#she hates working against her brother. but she must

[jeyne-stark]

Sansa ruling as King in the North post-canon when who should arrive via time travel other than one Robb, who got teleported out of the Red Wedding and into Winterfell's main hall

[sailorsoons]

Baby (k.sy)

PAIRING: Soongyoung x f. reader

SUMMARY: Soonyoung had been in your life for as long as you can remember. You haven’t spoken since your wedding to someone who isn’t him, but when you uncover your husband’s plans to turn against your family, you don’t know who else to call.  

WC: 29,988

AU: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Childhood Friends/Exes to Lovers

GENRE: Smut, Heavy Angst

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARINGS: Full warnings available under the cut.

A/N: This fic was posted on my original blog which has been deleted. I am now reposting it. I hope it does half as well as it did when I originally posted this story - thank you to everyone who left amazing feedback the first time. It genuinely made me so happy and I am so sorry that it got sent to the moon where I can no longer read it.

A/N 2:  Thank you @daechwitatamic and @eoieopda for beta-reading this fic.

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Warnings: Graphic violence generally associated with mafia behavior, mentions of murder and blood, morally grey characters, themes of codependency (a little bit), a bit of a toxic relationship with Soonyoung and reader at times (they like to make each other jealous), bar fights, women being very petty, recreational drinking and drug use, heavy angst, depictions of death (funerals for parents), fight scene that ends in death in a domestic situation, difficult relationships with parents, reader and her husband have a terrible relationship and hate each other, depictions of blood and stabbing in one scene (it is the most graphic scene in the whole fic but kept short), reader agonizes over decisions she's made and struggles mentally with a lot of it, depiction of a full blown anxiety attack, sexually explicit content including fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, crying during sex, a lot of making out and biting, multiple orgasms... sorry this is so long, I want to over-warn for everything happening here so if I have missed something you think needs to be warned, please tell me!

Kwon Soonyoung is crying the first time you meet him. It’s a loud, warbling cry that you’re not used to, and you flinch at the pitch as you hide behind your mother. Soonyoung and his mother are standing in the grand foyer of your home, his fists twisted in her tweed skirt as he begs her not to leave him. 

His mother sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. You’ve seen her around before on the arm of her husband at your family dinner parties and for afternoon tea with your mom. This is the first time you’ve seen Soonyoung, though, and you’re unimpressed as his shrieking only gets louder when she crouches down to look him in the eye fondly, brushing the tears from his face. 

You don’t know a lot of other kids, but the noisiness of him startles you. Unsettles you. Sensing your unease, your mother reaches to pull you from behind her, giving you a single look that you know means please behave. You straighten immediately, turning to watch the sniffling boy as he calms down. 

Soonyoung is round-cheeked, his dark eyes swollen and face reddened from working himself up. His mother murmurs something to him and he nods, wiping the snot from his face with the back of his hand.

Seungcheol must notice the crying has stopped. He appears from the kitchen, giving Soonyoung an unimpressed once over as he strides toward you and your mother. She clucks her tongue at the cheek of her eleven year old, giving him a hard look. 

“Seungcheol, don’t be rude,” she admonishes. “Greet our guests properly.” 

Your older brother glances at you and you lift a shoulder. He’s going to lead the family one day, it’s important for him to show manners. You know this even at a young age - have always known what his place is among your family, what your place is. 

Cheol is in line to become the Tower of the Choi Syndicate, an empire that you cannot fathom at your age but you know is important. You are its insurance, a second heir if something happens to the first and a bargaining chip for future partnerships. A potential logician, if you’re good enough. 

Turning to Soonyoung and his mother, Seungcheol bows politely. “It’s nice to meet you, Soonyoung. Are you here to play video games?” 

Soonyoung perks up at that, looking at his mom, eyes going round. She grins and nods her head, pulling her hands from where they rest on his shoulders. “He is,” she agrees. “We thought it might be good for you to become friends.” Her gaze drifts to you. “All three of you.” 

That makes you frown. You don’t really like playing video games. Seungcheol never lets you win and forces you to play for hours in exchange for him letting you borrow his AetherLink at night to scroll the internet. You’re not allowed to have one yet, even though you’re only four years younger and all of your other friends have them to enter virtual chat rooms and play online games.  

“Do I have to?” you ask your mom, looking up at her. 

“Yes,” she says firmly, gently nudging you by the shoulder toward where your brother is not so patiently waiting to escort you to the gaming room. “Go.” 

“Why don’t you want to play?” Soonyoung asks, pouting a little.

“I’m not any good.”

“That’s okay. I’ll let you beat me.” 

Seungcheol moans. “Ugh, don’t let her win. Come on. I got the new Grid Fighters game on the Reality Rift console!” 

“No way!” 

Seungcheol grins and shoots off toward the gaming room, Soonyoung hot on his heels. You hesitate for a moment, staring after them with indignation. Soonyoung stops at the doorway, turning to you. His face is still ruddy from crying, but he’s suddenly smiling, cheeks round and smooth.

“Come on,” he whispers. “I’ll let you win, I promise.” 

“Holy fuck, can you let me win for once?” Soonyoung groans, rolling over on the mat. He’s dripping in sweat, wiping it away from his brow as he stands with effort. 

Grinning, you skip away from him, reaching for your water bottle. Music pounds through the speakers of the training room. Overhead, the blue neon casts an eerie glow over the two of you. Seungcheol ignores you both in favor of using the weight machines in the far corner of the room. 

On the far wall, your health and fitness data is displayed, each one of your bodies outlined and flashing as new data comes in. Right now, you’re in the red zone, heart pounding hard from your bout with Soonyoung, who is in the orange zone. 

Which confirms your suspicion that he’s not trying as hard as he could be. 

“Maybe if you weren’t afraid to actually hit me,” you offer. The water helps cool you down as you eye Soonyoung. Even at fourteen, he’s started to fill out his form more, arms corded as he hones himself into a weapon. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

Seungcheol scoffs from across the room. Maybe he wasn’t totally ignoring the two of you. He drops his cool-older-kid act to turn and grumble, “He’d put you on your ass, Baby. Lucky for you, he always lets you win.” 

The nickname makes you bristle. You hate when people point out that you’re the baby of the family, like you’re something less than or incapable of keeping pace. You especially hate it when Seungcheol uses it to put you in your place, reminding you that one day your shithead older brother is going to be leading the family business. 

The family business is the reason you spar with them at all. Occasionally Vernon joins, though those days are as unpredictable as his appearances. Usually when he’s over at your house, it’s never a good thing. His arrivals are always bracketed with the sound of his father’s manic yelling and his mother’s frantic begging, followed closely by slammed doors and your father’s calming voice. 

Today it’s just the three of you, though. Soonyoung comes over and sits on the mat by your feet, holding a hand up to you. You pass him your water bottle, rolling your eyes at him even though it doesn’t really bother you. 

Nothing Soonyoung does really bothers you. Since that first day he showed up at your house sobbing because his mother was leaving him for the day, he’s grown on you. More than grown on you, in fact. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t noticed your lingering gazes and the way he flusters you when he gets too close, and you hope to keep it that way. 

“I don’t want to hit you,” Soonyoung offers gently, voice low over the metal clang of Seuncheol’s weights. “And it’s not ‘cause I don’t think you can’t take it,” he adds with a grin, bumping his shoulder against your leg. “I just don’t like the idea of you getting hurt.” 

“Everyone treats me like a baby.” 

“You are. But it’s not a bad thing. For example, you say jump and everyone says how high. Even my dad.” 

That makes you smirk a little. You look at the floor, letting his words wash over you. They do ring true - there’s no one in the Syndicate who would deny you anything, and though you’re utterly terrified of Soonyoung’s dad, he would do anything for you. In a way, it was the Kwon family’s divine purpose to be by the side of the Chois. 

“What about you?” you ask. 

“What about me?” 

“Jump.”

Soonyoung grins and sets the water bottle down, getting up to his feet at your command. “How high, Baby?” 

Soonyoung doesn’t shed a tear on the day of his parents’ funeral. He’s a far cry from the little boy who showed up at your house to play video games and become friends. 

Instead, he sits in silence, eyes raging - always raging, now. You don’t think the fury stops, his gaze burning the entire ceremony. His grip on your hand is like iron, and after a while, your arm tingles with pins and needles. You say nothing, willing to endure. Eventually, your arm goes numb entirely, and he keeps holding your hand. 

Afterward, Soonyoung says nothing. You do the talking for him, accepting the hand shakes and bows on his behalf when he doesn’t reach out to accept them, thanking those who have come to offer him condolences and respect when he doesn’t speak.

His grip on you is steadfast. Iron and fire. Even when your father drops his gaze down with a look of disapproval, Soonyoung doesn’t let go and you don’t ask him to. If there’s any day that you can break decorum and tradition, it’s certainly now in the wake of Soonyoung’s loss. 

They don’t need to know you’d let him hold you anyway.  

The boy who existed before the murder of his parents is dead. You knew it before the funeral. But when the last guest finally leaves the Choi Estate and Soonyoung doesn’t shed a tear, you realize it isn’t just his parents that you’ve buried. 

The sweet, gentle boy who had cried those tears for fear of his mother leaving him has died too. And you don’t think you’ll ever see him again. 

-

“You want me to do what?” Soonyoung asks, pulling you into his room and looking out the cracked door to make sure no one else is around. “Where is your brother?” 

“I have no idea.” 

“You can’t just- ” Soonyoung fumbles for words as he shuts the door and takes a few steps past you into his room proper. It’s dark, safe for the glow of his AetherLink glowing with a paused video game. “Did he see you follow me up here?” 

“Why are you being weird? I’m in here all the time. You live here.” 

“I’m being weird? You just asked me to kiss you. Neither your brother nor your dad want you in my room in the middle of the night.” 

You frown. “Since when? Look, I’m sixteen and I’ve never been kissed, and Lin just lost her virginity to Jeonghan. What happened to when I say jump you say how high?”

“Oh don’t start with me. Who cares if Lin is giving it up to Jeonghan. She blew Wonwoo like two weeks ago. It’s not a competition.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, caving in on yourself a little. Maybe it was a stupid idea to ask Soonyoung after all. But you can’t get over the way all of the other girls were clinging to Lin’s every word as she spilled the details of sleeping with Jeonghan. Everyone else in your friends group had at least made out with boys - you had nothing. 

Being the daughter of the leader of the Choi Syndicate has its benefits. Being accessible to do things like kissing boys and going out with your friends to new cool clubs like Echo Space and Hyper Vibe were not one of them. Getting any of the boys your age to even look you in the eye was impossible, the fear of catching the wrath of Seungcheol and your father looming over them like the Sword of Damocles. 

Soonyoung is Soonyoung, though. Your father has brought him into the fold like one of his own, keeping his oath to Soonyoung’s parents to always watch over him and protect him. You’re old enough now to understand that the bonds between higher members of the Syndicate are bonds of faith and blood, of family and something more. 

If anyone shouldn’t be afraid to kiss you, it’s Soonyoung. He lives down the hall from you, and he’s best friends with your brother. It wouldn’t be that weird. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you lay awake in your bed at night while you stared at the ceiling, fingers trailing your lips. 

Now, you’re not so sure. The way Soonyoung recoils makes you realize you hadn’t thought of the single most important thing before marching in here and asking him to be your first kiss: maybe Soonyoung didn’t want to kiss you. 

It hadn’t even crossed your mind - one of the many downsides to getting mostly everything you wanted. You’re so infrequently told no that in the light of rejection, you don’t know what to do, recoiling like you’ve been mortally wounded. 

Nodding your head, you turn away from Soonyoung, throat tightening as the new wave of emotions threatens to spill over. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” 

“Baby,” he sighs. You ignore him, bolting for the door. Soonyoung is fast, though. He snatches your arm and drags you back toward him, though you turn your face away from him to hide the evidence of oncoming tears. “Don’t be like that.” 

“I’m not being like anything. It was a stupid favor to ask.” 

“Would you look at me?”

“No.”

He sighs heavily. “Why are you being so difficult?”

Trying to wrench your arm from his hold is useless. He’s not hurting you, but the grip on your bicep is firm. “Well if I’m so difficult then let me go.”

“Baby.” The frustration in his voice is evident. You ignore the way your nickname rolls off his tongue, the way he’s the only person you don’t absolutely hate the name from. 

“Just let me go!” 

“No. Why do you want me to kiss you?”

The question is like nails against chalkboard now, your embarrassment peaking. “Forget I even asked, just let me go!” 

“Fuck - are you crying?”

“No.”

“Baby, look at me.”

Too afraid that the wavering in your voice will give you away, you shake your head, refusing to turn and face him. With a growl, he gives a sharp tug on your arm, spinning you toward him. You let out a noise of protest, ready to lash out at him again when you feel his mouth on yours. 

Startled, you don’t do anything at first. Soonyoung’s grip is still on your bicep, firm and steadfast. Your eyes blink for a second before they flutter closed, unsure exactly what to do beyond lean into him a little, pressing your lips firmer to his. 

It’s somehow exactly what you expected and totally unexpected at the same time. Soonyoung’s mouth is softer than you were ready for, slotted gently against yours. He’s warm and smells like vanilla and sandalwood, a scent you’ve grown familiar with. Your thoughts peter out, enjoying the way he holds you to him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. 

When Soonyoung pulls away, you look up at him through half-lidded eyes, your breath shaky. He doesn’t pull back very far, looking down at you with a dark gaze. This close, you can see the real Soonyoung. His expression is soft, eyes sparkling in the blue light of his room. He looks so young suddenly, all of the rage and wrath that lurks under the surface of the calm mask he wears gone for just a moment. 

“You have pretty eyes,” you whisper. His mouth twitches at the corner, an almost smile. “I’ve always thought you had beautiful eyes.” 

He opens and closes his mouth again, trying to find words. You wait him out, heart thudding. He’s still holding you close to him, fingers digging desperately into your arm. 

Footsteps thundering up the stairs wake him from his daze, Seungcheol calling your name. Soonyoung drops his hand and steps away from you, a cool mask of calm sliding into place, the vulnerability gone in an instant. “There’s your kiss,” he murmurs. “Is there anything else you need from me or do I need to jump too?” 

Synth pulses through you, vibrating your very bones as you lounge on the velvet couch in a private section of the club. The lights above you are hazy, but you can make out the shapes of holographic dancers, their graphics so high definition that you can see the sweat beading down their bare backs. 

From the VIP section, you have the perfect view of the DJ platform. Screens flash behind it, holographic wonders of creatures and places and visuals flashing brightly. Writhing bodies twist on the dancefloor around the DJ like a pit of snakes. Among them, you know your father’s Taps slither among the crowd, pushing drugs and psychedelics into the hands of those who can afford it. 

A trained eye can spot a Tap well enough. Though they blend in with the nylon and leather of the partiers, they tend to be sharp eyed and lucid, chewing on stim pops or some other substance to keep them awake and alert. 

It’s not the drug dealers in the crowd who keep drawing your attention, though. You shouldn’t be able to spot Soonyoung in the mass of bodies so easily, but you do. His hair is bleached, reflecting the flashing lights around him as he presses in close to the girl attached to him, hips swaying.

Your mouth sours. Leaning forward you snatch one of the bottles from the ice bucket and pour a shot into a crystal glass. Angel raises her brows as you slide the glass over to her and pour another for yourself. She’s not much of a drinker, but she takes the glass wordlessly, sensing your need to have a partner in crime.

Knocking it back, you hiss as the liquor burns all the way back. Even the high grade alcohol is like fire, washing away your irritation for a dizzy moment, veins buzzing. Leaning back, your eyes scan the crowd and settle on Soonyoung again. This time, he’s leading his partner through the crowd and toward the stairs. The stairs that lead to you. 

Seungcheol and Wonwoo crashing onto the seat next to you breaks your concentration. Seungcheol’s pupils are wide as saucers, eyes trailing upward to dance at the visual of a woman with pink skin sliding out of her top. 

Next to him, Wonwoo pulls a small bag with glittering dust from his pocket, shaking it to settle all of the contents at the bottom before unsealing the top. The way the powder glows against the lights tells you its high quality frostbyte, a powerful stimulant named for the biting feeling when inhaled. 

Instead of yelling over the music, you gesture toward the bag, catching Wonwoo’s attention. He gives you a surprised look followed by a wolfish grin. Wonwoo loves when you partake in partying harder, a side everyone so rarely sees from you. 

Sliding a knife from his pocket, you watch with rapt attention as Wonwoo dips it into the baggie, scooping delicately. You’d rather he cut lines on the table, but you’ll take what you can get, watching as he expertly fishes out a decent sized amount for you to take. 

You’re mutely aware that a group of bodies enters your section. Vernon throws himself down next to Angel, jostling you both as you lean over Seungcheol’s half-asleep form toward where Wonwoo extends the knife toward you carefully. You ignore the weight of Soonyoung’s eyes on you as he, Mingyu and a group of girls sit down and reach to fill their glasses with liquor. 

Wonwoo’s hands are steady as he holds the tip of his blade out to you, a hand held underneath to catch any powder that slips off the blade. Careful not to lose your balance and stab yourself, you level your face with the knife, inhaling sharply. 

Immediately the drug bites the back of your throat, eyes watering as you tilt your head upwards and blink for a second, letting it settle. Sniffing harshly a few times, you clear your nasal passage and blow out a breath, feeling the softest beginning of a tingle as you look at Wonwoo, who is still holding his hands out to you. 

“Thanks,” you nod. He grins and pulls back, rubbing the excess powder along his gums as you fall heavily against the back of the booth. 

Turning to look at your brother, you elbow him. “Are you alive?”

“Mhmm,” he grunts, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. Lights dance across his face, all pinks and blues and purples as he breathes in heavily. “I am fucked right now. Can you get me a stim pop from Hoshi? If I do anymore frostbyte I’m gonna get a nosebleed. Again.” 

Actually, asking Soonyoung for anything is the last thing you want to do. However, your brother does look like he needs to wake up, the mess of drugs and alcohol in his system working overtime to put him on his ass. Stim pops are a quick fix, a careful mix of sweet candy and methylphenidate to wake up the nervous system. Soongyoung always has them on his person, especially for when he works late night shifts. 

Turning in the booth, you’re smacked with a wave of color. For a moment, you drink it in, tilting your head upward as the figures dancing above explode into a world of lavender butterflies. They’re utterly captivating, your eyes watching them twist and dance in the air as they flutter. 

A laugh bubbles from your lips, entirely childlike. Grinning, you watch them for a few moments more before they disintegrate into stars, entire solar systems hovering and floating through the space above your head.

Seungcheol elbowing you breaks you from your concentration. Right. Stim pop. From Soonyoung. Glancing at the man in question makes your stomach plummet. Soonyoung’s head is resting against the back of the booth, the girl next to him draped over him with her mouth pressed hot to his throat, her teeth overly white in the blacklight of the club. 

A surge of rage shivers through you, your nails scratching across the green velvet, leaving marks in their wake. Leaning forward, you reach out a hand and smack Vernon’s knee to get his attention. He turns his lazy gaze on you, brows raised. When you point at Soonyoung, he nods and yells over his shoulder to get your target’s attention.

Soonyoung’s eyes flutter open and flick to where you’re sitting. He drinks in your expression before muttering something to the woman mouthing at his neck and peels her off, standing up and shuffling over to you. Angel makes room for him, all but sliding into Vernon’s lap as Soonyoung crashes down on the couch next to you. 

“Hi, Baby. What’s up?” 

“Cheol needs a stim pop,” you answer curtly, leaning away from him. He smells like vanilla and sandalwood laced with alcohol. Soonyoung is so close you can feel his body heat, his breath fanning across your bare shoulder as he moves to look at Seungcheol half asleep on your other side. “Then you can go back to your little public sex session.” 

Soonyoung makes an angry cat noise, narrowing his eyes at you as he smirks. He leans toward you further to reach into his pocket, shoulder pressed against you. His scent fills your nose, heady and familiar. You’re dizzy with it, the touch of his warmth against your skin making you flush.

Suddenly, his nearness is overwhelming. Every hair on the back of your neck stands on end, your skin hypersensitive to the way he leans against you. The glow of the lights is sharper than you remember, and you swear you feel the blood rushing through your body.

A response that could be either because of the drugs you inhaled a moment ago or because Soonyoung is pressed against you and you have the sudden urge to lean into him, to feel his warmth, to press your lips against his and feel their softness. 

In an attempt to save yourself from the trap, you shove back at him. He huffs, glaring at you as he fishes a stim pop out of his pocket and hands it over to you. You’re careful to avoid his touch when you snatch it from his nimble fingers, turning your back on him in the booth to look at Seungcheol.

“Why are you being a brat?” His voice is loud over the music, shouted into your ear as he tilts back into your space again. You can feel the warmth of him on your back. 

“Go away.”

“Baby, please don’t start with me.”

“I’m not starting fuck with you.” 

Seungcheol cracks an eye open to observe your argument with a look of interest. Seungcheol’s pupils are dilated like moons, totally empty of any coherent thought. You peel the wrapper off the stim pop, careful to hold it by the cardboard stick as you pop it into your brother’s mouth. 

For a few moments, your brother lolls the candy around his mouth, sucking greedily. Then, he blinks his eyes open, pupils narrowing as he drinks in the lights and the clubs. He sighs in relief, patting your thigh gratefully as the stimulant chases away whatever else is washing him out.

When you turn around, Soonyoung is still lingering, his dark eyes fierce and focused only on you. He looks good tonight. He looks good every night. He has become your picture perfect torture since that night you asked him to be your first kiss, kickstarting something you were incapable of foreseeing. 

The bleached hair is new and you hate how much you like it. The silvery strands look just as soft as his natural black, and it’s a nice contrast to his dark eyes and sharp cheekbones. Those stormy eyes are staring at you now, something playful that you don’t like glittering under the surface. 

He pouts at you. “Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you. Go away!”

“You definitely are. What did I do, hmm? Tell me.” 

“Please fuck off.” 

He rolls his eyes, peeling himself off the couch and muttering something under his breath. You’re sure he has nothing nice to say, so you sink further into the couch, crossing your hands over your chest as you sulk. 

Sticky air clings to your skin. You can feel your heart racing in your chest, the music vibrating your ribcage. Your anger is like a monster given life, fueled by the frostbyte and the feverish anger taking root in your stomach as Soonyoung settles back in his spot, pressing his mouth sloppily to the woman next to him. 

And that’s the problem, really. It’s not you that is pressing your mouth to his jaw while he leans against the back of the seat. It isn’t you running manicured nails down the front of his shirts, pulling at buttons despite the audience. 

