack of skin-on-skin reverberates through the room. His head barely moves. Your palm burns from the impact. It didn’t hurt, but he felt it. He shouldn’t have felt it, that means he was getting weak, it meant he had to show who was stronger, better in every way. And he would.

Silence. Heavy. Charged.

Slowly—too slowly—Mark turns his head back toward you. His tongue swipes over his lip, testing for blood. And then he grins. “Really?” His voice is low, amused. Dark. Your heart pounds, but you don’t step back. You can’t. The air between you is electric, suffocating, dangerous. His fingers flex, then relax. His eyes roam over you, slow and deliberate. He shifts in his chair, the movement lazy—like a predator just now deciding whether the thing in front of him is prey or something worth playing with first.

Then, with one hand, he grabs your wrist, yanking you down onto his lap. "Now you have my attention."

He seemed amused, if anything.

With a short huff, your wrist curled against his firm grip, yanking with all your might. Nothing. His fingers barely budged, the strength in his hold effortless, as if he wasn’t even trying to restrain you, just reminding you that he could. Your jaw clenched. “Let go.” Mark tilted his head, eyes glinting under the dim light. “Why?”

Your skin burned where he touched you. Not from pain—from frustration. From the way he always did this. Letting you squirm, watching you fight, like you were nothing but a passing entertainment. Like you didn’t even matter. “You don’t even care,” you snapped, struggling again. “I don’t know why I—” He cut you off with a low chuckle. “Why you what?” His grip loosened, but only enough for his fingers to slide down your forearm, keeping you anchored in place. “Keep coming back? Keep trying to get my attention?”

Your breath hitched, but you covered it up with a scowl. “You never bother with me, Mark.” Something flickered in his expression—brief, perhaps sympathetic, but it was gone. “You’re always off somewhere else,” you continued, voice sharper now. “Thinking, planning, doing whatever the hell you do. You don’t talk to me, you don’t look at me, unless I force you to. Like I’m a distraction.”

Mark sighed, as if this entire conversation was beneath him. “You are a distraction.” The words stung more than you wanted to admit. Your nails dug into his wrist. “Then why the hell are you still holding onto me?” His fingers flexed around your arm. A quiet, drawn-out moment passed before he leaned in, just slightly, breath warm against your skin. “Because,” he murmured, “you’re not boring.”

Your stomach twisted. You hated the way your body reacted to him—to this. With a sharp inhale, you pushed against his chest. “I should leave.” Mark didn’t stop you. Didn’t tighten his grip. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms dropping to his sides, leaving you free. Daring you. His eyes met yours, calm, knowing. “Then do it.” The room felt smaller, like the walls were closing in. Your muscles tensed. He watched and waited.

Seconds passed. Your heart pounded. You should leave. You should turn around, walk out the door, and never look back. But you didn’t move. Mark smirked. “That’s what I thought.” Your fingers curled into fists. “I hate you.”

“Yeah?” He tilted his head, dragging his gaze over you, slow, deliberate. “Funny. I hate you too.” Your chest rose and fell, breath shaky with something you refused to name. “Then let me go.” He exhaled through his nose, almost like a laugh, before reaching out. His fingers traced your jaw, gentle, too gentle before gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I don’t think you want that,” he said, voice dropping an octave. “And I know I don’t.”

And just like that, you were pulled right back into his orbit.

You moved first, tilting your chin up, daring him, challenging him. His lips met yours in an instant, not gentle, not sweet—hungry. It was all heat and dominance, a battle for control that neither of you wanted to lose. His hand slid lower, fingers pressing into your skin, grounding you against him. Every touch, every movement was deliberate, meant to remind you exactly who he was—who you were dealing with.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, "Still think you hate me?" You exhaled shakily. "More than ever." Mark’s grin was sharp, almost cocky. "Good."

He stood up abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. With a firm grip on your hips, he lifted you effortlessly, tossing you over his shoulder like a ragdoll. You yelped in surprise, the breath momentarily knocked out of you. You managed to gasp out as he carried you across the room, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He ignored your weak protested mumbles, his hand resting heavily on your ass as if to remind you of his dominance.

The bedsprings creaked as he threw you down onto the mattress, your body bouncing from the impact. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before he was on top of you, his weight pinning you down. Your hands scrabbled at his chest, but he easily overpowered you, gripping your wrists and shoving them above your head.

His other hand found your throat, fingers curling around your slender neck. He applied just enough pressure to make you gasp, to remind you who was in control. His red eyes bore into yours, gleaming with a dark, feral hunger.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Fuck, yes. Now give it to me." He released your wrists, only to grab the collar of your shirt. With a sharp tug, he tore the fabric open, sending buttons flying across the room. Your breasts bounced free, the cool air pebbling your nipples.

He wasted no time, ducking his head to inhale your sweet scent as his tongue teased your collarbones. He sucked hard, his teeth scraping against the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of pain and pleasure straight to your core. His hand roughly traced the curves of your figure, squeezing what he could. You arched into him, a moan escaping your lips. But he was already moving, trailing kisses down your stomach, pausing to flick his tongue against your navel. Lower and lower he went until his face was nestled between your thighs.

He breathed hotly against your core, the damp fabric of your panties the only barrier between you. With a low growl, he tugged them aside, exposing you to his hungry gaze. Without warning, he licked a long stripe up your slit, from entrance to clit, the wet heat of his tongue making you shudder. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pushing him closer, silently begging for more. He obliged, sealing his lips around your clit and sucking hard. At the same time, he slid two fingers into your dripping cunt, pumping them in and out, giving you little time to adjust.

Your hips bucked against his face, fucking yourself on his tongue and fingers. But he didn't let up, his grip on your thighs holding you in place as he feasted on your pussy like a starving man. "Jesus, Mark," you gasped, your head thrown back in ecstasy. "Don't. Fucking. Stop..."

You doomed yourself, his eyes meeting yours

But just as you were about to tumble over the edge, he delivered a harsh teething and pulled away, leaving you empty and aching. You groaned at the loss, but it was quickly silenced as he covered your mouth with his, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

You could feel his cock, hard and throbbing, pressing against your thigh. He ground against you, seeking friction, and you knew he was just as desperate as you were. With a snarl, he grabbed your hips and flipped you over onto your stomach. He yanked your hips up, positioning you on your hands and knees. You barely had time to steady yourself before he was inside you, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

You cried out at the sudden invasion, your walls stretching around his thick length. But he didn't give you time to adjust, setting a punishing pace that had the headboard slamming against the wall. Each thrust was harder than the last, his hips slapping against your ass as he pounded into you. The obscene sound of skin on skin filled the room, mixing with your muffled moans and his grunts of pleasure.

His hand found your hair, fisting the strands and pulling your head back. He leaned over you, his chest pressed against your back, his breath hot against your ear. Both of too far gone in the haze of pleasure to form coherent words. He seemed to take that as a yes, his thrusts becoming even more brutal.

You felt the pressure building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each snap of his hips. Your legs began to tremble, your arms threatening to give out beneath you. "Come for me," he demanded, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub. "Let me feel you come all over my cock." This time coming as a more of a plea.

And with that final command, you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your walls clamped down around him, fluttering and squeezing as wave after wave of ecstasy washed through you. Behind you, Mark let out a guttural moan, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge. He buried himself deep one last time, spilling his release inside you with a shuddering groan.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both struggling to catch your breath. Finally, Mark slipped out of you, rolling onto his back and taking you with him. “We’re… not done yet, you fuck.” You sneered, and he obliged with a toothy grin. The tip of his cock rubbed gingerly against your lips as he parted the soft flesh. This is so dramatically written LMFAO.

[sitepathos]

I keep thinking. because the Omega reader grew up around Alphas and was treated horribly by them for years, what if he feel uncomfortable and unsafe around them and couldn't help but feel negative about them. It also doesn't help how omega's are seen. I'm sure the reader will meet a lot of creeps in his four years in Vegas after his body allowed his second gender to show.

Also Alfred, the only one who took care of him is the only beta in the Wayne pack. So what if the reader's mate was Beta. Or even an Omega?

Here’s a birthday present from me to you guys! Happy 24th birthday to me!

That’s actually a very realistic look and not entirely outside the realm of reality.

Yes, you know that not all Alphas are like the Waynes (mostly because the Waynes are totally batshit crazy), but years of neglect and mistreatment take their toll on even the strongest of souls and your wounds run deep.

Even with the Megamycete, you can’t help but flinch when you’re around an Alpha who gets angry, even if it’s not directed at you. Every harsh word or loud bang reminds you of being around people who treated you like shit and you begin to spiral, thinking you’re still imprisoned in the manor and hiding from the Waynes.

And while Vegas allows all to come and work and gamble, it hasn’t earned the nickname “Sin CIty” for nothing and it’s not uncommon for you to hear Alpha man comment on your looks and an Alpha woman to allude to what she’d do to you in bed. At first, you were a little flattered because the Waynes left you with no self-confidence and you liked hearing people liked what you looked like, but when it became apparent that they were acting on your Omega status, you quickly found ways to avoid going out.

Fortunately, Goodsprings is a small town that’s full of mostly older folks that try to look out for one another, so you always have a safe place to retreat to. Plus, it’s full of aging Betas who don’t really feel one way or another about you being an Omega.

Now, as for Beta and Omega mates, that’s when things get a bit tricky.

Since the dawn of mankind, Betas get together with other Betas and Alphas get together with Omegas; this is because Alphas and Omegas are able to react properly to each others’ ruts and heats and their scents. Sure, you often hear about Alpha-Alpha couples, but this is acceptable because Alphas have a need for dominance and conquest, so having sex with another Alpha can appeal to that need almost as well as having sex with an Omega.

But Omegas getting with Betas? Almost unheard of, but there’s been a few instances of that, but society is heavily mixed on that. Omegas getting with Omegas? Yeah, that’s a hard pass for even the most progressive individual because Omegas are submissive by nature, so outside of porn, no one’s interested in seeing that.

If you have a Beta as a mate, you can expect him to be kinda dominant, but not as much as an Alpha naturally is. Also, you can expect your heats to be very painful since he doesn’t have a knot, so you’ll have to find a work around, like using a toy.

Having an Omega as a mate? You can expect to have to hide your relationship with him because such a thing is frowned on everywhere in the world. If you’re wanting him to be the dominant one, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a dominant Omega as once someone presents as an Omega, you start undergoing Omega etiquette classes to prepare you for being the perfect Omega mate. If you want to be the dominant one, you’ll be spoiled for choice, but you’ll still be hard-pressed to find an Omega that wants to be with another Omega; in fact, if yo want to be with another Omega, you’ll probably end up being the dominant one since your upbringing led to you becoming an Omega unlike any other.

Now, for everyone’s reactions…

For Bruce, it doesn’t matter whether you’re with a Beta or an Omega, he doesn’t approve for you being with anyone. In his twisted mind, all you need is him and your siblings and anyone who tries to get close to you is trying to take you away from your pack and he’s not going to let that happen; you’re his son and Omega and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you by his side. He almost lost you once, he’s not about to let that happen again.

“Our pack is all you need, Y/N. A mate can always leave, but we’ll always be here for you.”

Dick hears that you have a mate? Oh, hell no, he’s going to Goodsprings and is bringing you back to the manor immediately. This guy is clearly taking advantage of you and he’s not about to let his precious baby bird be taken advantage of by some opportunistic Beta or clout chasing Omega! If you really need someone to be with, he’ll be more than happy to be by your side all the time, from cuddling you in your sleep to having you sit in his lap and being fed by hand.

“Baby bird, he’s clearly trying to use you! Come on, he didn’t even ask to meet with us! He’s going to hurt you and leave you all alone!”

Barbara immediately disapproves of any mate you have, regardless of his designation, because she thinks just like Bruce, that no one can ever be truly worthy of you and really, all you need is them. She’ll dig up so much dirt on him and bombard you with everything she finds, stuff dating back to kindergarten and even the most minor and ridiculous of infractions, like him cutting in line for snack when he was five. Also, she may be in a wheelchair, but she’ll sure as hell show up in person to scare the living hell out of him.

“Look, I understand that you want a mate, but you need to have some standards, Y/N. Just come home and maybe I can find you someone better and maybe convince Bruce to let you date him. Just remember that you’re our Omega first and always.”

Once Jason learns that you have a Beta mate, he’s immediately suiting up to beat the living shit out of the guy; and he’s not holding back just because the guy’s a Beta, in anything, he’s going way harder because that fucker should’ve known better than try to get with an Omega if he didn’t have any combat skills.

Now, if your mate’s another Omega, he hesitates. On one hand, he’s getting close with you and trying to take you away from the pack (from him), but on the other hand, the guy’s another Omega and Red Hood is kind to all Omegas. So, he’ll probably just kidnap you during the night and forge a note saying you’re leaving your mate and going home.

“Look, kid, I get that why you’d want someone else since we treated you like shit, but you’re still a part of this batshit crazy pack and it’s time you rejoin it.”

Tim acts just like Barbara, but he takes it to the EXTREME. Like, he’ll not only look into everything retaining to your mate, but everyone even remotely close to your mate, be it their original pack to a co-worker they interact with every fourth Friday of the month. Doesn’t matter how obscure the “discover” is, Tim will find it, put in in a PowerPoint showing why he’s unfit to being your mate, and present it to you like he’s in a board meeting.

Also, he’s not a huge traditionalist, but his upper class upbringing has drilled it into his head that Alphas and Omegas become mates and while he’s a bit of a modern thinker, he thinks you being with a Beta or another Omega is doomed to fail. If you really want a mate, perhaps you could allow him to court you?

Possible future installment?

“Honestly, Y/N, this mate of yours is doomed to fail you. Why don’t you let me bring you home and take care of everything for you?”

Unlike the other Waynes, Steph laughs her ass off when she learns you’ve taken a Beta/another Omega as a mate. Really, her laughter could be heard all over the manor and it only got stronger when she saw a few more grey hairs pop on in Bruce’s hair; she loves to be a menace to the pack and she actually wants you to teach her your ways so she can up her torture game.

Still, she doesn’t approve of him; not because of his designation or anything, she’s no prude. No, you’re a part of her pack and she doesn’t tolerate any outsiders trying to lure you away. She’ll go as far as harassing your mate in her Spoiler gear if it means making him leave you.

“Come on, Y/N, if you really wanna piss off Bruce, why don’t you just put bright green hair dye in his shampoo bottles. Wait, since you’re an Omega, you can get away with whatever you want! Oh, we can have so much fun together!”

Unlike her best friend, Cass doesn’t see anything funny about this; she looks at your mate and sees someone that’s trying to commit an unforgivable transgression on her pack: taking a packmate. While the title of Left Hand may be Jason’s, Bruce often tasks her to deal with things that require a more… subtle touch. And things that require no evidence left behind. To deal with something like this, Bruce doesn’t even have to tell her what she has to do.

Of course, “dealing” with your mate proves to be far more difficult when you meet her donned in your mold armor.

Damian is pissed off at so many levels about this; first at the thought of you being mated to someone because as the true heir to his sire’s legacy, it falls to him to find a suitable mate to produce a son and carry on the Wayne name, something you shouldn’t have to worry about. Second, his strict League upbringing instilled it in his mind that Omegas are only allowed to be with Alphas, just as nature intended.

