#men stop having daughters. you don’t deserve them

[nappingpaperclip]

crazy seeing so many people on the internet saying queer & trans ppl abuse children yet every time I interact w/ the general public including at work I see straight men & women yelling at and hitting their kids over benign mistakes or for “not listening”

[penvisions]

stages of devotion {holiday hustle}

Pairing: Holiday Impaired! Joel Miller x Expert Holiday Baker! Reader

Summary: The holidays came fast this year, but with it comes a father and daughter pair you didn't ever expect to see again.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: holiday triggers, holiday stress, baking stress, food industry triggers, family issues, minor off screen family dynamics, super soft yearning, mutual pining, sexual tension, smut, p in v, creampie, joel's dirty talk deserves its own warning, lemme know if i missed any!

A/N: so its a few days after the holiday that i announced this on. so so sorry for the tease, y'all. finally made it to my "weekend" only to get sick :c trying to make the most of the days though (within reason). love y'all and hope you enjoy this!

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

The holiday season sucks.

That’s about all you’re confident in as you twirl the piping bag in your hand for what feels like the thousandth time that morning. There’s an entire rack of pies beside you, tray after tray that needs to be garnished with cremieux and a little chocolate coin that has the first letter of your bakery branded on it in gold. Behind it are three more of the same pie. Behind that are four more of apple.

Apple and pumpkin. The only flavors you offered for the season. One hundred each, plenty enough to keep you afloat for the next month or so if you sell out. Especially if you sell out the display case as well.

Your bakery is small, just you and your friend Colbie. Something to be passed in the blink of an eye on the busy downtown street. But it was born of passion and creativity, a space you carved out in the big scary world all for yourself. You’re none the wiser of how your day will turn out as you continue to pipe the faintly black spotted vanilla over the remaining pies, moving onto fetching things out of the oven as timers begin to go off and garnish the ones already chilled from an earlier bake.

Just down the street, Joel and Sarah are strolling down the sidewalk from where they parked the car at the end of the block.

“Don’t see why the crew needs more food, baby girl.”

“Because we need to show our appreciation for them, dad. They’re working the morning of thanksgiving, for crying out loud.”

“This isn’t exactly a tax write off…”

“Dad!” The exasperated teenager nudges at his side with her shoulder, catching his ribs lightly. But he doesn’t stumble nor do his steps falter, he lets her win a lot of the time but this? He still loves how she tries to roughhouse with him only to realize that he’s always gonna have the upper hand unless he gives into her. Her pout and huff draws a laugh from deep in his chest.

“It’s true! I gotta pay for it all outta my account, not the business. We already picked up breakfast for everyone and half the men are gonna store it in their coolers for a later time.” He pivots her toward the doorway just past a large window display, squares of glass allowing for a glimpse inside a local bakery.

“Don’t you put the catering on the business card?”

“Well yeah, but their overtime for today is coming out of it too.”

“Maybe if we ask the owner, they can discount us or something?” Sarah is suddenly stopping just inside the threshold, watching with wide eyes as her father walks in behind her. The scent of fresh baked bread and flaky pastries welcomes them despite the empty lobby. “Is there a reason you’re so hesitant to use the company card? I thought the business was doing good?”

Joel heaves a heavy sigh, placing both his hands gently on her shoulders to hold her attention and give her all of his.

“Everything is fine, Sarah.” His brown eyes take in the way her own multifaceted ones gleam in the bright sunlight shining in the muted green space the lobby has been painted. Plants alive and well, live wood bar top against the window for people to sit at. “Money is my worry, but there ain’t nothing to worry about okay?”

“We can still ask after a discount, it doesn’t hurt, right?” Suddenly shy, her eyes break contact with his and turn down to her scuffed shoes. “I know that it’s new, but the therapy sessions aren’t exactly cheap or covered by the insurance.”

“Hey now, don’t go worrying about all that either.” Joel’s voice is so soft, floating through the air and sneaking into the kitchen through the siding of the swinging door. You pause in the rosette you were piping atop a cake, just little personal ones with autumnal flowers for the season. “I’m the dad, and that’s a dad thing, okay? You want to keep goin’ and that’s all that matters. Just want you to be okay, that’s all I ever want ‘cause I love you so damn much, okay?”

She nods once, still not bringing her eyes back up but she huffs out a giggle when he leans down and kisses her cheek, deliberately nuzzling the scruff on his cheek against her own.

“Besides, I don’t wanna bother them, baby girl, it’s such a small place.” With that settled they both turn back to the display cause and counter, just in time to see you approach through the window in the door.

“Joel?” There’s no hiding the smile that breaks out across your face as you push through the swinging door that leads separates the kitchen and public area. Even despite the inner turmoil you had endured after first meeting him. The will he won’t he of leaving your number for him…

“Camp lady! Dad, look, it’s her!” The excited teenager hops up and down on her long legs, arms hanging onto one of Joel’s and she jostles him. The slight melancholy of her previous words and worries forgotten with the aid of Joel’s soothing ones and your appearance. “You work here? That’s so cool!”

“Yes, Sarah, honey, I see her.” He rolls his eyes for you to see as she skips forward up to the counter. He looks good, if a little tired. His scruff is longer, body a little leaner than when you had seen him last…two months ago now. You had been so sure he would call or text, reach out in whatever way was easiest for him. And when he hadn’t…you had thrown yourself into work and prep for the holiday season. Reveling in the night you shared and taking it for what it was, not letting the lack of communication taint what had been an electric connection. His eyes are glued to you, ignoring the twirling and excitement of his daughter as she flits in front of the display case.

As you round the corner of the counter and display case, it’s obvious how busy you’ve been in the morning hours as stains darken the fabric. Reaching with a flour dusted hand, you go to shake the man’s hand but he surprises you and pulls you into a tight hug. The smell of his spicy cologne and wood shavings spurs butterflies to life in your belly and heat rise to your cheeks.

“It’s good to see ya, darlin’.” He whispers in your ear, voice all baritone gravel. He releases you just as Colbie enters back in through the front door. You see the way her eyes widen at the show of affection, she knows you better than anyone and casual touch is not something you’re a fan of. But you can tell that she immediately knows who Joel and his daughter are if the sparkle in her eye and the smirk she flashes at you says anything.

“I’m so sorry, I thought I locked the door behind me. Want me to keep it unlocked, we’ve got about fifteen minutes until we’re open.”

“Leaving it open will be fine, do you mind-“ The timer pinned to your apron tie goes off and a second later the one for the oven blares from the kitchen.

“Got it!” And she’s rushing behind the counter to slip back through the sliding door.

Joel looks like he’s about to apologize for barging in, Sarah leading him in the early hour. Coffee thermos left on the counter in the rush and his brain is working overtime without it. The pickup order she had placed with a breakfast place too busy for him to grab something there. You wave him off with a soft smile, not minding the intrusion one bit.

“My dad would not shut up about you on the way home, especially since we still have that air mattress you leant us! Thank you again so much for that, I didn’t want my dad to have to sleep on the ground with his bad back.”

“Hey now, you’re a little too forward with the embarrassing details.” Joel’s bashful words are bathed in an even tone, trying to parent his daughter but still treat her like the independent person that she is.

“So what can I do for you?” You try to fight the slight awkwardness of randomly happening across them as customers in your shop and you swear you see Joel duck his head as he roughs a hand across the back of his neck. Your causal tone and polite smile dousing the hope that had flared in his own chest when you walked out from the kitchen. “I’ve got plenty of pastries, the pies aren’t quite done yet but if you need one or two, I can add the finishing touches real quick?”

“Dad, we should get them pie! Like one each, you think? There’s five on the crew and then the secretaries too, they should get one since they’ll be waiting for us in the office. We can put the bonus checks on top with some pretty stickers! Oooh, dad we gotta stop at the art store now!”

“Sarah, honey, take a breath.” Joel claps hand over her shoulder and she beams up at him. “We only got half an hour to get to the office.”

“Oh, that’s okay! We can still do the pie each thing, right?”

“Whatever you wanna do,” He presses a kiss to the top of her head, her kinky curls flattening as he does so and earns him a grumbled ‘spent so much time on it this morning, old man’.

“So that was seven pies then?” You ask, trying to keep up with the both of them, they’ve got such an easy-going way that they communicate. Their bond obvious and their love pure as you had witnessed back at that campsite, he wants for her to have everything he can give her. It’s admirable, a good man, a good parent.

“Uh, make it ten, please.” Joel steps up to the counter, taking out his wallet from a back pocket. “Half pumpkin, half apple. So folks can pick whichever one they want.”

“Ten, got it. It’s gonna take me a few minutes to finish up, do you want a coffee while you wait?” And you swear his gaze hardens as he looks up to see the price displayed on the screen, card ready to press against the pad after you finished punching in his order on your own side of the register. The same way they had just before he had kissed you, angled toward you in front of that fire, the determination set his face in such an endearing way.

“Would be wonderful, darlin’. Just a black drip, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Hey, just so you know, ‘m sorry I didn’t call.” Joel shuffles on his feet, watching as Sarah starts up the truck and begins to dance to the loud beats he can make out through the cracked window. You had walked out with the pair to help load the bags into the extended cab of the gleaming gray truck. “I wanted to, but-“

“Life is hectic sometimes, it’s okay. I’m not gonna say I wasn’t disappointed, but I do understand.” You know he’s got a lot more going on in his life, with a child he’s raising on his own. The bakery keeps you busy, hours not quite the same as everyone. You never want to feel like you’re holding expectations for a life that just doesn’t fit into your schedule sometimes. And that included Joel, his own busy schedule not allowing for personal indulgences either. It’s hard not to feel like it’s a cruel twist of fate, that you two met only to realize the puzzle pieces of your life don’t quite match up.

“The paper, I had it. Put it in my pocket but my brother snatched the flannel instead of his own at the work site and washed the damn thing.”

“Little brother?” You tilt your head to the side, all too familiar with the chaos of sheer unpredictability one could bring.

“Yep, meddling, clueless little brother.” He’s fascinating, every little detail you learn about him draws you in closer, a pull toward the man you’ve only gotten glimpses of as of yet.

“Mine is pretty clueless too, god love him.”

“But- uh…oddly enough,” A large hand rubs at the back of his neck, the muscles of his arm straining against his flannel sleeve and catching your eye. “Mine is having a small dinner tonight, just us two, Sarah and his wife. Their twins. I know you got work today and don’t really know me at all, but I was wondering if-“

“Apple or pumpkin?” Lips pulling into a wide smile, you swear your heart is about to beat out of your chest, thudding wildly the second you realized where he was going with his explanation of his own holiday plans.

“Huh?”

“Do you want me to bring an apple or pumpkin pie?” You look up at him through your lashes, heat blooming in your chest at the insinuation he wanted you there, at the invitation you hadn’t been extended in years. Everyone always wanted the good you baked, the bread, the skills you had for the kitchen. But they never particularly wanted you around for the holidays. The family disappointment, for not being married, for not having kids, for not finishing school, for being too different.

“Darlin’ you don’t have to bring anything, just want you to come and be my date.”

And he couldn’t have said anything more perfect as you feel your throat constrict and tears well up in your eyes.

“Hey now, I mean it.” He’s shifting, hands reaching for you and you feel a little sorry for the ‘oof’ he lets out when you crash into his open arms. “Wanna get to know you, but only if you want that too. If we can carve out some time for each other.”

“Of course, Joel. That would…that would make me happy.”

“’m droppin’ Sarah off now, gotta head to the site for a few hours but I can pick you up here once I’m done. That sound okay to you?” He looks so hopefully, so happy that he can ask you in person, can ask to see you again now that he’s found you and it melts your heart. You’re sure the smile you give him is just as dopey at the one he’s beaming down at you.

“Yes, that sounds perfect. Here.” You pull away from him just enough to reach into your back pocket and brandish a business card at him. The thick cardstock is embossed in gold lettering, your name and number displayed on it proudly. “This is a little more permanent than a flimsy piece of paper.”

He pulls one of his own business cards out from his wallet as he securely puts yours away.

You continue to feel the warmth of his fingers passing it to you even hours later as you hold piping bags filled with cooled frosting, as you add frills and garnishes to pastries set in the cooler after leaving the oven a nice golden brown. And even as you feel your face heat up at the confrontation Colbie sneaks in throughout the day about your ‘gentleman caller’.

Around noon, Joel’s truck parks out front of the bakery. He’s showered, it looks like it as you see the shine to dark curls. He’s taken a shaver to his scruff as well, it’s not as long as it had been this morning.

“Please tell me you’re closed tomorrow.” Joel taps the hours displayed on the door as he steps through it, the gold lettering telling him that you were in fact not. But open at seven am sharp. Looking up from where you’re closing down the register, you hold up one finger up to indicate you need a moment.

As you continue, you can sense his gaze as it takes in the space you poured your blood, sweat and tears into. Devoted hours to manifesting and making it a reality. The case is completely empty, parchment paper adorned with errant crumbs all that he sees inside through the shiny glass.

When you step out from behind the counter, bag and keys in hand, you clock the second Joel realizes you’ve taken a moment to change as well. No longer in your dirty apron or black athleisure, but in a skirt that flows to about midthigh, tights underneath and a thin sweater. Your hair is down too, now, no longer pulled back into low pigtails and covered with a beanie for safety reasons around the kitchen.

“Darlin’, you look-“ He swallows, tongue watering as he takes in the sight of you all dolled up for him, for a date with him. “You look amazin’.”

“Just some spare clothes I had in my office. Didn’t wanna roll up to your brother’s house covered in flour and chocolate.” He’s shushing you as he ambles up, pressing his lips to your forehead as he cradles your face.

“He wouldn’t have cared and neither would I. Today is about family, no matter their shape or mess, got it? Miller households are safe places, you hear me?”

The drive over to his brother’s is short, the two of them in the same neighborhood but different blocks something that tickles you to know end. Watchful big brother, independent little brother who didn’t want to stray too far. It’s endearing, so different from you own family. Parents live upstate, brother is still in university, opting to live in the dorms instead of with you. Younger sister god knows where now, she pops up every year with a crazy tale of where she ended up for most of the time she had disappeared.

His brother doesn’t seem surprised in the least when Joel shows up on his doorstep with you at his side, his greeting a wide smile and bright eyes. His wife, Maria is just as easy going, just as welcoming. Praising you for bringing dessert and that she had totally blanked on it for after the meal in the hectic planning of the day.

The atmosphere is cozy, holiday cheer abundant despite the temperate Texas weather that plagues the state year round. Sarah is particularly excited to be helping out this year, the first she’s old enough to. A set of twins half her age run around with shrieking laughter as Joel and Tommy chase them around and keep them busy while you help out in the kitchen as well, not wanting to just show up and sit around waiting for everything to be done.

It's so different from your usual meal alone, normally just leftovers from the day before on a tray as you settle in bed and binge watch something once the bakery closes up.

It warms your heart and makes you feel full in a way that being with your family never has. From the easy going conversation with Maria, the light teasing and focus of following instructions from Sarah, stolen glances with Joel, the wide brimming smile of his brother as he realizes that the scene is a little more complete with you there now.

“Tell me I can kiss you, please.” Joe’s lips brush the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver at the vibrations that caress the sensitive skin. He’s been angling closer all afternoon, the couch cushions flattening and sloping. Pooling you closer to where his thick thighs rest, to the intoxicating warmth of his body and the heady smell of his spiced cologne. The movie credits are playing softly on the screen, everyone well fed and just now recovering to tend to things such as packing up leftovers and beginning to organize what was left.

The second you two were alone, Joel had used the arm he had slung up on the back of the couch around your shoulders to tug you in close. Tucking you into him, he used his other hand to pivot your legs into his lap. He’s kneading the skin there, over your tights. Thick fingers daring to trace higher and higher as he pulls back to look into your eyes.

“You’re so goddamn pretty, baby, can’t believe my streak of bad luck.” And at the flash of guilt in the depths of warm brown eyes, you surge forward and kiss him with a ferocity that startles him. The small ‘humph!’ and the tightening of his hand around your thigh curls desire low in your middle as his tongue eagerly meets yours as you part your lips.

“Bad luck, good luck. Doesn’t matter.” You manage between deep kisses, hands threading through the thick locks of chocolate curls atop his head. “We’re here now, I’m here with you.”

“Good.” He’s swallowing the moan that bubbles up from how he presses into you, how he pulls you flush with him.

“Joel! We got a house full of impressionable kids and you’re just makin’ out on the couch with the baker?”

The deep rumble of his chuckle does nothing but make your stomach jolt as heat lances through your core. The sound hitting deep and making you bury your face in the man’s neck as he parts only his lips from yours.

“Gotta embarrass me always, huh?” He’s holding you tight still, hands gripping and knuckles straining with the effort it’s taking to stop his ministrations.

“Just keep it in your pants, we’ve got everything packed up for y’all to take home. Sarah’s tucked into the spare room, helping out this year really took it outta her.”

“That where she snuck off to?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. We can watch her for the night. She don’t go back to school until next week right? Just come get ‘er tomorrow. And you,” Tommy aims twin finger guns at you. “Are welcome back anytime, Maria really appreciated the help in the kitchen but mostly I think she just loved having another woman around to chat with. Seriously, she’s gonna offer to come by the bakery and grab lunch one day soon.”

With that, Tommy saunters back into the kitchen with a snicker of his own and some words you can’t quite make out to the woman in question.

“Well, what do ya think?” Joel moves to whisper in your ear again. “Wanna come back to mine? Or I could take you home? Whichever you want, sweetheart.”

The sudden image of you and Joel tangled up on top of your bed has you kissing him full on the mouth one last time.

“Take me home and then take me to bed.”

Giddy anticipation fills the cab of his truck, the engine ticking as he shuts it off and just sits back for a moment. His eyes find yours and you can’t help the giggle that bursts from your chest, hands tangled and fingers twisting around each other in your lap. His hand reaches and takes one of your own, engulfing it with the sheer size difference. His beautiful hands that craft houses and woodwork, his beautiful hands that raised his amazing, rambunctious but sweet daughter, his beautiful hands that held his young nephew and niece with such care. His beautiful hands that you’ve felt explore your body twice now, the urge for him to do so again so strong it makes you feel dizzy.

“I can leave if you’re nervous, darlin’. No pressure, no hard feelings.” Joel Miller, the man that he is, knew just what to say to ease your worries.

“No, no. I just…”

“Thank you, for today.” You whisper, emotions getting the better of you. “I really thought that…this year I’d be alone again. My family only ever asks after desserts, always schedules the meal late and too far away for me to make the drive. I…I really liked spending time with you and your family today, they made me feel so welcome and included. It- it was really nice, Joel.”

The trembling of your lower lip is embarrassing but you can’t fight it off as you bare your heart to the man beside you.

“Hey now, it’s okay. I got ya,” He’s shuffling closer, the console pushed up to allow him to slide across the bench seat. “They loved you, ‘m sure they wouldn’t mind seein’ you more.”

And it’s easy, the way he soothes the turmoil in your mind, begins to help heal the trauma that bubbles up this time of year.

It’s easy how he kisses you and makes you feel like the most important person in the world.

It’s easy how he let’s you guide him into your home with clasped hands and a shy smile.

It’s easy the next morning when you wake up beside him, his naked body like a furnace under the sheets as it wraps around your own. The hours posted on your bakery door correct except for the day that follows any holiday. His breath little puffs against the back of your neck as you both share a pillow, while your exhalation becomes needy as you feel an ache between your legs. Little whimpers thrown into the air with no regard to how desperate they sound.

Heat sparks through you as you recall the desire in his hooded eyes the night before as you straddled him, taking your time with lowering yourself onto his hard cock, already dribbling when he had shucked his pants off for you to see all of him for the first time. The sight of him sprawled across your bed, head thrown on the pillows and bronze skin gleaming in the low lights strung up over your bed had all but turned you possessive. The memories were too much, kindling desire and pleasure in you in such a way that should be a warning in itself that you were fucked.

You were gone on him and you could only hope he felt the same way.

Soon enough, the shifting of your thighs to relieve pleasure that tingles there rouses him.

“Woke up needy, huh darlin’?” His voice is deep velvet, the early morning blessing him with such a soothing baritone that it almost has you rolling your eyes at it caresses over your skin much like his exploring fingers.

“Mhm, can still feel you. Right here-“ And his hand flattens against the soft give of your stomach where you guided it, just below your belly button.

“Fuck, that’s so hot, you have no idea.” He’s crowding you, body shifting to press your chest to the bed, his legs tangling with yours as he kneels behind you. He hinges your hips, bringing them up to rub the length of his cock between your glistening folds. “So full a me still, holding it like such a good girl for me.”

The whine of his name from your lips has him pushing in, slowly and carefully until his hips meet the back of your thighs. Turning it into a low moan that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. Your panting is all he can hear, the clench of your walls all he can feel as your back arches and you press back into him.

“Right here, huh?” His hand is still on your belly, and it presses now, pulling a yelp from you as the pressure in your core intensifies. Your cunt gushes around him, earning you a hiss as he grinds himself against you to make a squelching sound.

“Please please please tell me we’re going to do this again.” You move on him, pulling forward a bit, knees spreading and hands gripping tight to the sheets underneath you. Joel’s answering groan is more than enough but his voice delivers your fate in such an easy way.

“Oh darlin’, we’re gonna be doin’ this every day for the rest of our lives.” And with that he moves to grip your hips so tight you’re sure there will be reddened imprints of his fingers, pulling out in a slow drag before he slams back in and sets a brutal pace.

And maybe the holidays aren’t so bad, after all.

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[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Seven: shopping spree

tw: alcohol, peer pressure, background ghoap, non-con kissing

It takes two more days of travel before you reach Little Wood. 

The weather stays sensible throughout your travels, offering fluffy clouds overhead to block the sun, yet nothing dark enough to spit and bite at you like the storm from the other day did. Jester—the large beast that he is—has grown accustomed to your presence, almost annoyingly so. The capricious horse will often seek you out during meal times, or even during your sleep if you don’t hitch him to a tree or some dilapidated fence. You’ve been stirred awake by a wet nose more often than you’d care to admit. 

Yet, you find your mind occupied by something else. Something more troublesome. As you sway along on Jester while the two of you mosey behind the group, you find your eyes flickering to John’s back. There’s not much to see except for his simple white shirt and leather vest, but your gaze pierces through the fabric. 

You can still see it—his scars. It’s all you’ve been able to think about since you caught him crouched over the fire in the morning. The memory of it is strong enough to even rid you of the sullied sensation that lingered on your skin after he ripped your corset and dress off of your body. Though the idea is macabre, a part of you wonders what could have caused scars like that. Those long, skinny strikes and those small, circular wounds. 

What could he have done to deserve such a punishment? 

The caravan comes up on Little Wood two hours after lunch time, and you are taken aback by how akin it is to your sleepy little Penmosa. Large pins for goats and cattle leave blemishes along the land as John has everyone wander through the wilderness, and eventually he stops at the foot of a small hill. Bushes and skinny trees offer enough cover for a small camp, but you can still make out the quaint buildings in the distance. 

“Boys, you three stay here to set up camp. You can head into town afterwards, but we need this up before dark,” John orders once all the horses are unloaded. It isn’t long before his eyes find you after the men all nod in understanding. “Lamb, you’ll be coming into town with me.” 

Ears perking, your hand rubs along Jester’s flank. “Alright.” 

Water moistens the earth and makes it plenty pliant underneath the horse’s hooves as the two of you trot off towards town. Adjusting your hips on the saddle, you breathe in the scent of animal feed and some far off bakery as fresh yeast wafts in the distance. You’re excited to be here—to have an evening that’s not full of late night riding. The insides of your thighs burn from the countless days you’ve spent on Jester’s back, and the chafing on your skin is less than kind. 

While most of the buildings in Little Wood are simple, two story structures, there is one that towers over the rest of them. A church—you’d recognize a steeple anywhere. Painted pristine, pure white, it looms over the town, casting a shadow over the winding streets as it bares its cross high in the sky as if attempting to return the sign of Christ to God Himself. The bell at the top glistens as the sun moves lower along the horizon, and your stomach twists at the sight. 

Unable to bear facing your sins, you look down at your nearly healed hands. “What are we doing?” you ask instead, excited for a distraction. 

“Buying you a hat,” John hums. He leans back comfortably in his saddle as his eyes scan each of the shops you pass by. Townsfolk flitter from place to place to buy their daily items, while others sweep the never-ending dirt that seems to accumulate on the porches. “Between the sun and the rain, I’m surprised you even lasted this long riding without one.” 

Blinking, the reins suddenly feel too moist in your grasp. “You don’t have to do that. I’m fine with just my scarf, really.” 

John looks over his shoulder at you with a raised brow. “I said I’d buy you one. I don’t go back on my word, little lamb,” he reminds you. 

It doesn’t take long to find the general store. Several horses line up hitched outside of the establishment as small flocks of patrons wander in and out with baskets of food and clothes in hand. You keep Jester close to John’s horse as you dismount, shoes digging into the muddy streets. Humming, John shoves his thumbs behind his belt buckle as he hops up the steps onto the porch. 

“C’mon, Lamb,” he urges. 

There’s an array of items that greet you the moment you step foot through the door, and it has your head spinning. Candies lie in a colorful assortment on trays, small bandages sit on shelves next to hunting and cooking knives, there’s even coffee grounds packed tight in a can (something John makes sure to swipe off the shelf the moment he eyes it). A mother argues with her two children in the back of the store about the toys that she doesn’t want to buy while an inebriated gentleman bickers with the storekeeper about the price of canned corn. 

“Goodness,” you murmur as the door swings shut behind you. “There’s loads more here than there is in Penmosa…”

“It’s a deceiving name. Little Wood isn’t so little,” John chuckles. “Hats are over here, love.” 

Leading you to the leftmost wall, you and John approach a wall adorned with racks of various types of hats. Sun hats, derby hats, cowboy hats—you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a large selection before in your life. You hum to yourself as your fingers ghost over the brim of a wide sun hat. Thatched fibers weave together seamlessly into an item that’s surprisingly soft. A bright yellow ribbon wraps around the bowl as if it attempts to hold the piece of the sun itself. 

“This one’s pretty,” you coo. 

John picks it up and swipes it out of your grasp as he turns it over in his hands. “Pretty, but not practical.” 

You raise a brow at him. “How is it not practical? Wouldn’t a sun hat do plenty fine against… the sun?” 

“Well sure, but it won’t do you much good for riding,” he says as he returns it to the rack. “It’s too floppy. Wouldn’t last a second in any strong wind without bending the brim, and without a string, if it blows off you’re stuck dismounting every ten minutes to pick the damn thing up. It wouldn’t last you to Grand Hollow.” 

Nodding your head in understanding, you turn your attention back to the hats as you think for a moment. Grand Hollow. The ride. 

Freedom. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, John,” you admit. “What exactly is the plan for me when we reach Grand Hollow?” 

He hooks his thumbs behind his belt buckle again as he stares at you from underneath the brim of his hat. His eyes are always intense this way—when he tilts his chin down and looks at you through thick brows. It’s severe enough to make you want to look away, but you keep steady as your fingers tap against the side of your thigh. 

“I have a friend of sorts who owns a hotel there,” he explains quietly. His eyes wander, wary of eavesdroppers, but his guard lowers when he realizes no one in this store seems to care about him or his plans. “She dabbles a bit in the organized crime rings there, but her hotel, The Twin Rose, acts as a safe haven of sorts.” 

“A safe haven?” you repeat. “From criminals?” 

“That, and the authorities,” John shrugs. 

Scoffing, you turn your attention back to the endless supply of hats. “I don’t believe it.” 

“Law men are no more morally right than the rest of us, Lamb,” he chuckles lowly. “The only difference between them and anyone else is that they’ve got a shiny badge that inflates their head to twice the size of Texas. Turns out, if you make a sizable donation to them every now and then, they don’t care too much about what goes on behind closed doors.” 

“Alright,” you huff. “So, I just… stay there, then?” 

“If you want. I’m sure Laswell wouldn’t mind the extra help with housekeeping. I hope you’re good at cleaning up blood.” 

John says those words as if they’re meant to be a joke, but you find your teeth biting into your lip. “I’m better than most at it.” 

If your father could hear you now, you’re certain he would berate you for your sinful pride, but you know you’re only speaking the truth. Years of scrubbing your own blood from wooden floors has given you a keen eye for unsightly stains. At this point, you’re just as good at covering violence as you are at detesting it. 

“Well, then you can either stay there, or Laswell can find you a job elsewhere,” John continues, making no comment on your mumbling. “There’s lots of things to do in Grand Hollow, little lamb. More opportunity than you can even dream of.” 

The moment you brave another glance up at John, you find him leaning toward you with his arm reaching over your head. His presence is scorching—so crowding that you feel infinitesimal next to him—yet that feeling fades the moment he retrieves a hat from behind you. It’s a beautifully crafted item made of firm fibers with a dark brown tan finish. The crease is deep and even with the dips, and the crown is plenty wide enough for your head. 

Smirking, John puts it on your head before crossing his arms over his chest. “There we are. You’re one step closer to becoming a real cowboy,” he teases. 

Self conscious fingers reach up to adjust the hat as you fit it over your head. It sits plenty well enough, though you suddenly feel as if your head is much too wide. 

“Do I look okay?” you question timidly. 

John hums as he motions for you to follow him up to the counter. “No worse than usual, sweetheart.” 

The storekeeper beams when he sees you and John approach his counter, and he’s much too eager to wave off the drunkard who’s been quarreling with him for the better part of the last twenty minutes. John pays for your hat—along with his copious amount of coffee—before the two of you return to your horses to stow away your items. Afternoon slowly wanders into evening as the sun dances on top of the horizon, and Little Wood blooms to life as oil lamps flicker on to bleed through windows into the otherwise tenebrous streets. 

Jester huffs as you place your new hat onto your saddlehorn, and you lovingly rub your hand along the bridge of his nose as you wait for John to finish packing up. His breath fans warm and moist across the palm of your hand, forcing a smile to pull at the corner of your mouth. 

“Should we head back to camp, then?” you muse as Jester nuzzles into your hand. 

“Afraid we won’t find much back at camp,” John sighs once all his items are put away. 

“Why not?” 

“Well, I reckon the boys are at the saloon right about now.” 

You wish John wasn’t right, but as usual, he is. The two of you leave your horses in front of the general store as you wander through the streets to follow the sound of a legato piano performance paired with slurred chatting. You stand outside of a large building with wide eyes and sweating palms as John marches up the creaking stairs onto the porch. When you don’t follow, he turns around with his hand gesturing toward the swinging doors. 

“Fancy a drink, Lamb?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “I don’t drink.” 

Smirking, John raises an eyebrow while tilting his head. “Didn’t you buy a couple bottles of wine back in Penmosa? Right before you ripped your apron up and lost all your change?” 

“That’s different,” you murmur. Flames of embarrassment lick the back of your neck as you defensively cross your arms. “That was for communion.” 

“Well, we can toast to god then, if it makes you feel any better.” 

You have half a mind to scoff and scorn John for his impiety, but the moment your father’s words bubble in the back of your throat, you bite them back before they see the light of day. Instead, you huff and follow him into the saloon. 

A part of you expects to find Mr. Beckett behind the bar serving up drinks and smiles, but you’re met with an unfamiliar scene as the building buzzes with music and chatter. A man with a tilted hat sits at the piano where he plucks away at the keys while humming some tune you don’t recognize, and a lady with a low cut dress slings herself over his shoulder as he performs. Several men line up at the bar where they chat with the keeper as they sip on whiskey and ale while tossing coins his way, and someone in the corner is ruining a table playing five finger fillet. Your throat closes up at the noisome aroma of hops and liquor—it’s not nearly as sweet as the wine you’re used to. 

It’s easy enough to find the boys. They’ve made themselves cozy in the far corner of the saloon, just like they did back in Penmosa. Soap already looks as if he’s had a few drinks too many with rosy cheeks and mussed hair, and Kyle beams as he eyes his hand of cards with a confident grin. 

“He’s got an ace up his fucking sleeve, I just know it,” Soap rambles, pointing an accusing finger at Kyle. 

“He’s not cheatin’ you’re just pissed outta your mind. A child could play cards better than you, Johnny,” Riley barks. He manages to sneak a not-so-gracious drink of his whiskey from underneath his bandana before his eyes find you and John. “Come to join the party?” 

“Oh, I know better than to gamble against Garrick,” John chuckles as he takes his seat. 

“You might not, but no one else here does,” Kyle grins. As you take the seat between him and John, he makes sure to flash you a small wad of cash—something he was able to easily score off of the drunkards who were too far in over their heads. “Who needs to live the life of an outlaw when you can just take advantage of the poor sods who can hardly tell a six from a nine?” 

Their bickering pulls a laugh from your throat as you stiffly settle into the wooden chair. Soap mocks Kyle’s words—seemingly a poor loser—before he slaps his hands down on the table and stands from his seat. 

“I’m dry,” he announces. “What’re we drinking?” 

Everyone rattles off their answers, words overlapping with one another. Soap nods as if he’s understood before his gaze lands on you. “Oh, nothing for me.” 

He smirks. “Sure thing, Lamb.” 

He comes back with five drinks, one for each of you. You stare down at the amber liquid in front of you with your lips curling in on themselves. Someone bumps into the back of your seat and you feel a petulant ache gnaw at the base of your skull. Their eyes bore into you as they await for your first ever run in with—as Soap puts it—true alcohol. 

“Just do it quickly,” Kyle coaches. “Just one quick swig and then a gulp.” 

“You shouldn’t have started her out on whiskey,” Riley mumbles. 

Giving in to their pressure, you raise the glass to your lips where you attempt to do as Kyle instructed. A swift swig coats your tongue and your face contorts as the burn settles into your teeth. The men chuckle as you choke the liquid down and slam your mostly-full glass back onto the table. 

“You drink this for fun?” you question as you push the glass away from you. 

“Usually,” John chuckles. “We’ll make a cowboy of you yet, sweetheart.” 

Evening wanes into night, and things only get more nauseating. Kyle attempts to teach you how to play poker, but Soap keeps interjecting to debate on the rules. The clamor of the saloon only grows more cacophonous by the minute, and a dull throb begins to pulse behind your eyes. Somehow, more people continue to crowd the building and the combined heat forces your body to produce more sweat than you think you’ve ever made in your entire life. 

Eventually, the crew begins to break apart. Riley leaves to relieve himself—or, as he puts it, he leaves to take a piss where he hopefully wouldn’t happen across any other wandering lambs—and Soap follows behind not too long after mumbling something about helping him hold it. Having run out of partners to play cards with, Kyle offers to check up on camp before he vanishes off into the night, leaving you and John alone together. 

“You gonna finish your drink?” he prompts, pointing to your glass. 

You shake your head. “I feel bad about wasting it but I… I can’t stomach it.” 

John chuckles as he slides his hand across the table. Thick fingers wrap around the glass before he gestures in your direction with it. “Don’t worry, there’s never a drop of liquor that goes to waste around here.” 

Without another word, he knocks back the rest of your drink and you try not to pay attention to the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he gulps. Glass rings out as he slams the cup back on the table with a sharp exhale. He gives you a tight lipped smile.

“Tired, Lamb?” he asks. 

“It’s been a long day,” you say, side stepping your answer. 

Nodding, John pushes himself back away from the table, causing the legs of his chair to squeak against the wood floor. “Will you be alright here if I leave to wrangle Soap and Riley up?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good.” He stands to his feet and squeezes your shoulder as he walks by. “Stay put.” 

And you do, like any obedient lamb does. There’s not much else prey can do when given a direct order from a predator, and when someone with sharp teeth tells you to freeze, then you listen. 

Much like when you’re told to kneel in the pews—you obey before you raise your hands up ripe for the picking of your father’s favorite form of punishment. 

It’s been quite a while since you’ve been able to think about your father—to truly think about him. More than just the disconnected thoughts that wander through your mind as you try to fall asleep at night. He would often lock himself in his office for an hour after supper before retiring to bed. The stars are out to play, twinkling brightly above Little Wood as if blessing it—you wonder if he’s asleep now, or if he’s up thinking about you. 

You’re not sure if you would feel better or worse if he was worried about you. 

“Howdy.” 

An unfamiliar voice yanks you out of your thoughts, forcing your gaze away from the table and up at one of the countless patrons that flood the saloon. He looks to be a few years older than you with an unkempt mustache and bloodshot eyes. Florid cheeks illuminate his face more than the lamps on the walls do, and the scent of beer rolls off of him thicker than manure in a cow lot. 

“Oh, hello,” you respond stiffly. 

Swaying, the stranger points a finger at you. “Are you a workin’ girl?” 

“A working girl?” you repeat with drawn brows. You swallow. “Well, I work but I’m not sure what you-” 

Before you can continue, the man nods and steals the seat that used to belong to Kyle. He leans so far back in the chair you swear he’ll topple over like the Tower of Babel. “You’re awfully pretty.” 

“I-I… thank you?” 

“Usually the workin’ girls we get ‘round here aren’t like you, all pretty-like,” he drones. Then, he sits forward in his chair, suddenly crowding your space. You’d lean away from him if the back of your chair wasn’t pressing into your spine. “I’d pay real well for you. Enough to pay all your expenses for the week. What’dya say?” 

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “I don’t understand what you’re-” 

Alcohol coats your tongue, silencing your confusion before the words can fully manifest. Then, there’s something sour. Rancid and sickening, your stomach protests and contorts as your eyes screw shut at the flavor. 

It isn’t until dull teeth bite into your bottom lip that you realize this stranger is kissing you.

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[thesunloveschips]

Obsessed - Part 9 (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: After Azriel's mother reprimands him, he orchestrates another coincidence that leads to a reconciliation.

Warnings: Y/n being a bit naive and delulu. Azriel being the hopeless billionaire still in love because we all deserve a man like this. Azriel saying fluffy and corny things because we deserve men who say such things to us.

Word count: 3.6k

Click here for Obsessed (Masterlist)

****

“You insensitive little shit.” Such a pleasant woman, his mother. “How dare you violate someone’s privacy?”

“Mum, I-”

“And this is how you approached her?” Clearly, Azriel’s mother had no intention of letting him speak.

“I-”

“There are many ways to meet new people, Azriel. The most common one being that you could’ve gone up to her and politely introduced yourself.”

“She would’ve rejected me.”

“She should definitely reject you after the stunt you pulled.” 

