#like image all the things that could go wrong!!!

[kenyummy]

✰ 03. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 03. each coin can be flipped twice.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: you guys don't know true pain until you have to copy and paste each individual paragraph into a new draft because you forgot how tumblr drafts work </3

n e ways getting into the batfams characterisation yipiieeeee . i tried to incorporate overthinking into tims part realistically bc that's lowkey how i overthink things but hey. im open to respectful criticism. ive also been consuming a lot of batfam media and i tried to my take on their guilt and how it plays into the crazy thing hagaashhaha im going insane fml

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

You'd always been far too normal. That's what had driven you, all these years, to such a bitter nature. It wasn't like you'd done anything wrong—you'd done everything a regular person would do, and that was the problem.

This kind—your kind—of normality was impossible for a family like yours.

Impossible for them to understand. Relate to. See. Always falling behind, watching as their costumes and capes flutter in the wind, blowing their vision of you. Too wrapped up in the latest villain to spot the regularity in their life.

You'd wake up at 8am, eat a slice of toast with yoghurt and mixed berries—do pilates, and go on with your day.

(Your family would stay up till 8, fighting the crime that riddled the Gotham streets with an iron fist—sneaking out of the house to play dress up with a bunch of mentally insane criminals.)

You'd spend your nights at home, having done everything you'd needed to that day—lazing around with a comic book in hand.

(Your family were far too busy most nights at Arkham—preventing their hundredth breakout and the spread of fear toxin.)

You'd watch, pupils dilated as your siblings, your father came home bruised, beat, and bloodied (with whose blood—you could only guess).

You'd watch in agonising silence as they'd shoo you off after you'd peek from behind their doorframe—saying this kind of work wasn't suitable for eyes like yours.

Those same eyes dimmed that day—staring blankly into nothing as the sight of that sickening crimson red became more common to you, with each passing day.

Dripping down onto the ground—you'd never be able to get rid of that blood. No matter how hard you scrubbed the floorboards, there would always be that stain of red.

You'd grip the sheets—nails digging into mesh fabric—with a steel-knuckled hold. You'd draw what it would be like to be one of them. That same blood-red suit—yet with a different kind of venom to a bat.

Crawling up a water spout—you, the spider—were washed out by the bitterness enrapturing your heart that was once full and blooming like the most beautiful of gardens.

Venom drips from your fangs and yet left unbitten. Never poisoning anything but your own tongue.

To be overlooked and unseen with the most brilliant mind a god could conjure; the world, your family—may never love a spider, but you will find somebody, someday, who will.

Tim Drake was not used to that expression on your face.

... Actually—he wasn't really used to any expression on your face. For a moment, it felt more like a blur to him than anything. Memories of you—they were few and far between.

Except that look of pity you'd always seem to give them. The image appeared in his mind suddenly, for whatever odd reason. That sad, almost puppy-ish, expression that he'd never really given a second thought.

(Though—it made you appear more of a baby to him.)

Perhaps he'd just gotten used to it. After all this time, what could've possibly changed?

He was wrapped up with something strange given to him by Bruce when he'd seen you. A strange, web-like substance—he was just getting ready to study it when it dissolved like nothing were ever there.

Like silk, it was soft. Like glue, it was sticky. Like fibers, it was stringey. Yet—after just a few hours, it was as if it never existed. Like it were nothing but a bad dream.

Bruce and Damian talked about it like it were a spiderweb—fitting, considering the hero that wielded it, they described as looking more arachnid than human.

Regardless—his mind was already frazzled and buzzing with all kinds of thoughts. Spider. Spider Web? Spider.

Where is that fucking web?

The stress crawls under his skin like bugs and he itches. The red left over is so familiar to him—but perhaps never the same at all.

(That same red you'd seen with those big, glassy eyes—unlike that motionless gaze you'd give him sparingly. If he bled again, would you look at him kindly like that once more?)

Then, a shoulder crashes into his. Hard. Enough to almost knock the vial out of his hands. The frustration is just about to bubble over—the words crawling up his throat like bile and his chest tightens with that familiar burst of rage.

(Tim, crash-out, Drake—Steph called him once.)

But he stops.

It's only you.

Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be at school? He hadn't been to school in a while—being a vigilante leaves a guy's schedule pretty packed—but he's sure...

"[name]? What are you doing here? Isn't it school hours...?" He asks, curiously.

You blink, face blank. He can't get a read on that face. He simply can't decipher it. It bothers him more than it probably should've. "I felt sick, so I decided to come home. Still a bit frazzled from... you know."

His heart beats faster. What? You went to school? You really went to school?

(Even if he realised it beforehand, it's like the shock runs through him again. What's wrong with him?)

You went to school even though you were shot a few days ago? Did that really happen? Did he... not realise? He's supposed to know this stuff, isn't he? Isn't he the smart one? Doesn't he keep tabs on everybody? Doesn't he look at you?

A cold chill fills his body, and he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. Before he can stop himself, the words spill.

"...Bruce is going to be worried. You know how he feels when you and Damian skip."

You glance to the side, considering something. He wants to know. Will you tell him? He feels like he knows nothing about you anymore. It's dehibilitating.

Since when have you brushed them off so easily? You were never like this before. You used to preen at a simple headpat (not from him—but you seemed to especially love your two oldest brothers) and practically glow when somebody talked with you.

"I think I'll live. Bye." You shrug.

His heart nearly beats out of his chest. What? Why are you acting like this? Don't you care?

Why are you acting like you hate it? You hate them? You don't care? What's wrong with you?

Did you get a concussion when you were shot? Did you hit your head and forget everything? Did you lose your mind after getting lead poisoning? Is this even you? What happened when you were shot?

Every possible question excluding—what has he done?

The bullet he saw in your shoulder flashes in his mind. When Jason practically kicked the door down, carrying your heavily breathing body bridal style and yelling for Bruce to get his ass over here.

Why were you out in the first place? Why weren't you at home? What happened to you? Why were you shot? What could you have done?

He had no time to think about it before. Not when he was so busy, and Riddler was causing up a stir.

Now, he is crumbling.

You're walking away, but his vision shakes. He feels like he's going to crumble. He hates it. This feeling. The feeling of knowing he simply just can't figure this out. He's mad. At you, or himself—he isn't quite sure. Perhaps a mix of both.

Why have you changed? Why did he not realise? Had you even changed? Did he ever know you?

He nearly crushes the vial in his grip. His hand reaches out, to grasp you. Your shoulder. The bullet lodged deep within you. Maybe if he got rid of it, you'd go back. To normal. You'd be your normal self again.

He feels it so deeply.

That crippling, nihilating urge to—

He stops. Watching you walk away. Fast. So fast. He can't catch up. No amount of training could've allowed him to walk alongside his little sibling.

Perhaps he found himself caught in that spider's silky trap—bound and unmoving as he just couldn't seem to tear his eyes away.

The empty vial doesn't concern him much anymore. He stares at it with eyes as hollow as the glass is.

Tim wonders when everything changed.

Dick Grayson watched your convulsing body with shaking eyes. A bullet lodged in your shoulder and crimson dripping onto the ground in a sickening rhythm. He couldn't reach out. He couldn't have touched your face. Not when Jason held you like that. Like a guard dog. His bloody helmet slamming to the ground just for Dick to see the absolute fury on his little brother's face.

Pupils blown—Dick knows what's going on. Better than any of the rest of them, he'd even go as far as to say. He's manic. Absolutely manic. Shouting and yelling for anyone—asking what Bruce was doing, letting you out alone this late. What he was fucking expecting.

Nobody speaks. Nobody can. What could they possibly say? That they didn't notice? That nobody did?

Jason might have taken them all on in your honour if he had truly said those words out loud. He always would've, even if he never stayed for long.

Dick almost wants to sock Jason in the face for keeping you away, so close to his own heart.

(He would've done the same, if only he had you. If only you would let him.)

The only thing he can see in his brothers' arms is that child who used to hide in the most obvious of spots. Crouching behind that large TV with the tips of their hair peeking out. Who used to laugh so gleefully when everyone pretended they couldn't find them.

He sees you, and nearly falls over.

Dick Grayson isn't a stranger to blood. Blood had followed his footsteps wherever he goes. He is made of the blood of everyone he lost and fears to lose.

He didn't think you'd fit into the former so quickly.

(You never thought you were either—did you?)

He can't do anything when he sees Jason carry you out. Slipping into a car with Bruce and Alfred and driving off, far past the speed limit.

He is powerless to move. He is useless. As he was when he watched his parents fall. When he was held back by Bruce when he found that vile man.

He hadn't felt like this for a long, long time.

He was the perfect one. He was the best of them. The first. Everything Batman was supposed to be. Nightwing. Robin. Doing everything he could to be what Bruce wanted.

He was the perfect one.

What use was that when your blood stains the hardwood floors?

What use was him not remembering what you looked like until this moment? The only time he'd ever seen you was when a bullet was lodged in your shoulder, and your body was practically convulsing.

... This should never have happened.

You were always the normal one. The most regular. Never tainted by the horrors of Gotham. Bright. Kind. Your eyes were always so kind. Pitiful. You'd always pity them. Wanting to help, but how could he possibly let you?

How could he possibly let you see the shattered expression on his face each time he'd seen you hurting? (Even if it was you hurting for them.)

You never should've...

He stops his own train of thought.

Why were you out, anyway? Hadn't you known how awfully terrible Gotham is at night?

Hadn't he... warned you...?

Dick walks off, eyes following his retreating figure—he can't find it within himself to care. He storms upstairs—almost frantically.

Everything is so quiet. Nobody here. Nobody waiting here like there usually is.

Where you usually are. The end of the hallway. It's brighter over here. The windows more open. The floorboards more bleached by the sun than back where his childhood room used to be.

He almost kicks the door open when his sweaty hands can't get a good grip on the doorknob.

(He can't. He can't destroy the barrier between you both, no matter how hard he tries.)

It slips open, eventually. Dick takes in the sight, silently, eyes darting around.

There's dust littering the air, highlighted by glittering light. The glow of the sun pours into your room like molten honey. Shining down onto your carpet.

There is nothing else.

Your room is so empty. If he didn't know better, he'd thought this were a guest room. Scuffed—but suitable for a short visit nonetheless.

How long have you stayed here?

Dick tries to ignore the bleakness that fills his head when he tries to answer his own question.

He can't bring himself to step inside. Not without you there. He stands in the doorway, as lost as he felt when he world came crashing down with that tightrope.

He feels like a little kid all over again. As helpless as a little kid is in this world.

As helpless as you were.

As helpless as you are.

Your face looked like a blur for all these years. Lingering in the background, but never for long. His nails dig into the calloused flesh of his palm. Hardened from years of fighting, protecting all he cared about. All those he failed to protect before.

He didn't do anything, did he? Not for so long. For as long as Jason died, was it?

... How long was that?

He wasn't sure when you slipped from his mind. So caught up with those beside him—he hadn't seen you slip behind, silently.

That little kid, staring up with tearful eyes. Asking where Jason was. Asking when they could all play together again.

Behind the capes, the masks—behind him, there was you.

Dick would've fallen over if he hadn't caught himself on the doorframe.

How could he have possibly, ever let you out of his sight? How can he stand to look at you when he let this happen? The most regular thing in his life. Something he had never given a second glance.

His chest hurts with a white-hot pain that stings his entire nervous system.

The best of them all—it was never him. It was always you, wasn't it?

The one keeping him grounded was you—he feels like his heart can't beat properly. Clutching it hard, nothing works. The ache stings, but nothing feels worse than his mind spiralling with thoughts of you laying in a hospital gown with red seeping out your side.

He will never, ever let something like this happen to you again.

Dick will let you know you'll never need to worry about anything again as long as your favourite big brother is here.

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[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 24

I feel like every chapter is slowly getting longer and longer- don't know how to feel about it... Ch 25 is over 3k long- may get longer before going live idk :))

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 24 >>next(TBC)

“It’s definitely an ambush.” Your voice hummed through their minds as you sharpened the retractable blades of your metal-covered fingers. “That’s a possibility. But I’m sure you can protect us, poor damsels in distress.” You roll your eyes at Slade’s thought, however, your attention is redirected.

All three of you squinted at the figures of the men shadowed by the sun. “I could take on the skinny one with the robotic eye.” Luthor’s prideful thinking was met with an unimpressed look from both you and Slade. “I doubt it.” You cleared your throat before finally speaking out loud. “I know about you.” You cross your arms, leaning on one foot before looking right at the general. “Kregg, right? And who are you two?”

Kregg stepped forward once they landed, and Slade immediately took notice of the man’s nervousness. Hidden well, but still there. “Yes. I am General Kregg.” His hand extended to his side, directed to the buffiest man. “This is Conquest, one of our greatest. And this-“ his hand moved to point out the better-dressed figure between the three. “- is Grand Regent Thragg, our lord.”

“And savior-“ Your slipped mutter made Lex twitch, almost choking on the traitorous laugh that bubbled up. “So we’ve got war, conquest, and a prince? We’re missing famine, I guess...” You raise an eyebrow. “Alright. What do you want?”

The fur-lined cloak of Thragg fluttered in the air as he came forward this time, his tall frame going past Kregg, way too close for Slade and Luthor’s preference as their bodies shifted slightly to be a few centimeters in front of you. “I don’t know what your father told you about me. I do not care. And however prideful I may be, I’m not stupid.”

Despite all that, his frown deepened, and his face soured. “I… didn’t believe you when you first threatened us.  I have been proven… wrong.” It seemed to take a lot of pain to say that. You took note of that for later use while scoffing. “Yes. I know you’ve been watching me. And that you sent a soldier after my brother, so you better get to the point because I’m already fighting tooth and nail to not rip you three to shreds and take over Viltrumite myself. Make you the slaves for once.” Threatening them was perhaps stupid, but you just wanted to eat and sleep.

“Humans have made treaties with what you call marriage for centuries-“ Thragg didn’t finish his sentence as Lex couldn’t hold his laugh of utter shock at the implication while Slade scoffed, both men ending up saying the same thing. “No. Let’s go.” They grabbed your arms and started moving, almost stumbling as you remained unmoving. “Arranged marriages have stopped being a thing in a majority of countries, let alone as a thing to end wars. But you’ve made me curious enough to hear you out. Going through all the work of threatening an assassin to threaten a billionaire so the billionaire can ask politely- it’d be rude not to at least listen.”

The man’s eyebrow twitches as soon as he senses sarcasm. “You… and your family and allies pose a feasible threat.” Thragg truly looked like he was in pain. “But if we were to go to war, we’d still do irreparable damage. We’ll surrender, but we want to hide on Earth, amongst humans, to raise our ranks. We won’t interfere with human events.” Kregg paled when you laughed right in Thragg’s face, yet his own remained unmoving. “Oh, so you want to use humans as breeding bitches? And then- if something- or someone attacks and almost levels out Earth you’ll just what? Sit on your lazy asses and watch everyone die?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Make them work for it. Let them think about it, they sound desperate enough.” Cecil’s voice made the heroes who were about to leave stop in their tracks, their eyes moving to the bald man as he asked Donald to pull up the images. Nolan and Thaedus rose from their chairs at the sight of the three Viltrumites. “You want all of that?” The Sorceress’ voice almost sang in a mocking tone. “There’ll be rules. My planet, my rules, not yours. First one: You’ll work yourselves to death if a threat shows up. I’ll let you think about it.”

“I don’t care.” You quickly interrupted the Viltrumite when he tried to argue. “Two weeks. No more, no less. I’ll have a set of rules that every Viltrumite will have to qualify for them to even be allowed to look in Earth’s direction.” The camera moved, showing Lex and Slade. “I guess it’s too late for the Ritz now?” Slade smirked. “I’m sure we can find a non-stop and destroy the billionaire’s kitchen.” Was the last thing everyone heard before the transmission was cut.

Cecil turned to the people present. “Seems our work needs to speed up.” Harvey looked at the balding man. “We can update our files in less than three days. We’ll be ready for a trial before the aliens return with an answer.” Dick’s eyes jumped from the people speaking to Nolan and Mark, the names of the aliens going through one ear out the other, his eye twitching as he finally got up off the floor. “Yes- yes, aliens bad, don’t like them- Why are you-“ If his mother or Alfred saw him pointing his finger like this towards the older man, Richard would be dead. “-allowing my sister around Deathstroke and Luthor?!”

“Those two will be easily dealt with. I do not like the way that Thragg kept staring at her.” Damian’s comment went unanswered as Invincible frowned and crossed his arms, the young man scoffing at the lesser Grayson. “Your sister? Since when? Last I checked you lot didn’t even know she was missing until- like last year.” Nolan spoke up too, not letting any of the bats get a word in. “Not to mention, she hasn’t been a Wayne for years. She’s a Grayson.”

“Bullshit.” Stephanie couldn’t hold the hiss that escaped her mouth. Batman was seething with rage at what he assumed was a lie. His imposing figure got up from his chair in a move that would usually threaten anyone-but them? Never. “I fear that’s the truth, Mr. Wayne.” Cecil quickly cut through.

“When Nolan came to me with the request I was ready to send the kid packing back to you, but I think you out of all people will understand the curiosity one has to discover things.” Mark has never seen Cecil ever glare like that at anyone, let alone speak to anyone with such a threatening tone in his voice. “Imagine my surprise at the many public articles of your neglect, and at the many, private, records that were swept under.”

“Everything only made me want to talk to her, and when I finally got the chance all I saw was a kid clinging onto the only female figure in the house, avoiding any male besides Invincible, more scared that I’d send her back to you rather that Omni-Man kidnapped her.” Duke took in a shaky breath, muttering something under his breath along the lines of it being harsh.

“Might be.” Cecil shrugs before his eyes settle back on Bruce. “How many times has she been sick under your watch? Does she have any allergies? What’s her least favorite color? How many times did she run away from the manor before running away from the city? Can you even answer one question?” Batman couldn’t, but Nolan was quick to when Cecil looked at him. “Five times, two of which she had to go to a pharmacy on her own to buy meds, with us she was sick three times. She has one allergy to metamizole and one skin problem that she needs creams for and has a personal vendetta against the olive green shade that looks like vomit.”

The other heroes wanted to stand up for their allies, but the more the men spoke, the more their respect dwindled. “She’s better off with them. And not only because they gave her the love you weren’t able to, but because if she ever snaps, ever goes off the hinges- it won’t be you who’ll be able to reel her back, even for a moment. It won’t even be these two. It’ll be her mom.” Cecil looked around the room. “Anyone has anything else to say?... Good. Let’s go, we’ll keep in contact.”

The league was left alone with a still-shaking Nightwing, and a more than usual, broody Batman, the other bats besides Jason seemed dejected at best. Dinah’s eyes, however, stayed on her husband’s figure. She could see the clogs turning into his head, the way his eyes narrowed at Bruce like he couldn’t quite believe it. She sighs before pulling her man towards the door, it’ll be a long month, she could feel it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“That was reckless of you.” Lex groaned as he sunk into his uncomfortable leather couch you had covered in as many fluffy blankets as you could. “Your face is reckless.” Your voice was muffled, eating your third serving of the chicken and rice Slade had cooked. “And you two wanted me to do it- I want a vacation, by the way- Mom and Mark need it, and after dealing with those three mean mugging my ass you two owe me.”

You were really only talking to Lex as Slade found a recliner hours ago and passed out on it like the divorced, deadbeat dad he is. “Somewhere warm and quiet, preferably a private island without the Epstein bullshit.” Luthor’s lip curled at that. “Don’t even try to compare me to that low life- I may be a monster, but I have morals.”

“Bull. You tried to kill Kon when you thought he wasn’t obeying you. And you so are a weirdo for nagging me since I was a teen with your craziness. Slade is a weirdo too, hunting down kids, fighting them, and grooming them to be the perfect weapons just because his own won’t talk to him anymore- oh my god, he’s Bruce with extra steps in reverse.” Your hand dropped the fork, holding onto your face instead. “… I’m taking your bed for making me think about all of this- no thinking on my vacation! Note that down- I need a no-thinking week!“

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The trial went by… too quickly. The Judge and Jury were definitely brought off, but it wasn’t Cecil, the man was actually pouty about the fact. That was however good for you and your family. While most of Nolan’s freedoms, and consequently your own, would be stepped on and rubbed into the floor it was better than moving him on the moon… Maybe. Still debatable. You took a note to visit your dear rogues towards the end of your vacation… or when you could, really. Two-Face deserves another thanks for the show he put on.

The good part- Lex did give you the vacation you wanted. So, after Abe, as you’ve come to call The Immortal, said his goodbyes to go on his own vacation you and the babysitter your mom found were running around to pack things for the holiday. Well, you were. Poor April was watching alongside Debbie the chaos as Mark and Nolan seemed to be just as anxious, flying around the house.

Your mother sighs before reminding everyone of the no-flying rule, resulting in everyone stopping and landing on their feet. “Sorry mom- it’s just-“ Debbie smiles at you as she hands you a bag to load into the car. “You’re not used to relaxing, but it’ll be fine. If we forget something you can just teleport back and grab it and if something bad happens you and your brother will be there to protect us.” Nolan pouted as he wasn’t included but did not say anything. “Now come on, let’s load up the van so we can reach the house before dark.”