This… thing you have with a Beta? It’s not meant to be since he lacks the proper biology to properly handle you.

And if you’re with another Omega? Well, let’s just say he’s not a fan and leave it at that.

He goes to Vegas, sword in hand, ready to cut down this interloper who dares lay his filthy, impure hands on you only to find you, mold sword at the ready.

Well, while he vowed to never harm you like he did when he was a child, he thinks besting you in battle should bring you back to your senses. If he defeats you in combat, you’re his to do with as he pleases, such as League law dictates.

“Brother, it’s up to me to carry on our bloodline. You needn’t worry about finding a mate and desecrating yourself to someone who’s obviously beneath you. Come, let’s return to the manor so our pack can be whole once more.”

Alfred’s truly happy for you; after all the years you suffered in the manor, he thinks you deserve someone who makes you happy. If it happens to be a Beta or another Omega, he really doesn’t care. But, as much as he hates to ruin what’s possibly the only healthy relationship someone in the Wayne Pack has been in, he stands with the rest of the pack in thinking you need to leave your new mate and return to them.

In his eyes, you were a part of their pack first (no matter the evidence to the contrary) and that means you need to return to Gotham and claim your place as the Wayne Omega.

“Not to worry, Master Y/N, things will be different this time. And if they’re not, I’ll take care of it.”

[hope-for-the-planet]

I'm scared for the future. The year starts with WTF, trump is in the Whitehouse. They're are 3...no 4...Idfk how many wars and humanitarian crises. We're are 90s seconds (probably lower in 2025) to midnight on the doomsday clock. And the earth is getting hotter by the half-hour. I'm scared of dying and I'm pretty sure we're alone in the universe. So how in the flibity flabuty F**k! Do you stay so positive? (Genuinely I want to know)

Hi Anon!

This may not be the most satisfying answer, but a lot of it is practice.

Pivoting away from negative thought spirals, knowing when the despair is welling up and it's time to put the news down for a bit, being aware of the human tendency for negativity bias that feeds the media bias towards catastrophizing, seeking out stories of progress and people helping each other even if it's not glamorous or flashy or immediate. These get easier the longer you practice.

Truly, I have never been aware of how much this hope practice has paid off until this year. I won't say that I don't have bad days, but the strategies I have to deal with them and keep the bad news from driving me to disengagement feel like muscle-memory now.

I know this may not feel terribly helpful to you, but I say this to express that it is not some unique element of my personality that allows me to stay hopeful in the face of bad news--it is a skill that you can get better at too.

One really big part of this is to combat the bombardment of negative information by looking for positive information. News of progress, resistance, and people coming together to make a difference are a great place to start--but also hopeful and inspiring art (books, movies, TV shows, visual art, theater, etc.), research into human goodness and altruism, reading not just about the dark times in human history but also the times that people worked together to make things better. I just finished reading Hope for Cynics by positive psychologist Jamil Zaki, which I highly recommend if you feel like delving into the good side of human nature.

The more you train your brain to look for hope the more you will notice--one day you'll hear bad news and your knee-jerk reaction will be to turn towards possible solutions and wonder who is already working to make those solutions a reality.

I understand living in that place of fear and hopelessness--I have spent time there too and some days I still do. But hope is something worth working towards, even slowly and imperfectly. It doesn't just feel better to live in a world where you can see the possibility for things to be better than they are right now--it is the first step in being engaged in helping to make them better.

There are so many kind, brave, talented, imperfect, regular people pushing back against the bad things. None of us are alone. None of us have to save the world by ourselves. We only have to hope enough to be one small part of the process of making the world better than it would have been otherwise, in whatever ways we can.

[callsignlucky]

Okay I mean, gosh twist my arm @jayjay-thejet-plane

After he saves his life, Bradley thinks things might turn out okay with Jake Seresin. The brass seems to agree, and after four years of (everyone claims coincidentally) being stationed across the globe from the man, Bradley walks onto the base in Pensecola and is greeted by a cat-like smile and mischievous green eyes. He goes a little breathless at it, they’d never exchanged numbers again, so his eight weeks of leave have had little to do with Hangman, aside from the thoughts he pushes aside on a daily basis, and the ones he indulges in at night. They shake hands and Bradley compliments him, rolls his eyes when Jake isn’t humble about it, and he can feel Jake’s gaze follow him as he excuses himself, heat creeping up his neck. It’s a familiar song and dance, one that used to end with Jake stretched out and satiated across his bed, but that was a long time ago, and Bradley hides a soft little grin in his next meeting, hopeful that they’ve mellowed out into something tenable. He’s wrong. 

Three days on base and he’s slamming down his hand against a map and pointing an accusing finger at Hangman, because god, this is all Hangman. Jake isn’t anywhere behind that cocky, self-righteous, risk-loving goddamn fucking face- Bradley throws his hands up and groans. “This is getting us nowhere.” He gathers some paperwork up into a folder haphazardly, determined to be excused, retreat to his awful base-assigned apartment, and work out his own solution without Jake constantly inserting glib little comments, designed to slip by their superiors who were far more used to harsh attacks, but needled at Bradley’s last nerve. Jake shrugs, chewing on the end of the toothpick he’d been rolling around his mouth for the last hour. “You’re wrong,” he says, voice so easy, but there’s an edge to it that grinds against Bradley, and he knows Jake is just as frustrated as he is. “It’s a shame you already took the only risk you’ve allotted yourself for your life. You might as well retire now.” He flashes Bradley an insincere smile, baiting. Bradley doesn’t take it, and if that’s the only thing he’s ever been able to get on Jake, he prides himself on it, his patience winning out in their fights more often than not. Even if it makes the times he loses that much worse. “If you want to get yourself killed, do it on your own time, Jake. We have to consider-” 

Jake cuts him off. “I’m considering. And it’s a good risk.” He pauses almost imperceptibly, and Bradley braces himself for a prescision strike, knowing it’s coming. “Besides, who’s waiting for me to make it back this time? Make another pro-con list, Rooster, there ain’t much on the downside anymore.” The comment ends the meeting in a flurry of overlapping exclamations, Jake will be reprimanded and probably assigned to 25 minutes with a counselor, and Bradley has nothing to show for it but a dented locker and bruised knuckles. The comment eats at him, though, a barbed arrow that’s stuck in his side, tugging at his skin each time he tries to remove it, catching on old scars and still-open wounds. 

He gets progressively angrier as the days push on, mission turning into some kind of compromise that neither of them are satisfied with, and Jake keeps needling at him, pushing at and crossing lines that only they see stretching loudly between them. Bradley keeps his cool, soft brown eyes and an easy smile getting him through most conversations as his blood simmers, but the base is small and they’re in each other’s orbit too often for it to last. “You should try meditating or something,” Jake suggests one morning, leaning against the wall of a small alcove that houses a couple of vending machines. “Pretty sure that piece of shit doesn’t deserve your… wrath.” Bradley looks at him and his nostrils flare, shaking out his hand. He ceases banging the heel of his palm against an ancient coffee dispenser that’s refusing to give him caffeine. “Is that why you’re here?” he snaps. “You deserve it, if I punch you in the face do I get coffee?” He’s acutely aware that Jake has a little paper cup full of what he assumes is a sickly sweet mocha-something, from the very machine that was denying him. Jake laughs and takes a dainty sip. “This is mine,” he says, clearly pleased. “And you’d hate it.” He rakes his eyes over Bradley slowly and then narrows them, the teasing slipping from his gaze a little. “Look, Bradshaw-” “I don’t want to fucking talk to you.”

Jake blinks, and all mirth disappears from his expression, something stony replacing it as he clenches his diamond-cut jaw. “What else is new?” Jake says, and it’s cutting. “You know, maybe you wouldn’t be so goddamn angry all the time if you’d just spit it the fuck out.” Bradley stalks up to him and they hold, nose to nose, suspended in the tension they’ve been caught in for four years, and then Bradley leans over and spits in the little paper cup, his heart beating a furious, anguished rhythm against his ribcage. He regrets it almost immediately, it’s ridiculous and immature and stupidly impulsive and Jake is a coworker, not just the ex that’s been haunting him. Jake doesn’t take his eyes off of him, the parenthetical lines around his mouth deepening just a fraction as the barest hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he raises the cup to his lips, draining it. Bradley’s lips part as he releases a sharp breath, heat prickling at his skin as it washes through him, and then Jake is impossibly close, too close for where they are. “Not what I meant, sweetheart.” Jake murmurs the words against his ear and Bradley can feel his own pulse low in his belly as he reaches out, hand pressed to Jake’s side, and he holds him there for a long moment before Jake’s stepping away. He lets him go, has to, but he’s dazed as he unplugs and replugs in the coffee machine. 

They fly seamlessly that day, holding steady as they test out a configuration with a UAV that neither of them likes, Jake patient at his side until they’re not going to best their times and Jake peels off, Bradley following him without hesitation. It works so well they’re dismissed for the day so analytics can run the numbers again, and they lock eyes before gathering their things and jogging out of the hanger. It turns into a race, both of them filled with the overflowing energy of  good hop and a successful trial, and Bradley has longer legs and the stamina of someone who never sleeps in to skip a morning run, so Jake’s in his wake as he leads them to his apartment. 

“I don’t remember inviting you over,” he says as Jake’s momentum crowds him into his apartment as he unlocks the door, both of them stumbling a little before Bradley turns, catching Jake in his arms. “Shut the fuck up,” Jake breathes and then Bradley’s using their bodies to slam the door shut, hands around Jake’s wrists as he shoves him against the hollow wood. The first kiss in four years is biting, Bradley’s teeth closing on Jake’s lower lip before he’s being bitten back, Jake’s hands trying to wrestle out of his grip. Bradley lets him go so he can fit his big hands around Jake’s waist, and his eyes flutter closed as Jake tangles his fingers in his curls, tugging at them to force Bradley to tip his head a little. The new angle gives them both room to open their mouths, licking at each other’s teeth and tongues as cautiously soft moans are allowed out of them. Bradley drags Jake away from the door with both arms wrapped around him, and Jake stretches one arm out to twist the deadbolt closed before he’s wrapping two arms around Bradley’s neck, letting Bradley drag him into the bedroom. He tastes like coffee and sugar and the stupid cinnamon flavored toothpicks he buys in bulk, spicy and achingly familiar, and Bradley has to tear his mouth away before he falls too far into the ghost of a man that’s right in front of him. “You’re such a freak,” Jake murmurs as soon as his mouth is unoccupied, starting to unbutton Bradley’s uniform, hands greedy as they grab at Bradley’s pecs. Bradley makes an irritated noise, biting down where he’d been dragging open mouthed kisses along Jake’s throat, and Jake laughs, shoving at Bradley’s shirt. “You spit in my coffee, you’re fucking certified.” Bradley hums his acknowledgement, fingers blindly robbing Jake of his own shirt and then he’s got him by the tags, pulling him back and staring at him. He doesn’t need to say it, doesn’t need to say you liked it, he can see the flush as it reddens the tips of his ears and dusts across his cheeks. Jake’s dropping down before he can push him, and Bradley bends to follow, folding over as Jake sinks to his knees, staring up at him as Bradley cradles his jaw with his free hand.

“You gonna fly like that next week?” he asks, and Jake stares up at him, the tiny beads of his tags chain pressing into his damp throat. “Give me a reason to,” Jake says plainly, and Bradley shakes his head, refusing to play into the taunt. Jake pulls back as far as he can, then and there’s just enough space between them that Bradley wonders for a horrible moment if Jake’s going to get up and leave. Instead, Jake tips forward, both hands rising to grab at Bradley’s waist as he kisses his belly, mouth running along his hip bones as he speaks. “Learn your goddamn lesson, Bradshaw,” he murmurs. “Why should I give a fuck about something you don’t?” That sparks another wave of frustration, and Bradley grabs at Jake’s jaw again, thumb slipping into his mouth, one of exactly two reliable methods to get him to stop talking. “Why do you try so hard to piss me off?” he asks, but the heat in his words disappears as he says them, too transfixed by Jake blinking up at him, heavy lids not enough to conceal the pretty green of his eyes. Jake sucks on his thumb, cheeks hollowing as he starts pulling at his belt. Bradley pushes down on his jaw, tugging on his tags, and Jake lets his mouth fall open with a soft little moan. 

Jake’s grip on his waist tightens, his thumbs slipping into Bradley’s waistband, and he looks… something. Desperate, maybe. Angry. Needy. Bradley can’t place it, not with his memories pounding against his skull, reminding him of how Jake looked when he was happy and none of it fitting this wanting. “You’re gonna fly this right,” he demands, and his thumb pins down Jake’s tongue, preventing the protest he can see in Jake’s eyes. It fills him with a rush of satisfaction, and he gathers saliva on his tongue, curving over Jake, and spits directly into his mouth. Jake’s eyes flutter, barely staying open enough to keep his blown out gaze fixed on Bradley, and he whines softly, slowly closes his mouth around Bradley’s thumb and swallowing. He nods. Bradley feels relief wash through him, battling with the unyielding desire for Jake that’s always, always unfairly there, and he strokes his thumb over Jake’s tongue again as Jake finishes his task, tugging Bradley’s uniform slacks down just enough to pull out his cock, pushing forward to nose at the length of it until Bradley removes his thumb, his hand sliding up to thread into Jake’s hair. The wet heat of Jake’s mouth closing over his cock is enough to make Bradley’s knees go weak for a moment, and he anchors himself with a hand at Jake’s neck, tags still pressed into his palm. He sighs out a harsh breath, and his cock rubs against the roof of Jake’s mouth, achingly hard after a day of trying to convince himself they weren’t both imagining exactly this. “Fuck, Jake,” he breathes, as he pushes his hips forward and Jake chokes a little, fingernails digging a punishment into his hips, but Jake chases forward even as he backs off, sucking Bradley deeper into his mouth. “I’m…” He doesn’t want to admit that it’s been a while, doesn’t want to put up with the teasing later knowing that he finds it difficult to touch anyone else, so he tries to prolong it, failing as Jake blows him with intimate prescision, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, the other shoved into his own slacks, as he proves he hasn’t forgotten exactly how to get Bradley off. 

His hips falter and Jake’s eyes slide up to meet his and he looks so stupidy good, so pretty with his mouth pink and his chin dripping with drool. Jake pulls off, breathing a little harshly, and sits back on his heels. Bradley doesn’t understand how they can be at such odds and yet so in tune, and he steals back his hand from Jake’s hair, jerking himself off quickly. “I miss you,” Jake says, raising one hand and Bradley flushes, panting, and complies, spitting into his palm so Jake can stroke himself faster, Bradley’s cock nudging up against his cheek. “Stop being such a fucking asshole. I just.. miss you.” Bradley can’t do much except whine, can’t even be irritated that Jake prefers to be able to talk through his orgasms because he loves it, he loves him, and he can’t lie to himself that he’d rather him silent. He rubs his cock over Jake’s lower lip. “Come on,” Jake mumbles, and there’s a waver to it that has Bradley shaking, his hand working faster. “Fuck, Bradley, come on, stop wasti-” Bradley shudders as his orgasm runs him through, cum painting Jake’s lips and cheeks and chin. Jake surges forward then, his hand pumping below them as he licks the length of Bradley’s cock as it twitches and pumps cum into his hair, and he’s mumbling Bradley’s name against his hip as his spine curves through his own orgasm, panting against Bradley’s skin. Bradley hauls him up by the jaw and pulls them both backwards onto the bed, their kisses wet and stilted as they both kick off their slacks, Jake climbing into Bradley’s lap and pushing him over. “You always gotta interrupt me,” he complains, but he’s grinning agaisnt Bradley’s mouth.  “Wouldn’t have to if you could shut the fuck up,” Bradley returns, but he’s smiling too, stupid and dizzy and satisfied. He wipes some of the cum off of Jake’s face and onto a pillowcase, resigning himself to laundry and, less disappointedly, a mutual shower at some point in their very near future. “You just saying shit?”