“How-”

“The audacity. . .” Needless to say, Azriel received a scolding for the next seventeen minutes. “Leave her alone, Azriel. You’ve hurt her immeasurably. Your devotion does not compensate for that.”

“I want her in my life.”

“Then start by giving her some space. Let her sort out her feelings.”

“She’s hurting.”

“You hurt her, in case you forgot.” Like his mother would ever let him forget. “And don’t creep around in your building’s common areas just to see her.”

“Yes.”

“If I hear anything otherwise, I will stop baking pineapple cake for Christmas.”

For those of you unfamiliar with Azriel, this was the most effective way to threaten him. With his favourite dessert. Or the lack thereof.

“Yes, mum.” But Azriel’s mind had already begun concocting ideas. He was the Chairman of Umbra for fuck’s sake. If he could run a billion-dollar empire, he could definitely get Y/n back.

“If you run a billion dollar empire then I gave birth to you. Mark my words, Azriel. If you loiter around her like an aimless fool, I will burn my recipe book.” 

His mother was a pleasant woman. Her threats did not involve bodily harm. But whether he’d be able to have his mother’s homemade desserts was still debatable. “I’ll call you later. It’s my turn for the appointment.”

“Bye, mum.”

“Maintain your distance.” And she ended the call. 

Azriel supposed Y/n would definitely like his mother as a mother-in-law. His mother would have a daughter to dote on and he could simply watch the two of them chatter while sipping coffee.

Y/n had an internship. At a university in another European country. As a research assistant to a professor. For three months. Then she’d return to her own university in the city where they first met and fell in love. 

Well, he fell in love and she was unaware but not to worry, everything would be fine. 

****

Azriel knew for certain that his events management abilities were applause worthy. Why wouldn’t they be?

Because the way he orchestrated his meeting with Y/n and ended up being her neighbour was something. 

And now, he’d orchestrate a few more events. 

Y/n’s internship had ended. 

It was a good thing for her professor that he was a well mannered, decent human being. Else, Azriel would’ve definitely intervened in a manner that wouldn’t have ended well. 

And now, she was back in the same city. She had just begun the second year of her master’s program. 

Wonderful. 

In three weeks, the reclusive chairman of Umbra would give his first guest lecture in a university. 

Was it a coincidence that this was the same university Y/n attended? Absolutely not.

Because Azriel did not wait around for things to happen. He made things happen. 

That’s how he reached where he was and he was definitely not going to be discouraged.  

She’d begun to shine again during her internship. Friends, both new and old, helped her navigate life. 

He hadn’t contacted her per his mother’s instructions. 

Some days, he’d just randomly opened their chat. He’d see her online and sometimes, he’d type but he never sent a message. And he never received one either. 

Azriel sighed. 

He looked at his choice of clothes for his guest lecture. The topic was his latest collaboration with Rhysand’s Velaris Corp to acquire Hewn Inc. 

He had to look so jaw droppingly handsome that Y/n would fly into his arms and they could run off into the sunset together. 

Black was his colour. 

He knew it.

And Y/n found him hot in black.

So it was decided. Black trousers, sweater, long trench coat. 

That’s how he found himself on the stage of an auditorium, holding a mic, giving a lecture, and answering questions posed by eager and foolish students alike. 

The lecture had ended. Some students and faculties stayed back for follow up questions. Azriel patiently answered all of them when he saw her. 

Y/n. 

And he was hers.

Immediately and undoubtedly hers.

What a sad time it was when he was not hers. A sad time spanning twenty-nine years of his life. 

“Excuse me.” And Azriel made his way towards her. But then he stopped when her gaze found him. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.

He wasn’t prepared for this. 

He thought he was but he wasn’t.

He hated it.

The sight of her entire body seized by the grief of his betrayal. Her emotions all over her face for him to read that Y/n had most definitely not moved on from him. 

Someone covered her from his line of sight. A face turned back with the glare of a demon. Nesta Archeron.

He sighed. And Nesta seemed offended that her glare had resulted in a sigh. She turned back and took his Y/n away. 

Azriel looked up at the sky as he pulled out his phone. He still didn’t look at the device. 

The evening pinks and violets painted the sky. Clouds were scarce. The moon was readying for its appearance. And Azriel was brooding.

A call came. A different ringtone. The one he’d set for her. 

“How many more lies?” A soft voice whispered. He knew she was referring to him not telling about his designation in Umbra. She’d thought him an ordinary employee. 

“As many as it takes to ensure your safety.” He breathed. 

“Why are you here?”

“Guest lecture.”

“And it happened to be right here?”

“Yeah.” It would happen anywhere she was. Guest lectures, conferences, and whatever the fuck that would give him a chance to see her and breathe the same air as her. 

A pause. The wind whispered something to him and danced with his hair for a while. “You’re beautiful.”

Silence. 

The call continued. And he felt oddly chaotic and calm. 

“Go away, Azriel.” 

“I cannot take impossible requests.” 

“Then take impossible orders and make it possible.” Y/n was firm. “Leave me alone.”

“I cannot.” And he knew his voice was shaky. 

“Why?”

“I need to know you’re safe, comfortable, and happy. It’s all that keeps me sane in your absence.” 

“What if I meet someone else?”

His breath hitched. “Safe, comfortable, and happy, Y/n. That’s where my selfishness for you extends.” 

“And you’re selfless in other areas?”

“You ended our relationship, Y/n, not my feelings. I will be jealous. I will be angry. But I will prioritise your safety, comfort, and happiness.” 

He’d limit it to that. Let her think that his feelings were warm and fuzzy like that favourite blanket of hers and not a mad obsession luring him into an abysmal terrain.

She did not need to know that he’d dismember and torture and slowly kill anybody who thought they had a chance with her. 

Azriel heard a sob. Some core part of him cracked. He looked in the direction where she had disappeared to with Nesta. She was not there.

He wanted to comfort her. 

Hold her and tell her not to cry because he’d make it all better. 

But he was the reason for her tears. 

So he remained silent.

Her cries slowly stopped and he heard footsteps through the phone. “What are you really doing here?” 

“I want to see you.” The footsteps paused. She was probably standing somewhere.

“You saw me.” She immediately threw the words as if they were an accusation.

“Didn’t see you enough.” 

She remained silent. Azriel really couldn’t believe he’d said that. He was a master at controlling his emotions. At least, until Y/n.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Umbra?”

“I wanted to hog you for myself. Not for the man who owns Umbra.” 

“You are that man.”

“I’ve always been Azriel. I did not own Umbra all my life.” The pain of being an illegitimate child suddenly came to the forefront of his mind. 

“And now it’s an inseparable part of you.”

“Not as inseparable as you think.” Because he’d leave it all behind for her. 

“I liked you, Azriel.” Everything paused. The pain in her voice made it all too evident that she still liked him. “I really did but this. . . This is just. .”

“I want another chance, Y/n.” 

“How can you ask such a thing?”

“Another chance with you knowing the full extent of what I will do for you.” 

“And what is this extent?”

“There’s no extent.”

“What?”

“There’s no extent, no line, no limit on what I will do for you.” And even if there was an extent he couldn’t recall right now, he knew Y/n was not unreasonable enough to demand for it. And if she was, then he’d simply comply.

“Does that extent also include violating my privacy? Disrespecting me? As long as you’ve secured my safety and happiness?” 

“There’s no line I won’t-”

“The problem wasn’t the line. The problem wasn’t Umbra. The problem was you hiding it all from me. The problem was you not asking my permission, not considering my feelings, while digging up everything about me like a mole rat.”

Azriel remained stunned. 

How had this slipped past him?

He’d thought he was careful with her feelings. And so, he’d resolved to only tell the good things. Things that wouldn’t be troublesome for her while wanting to know all about her and her problems so that he could eliminate them and make life easier for her. 

But was this a true relationship where he carried the burdens and she carried the joy? 

Weren’t they supposed to carry their lives together no matter the good or the bad?

“You hide things from me but you want to know everything about me so you just get someone to find it all.”

“I’m truly sorry, Y/n. I should’ve told you everything.” And since he hadn’t, he’d lost her. “I was desperate to have every bit of you.” But that desperation hadn’t entitled him to all those bits. “I’m sorry for violating your privacy.” He should’ve waited to know everything that comprised this wonderful woman. “I couldn’t wait. And I’ve now lost you.” 

“What am I even supposed to say?”

“You don’t have any obligation to say anything.” 

“I have no obligation to listen to you.” No, she didn’t. This call was just an act of mercy she granted owing to her own feelings for him that she couldn’t control. 

“Thank you for listening.” 

“I suppose you have more to say.” 

“I do.” He really wanted to say these words at their wedding. 

“Let’s meet.” She sniffled. “I want to know what exactly you know about me.” In the background, he could hear Nesta telling Y/n against it. 

“When are you free?” She gave him a time and venue. And Azriel motioned to the assistant who’d accompanied him that they were leaving. “I’ll meet you there.” 

Silence prevailed. The only sound was his own footsteps.

“Why are you not ending the call?”

“I’ve never ended any of our calls.” Because he’d always wanted to hear her voice. Even if she had anything to say at the last minute. They’d done that many times. 

“Bye.” And he couldn’t help his sad sigh. Azriel walked over to the venue even though there was time. 

****

Y/n was getting the lecture of her life. Nesta was incessantly rambling while she got ready. 

She’d spotted Azriel outside the Department of Business Studies after her classes had ended and she was heading back to her flat shared with her friend. 

“You have to be careful with him. Are you listening to me?” Nesta placed her hands on Y/n’s shoulders. 

“Yeah.” She slumped against her best friend.

“And it does not matter if he’s devilishly handsome or sexy or you had the best sex of your life with him or if you like him or love him or he likes you or loves you or-”

“I’ll be fine.” Nesta really didn’t have to remind her about Azriel’s attractiveness. 

“Really?” Nesta didn’t say it out loud but she knew her well enough. Her friend definitely thought that Y/n would reconcile with Azriel. 

“Yeah.”

Nesta took her in a hug. “Got your pepper spray?” 

“Mhm.”

“So the first thing you do is to spray it. Spray it all over his unnecessarily pretty face.” Y/n remembered the first time she’d talked to Nesta about Azriel and she’d used the words ‘unnecessarily pretty’ to describe him.

“I’m going there to talk.”

“Then spray it on his eyes and ears.”

“All right.” Y/n chuckled. She knew her friend was furious at this man she’d never even met.

It had taken her a while to revive herself. The depth of her feelings for Azriel revealed itself to her only upon his betrayal. 

And she felt like she was heading to war. It probably was, in a sense. 

Y/n reached the park ten minutes before but she loitered around, her nerves wracking and snapping against her, telling her to leave. 

“Y/n.” She’d recognise that voice. She was weak for him like that. 

Y/n turned and saw him dressed for a funeral. In black. 

Any other day and she would’ve thought he looked hot but today when she was a miserable mess with no rein over her feelings, she worried for herself.

Was he going to kill her and chop her body and scatter the pieces in some sewer like he’d done with her heart? 

“Azriel.” Yep. She sounded weak. Affected. 

He took a step forward, the leaves crunching beneath his shoe. Y/n took a step back. 

This conversation was definitely going to be difficult. 

“Would you like me to remain at a distance?” He asked, gently. And she was reminded of the times when this man simply clung to her frame because he didn’t want to let go. In bed, the bath, all around their apartments.  

“Yes.” She breathed. “What do you know about me?”

And he narrated her own story. 

About her pathetic family, her horrifying mother, her counselling sessions from high school, all the people who hurt her, all the people she’d ever befriended. 

He knew everything that had ever been documented about her. 

At the end of his revelation, she simply closed her eyes and sighed. 

“I won’t tell anyone.” He promised solemnly. Was his word worth anything now? Or wasn’t it?

“Am I supposed to trust that?” She dryly asked. And with those words, she’d hurt him. She saw the hurt painted on his face like a dark stain. And fury pumped through her veins.

“You’re not entitled to feel hurt.” How dare he pretend he was the victim here? “Not after this.” She stood up and grabbed her sling bag and phone. Azriel immediately stood up. “I. .” But she really had nothing to say. 

Y/n didn’t know what he was going to do with all that information. But maybe it didn’t matter since he had the resources to do that to anyone. He could keep tabs on her for the rest of her miserable life. 

Even then, no matter how long and hard she thought about it, she didn’t mind. 

She didn’t mind him keeping tabs on her.

She didn’t mind him knowing where she was and what she was doing. She’d told him enough of that herself while they were together and happy.

In a way, she understood it. Maybe she even liked it. 

Y/n was honestly only bothered by him hiding this. By him digging her past out of a box she wasn’t ready to open in front of him. 

Was this devotion? 

Or simply madness?

“I won’t tell you that I wouldn’t do it if we went back in time because I would.” Oh, he was hell bent on making this difficult.

“You could’ve told me.” She whispered. “That you were having me followed.” 

Y/n closed her eyes and inhaled deeply before she continued. 

“And you should’ve waited for me to tell you everything.” All that fucked up part of her, a product of her mother’s parenting skills. “You have the nerve to dig into my past and yet, you kept yours hidden. You’ve kept your life hidden from me and I respected that.” 

Y/n held up a hand when she saw Azriel open his mouth to speak. He had such a beautiful mouth. She wanted him to kiss her. 

“I’m not interested in you knowing everything and that too without my knowledge and permission while I know nearly nothing about you. And before you ask, information on Google does not count.” 

“I’m an illegitimate child.” What? 

Y/n remained shocked as Azriel told her his story. Of how his father and brothers mistreated him and his mother, how he killed them before he took over Umbra.

“Why did you tell me? You had no obligation.” Gods, she really was weak for this man. And for him to be so emotionally vulnerable in front of her made her want to hug him. 

“Because now I realise that a romance is also to be a partnership. It shouldn’t be me knowing everything while you live obliviously. You have as much right to know.” 

Yep, she was doomed. 

Her resolve was faltering. And she was feeling and falling. 

The hot chocolate in front of her that she’d ordered as a formality was cooling down. 

“One chance.” She whispered, praying silently that he wouldn’t break her heart again. “And that will be your last one.” 

****

Azriel knew failure. Many different types of it. He’d known it when he failed his first test. When he lost his first fight. When his applications were rejected. When he had been rejected by friends, girlfriends, his father, his half-brothers, his stepmother. 

So much had been taken from him. And he’d been pushed to the edge of the world before he found the resolve to stand up. It was the sight of his mother cringing in front of his father. 

And then he concocted his wonderful five-year plan. At the end of it, Umbra was his. His mother, safe and comfortable. His father and half-brother, dead. And that wretch of a stepmother, practically exiled. 

And then he’d lost Y/n, truly and completely. 

Azriel wanted Y/n. He’d spent the best few months of his life with her. 

She made him endlessly happy and he tried his best to do the same for her. 

He knew her presence in his life was a privilege. But now it seemed like he’d never taken that privilege seriously and had never respected it in the manner he should have. 

So when she gave him one last chance, he’d been revived. His posture changed, eyes widening. Every movement right then felt as though he was rising from the grave or a coffin and returning to the land of the living. 

Honesty. That would now be an integral part of this relationship. There would be no excuses. And then he remembered something he’d caused. 

Azriel debated telling her but since secrecy had never worked in his favour in this relationship, he made his decision. “So, remember your ex?”

Y/n frowned. “Which one?”

“The one from college.” He was unprecedentedly nervous. 

“Yeah.”

“The one roped into a tax fraud.”

“Yeah?” Y/n blinked and leaned forward. “You did that?”

Azriel nodded quietly. She slumped back into her seat and sighed. “Well, he’s no longer my concern. Do I have to convince you to move on from him?”

“He hasn’t gotten enough.” 

“And he deserves no effort from anybody, the good or the bad. Anything else you want to tell me?” 

“I’ve never had a proper relationship before.” Her eyes widened and she kept looking at him as if she’d never seen him before. Why would she do that? 

“How come?” 

Why was she asking such a question? Wasn’t it obvious why he’d never been in a proper, serious relationship. “Because I’d never met you before.”

Silence prevailed. Y/n looked away in that adorable manner of hers, clearly blushing. And Azriel couldn’t help his smile. “Does that surprise you?”

She glared at him and then stood up. The evening wind was cool and felt pleasant on her face. Y/n looked around, finally noticing the park around her. 

People were in pairs, walking or simply sitting. Couples, most likely. 

And then there was her. With him. On a bench. Sitting at a distance. Azriel really wanted that distance to vanish. So he called her name. 

Y/n looked back at him and he was already looking back at her. “I swear to all the hot chocolate in the world, Azriel. If you ever pull a stunt like this, I’m leaving you.”

He took a step forward. And another. She did not move from her place. “May I?” 

“Yes.” She breathed, eyes closing. Memories sprung forth like a fountain from all the times they'd kissed.

He pressed his lips on her forehead before promising. “I won’t pull a stunt like this. Ever. And if you do leave me, you will be leaving with my heart as you did three months ago.”

“And you’ll give guest lectures to see me even after that?” Y/n leaned into his touch and smiled. The first smile in months. He felt some semblance of peace settle in his heart.

“A Ted Talk, if needed.” Azriel smiled at her faintly. And behind his smile, he really hoped for their future.

****

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[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 20

This one is a bit shorter than the last 🫠

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 20 >>next

The interaction between you and Nolan was still awkward. It was weird to see him this soft and you still felt on edge like you couldn’t quite believe all it took for him to try and do better was some talking to- Bruce didn’t even let you say more than a sentence in his presence, let alone get emotional about things and try to have a conversation about it.

Overall, the past week you’ve been kind of disassociating while working on rebuilding, occupying your time with that and helping Andressa take care of the baby, occasionally texting Debbie anything from updates to “I miss you”, to “I miss your food”, to cute pictures of the little menace being funny, kept you somewhat present-minded.

Your eyes drifted to Andressa, who has been aging more and more. Her movements were slowing down, she was getting more tired, and she was having more problems with her joints. You noticed that with everyone. The kids who helped you sometimes were now teens, the babies were slowly becoming toddlers, and yet your little brother was still in the baby range.

Andressa calling your name brought you back to reality. Your eyes meet as she sighs, sitting on an armchair while you keep playing with her baby’s hair, twirling it into spikes and horns. “I… I need to ask a big favor out of you and your family.” She starts softly, her finger tapping nervously. You stop and give her all the attention as she continues speaking.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Debbie’s day has been… better. It’s all getting better. Slowly, but she’s getting there. She wanted to be petty and give Nolan’s things away, but she had a feeling he’d be coming back with you and Mark, so she did the next best thing and moved his stuff into the smallest bedroom. Well, it was more of an office with a beat-up couch; he didn’t deserve an actual bedroom.

And in hindsight, she was glad she did. “Well… he is cute.” She concedes while smiling softly as the toddler cooed up at her, all coddled up in her lap. Her hand gently ran across his small back. Andressa just smiles. “Thank you. And thank you for wanting to hear me out and for letting me into your home. I know I’m asking for a lot, for way too much even considering everything- but Nolan isn’t exactly the best at being present enough for a kid.”

Debbie laughed at that. “Yeah, I know. Can’t count the times I had to step in for things he promised Mark.” You smiled softly as the two women got along, laughing at Nolan’s actions and awkwardness towards raising the babies. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. I’ve gotta go back and make sure the men don’t find us plotting against them.” You joked while opening a portal.

“Bye, sweetheart, make sure your brother eats lunch! Oh, was Nolan scared of holding him? Because he was terrified of holding Mark as a baby- you should have seen him- I think I have some photos-“ You snickered, finally leaving the two to their gossiping.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mark and Nolan were too busy helping rebuild buildings to notice you and Andressa being missing. Granted, some men are the biggest gossipers known to mankind. “Yeah, so your dear daughter took a plate of these mini cakes and just smashed it across Bruce’s face- mushing it around. Lex was having a field day. It was so weird to see him so genuinely happy.”

“Is there video footage of it? I would love to see that.” Nolan laughs along. “Dude, there’s so much footage- Lex has like fifteen to thirty cameras in a room, he made compilations of it!” Mark looks at the smiling man. “He even had a camera in the buttons of his suit. He gave that first-row view of the cake smash to the highest bidder.”

“And he still shares the memes on his social media.” Your voice cut through their laughter, making the young man snort. “No! He still does? Is he set on never making Bruce forget that?” Nolan looks at his cackling son. “Would you let the man forget that?” His smirk only gets wider as his son beams with a no.

Nolan gently nudged you away as he told Mark to take a break. “We need to talk.” You pouted at his words while landing on a rooftop. “We talked.” Your grumble was met with a raised eyebrow. “No. We fought, and then you interrogated me about the Justice League.” He chides. “We need to have a serious talk.”

The old Viltrumite could see the nervousness and doubt in you. So, he wanted to make sure you knew where you stood. “I know my actions hurt you in ways I don’t think will be fully salvageable. I won’t try to justify myself, I won’t try to tell you that you’re wrong for feeling any negative sentiments towards me. You have every right to because you are correct in your points. I was a coward, I should have gone to the guardians and faced their ire. I should have trusted that you and Mark had my back.”

“No matter what, if you hate me, if you don’t want to see me again, you’ll always be my daughter, my baby.” The hand he put on your shoulder was warm and slightly shaky, betraying how nervous he actually felt. “I’ll always be in your corner, no matter what, no matter how hard you try to push me away. I’ll make sure to repent for my mistakes towards you, Mark, and Debbie for the rest of my life.”

“Stop it.” You sniff. “You’ll make me cry again. And damn right you’ll repent for what you did. I’ll make sure of it.” He smiles as you gently slap his arm. “I’ll hold you to it.” His eyebrows furrowed, asking if you had seen Andressa since she hadn’t come to check up on them in a while. “She’s taking a nap. Don’t disturb your baby mama, ass.” You roll your eyes while lifting off the ground, flying away as the man pouts.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Harvey Dent raised an eyebrow at the message he received, a shit-eating grin overtaking his mug. “Looks like our little magic girl is coming back to the planet in a few days. With a few stowaways.” Two-Face shows the message to Jason. “How mad do you think Bruce will be?”

Jason just gives the man an evil smile. “Very.” The young man almost purrs as he begins giggling, laughing as if he was snorting Joker Gas. Roy Harper just looks at the scene with a shaky smile. “Ok… I think I need someone to spill some tea about what’s happening.” Harvey just scoffs. “Take a seat if you really want to know. It’s a long story.”

Roy just shrugs, pulling the chair out and dropping into it. "I think you're just exaggerating there, law man." That seems to only make Jason laugh harder, creating doubt into the young father. "Oh- you'll regret saying that by the time we're done." Our favorite crime lord counters, snickering as he pours his friend a glass of whiskey.

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[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + thirty six

authors note: see at end of chapter.

cw/tw: angst, graphic violence, gore, torture, attempted and real violence against women and children, scenes depicting sexual assault.

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

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

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 16k 

The minute the call with Domingo Lopez ends, the shock of the unexpected alliance and support weighs only for a couple minutes among the group. And, then it's gone. They can process that shit later. Roman can process that shit later. Right now, it’s time to plan and strategize.

And, they do, Steve eventually coming back in the room, only to remind them that whatever weapons, whatever guns, whatever they need from his massive collection, is theirs for the taking.

It’s deeply appreciated.

And, the assistance doesn’t stop there. 

Because as the group begins to gather around the table, the front door is opened, an almost deep yet feminine voice sounding from the foyer. “Dad, why the fuck are there—”

Roman takes in the sight of a young woman, tall in stature, defined muscles evident in the all black, gothic outfit she wears. Short black hair frames a pale face that’s covered in dark makeup. She looks skeptical of the group until she sets her gaze on Dwayne, of all people, smiling almost immediately. “Uncle Dwayne.”

At that, Roman scowls. 

Uncle Dwayne?

What the fuck?

Dwayne chuckles, stepping forward offering a hug to the witch looking kid. “Rhea.” He pulls back, shooting her a wink. “You brutalize anyone lately?”

“Among other things,” she smirks, gesturing to the group. “What’s all this?”

Putting two and two together, Roman would gather that this Rhea woman is Steve’s daughter. How, given she has a thick ass British or Australian sounding accent, and Steve is a country boy from Texas through and through, Roman hasn’t the slightest clue. 

Nor does he really care enough to try to figure shit out. 

“I’m in.”

Rhea’s statement directs his attention back to the scene at hand. He looks over at Dwayne. “What?”

“Women and children have been taken, right?” She asks, looking directly at Roman, not an ounce of fear or trepidation in sight. If not for the nature of his current situation, Roman might be a little impressed. Elvira's long lost daughter has got some balls. Rhea scowls. “Men already piss me the fuck off, but men who go after the innocent deserve a special place in hell.”

She looks between Dwayne and Roman, vowing, “you need an extra killer. You got one.”

Roman’s reluctance is clearly evident, as his older cousin gives him a slow, knowing nod. She’s good.

Once more, Roman finds himself having to lower his defenses, accepting and allowing help from the least expected sources.

“Fine.”

Not even twenty minutes later, the group, including Rhea, sans Austin, hover around the dining room table, planning and strategizing. “Alright,” Dwayne starts, iPad in hand showing a dated map and layout of the plant. The same layout that’s on the screen of both laptops on the table, providing all with a view. “Looks like there’s a couple entrances in and out of this place, but this one right here…..” He points to the largest space that provides a direct line to the biggest building on the property. “That’ll be our best way in. The core group.”

Santos is in deep thought, offering a valid question. “You don’t think we should utilize the the other entrances.” All eyes settle on him as he clarifies, “feels too obvious to use the front door. We’d be stepping right into heavy fire.”

“No, we won’t,” Roman supplies. It’s the first thing he’s said in a good ten minutes. “He wouldn’t risk killing me on the spot. He wants to make a spectacle of it.”

No one needs to ask who the he is. 

“I hate to say it, but he’s right,” Cody speaks up, and Roman makes zero effort in hiding his displeasure. “Bron and Solo want an audience. Killing us the minute we step foot there would deprive them of that.”

Dwayne nods, continuing to strategize. “Main team uses the front door. Several other teams will use the alternative entrances, work their way in to take out as many men as possible.”

“We’ll need snipers,” Matteo speaks up, arms crossed as he too carefully studies the map. “Solo might be stupid to underestimate Roman, but he’s not an idiot. He’ll have snipers in place.”

Roman says nothing, silently agreeing. 

The Bloodline has some of the best goddamn snipers around. If Solo was too dumb to think they’d be useful, he can almost bet Rikishi talked him into it.

“That won’t be a problem,” Santos speaks up, gesturing to the two men who arrived with him. “Angel and Berto are some of the best long range shooters you could ever come across. They don’t miss.”

“Neither do I,” Afia chimes, a knowing, telling, almost graceful smirk on her face as she looks over at Rhea. “How’s your aim?”

Rhea smirks, answering without a beat and with all the confidence that seems to match. She just looks like a person who can back up anything and everything she says. “You give me a target. I’ll get you a hit.”

Afia nods, saying nothing but believing it fully. The young woman reminds her a lot of herself in her youth. Ravenous and blood thirsty.

She’ll be a great asset for the mission.

“Looks like we got that sorted,” Matteo chuckles darkly, though not surprised at his wife’s proposal. As much as Afia enjoys motherhood and her retirement, he can’t imagine her spending as much time as she did out in the field and not missing some aspect of it. Not to mention, this is personal. He knows how close his wife has gotten to Solana, and she would be torn up if something happened to her.

But, even more, she’s livid that Solana was taken in the first place and wants her pound of flesh.

A shared sentiment.

“We still need to figure out our teams,” Dwayne announces, keeping everyone on track. A necessity, as the reinforcements should be arriving in a little under an hour. “Obviously, myself, Roman, and Matteo—Afia, you and Rhea can join us when you’re done lighting up the bastards from the sky.”

The two women share a smirk and fist bump, the younger of the two acknowledging, “with pleasure.”

Dwayne shakes his head, keeping his comment to himself as he continues to plan, “Rhodes, you’ll also be with us—”

“The fuck he will.” Roman shuts that shit down immediately, all sets of eyes on him as she practically growls, “he’s not fucking coming with us.”

“The fuck I’m not,” Cody is quick with the rebuttal, not allowing anyone else time to intercede and defuse. “Bron has my wife and daughter!”

Words that go in one ear and out the other, the true Tribal Chief acridly dismissing, “you think I give a fuck about that?” There’s a level of complete disinterest Roman has in anything regarding Rhodes and the Rhodes family right about now. His one and only concern is Solana, and he reiterates as such. “They could fucking die for all I care. This is about rescuing my wife. Not your family.”

And without skipping or missing a beat, Cody’s dark, chilly retort is delivered without any hesitation. “The same way you rescued your family that night?”

It’s nothing short of a miracle the way Dwayne is able to intercede, blocking Roman from flipping over the table and using Rhodes as target practice for what he plans to do to Solo.

Matteo extends an arm across Cody, who stupidly seems unaffected or bothered by Roman’s full intent to murder him right here on the spot.

“That’s enough,” Afia’s voice cuts through the chaos of Roman working to break free from his older cousin and wipe that smug smirk off Rhodes fucking face.

Or just blow his head off altogether.

Either option is equally acceptable.

She says something in a language he can’t understand but can guess by the scowl on her face is nothing nice. “You’re acting like children. Now, there’s clearly a story here, but I don’t give two fucks about that story. Do you want to know why?” She points to the table where the laptops remain open. “Because three innocent lives are at stake. Your families have been taken. The women you love.” Her gaze softens a bit. “Children.”

It’s that last single word that has Roman’s full attention. It could easily be a reference to Cody’s daughter. A general statement, but Roman knows better.

Afia knows Solana is pregnant.

Knows that Roman stands to not only lose his wife but his unborn daughters.

It’s a brutal but necessary reminder of what’s at stake and the importance of the situation.

“She’s right,” Matteo speaks up, taking over for his wife, lowering his arm at the same time Dwayne releases Roman. “You two can hate each other until kingdom come after all of this is over, but until then, shut the fuck up, swallow your fucking pride, and let’s get back to business.”

There’s something about Matteo’s tone, final and almost parental, that reels in the divergence from the main goal at hand.

He’s right. Roman knows as such.

He will forever hold a special, unhealthy amount of hatred in his heart toward the man across from him, but that’s not important right now.

He can’t allow that unforgiving, unrelenting, pulsing hatred to distract him from what’s most important. And, what’s most important is bringing Solana back home, safe and sound. 

Alive.

Bringing her back alive.

Dwayne continues to spearhead in a sense, with occasional suggestions and ideas from the group, with Roman only chiming in when someone mentions Solo.

“He’s mine.”

A command that no one dares to defy. No one questions, and no one objects. Universal recognition that the only one who will spill Solo’s blood and be the one to cause him to take his final breath is the man most harmed in all of this.

Roman.

This is Roman’s kill to make.

A life for his to take.

In every brutal, gruesome way he can imagine.

Other than Roman’s one interjection, occasional head nods of agreement or acknowledgment, he’s silent and remains that way as he slips away while Steve offers the group their selection of whatever firearms and weapons they feel appropriate from his sizable armory. A separate building on the property.

But, Roman remains in the main house, finding his way outside as he sits on the steps and looks at his phone for the first time. 

A phone that’s been lit up with unaddressed notifications all day. Primarily from two people.

Jimmy and Naomi.

Calls, texts, voicemail messages. Several, multiple, outreach attempts, a brief perusing of some of the texts revealing intense and urgent concern. From the messages alone, it would appear that they have no idea what’s happened.

The betrayal that’s occurred.

A part of Roman believes it. A part of him can’t. He can’t because Roman knows how close that family is. They’ve always been close-knit. Primarily Rikishi and his sons. Thus, Roman can’t conceptualize how Jimmy could truly be in the dark, even Naomi. 

He wonders if it’s a ruse of sorts but can’t figure out why and for what reason. Solo knows Roman is coming. He wants Roman to come, so what reason would there be for him to have his brother play dumb, borderline harassing Roman with question after question about what’s just going on.

It’s confusing as shit, and while he hates to admit it, it bothers him.

It shouldn’t, but it does, and Roman knows that he needs answers. He needs answers to melt away the cloudy haze that sidetracks his vision. 

He has to know if the betrayal truly was full circle. If everyone he once thought he could trust is now forever stamped with the bleeding, red letters that spell out traitor.

Roman navigates to Jimmy’s contact, hitting dial without second thought.

Time is not on his side, and he needs to get this done. He needs to get it done now.

Two rings later and a flustered, panicked sounding Jimmy. “Roman?” 

The Tribal Chief hesitates, eventually offering a simple, “it’s me.”

Jimmy curses on the other end, immediately shouting for Naomi before returning his focus. “Man, I been trying to reach you all damn day. What the hell is going on?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, anxiously listing off all the things. “ I went to your office, and all they could tell me is you left this morning and ain’t nobody seen or heard from you since. We saw there was an attack at the library where Solana works, and we tried to go over there, but wasn’t nothing but bodies. Solana ain’t answering the phone, and Naomi is worried sick. I can’t get in contact with—”

“Did you know?”

Simple. Straight to the point. Necessary.

Jimmy pauses on the other end. “Know what?”

Roman runs his hands over his face, switching to speaker so he can rest it on the step next to him as he tries his best to compose himself. A difficult task, to say the least.

“It’s a coup,” he supplies. Roman isn’t exactly sure why he’s telling Jimmy from the start what’s occurred. What’s happening. In a more perfect world, he’d wait it out, see if his cousin would inadvertently reveal his own hand. But, this is far from a perfect world, and mentally, Roman is all over the damn place.

He doesn’t have the fortitude to navigate that shit right now.

He just wants to know.

He wants an answer.

“Rikishi, Solo, Jey, and what feels like the entire fucking Bloodline are trying to overthrow me. They’ve all turned on me and have kidnapped Solana in order to draw me out.” Roman leaves out the part where they’ve formed an alliance with the Nightmare Factory, wanting to keep some things to himself, to not reveal everything that he knows. “And, I need to know if you fucking knew about this shit. If you’ve betrayed me, too.”

Because that’s what this whole phone call is about. It’s not necessarily about scoping out information or alleviating concerns, it’s about finding out the truth, once and for all.

Jimmy scoffs, as if in disbelief. “What?” 

And then a more frantic voice, feminine and familiar. Naomi. “What do you mean they’ve kidnapped her?” Roman says nothing, providing no additional information as Naomi continues to pry for information. Maybe from genuine concern. Maybe from and for an entirely different reason.

Because, he hasn’t forgotten about the argument she’d had with Solana while on the girls trip. An argument that resulted in Solana asking her to leave.

And now, Solana has been kidnapped. 

“Oh my God, is she hurt? Why would they take her?” Naomi continues to shoot out question after question, her voice cracking. “We—we have to get her back!”

“We will,” Jimmy assures, clearly trying to console her on the other end. “Roman, where are you? What’s the pla—”

“Answer the question, Jimmy,” is Roman’s harsh, cold interruption. A reminder of his initial statement. “Did you know?”

“Wait a minute…” Jimmy trails off, voice shifting to something close to anger. “You think I had something to do with this?”

Roman doesn’t skip a beat with his reply. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Roman…” Naomi sounds hurt almost. Not that he cares. Her feelings are of no concern to him. “You know us. You know Jimmy. How could you even think—”

“I don’t know anything anymore!” Roman snaps, the tight grip he had on his emotions for this conversation starting to loosen. “All I know is that my wife has been taken, my fucking family has betrayed me, and the people who were supposed to be on my side have turned on me!” He closes his eyes, head tilted back as he rolls his neck and regains his composure. “I’m only going to ask one more time….did you know?”

Roman isn’t quite sure what kind of answer he expected from his cousin. He just knows he wants an answer. Good or bad, it doesn’t matter at this point.

The truth is all that matters.

“I knew….I knew they were thinking it was time you stepped down.” Jimmy finally answers after a good minute of silence. “Mostly Solo and my pops. They thought you’d become too distracted and wanted to meet with the Elders about stripping you of the ula fala.” Roman closes his eyes, doing his best to not allow the blow of Jimmy’s answer to extract from him another blow-up. “They wanted me and Jey to come with them, to go along with them, but I said hell no. I said—”

“So, you knew.” Because, that’s all Roman is hearing right now. He’s hearing that Jimmy knew tensions were high enough to where his dad and brothers wanted to see Roman dethroned, and he said nothing.

“I ain’t know they were planning this shit!” Jimmy defends, clearly emotional and frustrated.

It’s going around.

“Roman, we would never do anything to hurt you or Solana—”

“You should have told me. You should have fucking said something.” Roman completely dismisses Naomi. This isn’t even about her. This is about Roman and the man he thought he could trust. 

The family he thought he could trust.

“Roman, I’m telling you the God’s honest truth. I had no idea they were planning to do this.” To be fair, Jimmy sounds as genuine as he probably looks right now, but if there’s anything this experience has taught Roman, it’s that it’s sometimes the people closest to you who can say exactly what they know you want to need and hear. 

All while stabbing you in the back.

Jimmy had continued talking, while Roman sort of tuned him out in a sense, only to latch onto one attention-grabbing sentence. “....I thought my pops let this go years ago….”

Now, Roman is the one pausing. “What?” Silence. “What are you talking about?”

A heavy sigh followed by a clearly reluctant answer. “When we was younger, my dad used to talk to us about how it would be an honor if one of his sons could be Tribal Chief. He thought…he thought we should have challenged you for the ula fala.”

Roman’s jaw clenches, his chest a tight cage for all things heavy and uncomfortable. 

The shit just gets worse minute by minute.

“Is that why Jey did?” Roman asks, though something tells him he already knows the answer. 

“Yes.” Fuck. “My dad put a lot of pressure on him, encouraged him that he could do it, but when he lost, I thought pops had moved on from that. I had no idea—”

Whatever Jimmy planned to say next will never be known. It’ll never be known because Roman hits the end button.

And, he sits there. Alone. Thinking. Dwelling. Ruminating. All cognitive roads leading to one damning answer.

Traitors.

They’re all traitors.

For years, seeds and discussions of dissension have occurred, plans to dethrone him made and disregarded until one finally came to fruition. 

And, no one said a damn thing. 

Dead. 

They’re all dead to him. 

—------

Thinking is a difficult, arduous task when every path one conceives could lead to an untimely demise.