“Oh, we’re taking the car? I thought we’d be flying?” April asked as she lifted Oliver higher on her hip. “We are flying.” You smirk as Mark continues with a shrug. “But we are also taking the van. Hope you’re not car and fly sick.” April could only hum as the two young adults went back to their work, her eyes settling on Debbie’s reassuring smile.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Whoever said vacations are relaxing is a liar with fiery pants. Sure, the lazing around is nice, but the packing and unpacking is a nightmare you could do without. Alas, after a good nap and a great dinner, you were hanging with your dear brother on the balcony, enjoying the cold breeze cooling the heat left by the sun. “Mark- don’t give me that bull. You haven’t been okay since dad beat you up, and that Levy guy only made it worse.”

“You killed Vidor without remorse.” Mark wasn’t looking at you, eyes remaining on his can of soda. “I did. I’d do it again. That doesn’t mean you have to do that. You’re not me and I’m not you.” You rested your hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t- I thought he was stronger, I didn’t mean to kill him- I-…”

“Mark. From what you and everyone else told me, the man was unhinged. I… I can’t say I know how you feel, I had no remorse for the Joker or Vidor, and I don’t think I’ll have any for the others who may meet the same fate. But that’s me, that’s Nolan. You’re better than us. You want to help them get better, to fix things in a- morally correct way.”

“The world needs that. And you shouldn’t feel shame, or like you failed because you couldn’t do it. You tried.” Mark snorts at your words. “I’m supposed to be the older sibling-“ You immediately repeat his words in a deep voice. “Fuck off.” He nudges your ribcage with his elbow after you do. “I mean it. We both killed, we both got traumatized- and yet you’re like an unmoving mountain… I still have nightmares about how much worse that night could have been, mom and Oliver could have died, but all they got was a broken arm and bruised forehead.” You lean back in the recliner, taking his words in before responding. “The guilt eats me… That I wasn’t there, that I wasn’t the one to bring you back. Kinda feels like I failed.”

“Cheers to guilt eating us alive.” Mark jokes. “Cheers. As for the other thing you said… I- I don’t think most people deserve a second chance… I think everyone should get a second chance- but some people don’t want to change to be deserving of it. And if they don’t want to put their pride aside and do the work required, they’ll do what they did again, and again, and again. There’s no fixing something that doesn’t want to be fixed. Joker was like that. Bruce tried so fucking hard for a lost cause- when Jason came back, he beat him up harder than he ever did the clown.”

“I think that was when I started believing that. Bruce never hit us- them. He went out of his way to redirect his anger toward anything else, is what Jason said. He also said B reacted like that because he felt too guilt-ridden and frustrated on how he failed him- but-… I think he was furious at how right Jason was.” You shrug. “I don’t know… The fucker is something I stopped trying to detangle and understand a long time ago, but he also fits the category of if they don’t want to fix themselves they don’t deserve a second chance. Bruce is so sure that he’s right in everything, he forgets to understand that just because he feels like he did the right thing doesn’t mean it was the right choice for others.”

“Dad’s trying.” Mark mutters as if to reassure himself. “He is. You still flinch sometimes. Don’t feel bad about that, you have every right to. He was… brutal in that fight.” Your eyes meet as you nudge his shoulder with yours. “You’re stronger than me, I don’t think I would have been able to come back from that fight like you did.” Mark’s lip twitched into a smile.

“… Sometimes I just want to beat the shit out of dad. With a spiked baseball… in the middle of the night, preferably. Like he wronged me in another life.” His words earned a laugh straight from the depths of your belly. “He has a very punchable face.” You cackle as Mark joins in your gleeful laugh.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou @asillysimp @aalunar @cxcilla @sirenetheblogger @pinkluv29 @br33zy-blizzardz @victoria1676 @of-poetry-and-dreams @djpuppy-kittens @wizzerreblogs @galaxypurplerose @burningkittenprince @swanluver @ohnoivefallen

Ch 25 sneak peek:

“You came to tell me to be a lover?” You sniffle as you chuckle. “No. I’m just being selfish and wanted to see you.” [REDACTED] nudges you. “But it won’t kill you. You’ll see, the fates have already sewn your threads. It’s just a matter of which one you decide to walk.” You didn’t move away from her, but you did wipe away your remaining tears. “Sounds like the illusion of choice.”

[kittykittyneowmeow69]

Keep me, please ( I)

MDNI

Part 1

John price x reader with a cheating husband

Price finds a pretty little thing, only to learn that she is married, the caveat being her husband is cheating on her.

Cw: cheating (not between mc’s), unprotected piv, rough sex, possessive sex, daddy kink (😝), Freeform-AFAB, loads of smut lol.

An accident, a crash, you come out of the car frantically apologetic, hysterical, he is fuming at first, but soon placates himself when he sees a pretty little thing crying big wet tears.

Then he see’s a glint on your ring finger.

Which, predictably doesn’t stop him from coercing you to a bar, “come on sweetheart, you need to calm down, just a drink” . You go, shaken,frantically explaining yourself , little apologies sliding off your tongue, when it slips.

“I don’t know what to do, we were highschool sweethearts you know”

The little hitch in your breath when he places his hand on your shoulder—the most benign, platonic touch—big wet eyes looking up at him, sealing your fate.

It all starts with a lunch.

He knows you are a good girl, that you won’t stray (at least for now), too caught up in your own morality, the ideals of right and wrong, the chimera of the kind of woman you think you should be.

John could end it all immediately if he wanted, a silencer, a gunshot wound right in the middle of his forehead, salt on your face as he comforts you. But he is all too aware of the fact that the gift from death is forgiveness— grieving even after being wronged, for remembering the good times, the love once had— and the idea of your grief, love , memories , a single thought being reserved for anyone but him makes his blood curdle, turn red hot.

Besides, he is nothing if not patient, so he invites you to lunch again and again and again, and you go again and again and again.

It’s nothing really, casual conversations, a pretty lonely thing talking his ear off as he chews a piece of his steak, he doesn’t talk much which he assumes gets you to open up. Once you tell him all misty eyed about feeling disposable, worthless that I know it’s not my fault but I still feel that way, which fuels the barely confined homicidal urge in him. Actually many things fuel it these days, like you sleeping in a bed with another man, he wonders if you still let him fuck you, pretty little cunt on display as you spread your legs apart for your husband on your marital bed. The image alone would make him turn the world to ash.

Except— the self conscious little touches, his shoulder, forearm, your face in his chest as you,arms wrapped around his middle, a quiet farewell, “goodbye John, thanks for listening to me”, the little inhale, taking him in, the smell of stale tobacco, his musk, his cologne, eyes that linger on his a little too long, the quiet longing, the conflict. You tense when he touches your lower back as he greets you, the look you give him when his hand wraps around your nape, near your car, “take care of yourself love”. The missing ring , the next time he sees you.

He invites you to dinner, you go like you always do.

A quiet ,” he not here this weekend”, as you take a bite of your ice cream. It would amuse him if it didn’t make him seethe so much. But, that was the plan after all, to make you think that you chose this.

It’s you who kisses him first as he leans against his car, all teeth and tongue, standing on your tippy toes, blunt nails digging in to his nape, your other fist curled into his shirt. It’s rough, jagged, full of anger, full of longing, you kiss him like you want to scream “why didn’t you do it first!”, he kisses you back with equal fervour, one arm wrapped around your waist ,iron grip , the other palming your head, fingers fisting your hair.

————————

The car ride back to his place is quiet, dead silent besides the hum of the engine, he doesn’t look at you, his knuckles blanched white on the steering wheel.

He gets out of the car , briskly walking to your side and opening the door, closing it with a loud thud, he strides to the front door without as much as sparing you a glance. You stumble after him, unnerved by the sudden shift in his demeanour, his coldness makes you tremble, also makes you follow after him like a stray kitten.

Lounging on his leather arm chair, a throne of sorts, he just looks at you, while you stand in front of him. His gaze is scorching, blistering hot, searing through you like you are a bioluminescent sea creature, a jelly fish, all transparent and gelatinous. His fingers dig into the arm rest of his chair, forming little dimples, he is still, eerily still, molten lava, under the surface.

“Please, John” you plead, standing before him, fiddling with the hem of your dress which just reaches your mid-thigh, you barely even know what you are pleading for, So in your daze, you climb into his lap, thighs spread wide around his tree trunk thighs,palms rested on his shoulders, sopping pussy, covered by the damp fabric of your underwear, right on top of his metal zipper.

The tension is palpable, it clings onto you like second skin, you always thought he was intimidating, but there was a tenderness, a softness, which you naively thought was reserved just for you, missing. So,you nuzzle into his jaw, pressing little kisses, kitten licking the soft right under his ear, humming into him,tasting the brine his skin, trying to placate the beast.

Your cunt is hot, blistering hot , leaking onto his pants, the closeness, his scent all heady and masculine, the scorching heat he exudes, how big he is under you is all too much to bear, you grind onto his zipper, littlest undulations, you know he is hard you can feel it under your pussy, you gasp into his neck, begging, pleading , “please John, need you, please touch me”.While grinding into him ,rolling your hips, breathing wet hot gasps into his neck ,little hands fisting his shirt, you are close , so close , when you stop.

His hands, scorching hot on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding you so tight , that it hurts. You whine, as you look up at him all misty eyed, almost betrayed, his eyes boring into yours. “You want me bad sweetheart, don’t you” you nod frantically, trying to unsuccessfully roll your hips against his grip, all empty and achy.

He clenches his jaw, eyes boring into yours , bruising grip on your hips.

“When was the last time he fucked you ?”

“Uhm, be-before I found out…met you”

———————————

“Fuckin’ soaked” he groans more to himself, his eyes dark, sitting on his haunches lightly running his thumb over your seam . You lay before him, wet transparent panties sticking to your pussy, fingers hooked under your knees, keeping your legs spread for him.

“John, come on now, please ” you whine, arching your back ,panting, spreading your legs further, knees pressed against your chest, presenting your cunt to him like a pretty present.

The need for him to touch you, to fill you up is overwhelming, all consuming. When he finally tugs your panties off, warm palm pushing your inner thigh till it’s flat against his bed, you moan. There is a wet squelch as he spreads your lips apart, thick fingers playing with your clit, circling your fluttering hole, when he finally slides his middle finger in.

“Where do you want me to, baby”

You clench around his thick finger, almost involuntarily, he huffs “inside your tight little cunt huh?” You nod, gasping, pushing your hips into him.

“it’s going to hurt you sweetheart ‘ave to stretch you out first, ok?”—

Your mouth trembles, belly all tense when he adds another thick finger, the stretch hurts, but also feels so , so good, he hooks his fingers, sliding them in and out of your fluttering hole,putting pressure against the little spongy part, grinding his palm against your clit, you gasp, as you roll your hips against his hand.

“Come on baby, let it go now” —he rasps, fucking you with his fingers, you spasm, gasping for air, clinging onto him as if you were drowning ,nails digging into his bare shoulders.

He is kissing you , as you come, eating up your gasps, hitched breaths, holding your trembling body down with his bulk. His are fingers still inside you.

“Fukin’ hell, strangling me love ” —he grunts into your neck, sucking the soft skin, leaving his mark, sinking his teeth so hard that it is bound to bruise, he leaves another mark right under it , little blood vessels bursting underneath your soft skin, tainting, marking your body.

The bulk of him on you—the heady scent of tobacco, stale sweat and a tinge of whiskey, the fur on his chest matting against your tits,his sweat on your body, his teeth in your neck— Its all encompassing, omnipresent. You are lulled into a daze by the intimacy, the closeness that you so deeply craved, it’s not just lust which is being quenched but an innate human need to feel skin on your skin, to be touched, to feel wanted.

In your daze, You don’t notice him slipping his arm in between your bodies and slotting his engorged weeping head, against your hole.

“Shh, shh baby, come on , let Daddy in”—he rasps into your sweat slicked, tear streaked cheek.

Daddy daddy daddy

You wince, whimpering around the thick of him. The burn, the stretch, is overwhelming, hypnotic, pain and pleasure all wrapped up, intertwined into one.

He is gentle. Licking your tears away, peppering your face with tender little kisses as he fits his cock one excruciating inch at a time, slowly, so slowly, trying to be as gentle as possible (a futile pursuit really), splitting you apart, carving space into your little cunt that didn’t exist, shoving his cock in so deep that it knocks the your wind out of your lungs. He finally bottoms out, nudging the plug of your womb.

“Tightest little cunt, baby” —he groans, eyes dark, dripping with hunger, his fat balls pressed against your ass, cock so deep inside you that you can barely breathe,your cheeks blistering hot as you cry big fat tears. He doesn’t move, for a while , letting you clench around him, commit every thick vein , every rivet to memory, feel the stretch through little wet gasps exhaled in the crook of his neck.

“ Good girl, Made for my cock ain’t you, knew wanted it bad from the start.” His strained voice reverberates through you, rattling your bones. His thrusts are shallow, only moving a few inches out before ramming his cock back in, fingers digging into the bottom of your knees, pushing them up right next to your ears, as he grinds his cockhead against your cervix, your hole grips him, pulling him in deeper with every thrust.

“Pretty girl, shh now, you can take it sweetheart, yeah take whatever Daddy gives you” —he coo’s, as his thrusts speed up, slick drenched balls slapping against your ass.

daddy daddy daddy daddy, the very word makes you clench around him, makes your cunt throb and pulse, makes you cry big fat tears, makes you cream his cock, nails digging into his shoulder, hole fluttering around the thick of him. You have never felt so full before, never have been touched by hunger, need this bad, so it slips.

The littlest sound, barely a whisper—

“Ye-yes Daddy ,will….will take any-anything you give me”

He pauses for a second, sweat peppering his temples, eyes boring into yours,wild,dripping with want so thick that it threatens to suffocate you, his grip bruising, tight against the bottom of your knees—

“yeah—“ , he snarls—

He speeds up, bruising, angry thrusts pounding your little hole, cock ramming in again and again, against the plug of your womb, battering you into the mattress. It’s too much, you feel bones rattling with each thrust, thick angry cock reaching parts of you which were previously untouched. Syrupy pleasure drips out of your pores, cunt clenching, gripping his cock, gasping his name, whimpering into his neck “daddy please”.

He wraps his hand around your jaw, eyes piercing into yours, sharing the same breath, he growls—

“My fucking cunt baby, it’s mine to fuck, mine to fill— I am going to fucking keep you”

“Keep you”—the word, the very idea pierces through your brain right to your cunt, you clench around him hard, the pressure unspooling,trembling,hysterically crying, chanting.

“Keepmekeepmekeepme,please,please,please”

He cums right after, cock pulsing inside your bruised hole , hot spurts of cum right against the plug of your womb, filling you up.

You are boneless, limp under him, as he pushes the sweat matted hair out of your face, kissing your forehead, your tear streaked face, tasting the salt on your skin, knowing they are all for him, just him , his cock softens inside of you leaking out a bit of his cum.

His gaze is still as intense, still as drenched in want, but somehow tender, as he looks down at you— half lidded tired eyes, swollen bitten lips, little bruises forming all over your neck.

“Going to take care of you baby, you know that right?”

You lazily nod, “yes Daddy”.

He purrs.

[themilfsland]

Here we go again | chapter 1

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff X female!reader

Summary: Your best friend convinces you to join a girls’ trip to celebrate your graduation and escape from life’s worries. It seems like the perfect plan — until your past comes back to greet you.

Words count: 2.4k

tags: none

A/n: first chapter, here we go :P

fic menu

The long-awaited new phase of your life has arrived – adulthood after graduation. You imagined so many great possibilities that could happen, but the truth is, you felt lost and afraid. Maybe everyone goes through this, right?

Sure, you were proud of yourself. Over the past few years, you moved to a different country, graduated from a prestigious university, and grew both personally and professionally. Despite all these remarkable achievements, you still didn’t feel good enough.

"The American Dream" might just be a tale for those clinging to hope or perhaps for young dreamers eager to conquer the world. Truth be told, you only wanted one thing—to land your dream job right after graduation. How naive it was to believe that companies would be waiting for you the moment you earned your degree. In reality, it’s you knocking on their doors, almost pleading for a chance—because adulthood isn’t fair.

And here you are, lying on the couch with a tub of ice cream, hoping that this sugar rush will give your body a little more energy. The sound of the TV hums in the background, a sign that something is still playing, but you lost interest in watching it a long time ago.

The sound of a notification on your phone pulled your focus back to the present. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was really worth checking, but deep down, your curiosity gave you the final push. With a sigh, you unlocked the screen.

It was an email. A response from another company you had sent your resume to. Nothing new. Apparently, every company in the world already has enough employees, and there’s no room for you. You let out a heavy sigh of frustration and tossed your phone away on the couch.

Honestly? What am I doing wrong? You asked yourself. Your academic life had always been exemplary—high grades, extra assignments, articles written, everything you could do in college, you did. Maybe you made a mistake from the very beginning. Perhaps your past self never considered the reality of adult life and how difficult it would be to try everything new in a new place.

You felt a tightness in your chest as you thought of home. The fresh air and the sun warming your skin—that was the calm you needed right now. The fresh food and fruits you bought every morning at the market by the sea—you closed your eyes, trying to recall the images of those places in your memory. A nostalgic feeling washed over you, making you forget the difficult experiences you’d had in the past—some of which, to this day, you were sure hadn’t fully healed.

Your eyes were starting to water, and you felt a lump in your throat—almost on the verge of drowning in tears. But you had to push all those overwhelming emotions down in less than five seconds when you heard the apartment door open—Yelena.

"Oh no, there's still a dead body on my couch," she said, dropping her keys on the table and heading toward you.

"It's not just 'your' couch, it's 'our' couch, it's 'our' apartment. I demand more respect," you shot back; she always jokes about this, and you never let it go.

"Okay, okay, it's our apartment, but honestly, you're not in any position to demand anything from me. Look at you, y/n!! You're worse than I am on my bad days." She grabbed the tub of ice cream you were holding. "When was the last time you took a shower?"

"Shut up, Yelena! You saw me go to the bathroom and take a shower this morning before leaving. You're overreacting. Just let me enjoy my life complaints," you tried to grab the tub back, but she held on tighter.

"No. I can't tolerate this anymore," she said in a serious tone, standing up to place the ice cream on the table. "I've given you more than enough time to pull yourself together, and I completely respect that you need time to get your thoughts in order. But now, it's time to start taking the first steps after the defeat." She sat down beside you on the couch.

"So you agree that I failed? It's the end of my career, my defeat," you said, knowing you were exaggerating, but you chose to make a dramatic scene anyway.

"If you keep exaggerating like this, I’m going to give myself the right to exaggerate my actions too, and don't complain when I hit you," she said, flashing a wicked grin.

"Why are you always so aggressive?" you rolled your eyes.

"It’s my love language. And speaking of that, I have plans to make you feel better—it's the best I could come up with," she said with a mischievous smile.

"Should I be afraid to ask what you're plotting?" you crossed your arms and sat in a better position to hear what your friend had to say.

"And should I question why you always doubt my ideas?" she raised an eyebrow and continued, "Anyway, I was thinking we should take a girls' trip together." She flashed you a big smile.

"What???" your words slipped out without thinking.

"Exactly what you heard. Let’s go on a trip, clear our minds, and get some fresh air. And before you start giving me all the reasons not to go, I’ll give you one to convince you—it’s because we deserve it. You just wrapped up a major chapter in your life, and so did I. Come on, it’ll be good for both of us."

Yelena wasn’t wrong, and you knew she was suggesting this with good intentions—not just for some fun, but especially to help you feel better. You rested your head against the back of the couch, your eyes staring at the ceiling. A wave of gratitude washed over you. You were so lucky to have her as your best friend, even though she was crazy most of the time. You still remember finding her number in a university group chat. You were desperate for a place to stay, and she was looking for someone to share the rent—perfect timing. Despite studying different degrees, the two of you became inseparable.

"So...?" you felt her squeeze your arm.

"Hmm, okay, that sounds like an interesting idea. Where would we go?"

"Perfect!!!" she jumped on the couch, excited. "We're going to Greece!!"

"What?? Are you crazy? No way, there are so many other places in the world, why there??" your voice was raised in disbelief.

"I knew you'd react like this, but this time it's your fault. If you hadn't shown me all those beautiful pictures of where you grew up and if you hadn't complained so much about the beaches here in California," she crossed her arms, but you were still in denial about everything she was saying.

"That doesn't make sense, and besides, I never complained that much about the beaches here," you replied, still not fully convinced.

"I never complained about the beaches here," she repeated your words in a mocking tone. "So, I must have been hearing things when you said, 'Ugh, this isn’t real seawater,' or 'The sand isn’t soft and clean,' or 'The breeze here messes up my hair.' Should I keep going?"

"NO!" you shouted loudly and threw a cushion at her. "You're terrible, Yelena." You sat back down at the edge of the couch. "Greece is a nice place, but I wouldn't want to go back there." Your words were sincere this time.

"Hey, I know that, and if you really say the last 'no', then we won’t go there," she adjusted herself, sitting beside you. "But I want you to know that aside from me dreaming of going there, I also think it would do you good." She held your hand, and you both locked eyes. "I’ve heard so many stories about how that place gave you good memories. Maybe it’s exactly what you need right now. A place to feel comfortable—at home."

"I understand, but you know, that place isn’t my home anymore," you gave a small smile, and she understood exactly what you meant.

"I know. You've told me about your mom's passing, your difficult relationship with your dad, and your decision to leave," her look was full of sympathy. "I remember everything you've shared with me, and because of that, I can say you're reluctant for another reason. Am I wrong?"

"What? Of course not!" you replied too quickly, and she noticed.

"Uh-huh, so you know exactly what I'm referring to. Anyway, the past stays in the past, and the future belongs to the future. As for the present, it's up to you now. So, shall we have some fun?"

