#his FRIENDS that hes finally decided to TRUST

[pandapetals]

sunlight & sawdust

chapter seven: hyacinths & hacksaws

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summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter.But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop.For free.Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics. There is some angst in this chapter. Also, thank you all for the support and love. It means so much.

Update: There were only going to be 11 chapters, but now there will be 12. I like even numbers and decided to add a chapter while also rewriting the next one, so the update may take longer. Trust me, the angst won't last long, and smut will be happening.

Monday. Joel hadn’t been looking forward to the day since he’d left the flower shop on Saturday evening.

Or at least—that’s what he’d been telling himself.

Now, nearing lunchtime, he was almost done with the floor. The final boards were in place, everything sanded smooth, looking damn good if he said so himself.

Which meant today was probably his last day here.

The thought should’ve brought him relief.

He wouldn’t have to keep showing up. Wouldn’t have to keep feeling that ridiculous pull toward you. He wouldn’t have to keep catching himself watching—the way you laughed with customers, the way your fingers skimmed delicately over petals, the way you always ensured Ellie had everything she needed before thinking of yourself.

Wouldn’t have to keep feeling like some part of him wanted to be here.

And yet.

His mind spiraled, reaching for any excuse to keep showing up.

So, as usual, when you insisted he take a break for lunch, Joel sat on the stool by the counter, eating the sandwich you’d made him, and quietly started scoping out the shop.

There had to be something else that needed fixing.

He was a handyman. He could fix anything, and then—there. His gaze landed on the back door, the way it didn’t quite sit right in its frame, slightly uneven.

Bingo.

"Y’know, this door’s got a bit of a lean to it," Joel mused, chewing thoughtfully before nodding toward it. "Probably swells in the summer, right? Sticks a little when you try to open it?"

You paused from where you were cleaning up, glancing over your shoulder at the door before narrowing your eyes at him.

"Maybe a little," you admitted hesitantly.

Joel nodded like he had already made up his mind. "I’ll fix it for you. Ain’t a big deal."

You sighed, shaking your head as you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. "Joel, you’ve already done enough. I can’t let you keep fixing everything for free."

"Ain’t about money."

"Then what’s it about?" you challenged, tilting your head.

Joel didn’t have an answer for that. At least, not one he was willing to say out loud.

Instead, he just shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich. "I like keepin’ busy."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, I bet you do." Then, after a beat, your smile faltered slightly, curiosity flickering in your eyes."Don’t you have, like, a real job? Pretty sure Tommy’s tired of covering for you."

Joel paused mid-bite, chewing a little slower before swallowing. He wiped his hands on a napkin, taking his time as if thinking about how to answer. Then, he stood, stretching his arms above his head, muscles flexing slightly beneath his flannel.

"I do." His voice was casual, gruff. "But Tommy won’t mind. He owes me, anyway."

You raised a brow. "For what?"

Joel smirked, shaking his head. "Long list, sweetheart."

Your lips parted slightly, the nickname catching you off guard, but you pushed it away, rolling your eyes. "You just won’t take no for an answer, will you?"

Joel smirked. "Nope."

You exhaled through your nose, muttering something under your breath before finally throwing your hands up in surrender.

"Fine. Do whatever you want, Miller."

Joel bit back a victorious grin. That should buy him at least another day.

But you weren’t stupid. Joel could see how you watched him like you were trying to figure him out. 

After Joel finished up the last of the flooring, he should’ve been done. Should’ve packed up his tools, dusted off his hands, and left.

Instead, he found himself noticing other things.

The back door didn’t sit right in its frame, the cabinet hinge behind the counter was loose, and the flickering light in the storage room needed replacing.

He made a mental list, adding more and more to it—grasping at any excuse to keep coming back.

So, when he finally stood, wiping his hands on his jeans, he told you about them.

"That back door swells in the summer—oughta get it shaved down. The cabinet hinge in the back is about to come loose. And that light in storage? It could be a wiring issue."

You just stared at him, expression unreadable, before exhaling through your nose. "Joel," you said softly. There was something in your tone—something careful that made his stomach tighten. "It’s really sweet of you to list off all sorts of things wrong with my shop—"

"No, I ain’t mean it like that, honey."

Your lips parted slightly, and Joel could see it—when your breath hitched, and the endearment made your heart stutter, even if you didn’t want it to.

Instead of softening, you tilted your head, eyes searching his face.

"I meant I could fix it for you," Joel clarified, shifting his weight, suddenly feeling too exposed. And that’s when you really stared at him like you were trying to solve a puzzle.

"Why?"

Joel frowned. "What?"

"Why are you suddenly being nice to me?" Your voice was even, but there was something beneath it. Something close to hurt. "For two years, all you did was glare at me and grunt whenever I spoke. Now you’re fixing my shop for free? Eating lunch with me and Ellie? Acting like—" 

You hesitated. "Like you actually care."

Joel stiffened. He should’ve had an answer. Should’ve been able to shrug it off, crack a joke, something. Instead, his mouth opened—and the wrong damn thing came out.

"I didn’t like how you were always so goddamn kind."

The second the words left his lips, he regretted them.

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

"You didn’t like that I was kind?" You said the words slowly like they didn’t make sense—like you were trying to process and fit them into some reality where they could make sense.

But they didn’t. They never would.

"I—" Joel started, voice rough, but you were already shaking your head, arms crossing tightly over your chest like you were holding yourself together.

"You didn’t like that I was kind?" you repeated, quieter this time, but there was nothing soft about it. "That’s what bothered you?"

Joel’s jaw tensed. "That ain’t—"

"No, I get it now."

The way you said it—it wasn’t some quiet revelation, it wasn’t soft understanding. It was sharp, edged with something that dug under his skin.

Your voice wavered slightly, but you masked it with another shake of your head. "You couldn’t stand me because I was kind? Because I was trying to be good to you?"

Joel flinched.

"Because it made you feel something, didn’t it?"

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t because you were right.

Maybe that was what made something in you snap.

"You—" You let out a short, breathless laugh with no humor. "Do you even remember the shit you’ve said to me, Joel?"

His stomach twisted. Because yes, he remembered.

Every glare. Every cold shoulder. Every muttered, irritated, "You never quit, do you?" when you tried to be nice to him. Every time, he made you feel like you were too much for existing the way you did.

"Do you remember telling Tommy I was ‘too damn cheerful’ and you didn’t know how he put up with me?"

Joel swallowed hard, his throat tight.

"Or how about the time I offered you coffee, and you looked me dead in the eyes and said, ‘I don’t want anything from you’?"

Fuck.

"You spent years making it clear you didn’t want me around. You hated how nice I was, right? But now—" You gestured wildly between the two of you. "Now, all of a sudden, you care?"

Your voice cracked on the last word, and Joel felt it.

Because you weren’t just confused; you weren’t just angry. You were hurt.

And that did something to him—something worse than guilt or regret.

"I ain’t—" His voice was hoarse, useless. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to find the words and fix them.

But there was no fixing this.

"You should go, Joel."

It wasn’t a request.

It was final.

You turned away from him, shoulders stiff, refusing to look at him, refusing to let him see the way your hands trembled slightly at your sides.

Joel stood there for a long moment, his body locked in place, his heart pounding with something too big, too loud, too late.

Then, finally, with a heavy exhale, he walked out.

taglist: @hermionelove, @niceforcum, @ashhlsstuff, @doeeyestoji, @12thatsanumber, @cherrygirl19, @thottiewinemom, @ladynightingale, @doodlebob-mp3, @alitaar, @starwarskawaii, hduuc56, @naniiiii12, @possiblyafangirl, @alienjoel, @leesromanova, @kungfucapslock

[aleskie]

hey idk if you heard the song jonny or the reprise version by faye webster yet but idk i just got this fic idea wherein oscar wasn't just ready for a relationship or its the other way around.. idk just hurt me 😭

I LOVE THIS SONG!!! It's on my crash out playlist HAHAHA This is a lil unedited btw I wrote it in one go and well....here it is!! I hope u like it :>>>

DID YOU EVER EVEN LOVE ME? | Oscar Piastri x Reader

WARNINGS: None. Just. idk it's sad i guess...

The room is tense—air so thick it clings to your skin, somehow warmer despite the usual cold London breeze. The white walls of the apartment stretch around you, casting long, inky shadows, leaving little room for light. The silence is deafening, louder than the hum of traffic below, pressing in on you from all sides.

It’s been your apartment for a month now. Your own space. Something most people would celebrate—throw a housewarming party, invite friends over, fill the rooms with laughter. But for you, it’s been a reminder. An empty echo of everything you’ve lost.

It makes you question everything. Your choices. Your worth. The very foundation of who you are.

You think that’s what love does to people. It breaks them. Leaves them raw. You try to pray sometimes, whispering into the dark, hoping some deity—any deity—might be listening.

Some nights, you ask for revenge, for some cosmic retribution to make him feel the weight of the pain he left you with. Other nights, you just beg to feel nothing at all, to be numb, to let the emptiness take over so the ache would finally stop.

Sometimes you ask for him back.

They say love is patient. Kind. It trusts, hopes, perseveres. And for a time, it was—it did. For a time, love was stolen kisses in hidden corners, hushed phone calls on nights you were apart, midnight screenings of obscure films, hands clasped tight in the bitter cold, just to keep each other warm.

A knock at the door breaks you from your thoughts. Sharp. Unmistakable.

It’s him.

You knew he'd come—you’d read the message over and over, the words burned into your mind. He was coming to get his things. You’d cried yourself to sleep last night, knowing this moment would come.

And now it has.

"You have a key," you tell him as you pull the door open, stepping aside to let him in.

"It's your space," he says simply. "I didn't want to impose."

This is our space, you want to tell him. This is our home. 

But the words lodge in your throat like splinters. Instead, you turn away, walking toward the kitchen counter where the last of his things sit packed away—boxes filled with the remnants of a life that, not too long ago, felt unshakable.

You hand one over, your fingers brushing his.

You hate it. The fire that still flickers beneath your skin when he touches you. The way your body betrays you, how your heart still trips over itself, clinging to some fragile, stupid hope. That this is a mistake. That he’ll realize it, take it all back, and come home.

But he doesn’t. He turns to leave, silent and sure, just like he did that night—the night he decided you weren’t worth staying for.

"Why?" The word slips out before you can stop it, the weight of it filling the room. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears you. Of course, he does.

He pauses, shoulders tense.

Tears blur your vision, hot and unwelcome, but you refuse to let them fall. You won’t give him that. You won’t let him see you break.

He turns slowly, meeting your gaze. "I don’t know what you want me to say."

"Anything." Your voice shakes. "Literally anything."

He exhales, a quiet, tired sound, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s searching for the right words. Or when he knows there aren’t any.

"I didn’t want it to be like this.” His voice is low, careful, like he’s stepping over shattered glass. "This isn’t easy for me either. I…" He exhales, voice softening. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"But you did."

"I’m sorry,” he whispers.

"You walked away, Oscar," you say, the words trembling but firm. "You left, and you didn’t think I’d be hurt?"

"I didn’t walk away," he says after a beat. "I just—" He sighs, shaking his head. "You wanted things I couldn’t give you."

“I wanted things that you promised me!” The tears fall, and it feels like you’ve lost, like your very heart has betrayed you. “You said you wanted me—a family, a home. You said you loved me!”

“I do!" His voice is sharp, insistent.

"Then why?"

He falls silent, the weight of the question pressing between you. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. “I’ve worked my entire life for this. To get that seat. To win. I—” He looks at you then, and it’s the worst part—the way his gaze still holds that tenderness, that warmth, the one you’ve memorized like a scripture, a prayer. The one that makes you hope, even now. “It’s my dream.”

“You said I was your dream.”

“We were seventeen," he breathes. "What did we know then?”

“I knew I loved you.” The sob rips through you, raw and helpless. “Fuck, I still love you.”

His face twists, pained. “You think I don’t?” His voice is gentle. Soft. Guilty. “You think I don’t regret it?”

For a long moment, it’s just silence. The space between you stretching, breaking, unraveling like the seams of something that was never meant to last.