Jake shrugs, readjusting them and tucking himself under Bradley’s chin, half on his side, tangling their legs together, and it makes Bradley ache how their bodies fitting together with practiced ease. “No. But it doesn’t have to matter.”

The to you hangs clear in the air between them and Bradley sighs, stroking one hand through Jake’s hair. “It matters,” he murmurs. “Just gotta… figure it out. But I miss you too. So…”

Jake looks up, and for the first time in years, Bradley doesn’t see Hangman at all, wide green eyes. “So… worth it?” he asks. Bradley thinks about it for a long moment and then nods, leaning forward to kiss him slowly. Jake beams into the kiss, and Bradley huffs out a laugh. He’ll fuck it up, he’s almost positive, but he’s so tired of being without Jake.

“Just gotta figure it out,” Bradley sighs, but they’re not 23 anymore and there’s something in Jake’s expression that this time, somehow, gives him hope that they’ll actually manage it. “Stay,” he requests, and Jake doesn’t reply, but he presses in closer. Bradley closes his eyes and kisses a thank you against Jake’s forehead, chest bursting full at the prospect of their future.

i just think that bradley should spit in jake’s mouth yunno?

sketch/lineart below :P

[springismss]

ᱬ⛧ who is she? ~ e. kirishima

sum: sometimes he forgets he’s still married to someone.

pairing: time skip! kirishima x wife! reader

content: sfw - no warnings here. established relationship.

a/n: based off a video i saw the other day. feels like this would be something kirishima would be like. as always likes, comments and re-blogs are deeply appreciated!

word count: 1,575

links: bnha/mha masterlist | masterlist

the buzz of chatter sounded in the air as red eyes scanned around, taking in every person who was in the same room as them. it had been a good few years since they’d all managed to meet up and spend time together, especially at an annual event that only a handful of them ever attended at one time.

the glass in their hand was brought up to their lips as they took a drink of the liquid inside, warming sensation sliding down their throat as they swallowed. “you know, i’m surprised you’d decided to come to this, eji. did he drag you along with him?”. following the finger of the person he was talking to kirishima looked toward his blonde-haired best friend and shook his head. “nah, if anything, i had to convince bakugou to come along”.

hearing a snort before a laugh, he grinned showing off his sharp teeth to his other friend, kaminari, who mirrored his smile. “so aside from the obvious hero work, what else have you been up to? i heard you finally got married, about time!”. the usually outgoing redhead rubbed the back of his head, laughing nervously as he nodded. “yeah, took me long enough. you know, as corny as it sounds, she’s my soulmate, my other half. i couldn’t imagine my life without her”.

placing the glass down on the bar, he decided to mingle a little more with his other classmates that were scattered around, deciding on the group that had midoriya, todoroki and bakugou in the centre. of course, he managed to slip himself into the group easily, much to the annoyance of the explosion hero.

that’s when he saw you standing just to the side of the group, talking to a few of the girls he’d gone to school with. one hand holding onto a glass, the other resting on your chest. anyone who was anyone could see the diamond sparkling the light, showing off that you were no longer having eyes for any other, not that you ever did since you met your husband.

mina, yaoyorozu and uraraka gasped when they saw the ring, eyes widening as mina grabbed your hand. “hey, since when did that happen!?”. biting back a laugh, you hummed slightly and tilted your head. “oh you know, the other day. we just wanted something small between hero work but don’t worry, we’ll be having another celebration soon enough and you’re all invited”. cheers sounded as you laughed.

looking over your shoulder at the feeling of eyes on your back, you caught the attention of kirishima who waved shyly, much to your amusement. offering a sweet smile you turned your attention back to your circle and continued to talk.

“well, looks like someone’s caught your attention. shame you’re spoken for. looks like i’ll have a chance”. looking to his side, kirishima saw kaminari with a grin on his face as he looked at you, something that never changed from being in school. “i don’t know man, she’s taken by the looks of it”.

a sound almost like a whine left kaminari as he huffed out, turning his attention back to the group as they chatted.

as the night progressed, so did the chatter and drinks, music playing as bodies danced, some close to their significant other while others stayed in their groups. not that kirishima was bothered as he spent most of his night carefully watching you. you were currently dancing with mina. despite the pair of you wearing dresses, you were both managing to pull out some impressive moves.

he looked down at the ring on his finger and sighed, downing the rest of the drink he’d only gotten a few moments ago before making his way over to you, fingers tapping your shoulder.

turning your attention over your shoulder to see those same red eyes you’d caught staring at you, you smiled brightly and turned around, wrapping your arms around the figure's neck in a hug. “kiri, how nice of you to join me!”. taking a moment to excuse yourself, you pulled away from the male and grabbed his hand, leading him into an empty space on the floor not too far from where you were.

grabbing ahold hold of his hands you placed them on your hips, fingers lingering a few seconds longer before you raised your arms, draping them over his shoulders as you began moving to the slow music now being played. “hey”. a soft smile tugged at your lip as you hummed. “hey yourself. couldn’t keep your eyes to yourself i see?”.

stuttering slightly, kirishima tried to explain himself before you laughed, pulling him closer to you. “relax you idiot. you’re allowed to look eji”.

sighing a little, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours, savouring the feeling of you in his arms after what felt like a long day for you both. “i know, i just feel so awkward about it all still. i’m not ready for all the questions yet”.

moving one of your arms, you placed your fingers under his chin and lifted his head, eyes scanning his and face as you offered a reassuring smile. you knew he struggled when it came to relationships, but you always assured him you’d be there to support him no matter what. “just relax, you’re doing a great job, we both know it”.

letting your hand drop, you placed it over his heart as your rings caught the light again. he was nervous, the erratic beating of his heart only confirmed that for you. “just breathe okay? i’m not going anywhere, promise”.

offering another soft smile, you looked up only to feel his lips on yours, claiming them in a kiss of every emotion he was feeling at that time. cheering sound behind you as he pulled back. “way to go, kiri! i won’t tell your wife what I saw, don’t worry”.

looking over your shoulder in the direction of the shout, you shook your head as you laughed, turning your attention back to the red-head who held you in his arms. “reckon i should put kaminari out of his misery?”.

that caused him to smile, nodding his head. “yeah, think you should. i'd hate to sound like bakugou, but I can’t wait for that extra to shut it”.

laughing, you wrapped your arms around him again and pulled yourself closer into his body, head resting on his chest as you listened to the beat of his now calming heart. lifting your head, you placed another kiss on his lips before pulling away, turning to face kaminari. “oh don’t worry kami, i think she already knows isn’t that right, my darling husband?”.

the look on everyone’s faces around you turned from shock to confusion, a few changing to a look of knowing as they smiled. you’d both kept it secret for as long as you could, the only exception being bakugou who caught wind of you both dating one day.

you were thankful to him for keeping quiet, you weren’t ready to let anyone, let alone the world know you were dating the number 12 hero. you’d both wanted to take things slow, getting to know each other without the pressures of your daily missions and lives.

a small mutter of “about damn time you nerds” was heard from somewhere in the small crowd now gathered.

“what the hell, (y/n)!?”. biting back a laugh, you placed your hand on top of the one that rested on your tummy, fingers landing as best as they could. “surprise. i’m the wife”.

a proud smile tugged at your lips as you looked to the side, seeing the same smile on the face of your husband. “seriously, kiri, how the hell did you forget to mention you had a whole ass wife, and that wife was (y/n)”.

“don’t know dude, i guess i kinda forgot i was married to her. still doesn’t feel real”. looking at you he pecked the top of your head, squeezing your hand as you ran your thumb across the back of his hand.

“besides, we only wanted a quiet ceremony to start with, you’ll all be invited to the big celebration when we have one”.

truth be told, kirishima had forgotten he was married to you, he does for a brief moment each day. it still felt like a crazy dream that he’d wake up from any moment to find himself alone in bed, a bed that you shared with him.

whenever he looked at you, his mind went blank, it was easy for him to forget he was married to you. he’d even find himself fawning over you, wishing he was the lucky guy responsible for the rings on your finger and the smile you wore. that was until he looked down and saw the ring on his own finger, a ring you had custom-made for him to be able to wear regardless of whether his quirk was active or not.

at the end of the day, kirishima would always be that love-sick man who fell head over heels in love with you when you called into his office one day and was forever thankful he was the one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

he was married to you and no one else would ever get the chance to be called your husband, your other half but most importantly your best friend for life.

[mullermilkshake]

He still won't let you go.

Part 2 <- -> Part 3

Kento Nanami x Fem reader! Tags -DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT,Imprisonment,Held captive,Referenced domestic violence,Psychological abuse,Self preservation sex though non-con,Breeding,Trying for a baby,Gojo is just there,You don't trust anyone

“That is it.” Kento dragged you back up to his apartment kicking and screaming. 

You only just narrowly avoided your head on the door frame when he threw you inside the apartment. No one had even bothered to emerge from their apartments to even see what the commotion was about, not even the woman in six-o-two.

“I have had it with your attitude and it is now something I cannot stand. I thought we were making progress but you have left me with no choice.” He hadn’t wiped away the blood splatter from his face dripping down the back of his shirt covering it in red. 

“Just let me go. This is fucked, you need help. I have a life and you aren’t a part of it!” This all probably sounded like a domestic, no one came though, no one knocked to see if you needed help.

Silence. His back faced you, the door lock click was muffled. Kento didn’t move from that spot. You glanced around the room for anything to defend yourself with, broken shards of the lamp still as they were, close to cutting your knees.

Nothing. Nothing of substance that could get in some damage to slow that tank of a man down in order for you to get to the lobby and call the authorities. Though right now, his silent stance was even more frightening than if he was to shout in your face and throw you around or hold that knife to you.

You still couldn’t see his face and his body language didn’t give away anything for you to gauge what he was thinking. It made him all the more dangerous.

“I told you how I felt, so why can you not accept it? This is how it is now and you aren’t making anything easier by hurting me. That lamp…” He turned slowly and leant against the hallway wall by the picture frame. “It hurt me. And it might hurt you if you aren’t too careful, you'll cut your knees.”

A few steps and he was in front of you, crouched down. “This can be a good thing for the both of us, but it can get difficult if you continue to fight me every step of the way.”

If you pushed him now with every ounce of your might and strength, maybe, just maybe you could get to the door quick enough to unlock it and try again. Your throbbing scalp was a reminder of what would happen if you got caught again, he was on high alert enough as it was. 

It was indicative of the fact he took your wrists in either hand and squeezed a little, not enough to hurt, more of a warning. “Even now, you can’t even bear to look at me even after all I've done for you, all you think about is leaving me. I can give you everything, anything that most people would jump at the opportunity to have. A loving partner who worships the very ground they walk on. But you just turn your nose at it.” 

He’s going to snap at any moment, I just know it.  

You could see it, hands pulled away and his own wrapped around your throat until your legs stopped kicking, and those frantic arms would thrash and claw at his face until they went limp. No air left in those burning lungs until that shine left your eyes. 

He didn't. Kento placed your wrists in one hand and brought the other up to your face. “I told you I love you, Darling. Why is it so hard for you to understand that there is no one on this earth that will ever love you as much as I do? You make me a better person.”

If he was a better person with you present, you would really hate to see him without you. Like he was some axe wielding maniac who destroyed everything he touched and morphed into a deranged puppy dog whenever he saw you just to make you humanise him.

Yeah, that was utter bullshit.

“I’ll admit my mistakes and apologise for how aggressive I may have been out in the hallway. But had you not attacked me, maybe we could have talked about it like adults.”

Like adults. Speaking to you like a child and he lifted your chin to face him, like you wouldn’t speak unless spoken to. “Now, let’s finish this.”

“...Alright.” Some called it Stockholm syndrome or sympathising with your captor. 

You called it playing the long game, because as soon as he trusted you enough to leave the apartment, you were gone.

And you’d make sure this time he would never find you.

-----

“Can you pass the salt, Darling?”

Ten months. Fifteen days and nineteen hours.

Kento Nanami didn’t let you go.

You guess you were just desensitised, numb to this dire situation, trying your damnedest to play the part of loving partner until you were certain you could leave. Sometimes you actually started to believe it, a fleeting thought that you shook away to remind you of all the damage the bastard had done to you.

Anyone who knew you must have assumed you were dead.

“Here you go.”

You picked up the salt and handed from one end of the table and next to Kento who was to the left of you. It was hard not to struggle to push past the intrusive thoughts like overhanging branches, holding back the urge to launch it at his head, or shove it down his throat and laugh whilst his friend watched on in horror. 

Satoru Gojo started coming by the apartment for the last few months now, coming once or twice a week for dinner and talking of business and boring stuff you never took time to listen to. 

It was a test. A test to see whether you had learned your lesson or would jump at the opportunity to get away and tell Gojo everything. You didn’t dare make a move, but it wasn’t because you assumed Kento would catch you in the act of escape using a man you didn’t know. It was because you assumed Gojo was in on the whole thing and would sell you out.

He must have been. No one could have enough to talk about the same subject for two hours over dinner each time. And most of it, Gojo didn’t really acknowledge you. 

You kept quiet most of the time, it could be that. There was a fine line between overdoing it and appearing like you were there against your will and it took time, but you pretty much had it down by now.

Starting down at your plate, you forced yourself to eat something. Dinners like this never gave you an appetite, just sitting more or less in silence with Kento’s hand plastered on your thigh the entire time. 

Gojo put his cutlery down and turned his head towards you. This dinner was different. “So, enough boring stuff tonight, we're about to close this deal and I think the countless over time we’ve gotten has given us enough work talk. Let’s hear more about you, do you work?”

Like Kento would even allow that. He didn’t even let you speak when Gojo addressed you, in fact he placed his hand over your thigh. “She doesn’t. But we were thinking of starting a family soon, weren’t we, Darling?”

Hiding your spluttering in your glass was difficult, though Gojo didn’t seem to notice. Kento’s fingers dug in, squeezed just enough to give you a cue, just like all the other times you were expected to agree with him.

“Yeah…” What the fuck. “Soon.”

Gojo smiled, grinned more like. “Wow, that’s awesome. I never expected the two of you goin’ for that step just yet, you've been together, what, a year?”

“The time is right. You’ll know when your time is when you stop being a bachelor.” His response wasn’t a dig like it sounded. It was more just a defensive comment, a way to tell Gojo to back off without actually telling him.

Holding his hands up, Gojo chuckled. “Woah, there’s nothin’ wrong with not settling down. Why stay with one person? That calls for commitment.”

Kento got increasingly defensive and jealous if Gojo was even in close proximity to you. But now he was actually acknowledging you, it wasn’t clear how this was going to go. One thing you knew was true was that there wasn’t a chance in hell that you would ever have children with this maniac.