Yelena was right. As surprising as that might be, this time, you had to agree with her. You'd been a mess lately, with no motivation and no hope for better days. Maybe that's exactly what you need right now—distraction, allowing yourself to live with a bit more fun. After all, you both needed to celebrate your graduation in some way.

"Hmm, okay, I can accept, but with one condition."

"Ugh, you’re so difficult. What’s the condition?"

"We can go to Greece, but under no circumstances are we going to my hometown."

She let out a laugh and stood up, positioning herself in front of you. "You know I'm crazy, but not that crazy. I know my limits." She grabbed your hand and pulled you up. "Come on, we have a suitcase to pack!"

"Now? Wait, Yelena!!" you complained as she started pulling you toward the bedrooms.

"Yes, silly. We’re leaving this weekend!"

"What does that mean?" you made her stop and stared at her. "Wait a minute, this was already all planned! How? How did you know I was going to say yes???"

"I know you," she winked. "By the way, I'm really good at persuasion."

You looked at her in disbelief, your hand reaching for her arm, but she was quicker, darting into the bedroom and dodging your slap. You chased after her, shouting her name.

----

You heard Yelena groan for the tenth time.

"Seriously? Why didn’t they make the streets wider for cars to pass? Or any kind of vehicle? My feet are dying," she let out a tired sigh, panting slightly.

"That would ruin the beauty of the place, and even if the streets were wider, there are too many stairs everywhere," you laughed, amused by your friend's struggle. "And you didn’t want to listen when I told you to bring a small, light suitcase. Now deal with carrying your own choices."

Yelena was about to snap back when she spotted a sign on one of the buildings indicating the hotel’s name. "Finally!!! It’s right there!" she said, pointing and quickening her pace. "Come on, y/n, why are you dragging your feet and slowing us down?!" You both laughed as you followed her.

---

You stepped into the reception area, and the first thing you noticed was how cozy the place felt. It seemed like it had once been a grand residence, now transformed into a hotel. To the right, a staircase led to a slightly elevated floor where the hall lounge was, with armchairs and sofas scattered around. To the left, a large window let in the soft daylight and a gentle breeze through the curtains, revealing a breathtaking view of the sea in the background—so perfect it looked like a painted picture. And straight ahead was the reception desk, where another couple was being attended to.

"Look at this view, wow!" Yelena said, walking toward the window and practically dropping her bags on the floor. "It’s even more perfect than the photos you used to show me."

"Of course, it's even better," you said, playfully bumping your shoulder against hers. "And it's even more amazing when you can feel the breeze against your hair and the sun warming your skin."

"You sound like a silly girl in a romantic movie," she laughed, heading toward the counter to wait for the check-in. You could hear her voice in the background, probably talking about the plans she had for later, but you weren’t focused on her words. You closed your eyes and let out a long sigh—it felt like home.

Then you opened your eyes, and your gaze settled on the person behind the counter—the hotel employee. Her skin seemed to glow where the sunlight touched it, strands of blonde hair like sand falling gently over her shoulder, swaying softly with the breeze. Those greenish eyes, that smile, and that smooth voice— oh no.

"No, no, no," you kept repeating in your head, and for a moment, you probably forgot how to breathe. Your thoughts pulled you straight back to the past.

--

A new coffee shop had opened. Not only the locals but also the tourists were talking about how great the place was. You had heard that the business belonged to a new family who had just moved in—you wondered why they had chosen this particular place. Probably a business-minded family looking to profit.

Either way, there you were, in line to place your order. You already knew you’d be getting the house’s special coffee—you were curious to find out what made it so special. But when it came to food, you were still torn between the cheesecake and the strawberry pie, both looking absolutely delicious.

You were next in line, and your nerves were starting to get the best of you—why was it so hard to make a decision? Then your eyes landed on the girl behind the counter. Her messy blonde braid, glowing skin and striking green eyes caught your attention. Everything about her was perfect, from her lips to the way she smiled. She was absolutely beautiful.

"Hii, how can I help you?" she said in a soft tone. You snapped out of your thoughts, her gaze now locked onto yours.

--

"Y/n??? Are you listening to me?" Yelena gave your arm a little squeeze, pulling you back to reality. "I can't believe you didn’t hear a word I said."

But before you could explain yourself or she could give you another lecture, you heard that same soft voice that had lived in your memory.

"Hii, how can I help you?" the girl behind the reception counter now directed her attention to both of you.

You ignored the last words of your friend, turning to face forward. Your gaze met hers—it is her. You had no doubt about it—it's her, right in front of you, it's her—Wanda.

"Oh no, here we go again," the voice of your conscience echoed in your head.

Taglist:

@starrycherie ; @raven-ss

[archivingkal]

last updated: 24/03/2025

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

THE WAY BACK BY @suhnshinehaos (SMAU)

fans reminisce on your relationship with seungcheol

THE LYRICS BY @seuonji (SMAU)

in which fans find out yn’s lyrics are about someone they know. not even her fellow members knew this but anyways, now their concern is, who’s the lyrics about?

YOON JEONGHAN

FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT BY @bitterie-sweetie

Your Valentine’s date with Jeonghan is coming up and yet the only thing on your mind is how to break up with him. Of course breaking up with someone is difficult, but you’d argue that what’s more difficult is breaking up with someone you never even dated.

DAISIES BY @viastro

the best type of revenge is to hurt the person that means the most to them. aka, in which jeonghan is in charge of making you fall in love with him, just to break your heart. 

JOSHUA HONG

STAY UP BY @/bitterie-sweetie

He calls you his favourite person, yet you have no idea he's hosting a party until you get the invite in the mail. Joshua Hong confuses the hell out of you and perhaps now is the time to finally figure him out.

WEN JUNHUI

1 PLUS 1 BY @/bitterie-sweetie

While looking for an outfit for the party, you can't help but notice all the couples' BOGO sales going on. What better way to get free stuff than to pretend you're dating your best friend?

WORTH IT BY @/xinganhao (SMAU)

junhui works on healing a heart he did not break. inspired by jun's 值得 (Worth It) cover.

KWON SOONYOUNG

LOVE HARD BY @/wondernus (SMAU)

kwon soonyoung loves too hard and falls in love too quickly, accidentally building a (very false!!!) fuckboy image that he can’t seem to get rid of. when his friends talk him out of proposing to a girl he went on 2 dates with, he finally realizes he has a big problem with love. signing up to appear on his university’s most popular youtube talk show to unload his baggage and fix his image? what could possibly go wrong?

TOO MUCH COMMUNICATION BY @/xinganhao (SMAU)

(svt x reverse tropes, soonyoung's miscommunication expansion)

JEON WONWOO

POSER BY @macapunoz (SMAU)

it's hard pretending to be good at video games when it's so obvious you have no skills. too bad the guy you're trying to impress is the only one who tells you you're trash at the game.

GAM3 BO1 BY @/horangboosadan (SMAU)

wonwoo tries his best to talk his noisy neighbor into being a little quieter. it just doesn't go exactly how he expected it.

LEE JIHOON

NOW PLAYING : ABOUT NOW BY @flickerchans (SMAU)

a global pandemic paired with months of lockdown; you're pretty sure you're going stir-crazy. when you come across a viral chat-app, you don't even hesitate to join it. thus begin the chaos of meeting 14 random strangers and how they become a bigger part of your life than you thought they would.

SMARTER, AND YOURS BY @vitaminkyeom

Jihoon, school's no. 1 (or no. 2), was nothing but a pain in the ass for you. Sure he was better than you in some subjects but so were you. The two of you were equally good enough for the first place so to increase the competition, he decided to suggest the most scandalous thing you had heard: the two of you tutor each other.

Or, in which, you were the rich kid with your family's dignity on the line and he was the poor kid with his family's sacrifices on the line.

LEE SEOKMIN

SET IT UP BY @/bitterie-sweetie

You have absolutely no idea how to get closer to your crush, but perhaps asking his best friend for some advice is the way to go.

CHAN, YOUR BROTHER'S HOT BY @mingkist (SMAU)

(it's honestly just a fun little smau but so sweet and cute - it's one of my favourite quick reads when I need a pick me up - who doesn't like best friend chan's older brother seokmin and falling in love through teasing chan)

TRIPLE-DOG DARE BY @eoieopda (18+ MDNI)

when you're left off the guest list to seokmin's parent's thirtieth anniversary party, you're content to keep your questions to yourself and stay home. seokmin, on the other hand, is not content. in fact, he pulls the one card he knows will always win.

READY, GET SET, GO GET IT, GO BY @chheolie

(i am so deeply in love with seokmin in this - read:always - and it's such a pleasant read about seokmin being a total fanboy and getting to live his true fanboy dreams)

HINT. HINT. HINT!!! BY @nerdycheol

(seokmin is supremely oblivious but cute all at the same time because of course he is - I adore him)

KIM MINGYU

BOYFRIEND PRIVILEGES BY @idyllic-ghost

The ten times Mingyu has shown off his "boyfriend privileges"

HARD CARRY BY @/studioeisa

your math major soulmate is the only reason you’re surviving college, but how long can you rely on him for help?

NOT FOR SALE BY @xinganhao (SMAU)

a four-part series featuring celebrity!mingyu and small business owner!reader

XU MINGHAO

HOW TO LOSE THE GIRL BY @nevernonline

minghao was feeling tired of shallow relationships. his friends, noticing his frustration, challenge him to pursue a girl and then push her away within ten days. intrigued by the idea, he reluctantly accepts the bet as a fun challenge.

BE MY MUSE BY @yyawnjun (SMAU)

how does it feel to be unexpectedly for one day the muse of your biggest crush since middle school? and what if it became harder than you thought ignoring those feelings?

BOO SEUNGKWAN

YOU SAY THE STUPIDEST (SWEETEST) THINGS BY @savventeen

you say stupid shit on the best of days, so when seungkwan comes over when you're having a bad bout of insomnia, the last thing he expects to hear from you is an accidental love confession

MISSION POSSIBLE BY @thepixelelf

One of Mr Boo's students sees his brand new engagement ring.

HANSOL VERNON CHWE

FLEEING FEELINGS BY @diamonddaze01

so you might have told vernon you loved him while drunk – now all you have to do is avoid him. forever. 

EXPOSED BY @gamerwoo (SMAU)

“Have you discovered anything?” “Yup.” “Great! What is it?” “I love Vernon, sir lmao” (journalist reader, subject vernon - what chaos could possibly ensue?)

ON THE CLOCK BY @sailorsoons (FAKE DATING AU)

Modern problems call for modern solutions, including naming a random stranger in the book store as your boyfriend to avoid an embarrassing encounter with your ex. The problem? The stranger is Vernon and he’s not supposed to be a stranger at all - he’s your coworker, and now everyone at the office - including your ex - thinks you’re dating. 

CATCH YOU WHEN I CAN BY @/xinganhao (SMAU)

a five-part series charting vernon's relationship with you, an international rockstar. (this is where my love affair with kae started and I've not looked back since - great decision on my part)

LEE CHAN

ROCK WITH YOU BY @horangboosadan (SMAU)

after the release of your most recent drama, the world decides that you and your co-star/best friend would be the perfect couple. the influx of positive reactions are great for your career, his career, and the drama. however, it tears at you to lie to your fans and appear dishonest towards your boyfriend. being a k-pop idol, revealing your relationship can come with unforeseen consequences. how do you tackle the onslaught of people who want the inside scoop of you and your co-star, and your boyfriend in denial about his jealousy without compromising either relationship?

THE FIANCE BY @wondernus (SMAU)

a mysterious pink fishing vest. a fiancé who wakes up in the middle of nowhere. and an upcoming wedding on the line. there's only so much you can take before you let your perfect future crumble before your eyes.

PANG! BY @kkumawrites (SMAU)

You'd consider yourself a simple college student, a freshman who just wants to survive their first year - but things get complicated when you're suddenly falling for someone you definitely shouldn't be, especially since he has a girlfriend already.

THE WAY OF THE WORK HUSBAND BY @studioeisa

going back to work after the holidays sucks, but at least you've got your 'work husband' lee chan to get you through it.

OPERATION DISPATCH BY @/xinganhao (SMAU)

chan has been trying his hardest to get the two of you into dating rumors. it's not really working the way he wants it to.

OT13

SEVENTEEN MED BY @welcometomyoasis

When the previous director of Seventeen Medical Center retired, his grandson, Lee Jihoon, was promoted as his successor. Jihoon made many changes to the hospital, but the most important change of all? He hired 11 new medical staff members and 1 medical student, all of whom he knew from his days as a medical student. As these new changes occur, you bet chaos (and 13 different romance stories) ensue. 

YOU'RE THE MAN BY @princessleechan

After your university cut your soccer team to prioritize the men’s team, it’s natural you have a falling out with your then soccer-star-player boyfriend and impersonate your twin brother at the rival university to play on their men’s team. Wait, it’s not? Oh well

XINGANHAO MASTERLIST + STUDIOEISA MASTERLIST BY KAE

(literally everything on both of kae's masterlists are worth reading so i implore you to go do that - i've already mentioned a couple faves in the list above)

more to come...

[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.

[neverniko101]

Niko we need to yap more about Icv!Dream and Curd.

Pretty please a moment of your time 🥺🥺

Something is wrong.

“Obviously, feather-brain,” the Hero huffed from his perch on Curd’s shoulder. “There’s color, for one thing.”

The usual monochrome silence of the woods was broken by the gentle hushing of a nearby ocean, small blossoms and tropical plants shining like gemstones between the grey trunks. Glittering beams of sunlight filtered through trees too high to see the top, a light mist signifying the humid breeze.

I like it.

“Yes, it’s pretty, but does that mean something’s wrong? This has never happened before- the Narrator’s gone too, isn’t he?”

“Oh noooooooo,” the Contrarian commented sarcastically. “WhatEVER shall we do without that overbearing son of a bit-“

“Okay, yes, shut up,” Chara interrupted, flapping his wings irritably.

“You shut up. We’re not getting anything useful just standing here.”

“I guess,” the Hero muttered reluctantly. “It’s not like we can do much other than go to the cabin, anyway.”

Curd nodded, starting down the marked path. Soft dirt stuck to his talons as he walked, foliage whispering as he passed. At the crest of the hill overlooking the cabin, he had to stop, doubling over to catch his breath.

“You’re more built for cold weather, huh,” the Hero said as he examined Curd’s thick white coat of feathers, frazzled in the humidity.

I’m sweating through my feathers.

“Gross. Can birds even do that?”

“Let’s just focus on getting to the cabin. It’s usually nice in there, right?”

The avian skeleton managed to stumble through the cabin door, sighing with relief at the break from the sunlight. He wanted to lay facedown on the smooth marble floor to cool off, but he had the feeling that would be considered rude.

“It would. You should do it anyway.”

“It’s not like there’s anyone here that would see you, right? The Prince is always locked in the basement…if we’re assuming that still applies here, and that there’s even a Prince at all.” The Hero paused scanning the room. “It looks like there’s The Blade, though.”

Should we take it?

“Up to you. I personally would, for protection, but it could also give the wrong impression if we meet someone new.”

“Throw it out the window.”

Curd frowned at the thought of shattering one of the intricate stained glass windows. They filled the tall marble hallway with bright rays of color, each depicting a different intricately painted figure. Curd liked the ones with images of suns, moons, stars and planets.

“You have weird taste,” The Contrarian said, landing in front of the window with a dark, multi-eyed figure. “This one is clearly the best-“

“Shh, I hear movement from below. Whatever your choice, Cross, please make it quick.”

Leave the blade.

“Alright.”

Curd cautiously crept down the massive marble staircase, the towering columns and sweeping carvings making him feel small- which, as a 7’2” bird creature with the strength of a Royal Guard, was pretty impressive.

The room they arrived in was stiflingly hot, even more so than outside. Every inch of wall seemed to be covered in tall, arching windows that poured sunlight into the room like the crystal stream that ran along one wall. Curd had to shield his eyes from the blinding light, thus he didn’t see the other figure in the room.

“And who are you?”

Curd barely suppressed a yelp as the temperature shot up to that of an oven as a voice radiated around a room.

“Shit.”

“Well…guess we aren’t alone.”

“J-just a…Royal…Guard-“ the avian managed to gasp through constricting lungs.

“Are you? One of my sibling’s?” The figure asked, taking a step closer to examine him. The chokehold of heat released somewhat, leaving Curd collapsing to the ground. “Mm…no, I don’t think so.”

From the ground, Curd has able to get his first good look at the other. She was an impossibly beautiful skeleton clothed in shimmering silks and trimmed in gold, eyes like twin stars that bored into him and heated the room around them. A delicate gilded circlet mimicking the rays of the sun rested on her head.

Curd pulled himself from the marble floor and into a bow, wings spread out at his sides.

“What are you doing, putting yourself in a vulnerable position?” Chara hissed, flapping circles around his head.

She’s clearly royalty with immense power, Curd replied to the Voice. I’m not sure I could survive very long in a fight.

“Simp.”

“What are you?” The god interrupted his inner conversation, tilting her head slightly. “You most certainly aren’t a god, and yet you aren’t a scrawny mortal, either. Get up.”

Curd shakily rose to his feet as Dream slowly paced around him in examination. “I’m not…quite sure what I am,” he said. “I don’t really remember much beyond waking up in these woods.”

“Ah, a mystery.” Her face remained composed but a spark of interest shown in her eyes. “Well, perhaps someone I know can- ah.” She sighed in exasperation as Curd fell again, this time fainting from the heat.

[pukefactory]

Alright that's cool, if it isn't that much of a bother could I request Platonic Dandy x Main!F!Reader? Maybe due to constant pestering from some other toons, Dandy joins them on a run himself, leading to Reader taking the shopkeeper position temporarily, to the other toons surprise. Considering how this is probably going to be a one time thing, Reader is selling more rarer items more frequently.

Author’s Note

Reader pronouns were omitted to make this more inclusive—I hope that’s alright. I also avoided mentioning any Toons besides Dandy to leave it up to your imagination for added fun.

- Rush

-ˋˏ ༻ WE’RE OPEN! ༺ ˎˊ

✿ Summary: The Other Toons Convince Dandy To Go On A Run With Them, Leaving You To Man The Shop

✿ Character(s): Dandicus Dancifer (Dandy’s World)

✿ Reader pronouns: Not Specified

✿ Genre: Short Story, SFW

✿ Word Count: 423

✿ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

✿ Image Credits: @stxrs-in-my-sky

Dandy had been pestered about it for weeks now.

“Come on, Dandy! Just once!”

“Think of the fun! You never get to run with us!”

“You’re not scared, are you?”

The Toons were relentless. Every time they passed his shop between rounds, they brought it up again. Dandy’s usual grin twitched, his petals bristling. He was a shopkeeper! The shopkeeper! Who would sell them items if he was out running around like some reckless amateur?

But then, you had chimed in.

“I can watch the shop,” you had said simply, hands on your hips. “You never take breaks, Dandy. Go have fun.”

It was a logical argument, but that didn’t mean Dandy liked it. His petals drooped slightly as he mulled it over, then, with a dramatic sigh, he caved.

“Fine, fine! Just this once! But if anything happens to my shop—”

“I know, I know,” you interrupted, waving him off. “I’ll take good care of it.”

With that, Dandy was off, his usual energetic catchphrases trailing behind him as he joined the Toons on their run. The moment he was out of sight, you turned to the stall, cracking your knuckles.

“Alright. Let’s make some deals.”

When the next round ended, the Toons stumbled back into the shop, expecting the usual selection of mid-tier items at best. Instead, their eyes widened at what was on display.

“Wait… is that…?”

“No way! You’re selling valves?!”

“WHAT?!”

You smiled innocently, stacking another handful of premium goods onto the counter. “Well, Dandy’s not here, and this is probably the only time I’ll run the shop. Might as well go all out, right?”

Toons scrambled for their Tapes, practically throwing them at you in their rush to grab the high-tier items. Some were gleeful, others wary—Dandy never stocked this much rare loot at once. It almost felt… wrong.

When Dandy finally returned, slightly ruffled but buzzing with post-run energy, his expression immediately shifted upon seeing the empty shelves.

“...What happened here?”

You beamed at him. “Great business today! You should run more often.”

His smile twitched. His petals trembled. He scanned the barren shop, then looked at the Toons—who very suddenly avoided eye contact.

A slow, drawn-out exhale. He forced a grin, though his eye twitched ever so slightly.

“Well,” he said, voice tight. “Wasn’t that just… perfect?”

He turned to the Toons. “Enjoy your new gear,” he said, far too cheerfully.

They all flinched.

Dandy clapped his hands together. “Because I’ll be adjusting my prices accordingly next time!”

The groans were immediate. You just laughed.

[bunni-v1]

Oh. Em. Gee! I read this post of yours https://www.tumblr.com/bunni-v1/771137137008640000/what-do-we-have-here?source=share and I'm going absolutely INSANE!!!!

Please please please, add Wise to this list too!!!

I need all 4 men in this!!!!

(If it wasn't obvious enough, I'm a hoe for all 4 of them)

P.S.: Absolutely in love with your work!!!!💖💖💖💖

What do we have here...? Pt. 2

🍓Lycaon was actually supposed to be in the original post, but I was so stumped on how to write him I just... didn't. Now I'm gonna actually do it though, because I'm lowkey obsessed with him. I was also gonna add Hugo, but I just... I don't wanna. Maybe if someone requests him specifically lol. Sorry, it took me so long to get to this.