It’s a heavy realization Solana is slowly coming to as she sits propped up against the wall, gently stroking Brandi's hair as she sleeps on her lap. An unexpected position and situation that few would expect the women to be in. But, it was in Brandi waking up and screaming, clearly reliving her recent trauma, that Solana moved to console and comfort her.

She’s been there. 

She knows exactly what Brandi is experiencing, thus Solana working to soothe her back to sleep.

Solana doesn’t mind, because while she sympathizes with the trauma from the assault, she can’t imagine how devastated Brandi must be at being separated from her daughter. Not knowing where she is.

What’s being done to her.

It’s awful.

And, it’s why Solana is currently wracking her brain, trying to come up with a plan, preferably one that helps them get to Emma. 

To Solana, that’s the most important thing. Protecting the children.

It just unfortunately happens to be the hardest thing as well.

To the best of her abilities, Solana tried to observe and memorize the halls and make of the building. Tried to commit them to memory, but with each possible path to a rescue and escape, she was met with guards.

Armed guards.

And, with a pocket knife being her only available weapon, Solana knows it won’t get her far. She needs one as well. A gun, at the very least. 

Both herself and Brandi. If they’re going to escape this, and they will escape this, they have to be armed, too.

It’s just the how of it all that keeps stumping her.

Solana jumps and is immediately alert and cautious when the door turns, and though unsure, she's unwilling to show any fear at whoever it is entering. 

Especially if it’s Solo or Rikishi.

It’s not.

But, it's still that same level of anger and resentment she holds and feels staring at the person who remains in the doorway, tray of food in hand, guilty, almost contrite expression on his face.

Jey says nothing at first, closing the door behind him as he walks in. “Ya’ll should be hungry.”

Solana remains quiet, offering no reply as he moves closer, and she holds onto Brandi. Protectively.

Jey sighs, walking over to the desk, carefully placing the tray down. “You should probably eat—”

“How could you do this?” Jey’s nonverbal expression is an immediate, immense amount of guilt. And, that only pisses Solana off even more, makes her fist form at her side. “How could you betray Roman like this?”

Because as much as she hates this for herself, she hates it for her husband more. 

Hates that someone he viewed as a brother could do this to him. Could betray him like this. 

“Solana, you gotta believe that I had no idea they were planning to do all this,” Jey tries to explain, running his hands through his short hair, gesturing to a still sleeping Brandi. Solana hopes she remains asleep for the whole conversation. She needs the rest. So does Solana, but she needs to know the why more than she needs sleep. “Kidnapping innocent women and kids? That’s not me.”

“Isn’t it?” Solana challenges, jutting to the tray. “Because instead of bringing us food, you should be trying to help us out of here. That’s the Jey I know. Not some henchman bitch for his evil dad and brother.”

He’s initially quiet, Solana knowing she hit below the belt, but it’s hard to care in this situation. It’s hard to care anything about the man before her.

And then, a reply. “They got Nicki.”

Solana pauses. “What?”

She hates to admit it, hates to acknowledge it, but she can see it. Can see the distress that marks his features. Can hear how distraught he is. “Apparently, they had a feeling I would “turn” on them, so they took Nicki to make sure I “don’t forget” which side I chose.”

It’s a lot to take in. The last thing Solana expected to hear was that another innocent woman has been dragged into this nightmare, let alone Jey’s wife. But, while her heart goes out to Nicki, Solana has a hard time not focusing on Jey’s words.

“Exactly.” She finally speaks, voice low, heavy with exhaustion. Mental and physical. “You chose your side.” She lifts her chin, her tone leveled and solemn. “Now, you have to live with the consequences.”

Solana is well aware that Jey is able to read in between the lines of her response. As much as she feels for Nicki, she can’t think about that. Can’t be concerned when she already has so much on her plate. 

Jey did this. Now, he has to deal with it.

A grave realization that clearly overcomes the man as he leaves out without another word.

—------

 Roman has never feared death.

Not really.

Come close to it a handful of times in his almost 40 years on this earth, but the closest and maybe the only time he was ever really scared was the night his family was murdered. 

After that, fear became an emotion he had to bury when it comes to the end of life.

It’s not even something he’s really thought about, even in those moments where a brush with death was putting it lightly. He’s just never really cared. It’s also so systematic for him.

You’re born, you live, and you die. That’s just the order of things, and as a pragmatic person, he accepts that. It makes sense to him.

But, for the first time, in a long time, there’s a thought, a feeling, about finally meeting his maker—or not—that feels a lot more of a reality than it’s ever been.

Feels like it could very well be a possibility. An outcome.

And, it’s something he’s accepted.

He’s accepted it, because he’s also accepted that there’s nothing he won’t do to make sure Solana makes it out of this alive. 

That’s what’s most important to him. That’s the goal he has to have and keep in mind. 

Nothing else matters. 

He can’t and won’t be concerned with himself. That’s secondary. His wife and unborn daughters are his only concern, because he can’t conceptualize or even allow himself to think about any alternative.

He just can’t.

After grabbing an extra magazine and loading it into his vest, Roman’s heavy footsteps carry him from one room to another. And, the door is barely opened when Dulce lifts her head from where she lays on the bed. Tail wagging, her ears flop down when he moves over to the end of said bed. 

Roman chuckles, seeing the way her eyes close after he walks over to her, and she licks his hand, settling and laying back down. “You ended up being not so bad, after all, you know that?” Dulce shifts, rolling onto her back, exposing her stomach, her way of requesting a belly rub. 

He obliges.

One last time.

“You’ve always looked out for her…” He trails off, incapable of thinking back to how this tiny little creature potentially saved Solana’s life in more ways than one realizes. “Don’t ever stop that, alright?”

Dulce, innocent and oblivious, just continues to enjoy the belly rubs until they stop. Roman stands up and goes to walk away, only to hear her tiny bark. He turns around to see her jump off the bed, walking in his direction. “No. Stay.”

Instantly, her ears are back down as she whimpers, laying down, watery eyes never leaving his.

Roman swallows, offering a quiet, “bye, Dulce” before shutting the door.

Moving down the hall and over to the stairs, another familiar face waits for him at the bottom.

Ava waits until he’s right across from her to speak. “I should be going with you.”

Maybe. Roman can’t deny she’d be a valuable asset, but it was ultimately decided she would stay here with the children, them feeling significantly more comfortable with her and Austin versus just a strange man they don’t even know.

“You’re needed here,” is the only reply Roman offers as he adjusts his vest, rolling his shoulders.

Ava watches him. “Everything’s gonna be fine, Roman.” He looks at her. She offers a small smile.  “Okay?”

He doesn’t say anything, but he does reciprocate the hug she offers. Squeezes her a little tighter than usual.

When they pull apart, she hits him on his arm, half joking, half serious. “Go fuck em’ up, big ears.”

He chuckles, appreciative of her. Of all their times together. “Still not as big as that big ass forehead.”

Ava’s response is to flip him off as he walks out the house and onto the porch where Dwayne stands, also in full tactical gear, watching as Matteo, Rhodes, and Santos work together to instruct the recently arrived reinforcements on the game plan.

In the distance, Rhea, Angel, Berto, and Afia converse, also ironing out their strategy.

Roman says nothing at first, eventually swallowing, voice heavy. “Dwayne.” When nothing is said in response, Roman moves right into it. “I need you to promise me some—”

“No.”

An unexpected, blunt single word response. Not entirely unsurprising. Roman closes his eyes. “Dwayne.”

“I already know what you’re going to say. What you want to ask me.” Dwayne crosses his arms, turning toward Roman. “You want me to promise you that once we get Solana, we leave, even if that means leaving you.” The silence is all the answer needed. “And, I’m telling you no, because I can tell you that wife of yours would rather see us all dead before she lets us leave you behind.” He takes a step forward, comforting hand on Roman’s shoulder. “We go in together. We leave together. Aiga.”

Roman’s jaw clenches.

Family.

Aiga means family in Samoan.

The only problem is that Roman just isn’t quite sure just what family means to him anymore.

Not with all the betrayal.

Nevertheless, he can’t think of that right now.

He needs to be focused.

Matteo soon walks over, one foot on the step, the other on the ground. He directs his statement between the two men. “We’re ready.”

Two words.

One meaning.

Roman rolls his shoulders, walking down and forward, a man on a deadly brutal mission.

“Let’s go.”

—--------

Solana is startled awake when the heavy door across from her is sprung open with an unfamiliar level of aggression. She’s partially expecting Jey or even Rikishi only to be met with the cold blue eyes of the Caucasian man seen earlier in the day.

Brandi sits up, also startled, scooting back against the wall. “What do you—”

“Not you,” he dismisses. It’s only then as he moves toward the two women that Solana notices he walks with a sort of limp.

But, that’s farthest from her mind when he leans over and yanks Solana up by her arm. 

Goosebumps sprout up all over her, Brandi beating her with the question. “Where are you taking her?”

“Mind your business,” he grunts, Solana looking back at Brandi, partially trying to tug out of his grasp, only to fail epically. Her tug is no match for his brute strength.

Solana sees Brandi’s eyes fill with tears. “Don’t hurt her!”

The door slams shut too soon for Solana to try to console her, let her know that it’s going to be okay, even if Solana feels the complete opposite. 

She knows something is wrong. Can detect, even feel, as such while being led down the hall. She does her best to distract her tingling spidey senses by examining the space. Still no cameras. None that she can spot, anyway. Expected given the obvious age of the building. 

That could help a ton.

For what exactly, she doesn’t quite know. But, it’s one less thing for her to worry about when she does finally formulate a good, solid plan. And, she needs to do so sooner rather than later.

Stopping outside a door, Solana hesitates when he opens it and motions for her to go in. She doesn't, which clearly upsets him, as he shoves her in there. Improved balance prevents her from falling, Solana looking around the room to see it’s not much unlike the one she was just snatched from, including the cot in the corner that’s a bit neater than the one in her cell.

Like someone had prepped it a bit.

The sound of the door closing redirects Solana’s attention as she turns around and realizes he’s staring at her.

And, it’s unnerving as hell, to say the least.

Naturally, she does her best to put as much distance between them as possible, slowly backing away.

He makes a sound and whistles. “Ya know, Bron kept going on and on about Rhodes girl, and she’s pretty alright, but me?” An unexpected country voice is tinged with something borderline malicious and eerie. He gives her an uncomfortable one-over. “I always liked me a girl with some meat on the bones.”

And, it’s in that one sentence, Solana realizes her spidey senses weren’t just tingling just to tingle. 

They were a warning sign.

Her heart is beating through her chest as she somehow manages a shaky, “what are you doing?”

He says nothing at first, just steps forward, continuing to undress her with his eyes. Solana’s anxiety goes from bad to catastrophic when her back collides with the old, gritty wall. 

She has nowhere else to go.

Disgust fills her when he spits off in the corner. “That husband of yours fucked up and ruined my life, ya know.” There’s something about that statement along with his country accent and big build that reminds Solana of something. A conversation. A conversation with Roman she had not too long ago. 

Brock.

This man has to be the Brock they’d talked about in bed that day. 

She gasps loudly, realizing he’s directly in front of her. “Seems only right I fuck and ruin his pretty little wife as payback, don’t you think?”

No.

Solana’s first instinct is the one she works on. Foolishly, she attempts to dart past him, screaming out when he grabs her and picks her up.

“NO! LET ME GO!” Fighting and thrashing against him, Solana is a mess of nerves, terror, and determination. “HELP!” 

Her screams feel like they fall to the void, and she winces loudly when thrown onto the ground. 

On the cot.

Solana briefly shuts her eyes, having to ignore the pain in the back of her head. But, she’s forced to return to the terrifying scene unfolding before her when Brock straddles her.

“A feisty thing, ain’t you?” Words that send chills down her spine and travel her back to an earlier time in life. Easily, one of the darkest days of her life.

The day she was raped.

His statement is eerily similar to the same thing her rapist said to her as he started ripping off her clothes, while the other one held her down.

Something that forever changed her life in all of the worst ways.

Something that she swore would never happen to her again.

Solana promised herself that she would never let another man hurt her, and she meant that shit.

It’s a promise she can’t break.

Borck’s disgusting, meaty hands groping at her breast through her sweater, Solana knows she has to think fast, think smart, and without even realizing it, she’s stammering. “I’m—I’m on my period!”

It’s the first thing that comes to mind, and she’s immediately regretting it, because no way will he believe that.

She needs something else.

Solana has never felt as much disgust when she forces herself to offer, “but, I—I can—I can give you head.”

It’s nothing short of a miracle that she doesn’t throw up on the spot. A desire that grows exponentially seeing him smirk and his eyes light up at the offer of her doing something she hasn’t even done with her own husband. 

But, it’s the only thing that comes to mind that will get them to switch positions, that will allow Solana to be on top.

Because she knows what she has to do to keep that promise. 

To save herself. 

Wordlessly, Brock climbs off her, relieving the weight Solana didn’t realize was settling on her chest. She scrambles to her knees, again praying with everything in her that she can continue to hold back the vomit begging to be released as he moves in front of her, his crotch uncomfortably close to her face. His musty scent does nothing to help that nausea, Solana shutting her eyes and blinking the tears back. 

This is the only way. 

Disgust isn’t the right word, but it’s an accurate one nonetheless. Solana wills herself to place her hand on the buckle of his jeans, her eyes darting up to see him looking down at her with excitement and anticipation. 

It’s revolting. 

But, the moment he tilts his head back, rolling his neck, as if preparing for the pleasure that will consume him by defiling her, Solana takes it.

She takes the opportunity.

With impressive speed, she slides the pocket knife secretly tucked in the back pocket of her jeans out, unsheathes it and hesitates not one second to drive it into his crotch. 

His roar of pain is music to her ears as she yanks the knife out, quickly remembering the, now, most important part of the conversation she had with her husband. 

The unknowingly key part he’d shared.

“.....I speared him, he went down badly on his right leg, the dominant one, and fucked it up real good…..”

That same right leg she drives the knife into. Close to his knee, carefully avoiding bone but effectively severing muscle. More cries of agony as blood seeps out of both the orifices, and Solana retracts her knife, quickly jumping back to her feet. 

“I’ll kill you, you fucking bitch!” He shouts, going to grab for her, only to fall down when she moves out the way, paving the way for said fall. 

Somehow, someway, Brock rolls over to his back, revealing the blood that stains his pants, continuing to pour out of him at an abnormal pace. A pulsing blood flow.

Good.

A sense of joy fills Solana as she realizes she was effective in her aim. His artery. She went for his femoral artery. A major blood vessel. 

A critical one. 

The same way she once again doesn’t hesitate as she hovers over him, lifts her knife once more and rams it into the side of his neck, not stopping until it reaches the hilt. She watches his eyes bulge from his head and expertly dodges the spurt of blood that shoots out of his gaping wound when she removes said knife.

Panting, heart racing, Solana stumbles backward, watching how his mouth opens, as if he’s trying to issue one last threatening, hateful message before bulging eyes shift into nothingness followed by a stillness of his body.

Solana waits a good minute, ensuring he’s clearly dead before reaching and snatching the gun off his holster. Moving back once more, bloody knife in one hand, gun in the other, the reality of what’s just happened smashes into her with all the weight of finality.

She killed him.

Solana killed this man.

And though her eyes fill with tears, and that weight on her chest returns, it’s not exactly what she expected to experience after taking a life.

He was going to hurt her.

He was going to rape her. 

She had no choice. 

She did what she had to do to protect herself. 

To protect her babies.

There’s pain and trauma but also relief at carrying through on her promise. 

No man will ever hurt her again. She said that shit, and she meant it.

She stood on it. 

She stood on business.

Solana nearly jumps out of her bones when the door is suddenly open, prompting her to aim the gun in one hand and lift the knife in the other up, as if ready to attack the person who enters.

And someone does. A man of a stocky build, with a complexion similar to that of her husband and his family members. Red and black locs that hang freely, blocking some of his face, but it’s the way he immediately lifts his hand, as if defensively that has her intrigued.

“Hey, look, I’m not here to hurt you,” he starts off, gaze falling to Brock’s bloodied, dead body. He scoffs. “Good. I was gon’ make sure his ass ain’t make it out here alive anyway.”

A statement that both shocks and confuses Solana, but she doesn’t show it. Neither does she lower either of her weapons, all the while keeping the gun specifically aimed for the middle of his head.

“Look….” Gaze back on her, this unknown man continues to speak, sounding almost desperate. “I know you probably not gon’ believe me, and I don’t blame you. But, I had no idea none of this shit was gon’ happen. Tribal Chief had me shadowing and working with Jey the past few months, and he just told me to come along with him, cause Solo had some shit to share with us. But, I had no idea—” He stops, looking off into the corner. “Roman gave me another chance to prove myself after I fucked up a few years ago. None of this shit is right. Solo ain’t no damn Tribal Chief. Roman is the Tribal Chief, and to team up with the Nightmare Factory after what Rhodes did to our family?” Anger fills his eyes and voice. “To go after women and kids? We don’t do that shit. I got 5 daughters. I would lose my shit if someone did something like this to them.”

Words. They’re a bunch of words stringed together that Solana is following but not fully comprehending. Not sure what to believe, if any of it. Eventually, she finds herself asking, never lowering her only forms of defense. “Why….why are you telling me this?”

He maintains his repentant expression. “Cause, it’s not the whole Bloodline in on this shit. Just the weak-minded motherfuckers who ain’t got no spine. It’s a group of us that ain’t with this shit, cause ain’t no way Roman not about to come up in here and rain fire.” The first sentence to leave his mouth that makes her feel something. A sense of pride. A lot of fear. A level of hope. He vows, placing his fist over his heart. “We loyal to the only Tribal Chief, and that’s Roman Reigns.” He juts his chin in her direction, adding on almost proudly, “And that includes the Faletua.”

It only takes Solana a minute to realize why the term, though not in a language she’s fluent in, is a word she knows.

She remembers Dwayne referring to her as such before.

The wife of the Tribal Chief.

“Our job is to protect you, so that’s what we gon’ do.” He rolls his shoulders, nodding to himself.  “That’s what I’m gon’ do.”

Solana isn’t sure just why or how, but at some point in his explanation, the suspicion settled into relief. The doubt at his words was chewed out and tipped away by belief. She doesn’t know how or why, but she believes him.

Believes that he truly means her no harm.

And, that’s a relieving feeling to have when surrounded by the complete opposite. 

Finally lowering the gun and knife, she asks, probing. “And Jey?”

Regret fills his face. He looks and sounds a bit torn with his answer. “Jey seem like he ain’t know it was gon be all this, but he knew it was gon’ be something.” Solana doesn’t say it or show it, but she feels the same way. Maybe he didn’t know the full plan of this coup, but he knew something was being concocted. And, he did nothing to stop it.

That makes him just as complicit in her book.

The man whose name she still doesn’t know continues, adding almost regretfully. “Regardless, I don’t think we can trust Jey to be on our side, cause Solo got his wife.” 

Solana’s stomach drops. A part of her wondered if Jey was just saying that as a manipulation ploy. But, obviously, that wasn’t the case. “Nicki really is here?”

He nods. “I guess Solo had a feeling Jey might be on some shit, cause he got her locked up somewhere. Jey been trying to find her.”

Solana nods. She understands. It makes sense Jey would want to find and free his wife from this nightmare.

The thought urges her to make something clear. “Brandi and Emma need to get out of here.”

As somewhat expected, he looks at her with obvious disagreement. “All due respect, ma’am, you’re the pri—”

“I’m the Faletua, right?” He nods. “Well, Roman isn’t here right now. I am. So that means you answer to me, and I say the priority is getting that little girl and her mother the hell out of here.” And, she means that. 

Solana knows she also needs to find a way out, but her heart aches with knowing Brandi has been violated and traumatized in the worst way possible while simultaneously being separated from her only child. It’s a bit of maternal instinct and empathy that has her prioritizing the mother/daughter duo over herself.

They have to get out.

“Aight’,�� he finally agrees. Solana is slightly confused when he steps out the door only to return with something black in hand. “You gon need this.” He steps forward, Solana handing him the gun—she keeps the knife—in exchange for what she realizes is a vest. 

A bulletproof vest.

“You know how to shoot?” He suddenly asks, turning around and allotting her the privacy to change. She’s appreciative, lifting her sweatshirt off to put on the vest. Over her sweater would work, but something about it being concealed seems to make more sense.

“Well enough,” is her answer. She takes a second to feel her belly, eyes briefly closing as she once again reminds herself why.

Why she has to fight. 

Finished changing, vest secure, sweater on again, it’s only then she asks, telling him he can turn around, “what’s your name?”

“Jacob,” he answers. Jacob. She commits it to memory, because when they make it out of this, and they will make it out of this, she owes him.

She owes him her life. 

—------

By the time the groups arrive, it’s nighttime, the dark of night aiding in the arrival of heavily armored trucks and equally armed men. Soldiers ready for battle, for a war that they have full intentions on winning. For Roman, it’s less a war, and more of an extermination. 

The map found online serves as an accurate, helpful guide, allowing the carefully cultivated plan, tactical and methodical, to proceed just as planned. The plant, as predicted, is heavily guarded and secured. The perimeter swarmed by both Bloodline and Nightmare Factory men. It all makes no difference to the groups. 

Targets.

They’re all nothing but intended targets.

It’s why they send in a number of men, elite Cartel assassins to sweep the outside perimeter, the use of silencers aiding in their silent takedown. Bodies dropping, aiding in the undetected entrance of the group of snipers to aid in taking down men from above, while the rest make their way through on the ground.

Ready and hungry for blood, Bayley rolls her shoulders, looking over at the group, questioning, “everyone knows what the plan is, right?”

A number of various types of acknowledgment, Santos speaking in Spanish to Angel and Berto before looking amongst the group of them, specifically the faction of snipers. “It’ll only be a matter of time before the pendejos make their way up to you.”

Afia’s eyes burn with the bloodlust. “I’m counting on it.”

Matteo chuckles. It truly is a tossup as to who will leave tonight with the highest kill count. His wife or his brother. Something tells him Afia might tip the scale in her favor.

Not only did the bastards enter her home, but they’ve gone after someone who she fully considers to be family. A sister.

A dire, lethal mistake.

Cody speaks up, Roman intentionally drowning him out, still deeply disliking the fact that he’s even present. Avoidance is the best and only way, however, to deal with that.  “We need to be prepared for….injuries.”

A general statement that needs no elaboration. He’s talking about Solana, Brandi, and Emma. It’s truly a hope for the best, prepare for the worst when it comes to that. Especially given they all witnessed how Solo had zero hesitation in order Solana to be waterboarded.

To be tortured.

“I have that handled.” Santos supplies, offering nothing more, a shared look and nod between himself and Dwayne and Matteo.

That much Roman notices, but he says nothing, because he needs to make something clear.

Something he’s not willing to compromise on.

“If any of you get to Solana before I do, you all take her and you get the hell out of here.”

It’s a bold, demanding statement that draws several looks of skepticism. 

Bayley is the first to speak, or to try, at least. “What about yo—”

“You heard what I said.”

Another valorous, brazen reiteration, the fierce, dark look in his eyes—and voice—indicating there is no room for objection or argument. And Roman confirms as such, directing his next statement solely to Matteo and Dwayne, “that’s an order.”

It’s a final statement. 

A last decree.

Still an order that’s met with reluctant acceptance, none of which can be moved beyond disagreement because Santos presses a finger to the comm in his ear, earpieces they all have to aid in communication. He nods, expression spoiling his next statement. “It’s clear.”

Afia nods, sharing a look with Rhea as the women fist bump. “Let’s go.” She shoots her husband one last look, an unspoken be careful, before the group moves out, disappearing into the night, each already knowing which building they intend to enter and climb, moving to the top to settle into position.

Restlessness is felt and slightly visible for everyone except for Roman and Cody. An irritating similarity but one Roman can’t deny nor can he entirely not understand.

They’re both men on missions, determined to rescue and right the egregious wrongs that have been done between them. 

Vengeance. 

And, minutes later, when a single sniper shot enters the night, the restlessness slips into something of dangerous silence.

Go time.

It’s a slow, steady thing as the remaining men, led by Roman, Dwayne, and Matteo guide the core group and fleet of soldiers by foot. The Tribal Chief is the one to issue the first shot, to see the body plop to the ground. Several more follow as gunshots rain from the sky, aiming and hitting Bloodline and Nightmare Factory men alike. 

And when the numbers even off just enough, Roman ditches the gun, opting for something more brutal. 

Something that fills him with a sick sense of satisfaction, that eases into the bloodlust that consumes him. 

With brutal and gory efficiency, Roman advances through the men, knife slicing deep, hitting bone in some instances. Blood squirts from his expert cuts, the sick sound of them choking on their own blood silenced by the stomp of his boot on their neck, a sickening crunch sound deafened under the hail of gunshots and mayhem surrounding him.

Roman is all machine and no human, as he brutally disarms and murders man after man, soldier after soldier, uncaring and unwilling to give a single fuck whether they wear the Bloodline or Nightmare insignia. It doesn’t matter.

They’re all fucking traitors, no matter what way one looks at it. 

They all deserve to fucking burn.

Around him, the brutality he extends to his comrades, is reflected in those fighting alongside him. Out the corner of his eyes, he sees Bayley yank a man backwards as she puts the gun to his head, pulling the trigger, brain splatter flying across, landing on other men who continue to drop, falling against the onslaught of the elite killers.

It’s a bloodbath.

At some point the gunfire from the top ceases, indicating Afia and company have been reached, and it’s confirmed as such when a body comes flying from the sky, landing grotesquely, limbs distorted, face grotesque from being blown off. 

Another of many victims the night still has yet to claim.

Roman can even spot Rhodes, deranged look on his face as he yanks a bloodied knife out of someone’s eye socket only to lodge it in the throat of a man honing in on him. Dwayne and Matteo work almost in synch, covering each other, gunning down man after man, resorting to lethal combat when necessary.

A loud battle cry of sorts is all Roman overhears as he turns just in time to seeing Afia use a hunched over, injured soldier as a makeshift spring board as she contorts hers body, legs wrapped around another man, flipping him over onto his back. She slices a large hunting knife across his throat, blood spurting out, flying wildly at the same time she uses the gun in her other hand to take down three other men. 

Not even seconds later, she’s back on her feet, brutally murdering another set of several men in under a single minute. 

The Opo has truly arrived.

Similarly, Rhea clears an almost path of sorts, expertly gunning down bastards, the dagger in her other hand suddenly being thrown across the way, somehow perfectly landing in throat of yet another dead fucker.

She smiles in sick satisfaction.

The same satisfaction that's seen on Santos face as he yanks a knife out of one dead man only to lodge it into yet another, now, dead man.

It’s obvious everyone is on the page.

Extermination.

This is a fucking extermination.

—-----

For Solana, the first order of business is getting to Emma, making sure she’s safe. Once she has Emma, they can retrieve Brandi and proceed with whatever plan Jacob has for trying to get them the hell out of dodge. She’s skeptical but somewhat eased by the other Bloodline guards who seem to have loyalty still to her husband, given their going along with Jacob using the excuse of Solo wanting to see the abductees.

Solana is slightly surprised at how he’s believed, but she doesn’t question it. 

What other option does she have?

Her heart is beating through her chest when they arrive at a door, Jacob dapping up and speaking in Samoan to the two guards who shoot her nasty looks. Solana diverts her gaze to the ground, recognizing her glare or look of indifference could potentially set them off or attract the wrong kind of attention. 

She has to continue to play the role of the scared, taken woman. And to be fair, it’s not entirely an act. She is scared. This is unfamiliar territory. Truly life or death.

It’s just that Solana has decided to give death the middle finger.

She’s not ready to die.

Not tonight.

Not anytime soon. 

Especially not like this.

The door opens, and she has to stop herself from pushing past Jacob to go in and gently coax Emma out. But, she can’t. Again, if this is going to work, she has to play her role, and it has to work.

But, the minute Jacob comes out with a crying, sniffling Emma, Solana can’t help herself. She instantly reaches for and pulls Emma into her chest, eyes shutting when she the little girl hold onto her.

“I want my mommy and daddy,” she cries, and Solana has to force back the tears.

“I know, sweetie. It’s gonna be okay.” She strokes the top of Emma’s head, vowing. “I promise.”

Because not only is she not dying tonight, Solana refuses to let anything happen to the little girl in her arms. 

No matter what.

“Let’s go,” Jacob barks, forcing the two apart. Solana can see the unspoken apology in his eyes as he guides them down the hall in a different direction from where they came. Solana holds Emma’s hand, whispering words of comfort, doing her best to offer any type of solace she has to give. 

However, the more they walk, the more audible sound becomes. Muffled, clearer with each step they take. An altercation, a brawl of some sort, but then it becomes evident it’s a lot more than just a brawl.

Gunshots. 

Solana hears gunshots.

Naturally, she moves to duck, covering Emma with her body as the men around her begin to shout, most speaking in Samoan until an English voice calls out with all the panic.

“Roman is here!”

And just like that, Solana’s stomach drops.

He’s here.

Roman is here.

She doesn’t have much time to think or process this piece of information, because Jacob is shouting at her, telling her to follow him. She does so, never once letting go of Emma’s hand as he leads them to a place unknown.

But, they’re stopped, two guards questioning Jacob about where he’s taking her and Emma, and he gives the same answer he gave before. Except this time, it’s not believed. Solana can tell the moment the man looks at her, neutral expression morphing into a glare. 

And then she's suddenly being shoved out of the way, almost knocking Emma onto the ground. Seconds later, a gunshot.

But, it’s not in the distance. It’s right before her.

“Get Brandi and get them out of here!” Jacob yells, gun in hand, walking over the body, two men flanking him as he shouts, shooting down and effectively dodging the onslaught of bullets.

Still, Solana is in fight or flight mode as three Bloodline guards keep a sort of circle around herself and Emma, leading them away from the shooting, away from the violence. Emma’s cries of terror absolutely gut Solana, and she’d give anything to try to comfort her right now, but that’s not the priority. They have to get out of here first.

Led down a staircase, the door is kicked open, and a left is made, leading to a large space filled with rusted equipment and other dated, deteriorated machines and items. Solana is about to pick Emma up, her little legs unable to keep up at a proper pace, when more gunshots ring out. 

Solana shouts and moves to tug Emma near her when she’s suddenly thrown shoved down, something, someone ramming into her. Solana’s head bounces off the ground, an instant, sharp pain slicing the back of her head.

Cut.

She’s been cut on something. Unsurprising given this space seems full and filled with potential hazards. 

“Got you now, you little bitch,” Eyes shut, Solana trying to ignore the pain, she doesn’t need to use her vision the person to know who it is. “I’ve been waiting for this day a long ass time,” Samantha hisses, Solana finally willing her eyes open to see the woman standing over her, gun in her hand. She smirks, looking up and walking away, “but first, I kill the kid.”

Seconds. It takes only seconds for Solana to register what’s happening. What’s about to happen.

In the distance, guards continue to spar, allies versus traitors, too consumed in their own battle to help her.

She’s on her own. 

With a sudden, burning rage, Solana moves up off the ground and runs behind Samantha, grabbing her by her hair and slamming her face into a nearby pillar.

Samanath cries out in pain, falling to the floor, the gun also tumbling out of her hand. Solana is quick to kick it to the side, chest heaving, fist forming, rage boiling.

Marching over to her, Solana sneers, eyes burning with unbridled determination. “You should have killed me when you had the chance, hoe.” Jumping on top of her, one hand takes a fist full of Samantha’s hair to hold her still, the other rains a direct punch onto her face, aiming for her nose.

Samantha continues to cry out, to try to push Solana off as she rains hit after hit onto her, grabbing her by her face and slamming her head repeatedly into the ground. The anger, the rage, the hurt, the everything Solana has felt in the past twenty-four hours racing through her veins, serving as fuel. 

The desire to survive. 

The desire to protect.

The desire to live.

Samantha manages to move her arm just enough, grabbing some inanimate object and bashing Solana over the head with it.  

Solana gasps, eyes clenching shut from the pain. It’s not sharp like the cut was, but it’s dull and heavy and forces her to roll off the other woman onto her side, as she grips her head.

Samantha stumbles off the ground, landing a kick into Solana’s back. "You took everything from me!" Naturally, Solana moves into a fetal position, protecting herself. "Now, it's your turn to suffer."

A nearsighted Samantha opts for a more final method of assault, turning away, wide, crazed eyes searching for the gun. Blood drips down from scalp, onto the cotton of her shirt. Her lip is busted open, also bleeding, the evidence of the brutal assault visible for all to see.

Solana, however, rolls onto her back, sitting up and seeing Samantha. Seeing her trajectory. Solana also sees the location of the gun, and she times it. It’s all done so quickly, too quickly for most people, but she’s a woman determined. And with that determination, lip curled, a loud roar of sorts leaves her mouth as she moves to her feet, charging for the other woman. Samantha is barely able to turn around when she's knocked to the ground from the impact of Solana’s spear. 

Quickly, Solana rolls off of Sam, grabbing for the gun that’s now in her hands. And the minute Sam tries to scramble to her feet, Solana aims, shoots, and lodges three bullets into her. 

One in the shoulder.

One in the chest.

And one in the head.

Samantha’s dead body crumples to the ground, still and unmoving.

Solana closes her eyes, placing her free hand over her chest, taking a deep breath. The pain of the fight, the throbbing in her cheek something she has to set aside as she throws the gun to the side, needing to find Emma. Opening her eyes and moving back to her feet, she sees all of the guards previously fighting all laying dead, too.

She swallows.

It’s just her and Emma now.

Solana’s anxiety spikes a bit as she prays Emma didn’t wander off too far. She starts walking in the direction she saw the little girl run.

“Emma!” She shouts, hoping the violence she displayed didn’t cause the girl to fear her as well. That’s the last thing needed right now, but it could very well be the case for such a young child. “Emma, it’s ok–”

Solana is both interrupted and silenced when someone grabs her from behind and slams her up against a nearby pillar. She tries to scream, but a hand is wrapped around her throat and something else is pressed against her stomach.

Eyes open, she’s met with vicious, burning glare and snarl of a man she immediately recognizes as the person who intended to waterboard her. On Solo’s orders, but still. 

Her fingers attempt to pry at his grip as he cuts off her oxygen, but true fear fills her when she drops her eyes to see what’s pressed against her.

A gun.

He has a gun pressed against her stomach.

“I just watched my brother get his brains blown out because of you,” he hisses, warm breath fanning her face. “All of this chaos for an ugly scarred bitch like you?” Solana closes her eyes, feeling the most helpless she’s felt all day.

Please. Her brain cries out for mercy what cannot leave her mouth. Her heart aches for Emma, aches for herself, aches for her husband, aches for her dog, aches for her daughters.

It can’t end like this. 

It can’t.

“You—” He stops, snarling and shouting. “Take any step closer, and she’s a dead bitch!”

Confused at why he’s shouting, the confusion is short-lived when she’s instantly spun around, his grip on her throat releasing, his forearm covering her neck as the gun is lifted from her stomach and pressed into her temple.

She would cry out if not for the fact that she’s now face to face with none other than Matteo. His gun is aimed toward her, but his eyes speak what he cannot verbalize.

You’re safe.

“Easy,” he cautions, and Solana clenches her eyes shut, needing to calm her nervous system from her anxiety that’s all over the place at this point. “I’m not here to kill you.” He pauses. “Just to distract you.”

At that, her eyes shoot open at the same time a loud gunshot sounds out. One that’s closer than anything she’s ever experienced. Naturally, she drops to the ground, covering hands over her ears as she coughs violently, gasping for the air that was previously deprived. 

And suddenly, hands are on her, prompting Solana to scream, fists beating at and trying to pull away from whoever is trying to pull her close. A natural, normal response. Something she continues to do until the ringing in her ears settles, and she can hear it. Can make out not only that something is being said but what is being said.

“Look at me.” 

It’s not a threat of unspeakable violence, it’s not a violent declaration or a promise of pain. It’s a plead, almost pained plea, of the most simplest nature.

So, she obliges and nearly falls apart.

It’s not void, dark eyes intent on murder. It’s warmth. 

It’s home.

She can barely breathe, her voice hoarse and battered from hours of screaming and crying. “Roman?”

He doesn’t move, just continues to stare at her, stroking the top of her head, willing her to calm down. “You’re safe.” Her eyes shut. “I’ve got you.”

It’s that last statement that nearly strikes up a panic attack, the emotions of the day tumbling over as she throws her arms around him, holding him, cradling him by the back of his head. 

“It’s okay,” he continues to reassure her, kissing her cheek, holding her. It’s a type of relief and comfort that she could never describe. Not accurately.

Her face pressed into his chest, hands grabbing at shirt. "You're here," she cries. "You came." He’s holding her, tightly, and she makes no effort to move away.

To let go.

Never. 

Never again.

He’s saying something, gently, but she can’t make it out. Not with her current emotional state. 

Eventually, he’s able to stand them up, separating them just to brush her tears away. A deep scowl falls on his face, as he assesses her, one hand feeling the back of her head where she’s still bleeding. His other hand goes to her stomach where he lifts her sweater just enough to see the bulletproof best. 

“You’re hurt.” He frowns, anger and regret dancing in his eyes. “Listen to me.” His eyes are now scanning over her, surveying her injuries no doubt. Solana can see his rage amplifying. “You’re gonna go with Matteo—”

She’s instantly protesting, shaking her head, “N-no–” It’s then Solana realizes and remembers, breaking away, only to call out, “Emma!” She can feel Roman and Matteo close behind her, not allowing too much distance be created between them. “Emma, it’s okay—it’s—it’s safe!” She points to Roman, “this is my husband. He’s—he’s here to save us, sweetie.”

It’s then quiet footsteps and sniffling can be heard, Emma’s little body emerging from the shadows.

“Oh honey,” Solana walks over, leaning down hugging her. “It’s okay.” 

Emma cries into her as Solana lifts her up, walking her back over to where Matteo and Roman, each wearing different expressions. Matteo seems sympathetic. Roman seems torn. He's not looking at a little girl.

He's just looking at a Rhodes, and while she can understand why, it causes her to ask him a simple but powerful question.

“What if it was one of our daughters?”

Roman closes his eyes, nodding, acknowledging the uncomfortable truth. With reluctance acceptance, he turns, speaking to Matteo. “Get them both out of here.”

But, it's his lack of self-inclusion that has Solana frowning and shaking her head. “You’re coming with us.”