You were going to be out of this place before there was even a chance.

“When will you ever grow up?”

“Eh… Maybe in like twenty years and I go through my midlife crisis.” Gojo looked at you once more with a smile sweeter than honey. “Is he always this grumpy? Maybe you’re going through a midlife crisis already, Nanami.”

He was grumpy and far too serious. Knowing that was all on the surface and the chance that Gojo would not have encountered the side of Kento you saw every day twisted large knots and lumps in your stomach.

Again, Kento cut you off before you managed to get a word out. “I think it’s important to know what you want in life, cruising won’t get you anywhere.”

His hand moved and pulled the material of your dress up to expose the skin of your thigh, the pad of his thumb caressing there absentmindedly. So close, you could take the knife from the table and stab it straight through his hand, or his wrist enough to draw blood and distract him to get away.

But then how would you deal with Gojo?

“Goals are important.” You said, placing your cutlery down and being acutely aware of Gojo’s lingering stare.

Remain calm. Get involved. 

“They are.” Kento’s hand relaxed. “I also think that dessert is important too. I won’t be a moment.”

He cleared the table and took the plates away and all you wanted to do was breathe into a paper bag. Kento never got dessert.

You did.

“Hey.” Gojo's voice was only a whisper, waving his hand a little to get your attention. “Are you alright?” 

It was a test. This was a test to see if you really had accepted the life Kento gave you. You wanted to be honest and ask for his help though how could you? This life made you distrust anyone that came to you. The old woman in the lobby, a delivery guy who noticed you from the doorway in the corner of the living room, and everyone who didn’t try to find you.

“Yep.” Nodding helped convince yourself.

“He isn’t mistreating you, right?” Fuck it really was a trap.

“No. I love him.” You forced the bile in your throat to stay as it was.

He didn’t seem convinced and fiddled with his napkin, making a glance towards the kitchen every so often. “If you need anything. You can trust me.” 

Yeah right. You couldn’t trust him as far as you could throw him.

“I’m fine.”

You thought about that interaction the entire duration until Gojo was leaving. He made little discreet glances towards you as he ate his dessert, talking away and entertaining Kento like nothing had happened. Part of you wished you had told him the truth, taking a leap of faith just in case he was trusting, the other part criticised you for even thinking that. If Kento caught wind of it, you would have no luck getting out. 

Next time you left, Kento wouldn’t be so forgiving if he caught you.

“Gojo sure seemed friendly with you tonight.” The door hadn’t even fully closed after his friend left for the night. 

Fiddling with the little belt of your dress settled your nerves for just a second. “I think he was just being polite.”

Kento didn’t look at you right away, but turned and moved past you through the apartment. “Come to bed.”

The dishes were piled up in the sink, cleaning the dishes on your own was the only time you got to yourself really if Kento was in the apartment. “The dishes-”

“I said come to bed.”

Like a mouse you were, trudging behind him and following to the bedroom. Perhaps that cable hanging out the outlet was enough to hook over his head and choke him to the point of passing out? It would take a while and you were hardly in shape to even try and take him on, but you were getting desperate.

Kento got on the bed and leant his back against the headboard, he tapped his lap and invited you over. Maybe I could try something like how I used the lamp again?  

Fat chance. That day, the one you almost escaped, he took every lamp, picture frame and heavy ornament that wasn’t nailed down and threw it all out. Like you had stated before, he was an intelligent man and learned incredibly fast, so fast you couldn’t keep up.

He seemed to enjoy it when you straddled him and sat there over his legs so he could see you, study you like a portrait in an art gallery. Sometimes he would sit and look at you for what seemed a lifetime while you twiddled your fingers and looked anywhere but his direction.

He might have been thinking of all the ways he loved you. You only thought about ways you’d hurt him, end him for good so he could only plague your nightmares.

Kento was studying you right now with his hand on your thigh just like before. “Maybe we should start a family right now. I don’t think we should wait-”

“N-no.” Your facade slipped for a second and his expression changed. Angry. “I mean… we’re in a one bedroom apartment.”

It took you off guard completely, never anticipating that it could be a sentence slipping his lips tonight. He really was deranged and how he never saw that you were less than honest with your responses eluded you.

“And?” He spoke so sure like it was already decided. 

Quick, think of anything and don’t fuck it up.  

“There’s no room for a baby, we should look for somewhere with an extra room, right?” You couldn’t have a child with this man, even if you got away, he would be tied to you for years. 

“You do want a child with me, don’t you?” Would he now see through your lie enough to undo all of the trust you had built with him?

“Yes. I do, yes. But everything has to be right, we need more room.”

He nodded, it worked? Holy fuck . “Let’s try anyway, it could take a while and we have plenty of time to find a house or bigger apartment, I could buy it outright, actually.”

Wait, what? There was nothing you could say, nothing that could diffuse it without getting him getting suspicious of your loyalty to him. You already sensed his hands moving your dress and there was already his growing hardness between your legs.

“You agree, finally. I’ve wanted to bring this up for a while but I was sure you’d say no. You really have settled in, haven’t you?”

So you gained his trust enough and he believed your lies, but at what cost? This wasn’t a win at all, another dead end that you couldn’t dig yourself out of without undoing all the hard work you did.

Change of plans, there wasn’t time anymore to plan and wait, you’d need to find an opening soon to get out for good before this shit show went any further. 

Kento pulled at your dress and got it over your head to which you weren’t wearing anything underneath. So naturally, you pulled your arms back to cover yourself. He held them fast, gripping at the wrists, not entirely hard enough to hurt, but it stung all the same. 

“You’re beautiful, Darling. Don’t hide yourself.”

Holding your arms he pulled you close and sucked your nipple, licking in ways that should have felt good, but being desensitised and numb took that all away from you. You remembered to make some noises and avoided overdoing it, no one that hated someone's guts would get that much enjoyment.

“Good girl.”

You played the part and moved your hips over his cock and it garnered a rough inhale from him. Full on ass rubbing him slowly, sensually like you actually cared about him. Since your first time despite his big talk before that, Kento had always gone slow as though he was afraid to break you like you were made of glass.

Something changed enough to throw you off guard, an almost animalistic nature that Kento had not displayed in the bedroom before. He was rough and firm, almost rushing to pull his belt loose and get the zip down to pull his hardened erection out.

“Let’s start the rest of our lives together… and then I’ll know.” He spat on his hand and rubbed the length of his cock.

“Know what- fuck” He pressed himself inside you, slowly at first so you could adjust. It still stung.

“Then I’ll know you haven’t been lying to me this whole time.” This was the test? There was no way you could back out now.

And it went on like that, most nights. Kento fucking you senseless until he was satisfied, filling you up a few times with the stamina of a horse. If you were lucky, you’d finish quickly enough to get it all out of the way to finish the night, but even then he didn’t leave you alone, he cuddled you until he fell asleep.

You often stayed up thinking about ways to get out, to hurt him just like you always did one thousand times in the day, and you didn’t dare to move a muscle because it would wake him up.

It always woke him up.

Maybe you’d get lucky and he’d die in his sleep. If only.

Weeks went past and finally you managed Kento to allow you out to look for somewhere bigger to live. Instead of trying to stop it, you figured if you appeared eager, there might have been some leeway. And you were right on the money.

The first time you left the apartment in months, almost a year and Kento was still sceptical. You noticed a mile away so many gaps to leave the first time, fighting the urge to take the bait, a wide open door or Kento would simply leave the room.

So fucking hard not to scream at the realtor that you were kidnapped and this horrifying man who claimed to be your husband was mad, insane and deranged with his fucked up ideals on love.

But you didn’t. You bided your time, though anxious due to the time limit you had. It was agony until one day you had your chance. An apartment on the main street of the city you pushed for, claiming it was ideal and close to schools for this imaginary baby. You wanted to vomit.

Kento was distracted. In the next room talking away to the realtor, but on this day, there was another one. A team of two because the other couple coming to view the apartment didn’t show.

“The open planned kitchen is very in right now.” They waffled on and all you could do was dart your eyes back and forth to the other room, the pit of your stomach flipping with growing adrenaline.

With your heart thumping in your throat, it was time. “If you don’t mind, I left something in the car, I’m going to head down quickly. If my husband asks where I am, just tell him I won’t be long.”

She nodded and continued her walk around the kitchen with a clipboard behind her back in her hands. You practically ran to the door and opened it faster than you should have, but took a moment to leave it ajar without a noise.

 One step, two steps, then you ran, sprinting down the hall to the elevator with an overwhelming sense of Déjà vu only this time the elevator doors opened immediately. You back hit the wall flush and whilst the doors closed, your eyes trained on that apartment door.

He’s coming out, he will and he’ll lock me up. He’s going to know. 

He didn’t emerge, there was no movement at all by that door, not even a dramatic scene where the last thing you saw was him running towards you. Nothing. You wanted to breathe a sigh of relief but you just couldn’t.

Kento Nanami was an intelligent man and he would figure it out eventually. If not already.

You weren’t sure where you would go with no money or phone, but anywhere was better than here. The elevator doors opened and you held a breath just waiting for him to be there and he wasn’t. 

Run. Fucking run. 

Out of the lobby and into the apartment complex car park, past Kento’s car and out back into the world. The plan. That was the plan. You made sure to look behind you every so often, you would see him before he saw you and then you could hide.

“Woah, easy there.” You weren’t looking and bumped into someone.

“G-gojo…” Another fucking test. It was a test, a stupid test.

Another fucking test! You were right not to trust Gojo. Before you could pull away he took you by the shoulders. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“What are you doing here; let me go I need to leave-”

“What happened?” His voice dropped, more commanding than you had ever heard.

“No let me go- let me go I can’t go back there; please don’t do this! What are you even doing here; he told you to come didn’t he?!” He was built like a bulldozer, no matter how much you fought he didn’t move.

“Woah, woah listen to me. He asked me here because we were going out for dinner after.” It didn’t calm you, but you listened. Stupidly. “What happened- I was right… wasn’t I?”

He had a look of concern, not something like he was in on it, but that still didn’t mean you were going to trust him. “He took me, he took me away from everyone. I'm not his girlfriend and I just want to get home. He’s crazy!”

“Shh. Stop shouting or you’ll draw attention.” And under his breath he muttered. “I fucking knew something was up with him… Not again.” 

Not… again? Who else had he done this to?

“Here, take my keys and get in the car. Lock the doors. I’ll sort this out.” As stated he handed you the keys and made his way towards the apartment complex without another word.

You contemplated running, taking his keys so he couldn’t follow you. Deciding against that, you climbed in the car and locked the doors, Kento certainly wouldn’t be able to get to you now and Gojo was without a car.

The downside was you couldn’t drive. And stealing a car would land you in jail… Jail was an option, Kento certainly couldn’t get you there. You shoved the car keys in your hand and let the keys poke out between your fingers while they shook in anticipation.

Gojo being on your side didn’t sit right.

Kento will come out at any moment. Gojo will be too with a smile on his face because it's all a ruse, a joke. They’ll take me back to that stupid apartment and never let me out. 

But that didn’t happen either, Kento hadn’t even come out of the complex after Gojo went in. In fact the only thing that changed in that parking lot in what was a lifetime to you was blue flashing lights.

A knock on the glass that made you yelp.

“Can you open up?” Gojo, looking worse for wear and a bloodied lip.

You didn’t want to, you didn’t. “No… no because you’ll send me back I know it!”

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. Look…” You followed his hand, pointing away from him. "He can't hurt you anymore; he can't hurt anyone."

Kento came out, in handcuffs. Escorted by three police officers.

“Just… open the door, alright? The police, they’ll want a statement.” 

Nothing could happen if the police were just there and Gojo did look concerned. They must have fought up there in the apartment, and the realtors probably witnessed everything.

Were you safe now? You opened the door and Gojo held out a hand to help you up and you took it. Kento didn’t notice you, his head was down and he, from what you could see, looked even worse than Gojo.

“I won’t hurt you. Please don’t think I’m not on your side.”

So that was it? It was all over just like that and it didn’t seem like the win you thought it was. You weren’t going to be free of him completely, not for a while although Kento couldn’t be anywhere near you in a locked up cell.

That was good enough for now.

Kento Nanami couldn’t keep you anymore. But he'd still always be sitting in the back of your mind.

He was a demon in living form.

Tag - @yourhornysister

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[fearlesschimera]

Friend, I made it!!!! 😂 I'm finally pain-free, so I can write without being interrupted by anything or anyone! ♥️

Let's start with the first part! The opening scene was A.M.A.Z.I.N.G. It gave me all the John Wick vibes (I don’t know if you’ve ever watched the franchise, but John is Roman, Roman is John ♥️). Dwayne deserves all the flowers for his entrance, and the same goes for Jacob, who was more than effective! I know Roman still doesn’t fully trust him, but I think he will be a valuable asset ♥️.The part I loved the most was Matteo’s ambush on Luca— that surprise effect was so well executed!!!

And now, the sad notes: Jimmy 💔 I have to say, friend, I have never been more conflicted in my life. Jimmy has his rights and wrongs, and the same goes for Roman. At some points, I wanted to scream at Roman, demanding some kind of mercy, but then, once he touched on certain points, I couldn’t say he was wrong. Same thing for Jimmy. Jimmy lost so much as well! He lost Roman, his father, his brother, and his twin, too, and he’s the one I blame the least out of everyone. Yes, he knew something wasn’t right, yes, he said nothing, but at the same time, he wasn’t involved, and the same goes for Naomi. I appreciated that Roman decided not to tell the whole truth about Rikishi, but if they ever manage to fix this mess in the future, I think he should know—because, even if it’s painful, he needs to understand what kind of person his father truly was. Maybe I’m too soft, but if I were Roman, I don’t know if I’d have the strength to keep Jimmy distant, not forever. Roman is conflicted, which is why I can’t and won’t lose hope 🥺🥺

Standing ovation for the suffering you put Paul and Seth through, friend 😂 It’s hard to say who deserved it more, but personally, I think Paul is a cut above—he was so fake and slimy, the personification of a snake! This sentence was a plus : “So much for that spoiler.” I screamed 😂

Sad notes, part 2: Jey 😭😭😭 A part of me just wanted to slap him hard in the face, and that part wanted to applaud Roman for the physical pain he put him through, but the other part of me, friend… that part cried like a baby! He’s so guilty and naive at the same time. His pride, jealousy, and stubbornness? A lethal mix. If redemption is possible for Jimmy, it’s very different for Jey. He is to blame for his decisions, and sadly, he is to blame for his wife’s death as well—because all of this pain could have been avoided. Now, he will pay the biggest price, and his kids will, too. Solana, being the wonderful woman and human being that she is, obviously asked Roman to spare him, and I couldn’t agree more. I know Roman is moved by anger, betrayal and a broken heart and I’m sure his instinct is to kill him, but I’m not fully sure he would actually do it, even if Solana hadn’t asked. I know forgiveness is off the table (?), but I think Solana’s request was more for Roman’s mental well-being than anything else. Because I think Roman has a soft spot for Jey—despite the conflicts of the past, maybe he is more similar to Roman than he likes to admit. Jey broke a code, broke so many hearts, made mistake after mistake, but… it’s Jey, and it’s not easy… damn it! 😂😭

Friend, the problem is that I need to hug this man 😭😭😭The image of him being home, alone, missing Solana… AND DULCE! 😭😭😭 Roman loves that cutie pie of a dog so much 🥺🥺🥺 And I was so happy he decided to talk with Lita. I was scared that this distance from Solana, combined with this giant trail of blood, would shut him off again, but his progress isn’t completely gone 🥺🥺He misses his wife, and he needs to figure out what to do with Matteo! I’m glad he finally decided to truly acknowledge his presence in his life and the fact that he knows, deep down, that he can trust him ♥️. That man left his wife and kids, too, in order to help and protect his fratello ♥️ (I love seeing some Italian words here and there, friend 😍🥺😂).