Finally, you whisper, the words barely holding together—fragile, afraid.

“Oscar…did you ever even love me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. And maybe that’s the answer. Maybe he did. Once. When love was simple and young, when life hadn’t wedged itself between you. When dreams were still dreams, untouched by sacrifice, and the future was some distant thing you had all the time in the world to figure out.

Maybe he’s right and he still does. Just not enough.

Not enough to stay.

He takes a breath, slow and measured, like he’s been holding it in for too long. Then he shifts the box under his arm, adjusting his grip like it’s heavier than it should be.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

And just like that, he turns.

Walks to the door.

Opens it.

Leaves.

The sound of it clicking shut echoes through the room, louder than it should. Louder than it has any right to be.

You stand there, staring at the empty space where he stood just moments ago, waiting. For something—anything. For him to come back. To say he made a mistake. To tell you this isn’t the end. Or at the very least, to give you some kind of answer, some final piece to help you understand where it all went wrong.

But there’s nothing.

Only silence.

A silence he will never hear.

[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.

[22ayla21]

Is it possible to get part 2 where Mydei search reader and finally they reconcile after he solved the issue with Katretos based on that one anon request about Krateros ask reader to leave Mydei because she's not good enough for him? That story is so good! 🙏🏼

The Unavoidable Conversation

The mentor knew his student would come to him, but quickly realized he shouldn't have interfered in Mydei's relationships.

Katreros was ready. He knew his student wouldn't let this go unnoticed.

When the door to his chambers burst open, he was sitting at the table, calmly studying maps and tactical schemes.

Mydei entered, and even the air in the room seemed to tighten.

"Close the door," Katreros said calmly.

"I'm afraid, after your words to my beloved, I want to do more than just close the door," Mydei's voice was cold, but a storm raged in his eyes. Katreros slowly raised his head.

"I did what I thought was right."

"You decided for me who is worthy to be by my side?"

"I protected you, as your mother commanded," the mentor's voice remained even, but Mydei saw his fingers clench into a fist.

"Did you protect or try to control?"

Katreros was silent for a long time, then sighed.

"Kremnos is a people of traditions, Mydeimos. You understand that her origin..."

"I'm not interested in traditions that require me to give up my happiness."

"You are selfish."

Mydei smirked, but there was no amusement in his eyes.

"And you forget that I am not a child who can be lectured without consequences."

Katreros clenched his teeth but remained silent.

"You were my mentor, Katreros. A friend. A person I trusted. And you betrayed that trust," Mydei's voice became quieter, but the threat felt stronger. The mentor turned away, resting his palms on the table.

"I will not apologize for wanting the best for you."

"Then you will have to accept my choice," Mydei crossed his arms.

"And if I refuse?"

"I need you, Katreros," Mydei said unexpectedly calmly. "Kremnos needs a strong commander. In my absence, you will lead the army. But if you continue to interfere..."

He stepped closer, forcing the mentor to look up.

"I will punish you in a way you cannot escape."

Katreros understood.

Mydei could banish him. Deprive him of his rank. Humiliate him publicly. But the worst thing for a warrior would be to stay and watch his world change—and not be able to stop it.

The mentor closed his eyes.

"You are truly the son of Gorgo."

"I know."

Silence fell between them.

Finally, Katreros clenched his fists and nodded.

"I understand, prince."

Mydei turned and left. And for the first time in a long time, Katreros felt like he had lost.

[favefandomimagines]

I Know Places 4 (r.c)

Summary: Rafe’s mistakes might be finally catching up to him; Y/N tells Kie the truth

AN: things are beginning to happen!!!!

Previous part

Taglist: @luvrclub

It had been a week since Y/N and Rafe’s first date, and she felt like she was floating.

Every text from him sent her heart racing, every late-night call made her stomach flip. He had a way of making her feel important, like she was the only thing that mattered when he was talking to her. She’d never had that before—not really.

Growing up, she had always felt like the friend of the pretty girls. Kie and Sarah were the ones guys gravitated toward, the ones who turned heads without even trying. Y/N never felt invisible, not exactly, but she had never been the one to have someone’s full attention.

But now, she did.

And it was hers and hers alone.

Keeping it a secret, though? That was the hard part.

Rafe had been adamant about their second date being his idea. He wanted something lowkey, something personal, but wouldn’t tell her anything else.

“Just trust me, Pretty Girl.”

And she did.

The problem was Kie.

Kie knew Y/N better than anyone, and the past week, Y/N could feel her best friend watching her. She wasn’t outright suspicious—not yet—but Y/N could tell she was waiting for her to slip up.

And today, with the bait shop quiet and no one else around, Y/N decided it was time to tell her the truth.

||

The shop smelled like salt and baitfish, the usual scent of their summer days. The morning rush had ended, and now, with John B and JJ out doing scuba tours, Sarah handling inventory, and Pope and Cleo getting groceries, it was just Y/N and Kie.

Y/N leaned against the counter, her fingers tapping anxiously. Kie was organizing some fishing lines, humming to herself, completely unaware that Y/N was about to drop a bombshell on her.

Y/N took a deep breath. “Hey, Kie?”

Kie looked up immediately, raising an eyebrow. “Oh no, what happened?” she teased.

Y/N huffed a small laugh, but it died quickly. “I have to tell you something,” she said, her voice a little too serious. Kie’s teasing expression softened.

“And I’m telling you as my best friend first, not my brother’s girlfriend. And I need you to let me explain fully before you react.”

That got Kie’s attention. She set the fishing lines down and turned to face Y/N completely, concern flickering across her face.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “I’m listening.”

Y/N inhaled deeply, bracing herself. “I’ve been talking to Rafe.”

Kie’s expression didn’t change, but Y/N saw the way her shoulders tensed.

“Since the night of the beach party,” Y/N continued. “We went on a date last week. And we’re going on another one soon.”

Silence.

Y/N forced herself to keep going. “I really like him, Kie. He’s different than he used to be. Something happened that made him finally grow up and start treating people like humans.”

Kie was still unreadable, which only made Y/N more nervous.

“He asked me about me,” Y/N said, her voice softer now. “My favorite books, my favorite memories with you, what I want to do with my life. No guy has ever cared enough to ask me that. And I think I really like him.”

The silence stretched, and Y/N’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Kie finally spoke, her voice even. “Are you done?”

Y/N nodded slowly, preparing for the absolute worst.

Kie exhaled through her nose, then tilted her head. “Was he nice to you?”

Y/N blinked. She had expected yelling, accusations—not this. “Yeah, he was really nice to me.”

Kie studied her. “And you’re positive you think he’s changed?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, her voice firm. “There’s something different about him. I told him about my dad, and he actually wanted to defend JJ. The Rafe we knew wouldn’t say that.”

Kie was quiet for a moment before stepping closer. She placed her hands on Y/N’s shoulders, looking her straight in the eye.

“I just want you to be happy, Y/N,” Kie said, her voice filled with sincerity. “You’re my best friend. And though I’m not thrilled about keeping this from JJ, you were my friend first. And I get why you haven’t told him.”

Y/N felt her throat tighten. “So… you’re not mad?”

Kie sighed. “I want to be, but no. I trust you. And if you trust Rafe, then I’ll try to trust him too.”

Relief washed over Y/N, and before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around Kie. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

Kie hugged her back, squeezing her tightly. “Just don’t let him hurt you, okay?”

Y/N pulled back, nodding. “I won’t.”

But deep on the Cut, someone was getting hurt

||

Rafe’s truck came to a screeching halt outside Barry’s place, the tires kicking up a cloud of dust as he yanked the keys from the ignition. He barely registered the familiar surroundings—the rusting cars, the half-collapsed fence, the dim glow of a single flickering porch light. His mind was only focused on one thing.

Finding them.

The second he slammed the truck door shut, Barry was already stepping onto the porch, lighting a cigarette like he wasn’t about to have the shit beaten out of him.

“Damn, man,” Barry drawled, exhaling a plume of smoke. “You look pissed. Gotta be careful with all that pent-up rage, Cameron. Might give yourself an aneurysm.”

Rafe didn’t say a word. He crossed the distance in three strides, grabbing Barry by the collar and shoving him up against the wooden porch post.

Barry let out a choked laugh, unfazed. “Oh, we’re doin’ this already? Usually, we at least have a drink first.”

Rafe’s knuckles connected with Barry’s jaw before the man could finish his sentence.

Barry grunted as his head snapped to the side, the cigarette dropping from his lips.

“Where the fuck are they?” Rafe growled, his voice low, dangerous.

Barry wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking despite the fresh bruise forming. “Man, you’re gonna have to be more specific. I know a lot of people.”

Rafe hit him again. This time, Barry stumbled, his back slamming against the porch railing.

“Don’t play with me,” Rafe snapped. “I know you were the middleman. I know you know who came into my house.”

Barry laughed, shaking his head as he leaned against the railing like they were just having a friendly chat. “You think I got control over those guys? Shit, Cameron. You don’t owe me money. I was just the guy making introductions. You’re the one who decided to play businessman and not pay back what you owed.”

Rafe’s fists clenched, his breathing heavy. He was losing control. He could feel it slipping, just like it always did.

“I swear to God, Barry, if you don’t start talking—”

“They know about her.”

The words cut through the rage like a knife.

Rafe stilled.

His grip loosened. “What did you just say?”

Barry wiped at his bleeding lip again, his smirk widening despite the fresh bruises. “The guys you owe? They know about Y/N.”

The air between them shifted instantly.

Rafe’s breath came short and fast, his chest tightening, panic seeping in through the cracks.

“No,” Rafe said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not possible. No one—”

Barry let out a humorless chuckle, rubbing at his jaw. “Oh, come on, man. You really think you kept that little crush of yours a secret?”

Rafe’s stomach churned violently.

Barry smirked, tilting his head. “You forget how much you used to talk when you were high, Cameron? You wouldn’t shut the hell up about her. Some Pogue girl you couldn’t stop thinking about, couldn’t stop watching.”

Rafe’s entire body felt like it had been submerged in ice water.

Barry leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something more sinister. “Looks like they figured out your soft spot.”

That was it.

That was the moment Rafe snapped.

His fist connected with Barry’s face one last time, harder than before, sending the man sprawling onto the ground with a loud grunt.

Barry groaned, coughing as he rolled onto his side. “Fuck, man. You really gotta work on those anger issues.”

Rafe stepped back, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his bloodied fists trembling at his sides.

He needed to get out of there.

Without another word, Rafe turned, storming back to his truck and tearing out of Barry’s driveway in a spray of gravel.

His mind was spinning, spiraling, breaking.

They knew about Y/N.

They knew.

Rafe’s pulse pounded in his ears as he drove blindly through the Cut, the weight of the revelation pressing against his ribcage.

It didn’t make sense. There was zero chance anyone knew about Y/N. No one had seen them together, no one knew they were talking.

The only reason Barry even knew about his feelings for her was because of the past.

Because of the times Rafe had been too fucked up to keep his mouth shut.

Rafe had always had a thing for Y/N Maybank.

For years, he watched her from a distance, pretended to hate her, pretended she didn’t make his head spin in the worst way. She was the only Pogue he never really saw as one of them.

She was smart, sharp-tongued, unapologetically herself.

And the fact that she belonged to them? That she was best friends with the people he grew up hating? It only made her more untouchable.

But now, somehow, the people he owed knew.

And that meant she wasn’t untouchable anymore.

||

Rafe wasn’t sure how long he had been driving before he found himself in front of the Maybank house.

His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might crack a rib.

And then, he saw her.

Y/N was on the porch, her laughter ringing through the air as she helped Sarah carry in large boxes of inventory. Her hair was falling loosely over her shoulders, her sundress swaying slightly in the warm evening breeze.

She looked happy.

Untouched.

Pure.

Rafe tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his jaw clenching.

Then, he glanced down at his hands.

His bloody, shaking hands.

The stark contrast between the two—the warmth of Y/N, the darkness that had seeped into every inch of his own life—made his stomach turn.

He had already dragged her into this without meaning to.

But he’d be damned if he let her get hurt because of him.