It isn’t you and it should be. You want it to be.

It’s been two years since Soonyoung kissed you for the first time in his room. You’ve had more experience with other people since then, but it dulls in comparison to his simple kiss. You hate it. What you hate even more is how childish it makes you feel, embarrassment heating your cheeks and throat when he catches your gaze across the booth and you divert your attention. 

For the second time, Soonyoung peels the girl off of him, making like he’s going to get up and come sit next to you again. This time, his companion keeps him rooted to the spot, her nails digging into his forearm as she hisses something at him. He groans, head tilted back like he’s once again the most inconvenienced man in the room. 

Wanting nothing more than to blot him out, you call Wonwoo’s name again, leaning forward heavily for more frostbyte. Soonyoung whistles and snaps his finger in your direction as though to tell you no. You bristle, your anger turning to an inferno, burning up inside of you. 

Vernon and Angel both cringe, leaning out of your line of fire as you swivel to angle yourself toward Soonyoung, hands shaking. “Don’t fucking whistle and snap at me! I’m not a dog.”

“Baby, you don’t need more. Your pupils are the size of Mingyu’s big ass head.”

Mingyu, though right next to Soonyoung, doesn’t hear the insult, his tongue being sucked down the throat of the girl sitting in his lap, hips grinding on him. Another girl is pressed to his side, teeth nipping at his jaw. At least someone is having fun, you think, the three of them totally aware of the crackling tension in their booth. 

The girl attached to Soonyoung’s neck a moment ago bristles when she hears your nickname. “Baby?” she asks, face scrunching. “Are you serious?”

“Chill out, Victra. It’s her nickname.”

“Yeah,” you agree, shooting her a venomous look, despite her doing nothing to earn your ire. “Chill, Victra.”

Once again, you turn your back on Soonyoung, standing and scooting Seungcheol over to swap places with him. He does so with a keen eye, watching the scene unfold as he sucks his lollipop happily, content to watch the drama. 

Wonwoo dips his knife into the bag as you settle in next to him, bouncing with excitement. “I love when you do drugs, you’re so much fun.” 

“I don’t feel very fun right now.”

“Drugs will fix it!” 

“Wonwoo, don’t you dare give her that,” Soonyoung warns. He pries Victra’s hands off of him, leaning forward as though to reach across the table. 

“Ignore him,” you insist. 

Wonwoo hesitates, stuck between a rock and a hard place. The last thing he wants to do is tell you no. No one but your father and older brother get to tell you no. Wonwoo knows this better than most people. But he also doesn’t want to cross Soonyoung, a venture nearly as dangerous as pissing off Seungcheol. 

Soonyoung hisses at the girl next to him,  “Stop clawing at me! Baby, please stop being stubborn for one moment. Just one. ”

“Why the fuck did you even bring me up here?” Victra interrupts, ignoring Soonyoung’s plea. “You’ve done nothing but fawn over her since we got here. This isn’t fun.” 

Soonyoung ignores her. “If you’re mad at me, be mad at me. Stop blowing shit up your nose to prove a point and be a bitch, though.”

“I’m not proving fuck, Soonyoung. And Victra’s right, go fuck her in the bathroom or something and stop telling me what to do.”

“So it is about her?” 

“I have a name!” The her in question snaps. You turn around, temper flaring as you level your glare at her. She turns her nose up at you as she says, “It’s obvious you’re bothered he brought me here. Your jealousy is insufferable.” 

“Ding, ding ding,” Seungcheol imitates a bell. You turn around to look at Victra. “Round one! Fight!”

It takes a second for Victra’s words to land. It’s like each one hits you a second apart, packing their own punch as you register them. The pulsing music around you fades to a dull roar as you stare at her, seeing the way her lips twitch upward as she realizes she’s right. You are jealous that Soonyoung brought her up here. 

Victra’s grin is all it takes for you to spill over. Before you can register what you’re doing, you’re out of your seat and leaping over the table at her, knocking over glasses and bottles. Wonwoo cheers in delight behind you as your brother catches you by the waist, trying to keep you on your side of the booth as you tear at his hands to get across the booth. 

Seeing the attack of opportunity while you’re subdued, Victra shoots to her feet. Angel is fast as an adder, one moment sitting in Vernon’s lap and the next striking Victra down into the booth, knee planted in her stomach. Vernon does nothing to stop his girlfriend, opting instead to reach for a water bottle, unscrewing it to take a sip as his girlfriend pins Victra down to the seat with little effort. 

Noticing for the first time that their friend is in distress, the two women with Mingyu lift their heads. As soon as one starts to slide from his lap to reach for Angel, you kick a foot out, striking the bucket of alcohol and ice. The bucket goes flying at her, hitting her hard in the face. She screams, crumbling in Mingyu’s lap, cradling her face. 

Mingyu and Soonyoung are on their feet in seconds, soaked from the waist down and trying to gain control of the situation as it spirals. Mingyu becomes a blockade between Victra’s two friends, trying to keep them on their side of the booth. Soonyoung is prying a bottle from a hand before it can make its way toward you, yelling something indecipherable. 

Angel is still pressing her knee deep into Victra’s gut. Victra’s attention has diverted from you entirely as she screams like a wounded animal, pushing and scratching at Angel’s knee to try and get her off. You’re sure it hurts, but Angel doesn’t budge, sinking her weight into it. 

Leaning down, you grab something to lob at them - someone’s shoe - but Seungcheol manages to haul you off your feet and spin you, planting you into the booth behind him. You growl, shoving at his legs to move him out of the way, trying to re-engage. 

“Fucking hell,” he grunts. “Are you fucking juicing? Why are you so strong?”

“It’s the drugs,” Wonwoo offers unhelpfully. “Really top of the line drugs.”

“Shut up, Wonwoo!” Both you and Seungcheol bark at the same time. 

Wonwoo holds up his hands, leaning back into the seat as he watches the mess unfold with a delighted grin. You strike out with your foot, slamming against the booth’s table, shoving it in Soonyoung’s direction. You hear glass shatter as more things fall off the table, clattering to the ground. There are shrieks and curses that you can’t see with Seungcheol blocking the way. 

“He’s a fucking asshole!” You seethe to your brother, panting with rage. 

“He is, and you did exactly what he wanted you to do.” You try to kick the table again but he stops you, grabbing your knee. You feel like you can’t get enough air, sweat slicking your skin and the velvet of the couch too sharp against your flesh. “Soonyoung loves a fight when he’s fucked up. You know that.” 

“Well fuck him!”

He pulls the stick from his mouth, candied stim gone. He tosses it onto the floor and looks over his shoulder where Mingyu and Soonyoung are corralling the three women out of the booth. “God, Angel  broke that girl's rib I think. Hahahha!” 

“I want to break her fucking face!” 

“I think you broke her friend's face. She is fucked up. That bucket hit her right in the eye. What a shot.” 

“If you’re so entertained, why’d you get in my way?”

“There’s a lot of eyes here.” You glance around, noticing other booths looking at you, people ducking toward one another to whisper. “You have an image to maintain.” 

Adjusting your shirt, you settle back into the booth. “Alright. Alright I’m good.”

When Seungcheol moves out of the way to take a seat, Soonyoung replaces him. You glare up at him, feeling your anger curl up in you again. His lips twitch, a hint of a smirk as he sits down next to you, sighing heavily and tilting his head to look up at the flashing lights.

The girls are nowhere to be found. Angel is sitting back down next to Vernon who hasn’t moved, and there are servers picking up the mess you made. Mingyu is notably absent, though you can guess where he’s gone for the night. He’s good at making scorned lovers feel better about their bad luck. 

“Jealousy is crazy on you,” Soonyoung notes, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he glances at you sidelong. “I kind of like it.” 

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” you warn. He laughs, the fight totally leaving him. “I’m serious. Don’t ever do that to me again, Soonyoung. Not to me.” 

“Alright, alright. When you say jump, right?” 

Soonyoung’s fingers brush against yours. Just the rough feeling of his calluses against the tips of your fingers has you shivering, anger replaced with want. He doesn’t take your hand, doesn’t move to do anything else but lean back in silence with your fingers touching. 

Resigned, you say nothing else to him. You’d got what you wanted - sort of - even if you know you made an ass out of yourself doing it. It isn’t the first time he’s made you jealous, but it is the first time it’s boiled over so violently. 

You remind yourself not to do frostbyte when you’re mad anymore.

You turn your attention to where Angel is snorting frostbyte up her nose off of her boyfriend’s phone, accidentally turning on the hologram as she does, her face suddenly caged by green screen data. You call her name gently. She looks up at you, pupils blown, reflecting the lights dancing above like dark glass. “Thanks,” you offer. 

Her grin is too wide, teeth too white. She reminds you of a demon more than she does an angel. “Anytime.” 

When you settle back in, you glance at Soonyoung once. He looks down at you, smirking a single time before he leans into you and rests his head on your shoulder. You feel him melt into you, sighing as his eyes close and he nuzzles a little closer. You put your hand on his thigh, squeezing once before you leave it there, feeling the heat of his skin through his pants.

It isn’t until he’s almost asleep, pressed as close as possible to you that you realize maybe he got what he wanted too. 

Rain washes over the black city, the mist turning the thousands of digital and holographic advertisements into a watercolor smear of neon. It smells wet and like rot, the drains overworked and belching water and trash back out into the street as you walk, feet splashing. 

You quickly duck out of the way of a group of rowdy men spilling from a bar. You can smell the drink on them, their feet sloshing in the rising water of the street as they dredge toward the next bar. They whistle at the pretty girls dressed in light up raincoats and flickering green contacts, stumbling toward a brothel instead of the bar. 

Gripping your umbrella tighter, you quicken your steps. Grease smoke drifts toward you from various hawker carts, the sizzle of meat making your stomach growl. You ignore them, knowing you have dinner with your family later as you take a corner and plunge into the darkness of an underground stairwell. 

The LEDs on your umbrella cast a pink light as you descend the stairs, careful not to slip on the caked grime. Two guards stand outside metal double doors, music pulsing faintly behind it. They look you up and down, ready to deny entry until you state your name at the bottom of the steps. 

“ID?” the one on the right asks, giving you a critical eye. 

Of course he doesn't believe you. The daughter of the Tower would never walk anywhere without a body guard, especially in this part of the city. You spin the umbrella, the pink coalescing as he takes the phone from your hand and taps it, blue lighting up his face when your ID and profile appear in holographic data above the screen. 

He clears his throat and bows at the waist. When his counterpart doesn’t, he smacks him hard on the back, making the man lean over. “Apologies, Miss Choi. Right this way.” 

Music hits you full on when the doors open, the base creating static in the air. You cringe as it vibrates through your ribcage and teeth, wondering how anyone could stand to be in a club this loud. Popping the umbrella shut, you let your eyes adjust while one security guard remains at the door, shutting it behind you, and the other hands you your ID.

“Should I escort you to the office, Miss?” 

Writhing bodies dance together, scintillating like snakes in a pit. Above them, lasers and holograms light up the world with flashes of colors you didn’t even know existed. A wide bar stretches to the left of the floor, lit up by soft cyan lights. Behind it, the bartenders move in a blur, the glow on their clothes turning them ethereal. 

You glance at the security guard, who waits patiently before shaking your head. You point to the space above the bar where there are two large, mirrored windows looking out into the club. “Up there?”

“Yes,” he answers, hesitating. “Let me escort you.” 

With a roll of your eyes you nod, gesturing to him to lead the way. He clears a path, clubbers and workers alike moving out of his way when he shoves them. You walk behind him, swinging your head from side-to-side as you look at the people, fascinated. 

People with spikes pierced in their skin and whorling tattoos with glow ink stare back at you, glowing contact lenses and gemmed teeth all taking you in. You rarely get to mix in with the crowd that partakes in more unique cosmetic alterations and fashion, fascinated by someone who walks by with red glowing face tattoos like a demon mask. 

At the foot of the stairs, the guard lets you walk up first. It’s clear of people, so he remains standing at the bottom, taking up an imposing position with his hands linked in front of him, blocking the stairway entirely. 

The thud of music vibrates through your boots as you climb the stairs, greeting another security guard. You can tell he’s already been warned you’re here - he bows immediately and keys in the pad at the door, opening the office for you. 

You pass by him airily, stepping into the dry and much cooler office. The door closes behind you, immediately cutting off the sound with high–tech sound proofing. Soonyoung is leaning against the bar, his back to the door as he watches out the windows, a glass in his hand. 

“What in the fuck are you doing?” he asks, tossing you a look over his shoulder. You grin, skipping over to him. He doesn’t grin back, looking you up and down as you join him. You reach for the decanter he’s drinking from but he smacks your hand, viper fast. “Not a chance.”

“What? Why not?”

“You shouldn’t be here, much less without a security team. The Tower will be livid.” 

“The Tower doesn’t have to know.”

Soonyoung’s jaw flexes. “The security team will tell him you were here.”

“Not if you tell them not to.”

“Baby,” he sighs, tilting his head up and closing his eyes. You lean against the bar, watching him. The lights from the club are dimmer in here, but they flash against his face, painting him in golden light. He’s beautiful. “What are you doing here?”

“Angel said you had a bad day.”

“I always have a bad day. And tell Angel to shut her mouth.”

You snort. “You tell her that.”

That gets a grin out of him. He lowers his head, dark gaze finding yours. “You can’t just walk around the Lower City without a personal guard, Baby.”

“I’m not helpless.”

“I know you’re not. I’m not either but people try to rob me all the time. You, on the other hand, are a lot prettier of a prize than I am.” 

“So you think I’m pretty?”

This time when Soonyoung sighs, it’s affectionate. He sips his glass of amber liquid, turning to watch the crowd outside the office. He holds out his glass to you, a concession. You grin further, accepting it from him and bring it up to your nose to smell. You don’t know anything about liquor, but from the spiced scent you can tell it’s good quality.

You take a tiny sip. It goes down smooth - strong, but good and warm. Instead of giving him the glass back, you cradle it to your chest, leaning against the bar next to him close enough that your arms are almost touching. He continues looking out at the crowd, keen eyes serious and back to work while you look at him. 

Soonyoung is beautiful. His side profile is lethal, the slope of his neck elegant, the curve of his jaw sharp but delicate, his high cheekbones catching the light. His eyes are dark pools, reflecting the snatches of light that come through the dark windows. 

“Did you come here to stare at me?” he asks, never taking his eyes off the crowd. 

“What if I said I did?” 

His mouth twitches at the corner. “Unfortunately I would believe you.”

Watching over clubs isn’t usually Soonyoung’s job. But this club is in a terrible part of the city and isn’t worth much to the Choi Syndicate, so sometimes he’s awarded the opportunity to prove himself to your father and to the elders of the Syndicate that he’s competent and capable of leadership, despite the fact you’ve always known him to be. 

Soonyoung isn’t meant for leading like Seungcheol. But there is a certain level of loyalty and understanding he has to cultivate with the heavies of the family, the Swords who carry out the bloody tasks of removing people from the way and keeping assets safe. His father had been the Sentinel of your family for years until his death, and Soonyoung is expected to pick up that mantle.

This is all a part of that. Soonyoung already has the loyalty of the security team running this hole in the wall, alerting him the second you arrived and refusing to let you go up the stairs alone. Had they failed to do that, you might think a little less of them. 

Soonyoung also probably would have had them beaten. 

Finally, Soonyoung turns to look at you. He sighs and raises his brows expectantly. 

“What?” you ask. 

“What did you come here for? Real answer, this time.” 

“I told you. Angel said you had a bad day. That is my real answer.”

“And?”

You shrug, sipping from the glass and turning toward the windows. “I wanted to make it a better one.” 

That makes him go silent. You can see him turn to look at you, his stormy gaze pinning you to the spot. You don’t look at him, letting him stare as you nurse the drink and watch the dancing crowd down below. They’re beautiful, in a way, an ocean of bodies saying as colors turn them blue and then green and then bright red and then lavender. 

Soonyoung leans toward you, bumping his head on yours lightly. That gets a laugh out of you, stomach fluttering and wishing he would stay leaned against you. He pulls away though, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his eyes back to his job. 

“Thank you,” he finally says, voice quiet. “It is already a better day.” 

The silence is comfortable. You eventually give him the drink back and he takes it, tongue darting out to lick the lip gloss you left. He hums. “Cherries.” 

“You’re gross.” 

He smiles into the glass, taking a sip. “I actually have something for you.” 

“A present?”

He snorts. “Not exactly. Go to the desk - top drawer on the right.” 

Eagerly, you do as he says. The heavy wooden desk sits in the back of the room, imposing even without the metal lockers behind it with weapons. You ignore the heavy guns under padlocks and go for the drawer in question. 

A rectangular box is in the drawer Soonyoung specified, unmarked. You turn it over in your hands, curious. It’s not very heavy and fits mostly in your palm. 

“Bring it over here.” 

You do, trailing back to Soonyoung. He extends his hand and you pass it over to him, watching with interest as he cracks the box open with the sheer strength of his fingers. He pulls out a small device, a wire and what looks to be a plug, tossing the box to the bar. 

“Do you know what this is?” he asks, holding up the device. 

It’s a small rectangle with a keypad and a screen. You raise your brows in surprise. “It is a very old phone.” 

“It is.” He smiles, pleased with your answer. He passes the materials over to you and you hold them against your chest. “That’s the charger and the charging cord. It’s one of the old kinds of phones that requires a phone tower. There are barely any in the city.” 

“And what is this gift for?” 

“I own the phone towers that support it.” You raise your brows. Soonyoung rarely spends the inheritance his parents left behind, so you’re surprised. “It only has a single phone number programmed into it that will call the one I have.”

At this, he reaches into his pocket and produces the phone’s twin. He shakes it for emphasis, pressing a button and lighting up the screen. “You have to make sure to keep it charged. I want you to have it for emergencies only. And I mean emergencies, Baby. This is a last resort kind of device, alright?” 

You chew your bottom lip, dragging your eyes to look up at him. “Why?” 

“Because I need to know that you always have a last resort.” His gaze darkens. “Clearly your assigned security team lets you give them the slip. I need to know that you can hit the dial on this faster than you can on our phones. They’re overly complicated and not quick. With this?” 

He reaches over and turns on the phone in your hand. Once booted, he presses the one button. The device in his hand starts ringing. “Direct and fast access to me at all times. Do it even if you can’t tell me where you are. I’ll find you.” 

Emotion twists your throat. You grip the phone with a vice grip, looking up at him with wide eyes. His face is serious. He slips his phone in his pocket, turning back to do his job. “I will answer,” he promises. “It doesn’t matter when and where. I will answer that phone even if I’m dying. Do you understand?” 

“Yes.”

He nods. “Good.”

A knock on your door wakes you up from a dreamless sleep. Darkness spills across your room like ink as you slip from your bed, cursing when you kick the corner of your nightstand. With a raspy voice, you ask the automated room assistant to turn on the nightlights, a hazy purple immediately lighting the circumference of your room.

Squinting against the lavender glow, you pad over your room to open the door. Soonyoung is leaning heavily against the wall just beyond the threshold, his chin tucked to his chest and his hair sweaty and clinging to his temples. 

He doesn’t move when you open the door, the lilac light casting an eerie radiance on the side of his face. It’s hard to make out his expression in the lurking shadow of the hallway, and he offers no explanation for why he’s knocking on your door at three in the morning. 

“Soonyoung?” you whisper, eyes darting down the hall. No one else is around. “Where are Cheol and Vernon?”

“S’cheol is still working. Vernon went to stay at Angel’s.”

“Are you - Soonyoung are you drunk? Or high?”

“Yeah.” 

Both you realize. You can deal with both. 

Grabbing him by the hand, you tug him gently. He pushes off the wall with heavy steps, stumbling through your open door and into the room. You grip him tighter, shutting your door with a gentle click before turning around to face him. 

Soonyoung won’t look at you, turning his face away as he sways a little where he stands. Now that you can see him fully, you realize that there is blood on the collar of his shirt. Heart thudding, your hands reach for it, peeling it back to look at his neck. Specs of dry crimson flake from sweaty skin, making your terror reach new heights. 

He shrugs you off. “Not mine.” 

“I - what’s going on?” 

Instead of answering you, he walks a few crooked steps toward your bed and sits down on the edge. Licking your lips, you approach him slowly. He’s slouched over, elbows pressed to his knees as his head hangs heavily. He still hasn’t looked at you properly and you’re aching to see his eyes. You can always understand him better when you see his eyes, able to read the depth of emotions hiding beneath his mask.

When you reach him, you crouch down. Instead of grabbing for him again and risking him pulling away, you rest your hands on top of your knees. When afraid or upset, Soonyoung is like a cornered animal. You don’t know whether he’s in fight or flight, both just as dangerous as the next. 

“Soonyoung,” you say again gently. You watch his every move. “You’re scaring me. Do you need me to call Cheol or Vernon?”

If Seungcheol is working the circuit, he isn’t the best to call. Late night circuits include going from club to club under the Choi banner to monitor the drug trafficking and attend small business meetings as appropriate. Seungcheol will drop whatever he’s doing for you in a heartbeat, but it’s more complicated than that. 

In theory, Vernon is easier to get a hold of. He’s already off work and though he might not answer his phone if you call, you know his girlfriend will. Plus, the blood on Soonyoung’s shirt and skin can give you a guess at what’s happened, and Vernon is more equipped for that type of thing than you are. 

“Let me call Vernon-”

“No,” he finally says. “No. Sorry. I just.” 

Your chest squeezes in pain. It’s like you can feel the torture radiating through him, feel the weight of whatever it is that’s dragging him down yourself. Desperation drives you to reach out toward him slowly, watching for any sign of startling him. When he doesn’t move to pull away, you touch him gently, squeezing his knee gently. “What do you need?” 

“My dad always said I should feel something.” His words are halting, coming out slurred. You wait, holding your breath as he works through them. “Always said that you should feel something when you kill someone. If you don’t, it means you’re nothing more than a beast with base instincts. Not intelligent or refined.”

It takes everything in you not to let your grip turn to steel at his words. Instead, you rub your hand up and down his thigh soothingly, saying nothing. Soonyoung has never killed someone before. You would know if he had. He’s the last in your immediate circle of friends beside yourself to take on the weight of stealing life, and you’ve dreaded this day for a long time. 

Murder is an inevitability in your family. Keeping the Choi Syndicate on top requires sacrifice, cruelty and cunning. Soonyoung had started serving as an officially ranked member of the Syndicate over a year ago, and though he had fucked up a lot of people and brought them to the brink of death, he hadn’t actually done it yet. 