He walks over, his hand goes to the back of her neck, caressing her skin. “I have to finish this, Solana.”

Solo.

He’s talking about Solo.

He has to kill him.

All of this she understands, except for the fact that it makes Solana literally sick to think about walking out of this place without her husband. Her eyes start watering all over again as Emma continues to cry quietly into her shoulder. “Roman….”

He steps forward, kissing her temple, “I’ll be fine.” She wants to believe that. She wants more than anything to believe that, but there’s a niggling feeling in the pit of her belly that she can’t shake. “I’ll meet you all in a bit.” He looks over at Matteo, the two sharing some kind of unspoken exchange.

Her voice cracks. “Roman—”

“I love you.”

His hand lingers on her cheek, his eyes burning into hers once more all of his adoration and devotion. And then, he’s gone, turning on his heel, seeking to end this once and for all. 

Solana has a hard time looking away, has an even harder time walking away, even at Matteo’s gentle hand on her shoulder, urging her to follow him. She does, never once letting Emma down, but her mind remains focused on Roman.

She can’t shake the thought that a dire mistake is being made in letting him go alone. She knows he’s just as capable as any when it comes to fighting, but this day has been unlike any other. While she knows she’ll have her fair share of trauma to process from the experience, something tells her his hasn’t been any easier. 

As Matteo leads them into turning a corner, Solana is met with yet another unexpected sight.

A group of people.

There’s too many of them to focus in on just one. Dwayne. Afia. Bayley. Santos.

Cody Rhodes?

And, it’s the latter of which who is the first to speak, his previously fierce gaze softening when he sees his daughter. “Emma…”

Emma’s head lifts up, as she turns around, her crying intensifying all over again. “Daddy!”

Solana offers no protest when the little girl starts wiggling in her arms, wanting to get down. The minute her feet hit the ground, she’s rushing over to her father who takes her, picking her up, eyes shut as he cradles the back of her head. “Emma.”

It’s a heartwarming sight for sure, Solana seconds later being pulled into a hug by Bayley.

Solana sniffles, shaking her head, assuring, “I’m okay.”

“Hell yeah, you are,” Bayley squeezes a little tighter before Afia tackles her with a hug, pulling back a bit sooner than anticipated.

She brings her hand to Solana’s face. “I told you that you were a fighter.”

A powerful little reminder. But, not just her. The people surrounding her by now all came together to help her, to help Roman. 

Family. 

This is her family.

And, family sticks together.

Matteo nods, taking the lead. “We need to get go—”

“We’re going back,” Solana announces, drawing all sets of eyes on her. Her focus though, is primarily on Matteo and Dwayne. “We’re not leaving Roman.”

There’s something close to agreement that flashes in Matteo’s eyes, but his words contrast that. “Solana, Roman made his wishes clear. Once we got you—”

“I don’t care what he said,” Solana dismisses. Because, she doesn’t. Roman’s priority, she’s almost certain, was rescuing her. And now that he’s done that with obvious help, he thinks he has to handle the rest of it on his own. But, he doesn’t. And, he won’t.

Chin raised, Solana motions to herself. “He’s not here right now, but I am.” A look of pride comes over Afia and Bayley, even Santos who looks almost impressed by her display of assertiveness. Of authority. “I am the the Faletua. I make the call, and I said we’re going back.” A beat. “That’s an order.”

It’s not familiar territory for Solana, speaking so boldly and authoritatively to such a set of people. Of some of the best, trained killers in the world. But, for her husband, she’ll do it. 

She’ll do anything for the man she loves.

Because not only does she have no plans to die tonight, she has no plans on him dying either.

Dwayne suddenly makes a sound, rolling his shoulders, rallying the group. “You all heard her. The Faletua has spoken.”

Solana smiles, grateful for the nods of approval and agreement. She then turns to Cody, voice softening as Emma continues to cry into his shoulder now. 

Her heart breaks for the years it will take for her to heal from this trauma.

She swallows, directing almost sympathetically. “Get Brandi and get out of here.” A bit of emotion fills her as she offers a small, sad smile. “Take them home.”

Shock flashes in his eyes, as well as something else she can’t place her hand on. But, he nods, swallowing deeply.  “Thank you.”

Solana says nothing, simply walking closer to gently stroke Emma’s cheek. “You are one brave little girl.”

Emma doesn’t say anything, but Solana doesn’t expect her to. She just needs her to know that. To know that in all of this, she possessed strength and courage.

That she survived.

As Cody walks away, Solana looks around at the faces of those staying and remaining, willing to stand with and by her. 

Friends.

Family. 

She nods, determination and adrenaline racing through her blood while accepting the knife from Afia extends to her. 

“Let’s go.”

—--------

Not an iota of shock fills Roman when he finds Solo in a large open space in the building similar to where he found Solana.

No, he knew Solo would be waiting for him the second his younger cousin realized that not only had he come, but he came with an army. An army that’s almost entirely decimated the traitorous bastards who chose to stand against Roman.

A fatal decision, clearly.

“Gotta hand it you,” Solo starts, standing up from the chair where he sits. “Well played.”

Roman says nothing. He simply starts removing his vest, ridding himself of what is not needed.

No weapons are required for this. This is deeper than two enemies coming to face off in a final round.

For all intents and purposes, this is tribal combat, and the only things needed for that are anger, motivation, and determination.

All of which Roman has an abundance of. 

Solo stands up and also starts to remove his tactical gear as well as the red ula fala around his neck. Both men rid of the necessities, there’s a sort of predatory dance that occurs between them. Solo chuckles. “You know it’s not too late.” He has the fucking audacity to raise his chin, a sense of faux supremacy lacing his voice. “Acknowledge me, and I might spare your ass.” 

If not for the rage that almost feels too much for Roman to function properly, he might laugh. This fucker is straight up delusional. 

The hell would he ever acknowledge this son of a bitch.

It’s difficult for Roman to not lunge first, his fist burning at his side to break every bone in Solo’s body. He will, he most definitely will, but it’s always worked best for Roman to allow his opponents to get the first hit. To make them think they have the upper hand by landing the first blow.

And, Solo is no different. 

He charges at Roman, the older, taller man allowing him a punch to the face.

And nothing more.

Roman returns the blow, Solo’s body nearly jerking back to the floor from the single hit that’s effectively broken his nose. It doesn’t stop there, because Solo’s second of delay, that moment where he’s frazzled from such a powerful punch, is all the in that Roman needs.

Spearing him down to the floor, Roman channels all of his emotions—heavy, light, somewhere in between—into the onslaught of violence being directed toward the man he once considered family. 

Roman’s expertise and experience is blatantly obvious. He moves methodically, predatory, and borderline animalistic. He uses anything in the vicinity to slam Solo’s body into, enjoying the cuts and blood that starts to mar his cousin. His blows are brutal, Roman’s blood boiling with every crunch and crack sound that echoes throughout the space.

He’s every bit focused on maximizing the pain and prolonging the torture, knowing he can’t make this son of a bitch suffer as much as he deserves, but with the time he does have, he’ll use every bit of it.

One hand wrapped around his neck, Roman slams Solo down into a nearby, deteriorating wood table, Solo’s shout of pain from the splinters that enter his body from the collapse of the desk under his weight are music to Roman’s ears. He could bottle that shit up and play it for all eternity, because no amount of physical pain could ever equate to the pain that son of a bitch has caused him.

Roman’s big body heaves as he notices a slab of wood with nails and other sharp objects. His next source of torture that he stalks toward, fully intending to break it off into Solo’s fat ass.

“It was me, you know.” A new voice, familiar but not present. Not previously, at least. Roman spins around to see none other than a smirking Rikishi. Roman starts stalking toward him, instantly adding him next to the chop block list. “I helped Dusty plan the hit on your family.”

It takes a lot to pull Roman from his focus, to deter him from his mission, to get him off his game. 

And that….that is most definitely one of the things. 

“What?” He takes another step, confusion mixing with anger. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Rikishi smiles. “Might as well have said I killed them. Killed them all. Well, everyone except you and that bitch, Fetu.” Each word that leaves his mouth is like a dagger to Roman’s chest. He doesn’t believe him, he doesn’t want to believe him. But, it makes sense.

Rikishi’s hatred has to be beyond the incident with Solana. It’s deeper than that. It has to be.

But, if what he’s saying is true, if he was a part of the plan that killed Roman’s family, that almost killed him, there’s a certain hurt and pain with that that cuts almost deeper than any of this.

A sort of evil Roman can’t truly comprehend in this moment.

“Your father was a weak man who didn’t deserve to be Tribal Chief. Just like you don’t.” Riksihi laughs, salt on an open wound, drawing Roman’s attention back to him. “Tell me, is it true you could hear your sisters screaming for help as they burned alive?”

Roman moves to lunge forward when something sudden, sharp, and piercing stops him. He grunts, pain shooting through his body when he looks down to see Solo holding the knife that he just stabbed into Roman’s side. A knife he jerks out, prompting Roman to fall to his hands and knees, face turned up in pain.

Pain that intensifies as Solo kicks him on his side, forcing him onto his back. Solo lands a blow onto Roman, but that adrenaline fuels the older man as he gains the upper hand, fighting through his pain and landing a blow on top of Solo when a loud sound and another type of pain hits him.

Gunshot. He’s been shot through the shoulder. A loud curse tumbles out of his mouth as he moves his hand over the area where he was shot only months earlier.

Out the corner of his eye, he sees a smirking Rikishi, gun in hand, but it’s a temporary focus point, because seconds later, there’s something pressed against the back of his head. 

Another gun.

“Don’t make me do this, uce.” 

The situation drastically shifts, taking yet another turn and twist that Roman could have never anticipated. 

Jey’s voice drips with regret, but he remains unmoved, standing with a gun to the back of Roman’s head.

His cousin.

His supposed brother.

“You son of a bitch,” Roman grits, groaning from the pain of both sets of injuries, feeling the blood from where he was stabbed soaking his shirt. 

“Pull the trigger, Jey,” Solo goads, coughing up blood from where Roman remains straddled on top of him, pinning him down. “Blow—blow his fucking head off.”

“You embarrassed me once, Jey,” Rikishi scolds from behind, voice cold and uncaring. “Don’t do it again.”

At that, Roman’s eyes shut, they shut from a lot of things. From the information told, from the information learned, from all that’s happened. But, they shut mostly because of one person. 

Solana. 

Her face is the only thing he sees. The only thing he thinks about in such a moment when maybe his focus should be elsewhere, like how to get out of this situation. But, it’s nearly impossible. He’s hurt. Badly. And, he’s cornered.

This realization, this forced acceptance of some sort leaves him one desire and one desire only. His wife. He thinks of his wife. She’s safe. His daughters are safe. And for Roman, that’s all that matters.

He fulfilled his goal, upheld his promise. 

His wife and children will live. 

So, if this is truly it, if this is truly the moment where he meets his end, he can die content. 

He can die happy.

“What the fuck are you waiting on, Jey?” Rikishi scolds, frustration brewing. “Fucking ki–” His demand is cut off, the sound of the gun clanking to the floor accompanied by his head tilted and forced back due to the knife pressed dangerously close to his throat.

“One fucking move, and I can cut your jugular vein, leaving you dead in minutes,” Solana hisses, pressing the knife she has aimed into his back further in, cutting through the material of his suit jacket. “Or, I can sever your artery of Adamkiewicz, which could also leave you dead in minutes. Plain and simple? You move as much as an inch, and I’ll gut you like a fish.” She swears, pushing the knife just a little deeper, mouth near his ear, voice mocking, “how’s that for an uneducated, stupid bitch?”

Roman tenses, floored but mostly confused at his wife’s presence. She shouldn’t be here. He told them to get her the hell out of here. Out of harms way. 

Now, she stands directly in the line of fucking fire. His stomach drops, physical pain dulled by a newfound sense of concern. “Solana—”

“You drop that gun from my husband’s head right now, Jey, or I swear to God, I’ll kill him.” She threatens, completely ignoring Roman, entirely focused on Jey and maintaining the deadly corner she has Rikishi in. “Drop the fucking gun, Jey!” 

One look at Jey, and torn isn’t the right word to describe what’s written all over his face. Nevertheless, he doesn’t drop the gun. “Solana—”

She screams, her shout echoing throughout the room, slamming and bouncing off the walls. “DROP IT!”

Rikishi suddenly chuckles, voice haughty and mocking. “You don’t have the guts—” He winces loud enough to gather the attention of both sons as Solana presses the knife at his back just enough to draw blood. 

“You have no idea what I'd do, the lengths I'd go to, to protect that man,” she vows, never once stuttering or wavering as she gives Jey one final warning. “I’m not gonna fucking say it again, drop—”

This time, Solana is the one whose silenced, dread filling Roman as he sees Nia appear behind her, gun in hand.

The same gun she has pressed against the back of his wife’s head. 

And, she’s not alone, several sets of Bloodline guards, traitors, hone in, guns drawn on both the true Tribal Chief and his wife.

“You should have stayed your ass outside, Princess.” She sneers, smile evil and malicious. “Coming in here alone? What kind of stupid are you?”

Roman can’t look away, can’t bring himself to do so, even as he feels his body weakening on him.  And, it’s because he can’t look away, he sees the almost smirk on Solana’s face as she asks in the calmest voice, “who said I was alone?”

Not even seconds later, Nia is jerked back, her big body falling to the floor from the emergence of Afia. Afia, who is suddenly on top of her, large knife in hand that she slashes across Nia’s throat. Nia is barely able to process what’s just happened when Afia pulls out her gun and shoots her directly in the middle of the head, killing her instantly. 

It’s not the only death that occurs. Bayley, Santos, Matteo and Dwayne, all appear, taking down the guards by both bullets, knives, and the sickening sound of a neck snapping. Courtesy of Bayley.

Rikishi's forehead is glazed with sweat, as is Solo’s, revealing strong indicators of growing nerves. Of the reality of the situation setting in. 

And yet, Jey still hasn’t dropped the gun.

Hence why Dwayne has his aimed directly at his cousin. “You don’t want to do this, Jey.” He’s slowly stepping forward. “Put the gun down, son.”

Jey’s expression is one of pure indecision, his voice frazzled sounding as he informs, “they got Nicki, Roman.” He informs, as if this makes it right. As if it gives him a reason for his betrayal. “My kids can’t lose their mother, uce.”

“We can find her, Jey,” Bayley pleads, knife in hand as she moves close to Solana, same as Afia, both women serving as buffers. “This isn’t the way.”

Jey’s bottom lip trembles, the weight of this moment weighing on him. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this, man!”

“It doesn’t have to be, Jey,” Matteo’s voice is dangerously calm as he zeroes in on Jey from another angle. “Just put the gun down, and we can—”

It all happens so fast. Rikishi attempts to reach for the gun on the floor near his feet, an arrogant, fatal mistake, because it’s a mere matter of seconds that pass in between the time he’s reaching and when he’s gasping for breath, one hand over his now cut throat as blood streams out. In two areas, because there’s also a large wound in his back where Solana ran the knife through, making good on her threat.

“Dad!” 

Jey shouts, finally lowering the gun and moving towards Solana and Rikishi, whose big body drops onto the floor as he continues to look wide eyed, unable to speak nor process what’s just occurred. He seems entirely focused on his father, on his father who now lies dying in his arms.  

But, it’s a risk no one is willing to take. 

Not with the move he just pulled.

A shot rings out and Jey jerks back, cursing loudly, falling to the floor, holding onto his shoulder where he’s been hit.

Hit by Dwayne. 

Non-fatal, but grounding.

And with both his dad and brother now down, one with mortal wounds, Solo is also distracted long enough, aiding the true Tribal Chief with exactly what he needs. 

Roman easily grabs the knife out Solo’s hand and juts it into his shoulder, intentionally avoiding a fatal spot, joy filling him at the howl released. 

Jey grunts, holding onto his bleeding shoulder, sitting near his gasping for breath father. “Roman, please—”

But, it’s the Tribal Chief, not Roman, who methodically, lowers and lifts the knife over and over into Solo’s face and body, severing off his nose, practically sawing off his lips, cutting off his ears, Solo’s agonizing sounds of pain only silenced when Roman lands the knife directly into Solo’s heart.

His body jerks, a sound, a gasp is made, and then nothing.

Just the stillness of death.

Only then does Roman drop the knife and roll over onto his back, exhaustion from his injuries catching up to him.

“Roman!”

Solana shouts, running over to him. On her knees, she pulls him up, face paling with a devastating realization. “No….”

She’s not certain, can’t be sure, but by the amount of blood he's losing, he was stabbed close to an artery.

If not in an artery.

Her eyes water, as she caresses his face. “You’re gonna be okay, mi amor.” 

Solana moves quickly, pulling off her sweater, leaving just the bullet proof vest covering her thin blood stained tank top. She uses it to apply pressure to stop or hold off as much of the bleeding as possible from the stab wound. Gaze lifted to Dwayne and Matteo, she pleads, “help me get him up.” An unnecessary request as they were already moving to do so, helping a weakened Roman stand. 

As she goes to walk behind them, staying close to Roman, she overhears Jey’s loud curses at Afia, Bayley, and Santos who only try to help him up. He swats them away, denying their assistance, remaining with his now deceased father and brother. 

Alone.

—-------

Getting Roman outside the building and loaded into a truck takes much longer than Solana likes. It all takes too long. Dwayne and Matteo opting to go with her, the former driving as Matteo sits in the front seat after they help Roman into the back where he leans into Solana. The time it takes for her shaking hands to remove her bulletproof vest, wanting to feel her husband against her, body to body. 

Even the rushed goodbyes as the others load into different SUVs heading elsewhere or maybe following them. Solana isn’t sure. She just knows it all takes too long when time is not on their side. 

She holds him, his large, heavy body leaning into her, his breathing haggard, both his shirt and her own soaked and drenched with blood, the same as her sweater that she keeps pressed against his wound, doing her best to buy them as much time.

She doesn’t ask how far they are away from the hospital.

She won’t.

Roman’s voice is pained and weakened almost. “Solana—”

“No.” The most perfect combination of emotional and stern. A single word that’s the equivalent of someone standing in front of a door that’s threatening to burst at the seams, completely overwhelmed to the point of explosion. And, the explosion would be Solana’s calm, her sanity, because she cannot fathom nor will she even entertain what he might be trying to tell her. “Just–just rest.”

Trembling hands move up and down his shoulders. “Don’t talk. Just—just listen.” A quiet, still stern command that’s both for his physical wellbeing and her mental stability. And, while his silence might be the worst thing ever for most people, for her, it’s calming in a sense. 

Solana moves her hands to his head, stroking his hair, loose and wild. She keeps it out of the way, makes sure none of the blood that seeps through his shirt and onto her own clothing makes its way onto his silky mane. “It’s tonight,” her voice cracks, as she reminds him, “I–I told you I would tell you tonight.”

A night unlike any she’s ever experienced, she won’t let it pass without making good on her promise.

She doesn’t care about the presence of the other two men, doesn’t care what they overhear, what they learn.

It doesn’t matter. 

The only thing that matters is keeping Roman awake.

He can’t lose consciousness.

“I—I wanna use the money to create a foundation,” she starts off, having to revisit the many exciting realizations she’d stumbled across while on her trip. A trip that seems so long ago now. “I want to open up domestic violence shelters for women and children. One here and one in Mexico.” Solana holds him a little tighter, does her best to make him as comfortable as one can be in this situation. She knows the friction of the truck speeding through uneven terrain doesn’t help, but she hopes her words and information can allot him some type of solace. “And, I—I wanna name the foundation after my mother.”

That last part was something that took her a minute to settle on, the confusing, unresolved feelings of hurt, anger, and resentment towards the woman who loved and cared for her for the first ten years of her life, partially clouding her judgment. Solana had almost forgotten why that was an area she’s so passionate about.

Because while her mother wasn’t perfect and didn’t make all the right decisions, she was still a victim, too. She, like so many other women, lost her life in trying to make a better life for her daughter. For Solana. Alma didn’t do everything right, but in the end, she made the ultimate sacrifice.

And, Solana knows countless other women like her mother are out there, and she wants to use the time she has left on this earth to make it so that the number of women trapped in domestic violent relationships, along with their kids, have the help and resources Alma didn’t.

“I’m gonna double major in nursing and business, so I have that business knowledge, too.” She strokes his lightly bruised cheek, adding in a light voice. “You might have to help me sometimes with homework and stuff.”

Roman’s quiet chuckle is hard to appreciate with the grimace that follows it. He’s in pain. She knows it, and she hates it. Hates that she can’t miraculously heal him from his injuries. Can’t make the truck go any faster than it’s already going. All she can do is continue to try to soothe him with her words, distracting and informative. 

Another wave of emotion hits as Solana transitions to the more sentimental realizations. “Cataleya….I want…I want her middle name to be Alma, after….after my mother.” Scenes and flashes from the dreams of the quieter of their girls, her soft smile and warm eyes. “Because she…she has my mother’s gentle, pure aura about her.” Solana shifts just enough, moving in sync with Roman who groans quietly. “Catalina…” Solana is the one to chuckle this time, sharing, “her middle name will be Fetu.” Solana can feel it, she doesn’t know how or why, but she can feel the way he tenses almost in her arms. A tension that melts into something close to calm. “Because she has that fire in her like her daddy and her great aunt.” Flashes of their brave, strong little girl with nothing but determination and resilience.

Just like her daddy.

“And our son.” Her voice cracking reveals the toll of the situation that’s finally making its impact on her known, but Solana shoves it away. Forces it back. Not right now. “I want to name our son after you.” Solana angles her head to look at him as she gently caresses his cheek. “I wanna name him Tamasa.”

Roman’s eyes are shut, a small almost solemn smile on his face. "Yeah?"

She nods, eyes watering once more. "Yeah."

Because, she can't think of a better, stronger, kinder man than to name their firstborn son after.

It would be an honor. Truly.

Something settles in Roman's gaze, something distant and somber. His eyes close, his voice low and exhausted. “I love you.”

For the first in her life, those are the three words she doesn’t enjoy hearing. Not from him. 

Because she knows exactly what he’s saying.

He’s saying goodbye.

“No.” Solana can’t breathe. She can only shake her head, moving her hands to his face, slapping him lightly. “Roman, stay with me.” She’s only slightly relieved to see his eyes fluttering, a sign that he’s still fighting, still breathing. “You can’t leave me, okay?” He says nothing, just continues to look at her with that sad, solemn grin on his handsome face. “We have to build our house, remember? We—we have to have our big family.” Lips trembling, she presses against his temple, murmuring and crying against him, “you’re going to be okay.” 

A promise to him. A promise for herself.

For their daughters in her stomach and the children they’ll have after.

Because, Solana refuses to accept anything else.

She’s been through hell.

Roman has been through hell.

Their story won’t end this way. She won’t let it.

But, then the truck stops. Stops moving altogether, and she nearly loses it.

“What are you doing?” Solana sounds every bit as frantic as she feels. “Drive! He’s losing too much blood, we have to—we have to get him to the hospital!" Speaking aloud the uncomfortable truth and reality is a crushing, cumbersome thing. Because the reality is that while her words soothed him in some ways, it didn’t stop nor slow down the blood that continues to soak him, her, and the seat of the car.

A devastating reminder that time is most definitely not on their side. Every fucking second is precious, and she won’t stand for any of it being wasted.

“Drive!” She screams once more, nearly hyperventilating when both Matteo and Dwayne hop out of the truck. A nervous breakdown is right around the corner until the side door is ripped open, and a blinding light forces Solana to look away, protectively cradling her husband. 

But, it’s not just the light, there’s sound. It’s loud. Familiar. Chipped, intermittent. Deafening in some ways. 

The light is eclipsed by two bulky figures, Matteo and Dwayne. 

Solana realizes they’re pulling Roman away from her.

And, the panic sets in.

“No!”

“Solana, look!” Matteo’s voice is urgent and pressing, one hand restricting her, which only exacerbates her anxiety and anger.

But, she does look, and when she does, it’s an instant switch. 

The panic that filled and threatened to overwhelm her is melted into an abundance of relief as she takes in the scene before her, nothing short of a miracle.

A helicopter with the same color patterns as the local hospital, the star of life, blades moving rapidly, as if ready to take off at any moment. Bright lights on and doors opened, two medical professionals rush out to meet Dwayne who’s helping Roman remain upright and on his feet.

“We knew someone would be needing medical attention,” Matteo informs, as she looks over at him wide eyed and bursting with appreciation. "So, we prepared ahead of time." He gestures to where Dwayne can be seen talking to the paramedic, likely explaining the nature of Roman’s injuries.

If not for the situation, Solana would 1000% express to Matteo her immense gratitude. For everything. For it all.

But, in this moment, her only concern, the only thing she can think about, is being with her husband.

Solana is once again a frantic mess as she moves to climb out the truck, her legs carrying her over just in time as she tells, not asks, the flight paramedic, “I’m going with him.”

She’s met with zero protests despite the tight space, Roman’s big body taking up more space than the average person. Of that, she’s sure.

But, none of that matters. 

There’s a bit of a blur around her, as they work to get an IV into Roman, talks of tourniquets, hemostatic dressings, blood transfusions, while they work to get him as stable as possible as the helicopter lifts off, carrying them to the hospital where he’ll get the medical treatment he needs.

The treatment that will save his life. 

And, that’s what matters to Solana. That’s what has her finally sobbing, her hand in his, both caked in old and fresh blood, the same blood that stains her clothing and body, some splatters on her face. It’s all irrelevant. All immaterial.

They’re safe.

Roman is safe. 

He’s going to be alright.

He’s going to live.

She’s safe. 

She’s going to be alright.

And most importantly, their babies are safe.

The girls are going to be alright.

It’s a welcomed, cherished, moving thing and scene that contrasts the backdrop of a sudden loud boom, a painting of orange and yellow hues that paint the night sky miles behind and under. An explosion at the same plant where they just were.

Where some still remain.

--------

a/n: these two have been through enough. to kill off either of them would be trauma porn. not to mention, neither would ever really, truly recover if they lost one another. it would make all their progress null and void.

[minju4won]

into your soul

WORD ACCOUNT idk how it is counted but it’s short anyway

PAIRING prince niki x lady y/n

WARNING: arranged married, bridgerton au

SYPNOSYS suddenly, your life had been ruined from one moment to the next. after several arguments, you were going to marry Prince Ni-ki, the queen's youngest son. how were you going to deal with this?

author note: this is my first fanfic its not the best ik but i will get better so plz don’t say nothing bad

part 1

"you will get married and i do not want any reproaches"

"mommy, please, i do not want that" you knelt down before her and sobbed into her dress. but your mother, without empathy, took off her dress and separated from you.

"do you have any other wish, your grace?" she said with irony. "do you think your opinion will count? you will marry with the prince."

"mommy?"

"you do better not reproach your father"

you were walking with your best friend, and you couldn't feel more uncomfortable, everyone was watching you. your engagement to the prince had been announced by lady whistledown.

"you must to be excited! you will be marry with the prince of england!"

you rolled your eyes as you covered yourself with your umbrella.

"i will be his slave for the rest of my life. is this the life you want for me?"

"you can not be serious, you will be a princess!" she said with excited. "you will have jewellery, gold and a luxurious life, is not that enough?"

of course that was enough, but that is not what you meant. you wanted to fall in love like in the novels of jane austen. you knew it was going to be impossible, but at least you wanted to fall in love, or at least choose your husband.

"i do not even know him. in his nineteen years of life nobody has seen him. how do I know it will not be someone unattractive?"

"does physique matter in this case? maybe you can become queen"

that would be impossible, given that he is the youngest of six brothers and two sisters.

you sighed as you saw lady cannella approaching you.

"miss y/n bauer, i listen to your engagement with prince niki. i´m very happy for you, not everyone can marry a prince"

it was clear that she was not happy, it was your first debut and you were already engaged, while her daughter had been on the market for three years and was hardly lucky to be approached by men.

even though you were not happy with the engagement, you decided to smile.

"i am grateful for your congratulations. i am happy that the prince has noticed my beauty. and your daughter? has she got a suitor this season?"

you could see the anger in her eyes.

"she will soon be married"

you nodded, trying to ignore her lie. you looked at your friend and again at the lady.

"lady cannella" you said goodbye.

you and your friend walked away from her and tried to stop your tears from flowing. this was not the life you wanted, what had you done to deserve it?

"i want to be alone"

"you will be okay?"

"i am okey" you said to get away from her. this life was unfair.

sure, marrying a prince was not so bad, but that was not your dream. you wanted to fall in love, marry him and then travel with him. but no, now you had to marry a stranger and give birth to children by the bucketload.

was not what you wanted.

you turned and looked at your ladies-in-waiting.

"tell me rumours about the prince"

"lady y/n?"

you closed your eyes angrily. "tell. me. rumours. about. the. prince."

one of them cleared her throat and looked down at the floor, uncomfortable. "the prince is very secretive about his privacy. no one has ever really seen him. but they say he is a monster. they say he spends days in brothels, even weeks without going out. has been doing so since his fourteenth birthday"

"they say he does not show himself because he was born with a disease, or worse, a deformity."

you bit your lip hard. that was your future?

your thoughts vanished when you heard the sound of a horse behind you. the worst thing you could have done was to roll over, as a large mud covered your face and body.

"lady y/n" your ladies shouted.

they wiped your face with a handkerchief and you saw the person who caused it.

was a tall--and handsome--man who was just now looking at you indifferently. but you could tell from his clothes that he was from the lower classes.

"i wish to apologise" he said, bowing.

"if you do not know how to ride a horse you should give it up. look what you did to me" you said angrily as you looked at your dress. it was your favourite.

"i am grieved" he said with some derision

you looked up perplexed. a low-income man just made fun of you?

"of course you should feel sorry!" you shouted, throwing your muddy scarf at him.

you saw the boy's disgusted face, which gave you satisfaction. after this, you didn't really think about what you did, but you ducked down and started throwing mud at him. the boy covered himself, however, he didn't fight back.

"i have enough to do with my miserable life without you coming to laugh at me" you felt the tears on your cheeks as you watched him. he looked at you without expression, without importance.

you roll your eyes to turn around and leave.

you were eating at the dinner table with your family while listening to your parents talking about the engagement.

"this is a big step for our family. being the king's father-in-law is something that not everyone can have."

"we have to prepare for the wedding! tomorrow i will go to the palace to talk to the queen."

you looked at your mother with discomfort. "could i go with you?"

"why? the queen and i will take care of everything."

"i want to see my fiancé, or i can not?"

your father coughed when he heard you. "and why did this curiosity arise?"

you frowned when you heard it. "he will be my husband, dad"

"i do not see the need to see him now"

"you will see him soon"

you threw the cutlery on your plate. "the rumors are true?"

"what rumors, sweetheart?"

you got up from the table in anger. "you will marry me off to a monster, you do not even care about me enough" you said through tears. "if you do not stop the marriage now, i will hate you forever."

days passed and months too. there was only one week left until your wedding.

and you had not yet met your fiancé. there was nothing you could do but accept your sad fate. a hundred days ago, when your engagement became public, you looked for a thousand ways to avoid it. you begged your parents. but nothing worked.

now only one week to go.

right now you were looking at the neighbourhood from your window, you had nothing to do and you were grounded. according to your mother, you liked a boy and that's why you didn't want to get married. a stupid reason.

you looked down and saw your favourite book. ¨pride and prejudice¨

so you were never going to have a Mrs. Darcy?

you heard three knocks on your door, you rolled your eyes knowing it was your mother.

your mother came into your room with several maids. you frowned, was there any more measurements to be taken for the wedding dress?

"you will wear your best dress tonight because we are going to dinner with the queen's family."

you got up from your seat in confusion. "will ni-ki be there?"

"of course, y/n" your mother said while she grabbed your hand and forced you onto the stool. "make it nice and quick, we do not want to give her a bad impression of my daughter."

after various measurements and adjustments, you were wearing a pink dress with a small jacket knitted to the dress. your hair was down this time, according to your mother because it looked sexy on women, however, you had a small part of the front tied at the back. you wore gold earrings and white gloves that reached up to your elbows.

and after several hours, you were in the carriage with your little sister in the carriage.

"can you please stop?" you murmured as you saw your mother in front of you pinching your cheeks.

"you must look amazing for your husband"

"he is not my husband"

"yet"

you sighed and looked at the palace in the distance. although it wasn't your first time there, you could tell it was getting bigger and bigger.

suddenly, the carriage stopped and the doors opened. you got out of the carriage with the help of the guard.

you weren't supposed to be there, that wasn't your place. someone else should. you thought about fainting, running, killing yourself, anything but being there.

"lady bauer, the queen awaits you" said the guard. your mother ignored him and climbed the stairs to enter the royal palace.

you chased after her and the guards opened the big palace gates. once they entered, your mother grabbed your arm.

"you will not say anything against the marriage, you will nod to everything the queen says and once the prince arrives, you will look him in the eye."

you separated from your mother as you looked around the palace, you had only been there twice before, on your debut and your older sister's debut, however, that night it looked different. lonely, fearful. or maybe it was just you. you weren't even thinking clearly anymore.

"i do not want any complaints tonight" said this time your mother to your younger sister. "if all goes well, maybe you can marry into his family too."

suddenly, the doors at the back opened and you could see a long table and the queen sitting at the end of it.

they entered it and approached the queen. "your majesty, it is such a honor being here with you" your mother said with a bow.

you swallowed and walked up to her and imitated your mother. "your majesty" you stood bowed, waiting for the queen to give you permission to get up, but she did not. you felt your hands trembling, and it wasn't long before you broke out in a cold sweat.

"you are so beautiful" she said, touching your chin, forcing you to look at her. "you are the perfect woman for my child"

of course you were the perfect woman for his son, who else would want a monster for a husband?

"my daughter is so excited for her wedding, your grace" liar.

"she must be, as the princes of france and spain, the dukes and high lords of europe will be coming."

"they will have a prosperous and happy future, your grace"

"of course, i will be looking forward to my grandchildren." said the queen, looking at you fixedly. you, feeling her gaze, tried to smile, although you do not know if it was a smile or a grimace.

she wanted grandchildren. this can´t be your future.

behind your back you heard the door open. "oh, they coming"

you turned around slowly and bowed. your heart was beating fast. you heard several footsteps and looked up while bowing.

you saw all the princes enter with their wives. you saw the heir heeseung enter with his wife, prince jay and prince jungwon and his other brothers.

but you didn´t see prince ni-ki.

wait.

that tall man... you knew him. he was the low class one who smeared mud on you months ago. what was he doing there? was he working for them? then why was he going in with them? why was prince jake patting him on the back? why did he have expensive clothes?

why was he approaching you?

you straightened up and looked up as he stood in front of you. even though you've only met him once, he hasn't changed. had an indifferent look on his face and seemed unsurprised to find you there.

to your surprise, he bowed to you as he took your hand and kissed it. even though you had your glove on, you felt his lips perfectly.

"lady y/n bauer"

you didn't take your eyes off him, and he didn't take his eyes off you either. why was he kissing your hand?

"lady y/n, i present to you prince ni-ki"

you were going to faint, this could not be possible. you looked at the queen with confusion.

"prince ni-ki?"

"yes darling, he is handsome, is he not?"

you looked at the prince and lowered your gaze with pity. "yes, your grace"

you had disrespected prince ni-ki, you had smeared him with mud and even thought he was low class. he would make your life impossible in marriage.

after talk with the queen, your families and you were seated at the table, eating. it was probably the best food you have ever tasted in your life, but you couldn't enjoy it as you felt your fiancé's gaze on you.

you couldn't help but feel ashamed, you had disrespected your husband, a member of the royal family! what would become of you?

you heard the cry of the queen to your left. "that is my favourite music"

you paid attention to the music and heard that it was a slow song. you couldn't understand how it was her favourite song if there were better ones.

"your grace" your mother said "if you want you can dance with my daughter to get to know each other better"

you looked at the plate nervously. ni-ki couldn't accept, he hated you.

but he got up and came over to your side, placing his hand in front of you, hoping that you will accept. you stared at ni-ki, you didn't know what she was doing. was she making fun of you or why she hadn't already cancelled the engagement?

"with your permission, your majesty" you said standing up as you accepted his hand.

he took you to the centre of the room and placed his hand on your back. you couldn't even hold his gaze, unlike him. you could feel his gaze staring into your soul.

fortunately, he was the one leading the dance. you weren't a bad dancer, but you couldn't even move on your own.

"where is the girl who stained all my clothes?" he murmured in your ear.

you closed your eyes as you felt his voice. unlike that day, his voice were raspier and deeper.

"i want to apologize, your grace. i was no think-"

"i am not bothered"

you open your eyes and you looked at him.

"you knew me that day, didn't you?"

"yes"

you closed your eyes angrily. he had seen you cry, he knew it was because of the marriage, that day had been announced.

"cancels the wedding"

"excuse me?"

"you saw me cry that day about the wedding, you knew i did not want to get married and you still followed the wedding."

the prince gave you a turn, but before that, you saw him roll his eyes, which made you even angrier.

"do you think i wanted to get married? like you, i was forced to get married too."

you didn't believe him, he had enough authority to stop it.

"you are a monster, your grace"

you heard him let out a wry laugh. "do you want me to cancel the wedding a week away?" you noticed her ironic tone. "alright, we can say that i am a monster or that i mistreats you, or that you have another man. tell me, lady bauer, which of these three will people believe?"

suddenly, your anger vanished, it was clear what people would believe. whether your husband was a monster or an abuser, it didn't matter, it was your duty to put up with him. the other rumour could ruin your reputation and that of your family. you couldn't let that happen.

"exactly" you heard in your ear.

you looked him in the eye, you couldn't marry him, that wasn't your dream. you didn't want to have children with a man you didn't love, you didn't want to spend what was left of your life with him.

you narrowed your eyes, trying to find out what your fiánce was thinking, but his gaze was cold and distant.

even if you stared at him all night you couldn't figure out what was going through his mind, or what his intentions were. unlike him. you could feel your gaze looking into your bones. you knew perfectly well that he knew what was going through your mind.

you were an open book to him.

"magnificent!" you heard the cry of the queen.

the song was finished.

you bowed a little to the prince and moved away from him to sit at the table.

there was nothing you could do to avoid the wedding. you had to accept your fate.

your tears were ruining your make-up, but you couldn't help it. as of today, your life was over.

you did not even feel pretty.