Rafe exhaled sharply, his grip loosening on the wheel.

He had to keep her out of this.

He didn’t deserve her. He knew that.

But he’d burn the whole damn world down before he let someone take her from him.

[ilikepjo24]

On The Ashes of the Academy...

This will be a full review/analysis of the newest atla comic, now that I finally got my hands on it. I'll duel on some things more than others but overall, I'll share my unfiltered thoughts and feelings about it.

SpoliersSpoilersSpoilersSpoilersSpoilers!

First things first, this is such a hit-and-miss.

We're all glad Ursa is looking after Kiyi and we're all glad she sees that there was somthing wrong with Azula's upbringing, but ma'am, the school is not the problem. Sure, a bad learning environment doesn't benefit children in any way, but Azula's main problem was what was happening in her home, not in her school. Maybe, since you're finally considering taking a look in your daughter's childhood, you should also start looking inside and taking note of where you failed her. This just seems like an attempt at making Ursa look blameless by saying "Oh, look, Azula isn't inherently evil, it's her school that messed her up. Certainly, Zuko's perfect mom didn't contribute to it at all!"

I mean, if you want my opinion, you lost her when you subconsciously decided to give her less attention than Zuko, which, tragically, could have been before she was even born. But this series of panels, once again, does the same thing I mentioned above; passing the responsibility around. Ursa didn't lose Azula to someone or something. She let her go. And that's assuming that she even had Azula is the first place, at any point, which could be just wishful thinking. While Ozai, and the FN as a whole played a part, Ursa can't keep viewing them as the only parties responsible instead of holding herself accountable.

Zuko pisses me off her as well because he's doing the exactly same thing, but in a different way. He removes responsibility from Ursa, but instead of placing it on the school or his father, he seems to place it on Azula's very own nature, implying that her problem was just that she was Azula, and other kids under similar circumstances would have done better, simply because they are not Azula, which is simply not true. Azula's problem isn't that she's Azula, it's that she is a product of systematic propaganda and domestic abuse and neglect.

It must take lots of nerve to hire a person that's a product of Ozai's rule, that actively and publicly supports Ozai's way of doing things, and then being bothered and flabbergasted that this person wants to do things Ozai's way. Zuko, my man, hire a new headmistress. I've seen this lady once and I know better than to trust her. Are all that survival instincts Zuko ever had sliding right off his smooth, shiny brain? Either he is actively trying to sabotage himself, or he's just that stupid.

DOGSHIT. Arguably the most annoying thing about this comic, methinks. Such a lazy way of trying to redeem Mai. I understand that she's meant to be Zuko's love intrest, so she needs to be good and support his deals, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, this must be the worst way to do it. This is just anti-Azula propaganda by this point.

If you want to redeem a character, hot take, actually redeem them. Instead of actually moving forward with Mai's character, they're backpetaling. Instead of adding redeeming qualities, they are removing the bad ones in an underhanded way. Very lazy, very bad writing. Both Mai and Azula deserve better than this.

I have way too many thoughts about these bit specifically, but this is an overall review of the comic, so I don't want to duel on one thing apecifically. I' ll talk more about everything that I hate about this "twist" in regards to Mai's character and her relationship with Azula in a different post on a different day.

Can't wait to show this to the "Azula is abusive for thowing fire at an apple that was on top of Mai's head" people. Behold! Mai started throwing dangerous shit at Azula first. This is them becoming friends. If Azula is abusive for continuing the tradition, what does tha make Mai, the one who started it?

This is more amusing to me than frustrating, if I'm being honest. They are trying so hard to make Azula out to be this inherently evil hell creature, that they don't even realize how terribly they're failing. The only thing making this interaction intimidating is framing. Azula is genuinly just being a normal kid here. Seriously, I dare you to antagonize a kid and count the minutes until they pull the parent card. I've had kids tell me that their parent works in the environment of political figures and can get me fired unless I let them run wild. Children are terribly aware of their powerlessness even if they don't show it. Borrowing mommy and daddy's "power" to wield as a threat is very typical behavior, especially in new environments. Azula isn't any more evil than any other first grader is. Which, to be fair, is reletavily evil, dependend on who you ask XD.

"Being friends with her sucked. Yeah, she was the only person I had growing up that made me feel like I mattered, since my dad used me and my mom wanted me to be an unemotional porcelain doll, but she was evil."

Two faced. Too fake. Do better. I am officially a certified Mai hater.

At this point, Mai confuses me. On one hand, she acts as if Azula is the antichrist and being mean just for the hell of it. Then, when Kiyi asks, she seems to display some actual understanding towards Azula's situation. Seems to acknowledge that who Azula is right now is the handywork of a third party, the intentions of which Azula herself doesn't fully understand, but blindly follows anyway because what else can she really do? The third party includes the only parent that pays attention to her after all.

Listen closely, because I will say this once. I better not see any of you haters blame Azula for this. "Oh, Azula is still trying to take the throne-" Shut your bitch ass up. Azula is not talking to those guys. She's working with her Fire Warriors and has no interactions with those dudes. Their actions do not reflect on her in any way, shape, or form. Them waiting for her doesn't mean she's working with them or that she has promised them anything at all. They're popping off in the assumption that she's coming back and the assumption that she'll reward them when she does. Key word beinh assumption.

And that will be all for now folks. All in all, this comic sucked. It attempts to redeem Mai and to demonize Azula and, franky, it fails at both those tasks as far as I'm conserned.

I do have that the empathy Mai showcased towards Azula is the begining of something. That her new role as a teacher and her mission of helping clean up the rooten system that raised Azula will develop into a teaching moment for the cast and the fandom. That it'll show them that Azula isn't inherently evil and therefore not beyond redemption. I genuinely hope that, eventually, we'll get the redemption Hicks teased in The Spirit Temple and that she's just playing the long game.

But for that to happen, some things have to change. The sytematic abuse needs to be showcased even more. We need to see the neglect Azula endured at home. Ursa needs to be held accountable for her failures. Azula should be given the chance to be a kid, not a weapon. I want to see a comic taking place before she displayed her firebending abilities for the first time.

Do better, Hicks.

[jardinvrn]

i don’t know how to feel about alya anymore, after everything that happened in this episode i’m starting to question even more if marinette should keep consulting alya on all things ladybug related. from the beginning of this episode when she said she hates lying and doesnt like keeping secrets, i just thought "then why are you a hero?" cause being a hero, more specifically a hero that is in ladybugs inner circle, means that you're gonna have to keep a lot of secrets from a lot of people wether you like it or not. the way she reacted to marinette’s secret was understandable but at the same time it made me so mad, she didn’t try to understand why marinette made her choice of lying to everyone after she explained it to her. she’s supposed to be her best friend whom she trusts, so why not at least try to listen to the whole story before making your mind about her choice. after this episode i’d really like to see en episode where luka finds out by accident and see his reaction because like bunix he also knows chat noir’s identity, and i really believe that if marinette told him how the final fight with monarch really went down he would understand her and give her some genuinely good advice on the matter or reassure her that no matter what happens when adrien and everyone else find out about it that he’ll be there for her and support her.

this episode also relieved one of my worries that i had when the season first started, that is that chat noir’s was gonna become a side character like the other hero’s, not adrien, but chat noir. i’m so glad the writers decided to power up chat noir and give him another little power like they did with ladybug and her little charms she makes cause it helps set him apart from the rest of the heroes. what i mean is that it started to feel like ladybug was THE hero but since the start of the show it’s been highlighted repeatedly that they’re a duo and need each other to be their best hero selves if that makes sense, but it started to feel like he became her sidekick sort of after she unlocked that bonus power and got the guardian suit, so them giving him a bonus power as well makes it feel like they’re on equal footing again.

aside from the main plot points from this episode something that i’ve been wondering about was what felix was gonna be like this season. the main thing i was curious aside from felix was “how are the rest of the heroes going to stop the detransformations?” and well apparently ladybug and chat noir put them all through a boot camp, which was honestly nice to see all of them gathered and call themselves a team. the main thing i noticed in this scene tho was felix, when the season first aired i honestly had some doubts about what they were gonna do with Argos since Felix has always been a bit of a wild card but it’s nice to see that he’s part of the team and making friends, even if it’s not in his civilian form, i think it’s good character growth for him.

anyway these were just some thoughts i had, so please don’t take any of this seriously, and if there’s anything i missed or got wrong please kindly let me know in the comments (^^)

[fizzseed]

assorted thoughts on ep 134, written as i listen. im so unwell about this show rn

martin having to correct himself from archival assistant :(((

ADELARD DEKKER???

wait wait wait WAIT! A FIFTEEENTH??????? A FIF TEENTH?

the extinction is TERRIFYING. nuclear winter.

so interested in what gertrude had to say about this considering jon was never taught about it. and then why is peter lukas so intent on teaching martin about it????

The Mother of Puppets is a SICK ASS name for a ritual holy shit?? Terminus too but the Web is so sketchy lmao

but WHY wouldn’t the eye want to stop the extinction??? or is peter lucas just so intent on it?? and how would the avatar of the eye be a participant in stopping it

and martin coming to peter lukas after the flesh attacked?????? WHY specifically

”Like a grubby jesus” show has comedic chops too i love it when they just bust out a hilarious line

MARTIN was stacking tape recorders on the coffin????? i thought they just appeared,, holy shit. okay.

”we’re you compel” peter not being able to comprend that martin did it of his own free will because he CARES. or he knows that martin cares and it’s his goal to STOP that.

he’s for SURE worried about jon, even though he says he isn’t, and knowing if jon could compel martin EVEN THROUGH the influence of the buried would be incredibly important to know. he’s working WITH the eye, but i don’t know if i trust The Lonely to work with anyone for any extended period of time.

[detective-piplup]

i am SO hyped for new world of steam. not even bc Layton’s back, but because i am literally dying to actually analyse and compare the differences between LS and NWOS of Luke calling for Layton’s help. level 5 you should give me the game early so i can be So Normal

[tackminyard]

show tempe gang crossover with the morris islanders would actually have been the best episode of bones ever. btw

[sonchiildren]

Chi-Chi is NOT the jealous type, she knows and trusts her husband. She does not care if he has friends that happen to be women or even calls another woman pretty or compliments them, she knows he is loyal. The ONLY time Chi-Chi will ever get protective or such over her husband is IF someone cannot take the hint that he is not interested or gets too handsy with him. Especially if they start making him uncomfortable or cross his boundaries than she will defend her husband.

[alastorss]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Alastor's antlers are embarrassingly, pathetically, unbearably sensitive.

He can't for the life of him figure out why—it's not like any of the other transfigured creatures wandering around the underworld were made this way. Most other animal-like sinners don't seem to care about or even acknowledge their characteristics.

Yet here he is, purposefully hiding them away just so that no one will discover his terrible weakness. Oh, what he would give to be like the others if only to ignore their incessantly uncomfortable presence on his head.

Perhaps it was a curse from heaven that made him this way, or karma that he was repaying from his life. Either way, he can't stand being touched.

At least, that's what he thought.

There's no malicious intent behind your hands, no glint in your eye that makes the primal instincts in his head scream at him to melt into the shadows. You're as gentle as can be, fingers running delicately along the intricacies of his antlers and stopping just at the ends of them.

"They're beautiful," you whisper with your eyes blown wide. Your shoulders rise and fall with each rapid breath, probably from the adrenaline of standing so close to an Overlord like this. And Alastor, no less.

Your reliable hotelier. Your first real friend in the hotel. The one whose smile cannot be trusted.

But for some reason, you can't shake the feeling that he's looking at you with pure, genuine appreciation even if his smile is a little wonky.

"Why, thank you, darling!"

He jerks away from you quick as the wind, standing tall once again and towering over you. His expression has morphed into something more strained—you can tell by the way his face creases up as his eyes narrow.

He was the one who decided to invade your personal space while the two of you were arguing. He just didn't think that you would be so bold as to get distracted by his antlers and have the gall to reach out to touch them.

The worst part? The absolute worst part of it all is that no one in all the time he's been in Hell has been gentle with him like that.

Add that to the list of things he despises. Or likes. You're confusing him now.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You have some nerve, he thinks.