“I felt nothing,” he whispers, voice thick. “Fucking nothing.” 

“What do you mean?”

“There was no guilt. I didn’t even flinch. It was so easy, like fucking breathing. That’s not what my dad wanted me to be. He always said that those who felt nothing were just… baser creatures. That we were better because we were… made better.” 

“I think your dad wanted a lot of things. You being alive was the most important of those things, Soonyoung.” 

“I’m just tired of feeling fucking empty. I don’t give a shit that I killed someone, Baby. Honestly? I was fucking looking forward to it. I thought maybe - just maybe - I would feel something, even if it was guilt or horror or satisfaction. There was nothing.” 

You have no idea what to say. Instead of words, you surge forward, letting go of Soonyoung’s knee to push yourself between his thighs, wrapping your arms around his middle. He flinches for a moment, arms hanging dead at his side as you press your cheek to his chest, squeezing. 

Inside, you feel your heart crack open. You shove down the overwhelming sense of despair on his behalf, instead focused on him. There’s nothing to say with words, and you hope he can feel what you’re trying to tell him through touch, that he can feel everything you don’t know how to say as you hold him tight, clinging to him. 

Slowly, his arms encircle you. It takes him a moment, but he applies a little pressure back. It makes you scoot in more, pressed as close as you can get to him. He buries his face in your neck, his breaths warm and smelling like tequila. He smells like him too, vanilla and sandalwood. 

“I don’t feel like a person sometimes,” he whispers. “It’s like the ability for me to feel anything died forever ago. Like I killed it so that I didn’t ever have to hurt again. Now I only ever feel when-”

He cuts himself off and sinks into you a little more. You bear his weight, willing to carry any burden for him. You don’t think he realizes that he could ask you to jump and you’d say how high. You’ve always been willing to jump for him, always willing to do whatever he wants, whatever he needs. 

Gently, you ask, “You only ever feel when what? You can tell me if you want. Whatever you need.” 

“I feel when I’m with you.” Soonyoung whispers it like it’s a secret he doesn’t want you to hear. You feel the words hit your skin where he speaks them, a shiver slithering through you. His grip on you tightens a little with the admission, like now that he’s said it, he can’t let go. Won’t. “I feel most like a person when I’m with you.”

Pressing the flat of your hand to his back, you begin to stroke up and down slowly, touch following the careful ridges of his spine. He sighs, shivering in your hold. You want nothing more than to take the pain or whatever he’s feeling away, to rip it from him and to destroy it. 

The fierceness of your love for him is hard to tamp down. A fiery admission of your feelings for him isn’t what he needs right now. You know Soonyoung like the inside of your own soul, everything that makes him tick, every habit he’s picked up over the years. You can sense him standing lost at sea, needing an anchor. Needing you. 

“Okay,” you say softly. “So stay with me. Be a person with me.”

“I’m not made for you.”

“Yes you are.” Your nails dig into his back through his shirt, pressing sharply. The desire to covet him is so intense it overtakes you. “If I make you a person, then how could we be made for anyone but one another?” 

Silence greets your logic. You stay holding him like that, desperate to keep him there, terrified he’ll shrug you off and get up. He’s done it before, shucking off your affection like something to be disposed of. And still you give it to him freely, begging him to take it. 

He doesn’t shy away from you. Instead you feel him nod, mouth brushing tenderly across your throat in the ghost of a kiss. “If I stay right now, you will never get me to leave. Do you understand? I won’t… I will be incapable of ever letting you go. Ever. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

You hug him tighter. “Try to leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung.” 

“Where’s your other half?” the voice causes you to turn from where you lean against the bar. Angel slides up next to you, cocking her head as she does. She looks like a wraith, dressed in a rain slicker over black long-sleeved shirt that’s tucked into black pants. Her jacket and combat boots are wet, suggesting it’s still raining outside. “You’re usually attached at the hip. My therapist calls that codependency. Says Hansol and I have it too.” 

“Does your therapist also know you’re a murderer?” you mutter. The bartender slides drinks over to you and you nod in thanks. “Or that you’re only seeing her because Jeonghan made a bet with you? Or that your job often involves extortion? What does she think about that?” 

As a Rook of the Choi Syndicate, Angel’s job is a far cry from the holy nickname she’s sported since she was a child. Like Vernon, her role within your father’s empire is to collect debts owed to the Choi family and to remind them never to fall behind on payments. Other times, she’s simply used as a good tool to put the fear of god into enemies of the Choi family, and she’s good at it.

Raised under the careful tutelage of the Yoon family, there’s no weakness Angel can’t find and use. The only one better at it than her is her step brother, who is probably sitting next to your brother behind closed doors somewhere in the Choi Estate holding a meeting.

As Seungcheol’s future second in command, it’s Jeonghan’s responsibility to learn the ropes just like your brother. One day, it’ll be the two of them leading your family, a thought that makes you cringe with worry. 

Angel answers your question with a shrug. “I’m sure she knows I’m into some shit. I’m learning all kinds of new things about myself.” 

“Oh yeah? Like what?” 

“I don’t like therapy. And I kind of want to ask my therapist why she thinks she’s qualified for therapy when she’s fucking three of her clients.”

A snort escapes you as you shake your head. Of course Angel knows that about her own therapist. Lifting the two drinks on the bar, you drift away from her, eyes flicking over the Rook. “Stay out of trouble, Angel. And give Vernon my love.” 

She grins, wicked sharp and deadly. “No bar fights, hmm? Enjoy the party.” 

The party in question is exhausting. You’ve been playing pretty princess all night, saying hello to all of the right people, shaking all of the jeweled hands, kissing all of the right asses. You’re exhausted and the tension in your shoulder has been knotting further and further. 

Once upon a time you would have been thankful to at least not be Seungcheol. He shouldered a lot more responsibility. Now you’ve realized that you don’t shoulder less than him - it’s just different. If Seungcheol is the sword and shield of the Syndicate, you’re the face and smile. Galas, charities, celebrity events - it’s a never ending stream of smile, pose, shake hands. 

It doesn’t hide the fact that you sit on a throne that belongs to a criminal empire, of course. But it’s also no secret that the Three Syndicates run the city. Your family has long been one of the stalwart backbones of the government and city infrastructure. Only the Kim family and the Yong family come close. 

Still, appearances are everything. Especially when the Yong family owns most of the media outlets, weaponizing it against the Choi Syndicate every chance they get. You make it harder for them, using your appearances and platforms like a carefully wielded sword. 

Spotting Soonyoung among those dressed in dark security uniforms is easy. He nearly blends in with the dark pipe and drape that has been set up all over the ballroom of your home, but you could find him anywhere, your internal compass pointing to him even in the dark.

Soonyoung’s eyes alight on you, sharp and intense. His face is a cool mask of indifference, but you can see the way interest sparks in his eyes as he drinks you in. He’s already seen you in your dress tonight, but it doesn’t stop him from refamiliarizing himself, eyes tracing every dip and curve.

God you wish you were somewhere else with him. Specifically wrapped in the gray sheets of his bed, sweat-slicked and out of breath. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” you say shyly, handing him a drink.

He takes it and looks up at you, arching a brow. “I can’t drink this, I’m working.” 

“It’s just soda with lime, the way you like it.” 

His lips twitch in a smile as he takes a sip, nodding in confirmation. He doesn’t reach out to you and hold you close like you know he wants to, respecting the propriety of his position and the fact that he is on the clock right now. 

“You look tired,” he murmurs, eyes studying your face. 

So does he. As an official Sword of the Choi family, his job keeps him out late, bloodied, and tired. He’s completely changed from the man who sank into your arms that first night he killed someone, hardened into someone that your father sends to do just that often. 

A weapon. A Sword. A trusted knife in the dark for the Choi family.

You think Soonyoung is more capable than being a heavy for your dad and his associates. Soonyoung is intelligent and sharp, having gained perspective and a wealth of knowledge from living with your family. Still, his dad had been the leader of the hired guns for the Choi Syndicate. Soonyoung is an efficient killer, his fate bound by his father long ago.

“When are you off tonight?” you ask instead of telling him how tired he looks.

“I’m not.” You frown. He sips his drink again and gives you a soft smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s been busy. The Yong family are getting in our way at the docks. I gotta head down there with Vernon and Jeonghan after the party.” 

“The Yongs are doing it outright?” 

“No. We’re pretty confident it’s them though. Jeonghan is working on it. If we can bring the Xu family under our wing, it would be a lot easier to push them out.” 

“They have a son,” you note, thinking about the last event you attended where the Xu heir was in attendance. “Maybe marriage to one of our big hitters? Nexus Capital has an heiress.”

“I’ll mention it to Jeonghan. Who the fuck would want an arranged marriage, though?”

“Not me,” you laugh, wiping the eyelash you spot on his cheek gently. He gives you a tired, albeit affectionate smile. “You’ve been working nonstop. Tell Seungcheol you need a night off.”

“We both know it’s not Seungcheol working me to the bone, Baby.” 

Swallowing thickly, you turn away from him under the guise of scanning the crowd. You know you don’t fool him. Both you and Soongyoung know your father does not approve of your relationship, taking it out on Soonyoung to keep him busy and away from you.��

Your father would never hurt Soonyoung directly. You know that. He loves him like a son - sees his late best friend in the features of the man that Soonyoung has been shaped into under his care and tutelage. When you started dating Soonyoung seriously, you thought your parents might be happy. They adore him and they loved his parents just as much. 

Soonyoung is below your station, though. 

Your father will never say it outright. He wouldn’t insult his late friend’s son that way. But the way your father works Soonyoung harder than anyone else, holding him to a standard he doesn’t even keep for his highest level of men, you realize how deep the dissatisfaction goes. Even your mother’s adoration of Soonyoung does little to shield him from the petty assignments, try as she might. 

Still, you don’t care. And at the end of the day, neither does Soonyoung. As long as he gets to have you, he’s willing to put up with the petty assignments and the working late. 

“Hey,” Soonyoung says gently, bringing your attention back to him. He finishes his drink and sets it on a banquet table nearby. His eyes are averted, looking somewhere across the room as his hand slips around your waist to squeeze you quickly and press a kiss to your temple. “I’ve got to go - I’ve got a meeting with Vernon before we head out tonight. I’ll see you when I’m done. Probably won’t be until late morning.” 

“Alright,” You sigh. His hand slips from your waist and you wish you could pull him back to you. “Love you.” 

He grins brightly, giving you a wink before he melts into the crowd, weaving around party goers. Your heart squeezes when you lose sight of him. 

Someone clearing their throat catches your attention. You spin around to see Lan, one of your father’s personal Swords nodding politely at you. “Your father wishes to see you in the West Parlor. I’m to escort you.”

“Oh. Sure.” You set your drink down on the banquet table, wiping your damp hands on your dress. “Lead the way.” 

People bow their heads in respect as you go. You keep an even pace with Lan, which is hard to do with his long strides and your strappy heels digging into your ankles. He slows for your benefit and you give him a grateful smile, the swelling noise from the party leaving you behind as you step out of the ballroom and walk toward the west wing of the house. 

Some people mill about the halls of the estate. You can spot the members of the Syndicate who are on duty, mostly Swords that belong to the security force employed under the Choi family. You spot Chan leaning against a wall while gesturing broadly with his hands as he speaks to the owner of a new club on the edge of the Pearl District. When he catches your stare, Chan winks before focusing his attention back on the owner. Probably trying to work out some sort of deal or partnership, as is his job. 

The west wing of the house is quiet and off limits to the rest of the party. Your bedroom is just up two flights of stairs, your bed calling your name as you pass under the stairwell into the hallway that belongs to the West Parlor, the library, the study and your father’s billiards room. 

Old Man Vero is standing outside your fathers study, his hands linked in front of him and his head straight forward. He glances your way as Lan leans you toward the door, cracking a bit of a smile on his leathery face and giving you a wink. You grin, lightly reaching out and touching his elbow as Lan opens the door for you. Your father’s Swords have been in your life since you were a child, permanent figures of fixed loyalty and familiarity. 

They love you like they love your father, like they love your brother. It isn’t pure fear and power that keeps the Choi Syndicate together. Your father has plenty of that among the ranks, but the loyalty and love between him and his higher ranking members is real. Critical. It was a skill he taught you and Seungcheol, both of you arming yourself with your own shield of friends and confidants. 

Your father sits in a leather armchair, leaned back with his eyes closed. Next to him, a cigar smokes in the ashtray, threatening to go out as the thin wisps of smoke vanish into the air. An old fashioned record player echoes in the far corner of the room, smoothe notes vibrating through the air. 

“Tower,” you greet him formally, bowing at the waist. “How can I be of service to the family?” 

His eyes flutter open and he looks at you tiredly. He looks so much like your brother that it’s uncanny, sometimes. But his youth has worn off, his age more and more evident these days as he spreads himself thin expanding the Choi empire. Your mother has asked him - begged him - to give more responsibility to Seungcheol, but he refuses.

At least you know where your stubborn streak comes from. 

“So formal,” he notes, his lips twitching upward. He gestured for you to sit in one of the arm chairs. You do, smoothing your dress carefully as you sit. Behind you, Lan exits the room, the soft click of the door behind you. “You were always a better student than your brother.”

“That’s because he’s a man.”

A hearty laugh makes you grin, feeling a flutter of fondness. He was never an overly affectionate father, but he’s always been kind, though firm. You respect him, which is saying something in your world.

“Spoken like an intelligent woman,” he sighs. You wait patiently, watching as he seems to gather his words. Your stomach knots, sensing a trepidation about him that you’re not used to. “Your intelligence has always been your best asset, though you’re a little hot-headed like your brother.” 

“Steadfast is the mountain,” you say, quoting the Choi family motto.

He grins and adds your mother’s family moniker, “But the fire does burn. I knew marrying your mother was a good choice. Marrying the right person is paramount in this life. Family unions can make or break an empire, and they forge old alliances anew or secure new alliances.” 

A prickle down your spine makes you sit straighter. You had implied as much earlier to Soonyoung about the Xu family, knowing marriage was a viable option to bring the shipping mogul into the Choi empire. Now, though, the notion has you on edge, watching him like a frightened cat.

“I didn’t pick your mother, you know,” he muses, his eyes unfocusing somewhere far away. “But when my father recommended her, I knew he was right. I was familiar with her, of course. We went to school together. Fought like cats, but she was so intelligent and fierce.” 

You’ve heard this story before. Your father hadn’t loved her to start, but your mother had loved him right away. Had always known that she loved him. She’d shown up at one of his billiard nights and told him exactly how she felt, asserting that they would be married and that he would be loyal to her. 

He’d fallen in love with her that night. 

He sighs heavily. “I see a lot of your mother in you.”

“Don’t let her hear you sound so disappointed. She might be offended.”

“She’s better than me,” he says. His eyes focus on you, flicking back to appraise you. Sweat slicks on your back and only years of training keep you from not fidgeting under his weighty gaze. “But it would be easier sometimes if you were more like me. Less fire, more mountain. Still, you are rational, so let us speak plainly: you are going to marry the Kim family heir.” 

Silence hangs in the air. You stare at him, your brain taking a moment to catch up with his words. It’s like you’re moving in slow motion, processing the firmness in his voice, the way he looks at you with heavy countenance. 

You are going to marry the Kim family heir.

A high-pitched ringing starts in your ears and you feel the buzz of panic start to tingle at the base of your spine. Your fingers dig into the arms of your chair a little, trying to fight the staccato rhythm of your heart from getting out of control. 

“What?” you ask. It feels dumb, compared to the eloquence you’re capable of. 

“Kim Yijun is a perfect match,” he says simply. “He’s in line to inherit the Kim Syndicate. There is tension with the Yong family, and I will not lie to you: they have a far larger reach than we would like. They don’t do things the old way like the Choi and Kim families. They have started to ally themselves with the Arash family in Veridian, giving them cuts and room in our city to spread their reach outside the bounds of their own city.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“The Kim and Choi families have been united before. They’ve always been our first ally in times of city upheaval and Syndicate war, and they, like us, don’t believe in letting outsiders have a seat at the table. The Yong family don’t understand that, and are willing to let vermin have scraps if it means scooting us out.”

“I’m-” you shake your head. “You can’t ask that of me.”

“I’m not asking.” He reaches for a lighter and picks up the cigar. He takes a moment to relight it, taking his focus off of you. You feel your pulse spiking, your grip on the chair like iron. “I am telling you that this is what your future will be. I understand you like the Kwon boy, but-”

You sneer, baring your teeth. “The Kwon boy? Don’t reduce him to some stranger. Soonyoung grew up in this house, he is family. And I don’t just like him, I love him. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you bullying him because you’re frustrated that I love him. You love him too.” 

“I do. I love him like my own. But he is not for you.”

“He is. I will not marry Yijun. I am asking you not as a member of this Syndicate, but as your daughter to drop this machination from your plans. I am your blood, you cannot ask this of me.”

“I told you, I am not asking. I am telling you.” 

A tremor starts in your hands. Your heart races so fast that you feel sick, sweat slicking your skin as you begin to pant sharply. The ringing in your ears grows until you feel disconnected to it, like suddenly you’re living in third person. You’re aware that you’re hyperventilating and yet, suddenly it’s separate from you.

Standing abruptly, you feel the world tilt. You take a second to steady yourself, feeling the numb tingle spread throughout you like a flood. 

“Sit down,” your father demands. You hear the warning. Recognize the firmness in it. This is the Tower of the Choi Syndicate speaking, not your father. 

“Take this as my resignation from the family,” you tell him. Your voice doesn’t feel like your own, steady and without inflection. “I’ll renounce my inheritance and will not use the Choi family for any connection or advantages-”

“You will not!” 

His voice startles you. Lures you away from the safety of your detachment. You look at him, eyes wide and shaking. His hand is fisted on the armchair, his rage crackling around him like a thunderstorm. “I will not have my only daughter sabotage everything this family has built for the affection of someone unfit for her station. Kwon Soonyoung is a weapon meant to serve you. You will marry Kim Yijun or I will remove the obstacle altogether.” 

Your entire life there have been two versions of your father. The stoic leader of one of the oldest criminal empires in Hyperion, the vicious man who could be cold and calculating, and who was reverently feared by his enemies. The kind father who watched you and Seungcheol study math together, carefully explaining to you how to carry numbers over in the equation. 

It is the former who sits before you now. Someone entirely unfamiliar to you, though you’ve always known he existed. And why would you? Your father has never had to be ruthless with you before, hiding the way he could cut from you until it was necessary. 

Soonyoung knew. You know it with absolute clarity. You remember the fear in his eyes when you had slipped into his room that night asking for a kiss, the way that he is always so careful about when and where he touches you, the way he takes the assignments and the mistreatment without so much as a protest because it means he gets to have you.

“You would kill him?” you whisper, looking your father in the eye. “You promised to take him in when his family was murdered. He had no one, and you promised his father you’d raise him as your own. You would go back on that?” 

He scowls. “If his father knew what he was, he’d kill Soonyoung himself. That boy is a dog to be set upon whoever his owner wishes, who kills with impunity.” You say nothing. I don’t feel like a person. Soonyoung’s words echo in your mind, haunting. “I hold the collar and I will put him down, if need be.” 

“So you raised a pet to be disposed of at your convenience?”

“I raised a boy who should be grateful I haven’t put him in the fucking ground for sullying my only daughter. I let you two have time, and you should be grateful. It is my love for him that has stayed my hand this long. No more. You will marry Kim Yijun, or you will bury that boy. This is the command of your Tower.”

“Mother will not let you-”

“Your mother doesn’t let me do anything. I am the Tower of this family, and it does what I command. You will fall in line.” 

Tears spill from your eyes. You suddenly feel like you’re standing on a cliff, the vertigo of nothingness at the bottom making you sick with fear. Desperation grips at you as you stare at your father, willing him to change his mind. Begging him. 

His pity doesn’t come. There is only resolute silence, watching as you crumple in front of him, knees going weak as you abruptly sit - fall - on the floor. You bury your face in your hands, grief for something lost stealing your ability to maintain control before you’ve even given an answer. 

I’m not made for you. 

Soonyoung had tried to tell you a long time ago and you’d brushed him off. Of course he was made for you. He was all you’ve ever wanted, and you’ve always been given what you wanted. You made him whole, and he you. How could you not be made for one another. 

“Please don’t do this to me. Daddy,” you whisper, trying to appeal to him with the little girl he loves. “Please, I love him.” 

“Lan will escort you to your room.” You ignore his words, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, willing the tears to stop. You know later you’ll feel pathetic for the display of emotion, for the meltdown in the face of adversity. “You will announce your engagement at the end of the week.”

“Yes, Tower.”

“If you so much as remotely try to sneak around with him, I will put him in the ground and bear the weight of that grief for eternity.” 

“Yes, Tower.”

“Know that I love you. We must make sacrifices for this family we wish not to. But you will make the sacrifice like I have so many times before. So will Soonyoung.” 

You stand, limbs shaky as you look at your father, the heat of your mother’s rage fueling your gaze. “Yes, Tower.”

Sleep claws at you with greedy fingers, unwilling to give you up to the waking light of day. You groan, suspended in that moment of almost awake but achingly unaware. A brush of warm skin on your arm pulls you the rest of the way from heavy sleep, your thoughts sticky as they formulate and you open your eyes, squinting in the gray light of your room. 

Squinting at the clock displayed on your nightstand, you realize it’s late morning. The tinted windows of your room keep out the sunlight, but a single panel has been adjusted to let some of the cloudy day in, a single shaft of gray spilling into your room like muddy water. 

Warmth presses behind your back, the steady touch on your arm trailing up and down. For a second, you lean back into it, feeling your head thud against Soonyoung’s chest, his mouth pressing against the crown of your head. He drags his fingers up and down your arm absently, light as a feather. He smells like soap, a hint of his familiar vanilla and sandalwood. 

“Have trouble sleeping?” the words are mumbled against you. 

“Hmm?”

“There’s lines of crushed knockout on your nightstand, Baby.” 

You look at the nightstand. Sure enough, the white pills you crushed are dusted across the surface. The reality of why you used them slams into you so suddenly that you stiffen, muscles locking.

Soonyoung notices immediately, his touch stilling. “What?”

Finding the words is impossible. You don’t know where to start, your father’s words make you dizzy. The sheets stick to your skin, Soonyoung’s warmth too hot to stand. You scramble from bed, kicking at the sheets and putting distance between you as you bolt toward the bathroom. 