"lady bauer, please, stop crying" said one of your maids.

you wiped the tears from your cheeks and sighed as you looked at yourself at the window. the guests were arriving, some faces you recognised, others you didn't.

they would be talking about the wedding for months, plus it was taking place in one of the most beautiful cathedrals in the country. and most importantly, prince ni-ki will show his face for the first time.

you knew the consequences of this, many will tell you how lucky you are to marry a handsome young man, and a member of royalty on top of that. but you never wished for this.

"you are excelent, lady bauer. you look like a princess"

you looked in the mirror and saw your make-up, it was normal but your cheeks were a bit red as well as your lips. your hair was tied back but curly fringes were falling over your face and shoulder

"do i?"

"you are the only one deserving of the title of princess."

you bit your lower lip as you looked at your ladies through the mirror. "you will still be with me, won't you? you won't leave me alone next to that monster"

"we will not, lady bauer"

"you will have a loving and prosperous marriage"

you sighed as you listened to her and got up from your chair to climb onto the stool. your maids started to take off your dressing gown. you weren't going to lie, the most fun was choosing it, it was the first time you saw and wore these types of dresses.

the dress was white and pompous, with long sleeves and a small neckline and the veil was down to your knees. at least you liked something.

you heard the door open as you got down from the stool.

"leave"

you sat in the chair as you watched your mother sit next to you.

"i have something to tell you, darling"

you raised your eyebrows in surprise.

"tell me, mom"

"in addition to getting married at the altar, you have to do something important to make it official" she gave a nervous laugh. "you must consume it"

you frowned as you listened to her.

"what do you want to mean?"

you saw how he stood up and grabbed your hands, you repeated his action.

"you have to sleep together."

"but..."

"it is getting late, all the guests are downstairs." she said, dragging you towards the exit.

suddenly, all the confusion you felt a moment ago was replaced by fear and nervousness.

you saw your father in the distance with the bouquet of flowers. it was happening.

"i am proud of my daughter" he said handing you the bouquet.

you smiled uncomfortably as you listened to him as you watched the gates. Everyone inside that room was waiting for you.

"everyone, lady bauer"

you watched as the gates slowly opened.

your father took you by the hand and forced you to walk down the aisle. you saw the guests, many familiar faces were slowly judging you. as all of them were jealous of you, none of them were happy for you. and neither were you.

you looked straight ahead and could see your fiancé.

he was handsome.

he was in a black suit with his hair styled in the back, and he was staring at you. lie, every time you approached him, you could tell that his beauty was unreal.

did you know that lady whistledown was going to be talking about her beauty for months to come.

when you arrived in front of him, you felt a slight squeeze on your right hand, which forced you to look away from him and back at your father.

"take care of her" your father said to ni-ki.

"always" he said bowing slightly to take your hand and kiss it..

liar.

you knew what he was doing, he was being romantic in front of people, he wanted to have a positive reputation. you were not going to fall for their dirty games.

you smiled falsely at him as you turned to the priest.

"dear beloved, we are gathered to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony. it is said that marriage hath in it less beauty but more of safety than the single life..."

so, this was to be your life from now on? the prince will be the man who accompanies you to your deathbed?

you felt his hand grasp yours to remove the glove. the prince's hands were warm, unlike yours. you saw how the gold ring went over your index finger. it fit you perfectly.

"...in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amén. i now pronounce you man and wife"

your legs were shaking, this was not the future you wanted. you couldn't accept it.

you turned around to hear the applause behind you and you held your now-husband's hand. he led you to the exit and you could see the carriage, quickly jumped in and threw the bouquet on the ground.

"look what you have done! i will live an unhappy life by your side"

"i feel the same way"

"you do not understand! you are a man, you can choose any woman and she would be delighted. why you choose me?"

"stop acting like a child, you are a princess now"

you let out a wry laugh as you listened to him. you could feel the tears on your cheeks.

"i do not care if i am a princess now. i want my freedom, i want to fall in love, i want-"

"you are privileged and do not realise it. you want freedom? i will give you that. you want fall in love? that would never happen even if you were married to me. if it had not been me, it would have been a duke of great age. in your position as a woman, you would never experience it by choice."

"you do not understand, your grace"

you watched as ni-ki came up to you and wiped your tears with a handkerchief. you stopped breathing at the sight of him so close.

"let's make some rules"

"rules?"

"i will never touch you unless you do not want me to. to society we will be a happy couple, but in private we do not need to talk to each other."

you nodded and watched as he walked away from you. you looked out of the window and saw that you were already arriving at the royal palace.

"rumours about you exist" you cleared your throat and lowered your gaze. "they say that you are always in brothels, you last for weeks without going out. mother told me that in brothels you get drunk and you do bad things. maybe you kill people inside? gamble a lot of money? I do not know, but i do not wished a husband to do these things"

you looked up and saw the prince with a frown on his face. "i have never been to such places"

"but rumours exist for something, or i am wrong?"

"no one outside the palace knew me until today."

you frowned as you listened to him. you didn't trust him. how could you trust him after hearing the rumours? he was a monster.

"of course, your grace"

"you do not believe me, do you?"

"why should i believe you?"

"because you are my wife, and i expect the same sincerity from you"

you swallowed as you listened to him. now you were his wife and he was your husband.

you didn't know how many hours you had been on your feet, you didn't know how many congratulations you had received, let alone how many times you had danced with your husband.

but there you were, sitting at the royal table on the high dais, sitting with the princes and kings as you watched the guests dance.

"do you want to retire?" you heard in your left ear. you looked at ni-ki with surprise. you looked into his eyes with confusion.

you felt overwhelmed and uncomfortable to the point that you wanted to lock yourself up for days in your quarters.

you nodded your head and the prince looked away and took your hand to stand up. you repeated their action.

you saw how the music stopped and all attention was now on you.

"i am honoured that all of you are present at my wedding to my now wife, princess y/n. thank you all for coming" your husband helped you down from the platform and you both approached the door.

you felt uncomfortable seeing how everyone was congratulating you -for the millionth time- and bowing to you. this was not you.

as you left the room, you let go of my hand and grabbed your dress, nervously. now what?

"today we will sleep in the royal palace, tomorrow we will move to ours and you will be the mistress of the house." ni-ki said, crossing his hands behind his back.

"my princess" said a familiar voice behind you. you turned and looked at your ladies-in-waiting. "we have to prepare you"

"for what? the wedding is over" you said in confussion.

you saw how they approached you. "princess, let us take you to your chambers"

they said, taking your hand, forcing you up the stairs.

once they arrived, they began to remove your dress in a hurry, leaving you alone in your dressing gown.

"you must look stunning for your wedding night" she said, untying your hair and starting to comb it with the comb.

"it is not big deal" you murmured.

you heard a knock on the door, and seconds later you saw your husband in the mirror.

"your grace" they said bowing.

"leave"

once they were alone, you got up from your chair and walked over to the bed.

"we have to sleep together"

"no need, i will spend the night in another room."

"we have to sleep together to be a real marriage" you said, raising your voice. "that is what my mother said"

"i will not force you to do anything, if you do not want me to, i will not. not your mother, you." he said in a gentle tone.

you frowned when you heard it.

"what are you talking about?" you said lying down on the bed. "it is just sleep. i slept with my older sister, it is not that important."

for the first time, you saw an expression on ni-ki's face, an expression that was both confused and mocking.

"what exactly did your mother tell you?"

"i do not understand, your grace. she should have told me something else?"

you saw ni-ki approach you while taking off his shoes.

"rest, i will explain you tomorrow"

"fine" you said as you turned your back on him and wrapped the blanket around you. "i hope you do not touch me when i sleep"

you didn't get any response from him, you just felt the bed sink beside you.

it was probably the worst night of your life, feeling ni-ki next to you was not very pleasant for you. you only slept for two hours at most, but when you woke up, ni-ki was no longer beside you. you got up and approach your mirror to start combing your hair. you looked to your right when you saw a large book on the desk.

you took the book and put it on your lap.

how to consume marriage?

you opened the page and began to read.

you were horrified.

so this is what your mother meant? it was madness. how could a person of their own free will do that?

you looked at the graphics and tried not to groan in disgust. you couldn't do that with anyone, least of all ni-ki.

"please, lord. save me from this marriage." you said, closing the book and getting up from your chair.

your life is over.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Better Man

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: fluff, minor angst

Summary: You're a single mom who hates bringing men into your life only to have them leave. Your daughter deserves better than that. You're currently dating Spencer, and you're wondering if it's the right time to bring him into her life. Will it be worth it?

Square Filled: “you want? you want? you want? what about what I want?” for @anyfandomgoesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

I can do this. I’m more than capable of getting breakfast ready for both me and my daughter. Even if she is screaming her head off. Oh, please be quiet. Please make it stop.

“Gemma, please stop crying. I am getting your food.” She continues to cry. “Baby, please. I’m working as hard as I can right now.”

If anyone were to look in your kitchen window, they would see a woman who is just trying to feed her child while looking like a raccoon with messy bedhead hair. The bags under your eyes don’t help your case, either, but you haven’t gotten much sleep this past week. Gemma has been sick and has been keeping you up at all hours of the night.

Sometimes you feel like a shitty mom because it seems like whatever you do isn’t enough. Being a single mom is hard. No one told you how to do this. No one gave you a rule book and said, “Here you go! Study for the final exam!” where the final exam is actually having a kid. You’re doing the best you can do even if it doesn’t feel like it.

Before you can start crying because Gemma is crying, you plate some bananas, cereal, and small strawberries on a plate for her. She immediately stops crying when the food is in front of her, and she digs in. You chuckle tiredly and kiss the top of her head. She is getting so old. It seems like yesterday you birthed her when really, it’s been eight months.

Your phone rings and you light up at seeing Spencer’s name.

“Hey,” you answer.

“Hey. I’m off this weekend if you want to hang out.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to get a sitter,” you sigh. “I’m pretty low on money right now.”

“That’s fine. I don’t mind if you bring her along. I understand if you don’t want to, but I’m really great with kids. I’d love it if she came along.”

You and Spencer have been seeing each other for a few months but he hasn’t met your daughter yet. You don’t want to introduce her to someone new if they’re not going to be in your life for very long. You really like Spencer and you hope he’s going to be in your life for a long time. He’s been very patient when it comes to your daughter, and maybe it’s time they meet.

“Why don’t you come over? I’d feel more comfortable having a date here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I think it’s time you meet Gemma.”

“Okay, yeah! I’ll bring some food over and we can cook together.”

“That’d be amazing,” you smile.

“I gotta go. I’ll see you Friday.”

“Okay. Bye.” You hang up with a huge smile on your face. “You hear that, Gemma? You get to meet Spencer. He’s a sweetheart. You’ll love him.”

She squeals in response but it’s mostly because she wants more bananas. You’re not worried that she will love him, it’s if Spencer will love her. You can’t think about that. You have work to get to. The call center you work at has a daycare attached to it for parents who can’t get someone to watch their kids, so every day is Bring Your Daughter To Work Day.

The weekend comes faster than you expected but that means Spencer gets to come over. He might even spend the night if all goes well. When Spencer comes over, he is nothing but sweet towards Gemma. She is playing in her playpen but as soon as Spencer walks in, she squeals and crawls over to him.

“Spencer, this is Gemma. Baby, this is Spencer.” Spencer grins and picks her up once she gets to him. “I’ve been trying to get her to walk lately. She turns eight months next week.”

“Hi, Gemma. Do you want to walk for Mama? Yeah, I can see it. You’ll get there,” he chuckles.

Spencer brings in the groceries he bought so you two can cook lunch while Gemma plays and watches Spongebob. While you don’t know how to be a single mom, and learning every day to be better, you’d rather do this than be with the ex who knocked you up. He left you when you were pregnant so it’s just been you and Gemma for a long time now. It’s hard to let men in your life, especially with a kid so young, but Spencer has been nothing but a complete gentleman to you. He takes things at your pace, never does anything to make you uncomfortable, and always puts you and Gemma first.

Dinner is spent talking about your week and the plans you have this weekend and afterward, Spencer goes to the living room to play with Gemma some more. He’s really warming up to her. Maybe this is going to be a good thing. Your phone rings and your blood runs cold when you see who is calling you. You excuse yourself and step off to the side while Spencer tosses Gemma in the air a few inches only to catch her. Her laughter makes this night all the better.

“What do you want?” you ask when you answer the phone.

“Hey, you got any money to spot me? I’m in a bit of a pickle,” your ex asks.

“Are you kidding me right now? You call me up after how many months only to ask for money?”

“Can you do it or not?”

“Fuck no,” you hiss on the phone. “This might be in your grand plan, but I want you to actually start acting like a dad and be there for Gemma. You know, the daughter you have?”

“You want? You want? You want? What about what I want?”

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“Fuck this. I can’t believe calling you was ever a good idea.”

He hangs up after those harsh words, and you try your hardest not to cry. He’s fucking lucky you’re not going after him for child support, but maybe you should.

“Y/N! Look!” You look at Spencer and Gemma to see her walking toward him on wobbly legs. “She’s walking!”

“Gemma!” you gasp and rush over. “You’re walking, baby!”

Before she can fall to the ground, Spencer scoops her in his arms and kisses her cheeks. She has no idea what is going on but she loves the attention. Spencer looks like he doesn’t want to be anywhere but here. Seeing him with Gemma today has only made you realize that he’s the only man you ever want in Gemma’s life.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[novaursa]

Flames in the West

- Summary: During the royal hunt in honor of Aegon's second nameday, you insult a lion and gain his attention.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: for better or worse

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The day of Aegon’s second nameday dawned with the bright promise of revelry and spectacle. The sprawling woods outside the king’s hunting pavilion were alive with the sounds of horns, the bark of hounds, and the murmur of lords and ladies dressed in their finery. You stood at the edge of the gathering with Ser Gwayne Hightower, your reluctant escort for the day, though his easy demeanor made him bearable company.

Your sister, Rhaenyra, had stalked off toward her horse earlier, muttering darkly about the endless flattery and sycophancy that came with these events. You suspected she wouldn’t stay long before riding off into the woods on her own—leaving you to observe the spectacle.

It was then that you noticed him: Lord Jason Lannister, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight as he approached Rhaenyra with a swagger that could rival a peacock. His crimson-and-gold doublet was immaculate, embroidered with lions rampant that caught the light with every movement. Even from a distance, you could see the self-assured smirk on his face as he stepped into your sister’s path.

“Is he…?” you murmured, your lips curving in a bemused smile.

“About to make a fool of himself?” Gwayne supplied with a smirk of his own. “Most certainly.”

You leaned forward slightly, ears straining to catch the words exchanged between them. Jason was in the midst of an elaborate speech about Casterly Rock, the grandeur of the West, and how “a future queen deserves a home as magnificent as her station.” Rhaenyra’s expression shifted from polite disinterest to outright disdain.

“I have no need for Casterly Rock, my lord,” she said icily, cutting through his rehearsed charm. “And even less need for a husband chosen for his wealth.”

Jason faltered, but only briefly. “But surely, Princess, you would consider—”

“No.” Rhaenyra’s reply was final, leaving Jason standing there, stunned, as she brushed past him and disappeared into the crowd.

You couldn’t help it. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, and before you could stop yourself, you remarked loudly enough for Jason to hear, “Well, that was a rather pathetic display for the Lord of Casterly Rock.”

Jason turned on his heel, his eyes narrowing as they landed on you. “I beg your pardon?” he said, his voice tight with indignation.

“Oh, don’t mind her, my lord,” Gwayne interjected, though his grin betrayed his amusement. “She’s just an avid observer of courtly theatrics.”

You raised an eyebrow, meeting Jason’s glare with a smirk. “If you’re going to woo a dragon, my lord, you might consider bringing more than your… oversized ego.”

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—amusement, perhaps? “And what would you suggest, Princess? Shall I compose a sonnet or slay a dragon for her favor?”

“Considering you’ve already wounded her ears with your drivel, a heroic feat might be a welcome change,” you shot back.

Gwayne chuckled openly now, clearly enjoying the exchange. Jason, however, took a step closer, his broad shoulders squared and his gaze unwavering. “I’ll have you know, Princess, that I am perfectly capable of charming anyone I set my sights on.”

You tilted your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Anyone, you say? And yet here you are, rejected by one sister and attempting to defend your honor to the other. Perhaps you should aim lower, my lord. The kennel master’s daughter might appreciate your… charms.”

Jason laughed, the sound surprising you with its warmth. “Ah, so you’ve claws as sharp as your sister’s tongue. Tell me, do all Targaryen women delight in tormenting men, or is it just the two of you?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Gwayne stepped in, raising a hand. “My lord, if you value your pride, I suggest you retreat now. She’s only warming up.”

Jason gave Gwayne a pointed look but then turned back to you, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I think I enjoy the challenge.”

Before you could muster a retort, Gwayne gently took your arm. “Come, Princess. Let’s leave the lion to lick his wounds.”

As the two of you walked away, Gwayne leaned in conspiratorially. “You do realize he enjoyed every moment of that, don’t you?”

You glanced over your shoulder to see Jason watching you, his smile still lingering. “If that’s what he considers enjoyable,” you muttered, shaking your head, “the man must lead a very dull life.”

“And yet,” Gwayne said, grinning, “he’s still watching you.”

You refused to turn around again, though the faintest blush colored your cheeks. “Perhaps he’s hoping for another lesson in humility.”

“Or perhaps,” Gwayne said, his voice teasing, “he’s already planning his next move.”

The thought unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

The royal pavilion was an elaborate affair of black-and-red drapery, with King Viserys seated at its heart, a goblet of wine in one hand and a faint scowl on his face. He leaned back in his chair, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. Around him, lords and attendants bustled, speaking in low tones or presenting trifles meant to curry favor.

Lord Jason Lannister strode in with the kind of confidence that only a man from the richest house in Westeros could muster. His polished boots clicked against the floorboards as he carried a gleaming spear in both hands, its shaft carved from rare duskwood and tipped with gold. The weapon practically gleamed with opulence.

“Your Grace,” Jason began, bowing low as he approached. “A small token to commemorate Prince Aegon’s nameday and the hunt. Forged in the Golden Gallery by the finest smiths of the Rock.”

Viserys straightened slightly, his eyes appraising the craftsmanship of the spear. It was magnificent, he had to admit, and he gave a slow nod of approval. “Impressive work, Lord Jason. My son will no doubt treasure it—assuming he doesn’t poke someone’s eye out first.”

A ripple of polite laughter passed through the tent, but Jason’s expression remained serious. He placed the spear on a stand near the king, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Your Grace, if I may, there is another matter I wish to discuss.”

Viserys’s groan was barely concealed. “If this is about my daughter Rhaenyra, I’ll save us both the trouble and tell you what I’ve told every other lord who’s come sniffing around her skirts: she will choose when the time comes. Until then, my answer is no.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard, before recovering with a polite smile. “Ah, Your Grace, I fear there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not here to petition for the hand of Princess Rhaenyra.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Lord Lyonel Strong, who stood quietly by his side. “You’re not?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.

“No, Your Grace,” Jason clarified, a flicker of nervousness breaking through his usual confidence. “My petition concerns your younger daughter, Princess Y/N.”

There was a beat of stunned silence in the pavilion. Viserys froze mid-sip of his wine, his goblet hovering in the air as if he hadn’t heard correctly. Beside him, Lyonel’s bushy brows climbed so high they nearly vanished into his hairline.

“My… youngest daughter?” Viserys repeated slowly, as though Jason had just declared his intention to marry a dragon.

Jason nodded firmly. “Yes, Your Grace. Princess Y/N.”

Viserys blinked, leaning forward in his chair. “Are you certain? Because if memory serves, my youngest daughter stood beside her sister not two hours ago, calling you”—he paused, as though recalling the exact phrasing—“ah yes, an ‘overdressed peacock with the wit of a trout.’”

A murmur of stifled laughter rippled through the pavilion, and even Lyonel coughed into his hand to mask a grin. Jason, however, didn’t so much as flinch.

“She did, Your Grace,” Jason admitted, his expression resolute. “And yet, I find myself more determined than ever.”

Viserys stared at him, utterly baffled. “Are you a glutton for punishment, Lord Jason? Because I can assure you, my youngest daughter is no more likely to flatter your ego than her sister.”

Jason offered a crooked smile, his usual bravado tinged with surprising sincerity. “It is not flattery I seek, Your Grace. Your younger daughter possesses a sharp wit and a keen mind, traits I’ve come to admire. I am quite serious in my intentions.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, gesturing vaguely toward Lyonel. “Do you hear this, Lord Strong? The man brings me a spear, not for Rhaenyra, not even for Aegon, but to chase after a girl who just insulted him to his face.”

Lyonel cleared his throat, his expression carefully neutral. “It is… bold, Your Grace.”

“Bold is one word for it,” Viserys muttered, shaking his head. “Mad, perhaps, is another.”

Jason, undeterred, stepped forward. “I am prepared to prove my worth, Your Grace. If the princess wishes to insult me again, I will accept it gladly. But my resolve will not waver.”

Viserys rubbed his temples, sighing deeply. “You are either the bravest or the most foolish man in Westeros, Lord Jason.”

“Perhaps both, Your Grace,” Jason replied with a self-deprecating chuckle.

The king exchanged another look with Lyonel, who shrugged as if to say, Well, stranger things have happened. Finally, Viserys waved a hand. “Fine. I’ll not stop you from trying, but don’t come crying to me when she brands you an imbecile and sends you packing.”

Jason bowed low, his grin returning. “Thank you, Your Grace. I assure you, I am up to the challenge.”

As Jason left the tent, Lyonel turned to Viserys with a raised eyebrow. “Do you think he’ll survive?”

Viserys snorted into his wine. “If he does, it’ll be a miracle. Or perhaps I’ll need to have Maesters on hand for the bruises to his pride.”

The day was alive with the energy of the hunt: the baying of hounds, the sharp trill of horns, and the crunch of boots and hooves on the forest floor. The air was crisp and carried the faint smell of pine and damp earth. You strode alongside your father, King Viserys, as you always did during royal hunts, clad in a practical riding outfit that allowed for movement but still bore the Targaryen sigil embroidered on your chest. A bow was slung over your shoulder, and you carried yourself with ease, ignoring the glances from the courtiers trailing behind.

Ahead of you, Viserys chatted animatedly with Otto Hightower, who appeared more interested in keeping pace than engaging in the conversation. Behind you, Lord Jason Lannister loomed, his usual swagger muted as he kept his eyes firmly on you.

“Forgive me, Princess,” Jason began, his tone overly polite as he fell into step beside you, “but I must say, it’s unusual for a lady—let alone a princess—to partake in something as… rough as a hunt.”

You turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Unusual, perhaps, to someone who knows only boring ladies.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard by your quick retort, but he recovered swiftly. “I wouldn’t call them boring, Princess. Simply more… traditional.”

You snorted, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Traditional? You mean they sit around embroidering lions and gossiping about who wore the finest gown at the last feast?”

Jason opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. “I assure you, Lord Jason, I would rather face a charging boar than suffer through another discussion about the texture of Dornish silks.”

Ahead of you, Viserys glanced over his shoulder, clearly enjoying the exchange. “You’ve done it now, Lord Jason,” he called back, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’ve given her an opening.”

Otto smirked faintly but said nothing, his sharp eyes flicking between you and the Lannister lord. Jason cleared his throat, determined to press on. “I only meant that it’s rare to find a princess with such… unconventional tastes.”

“Unconventional?” you echoed, your tone laced with mock offense. “Is it unconventional to enjoy the thrill of a hunt, or are you implying that princesses should stick to sipping wine and giggling behind fans?”

Jason hesitated, visibly choosing his words with care. “I would never suggest such a thing. Only that—well, most ladies of your station prefer less hazardous pastimes.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though a smirk played on your lips. “Ah, so you think me incapable of handling the hazards? Shall I remind you, my lord, that I have participated in hunts since I was a child? Or would you like a demonstration?”

Jason’s lips twitched into a smile, despite himself. “I’ve no doubt of your skill, Princess. But surely there are better ways to spend one’s time?”

“Better than this?” you asked, gesturing to the sprawling woods around you. “And what would you suggest, Lord Jason? Lounging in a gilded hall while you regale me with tales of Casterly Rock’s grandeur?”

Viserys let out a bark of laughter, clapping Otto on the shoulder. “I told you, Otto. She’s got her mother’s fire. Poor lad doesn’t stand a chance.”

Otto hummed thoughtfully, his amusement plain. “It seems the Lannisters are as persistent as they are wealthy.”

Jason straightened, clearly aware of the audience but unwilling to back down. “Perhaps persistence is exactly what’s needed to win a Targaryen’s favor.”

You tilted your head, feigning contemplation. “Perhaps. Though persistence without substance is just a louder way to waste my time.”

That earned a round of chuckles from the hunters nearby, and even Viserys shook his head in mock pity. Jason, to his credit, took the jibe in stride, his smile unwavering. “Then perhaps you’d allow me to prove my substance, Princess.”

You glanced at him sidelong, your smirk growing. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll try, my lord. Whether you succeed is another matter.”

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but the horns blew again, signaling the sighting of prey. Viserys raised his hand to quiet the group, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Enough banter, you two. Let’s see if we can bring down something worthy of my son’s feast.”

As the group moved forward, Jason lingered just a step behind you. “You’ve a sharp tongue, Princess,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear. “I quite like it.”

You glanced at him, your expression unreadable. “Careful, my lord,” you said lightly. “You might cut yourself.”

Jason laughed softly, shaking his head, and fell silent. For now.

The feasting tent was alive with laughter, clinking goblets, and the aroma of roasted meats. Lords and ladies were seated in clusters, exchanging pleasantries and gossip as the servants flitted about, filling cups and replenishing platters. At the table reserved for House Lannister, Lord Jason Lannister had finally taken his seat next to his twin brother, Tyland, who had arrived earlier and was already halfway through his goblet of wine.

Jason dropped into his chair with a theatrical sigh, grabbing his goblet and draining half of it in one go. Tyland arched an eyebrow at his brother, clearly intrigued.

“Well, you look like you’ve fought a battle,” Tyland observed, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “I take it your courtship of the youngest princess didn’t go as planned?”

Jason straightened in his seat, brushing imaginary dust from his doublet. “It went fine. Better than fine, actually. Remarkably well.”

Tyland snorted, taking another sip of wine. “Is that so? Because the way I heard it, she called you something along the lines of…” He tapped a finger against his chin, pretending to think. “Ah yes, an ‘overgrown lion cub with more mane than brains.’”

Jason paused mid-drink, lowering his goblet as he mulled that over. “Did she actually say that?”

Tyland’s smirk widened. “Word travels fast, dear brother. You’re the talk of the hunt.”

Jason chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll admit, she’s sharp-tongued, but it’s all part of the charm.”

Tyland gave him a long, incredulous look. “The charm? Jason, she’s insulted you three times today. Once in front of the king.”

Jason leaned in, resting his elbows on the table, a slow grin spreading across his face. “And wasn’t it magnificent?”

Tyland nearly choked on his wine. “Magnificent? Have you gone mad? Most men would’ve turned tail after the first barb.”

Jason shrugged, his grin not faltering. “Most men don’t have the spine for a real challenge. But the princess? She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Clever, bold, utterly fearless.”

Tyland tilted his head, studying his brother as though he were a foreign creature. “Are you sure you’re feeling well? You sound like a lovesick minstrel.”

Jason laughed, gesturing for a servant to refill his goblet. “I’ve never been better, Tyland. And mark my words, I’m not giving up.”

Tyland sighed, rubbing his temples as though the very idea gave him a headache. “Jason, you do realize she’s as likely to throw that goblet at your head as she is to accept your advances?”

Jason grinned, raising his refilled goblet. “Then I’ll duck and try again.”

Tyland let out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “No, Tyland. I’m in love.”

Tyland stared at him for a moment, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. “You’ve spent all of one day bickering with her, and you’re calling it love?”

Jason shrugged again, completely unbothered. “It’s the beginning of something. I can feel it.”

Tyland sighed, raising his goblet in a mock toast. “To your perseverance, brother. And to the princess’s patience—she’ll need it.”

Jason clinked his goblet against Tyland’s with a laugh, his mind already racing with plans for his next move. Tyland, meanwhile, settled back into his seat, muttering under his breath, “Overgrown lion cub indeed.”

The royal hunt had concluded in success—or what could loosely be called success. King Viserys had driven his spear into a fine stag, though the beast was brown, not the white hart they had hoped for. Still, the king’s mood was jovial as the procession returned to camp, the deer tied to a cart and the hounds trotting proudly alongside.

You dismounted from your horse, smoothing your riding attire and dusting off your gloves. The camp bustled with activity, and you were eager to slip away and check on your sister, who had yet to return. But as you turned to leave, you were intercepted by none other than Jason Lannister.

“Princess,” he began, his tone as smooth as polished gold, “a moment of your time.”

You sighed inwardly but forced a polite smile. “Lord Jason. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jason fell into step beside you as you walked toward the campfires, his confident grin firmly in place. “I merely wished to offer my congratulations on the hunt. Though, truth be told, I suspect you would’ve done just as well, had you been given the chance.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, unsure whether to interpret his words as flattery or a subtle dig. “A kind sentiment, my lord, though I doubt the stag would agree.”

Jason chuckled, unperturbed. “No doubt. But, Princess, I must say, there’s something quite striking about a woman who defies convention. It’s… refreshing.”

“Refreshing,” you echoed, your voice dry. “Like a cold bath in the middle of winter.”

He grinned at your sarcasm. “Exactly. Though I imagine even the coldest waters would be warmed by your presence.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him with an arched brow. “Lord Jason, is there a point to this conversation, or are you simply practicing your flowery speeches?”

Jason hesitated for only a fraction of a second before recovering, his grin widening. “Perhaps both. But more importantly, I wanted to speak to you about my earlier… proposal.”

You opened your mouth to respond—no doubt with a scathing remark—but the sound of hoofbeats interrupted you. Turning toward the commotion, you spotted Rhaenyra riding into camp, her white hair streaked with mud and blood, and a triumphant gleam in her eyes. Behind her rode Ser Criston Cole, his expression impassive but his armor smeared with evidence of their kill. A massive boar was strapped across the back of their horse, its tusks gleaming in the fading light.

“Excuse me, my lord,” you said quickly, seizing the opportunity to escape. “I must go and greet my sister.”

Jason stepped in front of you, holding up a hand. “Wait. Just a moment longer.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Lord Jason, whatever it is, make it quick.”

He straightened, his expression uncharacteristically earnest. “I understand you may think me arrogant—or, as you so eloquently put it earlier, an ‘overgrown lion cub.’ But I am sincere in my intentions, Princess. Casterly Rock is a grand place, a fitting home for a woman as remarkable as yourself. All I ask is that you reconsider.”

You stared at him, caught between exasperation and surprise. “You truly don’t give up, do you?”

Jason smiled, the hint of a boyish charm breaking through his usual bravado. “Never.”

Letting out a long breath, you gave a small shrug. “Fine. I’ll reconsider.”

Jason blinked, as though he hadn’t heard correctly. “You will?”

“Yes,” you said, sidestepping him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to speak with my sister before she starts skinning that boar.”

Jason remained frozen for a moment, processing your words. Then, realization dawned on his face, and his grin returned in full force. “You said yes.”

You turned back briefly, giving him a flat look. “I said I’d reconsider, Lord Jason. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

But Jason was already beaming, his chest puffed out like a victorious knight. “Still, it’s progress.”

Shaking your head, you hurried toward Rhaenyra, who was dismounting her horse with Ser Criston’s help. As you approached, you could hear Jason’s triumphant declaration behind you:

“Tyland! She didn’t call me an insult this time!”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow at you, her lips twitching in amusement. “What was that about?”

You rolled your eyes, brushing off the question. “Nothing worth discussing. Now, tell me—how does one kill a boar and look like they’ve wrestled a dragon in the process?”

Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head. “Perhaps I’ll teach you one day—assuming you survive Lord Lannister’s wooing.”

And despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh as well.

The end of the celebrations marked a flurry of activity in the royal camp. Servants bustled about, packing away tents and preparing carriages, while lords and ladies exchanged pleasantries before departing for their respective holds. You stood near your father’s retinue, helping to secure the last of your belongings while your sister Rhaenyra leaned casually against her horse, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” she remarked, her tone laced with amusement.

“I’ve had a long few days,” you replied, brushing dust from your gloves.

“Hmm,” she mused, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain lion, would it?”

You shot her a warning glance, but before you could reply, the subject of her teasing appeared. Jason Lannister strode across the camp, his crimson-and-gold cloak billowing dramatically behind him, his golden mane practically glowing in the morning light. He looked as though he had stepped straight out of a bard’s tale, which only made his approach all the more exasperating.

“Princess,” he called, his voice carrying easily over the bustle. “A word, if you please.”

Rhaenyra straightened, her smirk widening. “This should be entertaining,” she murmured, stepping back to watch.

You turned to face him, sighing softly. “Lord Jason, if this is about—”

“Your answer,” he interrupted, his grin as confident as ever. “The celebrations are over, and I must know where we stand.”

Before you could respond, King Viserys appeared, his crown slightly askew as he cradled a goblet of wine. Behind him, Queen Alicent stood holding Prince Aegon, her expression carefully neutral, though her eyes flicked curiously between you and Jason.

“Jason,” Viserys said, his tone weary but good-natured. “Still lingering, are you?”

Jason bowed deeply. “Your Grace. Forgive my persistence, but I wished to speak with the princess before her departure.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, looking between you and Jason. “Ah. This again.”

He turned to you, rubbing his temples as though the matter was giving him a headache. “Well, daughter? What’s your answer? I leave the choice to you.”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes on you. Rhaenyra looked thoroughly entertained, while Alicent’s expression betrayed nothing. Jason, of course, was grinning like a boy about to win a prize.

Finally, you let out a long, theatrical sigh. “I suppose… I’ll accept.”

Jason’s grin widened, though he looked momentarily stunned, as if he hadn’t actually expected you to agree. “You will?”

“Yes,” you said, your tone almost resigned. “If only to stop your endless pestering.”

Rhaenyra laughed outright, covering her mouth with her hand as Viserys gave you a long, bemused look. “Well,” he muttered, scratching his beard. “Congratulations, I suppose.”

Jason straightened, clearly taking this as a full endorsement. “Thank you, Your Grace. I assure you, the princess will be treated like a queen at Casterly Rock.”

Viserys glanced at you again, his expression skeptical. “Let’s hope she doesn’t regret it.”

Jason turned back to you, his grin still firmly in place. “You won’t regret this, Princess. I’ll ensure you have everything you could ever want.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Including peace and quiet?”

Jason laughed, utterly undeterred. “If that’s what you desire, then yes.”

Viserys groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Enough. If you’re going to spend the rest of your days bickering, at least do it somewhere I don’t have to hear it.”

Rhaenyra, still chuckling, mounted her horse and gave you a sly look. “Safe travels, sister. And do try not to murder him before you reach Casterly Rock.”

You shot her a glare but couldn’t suppress a small smile. As Jason turned to escort you toward your own horse, you muttered under your breath, “What have I gotten myself into?”

Jason, ever the optimist, leaned in with a grin. “The adventure of a lifetime, Princess.”

And with that, the two of you joined the departing procession, your father still muttering behind you, “The Seven save us all.”

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

Story Masterlist

Chapter 14

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Arranged marriage AU

Interact with this post to be on the tag list. Read DNI/BYF first.

NOTE: I think we can all agree that Dion deserves to suffer at least a bit <3  (Just a bit <3)

Warnings: toxic marriage/relationship, general yandere themes, obsessive and possessive themes/behavior, jealousy, anxiety, implied/mentioned past child abuse/neglect, mention of murder, implied murder, slight blood, mention of drugs (sleeping pills), mention of past alcohol consumption, mention of alcohol poisoning. Please tell me if I missed any.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT WITH OR REBLOG FANDOM RELATED THINGS (FICS, ART, ECT.) DNI. 

= = =

It’s been two days since Dion Agriche indirectly told you that you’re his and that nothing will ever change that fact.

His proclamations only serve to make you feel like a possession. A pretty little songbird locked in a gilded cage, her ‘master’ unwilling to set her free. And the reason? To hear her sing until her last breath, voice hoarse and throat bleeding.

Sighing, you lean against the railing on the terrace, the light breeze flowing through your hair. The soft glow of the moonlight casts over the area, dark blue sky filled with twinkling stars. It’s peaceful. 

The heavy smell of outside and iron fills your senses, a quick frown tugging at your lips before forcing it away.

“You’re still awake.” 

Well, it was peaceful until a certain sadistic and horrible man draped a coat over your shoulders. You didn’t even hear the doors open, too lost in thought. Dion towers over you easily, and his presence is a nuisance. Unwanted.

He left for a mission earlier today yet he’s already back…

The warmth from the coat only makes you shiver, the blasted thing a ‘gift’ given to you by Maria on your wedding day. You frown when the man gathers your hair and brings it out from under the coat's collar, letting it float down over the material. His gentleness makes you sick.

“And you’re back,” you complain rather than state in a trembling whisper. You’ll never get used to this, to him. His gaze burns, and you’re unable to turn around to properly greet him. Not that you want to - everything about the man was repulsive - his face, his voice, his height, his name, even the color of his hair and eyes.

He makes you sick.

Another soft breeze as crickets chirp into the night. Below you, two servants walk, their hideous uniforms proudly worn. They look young - most likely in their early to mid twenties. One with dark brown hair and the other dark grey-ish. 

Your husband’s stare burns harsher the longer you look at the two young men. Even so, you don’t look away, even when he moves to stand to your right side, fingers brushing against yours. Like a puppy asking for attention. Despite horror filling your entire being, you don’t tear your gaze away from the two men below you, nor do you stop yourself from moving your hand away from him.

Maybe it was a small act of defiance - aka, showing Dion that you would rather look at any man that wasn’t him. Of course, you’ll come to regret this in the morning, but right now, you crave to interrupt his peace as he had done to yours. Even as your legs begin to buck under your weight.

Ignoring the pressure building in your temples and silencing your gulps, you hope that Dion doesn’t see through you immediately. Your mother would have a heart attack had she been here, witnessing her married daughter give more attention to  nameless men and not her arranged husband. 