Tw: Knotting, rut, marking (Lycaon); Mean dom! reader (Wise)

Info: NSFW; Lycaon, Wise x Reader (separate); fem!reader (sorry)

MDNI

Von Lycaon

The very idea of having your sexual encounters on his phone is nearly repulsive to Lycaon. There are far too many outside variables that could very well go wrong just by having them in his gallery. Imagine if he were to accidentally send one to a client, or Ellen finds them helping him with something. Goodness, the thought makes him shiver, he'd never hear the end of it. However, despite not liking the idea, he has allowed you several times to record on your own device.

He doesn't think much of it when you do, just happy to keep you satisfied. He'd never seen the videos himself, and he never cared to either, they were for your enjoyment after all. It wasn't his place to go through your phone to look for them, so he didn't. Until he stumbled upon them accidentally. He was just looking through old pictures you'd taken together when he found a folder (by some miracle) labeled 'special'. Curiosity got the better of him, and he discovered what felt like hundreds of videos and images of your intimate life. Most of them focused on him, but he could hear you in the background, and see how you shake with the camera. He understood the appeal now.

Videos like these would be especially helpful on nights he would be without you. It wasn't uncommon for him to be away from you for several nights in a row, and despite how much he tried, he was still a man. Relief was difficult without you, but maybe if he had... material... it wouldn't be so hard. So, to your pleasant surprise, he revisits the subject and asks for your permission to record the two of you. Several times. It comes in handy quickly, a cold lonely night in a hotel room on some assignment from a client and he can't quite get you out of his head. You were long asleep by now, so he wouldn't bother you, instead clicking through his phone to the private secured file (which you helped him set up) to what he was needing more than anything.

He looked through the selection thoughtfully, picky about what he wanted to watch. Finally, he lands on one, pressing play after ensuring his volume wasn't at max. It starts awkwardly pointed at the sheets, then quickly corrects itself to an angle between your legs. You are wearing a lacy black panty and garter belt set, plush thighs bulging out from the thigh highs connected to them. It's his favorite thing to see you in. Lycaon's free hand slides up your leg and into view, sinking his fingers into your skin with a gruff sigh from behind the camera. They flex against your thigh, the veins in them popping out.

He wastes no time in gliding them down to your panties, pulling them to the side to reveal your already-soaked cunt. He dips his fingers in without fanfare, and you mewl, the sound reverberating in his skull. You can hardly take two of them before you're crying that it's too much, yet you don't push him away when his thumb circles your clit. He easily works you on his fingers, knowing all your sweet spots by heart to the point he doesn't have to think about it. The video is short because of that fact, you cum quickly under his touch, far sooner than he likes in the moment. Luckily, he has more videos to pick from.

This one looks a little more produced than the last, having the phone set up nearby to record the two of you from behind. It begins with you climbing back into the bed, having been the one to set up the camera, and straddling his lap. His fluffy white tail comes up to cover your rear from the chill of the room, and his hands slide over your hips to help you settle on his dick. The phone picks up your slight hiss, fading to a giggle when his fur tickles you. Candles are lit, and there are a few rose petals scattered on the floor, a scene of absolute romance.

It takes you a moment to adjust to him, leaning down to kiss him and muttering between yourselves words that the phone does not quite pick up. Then, finally, you begin to move your hips. Rolling them slowly against him, sighing out your delight at the friction. One of his hands comes up to your front, and you moan a bit as he does. While most of the action is blocked at this angle, the sounds you make are heavenly, and they only get better when you begin to bounce. The wet slapping mixes with your moans in a positively addicting way, making his chest feel tight. He misses you dearly, if only you were here now, where he could touch you like he was in the video.

Sighing, he closes the video, more sad than gratified now. He thinks that one more try would be worth the effort, so he slides down and presses on a video he only vaguely recalls making. It is not well made, and it's hard to make out what's going on. The camera shakes around wildly, unable to focus on anything, but he hears the sound of him pounding into you. You whimper and whine, clearly muffled by the pillows, and finally, the camera focuses on something.

That something is, of course, your dripping cunt stuffed full with his throbbing cock. It sucks him in with each thrust, practically trying to milk him with how hard he can see you clenching. Now this was... interesting. You'd clearly already cum more than once, obvious from the sticky white ring around the base of his cock. Deep red bite marks marr the soft skin of your thighs, also covered in slick, and it dawns on him just what exactly he was watching. His own rut in action, deep into it at that. From the way he was breathing behind the camera, it was clear just what he had intended to record, though he was surprised he'd had the brain power to do it in the first place.

His free hand readjusts your leg, spreading it wide to give the camera a better view of where you are connected. There is a visible swell forming at the base of Lycaon's cock, bullying its way into your already abused pussy. Your leg shakes in his hold, another orgasm coming over your body, but it doesn't deter him. His thrusts become more shallow, not wanting to pull out for anything, not even the friction. The knot only gets bigger and bigger by the second, and your shaking only gets worse and worse the longer he stays inside.

There is a sharp intake of air, and then he finally shoves himself inside until you are pressed flush into his stomach. His knot swells fully, locking the two of you together for the next few hours as he dumps his load into you. A cry of his name has the phone being set down, forgotten in favor of caring for you, loyal as the dog he is to your needs. It was alright, though. Lycaon had long since satisfied himself. Unfortunately, now he had a few other issues on his mind, specifically about how to finish this job with a very obvious oncoming rut.

Wise

Wise 100% without a doubt is the one who brings up recording your sexcapades. As a movie lover and a tech nerd, it's only natural that he finds the idea of having sex on camera hot. Besides, he's a really busy guy, sometimes the two of you don't have the time to have sex. So, naturally, he needs something to help him get through the more lonely nights.

Worry not, your videos are well protected, thanks to his knowledge. No one is getting to his stash, not even Belle in all her nosy picking and prodding. (Fairy, however, could easily do so. Luckily, the AI has the wherewithal to not help Belle figure out what's in her brother's "super top secret, triple password protected file".) Yes, it's a hassle to get into the file, but he would rather not risk anyone else seeing either of you in your pathetic state of pleasure. It would be far more embarrassing for him anyway.

Tonight was, like many others, a lonely one. Wise had been working since early in the morning and, unfortunately, hadn't thought to invite you to stay over while you were visiting earlier. Of course, he could very easily text you, and you'd happily come over and help him with his little problem, but that would likely wake Belle (if she was even asleep yet, knowing her), and he just didn't want to deal with her teasing. That was what the videos were for, though, so he goes through the process of getting into the file and is greeted with some of his favorite sights in the world.

By now, he knew which ones would work the best for him, so he didn't have to think before he clicked on the first video leaning back into his pillows with a tired sigh. The camera is pointed down between your legs, Wise's silvery hair peaking between them. You have a hand fisted between the locks, controlling his movements with harsh tugs. He eats you out vigorously, following your lead obediently like he was trained to do. His whole face is bright red, positively pussy drunk on you. The sloppy sucking and slurping is all he can hear, aside from the occasional sigh from you. They're not sighs of pleasure, though, more of boredom. Like you were warning him that he wasn't doing good enough.

A harsh tug of his hair is proof enough of that, forcing him away from you. He whines, positively torn apart at the loss of your taste, and he can see your juices dripping down his chin in the light of the camera. His gaze is unfocused, completely dazed, only wanting to keep doing his job. You coo at him, moving your hand to cup his face in a tight grip. His lips pout when you squeeze, shaking his face toward the camera with a cruel laugh. "Awww, look at how cute you are, you wanna make me cum?"

He nods vigorously, pleading up at the camera with big teary eyes. You don't give him a break, instead shoving your fingers in his mouth. He sucks on command, closing his eyes and focusing on the action. You let him get them nice and wet, then pull them out with a pop. "How cute... maybe I'll let you if you sit and watch like a good boy? You can do that, can't you?" Again he nods, sitting back on his feet and watching obediently as you begin to finger yourself. The video cuts off shortly after that, so he moves to the next one.

The camera is now pointed upward, facing your front. You're straddling him on the very bed he's lying in currently, leaning back casually as you watch him adjust the camera until he's satisfied with the angle. When he is, you start grinding yourself into him, hips moving in a hypnotizing roll. It's mesmerizing the way you move against him, heat flooding through his body at the reminder of how nice your weight feels atop him. The heat of your skin against his much warmer than his own hand.

He whimpers behind the camera like an idiot, trying and failing to thrust up into you. Legs pinned down by your own making it far too difficult for him to do, so he is stuck taking your slow and easy pace. You are enjoying it very obviously, wide smirk on your face as you take your time in torturing him. Each roll of your hips was practically designed to drive him mad, and you do so successfully based on the sounds he's making. The calm pace only lasts for so long, and you lean back a little to get a different angle. Quietly, before you begin your next phase of the plan, you remind him to keep the camera held straight or else. There is some noise of acknowledgment, and then you start bouncing on him. Fast and rough, much more than he anticipates in the video, making him whine like a whore. Your head rolls to the side, your back arching, and your tits bounce in time with your movements. You really look like a goddess like this, he thinks, and he cannot get enough of it. It's wholly distracting to see you in such a position, and it seems he forgets what he was supposed to be doing, and the camera gets shakier and shakier until it falls unceremoniously to the sheets.

The next video after is a result of his own fumbling from the previous video. You are holding the camera once more, starting the video off with a big grin, and you nearly look adorable if not for the context. The camera flips around, and the view is something sinful. Wise is tied down to the bed, ass up face down, with a vibrator shoved up his ass. You giggle almost sweetly at the sight, tracing your finger around the base of the toy. "Someone didn't listen~" You purr, drawing them down to fondle his balls. His member jumps in excitement as you do so, very desperate for your touch.

You hum, rubbing your fingers lightly down his shaft as you press against his balls. You don't touch him how he wants you to, though, and you won't until you decide he is deserving of it. "Are you sorry?" You ask, and there is desperate nodding that jostles his whole body. You hum again, "Do you think you deserve to be forgiven?" More nods, accompanied by desperate whimpering this time. You seem to debate it for a few moments longer, before humming your approval. "Alright, I forgive you now. Just be good in the future silly."

It is then that you finally wrap your hand around his shaft, and the pace you set is brutal. You tug along his sensitive member quickly, so fast that there is audible slapping when your hand meets his balls over and over. You do not relent your pace, even when he starts crying, reminding him that this is what he wants. You jerk him off while the toy vibrates intensely inside him, making his cries of pleasure all the more pathetic. His legs begin to shake as his orgasm draws near, and all at once he is spurting white creamy cum all over his sheets. You keep going, even after he's cum, laughing as he tries and fails to scramble away from you. Again, reminding him that this is what he wanted, and that he needs to be good and make up for his mistakes.

Wise huffs as he closes the video, looking at his cum covered hand with shame. He was far too weak for you... perhaps you would like a little surprise to wake up to. He quickly snaps a picture of his newly ruined pants, sending it with a cheeky caption. He doesn't expect you to respond with how late it is, but his phone dings with your familiar tone. Seems he wasn't the only one who was feeling needy tonight.

[coffee-in-rain]

this has been on my mind periodically since thanksgiving day. someone shamed me for my reaction as if it's somehow unacceptable to feel upset by someone bashing my fic idea in a reblog of my own post. fanfic authors are human beings with emotions, too. something may seem small to someone else, but for someone who was in the path of hurricane helene and hurricane milton and only beginning the process of healing from the emotional toll, that would be an added weight on top of everything else.

one of my parents was supposed to be in western north carolina to ride their bike in the mountains (which was nothing out of the ordinary) during the time hurricane helene came through. thankfully, the trip was postponed last minute because they probably wouldn't have survived the flooding due to only having an RV for shelter on their trip. i try not to think about it much because it gave me nightmares after the first storm and even the thought almost makes me sick to my stomach. but that's weighed heavily on my mind since september, especially during thanksgiving day on top of the overwhelming survivor's guilt that's been present since september 27th, which was at an all time high on that holiday. how could it not be?

making the original post about Hannibal's food issues and hand feeding trauma temporarily kept my mind off those heavy emotions. i obviously wouldn't jump for joy when it was bashed. it would be nice if people could remember their emotional state is not a mirror image of everyone else's in the world before rushing to invalidate another person's feelings regarding a situation they cannot even fathom being in. i'm really grateful for everyone else who didn't shame me for having a human reaction on a holiday that felt very heavy.

i don't know when it became acceptable for people to bash fanfic author's ideas in such a direct manner, but i think people have a right to feel upset by that??? unlike hateful comments, hateful reblogs cannot be deleted by the original poster. like dude, if you hate the way a character is portrayed by a certain writer so much then fucking scroll past their post and don't engage with it. or vague post about it in your own blog. no one's forcing you to read an entire post that begins with the words: "i'm sorry for always yapping about Hannibal's food trauma and its prospective appearance in his and Will's post-fall relationship. but it is so intriguing to me. particularly: the usually romanticized notion of hand-feeding and the idea of Will making an off-hand joke one day."

it shouldn't be a surprise that Hannibal's trauma would be reflected on in that post and if it gets you that riled up then go touch some grass, please, because Hannibal does in fact have childhood trauma. Hannibal doesn't always have to be portrayed as an emotionless boulder that would never be open to seeking comfort from Will or unable to experience unwanted vulnerability in front of Will.

it feels a bit like a double standard imo.

people can write about Will being vulnerable and crying in fics (as they should be allowed to do because it's their own fic!!), and that seems to be more widely accepted in fandom, but when the situation is reversed and it's Hannibal being written as vulnerable or crying or experiencing resurfacing childhood trauma in a fic, then it's somehow the worst thing on the planet for some people. if you feel that way it is 100% valid. but please don't start yelling at me in your reblog after you willingly read my post about Hannibal's trauma as if i held your face to the screen and forced you to read it with your own eyes. 😭

at the end of the day, both Hannibal and Will have trauma and it is not wrong for a writer to want to explore Hannibal's trauma, especially his trauma surrounding food. the original post about Hannibal's food issues and hand feeding trauma was deleted, but i'm reposting my fic idea here because this is my blog and i won't let a rude person dictate what i can and can't write.

Hand Feeding

imagine if one of the last times Hannibal was hand fed by anyone, it had been his sister when they were trapped in a cabin in the middle of winter. Hannibal had been giving her all of his scraps because she was getting sick and needed it more and he couldn't let her go hungry. he was desperate to care for her in any way he still could. he'd gone so long without food that he'd passed out and awoke on the cold cabin floor. small pieces of bread were being stuffed into his slack mouth. one week later, his sister died. not solely because of a cold. she had fallen ill and it had been apparent she wouldn't make it through the winter.

imagine Hannibal carrying that guilt with him. wondering for the rest of his life: if she hadn't fed him those morsels of bread and subsequently fallen ill, then maybe she would've made it through the winter and they could've escaped together. imagine the trauma of being hand-fed following Hannibal into the BSHCI: one day the orderly who detests him the most straps him down to shave his face and keeps him restrained during meal time. Hannibal doesn't receive a bite of food even though it's dangled mere inches away and it reignites the memories of being trapped in the cabin during the winter as a boy. imagine if he goes to sleep that day with an empty belly for the first time in almost four decades because the food was never close enough in distance to take a bite. imagine if he promised himself as a boy that he would never go to bed hungry as an adult and it had remained true until that night inside his cell.

imagine Will hand-feeding Hannibal post-fall when they're in recovery. Hannibal dealing with a broken wrist--making it cumbersome to feed himself depending on the meal. imagine Hannibal hesitating. unable to take the first bite. an offering of food. monumental only to Hannibal. imagine Hannibal's jaw clenching with a notable tremor and his heart seizing the moment Will presses a piece of food against his lips, urging him to open up.

Will saying: "come on, baby, you need to eat."

you need to eat. one of the last sentences Hannibal heard his sister utter. imagine Hannibal feeling nauseous at the mere prospect of eating--of taking opportunistic nourishment away from Will (even though both their plates are full)--and then blinking back tears because he doesn't deserve this. kindness. encouragement. the ability to sate his hunger before Will even takes a bite of his own meal. knowing it can be taken away at a moment's notice and can be placed just out of reach like the multiple times he's experienced before. imagine Hannibal asking Will: "are you going to eat as well?" because he's scared of both feeling and appearing greedy. imagine Will registering the turmoil stirring inside Hannibal. being patient and coaxing Hannibal to eat. whispering "it's all right" and "take your time" and then kissing Hannibal's temple in reassurance/praise as the first mouthful of food is eventually swallowed.

Will's Off-Hand Joke

imagine Will gaining a small amount of weight post-fall and he needs to size up in his usual pair of pants. Will makes an off-hand remark after dinner: "are you trying to fatten me up?"

it's meant to be teasing.

but imagine Hannibal's brain racing to the first association he has with that term: of being trapped in a cabin and having his shirt raised so his body-mass could be inspected. if he had retained a little more weight then maybe his sister wouldn't have been the one to be chosen. knowledge that haunted Hannibal for the rest of his childhood. imagine if Hannibal becomes defensive and shell-shocked by Will's comment. believing it's truly one of the worst things he could do to Will. that he's made Will vulnerable in the same manner he had unknowingly done for his sister by keeping her as well fed as he could--and now he's been keeping Will as well fed as he could during their recovery. imagine Hannibal having a nervous breakdown because of that off-hand comment and Will spending the rest of the night piecing Hannibal back together.

These may be unpopular opinions. But...

I think Hannibal could experience moments of unwanted vulnerability and unpleasant memories i.e food associations like soup or food insecurity or compulsive food hoarding or compulsive eating or foregoing eating out of fear there may not be enough for Will (but in all reality there is enough food for them both) stemming from his childhood (which was actually traumatic, even though some people are quick to bash a fic idea exploring that concept because they believe Hannibal should only be portrayed as some stoic, emotionless boulder that can't ever feel anything other than bloodlust). Like... Is Hannibal becoming mute as a child after escaping the cabin not a trauma response? 😭

People should be allowed to explore concepts of that without having it bashed in a reblog of their own post.

Hannibal would probably be feeling even more vulnerable than Will post-fall, and I'll die on that hill. Like... He would be so overwhelmed being in Will's presence once again and touch-starved from being isolated for three years. No one can convince me Hannibal would not have to blink back tears the first time he was hugged or held by Will post-fall.

[toa-archive]

I've recently found out about this archive and im obsessed!! I was wondering if you have anything on the Akiridion royals, more specifically, Krel and Coranda

Going to need to split this into two and do a King and Queen bundle to boot because of how little there is of Coranda and Fialkov online. More might yet show up but this is what we have at the moment:

This first image is a complete guesstimate as you can see from the attached tweet by Yinjue Chen. Only reason think it might be royal related is mostly vibes, four arms and the cloak/jacket effect she's got going there. Could be completely wrong of course!

Source

This one is by Francisco Ruiz Velasco aka Fruiz and is likely when their designs settled enough for refinement/modelling. He reused this particular versions for the various throne room concepts and they also show up on a mixed artist 3Below cast image.

Source

Then we have these expression sheets by James A. Castillo when he was with Headless for a little bit! First up a bitta Fialkov.

Annnd Coranda. These actually caused a bit of panic when his website got revamepd and these vanished for a while. Thankfully everything came back fine as these are pretty unique and fantastic reference.

Source

Last off is these two by Jessica Bulinski, one of which might recognise from a recent post. It is a unique opportunity to see Coranda's final model if in yellow though so:

... And halves of them being obliterated if that's more your thing.Really cool effects at least and of course somebody needed to figure it out.

Source

As usual if anything pops up after this is posted they will be added to the thread! Fruiz has been quieter of late but he has done it on us multiple times at this point.

Krel is kinda scattered all over the place, well even more than this. This has been thrown together first thing in the morning so will start pooling the various Krel bits and pieces in drafts throughout today. It's highly likely going to forget something and found doing that helps. Started gathering these last night and left them in tabs because yesterday me is very nice.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 4 - Too Much Green

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Chapter 4 doing what it always does in my writing. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Fame < Infamy by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 12.3k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Bucky has a talk with Sam, and you adapt. Contains usual tags.

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

Read on A03!

Bucky didn’t know who decided Sam should be allowed to have an office, but he needed to have very firm, loud words with them.

Steve had never gotten an office, and he’d been perfectly fine. Sam barely even used the office. He kept it because he liked saying my office with a smug expression, and making Bucky sit in the waiting room like this was a doctor’s appointment and not a serious, time sensitive meeting. 

Because the sun was going to rise soon, and Bucky wouldn’t be following Her to work. He’d go back to his apartment, and do flat, mundane things to fill his time. Sam would find someone else to trail Her around, and She’d probably make their lives living hell, and they’d stick around because they knew how to do that.

Bucky had warned Sam he wasn’t made for this. That he’d literally been designed to hunt and kill, not shield and protect and care for. This was how it would’ve ended anyway, but he’d hoped—just for the sake of his own, fragile anger and resolve—that it would’ve crumbled because She caved. Because Bucky would’ve been right. But he hadn’t even lasted three weeks before everything had fallen apart, and She’d shot him in the gut like a sick dog. 

He’d shot himself in the gut. He’d been the paranoid asshole, and She’d gotten exactly what she’d wanted. Bucky didn’t have enough will to push it, and he didn’t have the strength to push Her. She was… stronger than he’d expected. And he could still see Her shaking slightly, still hear the fury in Her voice echoing off the vacant, blank walls of his apartment. 

It wasn’t guilt or shame, burning and crawling over his skin. It couldn’t be. He had nothing to be guilty of, because he’d been doing his job. Checking all the vulnerabilities. Making sure everything was in its proper place, including Her. It didn’t get to matter than She was beautiful and smart and bursting with a wrath that seemed bigger than the world. It mattered that She’d been lying, and hiding things. 