“Hey,” he calls after you. You don’t turn to look at him, the cool tile giving you goosebump as the lights flicker on. You close the door behind you firmly, pressing your back against it. Soonyoung’s knocks are immediate, his voice calling your name on the other side. “What’s wrong?” 

The use of your name sours your stomach. You lurch forward, diving for the toilet as the contents of your stomach empty. The bile burns, your eyes watering as you press against the cold porcelain, clinging to it for life. 

Soonyoung opens the door, letting himself in as you heave again. He’s quick to react, opening the medicine cabinet to remove an anti-nausea inhalent. He wordlessly pads over to you, crouching down to extend it toward you. 

You avoid looking at him directly in the eye as you snatch it from him. His brows are pinched in concern, face swollen with what little sleep he got and mouth turned downward. Your stomach roils again but holds as you crack the inhalent and wave it under your nose, breathing in gently. 

The stimulant makes your eyes water, but immediately the churning in your stomach subsides. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in and out slowly, trying to regulate yourself. Soonyoung watches in silence, his hands opening and closing at his sides like he wants to reach out and touch you but doesn’t. 

When you open your eyes, there is so much love and concern on his face that you almost break right then and there. Instead, you clear your throat and straighten, tossing the medication in the trash.

“Thanks, just hungover. I need to shower.”

He looks doubtful. “Alright.”

Soonyoung stands, heading to the shower. You clear your throat and he pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Alone, please.” 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just want to shower.” 

He says your name again. Not Baby. Not any other derivative. Your name. “You can talk to me.”

Your heart cracks. You panic. Your brain races for the only viable option. “I just want to take a fucking shower, Soonyoung.” You push yourself off the ground, scowling at him. He moves out of your way as you pass him, stunned to silence. “I don’t need you crowding my space every five seconds.” 

Refusing to look at him as you hit the panel in the wall, you instead focus on the water that falls from the ceiling, a storm of heat and the smell of peppermint. You keep your back turned toward him, staring at the water as it heats, steam curling in tendrils where it hits the stone tiles. 

“You can go,” you say sharply. 

“Alright.” 

The gentle click of the door when he leaves is barely audible over the hum of the shower. You let the rushing water lull you into a state of numbness, peeling your clothes off with unsteady, mechanical movements. 

Hot water slicks off your shoulders. You close your eyes and hang your head, letting the feel of the peppering water sluice over your ears, eyes, nose, mouth. You let it blind your senses to nothing but the roar of water, blotting out everything else. 

If I stay right now, you will never get me to leave. 

You remember when Soonyoung whispered it against your skin just a few years ago, spoken carefully and clearly, a promise and a warning. He would never let you go. You had to let him go. Telling him what your father has asked of you - has threatened to take away from you - will only make Soonyoung’s feet dig in further.

For as long as you’ve known him, Soonyoung has been a covetous creature. You remember the night at the club he antagonized you just to see that spark of want, just to prove to himself it was him you wanted. You remember the way he clung to you in the dark of your bedroom, the only person who could ever make him whole. Who could make him feel. 

Your father sees Soonyoung as a loyal attack dog - but it isn’t the Tower of the Choi Syndicate who holds Soonyoung’s collar. It never has been. Soonyoung has never asked your father how high. 

Pressing your palms to your eyes, you start deep breathing exercises. In through your nose, out through your mouth. The shaking in your fingers begins to subside, the logic part of your brain turning on. 

The threat on Soonyoung’s life is real. You saw the resolve in your father’s eye, the painful glint. He would hate to do it, but he would do it. You’re entwined too deep into your family’s affairs and business to vanish. There is nothing in the world you have that’s your own, no assets that are not connected to them in some way.

And if you tell Soonyoung, he’ll face the problem like he does everything that stands in his way: try to kill it. 

For a split moment, your brain chases the thought like a mouse after cheese. Like a long math problem, you work out if it’s possible to commit patricide and get away with it. Your mother will never forgive you, but Seungcheol might. Your friends would - they’re loyal to you, especially Jeonghan and Angel. 

The older generation, though- 

You toss aside the thought almost as quickly as you thought of it - not because you don’t want to kill your father, but because it isn’t possible. Not just like that. There are too many pieces on the chessboard, too many domino effects spreading out in every direction if you take that route.

No. There is only a single path for you, set in motion by a hand with more power than you. 

And there’s only one way you can move forward with Soonyoung. 

There’s so much of your mother’s side of the family you’ve inherited. Her side has always been associated with the phoenix, the burning immortality of their name and their strength, a blazing glory. Your maternal relatives have always been the rage and the fire that was needed for a Syndicate to advance, a good partnership for the Choi’s who were cold and steadfast. 

What you need now is the winter of the mountain, not the rage of the phoenix. You need to be a Choi. 

Steadfast is the mountain. 

You love Soonyoung. You love him you love him you love him youlovehimyoulovehimyoulovehimYOULOVEHIMYOULOVEHIM- 

Pressing your fist to your mouth, you bite down for one, blinding moment of untapped rage. You feel your skin break, taste iron and salt, feel pain bloom. 

Steadfast is the mountain. 

Then it’s gone. You drop your hand from your mouth. Open your eyes. Turn off the shower. The rage is gone, buried beneath a layer of newly formed ice. If there is anyone you can do this for, it’s Soonyoung. You love him. You will destroy him. But he’ll be alive. 

Soonyoung is sitting on your bed when you open the door. He’s got a tablet in his hand, the holographic images displaying above the screen, haloing his face in blue light. There are circles under his eyes and his teeth worry at his bottom lip, which is chapped. He’s shirtless, the compact planes of his body half shadowed by the single shaft of light filtering through a window. 

He looks up at you but you ignore him, heading to your closet. The silence is brutal. You push through it, opening the closet doors to reveal a massive space nearly the same size of your bathroom. Track lights kick on, rows and rows of clothes by color greeting you. In the middle, there is an island counter, filled with drawers and biolocked jewelry safes. 

Soft steps tell you Soonyoung is standing at the entrance of the closet. You still don’t face him, walking over to your section of black clothes. You flick through them, eyes scanning. Black seems appropriate. It feels like death, afterall. 

Soonyoung’s voice is soft as his late night kisses. “What’s going on?” 

“I’m marrying Kim Yijun.” 

A beat passes. Then another. 

“Is that supposed to be a joke? I’m not interested in pranks this morning.”

“It’s not a prank.” You pull out a black, silk dress. “The Tower has asked this of me, and I’ll be doing it.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

You continue, undeterred as you put the dress back and keep looking. “The Kim family has agreed to the match ahead of the rising tensions with the Yong Syndicate and their new take on foreign allies. A united front of the old families will benefit our family-”

“You’re not fucking marrying Kim Yijun.” 

“All of the metrics we’ve run for public opinion and potential city-wide reaction are favorable. The Tower needs his children to fall in line, and I intend to do so.”

Soonyoung storms toward you. You turn on your heel, holding a finger out to him, voice severe, “Don’t come near me.” 

“Why? Because you know you’ll lose your resolve? Because the second I touch you, you’ll drop whatever bravado this is and let me help you?”

Exactly that. He knows you inside and out. Sees through the front. It doesn’t matter. You don’t need him to believe you, you need him to obey. 

He takes another step and you back up. “I will scream,” you threaten, venom in your voice. “I will scream and Seungcheol and Vernon are right down the hall. Whose side do you think they’ll take, with your reputation for violence?” 

“Fuck you, they know I’d never hurt you.”

You hear the waver in his voice. That tiny sliver of doubt, so small and tiny but there. They do know he would never hurt you, but Soonyoung isn’t convinced they’d believe him. It makes you sick, but you latch onto it, unspooling that tiny bit of hurt. “Do they, Soonyoung? I hear some of them call you a mad dog because you attack with no regard for anything. Do you really think they trust you entirely with me?”

Soonyoung is raging. His chest rising and falling, shaking his head back and forth as he tries to understand. You’re rooted to the spot, muscles coiled, pulse thudding in your throat. “You are not,” he growls. “Marrying Kim Yijun. You don’t even want to, don’t try to lie to me about your feelings or insult me thinking you can bait me. You love me. You are mine.” 

“I belong to the Choi family and it’s what my family needs from me. I will do my duty.”

“Fuck your family!” His roar makes you flinch, briefly closing your eyes. His palm slams on the top of the countertop in front of him, sharp in the silence. “You have a duty to me. I told you I would not fucking let you go. You’re not doing it. I’ll fucking kill him, you think I won’t? I’ll murder every last one of them-” 

“You don’t tell me what to do, Kwon Soonyoung. I will do this, and you will obey.” He bristles, going rigid as your words land like a slap. “When I say jump, you say how high. You’ve always known that.” 

For a second, he cracks. The Soonyoung you first saw on your doorstep, crying and round-cheeked and ruddy returns. His lip trembles and the way he looks at you nearly melts your iron will. You’re so close to collapsing, to laying it out before him, to risking it all. 

“Don’t do this to me.” His whisper is made of glass. Delicate. He presses his palm to his chest, right over his heart. Earnest. “I can’t - you know I can’t. I- please. I can’t do this.” 

Licking your lips, you look him in the eyes. His eyes are your favorite. Dark. Stormy. Endless. They are lined with silver, panic rippling across the surface. 

You lift your chin and push back your shoulders. “You can and you will, because I told you to jump, Soonyoung. Now ask how high.” 

Sunlight warms the back of your neck, humidity clinging to your skin like a second layer. You take a deep breath, though the steamy air offers no relief. You snap open a silk fan, waving it in front of your face in hopes of chasing away some of the sweat, feeling the separation between skin and makeup the longer you sit in the wretched heat of the garden. 

It’s not even real sunlight or heat. You can’t tell beyond the projection in the room, but you know that there are vents heating up the room and controls that make the air humid and sticky, making it feel like you’re sitting in a real garden outside somewhere lush. 

Lin drones on and on about something. You tuned her out long ago, eyes flickering back and forth to your watch and the women’s faces around you. None of them here are really your friend - not in the way Angel is, the way Wonwoo or Jeonghan are. 

Yet you’re expected to be here, entertaining the upper echelon wives of the Choi and Kim Syndicates, boiling away in an imaginary garden while you sweat to death, dress clinging to your skin and thighs slippery in the seat as you adjust yourself, uncomfortable. 

“It’s hot as a motherfucker,” a whispered voice comes from next to you. You look up to see the newly engaged heiress of Nexus Capital next to you, glaring behind the dark shade of her sunglasses as Lin continues rambling about something. “Couldn’t she have made it less real?”

A smirk twitches on your lips. You haven’t spoken to her much, but her recent engagement to Xu Minghao had secured the position the Choi Syndicate had been fighting for in the shipping yards and docks with the Yong family, elevating her family into the favored circle of your father.

Suddenly, you remember who had recommended that marriage in the first place. You remember the party, the pretty dress you wore, Soonyoung’s hand briefly on your waist as he kissed you goodbye for a meeting. You had no idea then that your throwaway comment about an arranged marriage to benefit your family would become your own nightmare under an hour later.

Grief is a funny thing. You never knew that you could feel grief for someone who isn’t dead, yet sometimes you feel such an overwhelming amount of grief at the hole that Soonyoung has left behind that you can’t breathe. 

Throat dry, you reach for water, drinking eagerly. You feel a bead of water run down your face, but you ignore it in favor of trying to focus on not panicking. 

Anxiety attacks are new for you. Though your entire life has been colored with stressful situations unique to growing up in a criminal Syndicate, you could never say that you were anxious before. At least not in the way that made the back of your neck too hot and the tips of your fingers buzz with the threat of a looming meltdown. 

You ignore it. It’s all you know how to do. The anxiety medication your therapist gave you doesn't work, and you can’t crush a bunch of pills and inhale them anytime you feel like you’re about to get tunnel vision and spiral. 

Well, you suppose you can, but you’re trying not to get into the habit. 

Instead of acknowledging the way the panic lurks around your edges like a predator waiting to pounce, you listen to the dull conversation around you. Focus on the gossip that you don’t care about, exactly, but know it’s good to have. 

Since marrying into the Kim family, you’re not sure what your job is. With your family, your role as the face, the legacy and the representation of the Choi Syndicate had always been clear and obvious. Now, your husband sends you to stupid things like this with preening people that you don’t like and makes you leave events early when he’s irritable. 

Gossip is a weapon, though. So you gather it when you can, taking in bits of information and storing it for yourself. Rarely do you offer it to Yijun - not that he would take it - but Jeonghan finds the information you share useful. So does Angel, but there’s rarely anything you know that she doesn’t. 

Just as your anxiety begins to fade, the source of it materializes. 

At first, you think you’re seeing things when a door appears in the wall depicting an apple orchard and Soonyoung strolls out into the fake-sun. You blink dumbly, spine tingling as you realize that your mind is not playing tricks on you and it is him. 

He sees you immediately. His dark eyes burn like embers, pinning you to the spot. His face remains motionless but you see his jaw tick, the only sign that he is immediately on edge when he sees you. He’s dressed for work in an all black suit, required for the Swords of the Choi family. 

Giggles breakout around the table as he approaches, the ladies around you all flushed cheeks and demure smiles. You feel the buzzing start in your hands again, this time worse. It goes up your arms, working its way to your chest as the anxiety increases tenfold, heart pounding.

Soonyoung bows. “I beg your pardon, ladies.” 

“My goodness, Soonyoung,” Lin preens. “You must be horribly hot in that suit, but you do look handsome.”

You fight the urge to snarl at her that the imitation of the garden isn’t real and no amount of pretending will make it real. You even imagine reaching across the table and plunging her fish knife into her hand. Instead, you watch Soonyoung, your hummingbird heart fluttering. 

He gives her a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be alright. I apologize for interrupting, but the Tower of the Choi family has sent me to escort his daughter home.” 

“Home?” 

“The Choi Estate.” 

He doesn’t say what he means: the Kim Estate is not your home. 

“Alright,” you say, voice reedy. Your hands are trembling as you slide your chair from the table, the metal legs grinding loudly against concrete. You flinch at the sound, hyper aware of every bead of sweat crawling down your spine, every beat of your heart that is too fast, too hard.

Static fills you as you mumble parting words to the women who watch you in confusion. At least, you think you mumble your goodbyes. Blood rushes in your ears as you take uneven steps toward Soonyoung, who turns on his heel and starts marching toward the apple orchard. 

It feels like you’re in an echo chamber. Everything suddenly feels hollow and everything sounds as though you’re hearing it through a thin wall. Muted. Dull. He opens the door that you can’t quite spot even this close, ushering you inside as your vision starts tunneling to a narrow point, everything else blurry and distorted. 

No. No no no no no. 

Lifting your hands, you glance down at them to see them trembling, opening and closing your fists in an attempt to stop the buzzing feeling, as though you could will it away. You think Soonyoung says something but you can’t hear him over the roar of panic that grips you and tears you sideways.

Instead of following him down the hall, you lurch toward a different hall, rushing toward the powder room. It feels like the walls are narrowing as you throw open the door, breath coming out in pants. Everything feels tight and compact, crushing smaller still. 

Stumbling to the sink you try to turn the faucet on. Once. Twice. Cold water spits from the faucet and you gasp, leaning down over the sink to splash freezing water into your face. It doesn’t have the desired effect, the water is not cool enough to shock you out of your panic. 

Soonyoung speaks behind you. You can’t hear him, the grip of your anxiety so strong that you grab the edges of the sink to keep you up right. You’re heaving now, heart rattling so hard you think that maybe you’re having a heart attack instead. 

A firm grip wretches your attention from the porcelain sink to the mirror, where you see your dripping reflection, eyes blown like saucers. Soonyoung is standing behind you, a hand on your bicep, squeezing. His face is no longer a mask of indifference, but one of confusion. 

His mouth moves and you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “I can’t,” you gasp, ragged. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” 

Then, he does something that catches you entirely off guard. You watch in slow motion as he steps back and removes the gun from the holster underneath his suit jacket. You hear the safety on the gun click and the hum as the weapon charges, ready to fire rounds of plasma if he squeezes the trigger. 

And then he points the gun at your head, the lights on it flipping from blue to red, signaling it’s ready to kill. 

The world stops. The panic vanishes for a split second, replaced with utter shock as you stare at him in the mirror. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” you demand, voice stronger than you expect. 

Soonyoung is ten levels of crazy, but he’s never pointed a gun at you before. You stare at him, open-mouthed and wondering if he’ll do it. If he could pull the trigger. He’d told you a hundred times when you were together that he would never let you go and it was always with clarity that you understood what he meant: it’s me or no one. 

With stark clarity, you realize there’s no reason for Soonyoung not to pull the trigger. He doesn’t care much about the value of his own life from what you can glean over the last two years, and he doesn’t really seem to care about yours. 

Not that he should. You promised to make him feel human and you did. Then you took it away from him, leaving him adrift in a vast ocean of nothing alone and untethered. 

No, you don’t think you inspire Soonyoung to feel human anymore. If anything, you probably make him want to be the worst version of himself. 

Soonyoung’s voice holds no emotion when he asks, “Are you with me?”

“Why are you pointing a gun at me?” 

“Breathe,” he says instead. He doesn’t lower the weapon, stormy eyes focused on yours. “Breathe,” he repeats. “Slowly, maybe.” 

“Soonyoung, you are holding a gun at me, what do you mean breathe?” 

“What do you mean what do I mean? I mean what I fucking said. Breathe normally.”

“Lower the gun!” He does. “What the fuck?”

He breaks eye contact, sliding the weapon back into his suit jacket. He turns away from you as though he didn’t have you at gunpoint a second ago. “You were having a panic attack. Sometimes a shock to the system stalls it. Your breathing has slowed down now. And you’re not panicking.” 

A beat of silence passes. Then, “So you leveled a gun at my head?” 

“It worked. Let’s go.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“Yes. Now let’s go. You’re needed at the Choi Estate.”

“Why?” 

“Do I look like I have all the answers? I just do what I’m told. When a Choi says jump, remember?”

You visibly flinch as his words land. Soonyoung doesn’t wait for you to gather yourself, spinning on his heel and exiting the powder room to stride through the halls. Tightness gathers in your chest, left over from your anxiety attack. 

Pressing your hands against your dress to wipe the sweat from them, you chase after Soonyoung. He’s already by the apartment’s elevator, jamming his finger into the button. He doesn’t look at you as he waits, content to stare at the metal door. 

You don’t know where else to look - you want to look anywhere but him. Turning around, you fixate on the floor to ceiling windows. It’s still morning outside, but it’s hard to tell with the way the clouds block out the view, turning everything to mist. 

This high up in the city is reserved for the elite. You can’t imagine why - there’s nothing to look at but clouds, clouds, and more clouds. It’s what makes them have virtual reality rooms in the first place, trying to recreate the experience that they might have if they were wealthy enough to own land. 

The sound of the elevator arriving makes you flinch. Soonyoung ignores you, getting in and leaning against the wall as he hits a button to go to the parking garage. You scramble in after him, a little breathless as the doors close just behind you. 

Immediately you start shooting down several floors. He glares at the wall, unseeing and unfeeling. You swallow thickly, watching the numbers decrease until you’re at Lin’s private parking garage. Soonyoung is out of the elevator before it finishes opening all the way, storming toward the car he’s left running idle. 

Normally someone would open a car door for you. Instead, Soonyoung gets in the driver’s seat and slams the door shut. You reach for the handle of the passenger seat and pause. Normally you sit in the back when being driven somewhere, it’s always been like that. But this is Soonyoung and you’ve always been beside him in the car, his equal. 

A muffled get in the fucking car reaches you. Deciding that sitting next to him is too personal, you open the back seat and slide in. You’ve barely shut the door when he punches the gas, slamming you into the back of the seat as he goes. 

“Would you stop being an asshole?” you seethe, ripping the seatbelt from next to you to buckle in. Your hands are still shaking and it takes a moment for the clasp to click.

Instead of answering, you hear the way the car accelerates under his foot. Scowling, you look out the window. He speeds into the lift that brings the car down to the ground floor. Lights blur by as the lift drops at lurching speed, your stomach in your throat. You hate coming to apartments for this reason, the feeling of having to freefall to leave never growing on you. 

It’s raining when the lift opens to the wet street. Soonyoung peels out on the pavement, tires spinning until they gain traction and the car slides onto the road, narrowly missing someone. You slam against the seatbelt, cursing and clinging onto the door as he pushes the gas down, engine roaring.

“Are you trying to kill us?”

Soonyoung doesn’t answer you. You think it might be because he’s not explicitly trying to kill the two of you, but he doesn’t care if he does. You try not to think about it so much as he powers through the streets of the Upper City, driving past towering businesses, luxury districts with entertainment and bars and apartment buildings. 

The road starts to incline and you hit a line of trees. The city vanishes behind you as Soonyoung drives the car up the winding road, leaving a world of metal and lights for greenery and earth. The contrast between the cities below and the Estates above is stark, especially as he drive’s higher up the mountain, snatches of the city below visible. 

“Why did you come to get me?” you ask, flicking your gaze to the rearview mirror to watch him. Soonyoung keeps his eyes on the road, but you see his mouth tighten. “Last I checked you’re not an errand boy.”

“So what, you check on me?”

“It’s a figure of speech, you know what I mean.”

“The Tower personally requested I come get you.” 

That gives you pause. Soonyoung’s face reveals nothing as he turns on the street that will inevitably lead to the massive metal wall that blocks off the world from the Choi Estate. There can only be a single reason why Soonyoung was sent to fetch you when usually your husband’s staff would do so.

“What’s happened?” 

Soonyoung doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he rolls the window down at the guard house to show his face. The security team recognizes him immediately, waving him through as the gate begins to slide open to reveal lush, green jungle. 

Gravel crunches underneath the car tires as he drives through the winding foliage on Choi grounds. Your great-great-grandfather had built the Choi compound, the first of the few elite houses on the mountain. He thought it was important to keep the plant life and sprawling greenery to conserve, but you knew it was really about power. Symbolism. Greenery didn’t really exist in the city, and this much space and plantlife meant wealth. 

The sprawling estate you grew up in reveals itself. Multiple buildings dot the property, making it more a family compound than an estate. Now that Seungcheol is old enough, he’s moved out of the main house and into one of the smaller homes, occupying the space with his own men and staff. Still, he’s just a brief stroll away from your childhood home.

Home. Even two years under a Kim family banner hasn’t erased the feeling of home for you. There is nothing in the house you share with Yijun that makes it feel like you. It is as devoid of love as your marriage, merely a placeholder for you to sleep, eat, and occasionally, try to produce an heir. 