Perhaps feeling eyes on them, both men look up, surprised to see as you smile oh so sweetly at them and wave. Ignoring the rapidly forming panic pulling at your heart strings, you watch as they blink before bowing, flustered as light pink spreads across the apples of their cheeks. 

Just two normal men.

“Good evening, My Lady!” They shout in unison. However, when they raise their heads, their cheeks go from pink to pale as their expressions twist into ones of terror. The reason is obvious, your husband wrapping an unwanted arm around your shoulders, gloved hand gripping the side of the left one tighter than necessary. You can only imagine the look he’s giving them.

They scamper off immediately, knowing better than to stay longer than necessary, knowing that greeting the Young Master would only aggravate him more, as the servants would get to look at you, his pretty wife, his possession, for longer.  

You feel bad now, forgetting for a moment that your husband is possessive.

“I’m right here yet you’d rather look at them?” His voice does a complete 180 -  voice once calm now filled with jealousy you can’t begin nor want to understand. You don’t answer. You look ahead of you, scared shitless once the reality of what you just had done hits you in full.

Am I trying to kill myself!?

The air feels colder, goosebumps forming on your skin. Despite the coat, you shiver. And while his stare burns hot, your blood runs cold. So close to curling into yourself, you blame the breeze for your trembling body.

It seems that cold sweats are a permanent thing for you now, biting the inside of your cheek as you break out into one. One hand gripping the front of the coat to hold it tighter against you, your fingers twitch as his gloved hand moves from your shoulder to the nape of your neck, and then up to the base of your head, fingers tangling themselves in your tresses. 

Soft and gentle, it reminds you of the scene where he asked Roxana the location of Cassis’ hiding place.

The memory quickly fades into the background as Dion leans down just enough to whisper in your ear. He’s very fond of doing so, apparently. So fond of it, that whenever the opportunity arises, he’ll take it.

And your body is becoming accustomed to his hot breath, lying to itself, saying it feels good just so you won’t break out into another panic attack. However, you can start to hear the blood rush in your ears, a small built up tear catching in your lashes. Is this all you’re capable of doing? Crying?

“You never look or smile at me so sweetly.” 

There is some resentment in his voice, but his tone doesn’t drip with it. “But you smiled at two random men who aren’t your husband?” His next sentence almost sounds betrayed, and it’s funny seeing how your husband had never done a thing to earn your sweetness. 

You can’t find your voice. 

You can’t force yourself to please him, either.

Nor can you turn away and walk into the room, throwing the coat to the floor. 

The only thing you can do is endure. 

And even then, you’re barely holding up.

“Even now you’re trying your best to ignore me.” He sounds tired - he should go to sleep. Go to sleep and leave you alone, like he should, but two days ago he imprinted himself fully onto you. In the most horribly way possible, nightmares slowly become reality as he refuses to set his eyes on another. 

“I never imagined that my wife could be so cruel,” he teases, lips almost touching your ear. You blink once, twice, before leaning your head away, unable to stand his body heat for much longer. Unable to endure his ‘affection’ for a second longer, shrugging off his arm and the tall male lets you go. Not without an emotion you wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint as it flashes in his eyes before he blinks it away had you seen it.

“I never imagined that my husband would be so horrible,” you blurt out without meaning to, wincing once your own words register in your brain after it’s too late. Your heart speeds up. Right hand forming a shaking fist, your nails break skin, the action not enough to distract you. 

You made a horrible and dangerous mistake. But it’s too late to take it back, sweat running down your temples. 

There’s a sting in your thumb and a crave for flesh in your mouth. Your toes curl in your soft slippers. The seconds feel like hours, waiting for his response, be it physical or verbal.

“You’re right - not that it changes anything.” He doesn’t waste a breath in agreeing with you.

Without another word, your husband guides you back into the room. He’s behind you, and curiosity has always killed the cat, which is why despite your fear, your shivering figure, you look over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of Dion Agriche.

His scarlet eyes glow, the dark circles under them worse than they were two days ago, inky black hair that small clunks of dirt cling to, and smeared crimson blood across his face. When your gaze travels down, there’s also dirt and small specks of blood on his cloak, the article of clothing wrinkled.

He didn’t even bother to wash up.

Like the first thing he wanted to do - no need to do was see you. 

The sentiment is lost and ignored as you turn back around. Husband or not, you refuse to see Dion Agriche as anything else but a threat. That’s the only thing you know him as.

Had you looked back, you would have noticed Dion reaching into his pocket only to pull it back out after a thought. He watches as you remove the coat from your shoulders and hang it back up in the closet - out of sight, out of mind.

He hums.

Pointer finger taping against his pocket, he mulls over whether to give you the small jewelry piece in a little blue box he brought back, knowing it would look pretty on you. He decides not to in the end, knowing you wouldn’t accept it.

That’s usually how it starts.

- - -

“- it’s fine, really. No, no, it’s okay. I don’t mind looking after her for a few more days… Hm? Of course she behaves - (Name) is always a good girl.”

Your grandmother’s voice travels from the living room into the kitchen where you’re doing your homework. Pencil in hand, you keep rereading the question, only to repeat the process as the printed words look blurred and jumbled together. The grandfather clock goes off, telling you that it’s midnight. 

Your grandmother ends the call without asking if you wanted to speak to your dad.

Not that it matters - he always texts you a ‘good morning,’ at seven-am on the dot. Never failing to do it once, it always brings a smile to your face.

As it should.

Your grandmother doesn’t say anything as she heads up the stairs, leaving you to your own devices. And you do the same. A mutual agreement between grandmother and granddaughter. Love and affection were a curious and complicated subject.

Regardless, you stay in the kitchen, hearing dogs bark outside and beer bottles thrown to the ground, on an average ‘Saturday night’. You scribble something on the paper before erasing it only to repeat it again and again. By the time you solve the third question out of ten, the sun has come up, Sunday morning greeting you.

- - -

“Thank you for inviting me, mother-in-law.”

Maria had invited you for tea in her room, far from any prying eyes. Hana is right at your side, ready to receive any orders that either you or your mother-in-law may give her. Her expression is stern, not an ounce of emotion in those eyes of hers. 

So unlike the Hana that helped you get ready for the dinner with Dion and Lant three days ago. The Hana who showed some level of concern for you, who scolded two other maids while keeping her head leveled and not punishing them, assuming she had the power to do so.

“Oh, it’s no problem - as in-laws, we should bond and spend time together.” Her smile is far too bright and sweet for that… eccentric personality of hers. She continues, “besides, I heard that you were sick after the dinner with Lant. Was it food poisoning?” 

She genuinely looks concerned as she questions you, but it’s Maria; a snake that coils itself around its prey once the opportunity arises. And you’re already on that list, right behind Sierra in terms of ‘affection’ which your mother-in-law confuses for ‘mental torture.’ 

How aware the brunette is of this, you’re not sure. 

“O-oh… I just drank a little too much…,” your chuckle is awkward, eyes landing on your tea cup. Your smile feels strained.

 She startles you with a sharp gasp.

“So it was alcohol poisoning? (Name), dear, are you alright?” She hurries to your side like a loving mother, her gloved hands gently placing themselves on your shoulders. She doesn’t squeeze them, unlike her son. She doesn’t look at you with a need to own your entire being, either.

“O-oh, I’m fine now, I promise, mother-in-law.” Despite your practiced smile, her uneasy expression doesn’t leave her pretty and soft facial features. Her reaction reminds you of your mother’s the one time you accidentally ate a poisonous plant… wait, no, her reaction was much worse than this. 

“That Lant-!” You’re caught off guard when she curses her own husband, leaving her ‘unlovable’ son out of it. Like that dreadful sociopath wasn’t there.

You blink, unable to form words, watching as her expression morphe into one of frustration only to soften almost immediately when she locks eyes with you. Sweetly smiling at you, she threads her fingers through your hair. 

It feels like she’s trying to replace your mother.

The thought makes you sick.

“I’m sorry for acting out like that. Lant is usually careful with handing out alcohol - and while Dion can be…careless, he’s not used to drinking with others.” Pigs are flying in your old world, they have to be, because how and why is Maria standing up for the son she never wanted?

“It’s - it’s fine… it’s my fault for going past my limit.” You’re not lying, you really were careless about your intake of the bitter wine. You learned your lesson - you want to avoid waking up with a hangover again…

You want to avoid Dion ‘comforting’ and touching you.

“Still, he should have seen the tell-tell signs,” she sighs before turning to Hana. “What was your name again?” She questions your aide. Your heart drops.

Wait, didn’t she ask that same question to a maid she killed right after…?

“It’s Hana, my Lady.” She bows without a single change in her expression. No twitch of the eyebrow or lips. Her face remains stoic.

“Hana. What a pretty name. Now tell me, where were you when your Master got drunk?” Her voice is sweet but the question is threatening. Like the weakling you are, all you do is sit, hopelessly praying that Maria won’t lay a hand or harm Hana in any way or form.

“I was fixing up her room on Young Master’s Dion’s orders.” Her answer is direct, not once breaking eye contact with your extremely dangerous mother-in-law. 

“I see. Is Dion your Master?” 

“No, my Lady. I was put under Lady (Name) a bit after she arrived here.”

The interrogation goes on, and every second feels like an hour. The room must be hot since you’re almost drowning in sweat. You gulp as Maria continues.

“By who?”

“Young Master Dion, my Lady.”

While her answer should confirm some things, you’re too focused on her safety to soak in the information. Too worried that her head will roll right off her shoulders.

“Dion? I see. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that he carelessly gave my precious daughter-in-law such an incompetent maid.” 

SCREECHED!

“Mother-in-law, believe it or not, but Hana has been very helpful. It’s because of her that I’m adapting so well so quickly. You help too, of course.” 

You don’t remember getting up. You don’t remember gently grabbing Maria’s shoulders like a daughter showing  affection to her mother. You don’t remember smiling so brightly that it looks genuine, enough so that your personal maid looks surprised, already knowing how much you hate being here.

“She’s always at my beck and call - ready to serve me in the dead of the night, regardless if I dismissed her for the day. While one could say she went against my orders, personally, I see it as an act of loyalty.” Your words flow out smoothly, like you weren’t on the verge of breaking down sobbing.

You don’t know why you’re standing up for a maid who’s possibly spying on you for either Dion or Lant. A maid you barely know, much less considered as a ‘friend.’ A maid you have only known for a few weeks.

Most likely it’s because you don’t want to be introduced to a new one - it would be a waste of time, really. Hana already knows your habits with her keen eyes and senses. She knows what clothes and hairstyles look best on you. Her tea is delicious. Her excuses worked in your favor.

It would be a waste to replace her with a maid who might not even know what to do. 

That’s all it is.

“So please, don’t blame her - she thought she was doing the best for me, her Master.”

You don’t let go of her shoulders even when you’re scared shitless, worried you crossed a boundary even though she always crosses yours. You wait with baited breath for her response, hoping you didn’t fuck up big time.

“Well,” Maria turns around to face you, removing your hands from her person to hold them instead. “I suppose I can give her another chance. I only want the best for you.” 

After hearing her words, you can only think of and pity your husband. She cares more for a stranger than her own flesh and blood - a child she neglected and left in the hands of one of the worst people in existence. 

Pushing the thought away, your body relaxes a bit. “Thank you. I’m really grateful for you, mother-in-law.” It’s a lie but as she strokes your hair with tenderness you weren’t aware she could show to anyone aside from Sierra, you almost forget how crazy and brutal she is.

You almost forgot that this woman did not tend to her growing, lonely son as she should have.

“Anytime, (Name), anytime.” 

Your gut tells you that you only entangled yourself with this crazed woman more. 

- - -

“Hana, can you fetch me some sleeping pills? I think I’ll need them…” 

“Yes, My Lady. I’ll be back in a moment.” The events that transpired an hour ago aren’t mentioned, both parties silently and mutually deciding that it wasn’t worth it. Which is why Hana didn’t question you once you left Maria’s room an hour later, despite her curious gaze. 

Honestly, you’re still not sure why or how you did it.

With a sigh you kick off your heels once you reach the bed, head low, finding that lifting it would take too much effort. Last night you had to deal with Dion - today, it was Maria. The worst part was that the day hadn't ended yet, but you know for a fact if you didn’t request sleeping pills now you wouldn’t remember until Dion is ‘sleeping’ on your shared bed.

Landing on your stomach, your body lightly bounces on the comfortable bed. The scent of bergamot oranges soothes your nerves. Relieved, you nuzzle your head into your pillow, finally having a beautiful peaceful moment all to yourself in this fucking psychward.

 The ‘sugary’ voice of Maria is gone, anxiety about accidentally catching sight of one of her ‘dolls’ is out of mind. Dread that you might run into another one of your in-laws faded away the moment Hana opened the bedroom doors. Also, the fact you didn’t see Lant at all lifts your mood.

Not to mention that your horrible, frightful, perverted, annoying husband was nowhere in sight -

“You seem to be in a good mood.” A boyish voice fills the silence. 

…huh…?

Lifting yourself into a sitting position, legs hanging off the bed, you look towards the doors. You think you’re dreaming, for one, this person just waltzed into the room like nothing, clearly sneaking in right after Hana. The other reason is because the boy with leaves and goo in his hair is -

“Jeremy?”

= = =

Tag list: @tiny-mimi @pix-stuff @umi-adxhira @queenofspades403 @darkumbreon92 @manitscold @puggyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

[sylusonychinus]

Episode Six : A Storm Brewing

Series Masterlist Next Episode

The quiet hum of the morning was shattered by the sharp ringing of a phone.

[Reader]’s mother frowned as she glanced at the caller ID, her ex-husband’s name flashing across the screen. With a sigh, she picked up.

"What do you want?" she asked, already exasperated.

"Why didn’t you tell me our daughter is working in aviation?!" he barked on the other end. "Do you have any idea how hard this is making things for Liana?"

Her grip on the phone tightened. "And why exactly is that my problem?"

"Because it’s embarrassing!" he spat. "People are comparing them! Liana worked hard to be where she is, and now they’re saying that she—"

"Oh, please," she cut him off, her voice cold. "You don’t get to act like a father now. You never cared about [Reader], so don’t pretend you suddenly have an opinion about her career."

"I am her father—"

"No, you’re Liana’s father," she snapped. "You made that clear when you walked away from us. You have no say in her life."*

The silence on the other end was deafening.

"Stay out of this," she warned. "And tell your precious daughter to deal with her own insecurities."*

With that, she hung up, anger simmering in her chest.

Across town, Liana Reyes sat in a trendy café, lazily stirring her iced coffee as she listened to Marissa rant about her latest grievances.

"—and then he had the audacity to say he wasn’t interested. Can you believe that?" Marissa huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Liana, only half-listening, hummed in fake sympathy. "Men are idiots."*

Marissa rolled her eyes before scrolling through her phone. She stopped suddenly, her fingers tightening around the device. "Oh. My. God."*

"What?" Liana asked, taking a sip of her drink.

Marissa turned the screen towards her. "Tara went to a wedding last month. Look who got married."*

Liana’s brows knitted together as she leaned in—only for her expression to twist in fury when she saw the photos.

"You’re kidding," she seethed.

[Reader]. And Caleb Xia.

Married.

"That little—" Liana set her cup down with a loud clink, gripping her phone with enough force that her nails nearly dug into the case.

"And she didn’t even invite you?" Marissa added, feigning shock. "Wow. Your own sister."*

Liana’s jaw clenched. "She really thought she could keep this from me?"

Her fingers hovered over her phone before she dialed a familiar number.

The line rang twice before [Reader] picked up. "Liana?"

"Meet me at Belleview Café. Now," Liana ordered.

A pause. "Why?"

"Because we need to talk about why I wasn’t invited to your wedding, dear sister," she sneered.

[Reader] exhaled sharply. "I don’t have time for this, Liana."*

"Make time," Liana snapped. "Or I’ll make sure everyone knows that you’re the daughter of a mistress."*

Silence.

Liana smirked. "See you soon."*

She ended the call, sitting back in her seat with satisfaction.

"She’s on her way," she mused, crossing her arms. "Let’s see if our golden sister can handle this one."*

Marissa giggled. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

The café was cozy, filled with the quiet hum of conversation and the scent of roasted coffee beans. But despite its warm atmosphere, the tension at one particular table was thick enough to cut with a knife.

[Reader] sat across from Liana, her fingers clenched into fists beneath the table as she listened to her so-called sister drone on.

"I just can’t believe you would do something so selfish," Liana scoffed, taking a delicate sip of her overpriced latte. "Marrying Caleb Xia of all people?"*

"Selfish?" [Reader] repeated, raising a brow. "How is marrying my husband selfish?"

"Because," Liana leaned in, her voice dripping with condescension. "You don’t deserve him."*

Marissa, sitting beside her, smirked. "I mean, let’s be real. You’re not exactly his type, are you?"

"Right!" Liana sighed dramatically. "Caleb is successful, charming, handsome. He’s been my friend for years. Honestly, he and I would have been the perfect couple."*

[Reader]’s patience was wearing thin. "Then why aren’t you together?"

Liana’s expression faltered for a split second before she scoffed. "Because you sunk your claws into him first."*

Marissa nodded eagerly. "You’re a nobody, [Reader]. You really think Caleb married you because he loves you? He probably felt pity for you."*

Something inside [Reader] snapped.

She grabbed the glass of water in front of her and, without hesitation, threw it straight at Liana’s face.

A gasp rippled through the café as cold water splashed all over Liana’s perfectly styled hair and designer blouse.

Liana let out a shriek, her hands flying up to her face. "You—!"*

"Oops," [Reader] said flatly, setting the now-empty glass back on the table. "Must’ve slipped."*

Marissa gasped, eyes wide in shock. "You bitch!"

Liana slammed her palms onto the table, seething. "Marissa, hold her down."*

Marissa immediately reached for [Reader], grabbing her arms to restrain her.

"You think you can humiliate me like this?!" Liana spat, raising a hand to slap her. "You’re nothing, you hear me? Nothing!"

But before her palm could make contact—

[Reader] was suddenly ripped from Marissa’s grasp.

"Let. Her. Go."*

The voice was cold. Dangerous.

Liana froze, her raised hand trembling slightly as she turned to see Caleb Xia standing behind [Reader], his grip firm on her wrist.

"C-Caleb?" Liana stammered.

Marissa’s smug expression instantly vanished as she let go of [Reader] like she had been burned.

[Reader], still shaken, looked up at him in shock. "Caleb?"

He had followed her.

Earlier, when [Reader] had taken the call from Liana, Caleb had just stepped out of the bathroom. He had overheard everything. When he asked where she was going, she had brushed him off, saying she was just heading downstairs.

But he hadn’t believed her.

And now, standing here, hearing every vile thing Liana had just said—his patience was gone.

His gaze flickered to Liana, his jaw clenched. "You’re seriously still like this, huh?"

Liana swallowed hard. "I—Caleb, you don’t understand, she—"

"I understand just fine."* His voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it. "And for the record? I was never interested in you."*

Liana’s eyes widened, her breath hitching. "W-what?"

"Not in high school. Not in flight school. Never." His grip on [Reader] tightened protectively. "I don’t know what delusion you’ve been living in, but my life? My choices? They were never about you."*

Silence.

Liana stood there, humiliated, her lips slightly parted like she wanted to argue—but for the first time in her life, she had nothing to say.

"Come on," Caleb murmured, gently pulling [Reader] towards the exit. "We’re leaving."*

And with that, they walked out—leaving Liana Reyes and Marissa alone in their embarrassment.

The moment they stepped back into their apartment, [Reader] pulled her wrist free from Caleb’s grasp and bolted for her room.

But Caleb was faster.

Just as she reached for the doorknob, his hand landed on the wood, stopping her from going inside.

"Oh, no you don’t," he said firmly.

She clenched her jaw. "Move, Caleb."*

"Not until you answer me," he countered, his tone unusually serious. "What would’ve happened if I wasn’t there on time?"

She looked away, arms crossing over her chest. "I could’ve handled it."*

"Really?" Caleb raised a brow. "Because from what I saw, Liana and Marissa were seconds away from ganging up on you."*

"I threw a drink at her first," she mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "I started it. I can finish it."*

Caleb exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face before leaning down slightly, forcing her to meet his eyes. "[Reader], listen to me. You don’t have to deal with this alone."*

She swallowed. "It’s not like you’ll always be around."*

"That’s what I’m saying—" He sighed, pressing his palm flat against the door beside her head. "If something happens, call me. I don’t care where I am, what I’m doing—call me. Because I’m your husband."*

She blinked up at him, his words sinking in.

Husband.

The weight of it still felt unreal sometimes.

After a beat, she let out a small breath and nodded. "Okay… I promise."*

Caleb studied her expression before sighing and stepping back, giving her space. "Good."*

Then, his usual playful smirk returned. "Now, on a much lighter note—dinner."*

She raised a brow. "Dinner?"

"Yeah. A few of my friends from the airline are meeting up tonight. Come with me."*

"You mean a pilot gathering?"

"Something like that," he shrugged. "It’ll be fun. You should get to know them."*

She hesitated. "I don’t know…"

"C’mon, [Reader]." He gave her a knowing look. "You can’t just hide in your room after throwing water at your sister. Celebrate your victory."*

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hold back a small smile. "Fine, I’ll go. Just let me change."*

Caleb grinned. "That’s the spirit."*

A few minutes later, [Reader] emerged from her room wearing a short skirt and a simple white blouse.

Caleb, who had been waiting in the living room, looked up—and immediately raised a brow.

"Are you dressing like that for me or my friends?" he teased, his eyes flickering over her outfit.

She scoffed, placing a hand on her hip. "Neither. I just felt like wearing this."*

He smirked, stepping closer. "Right. Of course."*

She gave him a pointed look. "Do you have a problem with it?"

"Not at all," he said smoothly. "In fact, I fully support this choice."*

She rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse. "Let’s just go before I change my mind."*

Caleb chuckled, placing a hand on the small of her back as they headed out.

The dinner was held at a high-end steakhouse near the airport, where several of Caleb’s airline friends had already gathered.

The atmosphere was lively—full of laughter, teasing, and the occasional talk about flight routes and emergency landings.

But there was one person who didn’t seem thrilled about [Reader]’s presence.

Mark.

He had been close with Liana during training and was clearly on her side. Throughout the evening, he made little side comments, subtle digs aimed at [Reader].

"So," he mused after taking a sip of his drink. "Marrying into the aviation industry, huh? That’s one way to stay relevant."*

[Reader] tightened her grip on her fork, but before she could respond, Caleb shot Mark a sharp look. "Watch it."*

Mark raised his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, man. Just making conversation."*

[Reader] exhaled slowly and placed her napkin on the table. "Excuse me, I need to use the restroom."*

She needed to cool off before she actually threw something at him.

But the moment she stepped out of the restroom, she saw Mark standing near the entrance, scrolling through his phone.

Her eyes narrowed.

Perfect.

She walked up to him, voice cool and calm. "You have something to say to me, Mark?"

He looked up, smirking. "Just surprised, that’s all. Never thought Caleb would settle for—"

"For me?" she cut him off, tilting her head. "You mean someone who actually knows how to do her job? Or someone who doesn’t cling to him like a desperate high schooler?"

His smirk faltered. "Look, I didn’t mean—"

"No, go on," she crossed her arms. "Because I find it funny how you’re talking so much when Liana isn’t even here to defend herself."*

Mark cleared his throat. "I was just looking out for—"

"For what?" she raised a brow. "For your friend or your own misplaced bitterness?"

He looked away, jaw tightening.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "If you have an issue with me, be a man and say it to my face. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut."*

Mark let out a slow breath before finally muttering, "Fine. My bad."*

"Glad we understand each other."*

And with that, she walked back to the table, leaving him standing there in silence.

Taglist: @jinwoosbabyboo @kithyyy @mcdepressed290 @nezuswritingdesk @elegantdeerlady @yuuuumii @duhgurl @lumieresdreams @bidisasterforevermore @i-messed-up-big-time

@that-one-scoundrel @justpassingdontworry @ansbobcar @nagireos @auriuswolve @bookworm1999 @sickleddreamer @heeknow

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 61

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,490ish

Summary: Laura seems to be moving on with her life and you aren't taking it well.

Notes: Please share reactions! 

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Wade sat in the library in the TVA where all the files where kept. B-15 walked over and dropped all the files on you and your variants on the table.

“You know, for an all powerful agency, you sure are behind the times,” Wade commented, eyeing the paper files. “Maybe I can do you a solid and also digitize these?”

“We’re not looking for that, Mr. Wilson,” B-15 responded. “These files are not to leave this library and, trust me, we will know if they do.”

“Don’t worry, if these files don’t have anything useful, I won’t be taking anything from them.”

B-15 sighed. “Good luck, Wade. I hope you find something that could help Y/N. She deserves an easier life.”

Wade nodded as B-15 left and he focused in on the files. “Okay, let’s see what we can find to save my Buttercup.”

~~~

You didn’t believe Logan when he told you that Wade was off on some mission the X-Men recruited him to be on. He had clearly forgotten that a younger version of you was with the X-Men right now. But you didn’t question it. Though you were beginning to worry as it had now been weeks since you’d last seen him and your life was much quieter currently.

“Mom! Mom! Mom!” Laura called, bounding out of her room and down the hall.

“What’s going on, kiddo?” You asked as you wiped your hands off on your apron. 

“I got in!”

“What?” You felt like your heart stopped.

“I got into Columbia!”

“Oh my gosh, Laura!” You quickly brought her into a crushing hug as a few tears slipped down your cheeks. “I’m so proud of you, sweetie. So proud.”

She pulled away slightly. “Mom, please don’t cry.”

“Can’t help it. I’m just so proud that you’re my daughter. When do you start?”

“Actually, there’s a few half semester classes I’m interested in and I already contacted my counselor and they said I could start next week.”

“Next week?” That had you wanting to cry harder, but you held back.

“Yeah! Oh, and I got a job on campus that will allow me to put money towards tuition and give me a little scholarship.”

Your world was spinning faster now. “And when do you start that?”

“I’m actually going to get ready and head there.”

“Laura… how long have you known about all this? There’s no way this all happened today.”

Laura sighed. “I’m sorry, mom. I guessed that you might have a hard time so I made sure I had everything in order before telling you.”

It made you ache to hear that she was worried about you, especially knowing that she was right. “No matter what, I’m still proud of you, but next time please just tell me.”

“Okay, mom. Sorry.”

You pressed out a smile. “It’s okay. Go get ready.”

~~~

You could feel your powers tingling beneath your skin as you paced the living room. You were anxious with the fact that Laura didn’t feel like she could tell you everything and the fact that she was growing up and moving on. Laura has been your whole world for years now and now she was growing up to take care of herself. What would you do now?

“Hey, doll,” Logan greeted. He had gotten off of work, cleaned up, and was coming over to see if he could help you with dinner. “What— Y/N? Is everything okay?”

“No,” a sob tore through your throat causing Logan to quickly move in front of you.

“What’s going on?”

“My daughter’s growing up and I don’t know what to do.”

“Where is she?”

“Working. Just got a job without telling me. Got accepted to college without telling me. All because she was worried about how I’ll react and now I’m over here proving her right!” Flames shot up your arms.

“Woah!” Logan threw his hands up. “Okay, breathe, darlin’.”

“I can’t,” you gasped, lungs feeling like they were on fire.

Logan’s hands grasped your arms, ignoring the flames as they burned him. “Yes, you can. Follow me.”

“She’s— she’s growing up— she’s been— my whole world— what do I do now?”

“Oh, doll. You’re still her mom. Always will be. And you’ve done a fantastic job in raising her. But it’s time to start focusing on yourself.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to be alone… I wasn’t supposed to be alone.””

“You’re not alone, you have me. Always. But I need you to try to calm down. You’re hurtin’ yourself and I can’t handle that.”

“I’m sorry. I’m trying.”

“I know, I know. How can I make it better?”

“Just… don’t… leave…”

Logan shook his head. “Never, darlin’. You’re stuck with me. Follow me. Deep breath in, deep breath out.”

Logan and you began to take deep breaths together. Yours were shaky and broken by the sobs than had now become hiccups. Logan kept his eyes locked on your eyes, wanting you to understand that he wasn’t going anywhere. As your breathing calmed, so did your flames, revealing that both of your arms were burnt. The pain hit as soon as the final flame was extinguished. Your knees buckled but Logan quickly caught you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered as he picked you up. “I’ve got you.”

Logan carried you to the bathroom and set you on the counter. He quickly grabbed the burn cream and wraps. You cried softly as he worked carefully to take care of your injuries. Whenever a whine or whimper would slip past your lips, Logan would pause.

“You’re doing so good, darlin’,” he would say softly. “You’re so strong. I’m so proud of you.”

You tried to take his words to heart as he continued to take care of your burns. But the insecurities still slipped in. “I hate this…” you murmured. “I hate that my emotions control my powers… that my healing is too slow… I hate being weak.”

“You are not weak.” Logan couldn’t stand it when you talked badly about yourself, ever, but especially now with his emotions rapidly growing for you.

You scoffed. “Right now, I feel pretty weak.”

Logan finished up getting the wrap fastened before gently taking your chin and forcing you to look at him. “You’re not weak. You do not get to speak badly about yourself anymore, got it? Especially when it’s lies comin’ out of your mouth.” The seriousness that was shining through Logan’s eyes, had your heart stopping for a moment. “No more lies about yourself.”

All you could muster up was a swallow and a nod. Logan’s hand moved from your chin to cup your cheek. His thumb lightly brushed against your skin. 

“Do you need any meds?” He whispered, doing his best to keep you tethered to the moment because he could see that your energy was fading.

“Yes,” you breathed out.

“Alright. I’m going to get you into bed and then I’ll bring you some meds.”

“I don’t want to go to bed. I’ll stick to the couch, just… no bed, please.”

“Okay, doll. Whatever you want.”

Logan carefully carried you out to the couch and handed you a blanket before rushing to get some water and medicine for you. You quickly took them when he came back.

“Stay with me,” you requested. “We can turn on a show or something… I just don’t want to be alone.” 

“Of course,” Logan replied, grabbing the remote and sitting next to you. “Here.” He offered you the remote.

You shook your head. “Just put on something, I don’t care.”

“What’s your favorite show?” You told him what it was and where to find it. Logan turned on the first episode and glanced over at you. He noticed that you hadn’t placed the blanket over you yet. “Do you, uh, not want the blanket? I just assumed since—“

“No, no, I do. My hands are just hurting.”

He reached over and laid out the blanket over you. “All you need to do is ask and I will help you.”

“I know… thank you.”

He’s lips lifted up in a slight smile. “Anytime… I, uh… Do you, um… Well…”

“Lo,” you lightly laughed. “Just spit it out.”

You had been calling him ‘Lo’ a lot more lately. He didn’t think he liked nicknames until you started using them. Now, it made his heart soar to hear you call him that.

“Dinner,” he finally said. “Do you want me to make dinner?”

“We can just order in,” you stated. 

“I don’t mind. Besides, Laura should be home soon and she’ll need food.”

“I can help—“

“No,” Logan stood up. He gently grabbed your shoulders and maneuvered you to lay down on the couch. “Rest. I can handle a little cooking. And let me know if you need anything, doll.”

The tv show quickly went ignored as you watched Logan work in your kitchen. He cooked with such an awkward ease, if that was even something one could do. You couldn’t help but think how handsome he looked as he worked. The thought quickly took you by surprise and you shook it off. It was only because he looked like your husband… right?

Logan’s hands were trembling slightly as he felt your eyes on him. He had been hoping that you’d rest and let him embarrass himself in the kitchen in peace. Seemed like that wasn’t going to happen though. Logan tried to ignore your gaze and seem confident as he continued to work. 

Minutes passed and eventually you fell asleep due to the exhaustion of your flames and your body taking forever to heal. Logan kept working, knowing that your body needed fuel to help continue healing though he knew that it would take a week or two for your burns to disappear and leave scars behind. He turned away from the stove for a brief moment, only for the food in the pan to quickly catch on fire.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed.

You woke up as Logan tried to put out the flames, yet failed. The flames seemed to only grow bigger when his attempts. As quick as you could, you got off the couch and headed for the kitchen.

“Mom?” Laura called as she entered the apartment, immediately on alert at the smell of smoke. “Mom!”

You waved your hand, extinguishing the flames. You gasped as the amount of energy that took from you. Your knees buckled causing Laura to leap over to you and hold you up.

“Mom!” She exclaimed, taking in your full appearance. 

“Y/N!” Logan fretted as he saw how weak you had quickly gotten.

“What the hell did you do?” Laura glared at Logan.

“I—I—I was just cooking dinner and the pan caught on fire.”

“That doesn’t explain why she has bandages up her arms!”

“I’m… I’m… fine…” you tried to tell her, panting through every word. 

Your knees buckled again and Logan’s arms hurried out to help you but Laura pulled you away.

“Get out,” she ordered.

“Laura,” you rasped.

“Get out!” She repeated, yelling at the man in front of her.

“It was an accident, Laura,” Logan tried to explain. “I was just trying to—“

“I don’t fucking care! Leave! Get out!”

You could see that Logan felt guilty when his gaze met yours. You wanted to reach out and comfort him and to tell Laura that nothing was his fault, but you didn’t have the energy.

“Come on, mom,” Laura said as lifted you up and carried you down the hall to your room.

Logan watched with sad eyes until you both disappear into your room. Then he got to cleaning up the mess that he had made in your kitchen. Laura tucked you into bed, making sure that you were all settled before closing the door and going back out to the living area.

“I told you to get out,” Laura fumed.

“I’m just cleaning up the kitchen,” Logan mumbled. “Then I’ll go.”

“You’ve done enough for today. I told you not to hurt her, that includes her powers.”

“I know.” 

Logan wasn’t going to argue with Laura on this. He knew that he had caused the drain in your energy with the kitchen fire. He also knew that Laura was mostly talking about the bandages on your arms and he wasn’t going to tell her that she was the main cause of those. She didn’t need that guilt on her. He would take that for her.

“Just get out, Logan,” Laura stated again. “I can handle it.”

Logan sighed, knowing it wasn’t worth fighting her on this. He glanced down the hall, staring at the door he knew you were behind. “Please let me know if either of you need anything.”

“We won’t.”