Things that didn’t seem that important now, when he’d been so goddamn wrong, and the image of Her in the office—in the dark, burning up from within in a way Bucky could see—seemed to be branding itself onto his brain.

Things that really didn’t have to matter to him at all anymore, because Bucky was done. He’d gotten out of it. He wouldn’t be breaking his word to Sam—She’d kicked him out, he hadn’t just abandoned his post—and he could just keep going through the motions until things, slowly, became better again.

And this would be fast. He’d tell Sam that the little arrangement had been a disaster—he’d throw in a I told you so, just to really sell it and bury down how he still felt Her teeth marks over his lungs—and go home. Maybe go to the grocery store. He’d never have to step foot in that godawful Subway again, or pretend he couldn’t see all those old, skin-sagging assholes scanning over Her body as she moved, because that wouldn’t be his business. He’d hear Her name in passing in the future and think nothing of it. Sam might mention one day that they’d worked out the Hydra thing, and Bucky would shrug because it wouldn’t be his fucking problem. 

He definitely wouldn’t check, because he’d have other, more important things to do.

He couldn’t think of any right now, but he would. He’d find some. 

That was how this whole getting better thing was supposed to work, and Sam was always on his ass about it anyway, so really this was an improvement for everyone. Sam got to find someone who would actually be good at watching Her. She’d probably have a lot of free time on Her hands, now that She wasn’t putting an impossible amount of effort into making Bucky go insane. Bucky would… Maybe he’d take another online college course. He’d heard Her say a lot of big, weird words and phrases that couldn’t possibly be real while he’d stood guard at Her door. There was probably an English class or something, and he could learn a bigger word that She didn’t know, just so he could throw it in Her pretty, annoying face-

He wasn’t going to see Her again. He didn’t know why his brain kept acting like he’d walk behind Her to the subway in the morning—he’d almost walked to Sam’s office instead of using his motorcycle, as if he’d been ready to go to Her apartment after—because he wouldn’t. He was free.

He kept seeing Her eyes, staring at him in an imprinted, faded picture in his head—full of that thing, narrowed in anger and unblinking, like She could shred him apart with a thought—but he’d never have to hold Her glare again. 

Everything would go back to normal.

The clock in Sam’s waiting room kept ticking. On and on, taunting Bucky and making his hands fist in his lap. He hated that sound. It pushed itself deeper and deeper and deeper into his brain, and it was like the click of a safety on a gun, or the tap of a doctor’s pen against their paper as they watched him. Observed him. Looked into him and saw the Solider and nothing more, figured out how to grab his anger by the throat and pull it to the surface, until angry was all Bucky could manage to be-

Something snapped through the air, and when Bucky looked down, he’d broken his water bottle. 

Sam had given him that water bottle. Something about hydration being important for robots too. 

Now Bucky was going to have to tell Sam two bad things. And they only had two damn hours until someone had to walk Her to work, because Bucky wasn’t going to but if the Hydra threat was real, She shouldn’t be allowed to just wander the Subway alone. She could be scary—unreasonably so, a little like a bird morphing into a dragon without warning—but Hydra wouldn’t care.

If they knew who She was, the dumb little disguises of sunglasses and baseball caps wouldn’t work, and Bucky didn’t trust Her not to do something stupid like put in earbuds so She couldn’t hear anyone coming. 

She listened to Her music too loud, all the time. It was another thing in his log, that Sam should tell Her to stop doing that, because it was a health hazard, and if She got kidnapped because of it, that would be really fucking annoying. Sam would get all angry, and they’d have to deal with all the assholes at Stark Industries for capturing their princess, and Bucky would probably have to save Her, and she wouldn’t even say thank you because She hated him-

His pants were wet. Cold and sticking to his skin, because he hadn’t stopped squeezing the broken water bottle, and the clock was still ticking, and Sam still wasn’t opening the goddamn door-

His name was James Buchanan Barnes. It was 3am on a Monday, and Sam’s office has very ugly, gray carpets. He liked that he’d been able to ride his motorcycle here. He disliked the little cactus Sam had put in the corner of the room, because it felt like it was taunting him. He needed Sam to open the door now, before he broke the clock and the crushed the cactus. He wanted this to all be done with, so he could go back to a routine that didn’t make him want to jump off a building and drag Her down with him.

“Buck?”

Bucky’s head turned to see Sam frowning at him from in front of the elevator, a soft ding ringing through the air as the doors closed behind them.

Sam hadn’t even been here. Bucky could’ve just broken into his apartment.

That was annoying. 

“Man, it’s two in the morning, what are you doing here?”

“Three in the morning.” Bucky grunted, pushing to his feet, and Sam just rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, and that’s such a big difference-“

“Sam.” Bucky crossed his arms, keeping his voice as flat as possible. “We need to talk.”

Sam only raised his brows. “Do we?”

“Yes.”

“If this is about what I think it is,” Sam moved past Bucky, opening his office door with a shrug. “I don’t think we do need to talk. I think you should be headin’ home, Buck, before-“

Sam said Her name, Bucky felt a muscle in his jaw tick, and he cut Sam off before this dragged on longer than it needed to. This should be quick. Bucky should be home—alone and bored and back to routine—before the sun was up.

“I’m not doing that anymore.”

Sam stopped in his steps, running a hand over his face as he turned to Bucky with a glare.

“Bucky, you promised me you wouldn’t fuckin’ quit on this-“

“I didn’t quit.” He snapped. “I got fired.”

“Fired? Nobody can fire you, man, that’s not how this-“

Bucky said Her name, and it sounded a little smoother off his tongue this time. But now it was bitter, laced with a memory of Her spitting at him with cold hatred that he’d really, truly earned. “She fired me.” Bucky muttered, forcing himself to hold Sam’s gaze. “Said she’d do the lockdown, but I don’t believe her, so I’d send someone to make sure she’s-“

“Bucky.” Sam’s voice wad low. Firm. Serious. That couldn’t be good. “What’d you do.”

“Why do you always assume I did something-“

“Cause you usually do something! What did you do-“

She’d told Bucky he could lie. Tell Sam She was impossible to work with, or had thrown a stapler at him. 

It was an incredibly specific example. It would probably work just fine. 

Bucky couldn’t manage to say it. He’d been the asshole. He’d crossed a line, and part of recovery was supposed to be telling the truth. He didn’t want to tell the truth, but he also tried to let a poorly crafted story fall out of his mouth, only to stare at Sam as the words lodged in the throat.

Lying had always made his gut twist just a little. A little voice that sounded like Steve would always whisper that good men didn’t lie.

Bucky wasn’t a good man.

And that just made this so much fucking harder.

“Bucky.” Sam grunted, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t start talking now, and I’m gonna call her in so we can all have a chat together.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “So she’s allowed to be up at three-“

“She’s up at three anyway. And she’s not waiting for me in my office like a stalker-“

“I am not a stalker-“

“You’re lookin’ at me like one. Just-“ Sam sighed, shaking his head slightly. “Spit out whatever you did, man, I’m sure it ain’t that bad-“

“I broke into her office.” Bucky grunted, the challenge of not that bad somehow spurring the truth out of him in a second. “She caught me. I got fired.”

Sam blinked at him. “You- is breaking into offices a full time job for you now or somethin’?”

Bucky scowled. “No. And I didn’t break into your office, Sam, I was in the waiting room-“

“You were the only asshole in the damn building, I’m counting it. And that’s not the point, Bucky, what the fuck were you doin’-“

“Thought she might be Hydra.” He muttered, his words pushed through his teeth. “Was looking for evidence.”

“Evidence.” Sam repeated, his voice low and taut, and Bucky nodded.

“Desk seemed like a good place to find it.”

“And did you?”

Bucky blinked at that. He’d expected the yelling to a start here. “Uh-“

“You find the evidence that she’s Hydra, Bucky?” Sam’s voice was too flat. Bucky was pretty sure this wasn’t a real question. “Find her red ledger, the big file readin’ I’m Hydra?”

He actually had looked for that. 

Sam didn’t seem genuinely interesting in hearing about it, though.

“No.” Bucky muttered. “Like I said, she caught me and tossed me out-“

“You tell her you thought she was Hydra?”

Bucky managed to hold Sam’s firm, unwavering gaze, to shrug like this was nothing, and ignore the turn of his stomach as the vision of Her—almost feral in the dark—flared in his mind.

“Maybe, yeah.”

“Jesus Christ, Bucky.” Sam ran a hand over his face, and he wasn’t angry. Bucky had seen Sam angry before. 

This felt more like disappointed. And that was louder in Bucky’s brain. Heavier. A weight on his chest that he had fucked this up, that Sam obviously did care about Her, that She’d probably—somehow—earned it more than Bucky had, and people liked Her when nobody liked Bucky, so of course Sam was disappointed. Bucky had been tasked with watching some sort of fucked up, insufferable, living goddess and he’d let his goddamn emotions and paranoia and how something about her just seemed impossible—too something, too beautiful, or loud, or angry, or smart, or likable—get in the way.

“You’re gonna need to apologize to her.” Sam snapped, moving to stand behind his desk. “Get her some flowers. Pick them, don’t buy them. She’ll know the difference.“

Bucky gaped at him. “Why the hell would I get her flowers, Sam, I-“

“Because it’s part of the apology, dumbass. You fucked up, you say I’m sorry, and we all move on.”

“Did you not hear me?“ Bucky braced his arms on the desk, narrowing his eyes. “She fired me. You’re gonna have to find someone else-“

“You promised.” Sam shrugged, and Bucky scoffed.

“I don’t think she cares about my promises.”

“And I don’t care if she fired you, Buck. I’m rehiring you, and you’ve got work in,” Sam glanced at his watch with a small frown. “An hour ‘till your girl is gonna be up. Get the flowers. Tell her you’re a paranoid old asshole, and you’re sorry, but she’s not dyin’ to Hydra so she’s stuck with you.”

“Sam.” Bucky hissed through his teeth. “She fired me. There are- You’re Captain America, you have other options that aren’t me-“

“Maybe I do,” Sam raised his chin, giving Bucky a firm, pointed glare. “And maybe I don’t give a shit about those other options, because I’m trustin’ you with this.”

“I told you-“

“Yeah, I know. You’re not a fit, you don’t wanna do this, she fired you, I don’t care.” Sam let out a long breath, dropping down in his chair and glancing over Bucky’s shoulder. “Lock the door.”

Bucky frowned. “I locked it when I came in-“

“Good.” Sam muttered, glancing around the room like he was checking for ghosts or bodies pushing out of the walls, listening to their conversation. “Look, Buck- It’s gotta be you. I don’t trust anyone else, and you’re a paranoid dickbag-“

“That’s fucking rude-“

“It’s true, Sargent Snooping in a Girl’s Desk.” Sam snapped, and Bucky’s frown deepened. She wasn’t a girl. She wasn’t even a woman. She was something a step above, that was made of the longer shadows of his bedroom and the worst fire that pushed up his throat. 

“I was being careful.” Bucky grunted, holding his ground. “We’ve been burned before, Sam, you know that.”

“Yeah, I do. But she isn’t a threat. I told you that, and-“ Sam cut himself off with a shake of his head. “That’s not the point of what I’m sayin’ Buck. This is- This might be big, man. Hydra- I got something.”

Bucky felt his whole body go rigid. 

He’d known Hydra never really died. They’d crumbled with SHEILD, when he’d been freed, but they’d been international. Huge. Even Bucky hadn’t been entirely sure just how deep they ran, but he’d known that they were out there. Weakened, but out there. 

Sam had said that like they were growing. 

Like this was more than just a threat.

“Sam,” Bucky muttered, keeping his words low and careful. “Say what the hell are you’re talking about.”

“When you were with them, you ever hear about somethin’ called Project Ouroboros?”

The Soldat scratched at the base of his skull. It would’ve been one of those memories, if Bucky did remember. The ones that were washed over and fogged with electricity, the Soldat programming buzzing and in control as Bucky just folded, fading into a ghost in his own mind. Not himself, and not seeing and hearing anything Hydra didn’t want him too, the whole world lined with a white-hot frost that kept most thoughts in a shattered stasis.

The fact the Soldat was stirring at all meant that Sam’s words meant something. But they all were in that fractured haze.

So Bucky shook his head. “No, not that I remember. But you know memory isn’t my strong suit, Sam-“

Sam rolled his eyes. “Shut up, man. Just thought I’d ask, cause it’s seemin’ like something Hydra woulda had Mr. Murder on.”

“You gonna tell me what it is, or am I just supposed to wait until it’s a problem-“

“It’s a problem now,” Sam sighed, and Bucky felt his fists clench. “The working theory is that, when Hydra was workin’ in SHIELD, they had some, uh, extra projects.” Sam said slowly, watching Bucky with a weary expression. He wasn’t afraid of Bucky—if Sam got credit for anything, it was that he’d never been afraid of Bucky—but he was cautious of his reaction. His words were too carefully chosen to not be.

Another really bad sign.

“Of course they had projects.” Bucky muttered, the knit of his brow starting to form a small headache. “They were 90% crazy mad scientists, Sam. Just say was Ouroboros is-“

“We’re not sure.” Sam said, rubbing at his jaw and effectively ignoring Bucky’s glare. “All the shit is redacted, and I’ve only found it buried under a million other projects, but it’s seemin’ like, maybe, they were makin’ something called the Leviathan. You-“

“Don’t ask me if I heard about it.”

“I wasn’t gonna-“

“Yeah, you goddamn were.”

Sam paused, and raised his brows. “Well, have you?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.“

Sam chuckled raising his arms in surrender. “Sometimes it’s too easy, man. Like candy from a baby-“

“Don’t give candy to babies.” Bucky snapped. “They don’t have teeth.”

Sam snorted. “You’re always just a bundle of fun, Buck-“

“The Leviathan.” Bucky grunted, because if he kept entraining this, they’d be here until noon. “You brought it up, Sam. Say what the hell it is.”

There was a long pause, and Sam let out a heavy breath as he glanced back to the door, dropped his voice, and gave Bucky an almost apologetic look.

“No smashin’ anything.”

“Sam-“

“All signs are, currently, pointing to Hydra making a doomsday device, and puttin’ it on standby ‘till they need it.”

Bucky felt like there was a plate of iron, crushing down on his chest. “A fucking doomsday device.”

Sam grimaced, his nod tight. “Yeah.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face. The iron was going to weigh down on his spine, bury him too deep in his own body. “If Hydra’s had a doomsday weapon, where the hell have they been hiding it?”

“Don’t know yet.” Sam muttered. “That’s part of the workin’ theory. All of this is- Right now, it’s hypothetical. Hydra may have finished the Leviathan, but there are almost no records that project Ouroboros was ever completed. It could just be scraps in a warehouse-“

“Or it could be a doomsday device.” Bucky hissed. “In fucking Hydra’s hands-���

“Not in their hands yet.” Sam shrugged. “That’s what we need to work out. Over two dozen previously dead Hydra projects have been uncovered in the past six years, Buck. If there is a Hydra doomsday weapon, they might not have had the manpower to use it during the blip, but they sure as shit have it now, and we need to find it before they do.”

“Then why are you still making me stick with babysitting.” Bucky raised his brows, drawing to his full height as he held Sam’s gaze. “If Hydra’s gaining ground, you need me in the field, Sam-“

“I’ve got guys in the field.” Sam didn’t balk, his words set. Firm. Unmovable. “I need you watching the civilian who’s gotten tangled up in this cause-“

“Cause?” Bucky jaw clenched, and an impossible amount of further strain entered his body. “You think she’s tangled in this, Sam? You think-“

“I don’t think you’re right, Bucky.” Sam said, voice flat. “You know you ain’t right. There are some- It’s complicated. Even she don’t know why they want her, but they want her, and that’s all we got to go on right now. Hydra’s wakin’ up, she’s the only thing we know they want, and I am not losing her just because you two can’t play nice.“

Bucky rolled his eyes, lowing his voice to under his breath. “She started it-“

“I know she did, that’s why I said you two.” Sam let out another long sigh. He’d been doing that a lot lately. “Bucky, I’ve told you, man. You’re the only one I trust here. If it helps you can think of it as protecting a package, I just need to not lose someone I care about to a bunch of fuckin’ nazi assholes. Okay?”

Bucky grunted, and it wouldn’t help to think of it as a package. He’d been trying to think of it as even less—just a mission or case to crack—but it kept just moving back to being Her. She was too loud, too attention demanding, too entirely consuming of Bucky’s brain for him to just pretend She was nothing. 

That might the most annoying thing about Her. How She might only be crude and taunting to Bucky, and he still may not believe that Her whole human goddess thing wasn’t an act, but he had yet to see a part of Her that didn’t draw the entire world in like She was made of something heavier than gravity. And Bucky was—tragically—still a part of that world. He wasn’t machine enough to be exempt from how She’d laugh, and it would be an almost musical, siren-like sound.

And She laughed a lot. That was another annoying thing about Her.

Pretending She was a package wasn’t an option, and if not because of the laugh, because he could still hear the venom in Her voice when she’d spat doll right back in his face like the word was a bullet. Package and doll seemed to fall into a similar category Bucky didn’t have a name for yet.

He didn’t want to think of Her as normal and human—it would make him picture Her curled up and pallid on that bathroom floor, force him to think about the bags under Her eyes that were somehow heavier than his—but package felt cruel.

It was almost 4am. She’d be up soon, and he needed to make a game plan to tell Her they were stuck together—Bucky had a feeling if he kept arguing, Sam would pull the part of your pardon card and mean it—in a way that didn’t get him hit with a stapler. 

“Bucky, I’m gonna need to hear an okay-“

“Okay.” He grunted. This was important to Sam, and would help fuck with Hydra. He just had to keep repeating that this was important to Sam and would fuck with Hydra, and he’d be able to handle it. “Sam?”

Sam raised his brows, and Bucky chose his words very carefully, starting with Her name. He needed to practice that one. It still sounded like a code.

“How long you known her?”

“Long.” Sam shrugged. “Met the kid when she was-“ He cut himself off with a frown. “In a weird place is the best way to put it, I think.”

Bucky kept his face neutral, adding weird place to his log. “Weird place?”

“Yeah. Complicated place. For a while.” Sam sighed. “Good she got in with Stark when she did. Even if it was Stark, better than...” 

Sam trailed off, shook his head again, and Bucky frowned. 

“Better than what?”

“Not my shit to say. I ain’t a snitch, Bucky-“

“I’m not asking to you to snitch-“

“Yeah, you are, and I’m more afraid of her than I am of you. She’ll kill me, you’ll just bitch and whine.” Sam gave him a pointed look. “You gotta stop fishing for information and do your damn job.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Stupid job.” He muttered under his breath, moving to the door. “Glad I crushed that damn water bottle-“

“You crushed what-“

“Get over it, Sam. You can have me guarding that fucking wolf of a girl, or I can keep that water bottle in one piece. You don’t get both.”

Bucky opened the door, and when he looked back Sam was watching him with a frown. 

“So you’re gonna watch her?”

“Said I would, didn’t I?” Bucky muttered, glancing at that goddamn clock on the wall.

The sun was almost up.

She’d be up with it. Probably—if Bucky had been reading the slump of Her shoulders and unreasonable amount of coffee and energy drink She consumed right—before it.

“See you later, Sam.”

“Try not to kill each other!” Sam called as Bucky closed the door. “Get the flowers!”

——————

The Boy is purring on your lap. It’s low and smooth and grounding.

You need it right now. You need the reminder that for at least the Boy, he can be alive and have it not hurt. That you’re not burning and destroying everything you touch, because the Boy is happy and content here. With you. 

It’s going to break your heart to move him, but you can see the frosted shapes of sunlight starting to break through the windows and dance over the floor. You’re going to need to be up soon, make a pot of coffee, and go to work. Because that’s what you do. You sit on the floor in a self-imposed exile from your bed, and then you light up for the Show and pretend the world isn’t eating you alive. 

But you can feel it. You can feel the pain of the long, long night—longer shadows and heavier air that no amount of coffee is going to be able to cure—and you can watch the light on the floor and know that it’s not shining on you.

If you moved your foot an inch to the side, it would. 

But that feels blasphemous. 

So you’ll stay here a little longer until you need to animate yourself, and pretend you feel nothing painful or impossible or irrational at all. 

Sam hasn’t called you to check in on the lockdown, so you’re going to go to the office. Maybe he’s assuming you’ll just go into lockdown, but Sam’s not that stupid—and he knows you too well to think you’d just roll over like a bitch—so he’s either put a new detail on you, of he’s had a moment of clarity and realized that you’re really not worth the resources to protect.

Maybe Barnes didn’t tell him at all, but you don’t really care. That sounds like a Barnes problem, not a you problem. 

You hope he didn’t tell Sam. 

You hope Sam finds out of his own, and Barnes gets his ass thrown off a building. You hope Sam waits until the last second to rescue him. 

Fucking Barnes.

You hadn’t intended on going to the office, but you’d forgotten some papers, and Happy never had to know. And there he’d been. Snooping and calling you Hydra, acting like you’d crawled out of the depths of hell instead of just faked your way into whatever type of cruel heaven this was.

You aren’t Hydra. You’re not keeping any Stark Industry secrets, because you’re just the sweet charity girl. The pretty face that offsets all the previous war crimes, that Pepper throws money at so you can turn it into something good.

And you do, and nobody looks at you any further because you’re not Hydra. You’re not important. 

Hydra will learn that, if they come for you. Barnes should’ve already known it from the start, but it seems you’d played your part too well, and he started to see shadows in you that weren’t there.