Soonyoung pulls up to the long building that serves as a garage, hitting a button on the car’s screen to open one of the bays. He pulls in slowly, the outside world fading as the garage door shuts behind the car, dousing it in darkness until the neon lights above flicker on. 

Without a word, he powers off the vehicle and gets out. Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders and get out of the car. He doesn’t wait for you - even shuts the door as he enters the main house so you’re forced to lug it open. 

He’s already opening the door to the main house a few yards away, forcing you again to haphazardly navigate gravel in your heels as you give chase. You’re sweating and irritated by the time you’re up the steps and pushing through the front door, a nasty quip on your lips ready until you see your aunt coming down the stairs. 

“Oh thank goodness,” she says, seeing you. She looks older than you remember, the lines of her face deep and the hair at her temples gray. “Come along.”

“What’s going on?” you ask, uncertain as you step into the foyer and let her take your arm. 

She scowls. “Did that useless boy not tell you? Your mother suffered a heart attack this morning. She’s with Dr. Ymir in the medical wing.”

Your heart thuds to a stop as you wheel around to look over your shoulder at Soonyoung. His gaze is stormy but his face gives away nothing as he turns to leave the way he came, slamming the front door and vanishing down the steps to leave you alone. 

“No,” you mumble as your aunt pulls you down the hall. “He didn’t tell me.” 

Because that’s how much Soonyoung hates you. Hate isn’t even the right word, you think. It is something far deeper and far more sinister, fueled only by taking away something that he valued more than anything else in the world and forcing him to live with it. 

I deserve this, you think as the door to one of the private medical rooms opens, a clinical smell hitting you in the face. I deserve everything that happens to me. 

I deserve this. It’s all you can think of as you watch the black casket lower into the ground. Seungcheol stands beside you, his hands linked in front of him. You want to reach out and take his hand in yours, but you don’t want him to look weak. Don’t want others to see him crack like you know he will if you comfort him. 

Instead, you comfort yourself as best you can, which isn’t saying much. You’ve never been good at dealing with your feelings, too much of your mother’s blood running through you. It was your father’s least favorite trait of yours and perhaps Soonyoung’s favorite.

Soonyoung, who has always been your emotional tether and outlet. You’re not accustomed to dealing with grief alone, and the pull of it feels like an undertow threatening to drag you under and drown you. 

Someone shifts behind you, close enough that you feel Yijun next to you stiffen. You turn to look over your shoulder, blinking in surprise as you tilt your head up to see Soonyoung. He doesn’t look at you, dark eyes fixed forward and jaw flexing tightly. He’s standing closer than is necessary, as shown by your husband’s scoff. 

Soonyoung doesn’t move, though. He remains nearly pressed against your back, so close that you can smell vanilla and sandalwood. Turning away from him, you feel your shoulders relax. He ignores you, but he’s there, a stoic guardian that’s just out of reach.

The Tower of the Choi Syndicate is too lost in his grief to notice or care about Soonyoung’s proximity to you. Your brother couldn’t care less, barely realizing that his brother by choice is an inch away from him. But you know Soonyoung is there and that’s all that matters. 

The grief lessens, turning back from churning waters to gentle, lapping waves.

“Your brother doesn’t respect me,” Yijun asserts. You look at him in the bathroom mirror. He’s standing behind you in the closet, taking out glinting cufflinks to replace them in the countertop in the middle of the aisles of clothes. “You should work on that.”

“Seungcheol hardly takes what I say to heart.”

Yijun snorts, detecting the lie before you can even get it out. Seungcheol very much values your insight and opinion far more than he’s interested in Yijun’s. He’s made it clear at multiple parties and events now, often asking you how business is and how the shared Kim-Choi accounts are doing, despite not having anything to do with them. 

Seungcheol hates your role within the Kim family. On more than one occasion he’s recommended Yijun make use of you somewhere in the family business, to make you the head of operation somewhere so that your schooling and experience weren’t going to waste. Yijun asserted that your social skills were being put to perfect use, entertaining the wives of his associates and serving as the perfect host when his business colleagues and friends were over. 

“He’s going to be leading the family soon,” Yijun sighs. “It would be better for us if he saw me as a real ally.”

“He does see you as an ally. You’re married to his sister.”

“Exactly, so you should remind him that I’m family.” It doesn’t sound like a threat, but it also doesn’t sound like a request. Sighing, you shut the drawer in the counter forcefully. It draws his attention, gaze darkening. “Don’t you want your brother to respect your husband?”

No, you think. You don’t respect your husband, so why should Seungcheol?

Instead, you sigh. “Of course, Yi.” He doesn’t soften at the nickname. “I’ll talk to him, alright? He’s got a lot going on. And don’t talk about my father’s health that way.”

“I didn’t say anything about his health.”

“Please,” you snort. “I know what you meant about Cheol taking over soon.” 

Yijun had been talking about Seungcheol more and more. You’ve watched with a sour taste in your mouth as your husband tries to earn your brother’s attention and trust, flashing what he thinks Seungcheol cares about in his face, telling him about the new car he acquired, or the historical art piece you purchased at an auction, and the new apartment building he’s constructing. 

Seungcheol doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. The Choi family never has. Your ancestors didn’t make a name for themselves and carve it on the mountain they built their home on by showing off their wealth and what it could do for them. They did it by earning it, and by remaining steadfast and intelligent. Political. 

Yijun understands none of that. As the eldest son of his family, it’s a shame. The real world of the Syndicates is lost on him. He has enough business acumen to run companies under his father’s careful tutelage and instruction, but he doesn’t have the social savvy for it, the right drive. 

His brother does. You think of Kim Minchan and nearly shiver. The middle child of the Kim family has more than enough understanding of the way that things work, but the ocean of blood behind him is enough for you to prefer Yijun leading the Kim Syndicate any day. 

“I’m just saying,” Yijun grunts, flicking off the lights in the closet. “Your brother has all the reason in the world to respect me and he doesn’t.” He looks at you, face hardening. “Do you tell him not to? Is that what it is? His baby sister tells him how useless her husband is?” 

Danger is in the air. Yijun won’t lay a hand on you, but it doesn’t make this dance any less stressful. You turn away from the mirror, looking at him fully. He’s not terrible to look at - he has a sharp jaw and a broad nose and a pleasant shaped mouth. He’s handsome, even. 

He’s not Kwon Soonyoung. 

Swallowing away the thought, you reach up to put your hands on his chest, placating. “I wouldn’t do that,” you assure him, softening your voice. You hate the sound of your voice, hate the way you pitch it low and gentle. “You’re a reflection of me too. I would never let my brother think any of those things about my husband.” 

Yijun swats your hands away, making you grit your teeth. “Don’t act like a whore. Just - tell your brother. I should be in his inner circle by now. Make it happen.” 

As Yijun leaves the bathroom, the urge to grab him by his collar and yank him back in to smash his head on the counter almost wins. You stare at him until he vanishes in the bedroom, your rage a live, sentient thing. You feel it crawl beneath your skin, slithering and clawing and biting and begging to be let out. 

Steady is the mountain. You take that fire and shove it down. Years of instinct of reacting with your mother’s temper peter out slowly. It’s a shame - you’re the last woman left from her side of the family, the only one who can carry the fire of the phoenix. 

You glare at the bedroom. Somewhere, Yijun lurks, getting into bed. Oh how the shadows of the weak choke out the fire of the strong. 

If killing Yijun wouldn’t risk everything, you’d have done it already. That first month spent with him where you realized this would not only be a loveless marriage, but a hateful one had almost driven you to it. The Choi Syndicate could surely survive a war with the Kim Syndicate - you had better assets, stronger loyalties, and more money. 

But if the Kim family turned to the Yong family… 

Avoiding unification of the Kim and Yong families is why you were married to Kim Yijun in the first place. To murder him now would mean Syndicate war, and despite the fact that every moment with him is hateful and poisonous, you’re too nervous to put your family at risk. 

Especially with your father’s failing health, as Yijun had pointed out. 

Syndicate war isn’t the only thing keeping you from stabbing Kim Yijun until you can’t feel anything anymore. Minchan’s shadow of a presence lingers over your thoughts, one of the few threats you truly fear. Any harm to his brother would elevate Minchan to a position where he could only wield his power more. 

And he’d hunt you like a bloodhound. You’re unsure if there is any corner of the world he would leave unturned if you killed his brother, no matter how much it would benefit him if Yijun keeled over tomorrow. 

Inside your bedroom is dark. It doesn’t feel like your bedroom at all. There’s nothing homey about it, no possession or unique decor, no pictures. You wouldn’t sleep in here at all if Yijun didn’t make you, insisting that he couldn’t trust any of the house staff not to tell your father you weren’t sleeping in the same room. 

Your father doesn’t care. He stopped caring about anything the day you put your mother into the dirt. Even if he hadn’t, as long as your relationship looked functional to whom it mattered, it mattered little to him if you slept in the same room or if you even liked Kim Yijun.

He’d made that very clear the day he tore away your future with Soonyoung. 

Yijun is already snoring when you climb into bed. You grind your teeth, reaching to pull open the nightstand for noise cancelling earbuds and sleep medication. The medication isn’t as strong as the crushed up knockout you might have used previously, but it helps take the edge off without making you vulnerable to attack. 

Which is something you still worry about. 

Setting your phone on silent, you settle in for sleep. It takes a long time, but you finally drift away to thinking about smothering the man next to you in his sleep. 

Something wakes you. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you sit up in bed and look around the room. It’s dark, but you can see the barely-there outlines of the furniture in your bedroom. Next to you, Yijun is gone. You can feel the lack of presence there more than you can see it, reaching your hand over to confirm the bed is cold and that he’s not been there for a while. 

You reach for the phone on your nightstand but can’t find it. Frowning, you press your hand on the cool marble, sweeping back and forth to no avail. You lean further, finger finding the button to the light function on the stand and press down. 

Dim, lavender light halos the top of the nightstand. Your phone is nowhere in sight. It’s just your jewelry dish, a decanter for water, and your sleep medication. You’re pretty sure that you put your phone face down before you went to bed, but you can’t be sure. 

Pulling open the nightstand drawer only makes the back of your neck sweat. Your phone isn’t there, but neither is the gun you keep in the top drawer. Both you and Yijun sleep armed, despite having armed guards on the premises at all times. 

Snapping the drawer shut, you roll to the other side of the bed and pull his open. A book, a watch, some pill bottles and a pack of cigarettes fill the drawer. No gun. 

The back of your neck tingles. You rip the sheets off of you, heading to the bedroom door. The house is mostly dark when you open it, the entire second floor dim. Leaning over the banister, you can see a shaft of light falling across the room, perhaps coming from the kitchen. 

Quietly, you stalk toward the top of the stairwell, trying to reduce noise as you creep down. A high pitched whine rings in your ears, heart thundering. You have no idea why you’re so afraid all of the sudden, especially in your own house, but your instincts tell you to be alert and quiet. 

At the foot of the stairs, you confirm the light is coming from the kitchen. It’s not uncommon for people to be in the house in the middle of the night. Official Syndicate business happens at any time, and often goes into the early hours of morning. 

Tonight, it’s not busy. Before you’d gone upstairs to bed, you’d noted that it was a skeleton crew security team for the night, just a few of them at the gate house and walking the premises while you and Yijun returned upstairs for the evening alone. 

Creeping toward the hallway, you pause when you hear voices. You identify Yijun’s voice right away, holding your breath and straining your hearing as he says, “What do you want me to do here?” 

“Keep her contained. Make sure no one from her family can reach her.”

“I already took her phone and her gun.”

Your stomach drops. “Good.” That’s Minchan’s voice, you realize, dread growing tenfold. “The second she finds out the Tower has fallen, she’ll try to run or her brother will try to get her.”

“Or that psycho fuck,” Yijun mutters. 

“You’d be lucky if it was Seungcheol who came to get her. If Kwon Soonyoung comes looking, call me immediately. We’ll make our move in two hours. We’ve got the biggest team outside the Choi estate ready to go in and we’ve got men and women stationed at all the key points.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit here and babysit my wife?”

“Yes.” Minchan’s tone is nonnegotiable. “We’ll leave the guards at the gatehouse but we can’t spare anyone else. This kind of assault requires everyone. The Yong family will take care of the Pearl District and the Salt.” 

Yijun hesitates. “What about the Yoon family? Are they all accounted for?” 

“Yes. I have a team on the crazy one - what do they call her?”

“Angel, I think.”

Minchan laughs. “Demon is more fitting. Stay here. Stay by your phone. We’ll call thirty minutes before we give the signal to link everyone on comms. We do this right, and the Choi Syndicate is gone.” 

Panic presses in for a moment. Your heart hammers. Your hands shake. Bile churns your stomach. It feels like you can’t get enough air, the pieces of what they're talking about falling into place.

The Tower has fallen.

Your father is dead, and in the wake of the crushing blow, the Kim family intends to strike at yours alongside the Yong family. The realization lands like a blow, immediately slapping you out of your panic. 

Fear turns to rage. Rage turns to ice. You are fire, you are the mountain. 

Steadfast is the mountain, but the fire does burn. 

As quietly as you can, you creep up the stairs. You keep turning over your shoulder to ensure Minchan doesn’t leave the kitchen and catch you creeping back toward your bedroom. When you hit the second floor landing, you all but sprint to your room, gears turning. 

Yijun took your phone and intends to keep you locked in the house until they finish their plan. From their discussion, you know they intend to mobilize within two hours, targeting important members of the Choi Syndicate across the city with the help of the Yong family. 

It means you have only a few minutes to warn your family to respond, to prepare and to fight back or strike first. Which is hard to do without a phone, but your husband doesn’t know you nearly as well as he thinks.

Door closed behind you, you flip the lock on the bedroom door and dash for the closet. The lights above come to life, bathing you in ghoulish, grey light. You dive to the floor toward your shelf holding all of your shoes, the carpet burns nothing compared to the pain starting to bloom behind your sternum where your grief builds slowly under your anger. 

Your father is dead. The Kims are going to turn on you anyway. Your marriage to Kim Yijun to secure alliances against the Yong family was for nothing.

You’ve endured for nothing. 

Snatching a pair of boots, you swallow down the bile again. You will not break now, not when there are more important things than the time you’ve wasted withering away in this cold home. Shoving your hand inside the boot, you come into contact with what you were looking for. Your hand closes around the device, yanking it out and powering it on. 

The screen flashes to life. You press one and hold, hearing the buzz on the phone as it begins to ring. You cradle the phone against your shoulder and ear, nearly sick with the adrenaline that is pounding through you, your vision blurring, hands shaking. 

You grab another shoe, this time reaching inside carefully instead of shoving your hand in. The smooth, bone handle of a knife meets your hand and you wrap your fingers around it firmly, pulling it out. 

Soonyoung answers on the fourth ring. “Where are you?” 

“The Kim family has turned on the Chois. They’re mobilizing for a full scale attack in roughly two hours. The Yong family is helping them. They’re at the estate and all over the city - anyone who is important to us regardless of position will need to be warned. The Yong family is handling the Pearl District and the Salt.” 

“How many men are at Yijun’s estate?” You can hear him moving on the other side of the line, something rustling. Perhaps clothes as he gets dressed. “Are you armed?” 

“There are men at the guard house and one walking the perimeter. It’s just me and Yijun inside, I think Minchan is leaving. I’ve got a knife.” 

“Where are you in the house?” 

“Bedroom, second landing to the right and all the way at the end of the hall. There are windows but they don’t open.” 

“Listen to me,” Soonyoung says, voice like ice. “The second we start moving into position to accept the assault, they’ll know something is off. When that happens, Yijun is going to try to kill you, do you understand?” When you say nothing, he asks again, voice louder. “Do you understand?” 

“Yes.”

“I need you to fight back. Either kill him or hold him off until I’m there.” 

“You need to warn-”

“Don’t worry about the fucking Syndicate! We’ll be fine. You’ve given us more than enough time. I need you to be entirely focused on yourself.”

You take a deep breath, letting it out shakily. “Okay.”

“Do you have frostbyte?”

“Maybe? Yijun might have it in the nightstand.”

“Take some. Not enough to fuck you up, but enough to pump that adrenaline and make your head clear. I will be there in thirty minutes.” 

“Okay.” 

You squeeze the phone, unwilling to hang up. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t heard his voice in months. It doesn’t matter that he hates you, it doesn’t matter that you know whatever used to be between you is broken and it’s entirely your fault. You just… don’t want to hang up. 

“Hey.” Soonyoung’s voice is soft, drawing you from your trembling spiral. “Do what I said. Do the frostbyte and kill him if you have to. I have to go.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you in thirty minutes.” Soonyoung pauses, the silence heavy on the line. “I love you.” 

Nothing breaks you like those words, whispered but firm, whispered in case you die before he gets there. He doesn’t have to say that’s why he’s saying it - you know. You know the chance of him not getting there fast enough is likely and real. He does too, but instead of telling you, he gives you this. 

You whisper back, “I love you.” 

Soonyoung hangs up the phone and you fight a sob. You bring the knife up to your hand, pressing your pointer finger down on the tip. The sting is immediate, making you his in pain as blood beads on the tip of your finger, red and garish in the closet lighting. 

The sting grounds you enough to push yourself from the floor, following Soonyoung’s directions to Yijun’s nightstand. You yank it open, rattling around the contents until you find the bag of frostbyte you were hoping was there. Yijun uses it the nights he attempts to put an heir in you, numbing himself the way you never did, taking your punishment for what you’d done to Soonyoung raw.

Not enough to fuck me up, you think, untwisting the bag and shaking. Just enough to make it easier. 

Dipping the tip of your knife into the bag, you pull out a small lump of the glittering drug. You try not to think about that night at the club all those years ago, when you and Soonyoung were still dancing around one another’s feelings, doing anything you could to get a reaction out of one another. 

You take a sharp breath in. The drug hits your nasal passage and it burns, your eyes smarting as you tilt your head up, cursing and blinking away the tears. It hits the back of your throat, bitter and awful as you cough a little, trying to wait for it to clear your nasal passage.

When the burning subsides a little, you do it again. It’s less harsh than the first bump but still just as awful, making you wonder how the fuck you did this on the weekend with your friends as a teenager. Tossing the back on the nightstand, you stand waiting, closing your eyes and trying to do deep breathing exercises your therapist taught you to calm down. 

Frostbyte works fast. It hits your bloodstream and an electric calm comes over you. Everything comes into sharper focus, the adrenaline pumping as your simmering rage turns to a boil, ready to kick the fucking door down and hunt down Yijun yourself.

Nerves fade away to the background of your mind. You walk toward the door, waiting to the side so when Yijun ultimately kicks it down, you’re ready. 

Ten minutes pass. The entire time your ears are ringing, heart thundering in your chest. You think the frostbyte was a good idea - if you had to wait in silence like this without it, you would have gone crazy by now. Even with the drug, fear nips at your ankles, a hound ever on your tail. 

Yijun’s footsteps thunder up the stairs. Your heart lurches and you inch away from the door, readying yourself. He storms down the hall, fury in each step until he gets to the door and turns the handle. It doesn’t move. He tries a few more times, shaking the door. 

His roar on the other side of the door is loud and feral, making you grin as he thrashes against the door, cursing and screaming at you. The door holds, rattling in place as he slams what you think is his shoulder into it multiple times. 

The bombardment pauses for a second and then restarts ten times stronger. This time, you recognize that it’s his foot slamming into the side of the door. You realize he’s kicking where the door is latched, trying to break it open instead of kicking through it. 

A small crack sounds. You take a breath, readying yourself as you hear another snap go through the door, now rattling loose in its frame. He kicks hard again and the door blows open, nearly smacking you as it does. You roll away from it on the wall, keeping close as Yijun barrels past you, swinging his head from left to right as he looks for you.

It’s your only chance to get the jump on him. You slide from the dark, heart hammering. You’ve never stabbed anyone before, but you’ve practiced. You drive the knife upward, intending to puncture his kidneys. Yijun twists a little to the side, sensing your presence as the knife plunges into his side. 

Yijun screams. Your satisfaction only lasts a second before he throws his elbow backward, catching you in the nose. Pain explodes in your face, blinding you as your eyes water and you stumble backward hands shooting to your face. 

Removing the knife from his side, Yijun screams at you, spit flying as he comes at you. Through tears and warm blood rushing from your nose, you reach for anything to use as a weapon. Your hand closes on the ceramic artwork on the dresser and you launch it at him, hitting him hard in the face. 

The ceramic shatters and he drops the knife. You dive for it but he grabs you by the hair, ripping you upward and backward like a ragdoll. You lose your footing, screaming as he tightens his fist in your hair and drags you toward the bed, tossing you there. 

With a feral shout, you kick your foot forward, catching him in the lower gut. He grunts but wraps his hand around your ankle, yanking you back off the bed onto the floor, where the knife lays. You reach for it, seething, your hands managing to close around it just as he pivots, foot landing against your ribcage. 

Again, pain explodes inside of you. With the frostbyte, you barely recognize it, grabbing the knife and stabbing him in the calf. He shrieks and collapses to a knee, reaching for the knife. This time you rip it back out, nearly losing your grip on the bone handle, fingers slippery with blood. 

You stab him again, this time in the thigh. His knee presses into your stomach, crushing you and forcing air from your lungs. You ignore the pain, stabbing him again and again in the thigh until he falls backward off of you, muscles malfunctioning, tendons give away. 

Yijun kicks out at you with his good leg but you’re already moving, ignoring the way your body is screaming in utter agony, every part of you throbbing and begging you to give up. 

You don’t. You scramble on top of him. His hands shoot up to your throat but you spit at him, a spray of blood blinding him and making his grip loosen momentarily. It’s enough to bring the knife down home again, this time directly in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. 

For a second, he fights back. You hear the wet gasp and he thrashes, but you stab him again. And again and again and again and again -

You think about all of the times that you were forced to submit to him. 

And again and again and again - 

The way he heaved himself on top of you, trying to force a child into you so he could be done with you, the way you’d wish it had been Soonyoung instead. 

And again and again and again - 

The way Soonyoung’s face broke that morning, begging you not to do this to him. 

And again and again and again -

All for the Kim family to turn on the Choi’s anyway, wasting the entire time you’ve spent under lock and key, doing Yijun’s bidding while Soonyoung hated you. Loathed you. Wish you never happened to him. 

Again and AGAINANDAGAINANDAGAINAND- 

Yijun isn’t moving under you. Your hand is warm and wet, the knife becoming slippery as you let it go. It clatters to the floor and you sit backward on his knees. He’s unmoving as you heave, sucking down air that tastes like iron and salt. 