I know you’re not going to say anything 😂 but I swear, if that “you know what” is what I think it is—something I requested a while ago… let’s just say I already know I’m going to get complaints from my neighbours for how loud I’ll scream 😍😍♥️♥️😂Roman is surrounded by love. The betrayal was huge, but so is the love he is surrounded by. Life is slowly giving him back everything he lost, and it’s so beautiful ♥️Some voids are impossible to fill, but this is definitely an upgrade ♥️

Now, the end… FRIEND, THEIR MOTHER IS ALIVE???? 😱😱😱 I’m speechless, I’m in shock! What the hell has she been doing all this time? Why did she abandon her sons? We already know she never really wanted, loved, or even liked Roman, but still… WHAT’S GOING ON??? 😱😱😱

Side note: amazing job with the face claim, friend 😍. I’m not the biggest Monica Bellucci fan… that's why she’s perfect for this role 😂😂 However, I do love Harrison Ford 😍

I already know this last chapter is going to be SOMETHING! I loved that this one focused on Roman and his state of mind, so I can already tell it’s going to be even worse reading about Solana—because she has a different kind of approach. She feels everything, she’s a woman, she’s pregnant… a very bad combo 😂🥺😭.

Friend, you are something special. You did wonderfully as always, and I can’t express how fortunate I feel to be a small part of this journey that you decided to share with all of us! ♥️♥️♥️

looking through your eyes + thirty eight | part one

authors note: see at end of chapter.

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

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

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

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 12k

"We need Tribal Combat!"

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

"We need to follow the order of command!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman is dead.

Solo is dead.

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

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

A mess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two, the identify of said attendee has him pissed.

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

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

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

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

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

Dwayne shrugs. "Around."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except for Dwayne.

He just keeps smiling.

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

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

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

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

Again, everyone except Dwayne.

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

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

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

Punishment.

He's punishing them.

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

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

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

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

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

The faintest hint of a smirk on his face.

Good.

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

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

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

Fear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That I'm coming."

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

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

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

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

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

Blood.

Roman is out for blood.

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

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

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

The only Tribal Chief.

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

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

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

Can trust anyone, really.

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

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

Right where she belongs.

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

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

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

"Roman." He all but whispers.

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

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

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

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

Luca glares. "Just what—"

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

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

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

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

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

Roman smirks.

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

Gunshots. It's the sound of gunshots.

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

Roman says nothing.

It makes no difference.

None whatsoever.

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

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

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

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

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

Matteo

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

Roman smirks.

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

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

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

"It's done."

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

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

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

It can wait.

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

The OTC is coming.

---------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence

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

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

"I know that, Uce—"

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

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

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

"I told you, I didn't realize—"

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

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

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

"Uce, we can figure this out—"

Roman briefly turns to him. "Can we?"

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

Left him essentially alone.

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

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

Because Roman doesn't hate him.

Doesn't hate him at all.

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

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

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

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

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

"Roman—"

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

"You can't—"

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

All he can do.

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

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

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

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

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

An outsider among his own blood.

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

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

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

He needs Solana.

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

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

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

Problem is he doesn't want to.

Not right now.

Not for a while, most likely.

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

Right?

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

His eyes shut.

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

Jey.

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

Roman swallows once more.

And, he walks out the door.

-----------

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

Murder.

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

Two, precisely.

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

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

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

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

Roman swallows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know that hurt."

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

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

Severe…

Nothing will ever be severe enough for them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They're getting exactly what they deserve.

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

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

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

Especially for the grand finale.

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

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

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

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

An accelerant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gratifying, indeed.

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

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

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

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

Arguably, one of the hardest he has to complete.

----------

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

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

Not really.

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

Thus….his need for a contingency plan.

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

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

Considered family.

Considered to be a brother.

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

The times Roman looked out for Jey.

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

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

And seeing it, seeing Jey be upset with him?

It pisses Roman the fuck off.

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

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

"Roman…"

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

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

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

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

Including the one underneath him.

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

It's all he sees.

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

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

That Bloodline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's cost him dearly.

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

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

Bullshit.

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

Especially after what's happened.

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

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

Roman closes his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing else.

Literally nothing else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not now.

Not ever.

Roman meant what he said.

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

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

Because he is to Roman.

---------

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

No one enters, and no one leaves.

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

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

And bloody, it most certainly is.

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

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

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

Neither of those groups are included in his hit list.

Everyone else though…..tough.

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

Things he'd gotten used to.

Things he misses.

He misses a lot.

He misses her.

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

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

Important to him.

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

But….but, her safety comes first.

Their safety comes first.

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

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

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

And then the rages builds up all over again.

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

Too difficult.

But, necessary.

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

"She's not dead."

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, the woman before him is his best bet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sure," Lita murmurs.

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

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

"No," he interrupts, voice gruff. "We're no contact to ensure her location can't be tracked."

"I see." She's quiet for a few minutes, eventually and gingerly approaching all of the other shit Roman now has added to his collection of baggage. "I've also heard that….that you were betrayed from the inside. That it was….some of your family members."

"They were never my fucking family," he growls. Roman has shifted from that place of vulnerability to that stainless steel wall of defense. "And don't fucking call them that."

"My apologies." She nods, recognizing that the extent of his regression might be more than she realized. Understandable though. Completely understandable. "Can I ask you something?"

His hesitation is noticeable. "What?"

"With Solana gone for the time being, who do you have?"

It's a delayed response. The question requires contemplation.

"My cousins, Dwayne and Ava," he finally answers, and for the first time, in a long time, Roman allows himself to be honest about the very thing he's avoided for years. Tried to pretend wasn't a thing. But, it is. And, it's been more than proven in the past few weeks. "And Matteo….my brother."

This time, Lita expertly shields her surprise at yet another shocking confession. "Your brother?" He says nothing. Expected. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had a sibling still living."

Tense and partially uncomfortable, Roman nods. "It's….complicated."

"I bet," she murmurs. "Do you…do you want to talk about it?"

No. He doesn't want to talk about anything. What Roman wants to do is be with his pregnant wife. He wants to not have to deal with any of this shit. Wishes it never fucking happened in the first place, but it did, and now he's here trying to use a dollar store mop for a rainfall of issues.

But….

But, in this midst of this storm of epic proportions, there have been some glimpses of….something.

Like the fact that Roman can't and won't continue to deny something he's spent his whole life avoiding. Trying to avoid.

That he has a brother.

That despite all off the bitter feelings of resentment and jealousy toward the man that got the same short end of the stick that he did, Matteo has more than proven himself to be someone Roman can….can trust.

Such a difficult, virtually impossible thing considering what happened, the depth of the betrayal, but the truth of the matter is that Matteo and so many others showed up when Roman needed help the most.

Needed his brother.

It's why he's decided to stop denying the truth and maybe, just maybe, himself.

Roman shifts in his seat. "I've…I've realized that….I should…probably try to form some kind of relationship with him." Because, it's time. "It's what Solana thinks I should do, and….one of my aunt's dying wish that I….make things right with him."

"Sure." A pause. "But, what about you, Roman? What do you want?"

A lot of things. The biggest thing? His wife back home with him, so he could have her by his side as he works through all this shit. But, that's not an option. It's not an option, and he has to learn how to be without her for the time being.

Has to learn how to navigate the waters closest to him.

No matter how much he hates it.

"I—I—" He also hates this fucking stuttering and stammering. It's so unlike him. "I don't know how….how to go about that."

An almost embarrassing admission but a truth, nonetheless. Solana is good with these sorts of things. Not him.

Lita keeps a contained smile. Regression has certainly occurred but not, perhaps, as much as she initially believed. There's something there she intends to grab and hone in on as much as she can while still acknowledging his already complex treatment plan just got significantly more complicated.

"Well….." She starts, standing up and walking over to grab the infamous box of Giant Uno off her bookshelf. "Murder and mayhem, I don't know, but that…." Trailing off, she takes a seat, offering another small, patient smile. One step at a time. "—That I can certainly help you with."

----------

"Ya know," Ava starts, lifting her beer from her mouth after taking and swallowing a decent ass amount. "I'm a little offended none of you fuckers have invited me along for the kill tour."

Dwayne chuckles, the beer in his hand looking significantly smaller than it actually is due to his big ass overall size. "Didn't realize that was your thing, cuz."

"Psshhh." She makes a sound, leaning back in the chair, lifting her middle finger to the sky. "They came after our family. Of course, I want my pound of flesh."

Matteo's smile is small as he traces the mouth of his bottle. "Well, there still remains a few outliers we haven't caught."

Being reminded of that makes Roman scowl as he tightly squeezes the bottle in his hand.

Despite his shutting down the city, a few bitches were perhaps smart enough to get the hell out of dodge when they realized Solo was also dead. When they realized that while Roman had been "eliminated," not having the protection of the men who led the charge meant their fates were left up in the air.

So, they ran.

Not that it's made a difference. Roman has accompanied Dwayne on various trips to other states where the Bloodline has locations, where tips from traitors who were dumb enough to stick around and ended up singing like canaries from a little bit of torture. Or, if Roman doesn't accompany Dwayne for said trips, Matteo does.

They're smart enough to know it's not wise for all three to leave the city at once. Not when they're working to restore order and balance.

A process that's…..going, which is good, but it's still going, which is the problem.

It's been two weeks, and they're still not there. At that point where Roman can bring his wife home, and that….that's been rough, to say the least.

It helps to have the people around him, but even them combined together don't equate even half of the comfort and relief his wife provides him.

"Good," Ava replies, smiling craftily. "Save some for me, then." She then gasps, looking around the room. "Has big ears told you what we came up with for you know what?"

At that, Roman rolls his eyes, but he can't ignore the skip and leap of hope that dances within at the shift in topic and conversation.

"Hopefully, you did most of the thinking, cause Lord knows this man ain't got a romantic bone in his body," Dwayne scoffs, gesturing to Roman who only scowls in response.

"I'd argue there's maybe one there." Matteo shrugs. "Or, half of one."

Ava snorts. "More like a quarter." Roman flips her off, something she entirely ignores. "Anyway, so here's what we came up with…."

As Ava moves into specifics, excitement painting her face and accompanying her hand gestures as she almost illustrates what they, what Roman primarily, intends to do for his wife upon her return. A plan months in the making, marked and interrupted by several setbacks but something he's ultimately decided to follow through with.

Roman tunes them out to a certain extent, focused less on the conversation at hand and more the people.

In under a year, his life has taken such a turn. Many unexpected turns. He's gained and lost, lost and gained, gained some more, lost some more, and started all over. Overwhelming in a lot of regards, especially considering the latest chapter has easily been the most traumatic.

But, there's also something else he can't deny. Something he's been working on in therapy with Lita, that he'd love to be able to talk with Solana about, but something he can't really deny, nonetheless. Even if he wanted to.

He's gained such a loyal, strong inner circle. People who, if he continues upon the path of honesty, have always been there for him. It's just been him, Roman, who's kept that wall up.

The wall that, according to Lita, kept the "bad" people out but also kept the "good" people from getting in.

She wasn't wrong.

Roman has spent so many years pushing people away, only letting a select few close to him, and while a few of those select few have caused him an insurmountable of pain, hurt and trauma, there still remains the fact that he still has people he can trust.

He still has family.

Even more, Solana's several statements regarding as such return to the forefront of his mind.

"The girls deserve to have a big family who love and support them, Ro."

Solana was also right.

His family might look slightly different now, but they're still family.

"I—" He cuts in, interrupting the conversation among the three regarding that. Equally important but not as germane as what he wants to say. Needs to say, really. "I want to thank all of you."

"Hell hath fucking frozen over." Ava scoffs. "Did you just…..thank someone?" She smirks, crossing her arms, head tilted. "I didn't think you were capable of that shit. Not unless it's Solana."

Roman scowls, but he doesn't disagree. "Are you done?" She rolls her eyes and lifts her hands in a defensive manner, signifying her silence. Roman shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the three sets of eyes on him. "I know I….I'm not the fucking best with this shit, but I….I do appreciate the three of you. What you've done…..for me." He primarily looks between Dwayne and Matteo. "Especially you two….you saved my life." He swallowed. "I don't….I don't take that lightly."

"You better fucking not," Dwayne shakes his head, sipping some of his beer. "I don't risk my life for just anyone."

"And, you're not just anyone, Roman," Matteo adds, his tone more on the serious side. Sincere. "You're family."

"We're family," Ava corrects, looking among the men. "A dysfunctional ass family of killers and shit ton of trauma but family nonetheless."

Roman chuckles. "Yeah…." He clears his throat, carefully trying to balance vulnerability with some element of business. "Matteo…." His brother looks his way, eyebrow raised. "You said you trust Vinci, right?"

Vinci. The man who assisted Matteo in making his way back to Italy without the Administration finding out, allowing him the element of surprise needed to carry out his hits. A man who, according to Matteo, has worked hard for and with him for over a decade.

He offers no hesitation, just a nod of confirmation. "With my life." Skepticism is raised. "Why?"

A bit of a delayed response, because that damn trust thing. Roman isn't sure how he's supposed to trust anyone outside of the group of people who helped him ever again, and while this Vinci fucker isn't anyone he knows, Matteo does. Matteo is vouching for him, so that has to be enough.

For now.

"We'll need someone we know we can trust to handle business over there." At that, he and Dwayne share questioning expressions. "Because I need you two stateside with me."

Matteo is the first to respond, that skepticism still looming. "Yeah?"

Roman rolls his neck, explaining. "I….I need people around me I know I can trust." A survey of the gatherers. "And outside of Solana, I don't know anyone I trust more than the people in this room."

Ava sits forward, seeing her cousin's gaze on her. "Wait…." She lowers her beer, small smile growing on her face. "You're inviting me into your inner circle?"

Roman nods. "You may be a pain in the fucking ass majority of the time, but you're smart. Loyal. I know I can trust you, and I know you'd be a valuable asset."

"Hell yeah, I would." She agrees. "Some estrogen to tamper down all that testosterone would probably do you all some good."

Roman doesn't entirely disagree. He just continues to share the tentative plans he's been mentally mulling over since returning home. "I'm also….I'm considering including Escobar."

"Escobar?" Dwayne's look of skepticism sure. "Brotha, you sure you didn't hit that big ass head of yours at some point?" A sarcastic question, of course, but there's also a hint of truth. "You hate Escobar."

"Dumbo hates everyone. What else is new?"

Roman ignores Ava. Her being on his council will be….an adjustment, for sure. "I did, or I do, but….I can't deny what he did, and Lopez wants him to be the liaison between us and the Cartel, so it only makes sense to include him. In some things. Not all."

"Isn't he technically your in-law as well?"