Your hands have found a new home resting atop his head, with your fingers combing through his hair and tracing up and down the curve of his antlers.

It becomes a nightly routine—him on the barstool or sitting in front of the piano and you standing behind him with your fingers tangled in his hair and your chin on his head, perched right between the horns. Others in the hotel have started to raise a brow, but you don't seem to care.

So when you finally decide to break routine, sitting on the opposite end of the couch from him, his eye twitches.

There isn't even an audience tonight, everyone else already tucked into bed save for Husk behind the bar who's too busy with a bottle to care. The silence between you is heavy as lead.

"Is something the matter?" Alastor finally abruptly asks, eyes narrowed at you from the side. You shift uncomfortably.

"Why would something be the matter?"

He's not in the mood for games right now. "This is the first time you've sat away from me in months," he observes.

You look at him, surprised by his hostility over this. "Well, Lucifer told me that you don't like—"

"Lucifer," he interrupts, head now whipping to the side so he can fully glare at you. "Knows nothing."

You blink at him, stunned. With the way he's acting, he almost seems... annoyed that you've decided to stop being so handsy?

Silence overcomes you again as you just stare at each other, completely at a loss of words. Alastor finally realizes his snappiness and composes himself once more, exhaling through his teeth.

His smile softens at you, missing its usual edge. You know him like this the best—head in your lap and antlers exposed. It's familiar to you in a way that it could never be to anyone else. At least, you hope that's true.

"He knows nothing," the radio demon says one more time for good measure, eyes drifting shut under the weight of your hands.

Alastor has never liked to be touched before. But maybe there is a first time for everything, and maybe the safety of your touch brings him enough ease that you're the first he admits he can tolerate.

His smile says it all. He's content like this, even if he would deny it with his chest if you ever told anyone else.

"Okay," you breathe. "I believe you."

[dunmesh]

this panel from the world guide of falin being surrounded by other girls while laios is all alone kills me because. that's it. that's the key difference in their journeys.

as laios states himself, he left the village in order to create a home for him and falin elsewhere. a home that won't collapse due to others' hatred and fears like their old home did, a home where they are loved and accepted unconditionally. but as he soon found out, even before earning money, or having walls surrounding him and a roof above his head- what he so earnestly desired was to meet other people who will accept him for who he is as well. instead, he kept being tormented by those around him, shunned and sneered at. his loneliness quickly became all-consuming until he truly had nothing left except for the monsters in the pages of his book, but even that became a target of mockery and destroyed. that's why ever since the day he left the village, he never felt that he truly made the right choice. so he kept running away: unable to resist and unable to accpet.

and an ocean away from him there was his sister, who never managed to fully fit in herself. but unlike him, she met a person who became a home to her and learned what a true friendship was for the first time in her life. and laios clearly realizes that too when he finally sees falin and marcille together, he can tell his sister obtained the greatest treasure there is on her own- the exact thing he never managed to find anywhere himself, thus coming back empty-handed to the sister he left the village for.

but when you read this part of the manga, laios's focus is on falin's loneliness, not his own. he talks about how it hurts thinking about all those moments she had to spend alone because he wasn't there for her, so it almost sounds like he's the one who couldn't bear her suffering and therefore decided to not let her go again. but we do get a glimpse of their first meeting after that almost-decade long separation in the manga, and then we see more of that in the world guide and daydream hour- and it becomes abundantly clear that it was falin who was trying to protect and save him from this pit of loneliness and depression he was in.

so instead of just doing his best to atone for leaving her behind in the village and making sure she is never lonely again, it might also be that laios was desperately clinging to the one person in the world he felt that accepted and loved him unconditionally. those words he used to describe his motivation to stay by falin's side are the exact words she would've used as well; she couldn't bear leaving him behind in this state. in a sense, they were each other's shackles.

but then she did. she died for him and their friends, and ironically enough, it was by leaving him alone like this that he was finally able to stand on his own and put his full trust in others. to have the courage to reveal who he is and give others the opportunity to accept him after such a long time of hiding. it was a long journey, but his hiding finally came to an end when he faced the others after shedding his monster form. and i love that the person who was falin's "home" all those years away from laios, marcille, became just as meaningful to him during their time separated from falin- the first one to find him and show him that he isn't alone anymore. just as he did for her.

so at the end of the story when falin talks about all the places she would like to go, it's not just that she wants to pursue her own dreams- but that she actually feels free to do so and go anywhere she desires. and one of the main reasons for that is that her brother finally found new people he wants to be with; his own home.

[tarrynightss]

what happens when sukuna’s precious little jewel actually does get pregnant ???

I’m so glad you asked Anon hehe

Concubine!reader x Sukuna thoughts part 1 here

Tags; Pregnancy, Concubine!fem!Reader, smut below cut, breeding kink, size difference, bit of lactation kink

Sukuna is not surprised when it happens after all the hard work you both put into realizing his dream. He notices a subtle change in your smell, in the energy that pulsates around you when he caresses his hand over your body. A wide grin splits on his face as he lays his hand over your lower stomach, his chest sturdy against your back. He can’t help but nuzzle his face against the side of your head, inhaling more of your intoxicating smell. “It took.”. Those simple words have your eyes widening and your heart pounding in your chest, looking back at him to ensure you understood correctly. “You’re with child.”

He’s overjoyed with the prospect of having a baby, an heir of his own. He’s more affectionate than he ever was, taking time to settle you close against him, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the growing bump on your stomach. He even caresses your hair and kisses you in an attempt to comfort you when you feel pain, all of it shockingly gentle for Sukuna. In his mind there’s a simple explanation. You did as he wanted, and you continue to do your duty well, ensuring his child is safe and growing strong inside you even when it hurts you, so you should be rewarded for it.

Sukuna has always been wary of others, but with the pregnancy he turns outright paranoid. With the amount of enemies he has he worries that one might now lash out and target you and your baby. He focuses more on maintaining barriers around the house, has someone sample your food in front of him before it’s allowed to be served to you, and you never sleep alone anymore, him always curled protectively against your side. He also decides to dismiss a large portion of his harem, not trusting them to have your best interest in mind. He knows how jealous humans can get, had seen women scratch each others eyes out just to get ahead of the other, and so the only other concubines allowed to stay are the ones you claim are your friends. He still keeps a careful eye on them, only truly allowing it because he knows that when the time comes, you will need women to aid you through it, and he doesn’t trust random midwives more than he trusts them.

Sukuna will spoil you more than ever, making sure you are comfortable in whatever way he can offer. The pregnancy is clearly taking a toll on you, your stomach having grown large and heavy, and he almost worries the size difference between you that excited him so might become the death of you. He carries you basically everywhere the last two months, wrapping you up in his strong arms and doing anything you need of him. It’s quite ironic; you used to be the one helping him get dressed, fawning over your master, and now he does the opposite for you. Though you know it’s out of necessity, it still makes your heart flutter.

That Sukuna is stressed out when you finally give birth is putting it lightly. He waits outside as customary, trying to appear stoic but panicking on the inside at your pained screams. As soon as he hears a baby cry, he barges in, watching as another concubine places the child against your bare chest. He quickly finds himself on his knees beside you, brushing one large hand over your sweaty forehead to comfort you as the other joins you in holding your baby. It’s a daughter, but she’s healthy and strong, screaming her lungs out for a minute more before calming down. You laugh, and he breathes in deeply, knowing you both made it. Relieve makes him bend forward and press a kiss to your forehead, leaning back just in time to see the child’s eyes open. Four in total, just like her father, but with the scarlet stare replaced by the lovely color of your eyes.

It surprises everyone, including you, how much of an involved father he is, holding his baby as often as he can, a large finger prodding at her pouty lips till she smiles and coos. When you apologize to him for not giving him a son, he stares at you blankly, gesturing for you to rise from where you kneel before him, putting one hand on your cheek as two others still cradle your baby. “I don’t need your apology. The child is healthy, and you will give me a son next time.” The surprise is evident on your face as your eyes snap to his. Not only is he being benevolent, but he also just said he wants another child with you. You were afraid he would discard you like a broken toy after this, no longer interesting enough to him, but it seems you still manage to hold your position as his favorite, bringing a smile to your face.

It has to be said that Sukuna can’t take his eyes off of you from the moment that tiny bump appears on your stomach. There’s something about it, about you, that makes every fiber of his being crave touching you. Maybe it’s that famous pregnancy glow, or maybe it’s the fact that he knows he’s the one who fucked a baby into you. You’re his, more clearly now than ever, and it excites him beyond his own comprehension.

Luckily for Sukuna, the hormones coursing through your body have you seeking him out desperately throughout most of your pregnancy. The first few months he fucks you like he wants to ruin you, rutting into you like an addict, but as soon as you really start showing he becomes more gentle. He wouldn’t risk seriously hurting you or his child, often seating you in his lap as he thrusts into you, his mouth lapping at your sweet neck. You still mewl so sweetly for him, so eagerly, and he already knows he might want to do this all over again after you’ve given him his first child.

Sukuna takes such good care of his little jewel, even massaging your poor sore breasts, teasing your aching nipples with his tongue. The changes to your body have him drooling all over you, his hands constantly on your growing breasts or belly. It becomes a guilty pleasure of his to touch you there, enjoying just having you on his lap as he rolls your nipples between his fingers, loving the way you squirm against him.

You find some of the changes quite embarrassing, especially when your breasts start leaking milk as you enter your third trimester. He only grins wolfishly when he notices the wet patches on the fabric covering your breasts, tutting as he pulls you to his chambers. “You need to relieve the pressure, little one.” And of course your benevolent master knows just how to do it, massaging your breasts till more drops come out, making sure he’s right there to help you through it all. This definitely gets far worse after you’ve given birth and your milk fully comes in, aching painfully to be released, Sukuna hot on your heels after ensuring your baby is fed to ‘help’ you.

[rizzanon]

07-3 | SNEAKY LINK?

m.list | prev | next

Your face was burning.

Not from anger. Not from shame.

But from sheer, secondhand embarrassment.

Because what the hell was that?

You had just—what, snapped at Tim? And not in the normal, passive-aggressive, “I’m going to make this as difficult as possible for you” kind of way. 

No. You had gone dramatic. 

Full “No, Tim. Don’t. I’m not here to listen to whatever you have to say” levels of dramatic. Like you were starring in some self-indulgent soap opera about betrayal and lost trust.

And then, because that wasn’t enough, you had kept going.

“The least you can do after following me like this is help out with the kids with your friends.”

Like you were some righteous saint, personally assigning him his penance.

And then, to top it all off—

“You don’t have to bother yourself with me anymore. I’ll make sure of that.”

You’ll make sure of that.

You’ll make sure of that?

Make sure of that how?

What were you going to do, take out a restraining order? Get a new identity? Flee to Europe?

Who did you think you were?

God, the moment you had walked away, the sheer mortification had hit you like a brick wall. You had barely managed to keep yourself from cringing so hard you collapsed in on yourself like a dying star.

And now here you were, sitting in some abandoned corner of the orphanage’s yard, forcibly repressing every memory of the last ten minutes before you actually had a stroke.

You inhaled sharply, running a hand down your face.

No. You couldn’t afford to let this mess with your head.

Not right now.

Because you had work to do.

Mrs. Cole was out on errands. At least, that’s what you had overheard from one of the staff members you’d befriended. If there was ever a time to do some snooping, it was now.

You just needed to—

“Wow. You look like you just had the worst conversation of your life.”

Your entire body tensed.

Because of course.

Of course.

Slowly, you turned your head—only to be met with the sight of none other than Conner Kent standing a few feet away, arms crossed, an easy grin playing at his lips.

Because apparently, the universe hated you.

For a moment, you just stared at him, trying to gauge what he wanted, the sarcasm practically dripping from your voice. “Finally making use of that superhearing of yours, huh?”

Kon’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Only when it’s worth it,” he said, tilting his head slightly, clearly intrigued.

“You looked like you were about to burst into flames back there. Just thought I’d check in on you.”

Of course he noticed that.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Well, you checked in. You can go now.”