Logan left the apartment and Laura quickly locked the door behind him.

~~~

Laura stayed at your side all night after the kitchen was cleaned. When you finally woke, she was right there with water and medicine.

“Here,” Laura offered to you. “Take it.” You didn’t argue, letting her help you sit up and take the meds. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Laura,” you replied. “I am worried about Logan though. Where is he?”

“I kicked him out.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Yes, I should have. Just look at your arms, mom!”

“He didn’t cause what happened to my arms. It was me… I was upset and lost control. He found me like that and helped me through it.”

“Upset? What were you upset about?”

“That you’re growing up.”

Laura’s heart dropped. “Mom, I—“

“It’s fine, kiddo. None of it’s your fault. It’s just me realizing that my daughter is no longer my little girl and I have to let you go be the wonderful woman that I know you are.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s really not your fault.”

“I was so mean to Logan. I kicked him out.”

“It’s okay. It was all a misunderstanding. He’ll be okay.”

Laura nodded, taking a moment to think. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything, kiddo.”

“Do you… uh… what… well, I guess, just… do you have feelings for Logan?”

That question caught you completely off guard. “I— I— like as a friend?”

“Yes and… do you like him more than that?”

“I… I don’t know…”

Laura nodded. “I’m just asking because I want you to be happy, mom, and it seems like he makes you happy.”

She wasn’t wrong. Your happiest moments since returning to 2024 had been with this new Logan. But that didn’t been you had feelings for him, right?

“He has been making me happy, yes… and he’s taking good care of me.”

“You don’t need to admit anything to me, especially right now, but just think about it. Take notice of it. Logan seems to care about you a lot and willing to do anything for you—for us.”

You nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind… Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you, mom.”

next chapter >

[blackypanther9]

Only once, never again – Father!Alastor x Teen!Daughter!Reader

TAGLIST: @meg-giry1 @wen01203

“Papa, please ?”, you asked again.

“No, Cher. You are too young.”, Alastor denied you again.

“Papa, I am sixteen ! I should at least try !”, you tried to convince him.

“You are too young to try now, Cher. What if something happens to you ? I would never forgive myself.”

“Pa, you are my Father and the all feared Bayou Killer. As soon as I am hurt, you kill the one responsible. I am not a damsel in distress either ! You taught me how to defend myself and I am not that easily traumatized. I live with and was raised by you ! Alastor Hazbin, most famous Radio Host, the man that never stops smiling, the man that accomplished the impossible, the man who proudly adopted and raised a child with well manners and the very shadow in the night that kills scum that deserve it ! I’m a tough cookie, I won’t crumble THAT fast !”, you persisted.

He stared at you, uncertainty in his eyes and his smile so very strained, close to a concerned frown. You both stayed seated in the living room, listening to the new record that Alastor bought.

What were you arguing about ? You wanted to try out dating someone and Alastor, your Father, absolutely HATED the very idea.

“Just once, Pa. Pretty please. Let me try out dating someone at least this once. I wish to know what it feels like.”, you pleaded with him again.

Your Father took a deep breath and stood up.

“I fear I have to retire to bed now, mon ange (My Angel). Sleep well, Dear.”, he said and gave you a kiss on the forehead, then left.

You had a crestfallen look on your face. Alastor wasn’t blind, he saw it too. He needed time to think about this. Don’t get him wrong, the Radio Host KNEW this would happen one day or another, but he was never ready for the day it would happen. He was very concerned for your safety. Men...were swines. You...were an absolute angel. It just didn’t fit, in his opinion. His sweet loving daughter and an abusive swine at your side, leashing you and using you for whatever he wanted...no...Alastor hated that bare thought.

He could feel himself getting sick at the pure imagination, that you would get a man and he would instantly collar and leash you. Like his Father did with his Mother.

He laid there, in bed, wide awake, for three hours that night. As you retired for the night he could hear you sobbing and whimpering and his heart felt oh so shattered, just hearing you crying. He knew he was the cause of your sadness. He just wanted to protect you, but he understood you as well.

You were a Teenager and you wanted to feel a different kind of love. You wanted to explore a new area and usually Alastor was supportive of your adventurous side. But...this was about men and men could NEVER be trusted. His Father and the men he killed, were the perfect example ! They hurt and abused their wives and sometimes even their own children, they raped women and left them to die or with a Bastard child, they yell at their wives, degrade them whenever they saw fit, emotionally scarred them and traumatized their own Family !

He didn’t want the same thing happening to you. You were his beloved daughter and he could never forgive himself, if something happened to you. This was a difficult decision for him.

You wanted to at least try and court someone for once, while he was very much against the thought alone. What course of action should he take ? What would be the safest, best idea ? Continue to deny you and break your heart, or let you try and possibly end up hurt and...most possibly cold hearted ? Alastor heard of it. Some men were so brutal, that the woman they dated ended up with a cold heart and never courted again.

What was he supposed to do ? Give in, or continue to hurt your feelings ?

-Time skip-

You woke up and were not in the mood to get out of bed. You were sad and hurt that your Father refused to let you try and find out what else love would feel like. You were just curious. Only one try, but even to that he said no and then he just left you and retired for the night.

That one hurt the most.

The door opened and the smell of cooked breakfast entered your room.

“Y/n, Sweetheart~! I made you your beloved pancakes~!”, your Father sang out with a big smile.

You didn’t react and didn’t move, which made your Father’s smile dim slightly. He ripped open the curtains and opened your window for fresh air. The birds were chirping and the breeze was a pleasant welcome in your room, you loved the wind and air outside, it made you feel free. Alastor knew that.

Then your Father sat down next to your curled up form and ran his fingers through your hair, gently. He sighed. He knew you were awake, but in a foul mood from yesterday evening still.

“Listen Cher...I thought long and hard about your idea from yesterday, while I was in bed. I understand why you want this so bad, but please understand me too, Darling. I can’t always be there for you. I just want to keep you safe for as long as possible.”, he carefully started.

You continued to listen, already knowing this, but not saying anything.

“If you have someone, you want to court and explore a new territory with...then you have my permission for now...”

Your head snapped up and you stared at him in shock, he held his finger up, telling you to be silent, he wasn’t finished.

“BUT ! If that filthy speck of dirt dares to lay a hand on you, I will not hesitate to kill him and you will NEVER court anyone again ! Understood ?”

You nodded quickly, happy tears in your eyes. You sat up and quickly wrapped your arms around your Father, hugging him tightly.

“Thank you so much, Papa ! You have no idea what this means to me !”, you sobbed out happily.

He hugged you back tightly, not saying a word. But...he felt bile rise up in his throat.

‘I can’t believe I said yes to this...’

-Later that day-

You went out and told your Father that you will meet up with the man that you decided to court and see if there will be anything happening. Alastor let you go with a lot of hesitation. Heck, he even made you go through all the methods how to hurt a man again, just to see if you remember everything !

You told him where you will be, when you will be back and then left.

But the Radio Host couldn’t help worrying. He dressed up in formal clothes, but they wouldn’t be too much of a loss to get rid of, shall he get messy. Grabbed his hunting knife, hid it in his coat and then he was off, shadow trailing you.

The man he saw you meet up with, didn’t seem very suiting for you. He always stayed far enough away, but was still close enough to see you both. You were taking a walk in the park first, talking and joking with each other, then you went out to eat at a restaurant, which the boy paid for and then you started to laugh and talk some more.

Alastor wasn’t sure how to feel. You seemed happy... But that boy...didn’t seem very safe. Maybe..Alastor was just overreacting...but he didn’t like him.

As it was time to go home for you, the both of you parted ways. You left a kiss on his cheek and then you walked away from one another. He offered to bring you home, but for the sake of your Father’s safety and your new friend’s, you said no.

As you returned home, you saw your Father pacing the living room. As soon as you closed the front door, he snapped his head to you and looked at you, face full with worry.

“How...did it go, mon petit (My little one) ?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“It went good, I guess ? But it...we didn’t feel a spark, Pa. Like what all these romance books say when you find the right one you want to be with ? That didn’t happen.”

He looked relieved, yet confused.

“And what does that mean now, for the two of you ?”

You smiled at your Father happily.

“We decided that we will stay friends and agreed to meet next week again  ! Oh, Papa, you would love this boy ! He has no issue with mixed and dark skinned people either ! He finds them rather interesting ! He is so kind too ! You and him would become great friends !”

“Would we now ?”

“Yes, yes, you would ! Kenny is such a kind soul !”

Alastor made a humming sound.

“I suppose we can meet him next time here, then. If you want.”

You nodded eagerly.

“Yes, I would LOVE to ! He offered to get me home too, but I didn’t want to cause you a panic attack with him coming here already, so I declined. I hope you aren’t too mad about that.”

“Not at all, Cher !”

With that you talked with him about everything you and your new friend did and talked about. The next time Alastor met Kenny and he was pleasantly surprised that you were right. He and Kenny became quite good pals.

A/N: I hope this wasn’t trash. TvT I thought about this scene a lot, yet it seemed better in my head than on paper... Q-Q

Masterlist HERE !

[thequeenofneverland1]

Damon and Stefan Salvatore////In the shallow of Katherine Pierce Part Five The Final

Warnings: Violence and Gore, Emotional Manipulation, Grief and Loss, Supernatural Elements, Alcohol Consumption and Threats and Intimidation

The night was electric with tension as you and Katherine strolled down the street, still reveling in the chaos you’d left behind. Katherine was glowing with mischief, her smirk never faltering as she looped her arm through yours.

“Well, darling,” Katherine said, twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers, “I must admit, you’ve inherited my knack for drama. I’m so proud.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “It’s not like they didn’t deserve it. The way they’ve been acting, someone had to shake them up a bit.”

Katherine chuckled. “Oh, they’ll stew over this for days. The Salvatores and Mikaelsons both. Men are such fun to toy with.”

You sighed, the humor fading slightly as you looked ahead. “It’s not all fun, though. I… I keep thinking about what they’ll do now. Damon, Stefan, Elijah… Klaus. It’s like I’m stuck in their worlds, but I don’t belong in either.”

Katherine slowed, her playful demeanor shifting to something more serious. “Darling, you’re overthinking. You’re my daughter. That means you belong wherever you decide to belong. The rest is just noise.”

You shook your head. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have half the Originals and the Salvatores scrutinizing your every move.”

Katherine smirked again, her sharp gaze softening. “Oh, sweetie, I’ve had all of them scrutinizing me for centuries. You’ll get used to it.”

Before you could reply, a familiar voice cut through the air. “There they are.”

You turned to see Klaus and Elijah emerging from the shadows, their expressions unreadable. Behind them, Damon and Stefan approached from the opposite direction, looking just as grim.

Katherine’s smirk widened. “Well, well. Look who decided to join the party.”

“Enough games, Katherine,” Elijah said coldly, his sharp gaze fixed on you. “We’re not here for your theatrics.”

Damon folded his arms, glaring at both of you. “And we’re definitely not here for your little mother-daughter bonding session.”

You stepped forward, crossing your arms defiantly. “What do you want? Haven’t we given you enough entertainment for one night?”

Stefan looked at you, his expression softer than the rest. “Y/N, this isn’t a game. We’re worried about you. You’ve been… different.”

Katherine snorted. “Oh, please. She’s finally learning to embrace who she is. Isn’t that what you all wanted?”

Klaus’s voice cut through like ice. “No, Katherine. What we want is for Y/N to stop playing your games and start making her own choices.”

You clenched your fists, the weight of their stares bearing down on you. “I am making my own choices. Just because you don’t like them doesn’t mean they aren’t mine.”

Elijah stepped closer, his tone softer now. “Y/N, this path you’re on… it will destroy you. And we won’t stand by and watch that happen.”

Damon scoffed, his frustration bubbling over. “Oh, so now you care? Where was all this concern when she was turning her humanity off? When she needed support, not manipulation?”

The tension between the groups reached a boiling point, and Katherine, ever the opportunist, threw her arm around you dramatically. “Oh, how touching. Everyone wants to save Y/N. But here’s a thought maybe she doesn’t want to be saved.”

Your mother’s words echoed in your mind as you looked at the faces of the people who claimed to care about you. Your voice, when it came, was laced with defiance. “She’s right. Maybe I don’t.”

Then, with Katherine’s hand in yours, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving the two groups behind in stunned silence. The night swallowed you both, but the echo of their voices and their heartbreak lingered in the air.

The silence between the Salvatores and the Mikaelsons was thick with tension after your dramatic exit. Damon was the first to break it, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, that went just great. Got any more brilliant ideas, Elijah? Klaus? No? Didn’t think so.”

Klaus narrowed his eyes at Damon, his temper barely contained. “Do not mistake this for a lack of care, Salvatore. If anyone is to blame for her descent, it’s the two of you for coddling her like some fragile porcelain doll.”

Stefan stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “Coddling her? Are you serious? You’re the ones who swoop in with your grand speeches and manipulations. What exactly have you done to help her?”

Elijah’s expression remained stoic, but his tone carried an edge. “We’ve done more than you know, Stefan. But this isn’t about assigning blame. This is about Y/N. We cannot let her continue down this path.”

Damon rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Spare us the moral high ground, Elijah. You kissed her. Don’t think we forgot about that little stunt.”

Elijah hesitated, a rare flicker of guilt crossing his face. “It was a moment of weakness. Nothing more.”

Damon let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, your ‘moment of weakness’ just added fuel to this mess.”

Klaus looked between the two brothers, his jaw tightening. “Enough. Arguing among ourselves won’t bring her back.”

Stefan sighed, his frustration evident. “So, what do we do? She’s with Katherine, and we all know what that means.”

Elijah’s voice was decisive. “We get her back. Whatever it takes. But we do it carefully. Y/N is in a fragile state, and any wrong move could push her further away.”

Damon crossed his arms, his eyes dark with determination. “Fine. But if Katherine gets in the way, I won’t hold back.”

Klaus smirked, his sharp wit returning. “Neither will I. For once, we agree on something, Salvatore.”

The uneasy alliance was sealed with a shared glance, and the group dispersed, each lost in their thoughts as they prepared for what was to come.

Meanwhile, you and Katherine were in a luxurious hotel room, toasting glasses of champagne. You lounged on a velvet chaise, your legs stretched out as Katherine twirled her glass, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

“Well, darling,” she purred, “it seems we’ve caused quite the stir. The Mikaelsons and the Salvatores teaming up? I never thought I’d see the day.”

You smirked, though your eyes held a flicker of something unreadable. “They’re predictable. Always trying to play the heroes. It’s almost boring.”

Katherine laughed, her voice light and carefree. “That’s my girl. But tell me, are you sure about this? Pushing them all away? Even the Mikaelsons?”

Your smirk faltered, and for a moment, vulnerability crept into your voice. “I don’t know, Mother. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just… lost.”

Katherine’s smile softened as she sat beside you. “Lost? No, sweetheart. You’re not lost. You’re free. And freedom means doing what you want, not what they expect of you.”

You nodded, trying to convince yourself of her words. But deep down, a part of you wondered if freedom was really worth the emptiness it seemed to bring.

The night stretched on, and somewhere in the distance, the people who cared about you were plotting your return. Whether they’d succeed or not was a question only time would answer.

The following evening, the uneasy alliance between the Salvatores and the Mikaelsons found themselves outside the lavish hotel where you and Katherine were staying. The building loomed over them, its lights glittering like a beacon of danger and uncertainty.

Klaus leaned against the car, his arms crossed as he surveyed the group. “What’s the plan, then? Kick down the door and hope for the best? That seems to be your style, Damon.”

Damon rolled his eyes. “Oh, forgive me, Klaus. I didn’t realize you were the expert on saving people. Last I checked, your idea of help involved murder.”

Elijah raised a hand, his calm voice cutting through the brewing argument. “Enough. We can’t risk escalating this. If Y/N senses our presence too soon, she’ll run, and Katherine will take her further out of reach.”

Stefan glanced toward the building, concern etched across his face. “She’s spiraling. If we don’t get through to her, she might do something she can’t come back from.”

Kol, leaning casually against the car next to Klaus, smirked. “Let’s not forget she’s with Katherine. Spiraling might just be the start of it. They could be planning to toy with us all night.”

Klaus turned his gaze toward his younger brother, his tone sharp. “Kol, if you’re not here to take this seriously, leave.”

Kol raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Nik. I’m here, aren’t I? Someone needs to keep things interesting.”

Elena, having arrived moments earlier, stepped forward, her voice trembling with emotion. “You all just need to get her out of there. Y/N’s not herself. Katherine’s manipulating her, and she’s too hurt to see it.”

Damon sighed, brushing past Klaus toward the hotel’s entrance. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. But when we find her, she’s going to listen to me first.”

Stefan shot Damon a warning look but didn’t argue as they all followed him inside.

Meanwhile, inside the suite, you were sprawled across a couch, flipping lazily through a magazine. Katherine poured another glass of champagne, her mood light and celebratory.

“Well, darling,” she said with a sly grin, “what’s the next game? Shall we make them grovel a bit more before we reveal ourselves?”

You chuckled, setting the magazine down. “I don’t think groveling is in their nature, Mother. But watching them scramble has been entertaining.”

Katherine tilted her head, studying you. “And you’re sure there’s no part of you that wants to go back to them? To the Salvatores? Or maybe even the Mikaelsons? They do look at you like you hung the moon.”

Your smirk faltered for a brief moment before you recovered. “They’re all the same. They claim to care, but in the end, they only want to control me. Just like everyone else.”

Katherine walked over, sitting beside you and brushing a strand of hair from your face. “That’s my girl. Never let them think they have power over you.”

Suddenly, the door burst open, and the group flooded iDamon and Stefan in the lead, with Klaus, Elijah, and Kol close behind. Your mother’s smirk widened as she leaned back against the couch, entirely unfazed.

“Well, well,” Katherine drawled, “look who came crawling in. Didn’t take you all long, did it?”

Your eyes met Damon’s first, then Stefan’s. Both looked utterly heartbroken, their gazes searching for some sign of the person they knew. Then your gaze shifted to Klaus, Elijah, and Kol, who each wore varying degrees of determination and anger.

“Y/N,” Stefan started softly, his voice pleading. “You don’t have to do this. Come back with us.”

You tilted your head, a slow, predatory smile spreading across your face. “Do what, Stefan? Enjoy my life? Isn’t that what you always told me to do?”

Damon stepped forward, his tone sharp. “Cut the act, Y/N. This isn’t you. You’re better than this.”

Katherine stood, placing herself between you and the group. “She’s better now, Salvatore. Stronger. Freer. You should thank me.”

Klaus let out a low growl, his patience wearing thin. “Enough, Katherine. You’ve done enough damage. Y/N, come with us before this gets worse.”

You laughed, the sound cold and detached. “And why would I do that? So you can lecture me about how much you care? I’m over it.”

Kol stepped forward, his usual playfulness absent as he looked at you intently. “This isn’t you, Y/N. I’ve seen your fire, your wit—this isn’t it. This is just… her poison.”

Your jaw tightened, a flicker of emotion crossing your face before you quickly masked it. “Nice try, Kol. But you’re wasting your time.”

Elijah’s calm voice broke through. “If there’s even a part of you that remembers who you are, Y/N, fight for it. Don’t let Katherine win.”

Katherine rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, spare us the speech, Elijah. She’s exactly where she wants to be.”

The tension in the room was thick as everyone waited for your response. You stared at them, your expression unreadable, before finally standing and crossing your arms.

“Here’s the thing,” you said, your voice cold. “If you want to take me, you’ll have to take her too. And I don’t think any of you have what it takes.”

The challenge hung in the air, and for a moment, no one moved. The Salvatores and the Mikaelsons exchanged uncertain glances, each silently wondering how to save you without breaking you further.

Katherine smirked, clearly enjoying the standoff as she casually perched herself on the arm of the couch. “Well, this is awkward,” she purred, twirling her hair. “You all look so torn. Who wants to make the first move?”

Damon took a step forward, his fists clenched, but Stefan grabbed his arm to stop him. “Damon,” Stefan warned softly, his eyes fixed on you. “Let me handle this.”

Klaus’s gaze darkened as he watched the Salvatores silently debate their next move. “Handle it?” he echoed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “The last time you two ‘handled’ anything, she ended up like this.”

“Excuse me?” Damon snapped, spinning toward Klaus. “You’re one to talk. Where were you when she needed someone? Oh, that’s right you were busy brooding in some mansion.”

Kol chuckled dryly, stepping forward with his signature smirk, though his eyes betrayed his concern. “And yet, here we are, watching you two bicker like children while Y/N enjoys her little rebellion.”

Katherine clapped her hands slowly. “Bravo! Such loyalty from both sides. It’s touching, really.”

“Enough!” Elijah’s firm voice cut through the tension, silencing everyone. His eyes locked on you, steady and unwavering. “Y/N,” he said gently, “we didn’t come here to fight. We came here for you. Whatever pain you’re carrying, let us help.”

For a moment, your mask slipped. Your gaze flickered with something a flicker of hesitation, a crack in the icy demeanor you had adopted. But Katherine noticed it, and she was quick to step in.

“Don’t listen to them, sweetheart,” she said, her voice soothing but manipulative. “They’re just trying to drag you back into their little web. We’re free now, remember? Free from all their judgment and control.”

Damon’s eyes softened as he looked at you. “Y/N,” he said, his voice low and almost pleading, “you are free. But not like this. You’re shutting yourself off from the people who care about you. Don’t let her win.”

Stefan stepped beside Damon, his expression pained but steady. “We know you’re hurting. We’re hurting too. But this isn’t who you are, Y/N.”

Kol, impatient as ever, gestured toward Katherine with a dramatic flourish. “If you think she actually cares about you, you’re more deluded than I thought. She’s using you.”

Katherine raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “Using her? Please. I’m the only one who’s ever told her the truth. Unlike the rest of you, I don’t lie and pretend to care.”

Klaus’s voice cut through the argument like a blade. “Y/N, enough of this game. You know better than anyone that Katherine’s loyalty is to herself. Whatever she’s feeding you, it’s a lie.”

You crossed your arms, tilting your head as you studied each of them. The Salvatores, the Mikaelsons, all standing there with the same expressions: worry, anger, desperation. For a moment, you felt something stir a faint whisper of guilt or longing but you buried it quickly.

“You’re all so predictable,” you said, your tone mocking. “Coming here, acting like you’re my saviors. Newsflash: I don’t need saving.”

Damon’s jaw clenched, and he stepped closer, his voice sharper now. “You may not need saving, but you sure as hell need to wake up. You think this is freedom? You’re just letting Katherine pull your strings.”

Katherine sighed dramatically. “And here I thought you boys liked strong, independent women. Guess not.”

Kol ignored her and addressed you directly. “We’re not leaving without you, Y/N. You can pretend to be fine all you want, but we know you better than that.”

Katherine laughed, stepping protectively in front of you. “Oh, you think you know her? That’s adorable. But she’s with me now. So why don’t you all run along and leave us to it?”

You smirked, stepping forward to stand beside Katherine, matching her defiance. “She’s right. I’m not going anywhere. So unless you want to test how far I’m willing to go, I suggest you leave.”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Damon’s eyes flickered with hurt, Stefan’s with quiet determination. Klaus’s jaw tightened, Kol’s smirk faded, and Elijah simply stared at you, his expression unreadable.

“You’ve made your choice,” Elijah finally said, his voice heavy with disappointment. “But this isn’t over, Y/N. We won’t give up on you.”

As they turned to leave, Katherine leaned toward you with a wicked grin. “That went well, don’t you think?”

You didn’t answer, your gaze lingering on the door long after they were gone. For the first time, Katherine’s influence felt less comforting and more suffocating. But you shook the thought away, forcing yourself to stay in the role you had chosen no matter how wrong it felt.

The Salvatores and the Mikaelsons regrouped outside the house, their frustration palpable. Damon paced back and forth, his hand tugging at his hair, while Stefan leaned against the car, arms crossed, deep in thought. Kol broke the tense silence with a sarcastic drawl.

“Well, that went brilliantly. Clearly, we’ve won her over.”

“Shut up, Kol,” Klaus snapped, though his anger was aimed more at himself than his brother. “This is worse than I thought. Katherine’s poisoned her mind.”

Stefan sighed, rubbing his temples. “We can’t keep fighting her like this. She’s not in her right mind, and Katherine’s influence is only making things worse.”

Damon stopped pacing and turned to face the group. “So what do we do, Saint Stefan? Sit around and wait for her to come to us? That’s not happening. Not while Katherine is calling the shots.”

Elijah, ever the calm one, stepped forward. “We need a strategy. Y/N’s humanity is off, but that doesn’t mean she’s unreachable. There’s still a part of her—”

“How do you know that?” Damon interrupted, his voice sharp. “You saw her in there. She’s gone.”

“She’s not gone,” Elijah said firmly, meeting Damon’s glare. “I saw it in her eyes, even if only for a moment. She’s still in there, but Katherine is amplifying her pain and anger. We need to separate them.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Klaus asked, crossing his arms. “It’s not as if she’s going to leave Katherine’s side willingly.”

Stefan straightened, his expression resolute. “We have to remind her who she iswho she was before all of this. If we can get through to her, even for a second, we can break Katherine’s hold.”

Damon scoffed. “Oh, great. Let’s just take a stroll down memory lane and hope she snaps out of it. Fantastic plan.”

Kol rolled his eyes. “As much as I love a good sarcastic remark, Damon, your pessimism isn’t helping. If anyone has a better idea, now’s the time.”

Silence fell over the group as they considered their next move. Finally, Klaus spoke, his tone cold and commanding. “If we can’t get through to Y/N, then we’ll take Katherine out of the equation. Permanently.”

Elijah’s jaw tightened. “Klaus—”

“No,” Klaus interrupted, his eyes blazing. “She’s the root of this. Remove her, and Y/N will have no one left to manipulate her. Then, we can bring her back.”

Stefan exchanged a glance with Damon, both of them clearly uneasy. “That’s risky,” Stefan said carefully. “If Katherine dies, there’s no telling how Y/N will react. It could push her even further away.”

“Or it could snap her out of it,” Klaus countered. “Do you have a better plan?”

Damon groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “I hate to say it, but Klaus might have a point. Katherine’s been a thorn in all of our sides for too long. She’s not going to stop unless we stop her first.”

Elijah hesitated, clearly torn. “If we go after Katherine, we need to be careful. Y/N is emotionally tethered to her right now. If we’re not careful, we could lose her for good.”

The group fell into a tense silence, each of them grappling with the weight of their decision. Finally, Stefan broke the silence, his voice quiet but firm. “We can’t give up on her. No matter what happens, we have to bring her back.”

Klaus nodded, his expression steely. “Then it’s settled. We’ll do whatever it takes.”

As the group prepared to move forward, none of them noticed the shadowy figure watching them from a distance. Katherine leaned against a tree, her lips curled into a sly smile.

“Let them try,” she whispered to herself. “They’ll never take her from me.”

It had been weeks of endless efforts from both the Salvatores and the Mikaelsons, their patience wearing thin as they tried to pull you out of the darkness you had retreated into. They’d tried everything memories, emotional appeals, even desperate confrontations but nothing had worked. You had built a wall around you emotions so impenetrable that it seemed impossible to break.

But they refused to give up.

Damon and Stefan sat across from you in the abandoned mansion they had brought you to, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and determination. You, dressed in your usual dark attire, lounged lazily on the couch, you cold and detached demeanor as impenetrable as ever. You toyed with a dagger in your hand, a smirk playing on you lips as if mocking their futile efforts.

“Y/N,” Stefan began softly, his voice calm but firm. “We know you’re in there somewhere. This isn’t who you are.”

You chuckled, twirling the dagger between your fingers. “You’re right, Stefan. This isn’t who I was. But this is who I am now. Get used to it.”

Damon clenched his jaw, his frustration boiling over. “You think shutting off your humanity makes you strong? It doesn’t. It makes you weak. It makes you a coward.”

Your smirk faltered for just a moment, but you quickly recovered, leaning back with a scoff. “You’re one to talk, Damon. How many times have you flipped the switch? How many lives did you ruin while you were ‘off’? And yet, here you are, acting like the moral compass. Spare me.”

From the doorway, Klaus and Elijah watched silently, their expressions unreadable. Kol leaned against the wall, arms crossed, clearly itching to intervene but holding back for once.

“Enough of this,” Klaus finally said, stepping into the room. “If talking won’t work, then we’ll force her to face herself.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Damon snapped, standing to face him.

Klaus smirked darkly. “By giving her no other choice.”

Before anyone could react, Klaus grabbed your arm and vampire-sped you to the middle of the room. He held you firmly, his grip unrelenting. You struggled against him, your anger flaring.

“Let me go, or I’ll make you regret it,” you hissed, your voice venomous.

“Enough, Y/N!” Klaus barked, his voice booming. “You want to act like Katherine’s puppet, fine. But don’t pretend this is who you want to be. We all know you better than that.”

“You don’t know anything about me!” You screamed, your voice cracking as you fought against him. “You don’t know what it feels like to lose everything and not care enough to fix it!”

Elijah stepped forward, his voice calm but full of emotion. “Y/N, you’re not broken. You’re hurting. And shutting off your humanity won’t bring Jeremy back. It won’t ease the pain it’ll only make it worse.”

For the first time in weeks, you faltered. The mention of Jeremy’s name struck a chord deep within you, and tears began to pool in your eyes despite you efforts to hold them back.

“Don’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Don’t talk about him. Don’t say his name.”

Stefan approached you slowly, his voice gentle. “He wouldn’t want this for you, Y/N. He wouldn’t want you to lose yourself because of him. He loved you too much for that.”

Damon stepped closer, his tone surprisingly soft. “Turning it off doesn’t make the pain go away, Princess. It just buries it, makes it fester. And one day, it’ll explode, and you’ll regret every moment you spent like this.”

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It hurts too much.”

Stefan knelt beside you, wrapping an arm around you shoulders. “I know it does, but you’re not alone. We’re here. We’ll help you.”

Damon crouched down in front of you, wiping a tear from your cheek with a rare tenderness. “You don’t have to carry this by yourself, Y/N. Let us help you.”

Klaus and Elijah stood back, their expressions softening as they watched the girl they had come to care for finally begin to heal. Kol, though silent, looked genuinely relieved.

After what felt like an eternity, you looked up at them, your eyes filled with both pain and gratitude. “I don’t know how to move forward,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to figure it out right now,” Stefan said gently. “One step at a time. And we’ll be here every step of the way.”

For the first time in weeks, you nodded, your walls finally crumbling as you allowed yourself to feel again.

You sat quietly in the Salvatore living room, bundled in one of Stefan’s old flannel shirts, your legs tucked beneath you on the couch. The weight of your humanity being back on was crushing, every memory and feeling rushing to the surface like a tidal wave. You had barely slept, and your eyes were still puffy from all the tears you’d shed.

Stefan walked in with a cup of tea, setting it gently in front of you. “I thought you could use something warm,” he said softly, sitting across from you.

“Thanks,” you murmured, wrapping your hands around the mug. You didn’t meet his eyes, still ashamed of everything you had done while your humanity was off.

Damon strolled in next, holding a plate of what looked suspiciously like his famous vampire pancakes, complete with a syrupy grin and blood-colored “fangs.” He placed the plate in front of you with a smirk.

“Thought you might need a pick-me-up,” he quipped. “Nothing like breakfast art to distract from existential dread.”

You managed a weak laugh, the first hint of a smile crossing your face in days. “Really, Damon?”

“Hey, don’t knock it. Those fangs took serious skill,” Damon shot back, plopping down beside you on the couch.

Stefan shot him a look but didn’t argue. He was just glad to see you react to something, even if it was Damon’s ridiculous attempts at humor.

You picked up a fork and poked at the pancake. “It’s still terrible,” you said, your voice wobbling slightly as another small smile tugged at your lips.

Damon feigned offense, clutching his chest. “Wow, Princess, and here I thought we were making progress.”

Stefan rolled his eyes but leaned forward, his tone more serious. “You’re doing better than you think, Y/N. It’s not going to be easy, but you’ve already taken the hardest step.”

You set the fork down and looked between them, your emotions threatening to spill over again. “I don’t deserve this. After everything I’ve done, everything I said—”

Damon cut you off, his voice firm but gentle. “Nope. Don’t go there. You were hurting, and you shut off your emotions to survive. We’ve all done it. Trust me, I’ve probably done worse things with my switch off than you ever will.”

“Definitely worse,” Stefan confirmed with a slight smirk, earning a glare from his brother.

You exhaled shakily, your guilt still eating at you, but their unwavering support made it easier to bear. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two,” you admitted softly.

Damon leaned back, throwing an arm casually over the back of the couch. “You’d probably be hanging out with those Mikaelsons, causing more chaos.”

Stefan shot him a warning look, but you surprised them both by laughing a real, genuine laugh.

“That sounds about right,” you said, shaking your head.

The moment was interrupted when Elena entered the room, her expression a mix of relief and caution. “Hey sis,” she said gently, glancing at you. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a train wreck,” you admitted honestly, though there was a flicker of light in your tone now.

Elena walked over and hugged you tightly. “I’m glad you’re back,” she whispered. “We all missed you.”

You hugged her back, a lump forming in your throat as you realized how much you had hurt everyone you cared about. “I missed you too,” you whispered back.

Damon cleared his throat dramatically, breaking the moment. “Okay, enough of this emotional stuff. Let’s focus on the important question: who gets credit for pulling you back to the land of the living?”

“Both of you,” you said with a small smile, looking at Stefan and Damon. “But don’t let it go to your heads.”

Damon grinned. “Too late Princess.”

The Salvatore brothers had been plotting something all morning, whispering to each other in the living room while you sat on the couch, pretending not to notice. You had a book in your hands, but you were not reading a single word. Their hushed voices and occasional glances in your direction were impossible to ignore.

Finally, Damon cleared his throat and sauntered over, his trademark smirk firmly in place. Stefan followed, looking slightly more reserved but equally determined. You raised an eyebrow, setting the book down.

“Okay, spill it. What are you two scheming?” You asked, crossing your arms playfully.

Damon leaned against the arm of the couch, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Scheming? Us? Never. We’re simply… making plans.”

“Plans that involve you,” Stefan added, sitting on the other side of you .

You glanced between them suspiciously. “What kind of plans?”

Damon straightened up dramatically and pointed a finger at her. “There’s a party tonight. And since we’re the most charming men in Mystic Falls—”

“And modest,” you cut in with a laugh.

“—we’ve decided that you, Princess, deserve the honor of having both Salvatore brothers as your dates,” Damon finished with a wink.

Your jaw dropped in mock surprise. “Oh, both Salvatores? I must be the luckiest girl in the world.”

Stefan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “We just thought it might be fun. You’ve had a lot on your plate lately, and we wanted to make sure you had a good time.”

You softened at his sincerity, though you couldn’t resist teasing them. “So, this isn’t just your excuse to keep other guys away from me?”

Damon didn’t even try to deny it. “Well, I mean, that’s a bonus.”

You shook your head, laughing. “You two are ridiculous. But okay, I’ll go with you.”

“Perfect,” Damon said, clapping his hands together. “And just so you know, we’re expecting you to be the best-dressed person there.”

“Of course,” You said, standing up and heading toward the stairs. “But don’t forget if I’m the best-dressed, you two have to step up your game, too. No wrinkled shirts, Damon.”

Damon feigned offense, calling after you. “Wrinkled? I’m the king of style!”

Stefan gave his brother a pointed look. “She has a point. You might want to reconsider that leather jacket for once.”

Damon waved him off. “It’s iconic. She loves it.”

Your laughter echoed from upstairs as you got ready, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. The thought of being escorted by Damon and Stefan, the two people who had stood by you through everything, brought a smile to your face. It wasn’t just a party anymore it was a chance to feel normal again, if only for a night.

When you came back downstairs, both brothers were waiting for you , looking sharp in suits. Damon even ditched the leather jacket. Stefan nudged him with a grin. “See? Told you it was worth it.”

You took their arms, one on each side, and smiled. “You guys clean up nicely. Maybe I really am the luckiest girl in the world.”

Damon smirked. “Told you. Now, let’s go show everyone why you’re the star of the party.”

And with that, the three of you headed out, ready to make the night unforgettable.

The party was in full swing when you arrived, flanked by Damon and Stefan, who had been glued to you side since the three of you walked in. The room was buzzing with energy, the music loud, and the air thick with excitement. You had to admit, having the Salvatore brothers as your dates was turning more heads than you anticipated. You could feel the curious and envious glances following three of you as the boys and you moved through the crowd.

“See?” Damon said, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “We’re already the most interesting trio here.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile. “Maybe that’s because you’re radiating jealousy at every guy who so much as looks at me.”

Stefan chuckled, but his eyes darted around the room. “He’s not the only one. You’ve definitely caught a lot of attention tonight.”

You smirked, pulling your hand from Damon’s arm to pat Stefan’s shoulder. “You two really don’t need to worry. I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

But your reassurance wasn’t enough to stop the boys from getting riled up when a confident stranger approached her. He was tall, with a charming grin that screamed trouble, and he wasted no time stepping into their little circle.

“Hey,” the guy said, flashing you a dazzling smile. “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room. You look stunning tonight.”

Before you could respond, Damon’s smirk vanished, replaced by a pointed glare. He stepped forward, casually draping an arm around your shoulders. “Thanks, buddy. We noticed too. But you’re interrupting a private conversation.”

The guy hesitated, glancing at Stefan, who stood stiffly by your other side. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just thought I’d introduce myself.”

“Well, you’ve done that,” Stefan said with a polite but firm tone. “Now, if you don’t mind—”

You placed a hand on Stefan’s chest, stifling a laugh. “Guys, relax. He’s just being friendly.”

But the poor guy took the hint and backed away, muttering an awkward apology before disappearing into the crowd. As soon as he was gone, you turned to face Damon and Stefan, crossing your arms with an amused grin.“Really? You scared him off that fast?”

Damon shrugged, completely unrepentant. “He had no business coming over here like that.”

“Exactly,” Stefan agreed. “It’s disrespectful. You’re here with us.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You two are unbelievable. I didn’t realize having two dates would mean having two bodyguards, too.”

Damon leaned in, his smirk returning. “What can we say? You’re too pretty for your own good. We’re just keeping you safe.”

“Safe from what? Compliments?” You teased, giving them a playful nudge. “You guys are something else.”

“Hey,” Stefan said with a small smile, “we’re just looking out for you. Besides, you’re the one who said yes to us.”

“True,” You admitted, slipping your arms back through theirs. “And I wouldn’t trade my overprotective dates for anything. Now, come on you promised me a fun night, and I intend to hold you to that.”

Damon and Stefan exchanged a look, their jealousy giving way to soft smiles as You led them further into the party. They weren’t about to let anyone ruin your night, even if it meant being a little overbearing. After all, they couldn’t help but be protective when it came to you.

The Salvatore house was unusually quiet for a Saturday night, and Damon couldn’t stand it. You was curled up on the couch, flipping through a book, your mood unusually subdued. Stefan sat in the armchair nearby, focused on his own thoughts. The silence was too much for Damon.

“Okay, enough of this gloomy atmosphere,” Damon announced, walking into the room with his usual flair. “I can’t take it anymore.”

You glanced up from your book, raising an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

“Fine?” Damon scoffed, stopping dramatically in front of her. “That’s what people say when they’re not fine. And you, Princess, are about as fine as a vampire trying to walk through a sunny field without a daylight ring.”

Stefan chuckled softly, but You only smirked and went back to your book. Damon frowned, clearly not satisfied. He leaned against the armrest of the couch, looking down at you. “Come on, Y/N. Give me a smile. Just one. I’m not leaving until I see those dimples.”

You tried to keep a straight face. “Damon, I’m trying to read.”

“Read?” Damon repeated in mock disbelief. “Boring. Let me tell you something more entertaining.” He dropped to the floor dramatically, sitting cross-legged in front of her. “Did you know Stefan once got stuck in a bathtub for two hours because he couldn’t figure out the faucet?”

Stefan groaned, glaring at his brother. “Damon.”

Your lips twitched, but you didn’t look up. “Nice try.”

“Okay, okay. How about this one?” Damon leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret. “Stefan once serenaded a squirrel because he thought it was a girl he’d compelled. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.”

This time, You did laugh, a soft chuckle escaping before you could stop yourself. Stefan sat up straighter, throwing Damon a warning look. “That never happened.”

“Oh, it absolutely did,” Damon said, grinning at his success. “And don’t get me started on the time you—”

Before he could finish, Stefan launched a pillow at Damon’s head. Damon caught it mid-air with a dramatic flourish. “Oh, now we’re resorting to violence? You wound me, brother.”

You closed your book, finally smiling fully. “You’re ridiculous, Damon.”

“And yet, you’re smiling,” Damon said, leaning back smugly. “Mission accomplished.”