"Don't remind me," Roman mutters, trying to wipe his brother's valid but irritating reminder from his mind.

"I hate to break it to you, Roman, but it seems Solana's maternal side of the family is….large." Matteo's comment doesn't help, but it's not meant to. Meant to remind The Tribal Chief that his future is most likely filled with forced interactions with….people. "It might benefit you to get used to….large family functions."

"Make sure that Stephanie girl is there."

Matteo frowns. "Did she not tell you, not so eloquently, might I add, to fuck off?"

"Sure did." Dwayne answers. Proudly, almost. "I'll wear her down."

"Oh my God." Ava rolls her eyes, standing up and heading to the kitchen. "I need another beer."

"I'll join you," Dwayne announces.

"Please don't," she objects. Not that it makes a difference as he says something about warming up a slice of pizza.

Their departure leaves Roman and Matteo alone. A blanket of silence befalls them. One that has Roman moving around in his seat, eager to down the rest of his beer. In the madness and chaos that's thrived and consumed his life in the wake of fixing everything, this evening of just….calm, of normalcy, is appreciated.

Needed, even.

"So…." Matteo starts, placing his beer down on the coffee table. "Your inner circle…"

The younger man nods, stroking his beard. "Well, there are openings now."

While Roman is dead serious, Matteo laughs quietly, shaking his head. "I bet there are."

For the Elder council as well, but that's also being taken care of. Another task Roman is overseeing with the help of his cousin and the man before him.

"Thank you, Roman." Matteo's voice has shifted to a serious, solemn tone. "I don't take the honor lightly. Especially after what's happened…."

Roman says nothing initially. Just nods as something unfamiliar and indescribable fills him. Emotion, maybe? Some form of it, perhaps. He just knows it's partially settled by the conversation he had with Lita about this.

One step at a time.

"You've earned it." Is the response he settles on. The latter portion of his response a bit difficult for him to share but a truth, nonetheless. "Besides, it might be kind of hard for us to work on this….brother shit, if you're on the other side of the world."

While it's not the first time Roman has referred to Matteo as his brother, it's certainly the first time he's verbalized it in an accepting manner.

Especially in front of Matteo whose small smile can only be described as one of relief.

And joy.

Happiness.

"I suppose you're right, fratello," he hums. "I suppose you're right…"

Fratello

Brother.

And for the first time, Matteo's use of the word doesn't anger Roman. Doesn't pick at a long-term, never healing, always open, fresh would.

It feels relieving.

Healing.

---------

Despite an evening of relaxation and camaraderie, the next day brings about more work. More shit to work through.

"So…." Matteo starts as the two walk into Bloodline Headquarters, Dwayne planning to meet them later in the day, tasked with carrying out a side quest for Roman. "Who are we killing today, fratellino?"

Little brother.

Again, no irritation. No vexation. Just….the calm.

"Depends on who pisses me the fuck off," Roman mutters, and the two brothers share a small laugh and chuckle that's almost instantly washed away from both the minute they walk into Roman's office to see someone already waiting, sitting in Roman's seat.

Roman's fist forms at his side. Alicia's days are fucking numbered.

"You got a minute to tell me who the fuck you are, and maybe I won't blow your brains out just yet."

The man smiles. Older. Very old. His face reveals that he's seen decades of this world past him by, his eyes filled with countless stories of mischief and mayhem. A smirk on his face accompanies him standing, revealing a height rivaling Roman and Matteo's. He comes to stand in front of Roman's desk, leaning back with his arms crossed over his slim build.

"Well, I'll be damned." His voice is thickly accented. Familiar. Italian. "Can't say I ever saw this shit coming."

Roman is ready to kill the old man and be done with it, but Matteo grabbing his arms stops him from adding to his never-ending kill count. Roman looks over to see Matteo's head turned slightly, studying, observing, but something else. Something unfamiliar. Alarmed. He looks alarmed.

Roman frowns. "What?"

But, Matteo says nothing. Not to his brother, at least.

"Nonno?"

And, at that, Roman's gaze shifts back and forth, quickly, between the two men.

His chest tightens, asking again, but for a completely different reason. "What?"

Gaze on the old man, Roman sees how he simply raises his chin, offering a nonverbal response. And confirmation.

Only then does Roman see it. The slight but now visible similarities between not only Matteo and this man, but himself and the man.

In all of them.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Matteo speaks in Italian, his voice even, the former shock and confusion easing into a coldness that Roman often feels and see in himself.

"Well." The older man makes a sound, rolling his shoulders, face turned up in a brief grimace. "Given all that's happened the past few weeks, we realized it was time—"

"We?" Roman cuts in. It's the first thing he's said to the man he now recognizes the same way Matteo does.

His nonno.

Their grandfather.

This is their maternal grandfather.

"Hi, boys..."

Another voice speaks, but this time, this time there is no word to describe just what courses through either of the brothers as they turn around in almost perfect synchronization. Initially guarded and partially alarmed, that's punted away the minute their sight confirms what the auditory already knew.

Roman doesn't get disturbed often. If ever. It's not in his character. Matteo's neither.

But, it's a miracle that neither man stumbles back at the sight before them.

She stands in the doorway, an expensive, beautiful, intricately designed scarf over her head, tied under her chin. A wrap that slender fingers with disfigured looking skin slowly moves to undo, allowing it to crumple in her hands. She swallows, the lines on her face prominent as she frowns, her familiar light brown eyes bouncing between the two stunned men.

The weight on Roman's chest has grown to an unbearable amount, so much so that it prevents him from speaking. From thinking. From breathing, it feels like.

No, Matteo is the one that finds the wherewithal to speak the word Roman can't find in him to verbalize.

"Mom?"

------

welp. do ya'll agree with roman's decisions regarding jey and jimmy?

also, yes.....matteo and roman's mother is still alive.

reminder: next chapter is the last one.

[xmads-omensx]

I got this idea from the recent post BO posted. Can you do a little something about sitting in Noahs lap while in the studio with everyone? It just won’t leave my head🤭

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Reader

CW: none, pure fluff

Tags: @shayeanna-ashlie @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @supersquirrel1996 @dontwantthemoney @tosoundlessdarkistare @bloody-spades @klutzy-kay24 @heyyoplayer @lacy1986 @collidewiththesav @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @chey-h @thisbicc @fadingangelwisp @dsireland86 @missduffsblog @overmydeadbodysblog @dominuslunae @littlebear423 @blade-dressed-in-red @rumoured-whispers @eclipseeetop @xxkittenkissesxx @theanarchymuse95 @blackveilomens @lilgarbitch @lil-garbitch @concretejunglefm @museonfilm @death-ofpeace-ofmind  @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @kissestomyomens @flowery-mess @athenexe

You and Noah had only been together around eight months when he left for tour in Australia, and he felt awful about leaving you for so long (even though it wasn't a sure long tour, he still felt bad).

When he returned from tour, he vowed to spend however long he was on tour with you once he returned.

However, after about a week of his undivided attention, Matt called him and said that he was urgently needed in the studio, so he tears himself away from you to go, but he hesitates when he gets to the door.

"Come with me." He says suddenly.

"Noah I can't you have to work." You replied sadly, but knowing that was the right response.

"Please." And just like that, he activated those god forsaken puddy-dog eyes that get you every damn time.

"Fuck." You sighed, that's when Noah knew he got you, so he simply took your hand in his and led you to his car.

The drive was quiet and calm, his hand intwined with yours the whole way there.

From the moment you arrived, you were pulled into his lap and tucked up under his chin where you fit perfectly.

The guys paid no mind to your presence once you had greeted each other.

But they did ask you for your opinion on different parts that they were working on since you listened to their music and often saw things that fans wanted to see in their new upcoming music, even though they often ignored this and stuck to what they wanted to do instead.

Since Noah worked hard in the studio, he was often there until late, so that meant you would be too.

He ordered your favourite food for dinner, which he had memorised on your very first date, and even treated you to a desert.

As the hours passed, you began to feel your eyes grow heavier and heavier until you could barely keep them open anymore.

You fell asleep with the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat echoing in your ears, like he was your own personal white noise machine.

You thought the same about his snoring when you stayed at each other's places.

The moment he noticed that you had fallen asleep, he signalled the guys to whisper, and that's how they finished the studio session that night.

They spoke in whispers until they were happy with their progress for the day and Noah carried you to his car, and then up to bed once you returned back to his place.

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch15

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

Before Jungkook enlists in the military, his life takes an unexpected turn when he visits a local restaurant with friends and meets a waitress who doesn’t recognize him. Surprised by your lack of star-struck reaction, Jungkook finds himself drawn to your down-to-earth nature, especially his previous struggles with the pressure of constant drama on social media regarding his relationships. Little do you know, Jungkook is about to leave for the military, which inevitably bring’s complications to their connection… do they find a way to fix it?

warnings: profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity,

chap contents: its fluffy at the start, jk tries to tell oc but it doesnt work out, ur so oblivious, kissies nd hugs, dinner w the parents (whoopsie) oc finds out FINALLY in the WORST way possible.

wc: not that long

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610

a/n: the chapter weve all been dreading is here </3, but anyways, how do u guys think it went? was it unexpected?? the next chapter will be way more angsty but i had to leave it onn a cliffhanger LOL. IM EXCITED TO PROGRESS BROOO IMMA START WRITING CH16LIKE RN. as always Ty for reading my loveliesssss

masterlist, <prev | next>

The first thing Jungkook registers is warmth. Your warmth. The way you’re curled into him, breathing soft and steady, completely unaware of the weight pressing down on his chest.

He should get up.

That’s what he always does—slips out of bed before you wake, padding quietly to the kitchen to make breakfast. He loves seeing your half-asleep, delighted expression when you find food waiting for you. Loves the way you blink at him in surprise, like you still can’t believe he’s there.

But today… he doesn’t want to. Today, he wants to pretend. Just for a little while.

Before he inevitably has to wipe that smile off your face and tell you.

Before it’s the last time doing this with you.

Jungkook watches you, the way your lashes flutter against your cheek, how your lips part slightly with each exhale. His throat tightens at the thought that in three weeks, he won’t be here. He won’t wake up to this. Won’t wake up to you.

He nearly cries.

His head is propped against the pillow, warm, heavy eyes tracing over you as you breathe steadily beside him. The sheets have fallen just enough, exposing your bare legs, the curve of your thigh, the way your sweatshirt dwarfs you.

He swallows. Looks away.

God, he’s down bad.

But mostly, he’s endeared.

Because you’re so comfortable around him now. Now, you curl into him instinctively. Now, you leave your things in his bathroom without thinking.

Now, you make him feel like this is real.

Like you’re his.

He could stay like this all morning.

But then, you stir.

And before he can even think about it, he’s leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

You groan.

Eyes still shut, you scrunch your nose. “Gross.”

Jungkook just grins.

“You love it.”

Your eyes flutter open, squinting up at him. “You’re so annoying.”

“You’re beautiful.”

You blink.

Then, your face heats, and you roll over, reaching for your phone.

Jungkook scoffs. “Wow. Ignored.”

You mumble something incoherent, already scrolling through your notifications.

And that’s when he realizes—this is the moment.

He should say it. Now.

Before breakfast, before the day starts, before he has a single chance to chicken out again.

So he clears his throat.

“I have something to—”

Ping.

You cut him off immediately.

“Oh my god, Nari texted me.”

Jungkook’s jaw clicks shut.

You sit up, eyes glued to your phone, grinning at the screen. “She woke up and immediately sent me, and I quote—‘Bitch, I had a dream that I got lost in Jungkook’s apartment. It was just endless hallways, and I couldn’t escape.’”

You snort, amused. Jungkook exhales, not amused.

But he doesn’t try again.

Not yet.

And then you move, shifting closer,nuzzling into his shoulder with a sleepy hum.

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut.

You don’t notice how stiff he’s gone, don’t notice the way he bites the inside of his cheek just to keep it together. He’s never been good at this—holding back. He’s always been all in, always felt things too deeply. And right now, he feels like he’s breaking.

“I have something to tell you,” he murmurs. His voice is hoarse, unfamiliar even to himself.

You don’t hear the weight behind his words.

Your stomach rumbles and you giggle.

And just like that, the moment is gone.

Jungkook exhales, staring at the ceiling again, willing the burning in his eyes to disappear. You don’t notice. You’re too busy reading whatever nonsense Nari sent you, letting out a quiet laugh before typing back.

So he doesn’t say it.

Instead, he just watches you. Watches the way you stretch, the hem of your hoodie riding up your thighs as you move. Watches the way you rub at your eyes, still too sleepy to be fully coherent.

And when you start to sit up, he acts on impulse.

A firm arm wraps around your waist, tugging you back into him. You let out a small yelp, but he just buries his face in your neck, exhaling deeply.

“Mmm, stay longer,” he mutters, voice still thick with sleep.

You hesitate for only a second before melting into him, pressing your face into his chest. “You’re so clingy,” you tease, but your arms loop around him anyway.

“Yeah,” he admits easily. “I am.”

You don’t pull away. Neither does he.

You stay like that for what feels like forever, tangled together in a mess of sheets and sleepy warmth, neither of you in a rush to move.

Eventually, though, reality calls.

You get up first, dragging him to the bathroom where you both brush your teeth side by side. He watches in the mirror as you grumble about your bedhead, fighting with your hair while he stands there, letting the mundane normalcy of the moment soak into his bones.

It’s so unfair.

The two of you make your way to the kitchen next, where you start pulling out ingredients while Jungkook leans against the counter, watching.

“You gonna help, or just stand there looking pretty?” you ask, raising a brow.

Jungkook grins, pushing off the counter. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you groan, smacking his arm with a spatula.

He laughs, dodging your half-hearted attack before reaching for the eggs. You cook together, bickering playfully the whole time—him attempting to take over, you pushing him aside with a dramatic sigh of exasperation.

Jungkook had planned to say it during breakfast.

It was perfect—just the two of you, sleepy and slow, in his kitchen.

He imagined it before you woke up: Standing beside you, cooking together, stealing little kisses, pretending you’re dating for real.

But he can’t get a damn word in.

Because today, of all days, you are so chatty.

Like, more than usual.

“Did you see that video I sent you the other night?” you ask, flipping through your phone as you sit on the counter, giving up helping him, legs swinging. “The one of that guy falling off the treadmill? It made me think of you.”

Jungkook—who currently has taken over with the breakfast, thank you very much—pauses.

“Excuse me?”

You smirk. “I feel like you would fall off a treadmill.”

Jungkook scoffs, placing eggs on a plate. “I am literally one of the most physically fit people you know.”

You tilt your head. “And?”

“…And I don’t fall off treadmills.”

“Not yet.”

He glares. You grin.

But again—he hesitates.

He should just say it.

He opens his mouth—

“Oh, wait, also—” You cut in again, oblivious to his crisis.

And just like that, he misses his chance.

Again.

Because you don’t stop.

You ramble about your weird customers at work, about how Nari got hit on by a drunk guy at the diner, about how you’re craving something sweet, maybe pancakes, but not the diner’s pancakes, because they taste like sadness.

And Jungkook just—listens.

Because he can’t help it.

Because he loves listening to you talk.

Even when it’s keeping him from saying what he needs to say.

Even when he’s running out of time.

Jungkook gives up.

For now.

You’re too happy, too talkative, and every time he tries to squeeze in a serious conversation, you effortlessly derail it with another story, another joke, another distraction.