Kon raised an eyebrow. “Not even a ‘thank you’ for my concern? Cold.”

You rolled your eyes and turned away. “Go bother someone else.”

“Nah.” Kon said simply, pushing himself off the wall and stepping closer to you. He plopped down beside you in that effortlessly casual way of his, as though it was totally normal for him to invade your space like this. “I’m good, thanks.”

You sighed. Loudly.

Because of course he wasn’t going to leave.

Of all the people to find you, it just had to be him.

You and Kon had never really been close.

You’d only ever known him as Tim’s best friend. Tim’s partner-in-crime. Tim’s “I’m going to try and clone you 99 times because I have attachment issues” best friend. The guy who didn’t really fit into your orbit. But now, here he was, standing right in front of you, apparently more interested in whatever you were doing than the kids in the yard.

Other than a handful of stakeouts and a few missions where you’d been forced to work together, you had barely interacted.

And yet, somehow, somehow, he was the one who had found you.

You were already trying to fix things in your head, and now Kon—Kon, of all people—had decided to join you for the pity party.

Fantastic.

You exhaled sharply. “If you’re just here to talk, don’t bother. I’m not in the mood.”

Kon tilted his head. “Not in the mood? Or trying to be sneaky?”

Your fingers twitched.

Because that was dangerously close to being an actual observation.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said flatly.

Kon hummed. “Sure you don’t.”

You shot him a warning look. “Are you done?”

“Not really.”

You sighed again. “Then what do you want?”

Kon grinned. “Needed a break. The kids get exhausting after a while.”

That, at least, was something you could understand.

You huffed, shaking your head. “Yeah. I don’t know how the others do it.”

“Right?” Kon groaned, dropping down to sit beside you. “One Bart is enough. A whole room of them? No, thanks.”

That caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected Kon to be so honest about his frustration. And, to be honest, you felt it too. You let out a soft, surprised chuckle, a real one.

It was soft. Brief.

But Kon heard it.

And when you glanced at him, he was staring.

Brows slightly raised, lips parted just a fraction.

Like he had just witnessed a goddamn miracle.

You raised an eyebrow, suddenly wondering what had caused the shift in his mood.  “What?”

Kon blinked, then grinned. “So even you can laugh, huh?”

You deadpanned. “What, am I not allowed to?”

Kon held his hands up. “No, no. Laugh all you want. Just thought you’d be more of a carbon copy of your pops.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. It was like a sharp stab to the gut. You weren’t sure why, but it made you feel something close to irritation. 

And without thinking—

“Don’t compare me to him.”

Kon froze.

You weren’t angry, per se.

But there was a sharpness to your voice that hadn’t been there before.

A warning.

Kon, to his credit, immediately backtracked. “Right. My bad.”

And just like that, he dropped it, his face shifting to one of genuine apology as he raised his hands in defeat.

No jokes. No teasing.

Just a simple, straightforward apology.

That… was unexpected.

You glanced at him, considering. Then, reluctantly, you decided to cut him some slack.

You stood up from your crouched position, brushing the dirt off your pants. “Well, I’ve got work to do.”

Kon looked at you, mildly confused. “Work?”

You gave him a pointed look. “Staff needs help around here. I’ve got my hands full.”

Which was true—on the surface. You had offered to help out with some of the administrative tasks the orphanage had, but in reality, your purpose was entirely different. You had to move, to snoop. Mrs. Cole would be out for a while, and you needed that time.

Kon’s brow furrowed slightly. “I’ll tag along.”

“No.”

Kon blinked. “No?”

“No.” You said it too quickly, too firmly, and you knew it.

Kon squinted at you, eyes narrowing with exaggerated suspicion. “Aww, why not? Thought you’d be grateful to get some help around here. After all, isn’t that what you wanted Tim to do?”

Your stomach dropped.

Of course, he’d heard that.

Of course, with his super hearing, he’d caught every single word.

You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, even as your mind raced for an out. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

Kon grinned, leaning back against the courtyard railing with all the ease of someone who had all the time in the world. “Nope.”

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temple.

Kon, still lounging like he owned the place, tilted his head at you. “So, are you gonna let me help you out, or—”

“I like to work alone,” you cut in, shutting him down before he could finish.

And then, before he could argue, before he could get another teasing word in, you turned on your heel and walked off, heading straight into the orphanage building.

You didn’t look back.

But you could feel his gaze on you the entire way.

For a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t going to follow. You could feel his gaze on your back, but he didn’t move.

Good. You needed him to leave.

Once inside, you made your way toward the front desk, where one of the orphanage staff members—Miss Jenkins—was standing, sifting through some paperwork. She wasn’t as unsettling as Mrs. Cole, but she was efficient, always delegating tasks to whoever was willing to help.

You cleared your throat, catching her attention. “Miss Jenkins.”

She looked up, offering a polite smile. “Ah, good timing. I was just about to look for someone to help with some tasks.”

Perfect. The more she trusted you, the easier it would be to sneak around later. You forced a pleasant expression, nodding. “I can help.”

Miss Jenkins looked relieved. “Great. There are some supplies that need organising in the storage room—”

A sudden weight landed on your shoulder.

You stiffened instantly.

You knew who it was before you even turned your head.

Because of course.

Of course.

Slowly, almost dreading what you’d see, you glanced to the side—only to be met with the insufferably smug face of none other than Conner Kent, grinning down at you like he had just won something.

And technically, he had.

“So,” he drawled, his arm still slung casually over your shoulder, “what are we helping out with?”

You have got to be kidding me.

You just stared at him.

Flabbergasted.

Because what part of “I like to work alone” had been unclear?

You were sure you had said it clearly. Firmly. Finally.

And yet, here he was.

Looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Miss Jenkins, completely unaware of the silent war you were now fighting, simply smiled. “Oh, perfect! That makes things easier.”

No, it does not, you thought, barely restraining the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose.

You wanted to strangle him.

But you couldn’t.

Kon was watching you expectantly, clearly waiting for you to argue.

To fight him on this.

To give him some reaction he could latch onto, poke at, use as an excuse to keep going.

And you refused to give him that satisfaction.

So you swallowed your frustration, inhaled sharply, and turned back to Miss Jenkins.

You forced a tight-lipped smile, nodding as if nothing was wrong. “Yeah,” you said, voice strained. “Great.”

Miss Jenkins handed you a list of things to check, still clearly pleased by the unexpected extra help. “If I’m not around, just put the list back here when you’re done.”

“Got it.”

If she noticed the way your voice was slightly strained, she didn’t comment on it. She just nodded, already moving back to her paperwork.

That was your cue to leave.

You turned on your heel and walked briskly down the hall, doing your best to ignore the very solid, very annoying presence that was now trailing after you.

And, to his credit, Kon didn’t say anything.

Not right away.

He just kept up easily, hands tucked into his pockets, his usual air of relaxed confidence somehow making it even more obvious that he was enjoying himself.

You could feel it.

The sheer smugness radiating off him.

It was unbearable.

The second Miss Jenkins was out of eyeshot, you grabbed Kon by the arm and dragged him toward the nearest empty hallway, shoving him against the wall.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, voice low but sharp.

“What are you doing?”

You clenched your teeth. “I asked first.”

Kon raised an eyebrow. “Look, I know I might be a hot hunk”—

You rolled your eyes. Seriously.

Kon chuckled. “But that doesn’t mean I’m dumb. I know you’re up to something.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, narrowing your eyes. “So, what if I am? Are you going to snitch?”

Kon pretended to think. But you knew from one look that he was only playing with you.

“No. Never. As long as you let me join in on whatever it is you’re planning to do.”

Damn it, you thought, internally groaning. The last thing you needed was Kon sticking his nose into your business. “Why?” you asked, your voice dripping with exasperation.

Kon shrugged nonchalantly, completely unfazed by your frustration. “Why not?”

You gave him a look. “You’re wasting your time.”

Kon shrugged, his smile still intact. “So? I’ve already given Tim my time and day to spy on you. Might as well use the rest of it on you again.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Not funny.”

Kon sighed dramatically. “Right. Got it. I’m just… offering help, like a good citizen, y’know.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re not a good citizen.”

He gasped, feigning offense. “Wow. Rude.”

You weren’t in the mood for this. “Conner.”

“Call me Kon.”

You sighed sharply, rubbing a hand down your face. “Kon, I swear to—”

“So what exactly are you snooping for?” he interrupted, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Because let’s be honest, you’re not exactly a volunteer type.”

You glared. “And you are?”

He shrugged. “Nope. But I can recognize a lie when I see one.”

You clenched your jaw, mind racing. You had two options: make up some excuse or tell him the truth. Both had risks. If you lied and he caught on, he’d definitely tell Tim. If you told him the truth, there was still a chance he’d tell Tim.

Neither outcome was ideal.

Kon, as if sensing your internal battle, grinned wider. “Man, you’re really overthinking this, huh?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I’m considering my options.”

“Options?”

“Yeah. Like whether I should knock you out or just leave you here.”

Kon chuckled. “Right. That’s an option.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, after a beat, Kon leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a lower, more curious tone. “Seriously though. What’s going on?”

You studied his face. He wasn’t just messing with you anymore. There was genuine curiosity there. Maybe even concern.

You hesitated. That made it harder to brush him off. Because it didn’t seem like he had any other agenda.

Then, finally, you quietly mutter, “Something isn’t right about this place.”

Kon blinked, the teasing glint in his eyes dimming just a fraction.

You expected him to brush it off, to laugh, to call you paranoid.

Instead, he tilted his head. “Yeah?”

That threw you off. You had expected teasing. Maybe a sarcastic remark. But he wasn’t mocking you. He was listening.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Kon considered that for a moment. Then, with a shrug, he said, “Alright. Guess I’m in.”

You stared. “What?”

His smirk returned. “You heard me.”

It made you pause.

“You believe me?” You asked slowly.

Kon blinked. “Yeah?”

You frowned. “Just like that?”

“Just like what?”

“You don’t think I’m being paranoid or overreacting?”

Kon shrugged. “If there’s one thing I learned after working with Tim and you Bats, it’s to trust your instincts. Because somehow, for some godforsaken reason, you guys are always right.”

You froze.

The way he said Bats. Like it still applied to you.

Like you were still one of them.

You weren’t Batgirl anymore. You weren’t—one of them anymore.

You swallowed, staring at Kon’s face, but he wasn’t looking at you like he’d said something strange. He wasn’t looking at you with pity either, or like he was trying to backpedal. He’d said it so naturally, so easily, like it was a simple fact.

Your throat felt tight. 

You looked away. 

“You do know I’m not Batgirl anymore, right?” Your voice came out quieter than you intended, and you hated how it sounded—how it almost wavered.

You saw Kon hesitate, as if trying to find the right words to say.

“Yeah. I heard.”

You waited. 

Waited for the inevitable Why? that always followed.

But it never came.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t press.

Just accepted it.

Your brows furrowed slightly, caught off guard.

“You’re not gonna ask why I quit?”

Kon shrugged. “Nope.”

And that… that was surprising.

You blinked. “…Why?”

His smirk softened, losing its usual cockiness. Just a fraction. “Because if you wanted to tell me the reason, you’d do so without any prompting.”

You stared.

Something deep twisted in your chest.

That was—unexpected.

People always asked.

Over and over, like they needed to hear you say it out loud.

But Kon…

He just accepted it.

Like he didn’t need an explanation.

Like your choices were yours.

You had no idea what to do with that.

Your throat felt tight again, and you cleared it quickly, shifting your weight like that would somehow shake off the sudden heaviness in your chest. “Well. Uh. Thanks, I guess.”

Kon’s grin returned in full force, his usual playful energy slipping back into place. “Anytime.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t quite shake the feeling in your chest, like something had settled in there, unfamiliar and warm.

Pushing past it, you nodded toward the hallway. “Come on. We have an orphanage to snoop through.”

Kon chuckled, pushing off the wall with ease and falling into step beside you. “Lead the way, not-Batgirl.”

You shot him a look, but he only smirked wider, clearly enjoying himself.

The search was… frustrating.

You and Kon had started with the staff rooms, slipping through the halls unnoticed, careful not to make a sound.