Sweat slicks the back of your neck and down your spine. Somewhere in the house, there’s a crashing noise. You leap for the knife, rolling off of Yijun’s mutilated body toward the door, positioning yourself in a defensive position as feet thunder up the stairs. 

You bare your teeth, knowing this is it. Knowing Soonyoung hasn’t come quickly enough but it doesn’t matter, because you warned them and they are safe. Your penance for destroying him has been paid in half, though never full, and -

Soonyoung appears in the doorway. He looks like an angel from hell, wreathed in shallow light that comes from the first floor, his silver hair stained with blood. He’s in black trousers and a short-sleeve shirt with his favorite band on it - one of his sleep shirts. 

For less than a second, he stares at you. Then, Soonyoung dives at you, dropping the gun in his head and grabbing you. You hadn’t realized that you’d sunk to your knees, looking up at him as he grabs your face, turning you this way and that. He’s asking you a question but you can’t understand him, dizzy and confused and in so much pain that the edge of your vision wavers. 

“Baby,” Soonyoung begs, his voice warped and echoey. “Hey, I need you to answer me. Where are you bleeding?” 

“S’mostly his,” you answer, feeling how heavy your tongue is. Your thoughts are sticky and slow. Concussed, you think. “Maybe broke my nose.” 

Soonyoung’s thumb brushes gently across your cheek, smearing blood. “Can you walk if I help you?”  You think about it. Shake your head. “Okay. I’m going to lift you up, alright? Tell me where it hurts so I don’t hurt you, Baby.” 

“Ribs.” 

“Left or right?” 

You pause, breathing in and feeling the pain bloom. “Right.” 

“Okay, tell me if I hurt you, okay? We’re going to take you home.”

“Thank you.” Soonyoung hesitates at your tone, looking at you. His eyes are vulnerable and open, more raw than you have seen them since you were kids. “You didn’t have to come get me.” 

He stares and stares at you. The world fades a little and Soonyoung lifts you toward him. “Of course I did,” he murmurs, so soft you barely hear what he’s saying. “When you say jump, remember?”

“Where's this?” You mumble, looking out the window at a small home behind high gates.

Soonyoung has been driving for an hour and a half, his silence nearly unbearable as you both left the city. You don’t ask about where you’re going or if everyone is okay - you don’t think you can stomach the answers right now. Not while in the car. 

Rain mists through the window as Soonyoung rolls it down to punch in a code in front of the gate. It flashes green and the metal starts to roll open, revealing a large but modest house - at least by Syndicate standards. He drives through, gravel crunching beneath the tires. 

“Safe House. Very few people know it exists.” 

“Are we in Levin?” He nods his head. You’ve never been to the small town, but you know it’s mostly a vacation village on the coast. “Who does this place belong to?” 

“Me.” You look at him, surprised. “I bought it when you… got engaged.” 

It’s like a stone sinking to the bottom of your stomach. You don’t have to ask why. It was his failsafe for you, a way to get you away from Yijun if you had just asked. 

You should have asked. Should have just thrown it away and called him, should have begged him from your knees- 

Soonyoung turns the car off and opens the door. You open yours, rain pattering against your red skin. He rushes to help you out of the car, hands hovering around you, unsure where to touch. It makes you want to sob. You want him to touch you anywhere - everywhere. 

Instead, he leads you to the house, a hand wrapped firmly around your forearm to keep you upright and steady as you walk up the steps. 

A porch light flickers on. You cringe away from the brightness, squinting through your fingers as the door opens to reveal Vernon standing on the other side. His eyes flicker between the two of you and he nods, stepping to the side to let you in. 

Warmth blankets you as Soonyoung shuts the door. You’re standing in a small entryway with a staircase to the right leading to the second floor. Straight on, the lights are on, revealing a sliver of the living room. You can hear voices pause as they hear the door shut. 

Angel materializes in the doorway, her hair damp. She’s dressed down like she recently showered, her eyes on you as she heaves a sigh of relief. “It’s Hoshi and Baby,” she calls over her shoulder, coming forward. 

Soonyoung nudges you toward Angel gently. “Take her to shower.” 

“Yeah of course.” 

“Where’s Seungcheol?” You ask, turning to look at Soonyoung, who is already looking at his phone, holoscreen lighting up his face. 

“On his way. The main crew is safe.” He hesitates. “We lost Lan, Old Man Vero and Yoon Minji.” 

Your heart seizes, eyes darting to Angel. “Angel, I’m-”

“Jeonghan is taking care of it.” For the first time in years, you hear a note of pain in her voice, raw and real. Angel has - had - a complicated relationship with her step-mother, the matriarch of the Yoong family. “I’ve already satiated my vengeance. This is his. Come on.” 

You hesitate. Soonyoung nudges you toward the stairs gently by the hip, suddenly looking tired. “Go. I’m going to find a doctor for that nose.” 

“Is it terrible?” 

He huffs, trying not to laugh. “No, but it needs to be fixed. Go. Shower.” 

I love you. It’s on the tip of your tongue, right there. I love you. It’s all you can think about, thundering in your ribcage. I love you. It consumes you, makes you freeze up, staring at him. I love you. 

Angel tugs your wrist delicately and breaks the spell. You follow her up the stairs. She’s careful with you, making you take one step at a time. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her so gentle, her eyes softened with worry and her touch on you delicate as butterfly wings. 

Upstairs, she leads you into a room that smells like vanilla and sandalwood. Soonyoung. This room belongs to Soonyoung. You spot his subtle touches, a gaming computer shoved in the corner and powered off. A closet with a metal door that is under lock and key. A single gun sitting on top of the nightstand. 

But what makes the room spin is the touches of you. A teakwood candle sitting on the dresser. Weighted blankets folded at the end of the bed. A bookshelf with all your favorite titles. A jar of saltwater taffy in multiple flavors. 

Angel hesitates by the bathroom door, watching you drink in the room. You turn to her, shaking your head, confused and mouth open. She nods. “I know. I didn’t know either.” 

“I could live and die a thousand times and never deserve him.” 

“I’m not the best judge of character, but I don’t think I believe that to be true.” 

Angel isn’t the best judge of character. But she also doesn’t say things she does not mean. She’s the last person in the world to offer words of comfort, and yet she’s standing in the bathroom staring at you like she can see through you, right down to the very core. 

Maybe she can. Seeing what is rotting people on the inside and sniffing out their weaknesses is what she does best. 

Instead of pointing out where you hurt, she manages to get you into the bathroom. It’s spacious but not grand like what you’re used to - it’s small. Safe. She starts the shower and backs away, helping you get out of your bloody clothing. 

Everything hurts so bad. Your ribs ache, the bruising on them blotchy and horrendous as Angel peels back your shirt. She thankfully doesn’t react - she’s seen worse and done worse. Suddenly, you realize why Soonyoung picked her to help you. She’s steady, her fingers sure as she holds your arm while you pull your pants down.

You don’t dare look in the mirror. From what you can see without it, it’s already bad enough. Yijun hadn’t dealt fatal damage, but you know you’re bruised and covered in dry, flaking blood. 

Angel leaves you in the shower, shutting the door to go sit on the sink, a guardian willing to give you space but ready to help when you need it. Shaking, you shuffle into the stream of hot water, hissing when it hits your skin. 

It’s both heaven and hell. The hot water feels so good on your aching muscles and throbbing pain, but it also hurts when the water taps against your nose, reminding you that it is indeed broken. You suck in sharp air as you slowly begin to work your fingers into your skin, turning the water pink as you wash off the blood. 

Blood that belongs to you. Blood that belongs to Yijun.

Yijun. 

You’re not sorry you killed him. It was satisfying and necessary. But… the weight of your grief comes crashing into you. You could have killed him years ago and ran. Could have gone crawling back to Soonyoung and asked for his help. Could have told him that the only reason you ever agreed to marry him in the first place was to protect him. 

None of it mattered. You bought him a paltry couple years worth of protection and for what? To shackle yourself to a man who thought little of you, who wanted to fuck you until you gave him another version of himself, who wanted to kill you at every moment because he knew you didn’t respect him and because he was afraid of you and the way you command respect from your family, but he never did.

All that time you’d made yourself smaller for him. Held back your bite. Hid your teeth. Mourned Soonyoung everyday, knowing that you’d never touch him again, that he would never kiss you again, that you’d never wake up in the morning when he got home from work and crawled into bed with you.

A potential lifetime of happiness, one of your own making, wasted on a promise that they broke anyway. 

For nothing. It had been for nothing, you’d hurt Soonyoung for nothing, shut him out, promised you would never leave him and threw him away, forced him to jump for you, forced him to leave you when he said he wouldn’t all for nothing nothing nothing nothing notHING NOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHING-

Angel’s arms are around you. You startle, looking up to see that she is in the shower fully clothed, holding you to her. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying - screaming - in the shower. She presses you closer to her, the only way she knows how to tell you that she’s got you. She’s there. She understands. 

You crumble, leaning heavily on her as you let it out, sobbing. Your throat is raw, your face throbbing each time you squeeze your eyes shut. Angel says nothing, content to hold you while her clothes soak up the water, weighing her down as you let out your grief in full, ugly waves. 

Eventually, the water starts to get cold and your tears start to dry up. You sniff and groan, the pain in your face so poignant that it can’t be ignored. Lifting your head from her shoulder, you glance at her boots, soaked and murky red around the edges.

“Can I tell you something?” Angel asks, voice low. You nod. She hesitates, putting the words together before she says, “He’s going to accept you back. He’s going to do it with no conditions, and ask nothing of you. You’re going to want to torture yourself and beg for his forgiveness and deny yourself of him because you think you should be punished, that there is not a god powerful enough to hurt you the way you deserve.”

You blink in surprise. Angel isn’t religious, despite the nickname. She also isn’t overly emotional or wordy. But you see the severity in which she tells you this, see the pain in her eyes. You remember that she has demons far older than yours, ones that have followed her since childhood. 

And she’s right. She reads you like a book, seeing the fucking pain radiating inside of you, the desire to be punished and hated and whipped- 

“Let him take you back.” Her words are firm. “Don’t make him punish you. Don’t believe for a second that Soonyoung wants to make you pay. He doesn’t. He doesn’t care what you did or why. Just… let him have you. You’ve endured enough.” 

You nod. “Alright. I’ll try.”

“Good. Um - can we get out of the shower though? It’s very cold in here.” 

You laugh, immediately followed by a groan. “Please don’t make me laugh. I am in so much pain.” 

“Yeah, let’s go get you some drugs, dude.” 

The three Syndicates of the city are officially at war. Of all the news that has poured in over the last few days, this is the least surprising. When you’d seen Seungcheol that first night after everything went to hell, he’d held you close and promised that he would kill every last Kim in the city.

He had also told you he was proud of you. Not just for surviving Yijun long enough for Soonyoung to come get you, but for being able to warn the family what was coming. Your single warning alone had saved them a great deal and wounded the Kim Syndicate more than you could understand. 

The days following your father’s death are strange. It doesn’t feel like he’s dead - at least, you haven’t truly processed it yet. There are things that demand your attention like being seen by Dr. Ymir for your fractured nose and bruised ribs, and the accounts and logistics of what being at war with the Kim and Yong family truly means. 

On the fifth day at the safe house, you go back home. Seungcheol makes you ride with him, unwilling to let you out of his sight these days. You’re the only two members of the Choi family left, and it’s up to the two of you to rally the troops and remind everyone what the mountain can do. 

Seungcheol replaces your father as the Tower of the Choi Syndicate. Typically there’s a small ceremony to pass the torch so to speak, but there’s no time for that. Seungcheol is buried in problems and trying to maneuver the family into a favorable position, but it’s hard - the Yongs and Kims have been preparing this for a while. 

You’re suddenly given a job again. Fresh in his position leading the family, Seungcheol needs those he trusts by his side, immediately appointing you as the Architect of the Syndicate. There’s no one he trusts more with the finances and the logistics of the businesses under the Choi banner and who have pledged to his family. 

With Yoon Minji’s death, Jeonghan’s takes his rightful side as the Wisdom and second in command to Seungcheol. It’s like you’d always known it would be as a kid, but it brings you no joy to see the two of them together in an office until the early hours of the morning, worn at the edges and sick with the grief they’re ignoring to push forward. 

With no surprise, Seungcheol immediately promotes Soonyoung to the lead military position, rising from Sword to Sentinel in a single night. It’s the same position his father held under your father, and Soonyoung takes it with steely resolve. 

It also means you don’t see him. You move back into your old room at home. At first, it doesn’t feel like your room at all because Soonyoung isn't in it. He had moved into your room when you first started dating, spending two years in that bed with you. Now, he’s taken up residence in his room down the hall, so close and yet the distance feels larger than ever. 

Of all the problems mounting for you to solve, Soonyoung is the most important. You know he shouldn’t be. There are a thousand other things that you need to figure out, like how to assure that the businesses you own in and near the Kim and Yong family territories won’t go under or be attacked, or how to assure that payment to the family won’t increase now that there’s a fight. 

Your days are filled with countless meetings, assuring loyal patrons that the Choi Syndicate will not fall and will not fail them, and that the Choi’s protect their own. You can see the fear in people’s eyes - the city hasn’t had the big three at war in a long time. Already the city officials are cracking down on Syndicate activity to try and establish order. 

It’s farcical at best. 

Squeezing your temples between your fingers, you lean back from the desk in your newly appointed office - which is really just your father’s. It feels weird to be in here. It still smells like leather and sweet tobacco, a little bit of smoke hanging in the air. 

The last time you’d been in this office, you’d fallen to your knees and begged him not to make you marry Kim Yijun. Now you sit at the desk, hanging up the phone as another call ends - not as bad as the first, but not as good as you’d hoped. 

Quickly, you scribble down a summary of the call to give to Seungcheol. You know he’ll read every word you write, determined to hear each concern of those under Choi patronage, whether they’re valid or not. 

At the sound of the door opening, you glance up. Soonyoung sticks his head in, surprising you. You straighten in your seat, heart racing when you take him in. His silver hair has grown longer, tapered a bit at the neck. He’s dressed in all black but he’s clean, indicating that he showered not that long ago. You thought he would be out all day like usual, looking at your watch to see he’s back far earlier than normal.

“Is everything alright?” You start to get up and he rushes to you, hands lifting to help you. “I’m alright. I am well on the mend.”

He chews his lip, nodding before dropping his hands hesitantly. “Everything’s fine I just.” He hesitates. “Do you want to eat lunch?” 

“Oh. Sure.”

Soonyoung’s smile is tentative. Shy. You give him one back, following him out of the office while sending a quick note to Jihoon that you’ll meet with him later. He sends a thumbs down back, less than pleased that you’ve not made time to talk to him about your potential murder charges for Yijun. 

“Are you busy? We don’t have to-”

“It’s just Jihoon.” 

“Ah. He’s persistent, are you sure-”

“I want to have lunch with you, Soonyoung.” 

He blushes and you grin. “Alright,” he murmurs. “When you say jump and all that.” 

That makes you pause. “You don’t have to do anything I tell you.” 

“What?” He stops walking, confused. 

“You don’t have to ask how high if I tell you to jump... I’m wrong a lot of the time. I don’t… want to be that.” 

I don’t want to repeat my mistakes. You don’t say it, but you think Soonyoung senses it when he says, “I’ve always wanted to jump for you. That hasn’t changed.” 

Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you. 

Angel’s words come back to you so you swallow down your guilt and you nod, giving him a tentative smile that he returns. This time, he holds out his hand to take you in the kitchen. You take it, the feeling of his fingers wrapping around yours both foreign and familiar. 

The way he holds your hand in his makes you tremble. It’s something so simple and benign and yet you’re screaming on the inside, looking at where your fingers twine together like it’s everything, like it’s the only thing. 

Lunch consists of very badly burned grilled cheese. You don’t care because Soonyoung makes it, insistent that he wants to and that he can. He’s good at a lot of things, particularly on the spectrum of murder and weapons, but he is terrible at putting bread, cheese and butter in a pan. 

You eat it anyway, burnt bread and all. He sits next to you, his stool pulled so close that your thighs touch. You want to reach out and brush your fingers across his face, down his neck, through his hair. You want to touch until you’re grabbing, grab until you’re pulling. 

Instead, you let him lead this dance, too afraid to initiate. 

Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you. 

You don’t, but you can’t let go of the fear of rejection. Can’t bring yourself to toe the line beyond what he’s giving you, which is more than you ever dreamed of. So you accept when he offers to take your plate, fingers brushing over the top of your hand either by design or by accident you don’t know. His touch makes you shiver and he notices, pausing. 

Slowly, you look up at Soonyoung. His eyes are dark and misty as ever, churning with emotion that you’re a little too afraid to read. Instead of taking the plates to the sink, he sets them down and reaches for you, cradling your face in his hands. 

A sob works its way up your throat but you force it down. You will not cry over this. You will not make him comfort you. 

“Are you afraid to touch me?” His question is gentle. You nod, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb brushes back and forth across your cheekbone. “Why?” 

“I… want to so badly. I just want it to be your choice.” 

“I want you to.” You open your eyes. His earnestness is right on the surface of him, rippling for you to see. “I’m dying for it. Please.” 

Soonyoung’s please sounds like that morning he’d begged you all that time ago. It freezes you in place, heart beating like a prey animal in fight or flight. He steps closer, his breath on your forehead when he whispers, “Please.” 

Slowly, you bring your hands up to his wrists. Licking your lips, you place your hands on him. His eyes close. His skin is warm to the touch and you feel him tremble as you brush your hands upward, tracing his forearms, his corded biceps. You brush your fingertips over the sleeves of his shirt and toward his neck until you’re cupping his throat, your thumbs resting against his hammering pulse. 

You close your eyes, remaining still. Both of you remain that way, his hands on your face, yours on his neck. You’re shaking under his touch, feel his breath against your forehead. His fingers add a little pressure to your face, careful not to hurt you where your bruise is finally fading on your nose as he turns you to look up at him. 

Soonyoung licks his lips, eyes open. “There is not a second I didn’t love you.”

And there it is. The admission that he never hated you. You bet he tried - you know he tried. You know the inside of Soonyoung’s soul better than you know your own, no part of him hidden to you even with time. 

“I don’t care why you did it,” he continues. “Not anymore. Not after everything. I don’t care about any of it. I just… want you.”

“Soonyoung-”

“I know you’re sorry. I know you hate yourself. I know there is guilt eating away at you. Get over it, because none of it changes how I feel. I love you. You’re mine. I don’t want to leave you again. You cannot make me.” 

“I know. I won’t make you.” 

“Good.” Soonyoung presses his forehead to yours gently. He’s careful not to knock noses with you too hard, aware of the pain it’ll cause. “I cannot do any of this without you.” 

“I know.”

Soonyoung’s mouth is tentative when it presses against yours. Your grip on him tightens, leaning forward into the kiss. It is everything - the only thing. You feel something wet on your face, thinking that you’ve got another nosebleed, but when you pull away, you realize it’s because Soonyoung is crying.

Crying for the first time since his parents died. 

You stand up from the stool, gripping the back of his neck to pull him toward you. He melts under your touch, letting you meld your mouths together. He tastes like his burnt sandwich and like him, his mouth warm and wet against yours. Vanilla and sandalwood invade your senses, overwhelming as you grip him for dear life, never wanting to let him go.

He doesn’t want to let you go either. His grip on your hips is crushing, fingers digging into flesh and bone as though he can force you to become one. The thought makes you dizzy. You slide your fingers in his silk-soft hair, wrapping the strands around them to pull lightly, pull him closer, pull him to you, pull him back. 

Soonyoung whines against your mouth and you break the kiss, panting. “Take me upstairs,” you whisper between peppering kissing against his mouth, his bottom lip, the corner of his lips. “Please take me upstairs.” 

He does. Soonyoung grabs you by the hands, tugging you toward the stairs that lead to your room - the room you used to share. The room that still smells like him, even if faintly. He takes you to your bed, where you’ve spent hundreds of nights with him, and lays you down gently like he has a million times before. 

Soonyoung touches you like you’re holy. His hands skim over you in worship, they scratch you in penance, they hold you in reverence. He slots himself between your knees, stealing a kiss from you like it’ll breathe new life into him, bare him anew, purge him of sin. 

You love him. You love him you love him you love him you love him you love him -

A moan leaves his mouth when your nails drag down his back. He is quaking under your touch, his mouth hungry but careful against yours, wanting to swallow you whole but knowing you’re hurt. You know he won’t break you but you wish he would.

There’s time for that later. Now isn’t the time for rough and biting. Now, Soonyoung peels the shirt from your skin, immediately covering your arms, chest, collarbones, shoulders in kisses. You vibrate under his touch, lashes fluttering as he sucks at the sensitive skin of your neck, tongue pressed flat to your pulse as he tastes you. 

You tug at his shirt and he complies, leaning upward to toss it. He’s back on you in a second, pressing you close, hip to hip as he tangles his tongue with yours, drinking you in. His touch ignites a fire and you’re burning, a complete inferno as you drag your fingers up the hard contour of his stomach to the firmness of his chest and around to his shoulders. 

“I love you,” he mutters against your mouth, rolling his hips into you. You let out a breathy sound and he groans. “Fuck I love you. I missed you. I love you.” 

“Please,” you beg. He understands, burying his face in your neck and biting down lightly. You feel like you’re going to burn up under him, an out of control blaze while his fingers work the buttons on your pants. “Never let me go.”

“Never.” 

Jeans scrape down your legs, his hands following. He drags his blunt nails down your thighs. Your hips twitch upward, loving the scratch, loving the way he touches you, loving him. He returns his mouth to yours, unable to get enough of your kissing. 

Soonyoung’s hand slips between your thighs, the pads of his fingers pressing against your clit through your underwear. You keen for him, pulling at the long strands of hair at the back of his neck. He moans in tandem, his pleasure driven by yours, loving the way you sound as you start to come apart under the gentle circle of his fingers. 

He only teases you a little, knowing the friction with the fabric between his fingers and your aching cunt isn’t enough. He finally decides that you’ve had enough, hooking a finger to pull them aside, the cool air hitting your sticky folds. 

Before you can complain, Soonyoung’s touch is there. He drags his fingers slow-soft from top to bottom, circling your clit slowly. He’s not in a hurry, dragging it out as he sucks your tongue into his mouth, sliding his fingers back down to press against your entrance but not breach it. 

You whine and he grins, pulling your bottom lip with his teeth until he lets go with a pop. “I love those sounds you make.” 

“Feels good,” you admit, head falling to the side as you close your eyes, enjoying the pressure he puts on your clit, wiggling his fingers back and forth. Your thighs close around his hand but he’s unbothered, drawing more arousal from you as he plays. “Fuck, your fingers.” 