Because you do have secrets. Big, loud and haunting secrets that end you on the bathroom floor, watching the light leak into the room and swallowing down the bile on your tongue from another night that’s too lonely and dark. 

But they’re not the secrets Barnes thinks.

You’d lain in bed with the lamp on, before you ended up curled on the tile with your head tipped back against the wall. You repeated, over and over and over, that you didn’t need to call him. You’d be fine without him. You’ve been fine without him, and you can feel the bond start to fray once more, but it’s only a few more weeks. And they’ll hurt, and the time will be long and feel infinite, but you’ll just keep fucking going until you crash, or he comes home.

You’d been alone, and that was fine. You couldn’t open your eyes without little black spots dancing over your vision, but that was okay. Not normal, but okay, and there was an invisible, burning poker being driven into your skull but that didn’t matter, and you couldn’t breathe but no one can breathe when there’s molten iron being poured into their lungs.

You’d called him. You’d been alone, and there’s really never anything to prove—you could try and prove it to yourself, but doing things for yourself has never been effective—so you’d called him.

It had taken a few tries. He’d picked up of the seventh ring of the fourth call, and when you’d barely whispered that he needed to be home, and snapped that you should just stop whining. 

“I’m busy,” he’d drawled your name, and you’d swallowed. He was busy, he didn’t need you bothering him, and this wasn’t his pain. It was yours, and you should be able to handle and push through it yourself-

Something had felt like it was tearing and bubbling up your spine. You can’t keep going. You’re weak and inconvenient, but you need him. It makes you pathetic, but this is the one thing you can’t do alone. 

“I just- Please.” You’d whispered, hating your own voice. “I’ll do anything, please-“

“God, you’re-” He’d cut himself off a groan, and He’s refused before. Made you wait a little longer for some sort of lesson you never seem to learn. You might be doing that lockdown anyway, because you can’t fucking move-

“Plea-“

“Shut up. There’s a douchebag here, keeps telling people I’m a dick, and ‘impossible to work with’, and you know I’m not, honey, so I need you to make him stop.”

You’d swallowed, pressing your brow to the cool porcelain of the toilet. Your voice was a little softer when you spoke again. You could—kind of—think. “I can’t do that when I’m in New York. You know that-“

“Then you’re fucking useless!” He’d shouted your name, and you flinched, but barely. It was hard to move at all. “Just- Jesus, fine. Do the future thing.”

You hated the future thing. It was harder than he seemed to think it was. More complicated and clouded over your vision, because there was so much of it, but he only ever wanted to hear one future. The one you’d made the mistake of telling him about the first time, because you’d been a naïve little idiot who thought she could be safe.

And in a way, you were safe. You’d found that future—dull in the corner of the web—and told him about it, so the pain was alleviated. Washed back into nothing, your whole body settling as the bond forged itself back together. 

Now you had no excuse not to move. Not to stay here—on the cold floor with the Boy in your lap—for the rest of your useless life.

You need to make that coffee. Get on the subway and watch the graffiti blur past as you sit, and revel in sitting because fucking Barnes had always made you stand. 

Only two protestors today. One yelling about aliens, one claiming Iron Man never really died, and he’s being held captive by the government. Other than that, it’s an easy ride. You can listen to you music until you’re deaf and cross your legs under your body, spacing out because Barnes isn’t here the be annoying to, and whole day can be like this, if you’re lucky. 

You’re not. 

You step out of the elevator, into your office, and-

“Fucking-“ You let out a long breath, and the Show has to flip on. You need to be bored and amused and annoying, and nothing more or less. Barnes can’t see you, no more than he did when you shattered and cracked and showed him a little too deep. 

You’ve spent the weekend trying not to think about it. How you’d screamed at him like a child, and said too much. How he’d seen you—a little too much of the full, raw, bitter and angry and delicate you—and now there might not be going back. He’ll be able to see all the flaws in you, because he’ll know exactly where to look. What parts of the Show shine too bright to draw attention, and what parts shine too bright make people blinded. To force them to look away because there’s something real beneath it, and they’re not supposed to see it.

It hadn’t been something to worry about, when you’d thought you’d never see him again. 

It’s going to be a problem now. 

“I thought I fired you.” You raise your brows, your voice as dry and indifferent as you can manage, and Barnes shrugs.

“Looks like you don’t have the authority to fire me.”

You narrow your eyes. “I can ban you from my building.”

Barnes snorts. “Give it a shot. See how it goes. I’ll be right here ‘till you work that one out, and-“

“What about fired,” you drawl, angling your chin to hold his gaze. “Don’t you understand, James?If you’re not gone in thirty seconds, I’m calling security and making sure they send the old war drones-“

Grace clears her throat from her desk, and her apologetic expression looks a little too close to pity. “I- Um- Mr. Wilson called. He said to tell you that, if you try to kick Sargent Barnes out, he’ll tell Mr. Hogan you came in over the weekend again, then lock you in a room with Barnes until you both- ah-“ Grace swallows. “Grow the fucking hell up.”

You scowl, shooting Barnes a glare. “Did you tell Sam what you did?”

“Yep.” Barnes holds your gaze, a look on his face that you can’t read, but still want to punch off. “I’m not exactly allowed to leave you to fend for yourself, d- Kid. Deal with it.”

You feel your face twist into a sneer, your voice dropping to a hiss. “Deal with it?”

“That’s what I said.” He crosses his arms, jerking his head back to your office door. “You gonna go do your job? Or are we standing here all day like fucking idiots? Cause I can do either, sweetheart-“

You don’t let him finish before you’re storming past him, making the gamble that—if you’re fast enough and he’s still too absorbed in his taunting—you can slam the door in his face.

It doesn’t work. Barnes catches the door with his metal arm, and now there’s a fucking indent on the wood. 

You’re going to start crying. He can’t be allowed to see you cry. 

“Get out-“

“I’ll fix that,” he mutters, closing the door behind him with what seems like a slight amount of care. Likely a trick, or a measure to make sure nobody pays him any attention. “We need to talk.”

“We just talked.” You snap, dropping behind your desk without sparing him a glance. “I tried to fire you. It didn’t work. But if you’re going to be here, you’re not allowed in my office anymore-“

“That’s-“ Barnes lets out a long breath, running a hand over his face. “Fair. But it’s not happening.”

“You-“

“Listen. That,” he nods to your desk, something brimming on the edge of his expression that almost seems like an emotion. “Won’t happen again. You’re not Hydra.”

You snort, wrinkling your nose at him. “Oh, really, I wasn’t aware-“

“And I,” he lets out another breath, as if the words are an act of physical labor. “Should not have done that. I was being careful, but it was over the line.”

He pauses, like there’s supposed to be more but he can’t work out what it is, then closes his mouth. He’s looking at you like you’re suppressed to say something. 

You’re not even sure what the fuck is happening.

“Was that…” You trail off, scanning over Barnes’ braced stance with a frown. “Was that supposed to be an apology?”

“It was an apology.” He grunts, and you snort.

“Are you- Jesus Christ, dude, you are shit at this-“

He rolls his eyes. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“The traditional thing is say sorry, you old fuck-“

“Sorry.” He snaps, tone hot and mocking as he holds your glare. “Is that better?”

“Am I allowed to say it’s worse-“

“You can say whatever the hell you want, kid.” Barnes leans against the wall with another shrug. Sam couldn’t be that annoyed if you through your mug at his stupid face. He’s handsome enough that a scar really wouldn’t do that much harm- “What are we doing today?”

You scowl at your mug, turning it between your hands. You can’t throw it at his face. “Nothing.”

“Look, we’re stuck together, so if you want to be a fucking brat the whole time-“

“I’m being literal, dumbass.” You snap, watching the screen of your computer slowly blink on. “No meetings or field trips. It’s grant day, I’m doing a lot of reading.” You shoot him a too-sweet smile. “I’d ask you to help me, but I’m not sure you know how to read.”

Barnes’ eyes narrow. “You know I can read-“

“I don’t know anything.” You hum, looking back to the computer. “I was born twenty minutes ago. This is my first day on earth, ever.”

“Then how the fuck can you read-“

“Shut up.”

Barnes, shockingly, listens. He sits silently in the corner for the majority of the day, so unmoving that there are long moments where you forget he’s there. Sometimes he’s clear his throat, and you’ll glance up to find him staring right over your head.

He’s a strange man. It would be more amusing if you still didn’t want to cause him physically harm.

Because he won. The asshole didn’t even really try, and he won. You’d played better, and you’d been so far ahead, and you may have slipped a little when everything was dark and it was just you and Barnes in the whole world—his every word still hitting so deep in your body, grabbing and flaying a hot nerve nobody else has ever managed to find—but you still should’ve won. 

But you didn’t.

And now you’re stuck with him. Your alleged safety is more important than Barnes breaking into your office and calling you Hydra. You’re the same as you’ve always been, trapped. Contained. Too much to be trusted to watch and control yourself, and nobody—yourself included—sure how to handle you beside a leash and muzzle. 

Even when you stand and try to go to the bathroom, Barnes follows you. Like Hydra will be waiting to grab you from inside the toilet. 

“What are you doing.”

“My job.” He grunts. “Pretend I’m not here. Cry on the floor, vomit, I don’t give a shit, long as-“

You raise your hand, and he cuts himself off. You stare at each other for a second, and if this becomes a pattern—you tell Barnes to do something, and he listens with wide eyes and a confused expression—you’re going to need to figure it out and take advantage of it.

“I’m taking a shit.” You keep your voice flat, and get two blinks in return. “Wait outside, buddy.”

He stops the door with a hand, frowning down at you. “If you’re worried about having a panic attack in front of me, I’ve seen far, far fucking worse-“

You roll your eyes, and duck right under his arm. “If you need proof of my shit, I’ll hand you all my toilet paper when I’m done.”

Barnes grunts behind you. “That’s fucking disgusting-“

“I know. Wait.”

He listens, again. And when you get out of the bathroom, he’s looking at you. Right into you with an almost searing gaze, as if he’s trying to pry something like the truth from your body. To make you turn and fall to your knees and whine that he was right, that you’d spent all your time in the bathroom without him sobbing and taking ragged breaths.

And you need to gain something like a hold over that. He can’t just be allowed to keep seeing you. He has to taste something bitter in the back of his throat, to have his skin feel too tight just as yours always does. And you’re tired, and Barnes needs to stop looking at you, stop seeing you, and to fucking hurt like you do, if he insists on clawing his way into your head.

“They’re not panic attacks.” You mutter as you return to your desk, and Barnes frowns at you.

“I never said they were-“

“You were thinking it.”

He scoffs. “Didn’t know you were a mind-reader, sweetheart.”

“I’m not.” Something pulls and wraps around your spine. You’re good at ignoring it. “But you were.”

Barnes doesn’t say anything for a long minute, and when you look back up from your computer, he’s fucking staring at you again.

“What?” You snap, and he doesn’t flinch.

“Nothing.” He shrugs, face still painfully unreadable. “Not panic attacks, huh?”

You pull your lower lip between your teeth—biting back a sneer that Sam would say doesn’t help the situation—and look back to the computer. “No.”

“You just cryin’ in the bathroom for fun?”

Your fingers freeze on the keyboard, and you shoot him a glare. “What was my first rule, Sargent?”

“I’m not asking as your friend.” He gives you a pointed look. “I’m asking as your bodyguard.”

“How is that bodyguard information-“

“Just is.” He shrugs, giving you another expectant look, and you take a deep breath. 

Barnes is stuck here. He won. Sam would tell you not to push things for no reason. That being angry is valid, but it’s good practice to know when you’ve lost, and adapt.

You can adapt just fine.

You can be a compliant little animal from Barnes, and still piss all over his shoes.

“I have a…” Another long breath. This is so fucking stupid. “Chronic condition. It’s… idiopathic. Incurable. And if I don’t treat it, I get sick.”

You can see Barnes frown from the corner of your eye. “Idiopathic-“

“It means nobody knows what caused it-“

“I know what it means.” He snaps, something slightly edged in his voice. “What is it.”

“Chronic.”

“Yeah, I got that, what’s the condition-“

“Incurable.”

Barnes snaps your name, and you bite your cheek to stop a smirk. “You having fun?”

“I am.” You give him another sweet smile, and you think his glare might be branding over your ribs. “Thank you so much for asking.”

Two blinks. Nostril flare. “You’re not going to tell me the condition.”

“Nope.” You shrug. “You need to tell me a secret too, by the way.”

He frowns. “I- You didn’t tell me a secret-“

“Only five people know my condition even exists.” You give him a pointed look. “You just made it six. That’s the definition of a secret. Your turn.”

“I didn’t agree to those terms-“

“Well, I didn’t agree to this.” You gesture between yourself and Barnes on the couch, keeping your features bored. “We’re all making sacrifices, James. Tell me a secret.”

He doesn’t have to. You think he knows that, with how he’s watching you. Like you’ve fallen from space, and have started to spew pure fucking nonsense in his face. You’re out all your advantages. He’s already won, and you can’t make him say anything, so there’s literally no reason for Barnes to even acknowledge you-=

“I don’t like roller coasters.”

You stare at him, your mouth falling slightly open as he holds your gaze, and you try to put together what the fuck he’s talking about.

“What?”

“Roller coasters.” He repeats, as if it will suddenly make more sense. “I hate ‘em. Always have. They’re loud, and rickety, usually pretty shit engineering, least in my day-“

“Everything was shit engineering in the forties, Barnes-“

“Yeah, Stark’s flyin’ car was kinda horrible-“

“And,” you push on, watching him carefully. “That isn’t a secret.”

“I’m getting to the secret,” he grumbles your name, leaning further back on the couch. As if he’s settling in. “You need to work on your damn patience.”

You start to sneer something at him—you’re not sure when you open your mouth, but you’re sure you’ll find it on the way—but Barnes cuts you off before you get the chance. 

“I hate rollercoasters, but Sam thinks I like them.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Why-“

“Patience.” He drawls, and you could swear that was a smug, amused glint that flashed over his eyes. “Stevie needed to do somethin’ that fed his adrenaline and didn’t get him beat up, so I made him do all the roller coasters. He thought I liked ‘em, and he told Sam I liked them, and I’ve been living a lie for the past hundred years about likin’ rollercoasters.”

“Just…” You don’t know what’s happening, or why Barnes looks so comfortable, but your words are slow and careful as you hold his gaze. “Tell Sam you don’t like rollercoasters.”

“Nah. Not worth it.”

“It’s-“

“It’s not that important, sweetheart. I can deal with one or two, when Sam makes me. That an acceptable secret?”

He raises his brows, that’s definitely a look of amusement, and you don’t feel like you won this conversation. This seems, somehow, like Barnes got the upper hand again. 

He looks to human and talking, sprawled on your couch in more than grunts. No part of him is mechanical in a way that makes you tense. Even metal of his hand, glinting in the light, looks more alive than half the people you’ve seen on the subway.

He’s looking at you again. It sparks something in your bones that’s not good or bad, but foreign. And all you can do is shrug and turn back to your computer, mumbling out an agreement and trying to pretend he hasn’t successfully thrown you. 

People never throw you. You always adapt, and rationalize, and keep moving in a steady dance nobody else can ever keep up with.

But Barnes has been matching your steps. Every single thing he says and does pushes itself deep into your body, flying into the cavity of your chest and hitting a wired, soft thing that you can’t name, because it’s never been hit before.

But all week, Barnes keeps fucking hitting it. Matching  your dance in perfect pace, and the Show isn’t breaking, but it’s like he’s not even seeing it.

At every meeting, he sits with carefully slumped shoulders in the corner, looking between you and whatever suit you’re talking to, his expression back to the unreadable, stoic mask. 

“Is he- ah-“ One of the men—on the younger side, leaning at little too far across your desk as you discuss financing—glances over his shoulder at Barnes, tone and expression weary. “I don’t think we need him in here for this-“

You shrug, ripping at the corner of the paper under your hands. “If you can move him, he’s your to take home.”

The suit looks back to you with a frown. “I just want him out while we’re talking, sweetheart, I don’t want to take him home-“

“Good thing, then.” Barnes grunts, and the suit starts in his seat. “Cause there’s no way in hell you’re moving me.”

It takes an active effort to cover your gape before the suit looks back to you. He’s never spoken to the suits before. You’ve been certain he just spends the whole time trying to disappear into the wall or something. You don’t think you’ve heard him say more than a sentence to anyone but you, and that was because you pretty much made him.

“If he had moved you,” you ask after the suit leaves, testing exactly how far you can push it. “Would you have gone home with him?

“No.”

You give him a taunting smile. “And here I was, ready to charge people fifty dollars for the chance to win James Barnes and take him home-“

“Uh huh.” Barnes cuts you off with a flat expression, and he’s looking at you again. “You wouldn’t charge them. You’d let someone take me for free, kid, don’t lie.”

You wouldn’t have charged them. You wouldn’t have done that at all, not even as a joke. Partially because you don’t think anyone could move him, but mostly because if they did, taking him is a little too close to home for pressed down and suffocated memories in the corners of your brain. 

“Shut up.” You mutter, looking back to your computer. “Do you think if I put you out on the curb, someone will just pick you up? Or should I list you on eBay first? I’ll pay for shipping if you take my first-edition, reformed Winter Solider. Comes with a brand-new metal arm and he’ll watch you take a shit.”

There’s a long second of silence, and when you glance up, Barnes is frowning at you again, his brow drawn together and that same, odd emotion brimming over his expression.

“eBay is…” He pauses, never breaking your gaze. “Online marketplace.”

“Good job.” You hum, trying to make your smiling almost sickening. Full-lipped and mocking and saccharine, maybe enough to erode a little of his seemingly concrete will to not even blink at you anymore. “You want a sticker?”

His frown deepens. “What would I possibly use a sticker for.”

“Fun, James. Sorry- That’s this thing people do to experience joy-“

Barnes rolls his eyes. “I experience joy.”

“Sure. Is that setting just...” you raise your brows at him. “Off, right now?”

His jaw twitches, you fall back into your slowly well-tread pattern of silence, and you don’t like that it’s comfortable now. You keep really, truly forgetting that he’s there. You shouldn’t be forgetting that he’s there, not when he’s supposed to be a disruption. Something to avoid, not grow used to. 

But Barnes is stuck here. You’re stuck here. You keep trying to text Sam—to get him to look you in the eyes and tell you that he doesn’t care what Barnes does, you need his protection and that’s that—but the asshole won’t pick up, and you’re stuck with Barnes.

You can’t get used to him. One of the largest rules you have for yourself—Barnes or no Barnes—is the rule that you can never get used to something. The only things you know will be the same—all the time, no matter how everything changes around—are that you will be alone, and you will be you.

And you’ve been you with Barnes too much this past week. Sitting with him in your office. Having him follow you around like a shadow. Trading sharp words with him that are always a little too close to the truth, always trying to stay that pace ahead and faltering when he catches up to you with seemingly no effort, fucking looking at you and matching your every step with infuriating ease.

“Do you even eat?” You ask him on the Subway—a more empty morning than most—spinning off the pole as you give him a wide, teasing grin. “Or is it like, jet fuel? Gasoline? If I give you batteries, and you going to tell me you like triple A better than double?”

Barnes doesn’t even flinch, only glaring right over your head at the blurring Subway walls. He’s been doing that a lot lately. “I don’t use batteries. I run on natural fuel.”

You pause, watching him with wide eyes, and there’s a small tick of his lips. Up. Like a smile. 

“Was that a joke?” 

“Not my best bit.” He says, still not looking down to meet your gaze. “But yes.” His brow draws slightly, and then—as if he can’t help it—he adds, “I eat at home.”

You hum, continuing to swing off the pole. “You have a home?”

“Where do you think I go at night?”

“I think you stand outside my apartment like a weirdo. You always wear the same five things.”

He finally looks down at you, the small furrow in his brow deepening.

“I can’t do my laundry.” He grunts. “My washer needs coins, and I don’t fuckin’ have any.”

“Go to the bank, genius-“

“The bank doesn’t like me. Apparently being an international terrorist lowers your credit score.”

You tilt your head at him. “Weren’t you pardoned?”

“Doesn’t seem to matter.” He grumbles, still staring at you, and you shrug.

“Should matter. Being pardoned for any crime is supposed to revert your credit score back to what it was before your conviction.”

Barnes blinks at you. “Really?”

“No.” You spin around again “I made that up.”

“Why the fuck would you-“

“But you can get coins from like, arcades.” You ignore his glare and sharp words, fixing your eyes back on a dent in the subway car as you continue to spin. If you get dizzy and slam into Barnes, you’ll kill him and then yourself. “Or, if you give me fifty bucks, I’ll get you a hundred quarters.”

You can see Barnes in your periphery as you spin, and he’s looking at you like you’re a specimen again. “Your math is… disgustingly wrong.”

“That makes sense. I’m bad at it.”

He just grunts, still staring at you, so you push on.

“And I think you’re lying about having an apartment, by the way. I think you spend all night staring at my windows.”

Barnes snorts, and you keep spinning. “How the hell would I even know which ones are yours-“

“Some super-spy you are.” You throw him a wide smile as you turn, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m at the top.”

You point up—just in case he doesn’t know what top is, and because it’s funny to watch his eyes flick up on instinct as you spin past—and continue.

“I like to imagine you glaring up at me all night, thinking about different ways you’d like to kill me.”

He shrugs. There’s the weird fucking smile again. 

It’s the most off-putting thing you’ve seen yet. 

“I can do that from home, sweetheart.”