But there was nothing.

No weird documents, no strange behavior from the staff, no hidden files. The most suspicious thing you found was an outdated carton of milk in the break room fridge.

Then you moved onto Mrs. Cole’s office, lingering outside the door, waiting for the perfect moment.

“Seriously, what are we looking for?” Kon muttered beside you, shifting his weight.

“Anything suspicious,” you whispered back.

Kon snorted. “Right. Because that narrows it down.”

You shot him a look before cracking the door open and slipping inside, Kon following behind you.

Mrs. Cole’s office was surprisingly neat. A single desk sat in the center, with a few filing cabinets lined up against the walls. Everything was orderly. A little too orderly.

Kon leaned against the desk, arms crossed, watching as you surveyed the room. “Alright, detective, what’s the plan?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just—check the drawers.”

Kon gave you a lazy salute before crouching down and yanking one open. Meanwhile, you moved toward the filing cabinets, quickly skimming the labels.

Most of them were standard. Financial records, employee files, supply orders. Nothing remotely suspicious.

Kon, however, had taken a different approach.

“Hey, do you think she’s hiding secret documents under here?” he asked, knocking against the bottom of the drawer like it might pop open to reveal a hidden compartment.

You turned to see him casually opening and shutting random drawers, half-heartedly rummaging through them.

“You’re terrible at this,” you muttered.

“Excuse you,” Kon shot back. “I am fantastic at this.”

You huffed, moving toward the desk instead, running your fingers along the edges. Sometimes people had false bottoms in their drawers, or a safe tucked underneath. Maybe that was the case.

Meanwhile, Kon had apparently decided he was bored of the search already. “I’m just saying, if I were running a shady operation, I wouldn’t be dumb enough to leave evidence lying around in a desk.”

“Well, lucky for us, not everyone is as smart as you, Kon-El,” you deadpanned.

“Damn right.”

You ignored him, crouching down to check the bottom drawers. One was locked.

You tried tugging on it again. Still locked.

Bingo.

Kon, of course, noticed immediately. “Oho, what’s this?”

“Locked drawer,” You murmured, studying it.

Kon’s grin widened. “Want me to break it open?”

You stared at him. “And make it painfully obvious that someone was snooping around?”

He shrugged. “I could put it back together. Maybe.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “No. No breaking things.”

Kon sighed dramatically but backed off, leaning against the desk again. “So, what’s the plan, oh wise and paranoid one?”

You pulled a bobby pin from your pocket.

Kon’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you seriously about to pick that lock?”

You held up the pin. “Why else would I carry these?”

He looked vaguely impressed. “Okay, I take it back. That’s kinda badass.”

Rolling your eyes, you crouched down and got to work. It wasn’t a particularly difficult lock. You had it undone in less than a minute.

Kon gave a low whistle. “Damn. The big Bat really did teach you guys everything, huh?”

You didn’t respond to that. Instead, you pulled the drawer open, feeling a flicker of anticipation—

Only for it to disappear just as quickly.

The drawer was filled with basic paperwork. A few financial reports. Some school records. Nothing remotely unusual.

You flipped through them quickly, hoping for something, anything that would justify the nagging feeling in your gut. But after a good five minutes of searching…

Nothing.

No hidden records. No cryptic documents. No damning evidence.

Just… nothing.

You sat back on your heels, frustration clawing at your chest.

Kon, peering over your shoulder, let out a low hum. “Sooo, either Mrs. C is really good at covering her tracks, or—”

“There’s nothing to find,” you finished bitterly.

The words tasted wrong in your mouth. Because that wasn’t possible. You knew something was off about this place. You could feel it.

So why wasn’t there anything here?

Your mind started spiraling. Had you misread the situation? Had you let paranoia cloud your judgment? Were you just wasting your time—wasting Kon’s time—chasing after nothing? Just because of something you conjured up in your mind?

Your fingers curled into a fist.

Then—

A warm hand suddenly landed on your shoulder.

You blinked, pulled out of your thoughts as Kon gave you a small, reassuring squeeze.

“You’re spiraling,” he said simply.

You stared at him, caught off guard.

He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t mocking.

He was just… grounding you.

You swallowed, exhaling slowly. “I just—” You hesitated, struggling to put it into words. “I know something’s wrong here, Kon.”

Kon nodded, like he believed you without question. “So, we’ll keep looking.”

You frowned. “Even though we just found nothing?”

“Yeah,” he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “If you still feel like something’s off, then I’ll help you figure it out.”

You blinked. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

You hesitated. 

It was stupid.

This was stupid.

You should refuse. You should just let this go.

You shouldn’t drag him into this.

But…

Maybe—just maybe—it’d be nice to have help.

Without it feeling like you were being dumb. Weak.

Without feeling like someone who wasn’t capable of doing things on her own.

Without the skepticism, the side-eyes, the exasperated sighs.

Kon wasn’t doing that. He might be humoring you, but he wasn’t questioning your decisions, either. He was just… there. Standing beside you, unwavering.

You let out a slow breath, forcing yourself to unclench your fists.

“Alright,” you muttered. “Fine.”

You looked up at him. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Kon grinned. “Of course you do. I am pretty great.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself up. “Come on. Let’s wrap this up before someone finds us.”

The two of you made quick work of putting everything back in place, slipping out of the office unnoticed.

And you guys quickly cleaned up and organised the storage room, before rejoining the others in the courtyard.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It was so typical. So stupid. You had thought—no, you had to believe—that something was off about this place. That there was something hiding beneath its surface. But now, after sifting through Mrs. Cole’s meticulous paperwork and pristine office, as well as clean fhe storage rooms and found absolutely nothing, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were just seeing shadows.

Or worse… you were going insane.

It is plausible. After all, you somehow came back to life and you still don’t know how or why—

“Looks like we’re back to square one.”

Kon’s voice was casual, the kind of tone that suggested he wasn’t bothered by the dead-end. But then again, he always had that air about him. Like everything bounced off. You watched as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, glancing over at you with a half-smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His eyes weren’t teasing. He wasn’t giving you that cocky grin. Instead, there was something else there. Something quieter. Something more… understanding.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to dive into it right now. Maybe you were too tired to unpack the layers of meaning in his expression.

So, you did the next best thing—you rolled your eyes and muttered a half-hearted, “Yeah, no kidding.”

Kon chuckled softly, a little sound that felt almost like a weight lifted from your chest. It was strange how much he could make you feel lighter, even in the most absurd situations.

Maybe that was why Tim kept him around. As his friend.

You shook the thought away, rubbing your forehead as if that could erase the last few hours of frustration. It wasn’t his job to take away your weight.

“We’ll find something,” Kon said, voice steady, though there was a hint of something that sounded like reassurance. “We just gotta keep looking. No need to make it harder than it is.”

You exhaled slowly, glancing at him. “We, huh? You were really serious about helping me out with this?”

Kon shrugged, his smile returning, albeit a little more teasing. “Of course! What do you take me for?”

You sighed. “Alright, fine, you win this time, Kent.”

His grin returned, lopsided and teasing. “Damn. Must’ve been hard admitting that, Wayne.”

You rolled your eyes. “Go back to Tim before I decide knocking you out is a viable option.”

Kon smirked but backed away with his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’m going. Don’t miss me too much, partner.”

You groaned, shaking your head, and turned on your heel.

You walked back toward the courtyard where your friends are, feeling that ever-present weight of unease still sitting in your chest. But it wasn’t as heavy as before.

Maybe because you weren’t the only one carrying it anymore.

Your friends were scattered, lounging on benches and idly chatting, before you felt it.

A familiar pang in your chest. 

A gut feeling that you knew very well.

Adrien and Caitlyn were already watching you, and it wasn’t a gaze of mere curiosity. No, it was that unmistakable, mischievous glint. The kind that always meant they knew something.

And they did.

“Uh-oh,” Adrien said, his eyes lighting up. “Look who’s back, Caity.”

Caitlyn’s grin was practically ear-to-ear. “Don’t think we didn’t notice who you came back with, hun.”

You couldn’t help the sinking feeling that settled into your stomach. God. You hadn’t even said a word and they were already making assumptions. You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, even though you were already bracing for what was to come.

Adrien raised his eyebrows, a knowing, too-perfect smirk on his face. “What?” He pretended to look innocent. “It’s just funny. You disappearing with Mr Hotshot—and coming back with him. Alone. After what? Hours?”

“We’ve been gone for barely an hour—”

Caitlyn nudged him in the side. “Totally suspicious.”

You tried to hide your irritation. “It’s not like that.” You crossed your arms, fighting the warmth creeping up your neck. “Kon just helped out with some of the stuff around the orphanage, which is what we’re supposed to do as volunteers by the way.”

“Already calling him by nicknames, eh?” Caitlyn teased, folding her arms and giving you a look.

Ok, this was too much.

“That—“ 

Adrien’s grin widened, impossibly smug. “Uh-huh. Sure. You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say something’s going on between you two.”

“Nothing’s going on,” you snapped, but your voice came out sharper than you meant.

That only made them more excited.

“Right.” Adrien’s tone was playful, but there was a sharpness to it, as though he knew exactly what buttons to press. “Then why are you getting all defensive, huh?”

“I’m not defensive.”

“Oh, you so are.” Caitlyn insists, raising a finger to tap her chin. “I think she’s hiding something, Adrien.”

“I’m not—”

As you said it, you turned slightly—and your gaze landed on him.

Kon, who was now on the other side of the courtyard.

Kon, who had somehow gotten himself into what looked like a heated argument with Tim.

Tim, who looked seconds away from beating his ass over something.

 The two of them were practically going toe-to-toe, Kon’s arms crossed and his posture that of someone who didn’t give a damn, while Tim’s posture was stiff with irritation, his words sharp and fast.

Yikes.

And at that exact moment, as if he felt your stare, Kon glanced up—right at you.

You both froze.

The moment your eyes met, something shifted.

His gaze softened, his expression pulling into a quiet smirk. It wasn’t teasing this time. It was something a little… fonder. 

Then, ever so casually, ever so smugly, he winked.

The small, silent gesture hit you like a jolt, making you freeze.

And, with a knowing smirk, he lifted a finger to his lips in a shush motion.

You blinked.

It was a promise.

He wasn’t going to tell Tim.

The thought swirled in your mind as you processed his gesture. Your breath caught in your throat, a small smile curling up your lips before you could stop it.

It was small. Grateful.

A silent thank you.

You dipped your head at him, and he gave you a lazy salute once more before smoothly dodging a half-hearted swipe from Tim.

The moment was fleeting.

But it meant everything.

“Did you fucking see that?”

You whipped your head back toward your friends, but the smile on your face was gone, replaced with a forced indifference. “What?”

Caitlyn gasped. “Conner just winked at you, didn’t he??”

“No.” You were emphatic, trying to brush it off, but it didn’t feel right. You were lying—to them, and to yourself.

“Uh-huh. You’re smiling way too much by the way.”

“Shut up.”

But they weren’t done. They never were.

Adrien leaned forward. “You totally like him, don’t you?”

Before you could answer, there was a sharp cough from behind you, followed by the sound of boots striking the ground.

Damian.

Your stomach dropped.

You barely even noticed him standing beside your friends.

And before you knew, Damian was heading straight for Kon, his eyes narrowed with barely concealed fury.

You could see his fists tightening as he closed the distance, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Kon, oblivious to the brewing storm behind him, was still bantering with Tim. But you could see it in his posture now, that little glint of recognition in his eyes as he noticed Damian’s approach.

RIP.

—

A: “I swear I’ve seen that guy somewhere before.”

“No, you haven’t.”

A: “He kind of looks like Lex Luthor if you squint—“

“Nope. Definitely not.”

Tim was not having a good day.

It had been one of those afternoons where the lines between “whatever” and “I’m about to snap” blurred, and now he was pacing the courtyard, trying to ignore the incessant buzz in his mind. He’d been looking for Kon ever since his argument with you. Well, if he can call it that. 