Stefan shook his head but couldn’t help the small smile on his face. “You know, Damon, you could just try being normal for once.”

“Normal is overrated,” Damon replied, tossing the pillow back at Stefan, this time hitting him square in the face. “And besides, I’ll do anything to cheer up our favorite hybrid witch–vampire. Even if it means embarrassing you in the process.”

You laughed, leaning back into the couch. “Well, whatever works. Thanks, Damon.”

“Anytime,” Damon said, giving her a playful wink. “Now, let’s talk about that time Stefan thought he could dance.”

As Damon launched into another story, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, grateful for the brothers’ endless antics to keep you smiling.

“Alright, Y/N,” Stefan began, setting his glass of bourbon on the table. “Since Damon is always the one telling embarrassing stories about me, I think it’s time you heard one about him.”

Damon froze mid-sip, lowering his glass slowly. “Oh no, Stefan. Don’t you dare.”

You perked up, a grin already forming. “Oh, this I have to hear.”

Stefan smirked, ignoring Damon’s warning glare. “So, this was back in the early 1900s. Damon had this phase where he thought he was the ultimate charmer. We were in Paris—”

“Stop right there,” Damon interrupted, sitting up straighter. “This is revisionist history. I was, in fact, the ultimate charmer.”

Stefan ignored him, addressing you directly. “Anyway, there was this fancy masquerade ball, and Damon decided he wanted to impress a certain young lady. But instead of just introducing himself like a normal person, he decided to, uh, make an entrance.”

“Oh no,” you said, laughing already. “What did he do?”

Stefan leaned in, grinning. “He climbed up to the balcony where the girl was sitting, rose in hand, and started reciting Shakespeare. He had it all planned out until his foot got caught in the drapes.”

You gasped, covering your mouth to keep from laughing too loudly. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were,” Stefan said, shaking his head. “He tripped, fell into the room, and ended up knocking over a table full of champagne. The girl was soaked, the host was furious, and Damon being Damon just stood up, adjusted his tie, and said, ‘This is exactly how I planned it.’”

You burst into laughter, clutching your sides. Damon groaned, leaning back dramatically. “You’re leaving out the part where the girl was still impressed by my charm, Stefan. She was laughing too.”

“Probably because she couldn’t believe someone could be that ridiculous,” Stefan teased.

Damon rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smirk. “I was ahead of my time. People love grand gestures.”

“Sure,” Stefan said, clearly enjoying himself. “But I’m pretty sure the host banned us from that estate forever.”

You wiped away a tear, still laughing. “Damon, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at you the same way again.”

“Good,” Damon said, leaning toward her with a wink. “Keep me mysterious. That’s part of the charm.”

Stefan shook his head, chuckling. “Mysterious isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”

As the laughter died down, you leaned back into the couch, feeling lighter than you had in days. “You two really are something else.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Damon said, raising his glass in a toast. “To unforgettable memories and Stefan’s selective storytelling.”

You laughed again, grateful for moments like these, where even centuries-old vampires could make you feel like everything would be okay.

The three of you were lounging in the Salvatore living room, the mood light and playful after Stefan’s storytelling session. Damon stretched out lazily on the couch, a smirk firmly in place as he swirled his drink. Stefan sat nearby, leaning forward with his trademark calm curiosity.

“Alright, Y/N,” Damon said, raising an eyebrow. “Your turn. Tell us something embarrassing about yourself. Spill it.”

You shook your head, leaning back and crossing your arms. “Oh no. See, unlike you two, I don’t have a catalog of idiotic moments to pull from. I’m not stupid like you guys.”

Damon clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch, the truth hurts. But you’ve got to have something,” he teased. “Come on, Princess. Don’t keep us waiting.”

Stefan nodded, his lips twitching in amusement. “Yeah, Y/N. We’re all ears.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. I’ll give you one, but it’s not embarrassing just funny.”

Damon leaned in like a conspirator. “I’ll be the judge of that. Go on.”

Taking a deep breath, you began, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “So, when I was a kid, my mom had this vase. It was her favorite, this super old, super fancy vase that she always told us not to touch.”

“Classic mom move,” Stefan said with a grin.

“Exactly,” you agreed. “Anyway, one day, I was playing tag with Elena in the house because why not? and I accidentally knocked the vase over. It shattered into about a million pieces.”

Damon’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, I like where this is going. What happened next?”

“Well,” you continued, leaning forward conspiratorially, “before my mom came into the room, I did what any resourceful kid would do: I blamed Elena.”

Stefan chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course you did. And did it work?”

“Oh, it worked beautifully,” you said, biting back a laugh. “Elena got grounded for two weeks. I even acted all innocent, like, ‘Mom, I told her not to run in the house!’”

Damon burst out laughing, slapping his knee. “You little mastermind! Poor Elena didn’t stand a chance.”

Stefan was laughing too, though he tried to look disapproving. “You let your sister take the fall for two weeks? That’s cruel, even for you.”

“Hey,” you said, holding up your hands in mock defense, “I was, like, eight. Survival instincts kicked in.”

Damon wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “I knew I liked you for a reason. You’ve got a wicked streak.”

You smirked, pointing at him. “I learned from the best.”

Stefan shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Does Elena know the truth now?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I mean… I might have told her eventually. But only after she broke my favorite doll and blamed me for that. So really, we’re even.”

Damon leaned back, raising his glass in a mock toast. “To little Y/N, the queen of framing siblings. I’m proud of you.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing along with them. “You’re terrible influences, you know that?”

Stefan grinned. “We prefer to call it… moral flexibility.”

The room erupted in laughter again, the kind of easy, genuine joy that reminded you how much these two had become a part of your life even when they were ridiculous.

It was a quiet, somber evening at the Salvatore house. The atmosphere had been heavy for days, a weight pressing down on everyone since Jeremy’s death. You sat on the couch, staring blankly at the flickering fire, your hands tightly clasped together. The emptiness in your chest felt unbearable, even with Damon and Stefan hovering nearby, trying their best to comfort you. Nothing seemed to work.

Stefan walked in with a small glass of bourbon, his eyes soft with concern. “Y/N, you should try to eat something. Or at least drink this.”

You shook your head. “I’m fine,” you muttered, though your voice was raw and lifeless. “I don’t need anything.”

Damon, leaning against the doorframe, let out a sigh. “We’re worried about you, Princess. You’ve barely slept, barely talked. If you don’t let us help you—”

“I don’t need help!” you snapped, standing abruptly. The sudden movement startled both brothers. You clenched your fists, willing yourself not to break down again. “I just… I just need Jeremy back. That’s all I need.”

The room fell silent, the words echoing painfully in the air. Damon and Stefan exchanged a helpless look, neither knowing what to say. Just as the silence became suffocating, the front door creaked open.

You turned, your heart sinking as you prepared to tell whoever it was to leave. But when your eyes landed on the figure in the doorway, your breath caught. Your vision blurred with tears, and for a moment, you thought your mind was playing a cruel trick on you.

“Jeremy?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Standing there, looking just as alive as the last time you’d seen him, was your brother. His clothes were disheveled, his expression uncertain, but it was him. His warm brown eyes locked onto yours, and he gave you a small, almost hesitant smile. “Hey, Y/N.”

You didn’t even think. You ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. The feeling of his solid, living body against yours made the dam finally break, and you sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder.

“You’re alive,” you choked out. “You’re alive. I thought I lost you forever.”

Jeremy hugged you back just as tightly, his hand gently rubbing your back. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m okay. I don’t know how, but I’m here.”

Damon and Stefan approached cautiously, their expressions a mix of disbelief and relief. Damon broke the tension first. “Well, look who decided to come back from the dead. Again,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual snark. His eyes softened as he looked at Jeremy. “Welcome back, kid.”

Jeremy gave him a small nod before glancing at Stefan, who offered a rare smile. “It’s good to see you, Jeremy,” Stefan said quietly.

You pulled back just enough to look at your brother’s face, your hands gripping his shoulders as if you were afraid he might disappear again. “How is this possible? Who did this? Was it Bonnie? Where is she?”

Jeremy hesitated, his expression darkening slightly. “I… I don’t know. I woke up in the woods. I don’t remember much, but I think someone… or something brought me back.”

The room fell silent again as the implications sank in. Whatever had brought Jeremy back, it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t natural. But none of that mattered to you right now. All you cared about was that he was here.

“Promise me you won’t leave again,” you said, your voice breaking. “Promise me.”

Jeremy smiled softly, his hands gently squeezing yours. “I promise, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in days, the crushing weight in your chest began to lift. Damon clapped Jeremy on the back, muttering something about the family being complete again, while Stefan quietly observed, his protective nature on high alert.

But you didn’t care about the mysteries or the potential dangers. For now, you let yourself feel the relief and joy of having your brother back, holding onto him as if your life depended on it. Because in many ways, it did.

After Jeremy’s miraculous return, you were buzzing with excitement. You couldn’t believe he was alive and here, standing in front of you, as though the nightmare of losing him had never happened. But as overjoyed as you were, there was one more person who needed to share this moment: Elena.

You grabbed your phone, dialing her number quickly. The line rang a few times before her tired voice answered. “Y/N, I really can’t do this right now. I’m exhausted, and I just need some time alone.”

“Elena, I get it,” you said softly, though your voice was shaking with anticipation. “I know things have been hard lately. But trust me, you’ll want to come over for this. It’s important.”

“Y/N,” she sighed, “I don’t think I can handle another lecture about how I need to ‘stay strong’ or how everything’s going to be okay. Not today.”

You rolled your eyes but kept your tone light, masking the giddiness bubbling under the surface. “It’s not that, I promise. Just… come over, sister. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” she asked, her skepticism clear. “I’m really not in the mood for surprises, Y/N.”

“Elena, listen to me,” you said firmly, leaning into your usual big-sister authority. “You need to come. This isn’t some silly prank or some distraction to cheer you up. It’s real, and it’s important. Trust me.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and you could hear her debating. “I don’t know…” she murmured.

“Elena,” you said, your voice softening. “You’re my sister. When have I ever led you wrong when it really mattered? Please. Just come. You won’t regret it.”

After another long silence, she finally let out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll come. But this better be worth it, Y/N.”

You grinned, clutching your phone tightly. “Oh, it will be. Trust me.”

You hung up and turned to Jeremy, who was sitting on the couch with Damon and Stefan, all three of them looking amused by your persistence. “She’s coming,” you announced.

“Good,” Jeremy said, his lips curling into a small, nervous smile. “I wasn’t sure how she’d react, but I’m ready.”

Damon smirked, swirling his drink. “Oh, she’ll react, alright. Can’t wait to see her face when she walks through that door.”

Stefan shot Damon a look but smiled at you. “You did the right thing. She deserves to know.”

You nodded, your excitement and nerves mixing into a strange cocktail of emotions. “I just hope she doesn’t faint when she sees him. Or, you know, scream at me for keeping this a secret.”

Jeremy laughed softly. “Elena? Scream? Never.”

You laughed too, but deep down, you knew how overwhelming this would be for her. Still, you were determined to share this moment. Elena had lost so much, and seeing Jeremy alive again might just give her the hope she needed.

Now all you had to do was wait. And you didn’t have to wait long.

The sound of a car pulling up outside had you springing to your feet. You quickly glanced at Jeremy, who was nervously tapping his fingers on the edge of the couch. Damon and Stefan exchanged knowing looks but stayed silent, letting you take the lead.

“She’s here,” you whispered, as if it were some sacred secret.

Jeremy stood, smoothing his hands down his shirt. “What do I even say?” he muttered.

“You just be yourself,” you said softly, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “She’s going to be over the moon. Trust me.”

The sound of the front door opening echoed through the house. “Y/N? I’m here,” Elena called out, her tone hesitant and wary. “This better not be one of Damon’s ridiculous pranks.”

You shot Damon a pointed look, and he held his hands up in defense, smirking. “I’m innocent this time.”

“Elena!” you called out, walking toward the doorway to meet her. Your face betrayed none of the emotions swirling inside you. “Thanks for coming.”

Elena crossed her arms, her expression guarded. “Alright, Y/N. What’s this big surprise? And why do I feel like I’m about to regret this?”

You stepped aside, giving her a full view of the living room. Jeremy was standing there, his hands shoved into his pockets, a nervous but hopeful smile on his face.

Elena froze. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, it seemed like time itself had stopped. “Jeremy?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“Hey, ’Lena,” Jeremy said, his voice soft but steady. “It’s me.”

Her breath hitched as she stumbled forward, her hands covering her mouth. “No… no, this can’t be real,” she whispered. Tears were already streaming down her face as she slowly approached him. “You… you were gone. I buried you. How is this…?”

Jeremy stepped closer, his hands gently taking hers and lowering them from her face. “It’s real, Elena. I’m here. I’m okay.”

The moment his hands touched hers, the dam broke. Elena let out a sob and threw her arms around him, holding him so tightly it was as if she feared he might disappear again. “Oh my god,” she cried. “Jeremy, I thought I’d lost you forever.”

As the three of you stood there, wrapped in a moment of shared relief and love, Damon broke the silence with a dramatic clap of his hands. “Alright, family reunion’s over. Who’s hungry? Because I’m thinking pizza.”

Stefan sighed, shaking his head. “Way to ruin the moment, Damon.”

But even Elena managed a watery laugh, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of grief lifted, replaced by a fragile but hopeful joy.

The living room was filled with the smell of pizza and the sounds of lighthearted chatter. Everyone had gathered around the coffee table, plates in hand, and for the first time in a while, things felt normal. You smiled, watching Jeremy laugh as Damon tried to steal a second slice from Stefan’s plate without getting caught.

“Y/N,” Damon suddenly said, sliding closer to you on the couch. “Mind if I—” Without waiting for permission, he plucked a bite-sized piece from your slice and popped it into his mouth with a smirk.

“Seriously?” you groaned, glaring at him. “You have a whole pizza, Damon.”

“But yours tastes better,” he said nonchalantly, leaning back like he hadn’t just committed a crime.

Jeremy, sitting on the armrest of the couch, watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. His lips slowly curled into a mischievous smirk, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Hey, Damon. Stefan,” he began, his tone casual but clearly calculated.

Stefan, mid-bite, glanced up suspiciously. “What?”

Jeremy’s grin widened. “Do you guys like Y/N?”

The room went silent. Damon froze, pizza slice halfway to his mouth, and Stefan nearly choked on his bite, coughing violently. You stared at Jeremy, mortified. “Jeremy!” you hissed, swatting at his arm.

Jeremy shrugged innocently, though his smirk betrayed him. “What? It’s a valid question.”

Damon finally recovered, clearing his throat as he set his plate down. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, raising his hands in defense. “Let’s not jump to conclusions here.”

Stefan, still trying to compose himself, nodded. “Yeah, we’re just… friends. That’s all.”

Jeremy’s smirk didn’t waver. “Friends who steal her food and stare at her like she hung the moon?”

Damon and Stefan exchanged a panicked glance, and you buried your face in your hands, groaning. “I’m going to kill you, Jeremy.”

Jeremy ignored you, leaning back and folding his arms like he had all the power in the world. “If you do like her,” he continued, his tone suddenly serious, “just know thisif you hurt my sister, I’ll—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Damon cut him off, waving his hands dramatically. “No need to threaten us! Elena’s already got that covered. She’s practically got a stake with our names on it if we mess up.”

Stefan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s not wrong.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “Good. Keep that in mind.” Then, with a satisfied smile, he reached for another slice of pizza.

Damon slumped back against the couch, muttering under his breath, “I liked him better when he was dead.”

“Hey!” Jeremy shot back, throwing a napkin at Damon, which he caught effortlessly.

You couldn’t help but laugh despite your embarrassment. “You’re all ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head. But secretly, you found it endearing the protective brother, the flustered Salvatores, and the silly banter that made your house feel like home again.

The house was quiet, eerily so. You had been on edge all day, feeling like something or someone was lurking in the shadows. You were right.

Katherine appeared without warning, leaning casually against the doorframe, her smirk sharp and dangerous as ever. “Oh, my sweet daughter.” she cooed, her voice dripping with venom. “Playing house with the Salvatores? Pretending you’re the better version of me? It’s adorable, really.”

You clenched your fists, stepping forward. “What do you want, Katherine?”

She laughed, the sound cold and hollow. “Want? Oh, darling, I don’t want anything. I just thought it was time we had a little… family reunion.” She stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with malice. “You see, I’m tired of everyone fawning over you. The Salvatores, the Mikaelsons… even your little witch friend. It’s pathetic, really. They’ll learn soon enough you’re no better than me.”

“You’re wrong,” you said firmly, grabbing a stake from behind the couch. “I’m nothing like you.”

Katherine tilted her head, a cruel smile spreading across her face. “Aren’t you, though? The anger, the darkness oh, it’s there. I see it. It’s only a matter of time before you turn into me completely.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, your grip tightening on the stake. Your heart pounded in your chest, but your voice remained steady. “I’m not going to let you hurt anyone else again.”

Katherine laughed again, stepping closer until she was only inches away. “And what are you going to do about it, little girl? Stake me? You don’t have the guts.”

That was it. All the pain, the loss, the manipulation—everything she had put you and everyone you loved through—boiled over. Without thinking, you lunged forward, plunging the stake directly into her chest.

Katherine gasped, her eyes widening in shock as she staggered back. Blood oozed from the wound, staining her dress as her hands clawed at the stake. “You… you actually…” she sputtered, her voice weak.

“I told you,” you said, your voice cold and unrelenting. “I’m nothing like you.”

She stumbled, her legs giving out beneath her. Her body hit the ground with a dull thud, and for a moment, the room was deathly silent. You stood over her, your breathing heavy as you watched the light fade from her eyes.

Katherine’s smirk faltered for the first time, replaced by something almost human fear. “This… isn’t over,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. And then, just like that, she was gone. Her body crumbled to ash, leaving only the stake behind.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the pile of ash on the floor. Your hands trembled, and your chest heaved with the weight of what you’d just done. The room seemed darker now, the air heavier.

The front door burst open, and Damon and Stefan rushed in, their eyes immediately landing on you and the remnants of Katherine. “Y/N,” Stefan said softly, taking in the scene.

Damon approached slowly, his usual bravado replaced by something more cautious. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice unusually gentle.

You nodded, but your voice cracked as you said, “She’s gone.”

Stefan placed a hand on your shoulder, grounding you. “You did what you had to do,” he said firmly.

But as you looked down at the ashes, a cold realization settled over you. Katherine was gone, but her shadow still lingered and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

The Mystic Grill was alive with laughter and warmth, a rare moment of peace that none of you took for granted. The gang had gathered around the largest table in the restaurant, plates of food and glasses of drinks scattered across its surface. The lights twinkled softly, and the air buzzed with the sense of relief and celebration. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no immediate danger looming over you.

Damon leaned back in his chair, a playful grin on his face as he raised his glass. “Alright, everyone. I think we can all agree that this might be the first time in years we’ve had something to celebrate without a vampire, werewolf, or hybrid ruining it.”

Jeremy chuckled, nudging you lightly. “Yeah, and it only took the death of one of the most psychotic vampires in history to get us here.”

“To Katherine finally biting the dust!” Damon added, raising his glass higher.

“Cheers to that,” Caroline chimed in, clinking her glass with everyone else’s.

You smiled, but it was faint, your mind still lingering on everything that had happened. Elena noticed and reached over, placing a comforting hand on yours. “Hey,” she said softly, “you deserve this moment too, Y/N. We all do.”

“Yeah,” Matt added, sitting across from you. “It’s been a long road, but we’re finally here. No more Katherine, no more Mikaelsons… at least for now.”

“Speaking of the Mikaelsons,” Tyler muttered, taking a sip of his drink. “Can we just agree to keep them in New Orleans this time? No offense, but they bring chaos wherever they go.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Bonnie said with a wry smile, raising her glass. “And to all of us surviving it.”

Damon smirked, glancing at you. “You should be especially proud, Y/N. I mean, not everyone can say they outsmarted Katherine Pierce. That was a showstopper.”

“Yeah,” Stefan agreed, his tone softer. “You were amazing, Y/N. We all saw it.”

You felt their eyes on you, warmth blooming in your chest despite the lingering ache from everything that had happened. “Thanks, guys,” you said, your voice quiet but sincere. “I just… I’m glad it’s over. And I’m glad we’re all here, together.”

Caroline grinned, leaning forward. “Okay, enough with the sentimental stuff. Let’s talk about how we’re going to spend all this free time now that no one’s trying to kill us!”

“I vote for more pizza nights,” Jeremy said, earning a nod of agreement from Matt.

“Or a road trip,” Bonnie suggested, her eyes lighting up. “We’ve never done that as a group.”

“Road trip?” Damon scoffed, shaking his head. “Do you know how many bodies we’d have to bury if we were stuck in a car together for hours?”

Elena rolled her eyes, laughing. “Come on, Damon. Can’t you just admit you’d enjoy it?”

“Only if I get to pick the music,” he shot back with a smirk.

The table erupted into laughter, the kind that felt free and unburdened. For a moment, it was as if the weight of the past few years had lifted entirely, leaving only the bonds you all shared.

As the night went on, the food kept coming, and the conversations flowed easily. Stories were exchanged, memories shared, and even the occasional teasing argument broke out. You found yourself smiling more and more, letting go of the heaviness you’d been carrying.

Toward the end of the evening, as everyone started to settle down, Stefan leaned over to you, his voice low so only you could hear. “I hope you know how proud we are of you, Y/N. You’ve been through so much, but you’re still here, still standing.”

You looked at him, his earnest expression grounding you in a way you hadn’t felt in weeks. “Thanks, Stefan,” you said softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without all of you.”

“Well,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips, “you won’t have to find out.”

The night at Mystic Grill stretched on, filled with laughter, love, and the rare joy of knowing that, at least for now, everything was finally okay.

The table at the Mystic Grill was alive with chatter and laughter as everyone started sharing stories, reminiscing about moments that, in hindsight, seemed funny despite the chaos at the time. Plates of half-eaten pizza, glasses of soda, and a few drinks sat between you all, but the food was almost forgotten as everyone dove into the conversation.

“So, there was this one time,” Damon started, leaning forward with a smirk, “when Stefan here thought he could outrun a pack of werewolves. Let me tell you, it did not go as planned.”

Stefan groaned, shaking his head. “You’re really going to bring that up?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Damon said, feigning innocence. “It’s a classic! So, there he was, all heroic, thinking he could ‘distract’ them while the rest of us got away. Next thing we know, he’s running full speed, yelling at me to help him because they’re gaining on him.”

The table burst into laughter, Bonnie nearly spitting out her drink. “Wait, Stefan? Running from werewolves?”

“It was strategic!” Stefan defended, though his cheeks tinged pink. “I wasn’t running away—I was leading them away.”

“Sure, that’s what it was,” Damon teased, earning another round of laughter.

“You think that’s bad?” Jeremy jumped in, pointing his fork at Damon. “You weren’t there the time Damon got stuck in a tree because he thought he could take on an entire coven of witches by himself.”

“What?” Caroline shrieked, leaning forward. “How does Damon Salvatore end up stuck in a tree?”

“I was strategizing,” Damon said, mimicking Stefan’s earlier defense. “They threw me in there with some sort of spell, okay? I wasn’t stuck I was temporarily inconvenienced.”

“‘Temporarily inconvenienced,’” Matt repeated with a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before.”

Elena was shaking her head, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “I wish I’d been there to see that. Damon, stuck in a tree? That’s gold.”

“Alright, alright,” Damon said, waving his hand. “You’ve all had your laughs. Let’s hear someone else’s embarrassing story.”

Bonnie smirked, glancing at Caroline. “Care to tell them about the time you tried to compel a guy to ask you to prom but forgot he was on vervain?”

Caroline gasped, covering her face with her hands. “Bonnie! Why would you bring that up?”

“Wait, wait,” you interjected, laughing. “What happened?”

Caroline peeked through her fingers, groaning. “Okay, fine. So, there was this guy I really wanted to ask me to prom. I figured, why not give him a little push, you know? Turns out, he was on vervain and knew exactly what I was doing. He gave me this lecture about consent, and I was so mortified I couldn’t even look at him for the rest of the year.”

The table erupted into laughter again, and Caroline buried her face in her hands, though a small smile peeked through. “I hate all of you.”

“Don’t worry, Care,” Tyler said with a grin. “At least you didn’t accidentally compel someone to fall in love with you. Oh wait, wasn’t that Damon?”

Damon rolled his eyes, raising his glass. “Alright, that’s enough about me. Let’s move on to Y/N. You’ve been suspiciously quiet over there.”

All eyes turned to you, and you laughed nervously. “Me? I don’t have any embarrassing stories.”

“Oh, come on,” Jeremy said, leaning back in his chair. “There’s got to be something.”

You thought for a moment, then smirked. “Okay, fine. When I was a kid, I accidentally broke my mom’s favorite vase, and instead of owning up to it, I blamed Elena.”

Elena groans. “ because of you. I was grounded for two weeks.” 

“I regret nothing,” you said with a grin, earning more laughter from the table.

As the stories continued, the room seemed lighter than it had been in years. Each tale, whether embarrassing or triumphant, wove together the history you all shared, a testament to how far you’d come and how much you’d endured together. For once, the danger felt distant, and in this moment, surrounded by friends and family, everything felt okay.

Later that evening, after everyone had parted ways from the Mystic Grill, you found yourself standing on the Salvatore porch, looking up at the stars. The cool night air carried a sense of calm that contrasted with the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Damon and Stefan stood nearby, their usual bickering replaced by a shared curiosity about why you’d asked them to stay behind.

Damon broke the silence first, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Alright, Princess, you dragged us out here. What’s the big reveal? Are you finally going to admit I’m your favorite?”

Stefan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with a small smirk. “Or maybe she’s going to confess how insufferable you are.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Neither. Can you both just be serious for once? I need to tell you something.”

The playful banter faded, replaced by their undivided attention. Stefan straightened up, his gaze soft and encouraging, while Damon cocked his head, the humor in his expression giving way to something more genuine.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer to them, your heart pounding. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. About everything about us, about how far we’ve come, and about how much you two mean to me.”

Damon raised an eyebrow, his usual sarcasm held back as he listened. Stefan’s brows knit slightly, concern flickering in his eyes. “Y/N, what’s going on?” he asked gently.

You smiled faintly, your voice trembling just a little. “What I’m trying to say is… it’s always going to be you two. No matter what happens, no matter who else comes into my life, you’re my home. You’re my constants.”

For a moment, they both just stared at you, their expressions unreadable. Then Damon broke the silence, his lips curling into a sly smile. “Well, of course, it’s us. We’re irresistible.”

Stefan shot him a warning look but quickly turned his attention back to you. “Y/N, are you sure about that? We’ve made a lot of mistakes… I’ve made a lot of mistakes. We’re not perfect.”

You stepped forward, placing a hand on Stefan’s arm and looking between them. “I’m not asking for perfect. I’m asking for you both of you. Damon, with your sarcasm and your knack for making me laugh when I don’t want to, and Stefan, with your endless support and the way you always believe in me, even when I don’t believe in myself.”

Damon blinked, his usual cocky demeanor softening. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

You nodded, your gaze locking with his. “I mean it. You both have been my anchors in this insane world. And I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

For once, Damon was speechless, his smirk replaced with something softer. Stefan smiled warmly, his eyes glistening with emotion. “You mean a lot to us too, Y/N. Probably more than you realize.”

Damon finally found his voice, stepping closer with a grin. “Alright, Princess, you’ve got us wrapped around your finger now. But don’t let it go to your head.”

You laughed, the tension in the air breaking. “Too late for that.”

Stefan chuckled, placing a hand on your shoulder. “We’re not going anywhere, Y/N. You’re stuck with us.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” you said with a teasing smile. “Good luck with that.”

The three of you stood there for a moment longer, a comfortable silence settling over you. The world outside still had its dangers, and there were sure to be more challenges ahead, but for now, you had each other and that was more than enough.

The three of you were still basking in the warmth of the conversation on the Salvatore porch when Damon clapped his hands together, breaking the silence. “Alright, who’s ready for my famous vampire pancakes?” he announced with a mischievous grin.

You blinked at him, confused. “Damon, it’s nighttime. Who eats pancakes at night?”

Damon pointed dramatically at himself. “Uh, me. And anyone else who appreciates the fine art of breakfast-for-dinner.”

Stefan groaned, rubbing his temples as if dealing with Damon was a full-time job. “We just had dinner, Damon. Like, barely an hour ago. How are you hungry already?”

Damon shrugged nonchalantly. “Being this charming is hard work, brother. Burns a lot of calories.”

You burst out laughing at the sheer absurdity of it, holding your stomach as the giggles overtook you. “Damon, you’re impossible. But I have to admit, vampire pancakes do sound kind of intriguing.”

Damon smirked, already heading inside. “See? I knew you had taste, Princess. Come on, let’s whip up a batch.”

Stefan groaned again, but this time there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “You’re encouraging him, Y/N. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The three of you spent the rest of the evening in the kitchen, the earlier tension completely gone. It was moments like these simple, silly, and full of laughter that made you realize just how much you cherished your time with them.

The night outside the Salvatore house was quiet, the soft glow from the windows illuminating the porch where you and the brothers sat laughing over Damon’s infamous vampire pancakes. Inside, the warm light and the sound of your laughter created an idyllic scene, one of rare peace.

But in the shadow of the trees just beyond the house, a figure stood, cloaked in darkness. Her sharp eyes glinted as she watched the three of you, her expression twisted into a smirk that was both bitter and triumphant. Katherine Pierce.

Her lips curled into a devious smile as she whispered to herself, her voice dripping with venom. “They thought they could kill me. How sweet of them to underestimate me.” She folded her arms, her gaze fixating on you through the window. You looked so happy, so at ease with the Salvatore brothers. It made her blood boil.

“My sweet, naive daughter,” she murmured, her smirk deepening as she tilted her head. “You’ve truly taken to playing the perfect little sister, the innocent girl surrounded by her knights in shining armor. How charming.”

She leaned closer to the window, almost as if she were a phantom haunting the edge of your peaceful world. “Don’t worry, Y/N,” she hissed, her voice laced with menace. “I’ll let you enjoy this little fantasy for a while longer. Laugh, eat your pancakes, play the good girl. But don’t forget who you really are. Don’t forget who I am.”

Katherine stepped back, her eyes glinting with malicious glee. She turned to leave, her heels crunching softly against the gravel as she walked deeper into the shadows. But just before she disappeared entirely, she stopped, turning her head slightly as if to savor her next words.

“I’ll be back for you, my daughter,” she said coldly, her voice carrying a deadly promise. “And when I come, I won’t just take you back I’ll make sure they all suffer. Every single one of them. The Salvatores, the Mikaelsons… anyone who dared stand against me.”

Katherine was gone for now. But her words lingered in the air like a haunting refrain: she wasn’t done with any of you yet.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 54

Warnings: non/dubcon, child endangerment, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, Andy is nasty in this, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Days pass. Weeks, maybe. There is no dawn or dusk to track the time. You are trapped in this basement, just you and Luna against the monster who took you.

Your only defense is to placate. You keep Andy happy so you can take care of your daughter. You don’t argue with his demands, you don’t push him away as he touches you, you don’t even cry when he fucks you any more. You just close your eyes and let him do what he wants. When you think about it, it’s not too much different than before.

There is no light at the end of this tunnel. If you were to get out of here, your haven is just another prison. Lloyd is only a warden with a different set of rules. For you it doesn’t matter but for Luna, she deserves better than this basement.

Andy snores next to you. It’s time like these you have the urge to hurt him. Your head is filled with violent thoughts. Not just towards your current keeper but to all the men who’ve wronged you. It’s the only strength you can find beneath the crushing weight of futility. Being angry means you still have something left.

A subtle buzz thrums through the mattress. You lean back on your shoulder and peek back at him. His phone vibrates him awake from under his pillow. You remember him tucking it under before he dozed off, likely noticing your straying eyes.

If you could just get it, you could call someone, anyone. But just like everything else, it's unreachable. The door's always locked and the conversation is already decided. He makes the rules and you follow them. It's the only way to keep Luna safe. If it was just you...

You roll onto your back as he grumbles, sliding his hand under the pillow to fumble away the notification. You glimpse the small letters before they swipe away, 'motion detected'. The screen lights up as he rubs his eyes and sits up. He bends over his lap, shrugging as he tries to loosen up his shoulders. 'Doorbell activated', the message pops up as the phone continues to jitter.

"Mmm," he searches around the floor as you sit up, your heart in your throat. Someone's here... "Better see who that is."

He grabs his grey tee shirt and swipes it over his head. You try not to show your eagerness, staying in bed as you watch him on alert. He pulls on his pants and puts the phone in his back pocket before zipping them up. Luna fusses and begins to babble. You move towards the crib and he raises a palm to wave you back.

"I got her," he goes to her as you stand, tense as he reaches in to pick her up, "shh, sweetie, daddy's got you--"

"Andy, please, answer the door," you approach him and he turns his back to you, keeping your daughter out of your reach.

"They can wait," he says as he bounces her, only for her to erupt into sobs. "Sweetie, shhh, shhh," he hushes as he rocks her, "be good for daddy, okay?"

He continues his efforts as you watch helplessly, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you try to get around him but he continues to block you out. You ball your hands, about to tear your hair out as she wails louder and louder.

"Please, let me take her--"

"Why won't she stop?" He growls, "little brat."

"Andy," you whimper as you grab for her and he elbows you away.

"I'll deal with her," he says, "can't have her making all this racket."

He stomps away from you. You're right behind him as he goes over the kitchenette and opens the lower cupboard with his free hand. He pulls out a chest under there, numbers on dials below the clasp. A lock box. He flips it open and cradles her over it.

"Andy, don't! You can't--"

"She's too loud," he bats you away, "the sooner I get up there, the sooner she can come out."

"Please don't lock my baby up," you beg shrilly, "please, let me take her. I'll get her quiet."

Your skin razes with fire and your lungs fill with acid. You try again to take her and he shoves you away so you stagger and hit the table. It jars your bad hip but you barely notice the pain as Luna's cries drive you to desperation.

"Andy!"

"Shut up!" He snarls as he forces her squirming form into the chest, "she's got about ten minutes of air..."

"Please--"

"I don't need either of you drawing attention. Got it," he braces the lid, "anything happens to me, you won't get her out in time."

Tears swell over and spill hotly as he shuts the lid and spins the dials with his thumbs. You race forward and fall to your knees, clutching at the box.

"Andy, please, I can make her quiet. We'll both be quiet!"

"Shhhhh," he pulls out his phone again, "I know you'll be quiet, honey. If you want to see our daughter again."

You nearly collapse as he spins away. You can only watch him go to the stairs and leave you to your panic. You put your ear to the top of the chest and try to hear her. It's too thick. She's going to suffocate in there. You try to pry the edge open with your nails then stagger to your feet, searching the drawers for anything to get the lid up.

Nothing, there's nothing. Your baby, your baby. You can only think of Luna and the terror of that box. You freeze only as a familiar timber rumbles from above. The walls are padded enough to dampen their words but you know that voice. Harlan...

You wait and listen. Is he looking for you? Down here, I'm down here! You want to run up and bang on the door. Even if they know you're there, they won't know the code and they won't have the time to get her out. So you have to be quiet. You have to wait.

There footsteps pass overhead like a clock counting down. You cling to the chest. Please go. Please, please, please....

You collapse over the chest and hug it. You shake as you listen to the voices above drone through the walls. Your heart beats faster and faster as the second pass. Then, it's silent.

You tremble as you stare up at the ceiling. The door opens and the footsteps come down the stairs. Andy appears, nonchalant and unbothered.

"See, that didn't take very long, did it?"

"Open it," you hiss, "please, my baby, open it!"

"Our baby," he nears and puts his hands on his hips, "don't be so dramatic."

"Please, please," you get up on your knees and grab the front of his shirt, "I'll do whatever you want, honey, please, just take her out."

He huffs and shakes his head. He rolls his eyes as he bends over the box and slowly rolls the dials.

"That jackass and his father," he scoffs as the clasp pops. He stands straight, unconcerned. "Sent them off. He... he never appreciated you. Not like I do."

You flip the lid up and scoop Luna out. She's babbling quieter than before, dazed as you touch her all over, checking her pulse and her temperature. You coo at her and rock her, quaking as your adrenaline recedes. A new wave washes for you, something hotter, something more vibrant. Anger. Hatred. Deep and pure.

You look up at Andy as you embrace your daughter. You will kill this man.

[ljz002-world]

Revenge, Part 5

At this Y/N looked up at the older man with wide eyes, “W-What?” “You heard me. Do you still want to kill me?” “Where’d you get that from?”, Y/N asked trying to keep it lighthearted while hyperventilating within herself. “You know exactly what I mean and where I get it from”, Thomas stated as his grip on the girl hardened, he held her shoulder painfully hard, Y/N knew it would leave a bruise for sure. “Tommy…”, Y/N said, hissing as his grip hardened even more, “Tommy you’re hurting-“ “I don’t care. You answer me.” Thomas said coldly, he didn’t even look at Y/N who was now wincing under his harsh grip as she just shook her head, “N-No, let go of me and I’ll explain everything- just stop hurting me!”

Thomas let out a hard sigh as he released his grip on the girl, causing her to sit up harshly, pulling the blanket to cover her chest up as she looked at Thomas with hurt eyes, her gaze shaking as she took a deep breath. “And? I’m fucking waiting.” Y/N looked down, glancing at the gun discarded by the bedside table, an action which led Thomas to take it before she could even reach for it, “Don’t even think about it.”

Y/N gulped as her gaze hardened, she was scared but still dedicated, “On September 5th 1916 you killed my father-“ “I killed people, but I never killed your father-“ “You were with the tunnellers, no?! You blew my father up!” “It was war”, Thomas said as he sat up as he saw how close to tears she was, “I never killed him willingly, I killed him for my country, for the king. I didn’t shoot him in the face, I blew him and thousands other up at best. Don’t call me a murderer when your father probably killed just as many men as me-“ “He didn’t”, Y/N sobbed, “He was a strategist, he was never once in battle. One of you tunnels went right under his camp. You blew him up in his sleep!”

Thomas sighed as he just let Y/N scream at him, “You killed a man in his sleep!-“ “And you wanted to do the same? Kill me after having sex with me?” “You’re a dirty gangster Thomas Shelby. You don’t deserve and honorable death”, Y/N hissed at the man, this had caused him to grow angry himself, grabbing onto her upper arm painfully hard, “Don’t fucking say that. I’m a gangster, I’m a horrible man. I’m a bad man, a very bad man. But everyone deserves an honorable death. I’d die a war-hero. Your father, if he was a strategist, he must have had a high standing, he probably died a war hero as well.” “And you killed him! Took my mother’s husband away! Took my father away! Do you know how much I struggled because of you?! How many nights I stayed up late, waiting for my father to come home?! How often I prayed for his safe return?! And you just took him from me!” Y/N just sobbed as she put all of her strength into slapping Thomas, her hand stinging from the impact.

Thomas stood up, putting on his briefs as he walked up and down in his bedroom. “How do you want to kill me?” Y/N looked up, tear stained face looking at the man she had wanted to kill. “And don’t lie to me. I’m having my men searching your house this exact moment. So say it.” “I had different options”, Y/N muttered, not meeting the man’s gaze, “Putting a bullet in your head. Slicing your neck open”, she started listing her options while Thomas listened, “Bashing your head in with something. Poisoning you.” Thomas had roughly grabbed the girl’s face in his hand, forcing her to look at him, “Well you’re not doing any of them. Got it?”  He let go of her face harshly, “What will you do with me now?”, Y/N asked meekly. Thomas scoffed, hands placed on his hips as he shook his head, “I don’t know. I could kill you, I could let my men have their go at you. I won’t do that, I’m not that cruel. Not to a grieving daughter”, he said as he saw how Y/N’s eyes filled with horror.

“So you’ll kill me?” “No. You’re grieving, it’s understandable you want someone to put your hate and anger on”, Thomas sat down besides Y/N who was still only covering herself with his blanket. “What then?”