Your grin widens. You keep trying to look at him while you spin, and it’s a little dizzying. “So you do think about me-“

“You said you think about me first.” He drawls, his brow furrowing once again as he watches you. “Was that a joke?”

“What, that I think you want to kill me-“

“That you didn’t know I go home. You should’ve known I wasn’t out there, kid.”

You give him a flat look when you spin again. “I know I seem like I know everything, James, but usually I’m just making stuff up and I end up being right-“

“I got that.” He grunts, and you don’t love how he says it so quickly. “But you said you already have good security at your apartment. If you have good security, you should know who’s outside your building at all times.”

“I don’t own the building. Happy can see it, that’s all I need-“

“Happy has a job.” Barnes snaps. “And his security wasn’t strong enough to work out who the hell put that letter in your mailbox. If you don’t have real cameras and security, do-“ He cuts himself off, and before you can slow enough to get proper look at him, he’s grunting your name and moving on. “We need to talk about me adding some. Now.”

You hum, smiling at him again as you come around. “No.”

Barnes snaps your name again. “I’m being serious-“

“So am I. My apartment doesn’t need an upgrade.”

You don’t need Barnes snooping around your apartment. Your office was enough, and you have no interest in him looking around your living room and somehow putting together that you sit on your couch once every month, and spend time on your bathroom floor at home as well.

He doesn’t seem to be giving up that easy.

“It’s for your safety-“

“And I’m fine-“

“You won’t be if Hydra breaks into your apartment,” he hisses, and you don’t stop spinning. Your head feels a little light, and your heart moves to your throat at the thought. 

You can’t let him see that.

“I think I could reason with them.” You say, keeping your voice dry. “I think we could bond over our shared love of octopi. Did you know that their mouths are also their asses-“

Barnes grunts your name. You think he might be practicing it, because it sounds better every time. “That’s not funny. They’d kill you.”

You open your mouth to say something that probably would’ve been smart, but your fingers slip on the pole, and you slam into something warm and firm.

Barnes.

Barnes caught you.

He’s staring at you as he puts you on your feet, and you can’t stop grabbing his arm because the world is still moving in waves and circles, and this is so fucking annoying-

“Think about it.” He grunts, and you shoot him a glare.

“I said n-“

You squeak as Barnes loosens his grip ever so slightly, and lets you fucking fall a foot down before hauling you back up, a stupid, smug look on his face.

“What was that?” He raises his brows, your nails dig into his arm, and you’re certain it’s the one with skin, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“I hate you.”

“Uh huh. You gonna answer me?” His smirk returns, and your glare deepens.

“I’m going to push you onto the train tracks-“

“I’m sure you are, Sweetheart. Answer.”

He’s not wavering. You’re still a little dazed from slipping and falling, and you haven’t really touched anyone that didn’t feel like they were a danger in… a frightening amount of time. 

That’s what you blame, when you mutter, “I’ll think about it.”

Barnes grins again. 

You feel like you’re losing your mind.

And when he picks you up the next day, he has a backpack. You’ve never seen him have anything but his jacket and gloves.

It’s weird. You spend most of the crowded subway ride—Barnes rigid with a clenched jaw at your side—staring at it, trying to figure out what the hell is inside. When you walk through security you even fall a pace back to stand at his side, hoping to see when they open it, but your dumb, frightened guards mutter Sargent Barnes and let him past without question, only wincing when the metal detector blares at his arm. 

“When did you get friendly with my security guards?” You ask in the elevator, and Barnes shrugs.

“They know Sam. Respect him, enough to trust me.” He glares at the elevator doors. “And they’re smart enough to be afraid of me.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Alright, you old fucking Emo, I’ve seen scarier pigeons than you, so let’s calm down.”

“Emo, like the bird?“

“No, it’s like-“ You sigh. “It’s a subculture, you can google it. I’m saying it to mean you’re being dramatic.”

He shoots you an odd look. “I am not being dramatic-“

“Yeah, you are. What’s in the bag?”

Barnes doesn’t answer, only moving forward to hold the elevator doors as they ding open, and staring at you until you roll your eyes and step ahead of him.

You don’t get to know what’s in the bag until lunch. It sits at his side on the couch, and whenever you glance up to see if he’s opened it and you somehow hadn’t noticed, he’s staring at you.

And when it’s finally unzipped, he pulls out a thermos. A little, hot pink thermos and single plastic spoon that he holds between his teeth as he twists the thermos open.

“Stop staring.” He mutters your name, muffled through the spoon, and shoots you a glare. “I’ve heard it’s rude.”

You just raise your brows, looking between him and the thermos with a pointed expression. “What’s happening here?”

“Lunch.” He grunts, scooping what seems to be brown mush onto the spoon. “That a problem?”

“No, I just-“ There are too many questions. Too many possible things to say, too many angles to attack this from, and Barnes isn’t helping. He’s looking at you with a slight smirk, as if he’d somehow known this would fuck with you more than it should. 

Because it really shouldn’t be fucking with you. It’s just a thermos. A hot pink thermos. Barnes’ hot pink thermos, that he’s keeping brown mush in. Brown mush he’s eat with a plastic spoon, because it’s his lunch, a day after you made fun of him for not eating-

“You all good, kid?”

“Uh, yeah.” You meet his gaze once more, your words careful and slow. “Is there… anything else in the backpack?”

“No.”

“And what is lunch, exactly?”

“Oatmeal.”

You gape at him. “With like, sugar and honey? Marshmallows? ”

Barnes makes a tight face of what’s likely disgust. “Why the hell would I put that shit in oatmeal.”

“I-“ You let out a long breath, and force your gaze back to your computer. Too many things. Not enough time. 

You have a job. Your priority cannot be Barnes, and his borderline depressing eating habits. 

The weekend comes and goes—you hole up in your apartment, make no progress on your own Hydra research, and the pain begins to ebb and wax once more the longer you’re alone, every night somehow longer and the sun never leaking into the bathroom soon enough—and Barnes is still using his dumb little thermos as the next week begins to pass.

It’s almost like a ritual. He opens the backpack at the same time every day—you don’t even think he has a clock—and frowns with a plastic spoon between his teeth, twisting off the thermos top in half a second before eating his oatmeal. 

It’s driving you insane. It’s feels like another game that he’s winning, another part of the Show that he’s somehow cracking past without effort, and you don’t even know why. It’s oatmeal. Sad, pathetic oatmeal that he eats like it’s a chore. He’s built like a truck and he’s eating oatmeal. He’s been alive a hundred years, and somehow the only thing he can think to eat is oatmeal. 

Even on days that you go out for meetings—walking around a Stark funded museum, pretending you’re listening to the finance reports when really you just like looking at the art—Barnes still eats his oatmeal, at the exact same time as, apparently, always.

“I can do the apartment security this weekend,” he grunts in your ear a little while after, walking one pace behind you through the gallery, and you shrug.

“I never agreed to that. And maybe I’m busy-“

“You’re not.”

This time, you shoot him a glare over your shoulder. “You don’t know that-“

“I do. Sam told me you’re not exactly social, and unless you’ve been lying to me about staying home for the past three weeks-“

“Shut up.” You mutter, and you could swear you hear Barnes make a sound that’s dangerously close to a chuckle. “Sam’s a fucking snitch-“

“Was he wrong?”

“I said shut up.” You run a hand through your hair, keeping your gaze focused on the floor as you walk. “You never apologized, you know.”

You can hear the frown in Barnes’ voice. You’re back on steady footing. “For-“

“Breaking into my office. Maybe I don’t want you in my apartment because you broke into my fucking office, and then never apologized.”

“I said it wouldn’t happen again.”

“That’s not an apology-“

“Do you want an apology that I wouldn’t mean?” 

That makes your steps pause slightly, and you glance back to see Barnes looking right over your head. “What?”

“I’m not sorry. I could’ve…” He pauses, frowning at the air. “Handled it better, but I was taking precautions.”

“Precautions-“

“You’re too smart to want a fake apology, sweetheart.”

Barnes finally looks down, a challenge buried in his gaze, and you scowl. Your heart is moving in your chest, and there’s something warm over your skin made of smart. 

You are smart. You fucking know that, and you don’t need Barnes to tell you, but people never- 

He doesn’t get to do that. Just because those words are close to a compliment, and you don’t ever really get those and believe them, but you believe Barnes—he doesn’t seem like a liar, just an asshole—doesn’t mean he gets to move you at all on how he’s not apologizing for fucking breaking into your office.

“Well,” you whip around, making sure Barnes can’t see how he managed to ram himself too deep past your defenses again. “You’re not forgiven.”

Barnes snorts behind you. “Didn’t think I would be-“

“Shut up.”

“Sam said to get you flowers.” He continues as if he never even heard you. “Seemed like overkill, but if it’ll get you to stop being so damn stubborn, trying to get yourself fucking kidnapped-“

“I don’t want flowers from you, James.” You shoot him another glare over your shoulder, and this time, he’s still looking at you. “But I’d forgive you with gummy sharks.”

Barnes blinks. “What the fuck are gummy sharks.”

You don’t answer—that’s another step forward in your favor, even if you aren’t even sure what your favor is any more—continuing on through the gallery, and the next day, Barnes is still eating his fucking oatmeal, and you’re going to lose your mind.

You snap at the end of the week. It’s the same bag. He always puts it in the same place. And there’s a reason scratching at the back of your head for why Barnes is eating like that, and it’s getting too raw and heavy, impossible to ignore. 

You want to throttle him. He’s eating his sad oatmeal, and now you have to message Grace to—when she goes out to get lunch—buy some sugar and honey. Brown sugar, and good honey. Maybe a honeycomb, because you’re paying.

If you can’t do the Show with Barnes—can’t annoy him into quitting—you can at least stop making him take up so much of your attention. You’re busy. You have things to do, you need to focus on what matters, and his habit of making the you you rear her head is a fucking problem.

You’re small and rabid, that’s not supposed to be visible like this—in full, clean daylight—and keep aching whenever the dumb thermos pops open. You know it’s because you can piece together why. Because you could be whipped and flayed and shredded to bit and you’d never be the most important thing in the room, so Barnes needs to stop doing this—stop making himself another thing you can pull a part of yourself out to help—so you can go back to ignores the pangs of your spine starting to burn once more. 

When Grace gets back from the deli, she passes the sugar and honey to you along with your lunch, a small frown on her face. You only grimace in return, and march over to Barnes the moment the door is closed.

“Put these,” you toss the sugar and honey into his face, and jerk your head to the oatmeal. “In there.”

He stares at you. “What-“

“Stop eating like you’re a solider and use some fucking sugar, dumbass.”

One blink. Nostril flare. “I don’t know what you’re-“

“Shut up.” You cross your arms, raising your chin slightly as you hold his gaze. “Do it.”

“What the hell is it to you what I put in my oatmeal-“

“If you do it.” You cut him off, because he doesn’t get to see more. Hit you further and deeper after he made you do something dumb like this. “I’ll fully forgive you for breaking into my office.”

He scans over you, his brow fully drawn, and you feel like a specimen again. 

That's fine. 

Anything to let you all just move on, and the annoyance of caring about Barnes end. 

It’s not caring about him. It’s about him, being a person eating sad oatmeal. 

But it’s still Barnes.

And that’s so fucking annoying.

“I don’t need you to forgive me,” he mutters, and you shrug.

“Well then, I don’t trust you in my apartment.”

He scowls. “How can I even know you’ve really forgiven me.” “I will. I don’t say things I don’t mean.” You snap, and Barnes gives you a flat look.

“You’ve lied twelve times today, for fun-“

“That doesn’t count, I owned up to it immediately. You want me to have security?”

Barnes’ jaw ticks, but he nods.

“Then use the fucking sugar, James. Deal?”

He doesn’t respond, and you let out a long breath. You tried. You failed, and that’s going linger under your skin, but you really fucking tried.

You go to move, but he catches your arm.

“You’ll forgive me.”

“That’s what I said, yeah-“

“Fine. Shake.” He holds out his hand. “If it’s a deal, we shake.”

“Are you fucking serious-“

“Deadly. Shake.”

You lose the staring contest. You shake Barnes’ hand, and you only realize after you return to your desk that it was the metal one. 

That feels important, but you can’t work out why.

Why doesn’t feel like it matters, though. You watch Barnes put his sugar and honey in the oatmeal, eat it, and then fail to disguise the fact that it tastes so much better the second the spoon is in his mouth.

You won. And the next morning, there are four things in the backpack. The thermos and spoon—molded into one thing in your mind—come out as always, before being joined by sugar, honey, and-

Barnes stands without warning, marches over your desk, and slams a small box of gummy sharks in front of you.

“We’re square.” He grunts, and you sigh.

“Are you asking me if we’re square, or telling me?”

He scowls, and lets out a long breath before grunting, “Askin’.”

He’s started to slur more words, his accent slipping out in small, odd ways. You don’t know what it means, but it’s been making your brain hum in a strange way, because it sounds nice. Objectively, he has a nice voice. And you did say you’d forgive him if he got you gummy sharks. 

You’ve backed yourself into a corner. 

And when you nod and pull the gummy sharks across your desk, Barnes stands a little taller. As if he’s proud.

It’s kind of adorable. And the lighting I n your office makes his jawline look sharper.

“You got to good kind,” you mumble, and he shurgs.

“Didn’t know there was a bad kind of gummy-“

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Obviously there’s a bad kind of gummy. We really need to start broadening your food horizons, James.“

He hums, and the small smirk pulls back at his lips. It looks too real.

It’s kind of dangerous.

“We?” he drawls your name, and you flush.

You haven’t flushed in years.

All you can think of is to flip him off, and stuff your mouth full of gummy sharks so you don’t have to respond. But when Barnes goes back to his couch, and eats his oatmeal, the only thing you can think of is how he said your name.

He said it like it was a name. Like it was you.

“You can call me Bucky.”

You blink at him, your words muffled by the sharks. “What?"

“If we’re square, you can call me Bucky.” He raises his brows, almost in a challenge you don’t understand. “Okay?”

You can’t tell if he’s asking again. You don’t know what he’s testing you on, but it seems important, and when you nod and swallow so fast it hurts your throat, he sits a little taller.

“Okay, Bucky.” It’s odd to say. Too easy. Snapping on the right syllabuses, and round in the right place, and knowable.

It’s too knowable.

And somehow, you fucking lost again. This is becoming a problem.

Bucky hums when your say his name, and you have forgiven him because why wouldn’t you. He said it wouldn’t happen again, and you believe him. He’s seeing you, but he’s not folding away, and he’s even been listening to you now.

And you’re not above a grudge, but you’re also not above anything at all.

Bucky doesn’t seem to be either. Nobody is. You forgive him because nobody is above anything, and Bucky might not have apologized, but he won’t pretend to either.

There’s no Show with him. It’s an odd, clear type of relief. Bucky just knows that whatever you are, he can see it, and then match it.

And that, as he settles back into the couch and grins at you again, is the most dangerous thing of all.

End Note: Old Man Bucky with his oatmeal I love him.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 73: Left In Silence

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

Ring! Ring!

Another phone call means more potential trouble. If that’s Michael again I’m going to ask Polly to start visiting his dreams!

“Verena?” Ada’s voice asks. 

Why would she be calling again? We just talked last month. Lord, is someone else dead?

“Hello, Ada. Is everything oké?” I ask uneasily.

“You should be here,” she begs, her voice raising. “I told Thomas I didn’t want any more of his business. Guess what? He just had me chat up Mosley’s bitch of a mistress! If they commented on coat prices one more time I swear I was so close to hurling my glass at them!” She lets out a scoff. “I actually preferred Nelson. So blunt and to the point.”

It takes a second for me to catch the name. “Ada, I- Wait. This was a meeting with Jack Nelson? Why would Thomas send you?”

There’s a long-term silence. Did I say something wrong? Is there something I don’t know?

“Because, well… Ruby is sick with consumption.”

The image of the smiling girl lying in a hospital bed sends me stricken with sudden familiar sadness. How did this happen? She looked perfectly healthy when I met her. 

“Dear Christ. Do they know the prognosis?”

“Nothing so far. But until she’s cured Thomas has some plan to fix things. Don’t ask.” Ada adds before I can speak. “I don’t know either.”

No, no. This is not the time for one of his plans. “He needs to be with Lizzie. She must be devastated.”

“She is.” Ada takes a breath. “Temporarily, I’m in charge. Things could use a woman’s touch. And I know a certain American who would be a prime candidate.”

I can’t help allowing a smirk to creep onto my face. “Oh, lovely. I’m sure Gina will agree.”

“Do not mention that bitch again,” Ada bites and tries asking again. “Verena, please. I know you and Tommy are on rocky grounds but-”

“No,” I answer firmly. “No. I really am sorry about Ruby. If I were Thomas I would be worried too. But I can’t risk another loss. Every time I come back, somebody dies. I’m trying to build a life for myself here. Call it selfish, but I will not abandon that all for Thomas.”

“So who’s the lucky one? The Polish man?” Ada asks expectantly. 

“He, um… He didn’t like hearing about my work history,” I utter darkly. “I don’t know if you lot get treated differently but when he heard about my connection to the Peaky Blinders he immediately wanted nothing to do with it… or me. So instead I’m helping Uncle Colon’s bookkeeping for my vader’s whiskey shipments throughout the Great Lakes.”

“You can’t replace work with love!” Ada implores. “Do you know who you sound like?”

Yes, and unlike him I am not going to drown myself in bought love and liquor. I help out with my familie’s kids, and if that’s all I’m supposed to receive in this world then I need to accept it. I still pray for those who hurt me, because somehow I know it was all supposed to happen. No, I do not think I am being punished for being a part of that gang. If anything, those years gave me more wisdom and religious proof than I ever had before. And now if I could choose I would go back and do it all again, even if Liam still couldn’t be saved. Somewhere in those years God hid a path for me, so here I am waiting for the next milestone.

“I appreciate the concern, Ada. But right now you need to help Lizzie. Let me handle my own worries instead of thinking you have to step in. Please tell them my prayers are with Ruby.”

We end our conversation and I’m left thinking about Lizzie. No, we never got along, but that familie has already seen so much unhappiness. What might be the reason that her daughter must be struck with such a terrible disease?

“Verena! Phone for you!” Charlotte calls down the hall. "Someone called Ada!"

“Um, kinda busy!” I yell back, my hands covered in flour.

“She says it’s important!” My nicht whines. What an adolescent.

“Fine!” I yell and storm towards the scowling teen, dusting my hands off before taking the phone. “Hello?”

“Ruby is dead.”

Another switch is flicked on. My anger melts into shock and I stand there gaping at the wall.

“Oh my God. Ada…" I hold a hand over my mouth to keep from breathing too loud. "How is Lizzie?”

“Not doing so well. I think Ruby’s passing broke part of her. Thomas was already breaking away.”

I swallow. “And Charlie?”

“He’s still stunned,” Ada whispers, although she sounds unsure. “From the outside he looks like the one that’s stayed kept together.”

“Thank you for keeping me informed. Is there any other news?”

“Well… There is some good news,” the Shelby zuster admits. “Finn finally took a wife. Her name is Mary.”

Finn, a married man. Hopefully he took my advice and found a suitable wife. If I ever have the guts to venture overseas again I might try to visit.

“It’s about time. I’m glad he’s doing well, and… Please send my condolences to Lizzie and the others. Gecondoleerd.”

By now I might not even recognize them. Each call seems to alter how I remember Ada’s voice. There’s no telling how much things have changed over there. I deeply wish I could go there; to offer proper sympathies instead of hiding here, so I could tell Thomas and Lizzie how sorry I am to hear Ruby is gone. But I have to put my foot down, even if I don’t always agree to it.

General POV

Damn him. Damn Tommy Shelby. 

The gangster curses himself over and over, his fingers digging into the desk’s wood as he leans over. As if fate hasn’t been cruel enough. Now his precious girl has been taken. 

“C’mon, Tommy,” Arthur tries to uplift him. “You need to move forward, eh?”

“Ruby’s gone,” the Peaky Blinder groans. “Lizzie is leaving, Charlie basically hates me, Michael is still planning to kill me, and you’re telling me to move forward? Forward to where, Arthur?! A prison? A madhouse? A grave?” 

He sinks into his chair and runs his hand over his head. The place where the wicked thing is growing inside him. Ironic. After all he’s fought through, all the threats, firefights, and duels, it’s fucking cancer that ends him. His own body, turned against him.

“A grave will be here for me soon enough,” Thomas murmurs to himself and looks up to Arthur. “All I can hope is that God has enough patience to hold an audience with my soul… and to grant me one last request.”

He reaches into the desk drawer for some paper and pulls out his glasses. Would it be worth the risk? Probably not. It probably won’t even be opened. Why would she? 

“What are you going to do, Tom?” Arthur asks from across the room as he reaches for a bottle.

Thomas takes a shaky breath and stares at the blank page. “What I should have done four years ago, Arthur. I need to write a letter. To a good friend.”

Verena’s POV

“How’s the West’s business been?” Uncle Colon asks. 

“Quickly processed, although I’m afraid transactions have changed to a slower amount. People still want to drink but they’re starting to run out of money.”

We continue along the docks and the wind starts to pick up. For the next week I’m home in Brooklyn, taking in inner-city business and discussing matters with vader and Uncle Colon while Nicolaas holds down the fort in Grand Rapids.

“Well, we can’t change that overnight,” Uncle Colon thinks out loud. “For now let’s continue with the fact that the world continues to spin on, eh?”

We round a corner towards the shop and- And come across a face I never thought I’d see in America.

“Ah, good day, Verena,” a familiar gangster greets, tipping his hat.