Cassie and Bart were just a few paces ahead of him, chatting casually, but Tim couldn’t focus on their conversation. Not with Kon completely disappearing out of his sight. He had a bad feeling about it. More than usual. Something about today—about Kon’s behaviour—had felt off. So, Tim just… asked around.

“Hey, Cassie. Bart. Have either of you seen Kon?” Tim asked, his voice tight, trying to keep his growing irritation in check.

Cassie shrugged nonchalantly, her eyes scanning the area. Bart just raised an eyebrow, looking far too innocent, as if he hadn’t been the cause of half of their chaotic antics.

“Nope,” Cassie answered, glancing at Bart, who gave a shrug of his own, and Tim could tell they were both just as clueless as he was.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Where the hell was he?

And then it happened.

There, emerging from the orphanage building, was Kon.

And—what the hell?

You were with him.

Tim’s stomach twisted as his gaze shot to the two of you. You were walking side by side, talking in low tones. A small smile tugged at your lips, a genuine smile, the kind Tim hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

Why were you smiling at him?

Tim’s breath hitched. You looked comfortable—too comfortable. That smile wasn’t something you gave just anyone. It wasn’t something you gave him. So why the hell were you smiling like that at Kon?

A red flag.

The first one of the day. What were you and Kon talking about?

Tim swallowed hard, trying to steady his thoughts. He needed answers. He had to know what the hell was going on. He wished for a moment that he had superhearing, just to catch even the smallest fragment of your conversation. What were you saying to him? What was Kon saying to you? His gaze never left you both. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way you stood there with him, the subtle way you nodded your head as you exchanged words, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His fists clenched, but he stayed silent, watching.

The second you broke away, walking back toward your friends, Kon turned and made his way back toward theirs. And that’s when it hit Tim—he couldn’t let this go.

Tim immediately stepped forward, his feet bringing him toward Kon as he approached the others. There was no more waiting. No more uncertainty. This time, he’d get answers. He had to.

“Kon,” Tim said, his voice edged with irritation, “where the hell did you go? And what were you doing with (Name)?”

Kon’s face was a mask of casual indifference. He leaned against the wall, his posture relaxed, as if the world was his to do with as he pleased. “Oh, I was just helping her out with some cleaning,” Kon said, the words rolling off his tongue as if they were completely innocent. But Tim could see it. He was lying.

That much was obvious.

“Really?” Tim asked, crossing his arms. “Just cleaning? You’re telling me you spent all that time in there just… cleaning?”

Kon shrugged, giving him that easy-going grin that Tim hated so much right now. “Yeah, sure. There was a lot of stuff to organise, so I helped out.”

“Right...”

Kon raised an eyebrow. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“Well, yeah,” Cassie added, crossing her arms together. “I bet you guys were doing more than just cleaning.”

And Kon—

Kon just shrugged.

And that itself was an answer.

“What the hell.” Tim snaps, but he immediately was about to interrogate the half-kryptonian full on.

But then he saw it.

Kon’s gaze, drifting elsewhere. His attention shifting. Tim frowned.

Kon wasn’t looking at him anymore. He wasn’t focused on Tim’s interrogation or on his friends. His eyes were elsewhere.

And then, like a slow-motion train wreck, Tim’s gaze followed Kon’s, and his breath caught.

Kon’s eyes were on you.

And your eyes were on him too.

Tim couldn’t help but feel a knot tighten in his stomach as he watched Kon wink at you, his expression mischievous, his grin more playful than Tim had ever seen it. But it wasn’t the wink that caught Tim’s attention—it was the damn shush that followed. Kon placed a finger to his lips, and Tim’s world seemed to slow down, his heart beating out of sync with everything else.

What the hell?

And as if that wasn’t bad, you smiled back.

You smiled at Kon. You actually smiled at him, the same smile that you didn’t just give anyone.

Tim’s mind spiraled, crashing into chaos. His thoughts were all over the place, every tiny movement, every subtle glance now magnified in his mind. 

First Damian, now Kon.

Why does it feel like everyone else can move forward with you, but when it’s you and him, it’s always two steps back?

What had he missed? What had happened between you and Kon?

That smile. That damn smile.

He could feel the tension in his chest rising, his hands clenching at his sides, fighting the urge to storm over and demand answers from both of you. Why the hell was he acting like that? What was Kon hiding?

“Yeah, okay, I’m done,” Tim muttered, hands clenched into fists. He took a step forward, his voice tight with something he couldn’t quite place, and definitely didn’t want to admit. “You winked at her.”

Kon chuckled. “What? I think you’re seeing things, Timbo.”

“You winked.” Tim repeated, louder this time, his frustration reaching a boiling point. “What are you guys hiding? What did you two do?” He struggled to find the words, his brain running a mile a minute.

Cassie, sensing TIm’s growing frustration, leaned back on her hands. “Whoa, whoa, hold up. Calm down, Tim, I’m sure they didn’t do anything bad.”

“If it’s nothing bad, Cassie, why isn’t he telling us?” Tim shot back, his voice dripping with exasperation, before his eyes darted over to Kon. 

Kon, predictably, didn’t back down. Instead, he chuckled, clearly enjoying the chaos he was stirring up. “Relax, Tim. We can’t keep secrets now? We were just having fun, alright?” He shot a quick look at Tim’s clenched fists, before shooting him a grin. “How about we all take a chill pill?”

Before Tim could snap back, another voice interrupted him.

“Kent.”

“Oh boy, here we go…” Tim heard Cassie’s sigh. He didn’t even have to turn around to know that Damian Wayne was approaching their group.

The younger boy, clearly agitated, marched over to Kon with an intensity that matched Tim’s own. The way his eyes narrowed, fists clenched at his sides, told Tim everything he needed to know—Damian was pissed.

“Tell me what you did with (Name). Now.”

For the first time in a long while, Tim felt a strange sense of solidarity with Damian. At least someone else was as frustrated as he was. Maybe together, they could pry the truth out of Kon. Maybe, just maybe, they’d get the answers they needed.

Kon barely had a chance to react before Damian was on him, arms crossed, gaze murderous.

“You,” Damian seethed, “are going to tell me what exactly you and she were doing.”

Kon blinked, caught off guard for maybe a second—before his trademark smirk slid into place.

“Oh?” he drawled. “Why do you want to know, Damian?”

Damian’s glare sharpened.

Kon grinned. “What? You jealous?”

Before he could so much as breathe, Damian lunged.

The sky had begun its slow descent into evening, streaked with warm hues of orange and pink as the day at the orphanage came to an end. The kids were beginning to settle down, some still clinging onto the last bits of playtime before dinner. You stood at the entrance of the courtyard, watching as Caitlyn and Adrien said their goodbyes to the kids they’d grown especially fond of over the past few days.

Meanwhile, Tim and his friends, as well as Damian, were nowhere in sight. The last you saw them, you watched Damian pounce on Kon and the rest was a mystery.

Elliot, as usual, was pressed against your side, his small fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. He hadn’t said much in the past few minutes, content just to be next to you, but you knew that look on his face—the gears in his little mind were turning, the questions were forming.

And sure enough—

“Hey,” he started, tilting his head. “Who were those people that came today?”

You froze.

You should’ve expected it. Of course he’d ask—he was an observant kid. He had been there after all, when you confronted Tim and his friends who had been spying on you from the bushes, and brought them in to play with the other kids.

It was a simple question, an innocent one, but something about the way he asked it made your mind stall. Your throat tightened slightly, and you hesitated longer than you should have.

Your mouth opened, then closed again, as you scrambled to come up with an answer that wouldn’t feel like a lie.

“They were… my brother,” you said at last, your voice even, careful. “And his friends.”

Elliot’s eyes widened in excitement. “Oh…! So Tim is your brother too? You have two brothers??”

There was an odd weight to that word—brothers—when spoken so freely by someone else. You hesitated, then gave a slow nod.

“…Yeah, I suppose so.”

You weren’t going to tell him that, technically, you had two other brothers and a sister as well—if you could still call them that.

If they still wanted you to.

If you still wanted to.

If they ever really were that.

But that wasn’t something you could even begin to explain to a kid.

Elliot, blissfully unaware of your inner conflict, perked up at the answer, his excitement growing. “That’s so cool!! I wish I have siblings. The other children here are fun, but it’s not the same as having a brother or sister.”

You exhaled slowly, bracing yourself for the wave of questions.

“Is Tim older or younger than you?”

“Older, by a year.” Not really.

“Wow! So you have an older brother and a younger brother. That’s so cool!”

“There are cooler things, Elliot.”

Elliot giggled, his face lighting up with amusement. “Maybe, but siblings are still cool! Do you guys fight a lot?”

You paused, then snorted. “You have no idea.”

Elliot gasped. “Like, actual fights?”

You hesitated again. “…Something like that.”

“Do they ever fight you?”

“Not physically.”

“Then how do you fight?”

“We… argue.”

He made a face at that, as if arguing was a far less exciting concept. “Oh.”

Before he could go down another rabbit hole of questions, you reached out and ruffled his hair. “Alright, buddy, calm down. Having brothers isn’t always fun.”

Elliot looked genuinely confused by that. “Really?”

“Really.”

He furrowed his brows, then shook his head. “But Tim was real fun today!”

That threw you off.

You blinked at him. “…He was?”

“Yeah!” Elliot nodded enthusiastically. “He helped us build that giant block tower after teatime! And when his friend, the really fast one, accidentally knocked it over, he helped put it back up again—twice! And he did that really cool thing where he guessed all the card matches without looking. How’d he do that? Is he magic?”

You stared at him, your thoughts grinding to a halt.

Tim… did all that?

After everything?

After that whole argument—confrontation you had with him, after storming off on him earlier, after being frustrated, and snappy, and distant—he still… sat with the kids here? He actually did what you told him to do and spent time with them? Helped them?

You weren’t sure why that surprised you. It wasn’t that Tim was heartless or incapable of kindness—but you hadn’t expected this.

Hadn’t expected him to listen to you.

Hadn’t expected him to go out of his way to be there, even in the smallest of ways.

Not after how everything had felt today.

You exhaled slowly, ruffling Elliot’s hair again. “…I see.”

Elliot grinned, pleased with himself, and you offered him a small, fond smile.

“I’m just glad you enjoyed yourself, kid.”

Elliot’s grin grew, and he leaned into your touch, his small head pressing against your palm.

Before you could say anything else, he looked up at you, voice softer this time. “Will Tim and his friends come back?”

Your smile faltered slightly.

You didn’t know how to answer that.

Because what were you supposed to say?

That Tim and his friends did not have any obligation to come again? They had no other reason to come again?

That wasn’t something you could explain to Elliot.

So instead, after a beat of hesitation, you simply said, “When they have time, maybe.”

That was enough for Elliot. He beamed, nodding, before waving excitedly and running off to join the other kids.

You exhaled, watching him go, before turning to find Caitlyn and Adrien walking up to you, both looking entirely too smug.

“You two definitely have favorites,” you accused, crossing your arms.

Adrien scoffed. “We have favorites? That’s rich, coming from you.”

Caitlyn smirked. “Yeah, let’s not forget your little moment with Conner earlier.”

Your expression immediately soured. “We’re not talking about that.”

“Oh, I think we are,” Adrien said, grinning.

“You two are the worst.”

“Love you too.”

You groaned, shaking your head, before clearing your throat. “Anyway—same time tomorrow?”

Caitlyn and Adrien exchanged glances before Caitlyn winced. “Actually… I can’t make it tomorrow. I promised my aunt I’d help out with some stuff in her shop.”

Adrien nodded. “ And I have that to serve detention for that stunt I pulled in Ms H’s class, remember?”

You paused, the answer catching you slightly off guard. “Oh.”

You quickly schooled your expression, nodding in understanding. “Got it.”

A quiet beat passed before Adrien nudged you. “You still gonna come?”

You hesitated. Your eyes flickered back to the orphanage, watching as the kids ran around, playing, laughing—completely oblivious to all the complicated things that sat heavy in your chest.

Your gaze found Elliot again, still smiling, still happy.

“…Yeah,” you said finally, voice softer. “I’ll come.”