And honestly?

He doesn’t even mind.

——

The food turns out better than expected. You both sit down at the table, and for a moment, it’s perfect.

Too perfect.

He needs to say it.

He needs to tell you.

“Hey…” Jungkook starts, but you’re already cutting him off, rambling about something completely unrelated. He tries again, but every time, you interrupt yourself with another tangent.

He doesn’t mind.

Loves the way you talk, loves the way your thoughts jump from one thing to the next without warning. He lets you go on, a soft smile playing on his lips, even as his chest feels heavier with every passing second.

“That was good, huh?” he says, nodding toward the empty plates.

You hum, licking sauce off your thumb. “I give it a solid 8.5 out of 10.”

Jungkook gapes.

“Excuse me?”

You shrug, smug. “Points deducted for lack of pancakes.”

Jungkook scoffs. “You said diner pancakes taste like sadness!”

“Not homemade pancakes.”

He narrows his eyes at you, shaking his head as he stands up to collect the dishes. “Ungrateful.”

You just grin, watching as he rinses the plates before stacking them in the sink.

“Oh, my parents are coming to visit tonight.”

Jungkook blinks. “Wait, what?”

You glance up at him, sipping your juice. “Yeah. They’re in town for the weekend, so I’m gonna have dinner with them tonight.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “So you’re going home?”

“Yeah.” You shoot him a look. “Why? You sad about it?”

He doesn’t answer fast enough.

“Oh my god, you’re so clingy,” you tease, kicking his foot.

Jungkook exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I am.” He rolls his eyes, walking past you—until you reach out and grab his wrist.

“Then come.”

Jungkook freezes.

His head turns so fast you almost laugh. “What?”

“Come meet them,” you say simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “My mom would love you.”

Jungkook stares.

He expected you to laugh it off. To tease him for even suggesting it.

But instead— Instead, you’re serious.

You actually want him to come.

And suddenly, the weight of his secret comes crashing down on him all over again.

He shouldn’t do this.

He shouldn’t pretend like this is normal. He shouldn’t accept this invitation, knowing full well he’s about to destroy everything you think this is.

But—

The way you’re looking at him right now—

Soft. Open. Like you trust him.

And fuck, he doesn’t want to let you down.

So he forces a grin, nudging your knee with his.

“Is this it?” he teases. “The meet-the-parents moment? Should I bring flowers? Shake your dad’s hand like a man?”

You laugh.

But he’s not laughing.

Because meeting your parents means something.

It means you see him in your life for real.

And he—he won’t even be here in three weeks.

But instead of saying that, instead of being honest, he just smiles, leans closer, and murmurs, “Your mom’s gonna love me.”

You grin. “That’s what I said.”

And just like that—he’s agreed to come.

Even though he shouldn’t.

Even though he knows this is going to make everything so much worse.

But for now, he lets himself have this.

Because if this is all he gets before everything falls apart—

He wants to make it count.

——

You get dressed in what you came in—your hoodie and sweatpants, both slightly wrinkled from sleep. Jungkook watches from his place on the bed, hands behind his head, eyes hooded as you gather your things.

“You’re just gonna leave like that?” he asks, voice still thick from the morning.

You shoot him a look. “What’s wrong with this?”

He shrugs. “Nothing, just… thought you’d wanna freshen up before you go.”

You narrow your eyes. “You just want me to shower here.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just tilts his head, smirking.

Ten minutes later, you’re in his bathroom, sharing a toothbrush holder with him like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

The shower is familiar—you blush from the memories of it last night. You bicker over water temperature, flick suds at each other when you think he’s not looking. He kisses your wet shoulder at one point, and you shove him away, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

After, when you’re brushing your teeth again, you leave your toothbrush in its usual place next to his. He doesn’t say anything about it, but he stares for a beat too long, something unreadable in his gaze before he looks away.

And then comes the usual argument.

“I’ll take the bus,” you insist, slipping on your sneakers.

Jungkook snorts. “No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

“No, you won’t.” He’s already grabbing his keys, like he knows he’s won this fight before it’s even started.

You groan. “Jungkook, you don’t have to drive me—”

“I want to drive you,” he says simply, holding the door open for you. “Get in the car, baby.”

You grumble under your breath, but ultimately, you do.

The drive home is quiet, comfortable. His hand rests on your thigh absentmindedly, thumb brushing over your legs. You watch the city pass by through the window, messaging Nari a quick otw home, mom n dad r coming later text before tucking your phone away.

When you pull up to your apartment, he turns to you. “Text me what time I should come later.”

“I will.”

Jungkook leans in, kissing you slow, like he’s savoring it. You don’t question it, just press into him, fingers curling around the collar of his hoodie.

You pull away first. “See you later?”

He nods, lips still slightly parted. “Yeah.”

And then you’re out of the car, climbing the stairs to your apartment.

——

You expect Nari to be dead asleep when you walk in.

She’s been knocked out for the past two days, after all, barely responding to texts, dead in your bed from your hell sent night shift, only waking up for food and bathroom breaks.

But instead, you step into the apartment and—

“YOU’RE BACK!”

You startle, nearly dropping your bag.

Nari is sprawled out on the couch, bright-eyed and looking suspiciously well-rested.

You blink. “Weren’t you, like…dead?”

“I wasn’t dead, I was recovering,” she corrects, stretching like a cat. “I had a very intense weekend, okay? I deserved to sleep like I was in a coma.”

You roll your eyes, kicking off your shoes. “Sure. So, what? You just woke up?”

“Mmm…” She pretends to think. “Like, an hour ago.”

You squint at her. “So you were only asleep for, like, half of the past two days?”

“Correct.”

“And what did you do for the other half?”

“Laid here. Watched TikToks. Waited for you to come back and tell me everything.”

You snort, flopping onto the couch beside her.

She immediately grins, wiggling her eyebrows. “Sooo… How was it?”

You raise a brow. “What? Breakfast? My drive home? Be specific.”

“Bitch.” She glares. “You know exactly what I mean.”

You laugh, leaning back. “It was… good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah. Good.”

She narrows her eyes.

Then—her expression shifts, turns cheeky.

“Did you guys have another round this morning?”

Your jaw drops. “NARI—”

“WHAT?” She cackles. “It’s a valid question! I mean, he sounded like he was gonna eat you alive over text last night!”

You groan, covering your face. “Oh my god.”

She nudges your leg. “So? Did you?”

“NO.”

She squints. “Damn. Missed opportunity.”

You throw a pillow at her.

She wheezes.

“Bitch, we need to clean.”

You blink. “Not tired anymore?”

“Yeah, but I’m wide awake now,” she says, already yanking a pile of laundry off the couch. “I miss your mom. I can’t wait to see her. This place is a disaster.”

“Who said you were staying?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Me,” Nari says, completely serious.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t fight her on it. Instead, you both spend the next couple of hours speed-cleaning, stuffing random things into closets, wiping down every surface. The place looks clean, even if it’s mostly an illusion.

Then comes the cooking.

You find a recipe for roasted chicken, following a tutorial step-by-step. It seems easy enough—until the kitchen fills with smoke, and the chicken looks questionable at best.

“It said 400 degrees for 20 minutes, how is it still raw?!”

“Did we even preheat it?”

“Oh my God, Nari.”

You and Nari are standing in the kitchen, staring at the baking sheet in horror. The chicken you so proudly marinated is still looking suspiciously pale.

Your kitchen looks like a warzone. Flour on the counter. Herbs spilled. Something is burning, but neither of you know what.

Somewhere along the way, the sauce burns, the seasoning is questionable at best, and the chicken looks vaguely threatening.

At one point, you both step back and stare at it.

Then, at the same time—

“Yeah, we can’t serve that.”

You groan, wiping your hands on a towel. “I need to run to the store.”

“Want me to come?”

“Nah, stay here. Keep an eye on things.”

Nari salutes. “Aye aye, captain.”

And with that, you grab your jacket and head out.

——

You smooth down your sweater, taking a deep breath before opening the door.

When you return, bags in hand, you expect to just see Nari lounging around.

But instead—

Jungkook is there.

Already inside, casually chatting with Nari like he owns the place.

The second he sees you, he grins.

You roll your eyes. “You’re early.”

“You sound upset.” He steps forward, taking the bags from your hands like it’s second nature.

“Because I am.”

He laughs, setting the bags down before tugging you in for a quick kiss.

It’s warm, familiar, and despite your fake complaining, you let yourself melt into it.

Nari watches, arms crossed. “Ugh. You guys are gross.”

Jungkook pulls away just enough to smirk. “Jealous?”

“Of you? No. Of Y/N? Absolutely.”

Jungkook snorts, and you just shake your head, smiling.

For a moment, it’s perfect.

For a moment, you think tonight will be fine.

And then you freeze.

“…Did you cut your hair?”

Jungkook stands there, hands in his pockets, hair shorter than before. It’s not buzzed, but the longer strands are gone, leaving it neater, more structured.

He runs a hand through it. “Yeah. I… have a shoot coming up.”

You tilt your head, inspecting him. “You look good, but… I kinda liked the mullet.”

He snorts. “Did you?”

You nod. “It was hot.”

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles, but there’s something off about it. Like he’s holding something back.

Because he is.

Because he knows this isn’t for a shoot.

Because in a few weeks, it’s all coming off.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he just lets you pull him towards you, lets you run your fingers through his hair, lets himself enjoy this moment.

Even if he knows it’s borrowed time.

——

The three of you are sprawled out in the living room, waiting.

Jungkook is beside you on the couch, lazily letting you run your fingers through his freshly cut hair while he scrolls through his phone. Nari, on the other hand, is laser-focused on the chicken.

You don’t miss the way she keeps side-eyeing it like it might disappear if she blinks too long.

“Nari, stop eyeing the chicken,” you deadpan, flicking her arm.

She groans dramatically. “But I’m starving—just one bite?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

She makes a whining sound, but you stand firm. Meanwhile, Jungkook is just watching the whole interaction, shaking with laughter, like this is peak entertainment.

“You two are unreal,” he mutters, grinning.

And then there’s a knock at the door.

You immediately straighten up, running your hands over your sweater as if there’s invisible dust to wipe off. Nari lets out an excited gasp.

“Oh my god, yes,” she whispers, giddy.

Jungkook, however, noticeably stiffens. His fingers twitch against his thigh, and when you glance at him, you catch the way his jaw flexes.

You reach for his hand, squeezing lightly. “You’ll be fine,” you reassure him. “I promise she’ll love you. They’ll both love you. But… just a warning, they’re very energetic.”

“Very energetic,” Nari adds. “Now hurry up and open the door before they break it down.”

You roll your eyes but step forward, unlocking it.

Your parents arrived late, obviously.

And they do so with energy.

Your mom practically bursts into the apartment, already talking.

“Y/N! Oh my god, we hit so much traffic—your father missed the exit—oh, honey, come here, let me see you.”

You barely get a word in before she’s already hugging you, pulling back to hold your face between her hands.

“Hi, Mom,” you laugh, hugging her back.

She pulls away to cup your face, eyes scanning you like she’s checking for signs of distress. “How are you? You look so pretty! Have you been eating well? Are you sleeping enough?”

Behind her, your dad is eyeing the situation with a small smirk. “Yeah, hi to you too,” he says, voice dry but amused.

“Hi, Dad.”

You barely get the words out before your mom moves on, immediately turning her attention to Nari with an excited gasp.

“Oh my god, Nari! Look at you, gorgeous as ever—come here, let me see you!”

And just like that, you’re shoved aside.

Nari giggles, soaking up the attention like a sponge, while you turn to your dad. He gives you a knowing look before pulling you into a quick hug.

“Surviving?” he asks.

“Barely,” you deadpan.

He huffs out a chuckle. But before either of you can say more, your mom’s voice cuts through the room like a siren.

“Oh, my daughter in law! You look so good! Have you been eating? You’re glowing!”

“Mom.”

“Oh, hush. If I had a son, I’d marry him off to Nari immediately.”

Nari grins, dramatically flipping her hair. “You hear that, Y/N? Your mom has taste.”

Then—your mom turns and sees Jungkook.

And oh. Oh, Lord.

Her hands fly to her chest.

“Oh my goodness.”

Jungkook blinks, startled.

Your dad lets out an approving hum, arms crossed, nodding slowly, as if analyzing Jungkook’s existence.

“So this is him, huh? The singer boy?”

Jungkook laughs nervously. “Uh—yeah. Hi.”

Your mom immediately grabs his hands, beaming.

“You are so handsome! Look at you! Wow, Sweetie, you didn’t tell me he was this gorgeous in person!”

Jungkook’s ears turn red.

Nari, watching from behind, cackles. “Oh my God.”

Your mom ignores her.

“Oh, sweetie, you must be tired. Are you eating well? Do you need anything? Can I get you something?”

Your dad claps him on the back. “Strong handshake. I respect that.”

Jungkook is getting smothered.

You just stand there, watching, amused, arms crossed, letting him suffer.

Then, finally, your mom turns back to you.

“Alright, let’s eat! I’m starving. And I brought real food, don’t worry.”

You don’t question how she knows youd fuck up the food.

Nari snorts. “Yeah, thank God.”

And just like that, your parents have fully claimed Jungkook as their own.

Nari and your mom settle at the table, chatting away like old friends, while your dad stays standing, arms crossed as he eyes the chicken suspiciously.

Meanwhile, you’re in the kitchen with your mom, helping her unpack the food she thankfully brought.

“Sweetheart,” she suddenly sniffs, “it smells like smoke in here.”

You freeze for half a second before continuing to open containers. “Huh?”

She gives you a look. “Did you burn something?”

“Yeah. No. Yeah. Yeah, Mom.”

She sighs, clearly so used to this. “Good thing I brought food, then.”

You nod, relieved.

As you both carry the dishes to the table, Jungkook instinctively gets up to help. But the second he moves, your mom waves him off.

“Oh no, no, no, sit down, sit down, relax.”

Jungkook hesitates. “Uh… no, I’ll help.”

“Really, I—”

“I insist,” he says, already reaching for a dish.

Your mom pauses, then huffs out a chuckle. “Oh, alright then. What a gentleman.”

Meanwhile, Nari—who has been waiting for this moment—immediately lunges for the chicken.

She does not hesitate.

It’s like she hasn’t eaten in weeks—just shoveling food onto her plate like a woman possessed.

“Jesus, Nari,” you mutter, watching in horror. “Pace yourself.”

She barely acknowledges you, already halfway through her first bite. “I told you I was starving.”

Jungkook chuckles, finally seeming to relax as he takes a bite of his own food. There’s still a bit of nervous energy in his shoulders, but it’s nowhere near as tense as before.

As the dinner settles into an easy flow, your mom and Nari fall into conversation, as they always do.

“Nari, what happened to that boy you were talking to?” your mom asks mid-bite. “Do you have a boyfriend yet?”

Nari immediately launches into a dramatic rant about Men and Their Many Flaws, and your mom nods along, engaged as ever. They have a weirdly close bond—it’s been that way for years.

Meanwhile, your dad turns to Jungkook.

“So,” he says, eyes flicking to Jungkook’s arm. “Did your tattoos hurt?”

Jungkook blinks, glancing down at the ink covering his skin. Then he shrugs, casual. “A little.”