His laugh is throaty and he shakes his head, attaching his mouth to your jaw where he sucks at the skin. He makes himself comfortable with nibbling toward your neck, both of his hands reaching for the sides of your underwear to pull them down. You let him, folding your knees toward your for a moment to help. 

Soonyoung’s hand returns to the wetness between your legs except this time, he’s not teasing. He presses a finger in deep and you whine, hips wiggling. You squeeze down on his finger, pussy spasming as he begins to pump leisurely, like he has all the time in the world.

And he does, doesn’t he? The work is far from done and the world is falling apart, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here with you. Because Soonyoung is yours again - always has been - and because he’s drawing your mouth toward his to kiss you messily, swallowing down your moans as he presses in another finger. 

Now you crumble beneath him. You can’t stop your hips from coming off the bed. You loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close, breathing the same air. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes impossible dark and half-lidded as he hooks his fingers, dragging them against that sensitive spot. 

You cry out his name and he grins. Now he knows where it is, pressing repeatedly as he fucks you on his fingers, driving you directly toward an orgasm. Your breathing becomes labored, your legs squeezing his hips, your fingers digging into his shoulders. It is so good that you think you might die, letting him yank you toward release. 

Soonyoung kisses you again and you come crashing down, cumming around his fingers, body squeezing, ignoring the ache in your ribs and the millions of other places that you’re sore. He doesn’t slow down, scissoring his fingers to pry you open, to stretch you more.

“Soonyoung,” you gasp, voice wrecked. “Soonyoung Soonyoung Soonyoung.” 

“Just like that,” he agrees. You can tell he loves the way you say his name, knows that on your tongue it means something different. “Come on, one more.” 

You’ll give him anything he wants. Never again will you deny him. You let him work you up again, feeling the way your breath gets stuck in your lungs and you shiver, another wave washing through you as you shudder around his fingers. 

When you start to pant, he pulls his fingers out. You feel the wet schlick as he does, immediately hating the way you feel empty, hating the way he leans away from you. Whining, you reach out toward him, needy. He hushes you with a brief kiss, only standing to rid himself of his jeans and briefs. 

Using the fingers covered in your arousal, Soonyoung pumps his cock, smearing a mixture of your slick and his precum down his shaft as he kneels on the bed again, taking his place between your thighs again. You watch with hooded eyes as he rubs the head of his cock through your messy folds, a moan dripping from your lips. 

Soonyoung is beautiful, skin flushed and a sheen of sweat on his arms. His stomach flexes and clenches as he presses the tip of his cock into your entrance, both of you taking a shaky breath together. He slowly slides home, the stretch of him driving you wild, pussy fluttering around him until he’s slotted to the hilt. 

He hangs his head, panting as he plants his hands on either side of your head. He takes a moment to collect himself, shaking. You turn your head to the side, kissing his wrist, peppering any skin you can reach with your love while your hands drift up his back, feeling the muscles flex. 

When he begins to move, you nearly die. It feels so good, your breath lodged in your throat. He lowers his face to yours, kissing you as gently as he fucks you. His thrusts are deep and timed, not hard or fast but slow and measured, pressing all the way in as he uses his weight to his advantage. 

Your fingers turn to talons on his back, nails biting his shoulder blades. He’s precise, the tip of his cock finding the right angle to make you nearly sob in a matter of a few thrusts. It’s familiar. Home. 

Soonyoung lowers himself to his forearms, pressing your chests together. The friction of his skin against your pert nipples makes you squeeze around him, his name a whisper on swollen, kiss-bitten lips. He presses his forehead to yours, breathing shakily as he continues to fuck you.

You feel him everywhere, feel everything that he wants to say. Soonyoung has never needed words to communicate to you and he doesn’t now, the way he shakes as he lets out a wispy moan enough, the way he slides one of his arms under your back to cradle you to his chest, closer closer closer.

He wants to be closer and so do you, arms around his neck, drawing him to you. You never want to let him go, never will let him go. You’ve learned your lesson and this, right here with him is the only thing that matters. 

“Shh,” he hushes. You realize you’re crying, tasting salt on your lips when he brushes his mouth against yours. “I know.” 

“I love you.”

“I know.” 

Soonyoung’s pace picks up only a little bit. It’s enough, sending you careening toward your third orgasm. He can feel it - needs it. He chases after your high, catching your mouth to brush his tongue against yours, rolling his hips until you’re clenching around him, whining into his mouth, lips buzzing against his.

He hums against you, waiting until your pussy lets go of its vice grip to speed up a little bit, the wet smack of his hips against yours loud and lewd, driving him forward until he comes, your name on his lips, his face buried in your neck. His thrusts slow, both of you trembling like leaves until he finally stops, remaining seated inside of you. 

“I will love you for a thousand lifetimes,” he mutters against your mouth, with no intention of moving. “You know that, right Baby?” 

You nod, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “Leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung,” you rasp, quoting yourself that first night he finally caved, where he finally told you that he couldn’t exist without you. “I will never go anywhere ever again.” 

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SYNDICATE ROLES

Tower - title for a Syndicate boss Wisdom - title for the second-in-command to a Sydnicate boss Architect - title for the main business affairs and political tactician Sentinel - title for the main military leader of a Syndicate Riots - title for a member of the Syndicate responsible for sowing discord Swords - title for a member of the Syndicate who is a fighter/military role Chariots - members of the Syndicate who make deals/act as business brokers Rooks - members of the Syndicate who collect debts/lead the extortion practices Justices - members of the Syndicate on the legal counsel Hanged Men - members of the Syndicate who betrayed their Syndicate Watchers - members of a Syndicate who are spies/informants Patrons - citizens who pay homage/have an alliance/are under the protection of a Syndicate Vanguard - official members of the Syndicate who don't have specific roles but do work for the Syndicate

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Conrad deserves better than Belly. After he sees Jere and her kiss, he get his ass to Stanford and meet this cute and smart maybe tutor girl (Haley James style) and falls in love with her and then they show up at Jere's wedding years later and Belly is jelly

I've spent the last five days working on this one.

p.s. it's 2k words...

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When Conrad finished his exam, he went back to Jeremiah and Belly. He was going to tell and confess his love to her before she had to get home, but when he got to his car, the scene Conrad walked on made him sick to his stomach: Belly and Jeremiah were full on making out against his car. He stopped short of the car and cleared his throat, causing the two to spring apart from their heated kiss and see Conrad looking right at them. 

Conrad’s face was white. He would rather have had someone shoot him in the head with a nail gun, repeatedly, than have to watch the two of them kissing.

He didn't know who he was more angry at. Belly, who, not even a day ago, had told him she would have fought harder for him if she knew he loved her that much. Or Jeremiah, who, although he knew how much Belly meant to his brother and how fucking in love he was with her, seized the opportunity to kiss Belly the moment he was alone with her.

‘’Conrad—’’ Belly started, guilt settling in her guts. 

He cut her off, his voice cold and cutting. ‘’I don’t want to hear it.’’ 

His gaze shifted from Belly to Jeremiah. There was so much hate in his eyes. How could Jere do that to him? They agreed to stop hiding things from each other and talk, but Jeremiah must have forgotten already. 

‘’You broke up with her, Con, remember? We did nothing wrong,’’ Jeremiah said, pulling facts in his favor to make himself feel better — less guilty — for kissing his brother’s ex.  

When Conrad kissed Belly on the beach last summer, he didn’t know she and Jeremiah were a thing — if he could call it that — or that he liked her. If he had, he wouldn’t have kissed Belly or confessed his feelings to her. Had the situation had been in reverse, Conrad wasn’t sure Jeremiah would have backed off. 

‘’I’m done.’’ Conrad's voice was resolute, his heart heavy as he turned away, unable to bear the sight of them any longer.

Jeremiah moved to follow, calling out Conrad's name. He didn’t stop, needing to be as far as possible from the painful scene. His mind was racing with a jumble of emotions. Anger, betrayal, and a profound hurt gnawed at him. He had trusted both Belly and Jeremiah, yet they pulled this shit behind his back. 

‘’Why do you always have to act like that?’’ Jeremiah said as he quickened his pace to catch up. 

Finally, Conrad turned to face Jeremiah, his expression a mix of sorrow and resentment. ‘’You don’t get to tell me how to react, Jere. You kiss the girl I love outside my school, against my car while she’s wearing my sweatshirt. If you don’t see how disgusting and messed up it all sounds—’’

‘’She kissed me,’’ the younger one quickly defended. 

 Hearing this made him want to pack his bags, get his ass to stanford and focus on school. He needed to turn the Belly page, and in order to do that, he needed to be away from both she and Jeremiah. California seemed far enough, right?

*

The first days and weeks were tough for Conrad, struggling to accept the definite end of the relationship. She was still all over him like a wine-stained shirt he couldn’t wear anymore. 

He blocked both Belly and Jeremiah’ numbers. If he wanted to move on, he had to keep his distance from them. For a while, at least. Then, he deleted all the old pictures he kept of Belly on his phone. There was no going back for them anymore. 

He was done.

*

You met Conrad a little before Christmas break. Just like those cliché rom-coms, you walked right into him and spilled your chai latte all over his sweater. You wanted to break the cliché and not fall for the victim of your clumsiness, but after one look into those beautiful blue eyes, you knew it would be impossible. 

 After that day, you kept crossing paths around campus and, one afternoon, you asked him out. He was so surprised, but he said ‘yes’. 

Although you had sealed the end of the night with a few kisses, you decided to take things slow. You had a very busy schedule with the tutoring lessons on top of your regular program, and Conrad was unsure if it was too soon to get in another relationship, if he was ready for it. The scar Belly had left on his heart was healing, but was he ready to open his heart to someone again? 

‘’Have you ever been in love?’’ you asked one night in his dorm while studying. 

Your question had caught Conrad off guard. It was visible on his face. 

‘’Have you?’’ he returned, not taking his eyes off his textbook. 

He was trying to dodge the question. 

‘’I asked you first,’’ you said, seeing through his plan.

‘’Then yes.’’

‘’How many times?’’

‘’Once.’’

His answers were flat, annoyed he was by all your questions. He wished you would stop and get back to studying in silence, but you kept going. 

‘’On a scale of one to ten, how in love were you?’’

‘’You can’t put being in love on a scale,’’ he said, lifting his head with furrowed eyebrows. ‘’Either you are or you aren’t.’’

‘’But if you had to say.’’

Conrad started flipping through his notes. He hadn’t thought of Belly in months. He missed her — in a different way he used to. She was his friend before they got tangled into this mess.

He didn’t look at you when he finally said it. ‘’Ten.’’

*

The more time he spent in your presence, the more Conrad was — unknowingly — letting go of his past. 

The pictures he deleted months ago became pictures of you, filling his phone until there was no space left. The smell of your perfume lingered on some of his clothes and in his car. He had your coffee order memorized, along with your favorite study-break snack, which he made sure to have in stock in his dorm. 

You became part of his routine — part of his life —, brightening his days even on his darkest, saddest nights. 

He didn’t want to bother you, but nothing was calming the ache in his chest. He tried getting some air and smoking weed, he even thought of calling Laurel, but it was almost 2am in Pennsylvania. Conrad didn’t want to scare her. 

So he pulled up your contact and called, the weight of his grief still heavy in his heart, wishing Susannah was still there. He couldn't believe a full year had gone by since she took her last breath. 

You were about to slip into bed when you saw his name flashing on your phone. You almost didn’t pick up, but you got a gut feeling that he needed you. 

When you opened your door, a saddened look was etched onto Conrad's face, his beautiful eyes glistening with unshed tears. The sight pulled at your heart and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him for the whole night.

Supported each other through finals and all-nighters.

‘’Getting tired?’’ you said, catching him actively fighting against his own eyelids. 

Conrad shook his head, taking a long gulp of his coffee. ‘’No time for sleep. I have this huge exam first thing tomorrow and I still have a lot of chapters to cover.’’

‘’You can take a short nap if you want. I’ll wake you in thirty minutes,’’ you kindly offered, flipping through your notes for a specific annotation. 

‘’Nah, I’m good.’’ He flashed you a soft smile, then returned to his studying. 

A few minutes later, and you couldn't help but notice that Conrad's eyes had begun to droop. They would halfway close and then he would either blink a bunch of times, or widen his eyes until they were bug eyed. It was cute.

‘’Con? Conrad?’’ you called out gently. 

‘’I'm not sleeping. I'm resting my eyes,’’ he mumbled defensively, fighting fatigue.

There was no way he was getting through the night, so you put your notes down and slipped on Conrad’s flannel shirt that was on the back of your chair to shield you from the night air. ‘’We’re gonna need more coffee.’’ 

As you came back with two fresh cups of coffee, you found Conrad fast asleep on your pillow, still clutching his pen.

And held his hand through the rainiest times — literally.

‘’Isn't California supposed to be the sunniest state?’’ Conrad asked, watching the downpour through the windshield, drenched from head to toe. ‘’The seats are all wet...’’ 

‘’You gotta learn to live with the consequences of your own actions, Connie baby.’’ 

It was his idea to get waffles when the sky was looking very gray and angry. He insisted that it would clear out, but a loud clap of thunder echoed on your way back to the car and rain started pouring. You took the road back to campus, but it got too dangerous, forcing Conrad to stop the car on the shoulder of the road and wait for the rain to calm. 

You wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie and a smile curled on Conrad’s lips, still the most beautiful to his eyes despite your wet hair and the slight smear of mascara under your eyes. 

 ‘’Rain happens everywhere. Even in the dryest desert,’’ you reminded him, pulling out your phone to check the weather app.‘’Unfortunately, this one isn't gonna stop anytime soon.’’

You toed off your sneakers, making Conrad draw his eyebrows.

‘’What are you doing?’’

‘’We’re gonna be here for a while.’’ You peeled off your hoodie — also wet from the rain —, leaving you in your skirt and dainty bralette. ‘’Might as well occupy ourselves,’’ you explained before leaning over the middle console and kissing him, fastening yourself to him with a stitch. 

The kiss took him by surprise, but he wasn’t complaining. He could spend hours kissing you and never get bored. 

You crawled over the console and on Conrad’s lap without breaking contact, your hands easily finding grip on his hair as you felt his hands all over your body, caressing and pulling. The windows were fogging quickly around you, creating a veil of privacy as more layers were peeled off.

Conrad once believed he had found love, that Belly was it for him, but the feelings he felt back then were nothing compared to how he felt right now. 

‘’You’re the best thing that happened to me,’’ he confessed, his forehead pressed against yours. 

*

The invitation came in a few weeks before the wedding. Conrad couldn’t believe his brother was going through with this. Everything was happening so fast and seemed rushed. Him and Belly weren’t even twenty. Who gets married so young anymore? 

He arrived in Cousins a few days prior to the wedding, surprising everyone — and stealing the attention from the soon-to-be-weds — when they saw a girl with him. 

The only person who knew exactly who you were was Steven. A few months ago, you had posted a picture with Conrad at the beach and tagged him, leading to Steven finding out about his friend’s new girlfriend. He was surprised when he saw it, but very happy for Conrad. He deserved better than someone who plays between two hearts. 

Laurel put down the table-center she was holding and went over to pull Conrad in a hug. She turned to you, making quick introductions, and Conrad held his breath. He’s always been close to Laurel and her approval meant more to him than his father’s or Jeremiah’s. 

While the two of you engaged into a conversation, he saw her. Belly. Dressed in a white sundress and talking to Taylor, she looked just the same. The only difference was, Conrad felt nothing. No pain, no old feelings rising back. 

For the first time, what’s past was past.

‘’Belly, come greet Connie and his girlfriend,’’ Laurel called out to her daughter. 

Although you had never met her, you could tell exactly who she was in the room — and not only because her dress was white. The jealousy filling her eyes when they fell on you gave her away.

—

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[2-dsimp]

Yandere rich single dad falling for his daughter's nanny/babysitter!

Cw: fem reader! jealousy, possessive/obsessive tendencies, father-daughter plotting on you, you’ve got an pushy coworker,

Synopsis: 【You were just a normal office worker with a minimum wage. So in an effort to pay rent, you scrounged job offers for babysitting since you were good at handling children. And in the process you applied and got accepted to become a nanny for a rich former movie star’s daughter. The daughter apparently hated every nanny she got but once she met you she was absolutely smitten…And so was her Daddy.】

Pt2→ 《x》

☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡..｡.:

Yandere rich Dilf! Who continues to pace back and forth in his house, his anticipation growing as the seconds count down. He knows that you must be getting off work soon, and that you'll be coming back to him ahem to take care of his little brat and him before too long.

Yandere rich Dilf! That tries to distract himself, focusing on making sure everything is prepared for your arrival. He excused all the servants so he can personally oversee that everything in his mansion was set up to perfection. He was sweating like a madman.

Yandere rich Dilf! Who couldn’t shake the feeling of jittery excitement that's building within him. Eventhough he was hailed as a famous handsome actor he couldn’t get his shit together at the thought of finally making moves on his darling. This poor man was practically leaning against the counter for life support. From how he got swept up by the plan his nosey daughter concocted. Which was for him to seduce you into making you completely theirs.

Yandere rich Dilf! Whose daughter was already in full support of making her sweet nanny into her new mommy. And was smart enough to call her playmates ahead of time. So her Dad can give her the sibling she’s always been asking for. Since she was tired of being the only child in the huge mansion.

As the clock ticks down the minutes foretelling of your arrival. Quio starts to feel a sense of nervousness mixed with impatience, knowing that it was almost game time.

“Cmon Dad you can’t be looking like a wimp, it’s time for you to man up! By the time I get back I expect to have a mommy and a little brother on the way. Understood?”

His daughter, Peina chastised as she whacked him on the back and continued to threaten him give him encouragement before she left to see her friends.

"Okay, okay, Understood you prima donna."

Quio sassed with an heavy eye roll from how his bossy his daughter was. I mean sure he knows that she gets that from him. But at the same time it’s surreal to be at the receiving end of having orders being barked at you. Soon enough there’s a signature knock at the door, which makes Peina perk up. As she giddily skips towards the door to greet her beloved nanny.

“Gah wait! I’m not mentally prepared yet! Are ya really tryna give yer old man a heart attack?! How heartless can you be?”

He practically whispered yelled in an attempt to halt his daughter hand from twisting open the knob. As his heart raced at the speed of sound from the thought of seeing his apparent future missus crush. His daughter merely gave him a judgmental glare and promptly flipped him off. Mouthing to him ‘Get it together’ leaving him utterly offended. He was an A-listed actor damn it. Before flinging open the door to greet her Nanny with a big hug to their waist.

“Nana who’s this with you?”

At his daughter’s pointed inquiry, Quio nearly trips over his feet as he hauls ass to the door. His tall and bulky build moving as gracefully as a one legged flamingo. When he peeks his head out only to bite back a bitchy grimace at the sight of you with your so called nice colleague. Oh how he hated that pretentious asshole’s guts despite not knowing a damn thing about the man.

"Uh heya, Sweetheart it’s so good to see ya. I never get tired of seeing your gorgeous face!“

The Dilf crooned with a heavy twang to his voice as he blatantly ignored the little pest hanging to your side. His daughter felt the same way as she outwardly glared at your coworker while she purposefully tugged you closer to her Dad’s direction.

“Aha you flatter me too much Mr. Evinis. Also this is Miki he just so happened to see me and wanted to say hello”

You hummed lightly always finding the rugged single father to be charming. Completely, missing his subtle glance over at Miki, his serpentine eyes studying his potential love rival with thinly concealed disgust . He can't help but feel extremely jealous of the way that Miki is able to freely hang around you because yall worked at the same office. God, would it be too overkill to just buy the company you worked at so he could freely stalk watch you from 9-5.

"Hey, it’s nice to meet you man. But wow you’ve got an amazing house”

Your colleague says with a grin, holding out a hand for Quio to shake. Both him and his daughter stared down with an ick at the outstretched sweaty hand of the slime ball. And in order to keep up appearances in front of his soon to be wife. The Dilf inwardly sighed and begrudgingly took Miki's hand into an bruising iron grip. his eyes still fixed on you as he tries to focus on the conversation.

"Uh huh, Nice to meet you pal. Well, come on in, make yourself at home Sweet— "

“Don’t mind if I do! Oh my god is that the newest gaming console?”

Quio was soon interrupted by your colleague who had the audacity to grab you by the shoulders and usher you inside his mansion. Did he say that fucking parasite was invited? No, so why the hell did that cockblocking bitch think it was okay to scamper his mousy ass inside his mansion. Only meant for his lovely wife, his daughter, and him, alone. He was definitely going to call pest control afterwards to make sure the problem wouldn’t occur again.

Veins popped out around his neck as the Dilf nearly broke the door handle in utter rage. While numerous murderous thoughts about curb stomping the shit outta Miki crossed his mind like a freight train. And his daughter was the splitting image of him. She was appalled by how that leech just snatched her mommy nanny away from her grasp. And she balled her tiny fists with a small snarl present as she snapped her head up to give her Father a knowing look.

“Dad!…”

“Yeah I know squirt, I’ll make sure to have a real good chat with the fucker— I mean guy. You’ll get your sibling and mommy soon enough.”

Quio said in a hushed tone with an undertone of venomous certainty. Which made Peina somewhat pleased as she curtly nodded off at her Dad.

“Now run along and stay outta grown folks business”

He huffed lightly nudging his daughter further outside their residence. To which she gave an equally heavy eye roll mirroring his that he gave her a couple minutes ago. Before she started trotting off towards her friend’s chauffeur car that just pulled up for their play date.

Yeah he’d make damn sure that you’d be his pretty darling mama for him and his baby girl. Afterall he’s a man of his word and he promised to deliver. Nothing would stand in his way of achieving whatever he wanted. And he sure as hell isn’t letting Miki from the stupid parts and services department. Get away with the disrespect of having the gall to touch you without some form of bloody repercussions.

。

。

。

Lmk If you guys like him. If so, I’ll write some more or make a part two (>^ω^<)

[nebulaafterdark]

Dragonseeds (Pt. 1)

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Cole)!Reader

Summary: If any man can claim a dragon, what good is the blood of Old Valyria?

18+ ONLY MDNI

Y/N Velaryon has loved Aegon since she was small; fascinated by the Prince, three years her senior. Like a shadow, from corridor to corridor, and one day, like a switch, they flip.

Aegon begins seeking her out, searching the castle high and low for his betrothed. Training fiercely by the sword, with the understanding that only a knight could properly defend her. A sworn sword will only go so far, they could not love her the way he does.