The late afternoon sun cast a hazy glow over Gotham, though Jason barely registered it. His focus was on the ongoing call in the earpiece pressed to his ear as he walked, voice low and even.

“So, let me get this straight,” Roy drawled on the other end, the sounds of clanking metal and some kind of electric buzz filtering through the call. “You just finished dealing with a gang shootout last night, probably haven’t slept, definitely haven’t eaten, and instead of—I don’t know—taking a second to breathe like a normal human being, you’re already running off after another lead?”

Jason exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip on his gun as he navigated quieter side of Gotham’s industrial district. “Pretty sure I didn’t ask for a lecture.”

“Oh, no, you definitely didn’t. That’s just a fun little bonus,” Roy quipped. “Seriously, Jaybird, do you even know what the word ‘break’ means?”

Jason’s expression remained flat. “Sure. It’s what your bowstring does when you don’t maintain it properly.”

There was a loud clang from Roy’s end. “First of all, rude. Second of all, false. I take excellent care of my bow, thank you very much.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I do!”

Jason chuckled, stepping off the curb and weaving through the alleyways. 

“I just don’t get it,” Roy continued. “You could’ve taken a day off—gone to a bar, watched a movie, literally anything else—but no, here you are, chasing down some random lead for God knows what.”

“It’s not random,” Jason corrected, rounding a corner. “Weapons smuggling. Shipment came in last week, no record of it anywhere. Thought I’d check it out.”

Roy sighed. “And who told you about this?”

“…I have my sources.”

“That’s code for ‘I found it in a back alley conversation, and now I’m running with it,’ isn’t it?”

Jason smirked faintly but didn’t argue. He had more important things to focus on—like the unmarked warehouse he was now approaching.

“I gotta go,” he said, tone shifting back to business. “I’ll check in later.”

Roy groaned. “Yeah, yeah. Try not to get shot, explode, or mysteriously disappear, alright?”

“No promises.”

Jason hung up.

The warehouse was quiet. Too quiet. No guards, no movement. Just the eerie stillness of a setup that was either abandoned or a trap.

Jason slipped inside through a window, boots making barely a sound as he landed. 

Inside, it was dim, dust motes swirling in the filtered sunlight. Crates were stacked haphazardly, some half-open, revealing stolen tech and firearms. Jason moved silently, boots making no sound against the concrete as he picked through the scene, scanning the contents—stolen tech, modified weapons, and—

Jason frowned.

There was something off about these. They weren’t standard black-market stock. They looked… almost gimmicky. Like they weren’t meant for your average arms dealer.

His fingers barely brushed against one of the devices when—

Click.

A sharp hiss filled the air.

Before Jason could react, a fine, invisible gas burst from the crate, dispersing into the air around him.

Jason recoiled, but it was too late.

His throat tightened. His head swam. His pulse spiked in alarm as a heavy, sluggish sensation crawled over his limbs.

His breath hitched. His vision blurred. His limbs felt like lead.

Shit.

Jason shoved back, forcing himself toward the exit, but his body was already betraying him. His head swam, nausea curling in his gut as he stumbled out onto the street.

His nearest safehouse wasn’t far. Just a few blocks. If he could just—

He barely made it past the first alley before his legs buckled.

His body was already shutting down on him.

Jason lurched against the nearest wall, breath coming shallow, mind fogging with every passing second. He forced himself to stay upright, but his body wasn’t listening anymore.

His vision tilted.

His knees hit the pavement, the rough brick of the alleyway biting into his shoulder as he slumped against it, legs giving out beneath him.

His mind fogged, the city sounds around him distant, muffled.

He barely registered the way his breathing slowed, the weight of unconsciousness dragging him under.

He gritted his teeth, trying to fight the darkness clawing at the edges of his mind.

Stay awake. Move.

But his limbs were numb. His breath was shallow.

His fingers twitched toward his comm—

And then—

Darkness.

The walk to the orphanage was supposed to be uneventful.

But the moment you turned down your usual route, something in your gut twisted.

You hesitated mid-step.

It wasn’t a noise, not anything obvious. Just an instinct, a quiet pull at the edges of your awareness. A feeling you couldn’t quite shake.

Your fingers curled at your sides.

Ignore it? Keep going?

The orphanage was only a few more blocks. If you were lucky, Elliot and the other kids would be outside playing already, ready to bombard you with their usual chaos.

…And yet.

Your feet had already shifted before you made the decision. You veered left, cutting through an alley that wasn’t part of your usual route.

The air here was heavier, the city quieter. Not unusual for Gotham, but enough to put you on edge.

You didn’t know what you were expecting.

But it wasn’t—

A figure slumped against the brick wall.

You stopped short, breath catching in your throat. For a second, your brain struggled to process what you were seeing.

Leather jacket. Boots. Black hair complementing the dark red of his helmet—

No.

Not his helmet.

It was off, discarded a few feet away like he hadn’t had the strength to hold onto it. His head was tilted to the side, eyes barely open, unfocused.

Jason.

lololol finally part 3 and end of chapter 7 🤗 (don’t hate me for the cliffhanger, but its pretty obvious that Jason and reader are going to interact in chapter 8 so stay tuned for that emotional turmoil) posting this before attending my vb training (yes i’m fasting and still have to attend vb training 🥲—tho i get to chill if i’m tired so that’s ok)

taglist is closed‼️

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[sarahsangelicdoll]

could you do a best friends with benefits with complete opposite reader as rafe!! like reader is innocent and really soft

༊·˚ Thinking about Rafe teaching his innocent and soft fwb how to deepthroat…

cw: 18+!, mdni, blowjob, deepthroatish, corruption kink, innocent and soft reader, finger sucking, deepthroating with fingers..?, training gag reflex away, softdom!Rafe but also pervy as fuck rafe !!

a/n: took me so long to get this but i hope you like it luv 💞 also didn’t know if you wanted smut or not so bare with me :,) I haven’t written for obx in a hot minute so it might be kinda shitty. I didn’t know if you wanted smut or not but i hope you enjoy either way :)

Rafe had such a infatuation with you. You were so… innocent and soft, unlike him. It shocked everyone on kildare who found out the two of you were best friends.

Unlike Rafe, you were 100% clean. No drugs and no drinking. When someone was in a conversation with you and they’d make a dirty joke, you’d just tilt your head to the side slightly and get that adorable, puzzled expression on your face while your mind worked overtime to try and decipher the meaning- and when you did, you’d blush a deep shade of red in embarrassment and shrink into yourself. Letting out a chuckle of embarrassment, avoiding eye contact with the other and mumbling a quick and dismissive response before quickly changing the subject.

Also unlike Rafe, you weren’t aggressive. You were a complete softy. Baking… sewing… gardening… the stereotypical soft girl.

Rafe remembers one day in particular- you came with the Camerons to a strawberry patch at Wheezie’s constant begging. Settling to wear a short, tighter sun dress that was decorated in pastel baby blue and white stripes. Your outfit accessorized with a straw sun hat and pearl necklace. You looked fucking flawless while the sun beat down on you. Your movements graceful and feminine while you skipped around and picked strawberries with Wheezie, every time you bent the hem of your skirt would trail up the curve of your ass in a teasing manner. Just giving him enough to imagine the rest.

And that’s what finally made Rafe lose control: He decided that day that he would have you and there was no way he would settle without. Hence what caused you guys to shift from best friends to best friends with benefits.

Rafe felt a pinch of shame at his actions, completely defiling you of your innocence with some of the things he would do. But fuck, even the thought has his cock twitching in your mouth. The way you’d look up at with your wide, damp doe eyes that were a mix of awe, trust and lustful curiosity. It made him feel secure and wanted. As bad as it may sound: he loved ruining you.

“Shit.. s’o good at this sweetheart..” Rafe drawled out, eyes screwed shut, head leaning forcefully against the brick wall of the public washroom the two of you were hid out in. Your mouth suctioned around his cock and hair bopped up and down with your movements as you desperately tried to make Rafe feel good. Your eyes looking up at him with awe, soaking in his groans ‘n moans of pleasure which made your panties soak in your own arousal even more than they already were.

Rafe’s hand rested atop your head, resisting the urge to force you down while he bit his lip. His cock twitching in your mouth as he imaged the sight and sounds of you gagging around his cock, which you could only take half way.

Rafe craned his head back down, biting his lip at your damp eyes. “Think you could take anymore?” He asked, smirking slightly, knowing damn well that you couldn’t.

You whined around his cock, shaking your head ‘no’ before coming up from his cock with a wet ‘pop’. “‘M trying.” You pout, scared you weren’t doing well enough for him.

Rafe’s heart clenched in his chest at the sight of your teary eyes. Bringing his hand up to rub soothing circles on your cheek which were damp from the amount of times you gagged, causing tears to fall. “I know sweetheart don’t worry.” He murmured, small grin forming on his face as he felt the way you subconsciously leaned into his touch. God you seemed so obedient for him(and were). “We’re gonna train that gag reflex away, k pretty girl?” He said, cocking his head to the side slightly to analyze and make sure you’re completely ok with this. His thumb slowly trailing to and brushing against your lower lip.

“Ok..” You nod, opening your mouth just enough to let him hook his thumb into your mouth, the digit immediately pressing down against your tongue.

“Open wider baby,” He said softly, though his tone still had an undeniable amount of dominance. Feeling a swell of pride in his chest at your simple obedience. “Like you’re at the dentist.” He teased.

You did as was told of you, opening your mouth wide for him. “Good girl.” He smirked wider. His ring and middle finger entering your mouth. You moaned around the intrusion that was his fingers, eye’s furrowing slightly when he shoved his fingers further into your mouth and pressed down against your tongue, soft gags spilling up from your throat and out of your mouth.

“C’mon.. how do you expect to take my full cock down your throat if you can’t even take my fingers?” He chuckled, his fingers slowly making way further down your throat. His cock twitching as he watched your face flush in embarrassment at his lewd words. His next words strained with arousal. “Gotta practice a bit at a time princess, you can do it.”

God. The way he spoke so soft but still dominant. The nicknames. The softness in his touch. It had your mind reeling with dirty thoughts no one should be having of their ‘best friend’ and your pussy clenching around nothing. You nodded your head slowly, wide damp eyes looking up at the man, admiring how hot and affected he looked by you.

Suddenly, a sharper and louder gag fell from your lips. Your head attempting to jerk away from Rafes fingers when he forces them practically as far down your throat as they physically could. Rafes grip just tightened on your chin, the thumb of his free hand rubbing soft circles on the skin of your jaw while a few tears fell from your eyes.

“Nah uh.” Rafe clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly in disapproval, finally pulling his fingers back after a couple of seconds. Attempting to ignore how badly he wanted to feel you gag around his cock.

“You can do it, just try not to jerk away, k?” He murmurs. A soft whine escaping your lips as his fingers descent back down your throat at a faster pace. But you manage to give a small nod in response, pushing your thighs together as his fingers constricted your breathing.

A content grin made its way to Rafe’s lip. Free hand moving up to pat your cheek. “Good.” He praised. His fingers practically finger fucking your throat. Occasionally pressing down on the back of your tongue just to feel you slobber and gag around his digits even more, imagining that it was around his cock.

You slowly became more and more used to the sensation, body relaxing into his touch as your body rested against his legs, hands holding his knees as you let him use your mouth in what would typically be considered a degrading way. Yet Rafe still managed to make it feel anything but degrading while his fingers were down your throat.

A shaky breath left Rafe’s lips as he fully pulled his fingers out from your mouth. Smirk gracing his features yet again as he admired his slick-with-your-spit fingers. Resisting the urge to seem like too much of a freak and licking your excess spit off from his fingers. Instead deciding to use your spit as some type of lube for his cock, spreading your saliva around his pretty much neglected for the last few minutes cock. Soft groan falling from his lips as he did so.

He glanced back at you, face flushing as he saw how you eyed his cock with undeniable, somewhat innocent(as much as it can be) desire. Bringing his cock to your lips and smearing his tip, covered in your saliva, over your lips. “Ready to take a bit more of my cock yet princess?”

⟡ ݁₊ . written by sarahsangelicdoll, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

Rafe taglist; @rafestoothbrush