Your dad hums, contemplating. “I wanna get one.”

Jungkook perks up. “Oh yeah? What are you thinking of getting?”

Before your dad can answer, you cut in.

“Dad, you’d cry the second the needle touched your skin.”

Your dad scoffs, affronted. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“I literally saw you tear up when you stubbed your toe last time we had dinner.”

“That was different!”

Jungkook is trying so hard not to laugh.

“I’m big and tough, just like Jungkook,” your dad insists, puffing out his chest.

“Sure,” you deadpan.

Your mom, barely paying attention, waves a hand. “Anyway—”

And then, suddenly, all eyes are on Jungkook.

“So,” your mom says, tilting her head, “how did you two meet?”

Jungkook blinks, clearly not expecting to be put on the spot. But after a moment, he smiles. “At the diner.”

“Oh my god,” Nari suddenly cuts in, turning to your mom. “Did you know Y/N didn’t even realize who he was at first?”

Your mom, still eating, barely reacts. “Oh, I’m not surprised,” she says, waving her fork. “She was never really into that kind of stuff.”

Jungkook laughs, glancing at you.

Your mom, however, suddenly gasps.

“Oh, Jungkook—you should meet her cousin. She is obsessed with you.”

You groan. “Who?”

“No, really! Albums, posters—your face is everywhere in her room!”

Jungkook’s eyebrows lift in amusement. “Oh yeah?”

You sigh. “Yeah, I know. She’s obsessed.”

Jungkook grins. “Next time, bring something and I’ll sign it for her.”

Your mom gasps. “Oh my god honey, she would die.”

Your dad, who has been quietly observing this whole thing, suddenly leans back with a smirk. “Alright, son,” he says, “I like you.”

And just like that—Jungkook is in.

Before you even realize it, half the chicken is gone.

You glance over at Nari—and yeah.

It was her.

Your parents immediately notice.

“Oh, sweetie,” your mom coos, pushing her plate toward Nari. “You must still be so hungry. Here, have some of mine.”

Your dad follows suit, sliding his dish over. “Yeah, come on. Eat up.”

Nari stares at them in horror.

Because, in reality, she is stuffed. Absolutely miserable. But she’s also too deep in the bit to stop now.

So she swallows thickly, nods, and—forces another bite.

You watch in pure amusement as she struggles, her expression slightly green, but still determined.

Jungkook notices too, chuckling quietly.

Then—your mom leans in, casual as ever, and asks:

“So, Jungkook.”

Jungkook looks up. “Yes?”

She smirks. “Are you in love with my daughter?”

You nearly choke.

Jungkook freezes, caught so off guard that he blinks—mouth slightly open.

Your dad, on the other hand, grins, immediately jumping in to tease.

“I don’t know how you could be,” he says, shaking his head dramatically. “She burned the chicken.”

You gasp. “How did you know?”

Nari, still trying not to die from fullness, weakly raises a hand. “It’s… pretty obvious,” she mutters.

Your dad cackles.

Jungkook, still flustered from the question, simply shakes his head with a small laugh, covering his mouth.

The conversation continues on—shifting topics, flowing naturally, Jungkook settling even more into the comfortable chaos of your family.

Then, out of nowhere, your mom casually says—

“Honey, did you know your cousin finished his enlistment last week?”

You blink. “Who?”

“Your cousin. He just got discharged.”

“Oh.” You nod, remembering. “Yeah, Mom. I miss him. We should visit sometime.”

Your dad hums. “We definitely will. He’s not busy anymore.”

Jungkook listens quietly, still chewing—but then—

Your mom turns to him.

And she asks—so casual, so normal—

“Jungkook, honey. When will you be enlisting?”

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

Okay, all, as promised: here's a compiled list of the Tech Lives fics I've read so far! I haven't read nearly as many yet as I would like, so if your work isn't mentioned here please feel free to add your work to this list! I'm still looking for more recommendations (let's be real, I'm ALWAYS looking for recommendations 😅) and I'm excited to read some more!

(Also, can I take a moment to offer my highest compliments to all you authors?? You all are FANTASTIC writers and motivate me to up my game too! 😍)

Happy reading and Tech Lives!!!

***Works by other writers:

TBB Season 2 Finale Fix-Its, by Niobium - a collection of stories with various means by which Tech survives (I've only read through the first two so far, but they are very fun reads. One involves Phee having a Jedi background, another involves Hondo... and it goes on!) @niobiumao3

Familiar, by AurumAstra - Tech's experience post-fall plus Omega finding Tech post-epilogue, told from Omega's and Tech's POVs (a work in progress) @gonky-kong

Awake, by PaulSimonBarCarloson - an alternate to the series finale, with many very interesting twists including Tech as CX2 - and with a happy ending

Stolen Time, by KyberCrystals94 - Omega finds Tech post-epilogue and Tech reunites with the family on Pabu @kybercrystals94

Alive, by Lif61 - Echo tries reaching Tech via comms, even though he knows Tech couldn't have survived... (I found it to be a heartwrenching read but the ending is great!) @lifblogs

Works by archivewriter1 - I'm linking the post where the author lists the stories with descriptions. The stories are fantastic and many involve an adorable OC named Darik! @archivewriter1ont

***My works:

Lost and Found - Tech is found and reunited with his family post-epilogue, told from Tech's, Crosshair's, and Phee's POVs

The Lost One - related to the above; more details from Echo's and Omega's POVs, as they find Tech post-epilogue

The Start of Something New - TechPhee including after Tech's return, from Hunter's POV

Protector - Hunter's POV as he learns to adjust post-Tantiss, culminating in Tech's return

[leashybebes]

snippet saturday

tagged by @apollabarnes, thank you beloved. here's an allying snippet which i am slowly making progress on a hundred words at a time basically.

also, fun story, going from spending the last three days thinking about tommy 'the man is 95% interiority' kinard angst to trying to write s1 allying buck, king of the unexamined thought angst is giving me whiplash

Buck finishes his beer. "I'm gonna leave you guys to it," he says and they startle apart like they've forgotten he's there, which…ouch. But fair. This is what Buck gets for hanging out with a couple.

"You sure?" Tommy asks.

"Yeah," Buck says. "I have a date." It's a lie, but it won't take him long to find one. Kind of a date, anyway.

The look Tommy gives him, the tone in his voice when he says, "Have fun," says he knows exactly what kind of 'date' Buck's talking about.

"It was great to meet you," Derek offers.

"Yeah, you too," Buck says. "Have a good night, guys."

When he gets to the door, he glances back, just in time to see Derek's hand land on the back of Tommy's neck, pulling him in for a kiss. His stomach churns weirdly, a combination of a beer too many, not enough food, and maybe a little loneliness. Hanging out with couples is the worst.

He gets on Tinder as he walks down the street, matches with a girl, meets her in a bar. He makes her come twice in the bathroom, three more times in her own bed. His heart's not particularly in it by the time he gets off, but she falls asleep in the crook of his arm which is nice until around 2am when she kicks him out because her roommate doesn't like 'strange guys' spending the night.

When Buck gets back to his own place at almost 3 three in the damn morning he crashes into bed and stays there until the early afternoon sun on his face wakes him.

not onward tagging because i've just realised it's atcually sunday and also i have no idea who's writing, who's on a break, and who's still chewing on the dialogue and the gifs that cake out of thursday's ep.

[matchpointfaist]

dilf! art donaldson x physiotherapist! reader for anon xx

after art’s shoulder injury, his team had thought it’d be best to have a therapist travel with him while he was still playing professionally. someone to make sure he didn’t push himself too much, to help with any soreness he’d inevitably acquire. he was embarrassed at first, the thought of someone babysitting him, watching to make sure he didn’t overdo it just didn’t sit right. he’d never expected you, though.

he’d seen physical therapist before, obviously. they were usually older, usually men, all precision and straight faces, focused on one thing only. but you? you were the opposite, sweet smiles and colorful scrubs and what seemed to be a genuine passion for your work.

and god, did you help him like no one else did. the way you worked his muscles was enough to have him reeling after the first time you treated him, the way you talked him through it. “there ya go, just relax, let me help you,” you’d hummed as you worked over the stiff muscles in his shoulder, “mm, that’s good, we’re makin progress,”

you were just so sweet, he couldn’t help but start to look forward to your weekly sessions. he’d done so well at containing his little crush, keeping a certain distance, never letting his eyes linger for too long, all until he tore a muscle in his thigh during a particularly aggressive practice match.

he’d been rushed into your makeshift office area, and you’d looked at him with such concern as you took in the way his face was scrunched in pain, or frustration, or some cruel mix of both. “oh, art,” you frowned, “you have got to be more careful,”

and then you were working your magic on his painfully sore thigh muscles, dangerously close to the hem of his shorts, and he knew you were just doing your job, but he just couldn’t help it. he was trying his hardest to relax, not to get hard just inches from your hand, but it really did just feel so good.

“so tense,” you mumbled, “just relax, art. not gonna get any better if you can’t relax,” and then your hands were higher, and he couldn’t even help the noise that left his throat, somewhere between a whine and a grunt. “sorry,” he muttered, running a hand over his face, desperately trying to get it together.

“you’re okay,” you smiled softly up at him from the end of the table, “d’you wanna talk about your match? maybe it’ll take your mind off the pain,”

so he rambled on about his latest match, all the high and low points, like you hadn’t been watching intently from the sidelines the entire time. and you listened like you didn’t see it all before, frowning when he expressed his disappointment in himself and smiling brightly when he recounted his win.

“need to work on this hip, too,” you told him, encouraging him to keep talking as you moved up, one hand on the inside of his thigh and one on his sore hip joint. your hand just lightly brushed across his lap as you readjusted yourself, and he subconsciously bucked his hips, almost imperceptibly but enough to have his face flushed. “i’m sorry,” he said quickly, “maybe we should just stop, i don’t know why i’m so-“

“you’re okay, art,” you waved a dismissive hand, but he couldn’t help but notice your own cheeks had grown pink, “you’re not doing anything wrong,” you kept your composure, working at the knot in his hip, and he tried to take your words to heart, to just relax. he was choking back whines and groans as you expertly released all his tension, his hands clutching the side of the table to keep them from going to your hips, holding you there.

he was embarrassingly hard by that point, straining against the fabric of his shorts, his entire body feeling flushed and sensitive. “there,” you patted his hip gently, “you’re good now,”

you took a step away, and he could’ve died right there, fighting against himself until he gave in and reached out for you, pulling you back gently by your arm. your brows were furrowed in concern as you turned to face him, “are you okay?”

“tell me if i’ve got it all wrong,” the words were flying out of his mouth faster than he could even process them, “but i want you so badly and maybe you want me, i don’t know, i just-“

you cut him off, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his burning lips, a surprised sound leaving his throat as you did. his hands came to your waist, pulling you closer, kissing you fervently. “oh, fuck,” he mumbled into your mouth, gripping you so tightly he was scared you might bruise, leaning back on the table to make enough room for you.

you pulled away as he shifted, panting softly, eyes bright and cheeks pink. “this is wrong- we shouldn’t,” you said quickly, but your eyes were lingering on his wet lips, flicking down to the tent in his shorts. “do you want to stop?” he asked, pausing his motions of pulling you back towards him, concern etched on his features. “no,” you shook your head without even giving it a second thought, letting him rest his hand on the back of your head and pull you back into a deep kiss.

one hand snaked around the back of your thigh, pulling you up and into his lap, your hair falling in a curtain around the two of you as you straddled him. he leaned back just enough to pull at the bottom of your scrub top, watching with dilated eyes as you pulled it off, leaving you in a cotton bralette that left so little to his imagination. his shirt was off next, falling to the floor beside you, and he bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as you kissed over his chest, down to his abs, leaving little flushed, shiny spots behind.

“oh, fuck me,” he exhaled as you ghosted your lips over the bulge in his shorts, his hips involuntarily rocking at the contact, however subtle it was. he pulled you back up to him, fumbling to push down your scrubs with shaky hands. a soft laugh left your lips as you slid off the table just long enough to take them off, and he was more in awe of your beauty in that moment than he ever had been before.

he pushed his shorts down eagerly, biting the inside of his cheek as you settled back into his lap in just your underwear, kissing him like you were starving for it. “wanna fuck you so bad,” he panted against your lips, reaching between you to slip a hand between your thighs, “fuck- oh, you’re so wet,”

he watched in awe as you moaned in his lap, back arching as you all but rode his fingers, grinding against him desperately. “want you to fuck me,” you practically whined, “art, please,”

“wanna get you off first,” he sat up enough to press his face to your chest, mouthing at the skin greedily, slipping his free hand into your bralette and rolling your nipple between two fingers as his other hand worked at your clit.

your head fell to his shoulder, muffling your moans into the sweaty skin, panting and writhing as you came undone with a tremble. “there you go,” he hummed appreciatively, smoothing down your hair as he pulled his hand from your bra, kissing the side of your head softly, “want me to fuck you now, hm?”

“god, yes,” you nodded eagerly, pushing him back down flat on the table, discarding his boxes and your underwear into a little pile. his hands were on your hips as you slid over his cock, a soft hiss leaving his lips at the feeling. “oh, baby,” he groaned, watching your facial expressions like he could sear them to his memory, “feel so good on me,”

your hand slipped between your thighs, lining him up and sliding just the tip in at first, just enough to have him bucking his hips and whimpering beneath you, “baby, oh, fuck, please,” he was a mess from the smallest bit, neck flushed, eyes wild as he looked up at you.

“art,” he was dizzy at the sound of his name on your lips as you slid down his cock, taking all of him, so warm and wet around him, “you’re so big, fillin me up so good,”

your hands came to his chest, balancing as you rode him, alternating between messy kisses and burying your face in his neck. “you feel so good,” he moaned, fucking up into you, his hands on your thighs to hold you there, “like you were made for me, baby, oh my god,”

he was a babbling mess, praises and curses pouring from his lips constantly, kissing anywhere he could reach. “so close,” he mumbled, pushing your bralette down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, biting just enough to have you clenching around him, “fuck- are you on birth control?”

“mhm,” you nodded, pulling at his hair gently as he buried his face in your chest again, pulling you impossibly closer as he fucked you closer and closer to the edge.

“oh my god,” he whimpered, “fuck, i’m gonna-“ he moaned your name as he came, hips bucking wildly as he fucked you full of his come, panting and whining beneath you.

you let your head fall to his chest as you both caught your breath, his fingers stroking your hair gently, almost absentmindedly. “we should clean up before anyone comes,” you mumbled, pressing a chaste kiss to his bicep as you rolled up and off on him into trembling legs.

he watched, dazed, as you went to the office bathroom to clean up, returning with your scrubs back on, not a hair out of place. the only indicator that he’d ever been there was the dark bruise he’d sucked into the base of your neck, flushed and purple. he eyed it with a smile, getting dressed lazily, not wanting to look away from you.

“so is this, i mean, like, a regular thing?” he finally managed to spit out, feeling awkward like a teenager all over again, “or do you just want to pretend it didn’t happen, or-?”

“art,” you laughed softly, coming over to press a kiss to his cheek, “i’d love for this to be a regular thing,”

“oh, thank god,” he let out a relieved laugh, “maybe we could get dinner, or something like that?” “a little backwards, but yeah. i’d like that,” you smiled up at him, “we might have to find you a different therapist, though,”