“Hello, Mr. Solomons,” I greet, bewildered. “What brings you to this side of the pond?”

“I’m meeting your previous boss up north. I am here now ‘cause I’ve just acquired half of Boston and would like to inspect my new empire, and thought of paying your uncle a visit.” He nods at Uncle Colon, who goes on ahead into our pub. “Oh, and I’m showing my new wife around as well.”

My face lights up. “Congratulations!”

The Jewish man gets a twinkle in his eye and looks down. “I see no ring on your finger. No lucky man’s won you over yet?” He waves it away. “Don’t bother. We both know who you’re thinking of.”

My face twists into an awkward frown and I look down. The envelope is still crammed in my dresser. Now in addition to dreading phone calls I have to keep alert for postage too.

“I received a letter from him last week. I haven’t opened it yet. I’m afraid it might stir up memories I’d rather keep buried.”

Mr. Solomons takes his time playing with his cane before he offers a response. “Well, if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for an old Jewish gangster who wants to see his friend find forgiveness.” He pats my shoulder. “Do it for dear old Alfie, eh? Even if you don’t like what it says, you can still toss it, right?”

“Um, I mean- Well, I could- Uh-” 

I stutter to come up with an answer as he slips inside after Uncle Colon. He keeps a sly smile on his face, leaving my mind scrambled. Are he and Thomas in kahoots against me? Did Ada tell Thomas I won’t accept a call and to send a letter instead? I mean, I can’t keep the letter stored away forever. Even if I don’t dispose of it, one of my broers will find it and read it for me. 

I take a deep breath and start marching back home. Alright, that’s it. No more hiding. Alfie’s right. Even if I don’t like what I read I can always burn the letter and Thomas will never know. 

Back in my room I pull open the drawer and stare down at the crumpled envelope. My heart stings at the sight of Thomas’ familiar handwriting more than I’d care to admit. I slowly pick it up and slip out the letter. Here we go…

Verena-

I know if I call you then you will immediately hang up. I don’t even know if you will actually read this letter or immediately burn it. All I can pray for is that you read it before destroying it. 

I need to talk to you. At first I wanted to write out a full apology but words aren't enough. I understand if you wish to never see me again. Anyone I touch gets hurt. I never wanted to hurt you. But that does not mean I can forget you. I want to make amends. Please call me so I can hear from you one last time.

-Thomas

What are the chances? Thomas nearly read my mind. And yet… I don’t feel the burning rage I expected. His words don’t sound condescending or overly perceptive. They sound… sad. Thomas, you can fire me. But don’t deceive me by writing like you still care. He should just let me go, just as I am letting him go. Trying to let him go.

In the corner of the room the telephone waits, tempting me. No. No… No? Lord, I really am pathetic! One short letter sends me running back again! But, I mean, he did reach out to discuss forgiveness, like Alfie said. If this is the last time we communicate at least it will resolve any last concerns.

Time seems to slow as I reach for the receiver. Only a few dials and I’ll be talking to the man I swore to never crawl back to. But this isn’t crawling back. This is one final goodbye.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Please pick up-!

“Hello?” A gruff voice crackles over the line.

Thomas. My heart beats faster. He sounds older. I can tell he’s trying to hide the fact that his world is changing. He’s masking his voice and he doesn’t even know it’s me yet. Keep it together, Steenstra.

“Thomas, I got your letter. What’s wrong?”

A few seconds go by.

“Christ. It’s you,” he whispers, letting his facade slip for a moment before resuming his bland tone. “You assume something’s wrong?”

No beating around the bush this time! “You won’t talk to me unless there is something wrong. Everyone keeps telling me how your life’s gone to Hell in a handbasket. Now spill.”

It hurts me to sound this cruel and heartless, especially since he’s just lost his dochter. But I can’t slip up again. He was urgent enough to write to me so this call is all I’m allowing.

“Right,” he rambles, remembering what I’m calling about. “Um- It’s good to hear you-”

“Thomas Shelby.”

“Right. It’s- Um… I know it’s been a while since you were here-”

“Four years,” I recall bluntly. Get to the point, Thomas!

“Yes, well… I’d like to see you again.”

Is he serious? He has the audacity to tug me around like this? If he believes I’m going to literally crawl back to him after all this time he really has gone mad! He asked me for a phone call and that’s all I’m giving him!

“I’m busy over here-”

“It’s not work. I- Please, I’ll explain later.”

My grip on the phone tightens. “I’m not skipping over the pond again for you to yell at me and then push me away. If I recall right, it was you who fired me.”

His voice is starting to break. “Verena, please. I- I…”

“Get to the point. These calls aren’t cheap.” Not a complete lie but I’m getting tired of this!

“I’ll send for you.”

I roll my eyes and bark directly at the receiver. “If you need me so much, why don’t you come here yourself? Too busy with your empire? Or did you let Michael ruin that too?”

“Verena-” Thomas pleas.

“No, I’m serious. You’re the one who runs the show, the one to blame for how your life is. I will not be pulled into it anymore, nor will anyone else in my familie.”

Suddenly there’s a commotion on the other end. It sounds like Thomas is struggling. But with what? Or who?

“Verena, please, I am begging you!” He gasps. “Please forgive me!”

I’ve never heard him so desperate. One would think he’s at Death’s door. Or maybe he’s still mourning Ruby. Either way, this is a side of Thomas that is rarely let out. Ada was right. He does sound like a stranger to himself.

“Are you alright?” I ask in disbelief, my anger mixing with worry.

I hear him gasp for breath again. “I need to see you-!”

Thud.

“Thomas?” My voice grows louder. “Thomas? Thomas!”

Click.

The line goes dead, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. That was not normal. Thomas might be an oddball but he never abruptly ends conversations like that, at least not with me. Something is definitely wrong. Between my visions of Polly and now this… Pathetic or not, old habits are tempting me to not let go. I might have to put my fears aside.

I redial the phone and wait a few seconds. Lord, I hope she hears me out.

“Hello?”

“Lizzie. It’s Verena. I heard about your dochter.” I pause to think over my words carefully, surprised she hasn’t hung up already. “I am so, so sorry. Words cannot amount to the right way to express sympathies for the loss of a child. I’ve been praying for Ruby. For all of you.”

“At least you’ve turned to proper ways of hope,” Lizzie snaps, her voice cracking. “All Tommy did was wander around looking for fucking Gypsy curses.”

He really has turned desperate. But there’s something he’s not telling me, and I’m not waiting around for an answer.

“Lizzie, I’m thinking of catching the next boat to England. I need to know that you are fine with me coming over. I know you don’t like me being around but-”

“You can come,” she scoffs. “I don’t fucking care anymore. I left him.”

My jaw drops. “You…?”

“I want a normal life. Not the one he’s given me. If I have to attend another fucking social gathering I’m going to throw up.” She takes an uneven breath. “He’s not the same man anymore. He’s not been well. Doesn’t sleep. I’ve had to wake him up from spasms. All he claims is that after this deal with Boston everything will be over. Fucking lies.” She lets out a muffled scream. “He won’t fucking stop! This life- It took my Ruby! I’m done with it. All this madness- This fucking Gypsy stuff! You can keep it.”

Clang!

She slams the phone down and I’m left with more silence. Now Lizzie has fallen too. In spite of how proud she was to have won Thomas, she lost part of her life. All the glamour and sex was all for a loveless marriage that took her dochter. Never did I think she would have the nerve to leave all that she fought for, but death can make us reevaluate things.

Should I tell anyone about the call from Thomas? Lord, I dare not even think of mentioning it to moeder or vader. I could tell Uncle Colon, but he'll probably side with my parents and want to hide me away from any more affiliation with Thomas. If this is a mission I will choose, I will have to do it alone. Should I even gamble to risk it?

I step over to my bedroom window and peer out at the open night sky. Is Thomas looking up at these stars right now too? Instead of kindling the anger from the past all I can think of is how isolated he must feel. 

@sherbitdibdab @meadows5

[thepersonperson]

Little Details in JJK

I've decided to put a couple of minor details I noticed and thought were neat in one place to keep track of them. They're all basically like this:

They never patched that hole up but they removed all the talismans lmao. Planning how to kill Sukuna in the room Yuji was almost executed with the finger that made that hole goes hard though.

Notes before we start.

1) This features Miguel Oduol, Yorozu, and Sukuna.

2) I will be mainly using the TCB scans for the manga because of their accessibility. 

3) Raws are from mangareader(.)to.

(Click images for captions/citations.)

Miguel Oduol

We all know Miguel Oduol is from Kenya, however what you might not know is that he appears to be from the Maasai tribe specifically! I'm going to link a lot of resources about this, so keep in mind that sometimes they can be incidentally racist. (Aka a minority is tribe is discussed like an alien species.)

Cursed Technique Origins

I know a lot of people criticized Miguel's Cursed Technique (CT) for being a dance, however, it is directly related to him being Maasai. Adumu is the Maasai jumping dance practiced by warriors to show off their strength and agility. This is the dance Miguel appears to be doing when he first activates his CT against Sukuna.

(Read more on the Maasai Jumping Dance here!)

If you noticed, Miguel's baldness also appears to be based it being a common hairstyle for the Maasai regardless of gender. It should also be noted that his CT, Hakuna Laana, is Swahili for No Curses. Swahili is an official language of Kenya and is spoken by the Maasai even though they have their own language (also called Maasai or Maa).

Other Details

Since the Maasai are nomadic and move around based on the weather, their dwellings reflect that lifestyle. This appears to be why Miguel is drawn outside of a hut in that one flashback—it's just how Maasai homes look.

Another thing done right was the local flora. It's super easy for creators to mistakenly apply foreign flora to the wrong region. (Take for instance, the iconic Saguaro cactus being included in settings based on Chihuahuan Desert in Texas, when this cactus exclusively grows in the Sonoran Desert, which is basically just Arizona and Baja California.)

The trees in the background are called Baobab trees and they do in fact grow in Kenya.

Why Maasai?

I think Gege picked the Maasai tribe in particular for Miguel because of their belief in curses. See from the following sources:

"While generational curses are normal within the Maasai worldview..."

"For the Maasai people, death does not traditionally hold any secrets of the afterlife. Once an individual has passed, their journey has ended. All of their possessions and any of their sins are transferred to the loved ones who survive them."

"Social control among the Maasai rests ultimately on the general belief in the power of elders to bless and to curse..."

(Please note that the word they use for curse (engooki) appears to be sometimes translated as sin.)

So when Miguel threatens to curse Geto in JJK0 if he dies?

He really fudging means it. (Could also explain why he's so particular about not dying. He doesn't believe he'll be reincarnated later, that's just it for him!)

The only thing about Miguel that didn't seem to fit with Maasai practices is the black rope. This is a stretch, but it might be based on their well-known bead work:

"Black– Symbolizes unity and solidarity. It also denotes the struggles the Maasai endure, which bring them together as a people."

Miguel certainly struggled when using that on Gojo.

Yorozu

This is mostly me complaining about what got lost in translation. Yorozu is basically a bug and I cannot wait for her weird insect shtick to get animated.

Best Bug

The first instance of her speech being bug-coded I noticed is when Yorozu yells 斬って (Kitte) 7 times total (7.5 if you count the modified 斬 (ki) at the end.

The Japanese is objectively funnier because Yorozu is screaming "CUT ME!!" over and over like cicada. The English translation gave her a poetic flair she doesn't have.

This also happens with her Domain Expansion 三重疾苦 (Shikkushikku Shikku) where 三重 (Shikkushikku) means triple and 疾苦 (Shikku) means suffering.

Additional context shamelessly stolen from the JJK wiki:

"The kanji shikku (疾苦 (しっく) ) refers to the suffering brought on by illness, affliction, or simply hardship in life. Akutami uses the pronunciation shikku as a pun of the borrowed English word "sick" (シック shikku).

Given Yorozu's excessive love for Sukuna, it is likely that the domain's name references "lovesickness", and specifically a song by Japanese VOCALOID producer PinocchioP (sung by Hatsune Miku) called "Sick Sick Sick" (シックシックシック), which is about how love can be a sickness."

(Btw シックis read as Shikku.)

My best attempt to carry forward the puns and repetition for this domain would be Triply Tristful Tribulations. (Someone please come up with something better.)

Yorozu's death is also bug-coded. Mahoraga literally swats her like a roach.

There's also something to be said about Sukuna refusing to touch her in battle and using anything but his actual body to kill her. That's kind of how most people are when it comes to killing bugs.

Not Bug Related

The thing Yorozu is lounging on in the Heian flashback is a "pillow" called a takamakura. It's a special headrest that was slept on to keep fancy hairstyles intact since they would take hours to prepare.

Since Yorozu's hair is down and she just kind of runs around pussy out while ignoring all the social rules, it speaks to her non-noble heritage. (Remember she was recruited by the Fujiwaras and is from Aizu.) She also has a bad habit of biting her fingernails when she's concentrating.

Another fun detail is that when she declares that she's going to be the one at Sukuna's side. Yorozu directly points at Uraume who is already standing there. This of course, is called back to in the epilogue where Uraume remains at Sukuna's side.

What I really like about this is that Yorozu seems to believe that only a romantic relationship will ease Sukuna's loneliness, and she's proven wrong. The platonic/familial bond with Uraume winds up being the one Sukuna chooses and it's good enough for him. I may be biased, but I appreciate when non-romantic relationships are considered just as satisfying as romantic ones.

I also have to shout out Yorozu for not seeing Uraume as competition. She still wants them around even if she marries Sukuna. It's so easy to have an obsessive character like her be irrationally jealous, but she's basically willing to adopt Uraume which is adorable. (This also goes for Angel, who in a worse manga, would see Tsumiki as competition for Megumi.)

Sukuna

This is just a compilation of my favorite Sukuna girlfailure moments.

Self-Depreciation

"The bough that bear most hang lowest." comes from a proverb that means "those who have the most to offer are often the least boastful, much like tree branches that bend under the weight of their fruit."

When Sukuna tells Jogo that his "head doesn't bear much" he's warning him about his lack of humility (aka not bowing enough) and calling him worthless at the same time. Pretty clever, right?

What makes this a girlfailure moment is that by this logic, Sukuna is inadvertently declaring that he's worth less than the ones he's looking down on and that his arrogance is a sign of posturing. If you pointed this out to him, he'd probably kill you, but it's kind of funny he overlooked the implication.

Manji Kick

When Yuji tries to throw hands with Sukuna after being killed, he tries to kick his gruncle in the face and misses.

This doesn't stop Yuji! Eventually he pulls off a successful Manji Kick against Mahito.

This means that even though Sukuna has dodged this move before, even though he has witnessed Yuji landing this move...

...he somehow managed to get with it in his "strongest" original form.

He Might Be Autistic

I promise I'll elaborate more on Sukuna's autism in a different post, but he's on par with Yuji in taking things at face value sometimes. Here is my favorite example.

He really took his nephew at his word and got punched in the face for it...

The Knives

When Sukuna's technique is first properly introduced, 2 knives represent it. The one on the left is a sujihiki (associated with Dismantle) while the one on the right is a burja (associated with Cleave). Uraume winds up using a burja when cutting the curses for a bath.

The thing about the sujihiki is that it's primarily used for scaling and filleting fish. You know, like for Gojo Satoru, the fish he scaled then bisected with Dismantle. The burja is used for percision cutting which is probably why Uraume uses it for the special preparation of curses. (Burjas also aren't that big, so I'd like to believe that's Sukuna's knife they're using.)

Anyways, I leave you with a panel comparison of Gojo punching Uraume like he did Hakari and Yuta. (Sukuna dodging their flying body will never not be funny.)

Gojo and Sukuna have really questionable ideas about guardianship.

[kittenfangirl20]

Lucifer was both so hurt and pissed that he was thrown out like that. He was going to show Adam that he could apologize. He was going to everyone that he wrong in some way and apologize to them. He started with Martha, he gave her a basket full of rubber ducks and treats. He couldn’t help but smirk when he saw Mrs. Mayberry in the background in nothing but a towel. He honestly thought that they were better suited for each other and just needed to fuck to see it.

Lucifer: I guess it wasn’t all bad.

Martha: Yeah, I only fucked her husband to get her attention.

Lucifer went around and started apologizing to everyone. It was easy because he didn’t really care how they felt. The only one that mattered was Adam. He kept trying to write out an apology, but none of them truly expressed how awful he felt for how he made Adam feel. He kept imaging his beautiful hawk Goetia and how much he wanted to tell him he loved him and was so sorry about how he made him feel, but nothing he wrote truly showed how he felt.

Lucifer: Alright, now for the exes.

Thankfully they were all in one place, the mortal world. Since it was Halloween, all Hellborn could go there no matter what. He pulled up the house Eve rented and walked in. The first thing he saw was Adam nervously walking amongst the other guests. Adam’s beauty put the others to shame. Before he could walk to Adam, Eve ran over to him.

Eve: Hey baby, are you holding up alright?

Adam: I don’t know.

Eve: Don’t worry, this is a safe space for anyone hurt by my ex husband.

Adam nodded, he realized this wasn’t as silly as he thought at first. Eve wanted to truly help people who had been hurt. Even when they met at Ozzie’s he couldn’t help but like her, she was confident in a way he wished that he was. Though it was a bit much to have a cake of Lucifer that people could mutilate and eat. Later everyone gathered outside around a stage where Eve got up on.

Eve: I want to welcome the newest ex, Adam.

Adam shyly walked up on the stage and Eve handed him a microphone.

Eve: It is a tradition to have the newest ex sing.

Adam: I love to sing.

It was then that Lucifer realized that he never heard Adam sing nor did he know how much he loved to sing. Adam took center stage and started to sing, Lucifer stood there is awe as the most beautiful sound came from Adam’s beak.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

(Stolitz AU)

Adam woke up excitedly today was his birthday. Adam was a hawk Goetia with brown feathers that had flecks of gold in them. The feathers on the top of his head looked like a stylish short hairstyle and his eyes were golden orbs. The imp butler had the little boy dressed in a little suit with a cape. He ran downstairs to see his mom Sera and his younger sister Emily, both were dove Goetia while Adam got his hawk form from his father who was never around.

Sera: Happy Birthday Starlight, I am sorry that your father couldn’t make it but he has a message for you.

Adam: What is it?

Sera pulled out a Grimoire and handed it to Adam.

Sera: You are to learn the spells in this book and lead many legions of Hell. You will also study the Heavenly bodies as well.

Adam: Is there something else mama?

Sera looked hesitant like she didn’t want to say the next part.

Sera: Your father arranged a marriage for you when you are older to another Goetia named Lilith because you will need to make a precautionary heir. Here is her picture.

Sera pulled out a picture of a swan Goetia about Adam’s age who was strangling one of her pets which made Adam burst out into tears. Emily ran over Adam and hugged him while Sera ruffled the feathers on his head.

Emily: I know what would cheer you up, there is a circus close by and it will be lots of fun.

Adam: Ok.

Sera felt bad for Adam, but she knew her husband was adamant about Adam getting married. Later that day Sera took Adam and Emily to the circus. Many of Hellborn were surprised to see Goetia royalty there. Sera even bought ice cream cones for her children, mint chocolate chip for Adam and strawberry for Emily. They sat in the audience enjoying the show. But in spite of everything, Adam was still sad. That was until a little imp boy Adam’s age in a magicians suit, cape, and top hat walked out.

Announcer: Now for our boy magician, Lucifer the Morningstar.

Lucifer: I heard that someone has a birthday today in the crowd.

Adam: Me!!!!

Adam was enchanted with the imp that he thought was so cute. Lucifer walked into the audience over to Adam and he had a mischievous little smile. He pulled the top hat off of his head and pulled out a bouquet of sunflowers.

Lucifer: Happy Birthday.

Sera couldn’t help but notice how happy Lucifer was because of this little boy.

Adam's eyes sparkled as he accepted the flowers, they were beautiful and perfect. He hugged them to his chest as he smelled them.

Adam: Thank you.

The imp boy smiled at him and it made Adams heart flutter, he didn't know why but he liked the feeling.

Lucifer went back to the ring and did more of his magic tricks, Adam kept his eyes glued to him the whole time.

Later, while Adam and Emily were talking about the performances to each other, Sera went to find the ring master.

Sera: Excuse me?

Teddy: Yes?

Sera: I have an odd request, it's my son's birthday today and he really enjoyed that little magician that gave him flowers. Lucifer I believe. Would it be possible to have him spend the day with Adam? It's his birthday and he's very lonely.

Teddy: Hmmmm..... Sure.

-

Lucifer was putting his hat away when his father came in.

Teddy: Boy, I have a job for you.

Lucifer never liked it when he said those words.

-

Adam was so surprised when Lucifer and his dad showed up that afternoon. His face flushed as he looked at the imp boy.

Sera: Adam sweetie, you remember Lucifer? He's going to spend the day with you as a friend.

Adam's eyes sparkled: Really?!

Oh he was so excited he could barely stand it, once he got Lucifer inside he started talking about his plants and nature and the sky.

Beautiful topics. But not for a kid.

Lucifer: No offense, but this is boring.

Adam wilted a little, he wanted Lucifer to be happy. His plants made him happy so he thought it would work for him.

Adam: Oh.... I'm sorry..... I've never had a friend before just my sister and my plants..... I'm not sure what to do.

[dailyhtfboards]

i love "zip me up, dude" sm

Ya know I try to think of funni quips or somewhat substantial commentary on the submitted boards I get but like honestly I got nothin, this one’s just cute n silli lol.

(From TV episode 10B Wipe Out!)