“I love you too much, you have ruined me.”

He often tells her, to which the princess smiles.

“As dearly as I love you.”

When they are forced to wed immediately after the incident at Driftmark, neither the prince nor princess are eager to produce heirs.

They fight often, loud, passionate disagreements. He raises his hand to her once, in a fit of rage. Using every bit of self restraint to cup her cheek instead, a bit too forcefully. With blunt nails digging into her delicate skin as she watches him with wide eyes. “I meant to strike you.” That is what one does when the person they love refuses to listen, is it not?

“You did not.”

“I wanted to,” he admits. “I could not.”

The princess offers a sad smile, turning her face into his palm. “That is what matters.”

They do not lie together for some four years, until the growing protests become too loud to ignore.

“The smallfolk believe that a strong line of succession is the work of a strong marriage. My claim is already in question, we will need a strong line.” Y/N whispers against his lips.

Aegon loves his wife, but detests the notion that she is to be bred like cattle to uphold their duty to the crown. He hates being a prince, he hates being a Targaryen.

That is why he so loves Y/N’s hair, each dark, rebellious wave. How it screams ‘I do not belong to you.’

He hacks off his silver tresses at the first sob of his wife on the birthing bed. Never allowing it to grow past his chin again.

The future Queen and King consort are blessed with twin daughters, followed by three sweet sons, the youngest two inherit their mother’s dark locks. Pleasing Aegon to no end.

“I want a daughter who favors you.” Aegon admits.

“Then we must try again.” Y/N grins.

Aegon fists a hand in her dark locks as they make love, as though it will grant his wish.

They are expecting a sixth child before King Viserys’ death. Before Aegon takes the throne to guard it. Before Y/N crowns him, in the dragon pit, at Ser Criston’s order.

“Listen to me now, these next days are critical. Decide now whether you wish to live or die, if you want your children to live.”

“My children are in danger?” Y/N whispers.

“Your children have been in danger.” Ser Criston sneers.

“Why are you helping me?”

“You know why.” Cole grits out. Blood of my blood.

“Surely it would be easier for you if I were gone.”

“I do not wish you dead.” The man tells her. “Crown Aegon, the people must see you to do it. Surrender it peacefully and they will fall in line.”

“And my mother?”

Cole squares his shoulders, “we save who we can save.”

————————————————————————

Only two days later tragedy strikes, pressing on the delicate ties that hold the greens together. Severing them with the news of Vhagar’s betrayal.

“I did not mean to kill Lucerys.” Aemond admits, in the presence of his mother, grandsire and brother alone.

“What did you mean to do?” Aegon slams his fist against the table.

“Have a bit of fun.”

“Fun?” Aegon scoffs, “is it entertaining to you that I must now break this news to my wife in her condition?”

“Aegon,” Alicent sighs, “mayhaps you might wait until-”

“I will not lie to her, mother.” Aegon says, “better she hear it from me.”

“The grand maester should ready a draft, something to calm her.” Otto suggests.

“No.” Aegon shakes his head.

“Think of the babe.”

“I do think of the babe!” Aegon shouts, “I think of the babe and I think of my wife. My poor, sweet, wife who is never considered by another soul, save for me.”

Alicent swallows hard.

“This world can be cruel.” Otto admits, “you must keep your wits about you, your grace.”

Aegon scoffs, storming out of the room to find his wife, standing but a foot from the doorway. “How much did you hear?”

“Very little, I was headed to look in on the children. I heard you shouting.” She admits, “it stopped me.”

“Come, my heart.” Aegon murmurs, wrapping her in his arms. “There is something I must tell you.”

Y/N nods, against his chest. It must be something awful, she can feel it in her bones.

“I need you to do your best to keep calm. Our child needs you calm, yes?”

Again she nods.

“There’s been a terrible accident,” he begins swaying her. “Lucerys and Aemond had a run in at Storm’s End.”

“No,” she clutches him a bit tighter.

“Vhagar…is accustomed to war. I do not-“ he breaks off. “Aemond insists it was an accident.”

“My brother is dead?”

“I am so terribly sorry.” Aegon murmurs, pressing his cheek to hers, in a desperate attempt to absorb even an ounce of her pain. “I am so sorry.”

“I cannot breathe.” The thought of sweet Lucerys dying frightened and alone is inconceivable.

“You must.”

“I should have been there, to fly for my mother’s claim.”

“You are with child.” He reminds her.

“I am always with child, it makes little difference.” She heaves in a bitter breath.

“You could not have changed it.”

“I might have tried!” She pulls herself away from him. “I need a moment alone.”

“My heart, you should not be alone.”

“Please,” she insists.

Aegon spends the evening drowning himself in cups, choking down the urge to murder his brother.

————————————————————————

Y/N and Aegon make the decision to leave with their children under the cover of nightfall.

Ser Criston catches them of course, he always seems to. Only this time he makes no move to stop them.

“I swore an oath to protect you.” Cole insists. “For too long I have stood idle, allowing Rhaenyra to guide you. To mold you into the heir she so desperately needed.” He looks to Y/N, “I offered her a quiet life on the hillside, selling oranges.”

Y/N blinks at him.

“She wanted no part in that,” Cole smiles. “I suppose Ser Harwin Break Bones was more agreeable.”

Y/N stares back at him with familiar eyes…his eyes. “Are you not ashamed of me?”

“I did not turn away from you because I was ashamed. I have never been ashamed of you. I wished only to make it easier on you, so that you would not bear the shame.” Cole tells her. “Now you decide for yourself…the life you want. Return to your mother on Dragonstone, or fly away across the narrow sea.”

Part 2

Aegon taglist: @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @niyahnotnia

[jksprincess10]

His hand so calloused from his pistol softly traces hearts on my face || Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Tommy hires a new ranch hand behind Joel's back and he's not happy about it.

CW: jackson era, rancher!joel and helper!reader, mean!joel, perv!joel, unhinged and bold!reader, lots of banter, mentions of parent death, alcohol, masturbation, smut, dry humping, unprotected p in v, fingering, daddy kink, degradation kink, lots of pet names (baby, etc.), big cock joel miller, lots of dirty talk, some fluff and feelings, no y/n, multiple POVs. (2.8k words)

A/N: Special thanks to @fhatbhabiee for proofreading, @notjustjavierpena for the beautiful banner, @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

“The hell is this?!” Joel’s fists are closed against his hips, his head cocked to the side as he looks at what Tommy has brought into his home, another lost sheep.

“This is your new helper.” His younger brother gestures towards you and you look at the older man, an eyebrow raised in defiance. It wasn’t the warm welcome you had expected. “Maria’s about to pop out any day now, so I hired someone to take my place in the ranch.”

“You think a lil’ girl can help me?” Joel looks down at you, his steel gaze analyzing your reaction. But Tommy cuts you off before you can say anything.

“Don’t be a sexist ol’ prick. She has experience and took care of animals in her previous community.”

“And I’m not a little girl.” You add, detaching every syllable. “Shall we try that again? You must be Joel.” You tell him your name, and he takes your extended hand in his calloused palm, squeezing it stronger than necessary.

“Nice to meet you.” He grumbles.

“So, where’s my room?”

“Your… room?” Joel asks, his murderous gaze pinning Tommy down.

“Listen, she just got here. It’s temporary. Give ‘er a room, feed her and she’ll work for you for free.”

“I sure fuckin’ hope so.” Joel mutters.

How dare he bring this pretty young woman into his home without asking him before? The worst part is, you’re hard working. Every day, you get up at the crack of dawn to feed the cows and the sheep. You’re stronger than you look. And sometimes, you cook for him too, and he hates admitting that you’re good. You’re too fucking young, too fucking good looking and he shouldn’t be looking at you like that. He shouldn’t be fucking his fist every night since you arrived with your name dying on his chapped lips.

Joel joins you in the barn to see if you’re working well. You are, of course, milking one of the cows; your knees in the mud, pulling on the cow’s udders.

“When you’re done, put the milk into glass bottles and bring ‘em inside… We can trade ‘em.” Joel orders, then clears his throat. “D’ya… need anythin’?”

When Joel doesn’t bark out orders, he’s silent. It’s the first time in a week he’s shown any care for your well-being.

“Hm… clothes for the cold months coming would be nice.” You finish milking the cow and get up. You look at your ruined pants and sigh. “Yeah… clothes would be nice.”

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

You cringe at the nickname. “Thanks, Joel. But stop calling me that.” You can’t look at him, and you simply pet the giant, but soft beast who moos in response. You chuckle and turn to Joel. You pretend for his sake that you don’t hear him on the other side of the wall every night, wet noises mixed with heavy pants. You pretend you don’t do the same. “I’m closer to 30 than to 20.” You watch as he swallows heavily.

Still, 26 years is a big age gap, and Joel curses in his head as he hears you confirm your age.

“Right, but I’m 56. You’re jus’ a kid to me. I could be your dad.”

“I’m a woman. Treat me like one.” You respond firmly. He sees how worked up that gets you, how your body is facing him with your fists tight like you’re keeping yourself from hitting him.

Joel sighs and stays silent for too long, leaving with a last glance at you and another order. “Be ready in 10. We’re goin’ downtown to get you clothes. Be late, and I’ll go without ya.”

You’re fuming, and you want to curse the man’s ancestors, but you stay silent, obedient. You pack the milk harvest of the day: 3 good bottles, that would only need to be filtered before consumption. You go into your room to put on your only clean pair of jeans, and join Joel at the front, where he’s stoically waiting, big, stupid strong arms crossed against his chest, the sleeves of his flannel pulling against his muscles. You stomp to him with a box of milk in hands, and he chuckles, the asshole chuckles –

“Listen, asshole – ” You push the box into his arms, and he takes it effortlessly, an amused grin on his face. “I don’t know if you’re just sexually constipated or what, if so, please for the love of God, get fucking laid, but you don’t have to be mean to me all the time. Just because I’m young or because you don’t want me here or…. You know what? I had a dad, he’s fucking dead. You’re not my father, move on. Treat me like a fucking person.”

One of his eyebrows lift, and he looks at you for a few seconds, before asking: “You done?”

“No. Tell me you’ll stop being an ass or I’ll go find someone more annoying than me to replace me.”

“Fine. I’ll treat you like a woman and a person.”

“Thank you for the bare fucking minimum. Let’s go, cowboy.” You say between your teeth.

Your walk from the ranch to downtown Jackson calms you down. Everyone else is too nice for you to stay mad.

“S’here.” He points at the storefront with a sign that reads clothing and repair services. You go in with him, a soft bell announcing new guests. There are a few racks with seasonal clothing, a few different sections clearly identified: for children, women and men. Joel brings the milk up to the counter and the owner gives him five coupons in exchange.

“You can get five things.” Joel tells you as he hands you the coupons.

“But…. Don’t you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Okay…”

You look around while Joel waits at the counter. You find two sweaters your size, two pairs of pants and some underwear (that were on “sale” for 3 for 1 coupon). You give your coupons to the owner, she counts your items and tells you that you’re good to go.

Weeks pass, where Joel really tries to be nicer to you after your little meltdown. He doesn’t call you kiddo anymore – thank God – but you sometimes feel his gaze linger. You both try to stay away from each other – why would you fuck your new boss - because truth is, you find him very attractive despite his ill manners. But seeing Joel every day in the most domestic of settings lights something inside of you – a profound want and… affection.

In some rare occurrences, you have fun together. There are a few people in your backyard – Tommy, some townies you met through Joel, Ellie, Joel’s adoptive daughter who had moved away with her girlfriend. You’re settled around a bonfire to shield your bodies from the cold. Joel has a guitar on his lap, and his face has a pleasant glow from the beers you shared. You’re sitting between him and Tommy.

“Hope the old man’s treating you well.” Tommy jokes, a dig at his older brother.

“Surprisingly well. Well, after he stop treating me like a fucking kid.” You snort.

“Yeah, he tends to do that.” Ellie concedes.

“Stop talkin’ about me like I ain’t here.” Joel grumbles.

“You just had to be nicer.” You grimace.

“Had to see if you were a good worker ‘fore.”

“Am I?”

Your shoulders brush, and you smile innocently at him.

“Guess so.”

That’s the closest thing from a compliment you’d get.  You call it a night shortly after, but everyone seems determined to spend the night outside.

You wake up in the middle of the night to a door closing, so you decide to get up for a glass of water. You pad silently on the cold wooden floor, only wearing your panties and an oversized long-sleeved shirt. You almost jump out of your skin when you see Joel sat on his favorite chair in the living room, knees spread like he owned the world. He had a half empty beer in hand.

“Didn’t mean to wake you up, sweetheart.” His voice is rough. He looks up at you, eyes tracing your curves through your shirt, focusing on your bare legs, on your nipples peaking through your shirt. You self-consciously wrapped your arms around your torso.

“S’okay…” You go into the kitchen to get a glass of water. You could still feel Joel’s gaze on you, since the house was open-floored.  “Hm, Joel?”  You suddenly felt bold, maybe it was the remaining alcohol in your system.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you masturbate every night when I’m right here?” You sip on your water as you walk back calmly to where Joel sat. “Why don’t you fuck me, huh?”

Joel’s face burns with shame, and you smile when you realize you were right.

“You’re way too young and pretty for me, darlin’.” He leaves his bottle on the table next to him, and he pinches the bridge with a long sigh. “And you’re workin’ for me.”

“Let me be clear, Joel.” Your glass joins his bottle, and you lean towards him, your legs between his, your arms around his neck. “I like you. I want you. Please. Let me have you.”

Joel’s breath comes out shaky, and his rough hands grab onto your shirt. “Tried so hard to make you hate me, so this wouldn’t happen.”

“You succeeded for a while.” You smile sweetly, your fingers treading in the curls on the back of his neck.  “You’re very hot, Mr. Miller. I won’t beg again.” Your breath fans his dry lips.

“Okay. Okay.” Joel pulls you down even more, and you’re almost falling on his lap as his lips crash on yours. It’s hungry and angry, desperate. He’s angry at himself, you know it, but you don’t want his shame. The older man tastes like beer and smells like fire. Your teeth pull on his bottom lip.

“I do the same thing, Joel. I fuck my fingers every night while I imagine yours.” You whisper against his lips after a chaste kiss to his swollen bottom lip.

Joel groans and drags you down. You sit comfortably on his lap, feeling the rough tent in his jeans.

“Le’me see you.” He sounds more confident now as he pulls on your hem and lift your shirt over your head. You like his heavy gaze on your breasts, his calloused fingers pulling on your nipples to make them harder. You sigh happily and thrust your hips against his hard cock. He feels so big, but you’re confident you could take all of him.

“Y’wanna rut against my cock like a bitch in heat, huh? Go ahead, sweet girl. Make yourself wet for daddy.”

You didn’t think Joel had such a dirty mouth on him, but you obey. You rub your wet panties against the large bump in his jeans. The rough texture of the used fabric pleases you, but you need more. You clumsily remove your panties and abandon them on the floor. Joel, in a trance, admires your pussy. His fingers barely touch you, and you’re already panting.

“S’all fo’ me, huh? D’you need help?”

You nod enthusiastically.

“Words, baby.” He pressed, his free hand holding your chin up.

“Touch me, daddy. Please.”

“Suddenly so polite and sweet.”  Two of Joel’s fingers circle your clit as you keep desperately moving your heat against his jeans, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. Pleasure builds rapidly in your core, and you’re thrusting your hips even harder, until you come in a moan.

“That’s it, that’s it.” He soothes. “C’me here.” He holds you in his arms strengthened by years of manual labor and lifts you up as he gets up. You wrap your legs around him. “M’not done with you, but I want you to be comfortable.”

He brings you to his bedroom, which you had never seen fully. Only glimpses here and there. Somehow, it felt more intimate. He drops your body on his large bed.

“How are you still wearing clothes?” You complain, and he chuckles.

“So eager, aren’t ya?” Joel starts undressing, still on his feet by the bed. He only leaves his boxers on, and you try to see him in the dark. You decide to rely on your touch instead, when he takes the spot between your legs. Your fingers trace his strong back, finding scars here and there. You kiss him, softly this time.

“Need to get you ready fo’ me,”

“Yes, please.”

His calloused hands spread your legs more, before he inserts one of his thick fingers in. You tighten around him, it already feels like he’s stretching you out.

“Relax baby.”

You breathe, in and out, slowly relaxing your walls at the same time.

“That’s it, le’me in.” He thrusts it in and out a few times, before adding another finger. He uses his thumb to caress your clit, soothing the pain through another wave of pleasure.

“F-Fuck, Joel. That’s so much.”

“I know baby, you’re doin’ so well. Jus’ let go.”

He fucks you hard and fast with his fingers, pressing on your swollen clit with his thumb. You’re moaning and thrashing through your second orgasm of the night, and Joel’s looking at you intently, his free hand caressing the lump in his boxers.

“Need to fuck ya now. Can you take it?” His fingers leave you empty, and he soothes you with a kiss on your forehead.

“Yes. Give it to me, please.”

He pulls down his boxers and throws them away. You watch in awe as his girth jumps out. He holds the base and swirls the fat head against your wetness, making you jump a little, still sensitive.

“So wet fo’ me.”

He aligns the head of his cock with your hole and pushes in slowly. You let out a breath after the big tip has breached your entrance.

“That’s only the tip. More?”

You nod your head a few times. “I want everything.”  You’re so scared this will be the only time you can have him like this, bare and desperate.

He thrusts in, feeding you his cock as slow as he can bear. You hold on to him.

“You’re so big, Joel.” You whine.

“I know baby I know.” Joel kisses you lazily and sensually, stopping his movements when his hips are flush with yours. He waits until you move on your own, and he thrusts in and out with your help, still slow and careful. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, you had never felt better in your life.

“Faster.”

He listens, snapping his hips faster and harsher, but he can’t seem to be able to fuck you as hard as he wants in this angle. He suddenly leaves you empty and grabs your hips to turn you around, your ass in the air.

He thrusts in before you’re even ready, and the angle is perfect.  He fucks you hard and fast, the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and your pants fill his bedroom. The line between pleasure and pain is so thin, but you love the way he lets himself go. His big balls hit your clit a few times, and you’re crying of pleasure. You hold on to his silky sheets and to the solid, wooden headboard as he pounds into you.

“Gimme ‘nother one, c’mon.” He urges you through gritted teeth. “Come on my cock.”

He slows down to catch his breath, fucking you deep and hard, and one of his hand sneaks to the front of your body, teasing your tits with expert hands. Your pleasure builds in your tummy, before the pressure releases, and you come hard around his cock.

“Atta girl.” He praises, breath heavy. You feel him move away, and you turn around just in time to see him pumping his cock a few times, until he comes in any piece of fabric he can find – which ends up being his boxers.

You lay down on his bed, all members spread as you catch your breath with a dumb smile on your lips. You couldn’t believe you were just fucked by Joel Miller.

“I never came so much in my life, God.” You whisper in amazement, a hand against your sweaty forehead.

Joel chuckles and you hear his steps moving away from the room, but he isn’t gone for too long. He comes back with a warm, wet cloth, which he uses to soothe your swollen pussy, and clean himself up. He climbs into bed with you, and you hope he doesn’t ask you to go back to your room. Ever.

You’re both laying on your side, facing each other. Joel lifts the blanket over you and lays his palm against your warm cheek.

“M’glad Tommy hired you behind my back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Stay. I like you.”  He adds after clearing his throat. You smile and bring his palm to your lips to kiss it.

“I like you too. I won’t leave, if you want me to stay.” You assure him.

“Good.” He says as he closes his eyes.  “Sleep, you’re workin’ early tomorrow.”

“You’re the worst.” You mumble as he chuckles weakly.

[petew21-blog]

Prison visit

Hi, my name is Logan. I come from a quite boring family that includes my dad, my mum and my little brother. Unfortunately our family is now somewhat broken, because my dad decided behind our back to steal some money from the company he was working for. It wasn't a small ammount for all I know, so he was locked up and we all had to got to the trial.

We all had to dress up to represent our family. I hated the moment when the judge sentenced my father for several years in prison. All I could think about was the fact that I was the one, who had to take care of our family now. Which meant that I had to leave the army.

Me and my brother skipped the first few visits, because mom said that dad had to get used to being in prison and he didn't want to be seen in a bad mood. But the first visit was quite nice. Maybe except for the attack. Some prisoner bumbed into momand they both fell on the ground. It must have been a mental patient, because he started crying and screaming, that his body was stolen. Creepy, right?

Mum must have been shocked. She even missed a few turns when we were coming home from prison. I left her to relax and cooked dinner for us. When I went up to get her, the door to her bedroom were wide open and I couldn't believe what I saw.

Mom stood in front of the mirror, naked and fingered herself. Screaming in pleasure.

She turned her head slightly and smiled. I immediately left, hoping she didn't notice me.

I got my brother and told him that mom was too tired to join us.

The following days were really strange. Mom was walking around the house only in her bra and panties. I didn't wanna look, because it's my mom but ut was unavoidable.

One night, I think I heard male and even another strange female voices coming from my parents bedroom.

I eventually had to start taking care of my brother, because she didn't seem concerned, that he didn't have any food to eat etc.

I woke up in the morning to a weird feeling on my body. I opened my eyes and froze. My mom sat on my bed, my chest and boxers were uncovered and she had her hand on my stomach.

I couldn't let out a word, what was happening?!

Mom:"I have such a handsome young son. You really take care of your body, don't you? My son a soldier. How PROUD I am."

Me:"Mom, what are you..."

Mom:"Ah, don't you worry. I am just taking care of my LITTLE boy. But looking at the bulge you're packing, it seems you're not so little. Haha"

Me:"Mom... Stop it."

Mom:"Oh, come on. Don't you tell me you don't like these perfect tits. That you never wanted to touch them. And this pussy. God, you're really gonna enjoy this. And I can't wait to enjoy that dick" she said as she squeezed her tits and touched herself over the pants she was wearing.

As she finished, she quickly sat on top of me, I still couldn't react. She then pressed something against my chest, which hurt real bad. I passed out.

I opened my eyes and realised I sat on top of someone. "What the fuck?" I saw my own face smiling at me, My old hands were now placed on my hips. And I felt something below me... hardening

My body:"So, how do you like those tits... MOM?"

Me:"What the hell?!? What did you do?"

My body:"I gave you a gift. You can enjoy those tits and that tight wet pussy you like to peek on. You dirty WHORE. And unless you want to be fucked by your own body, I suggest you get off, because I am more then ready to shoot."

I moved and fell on the ground. I look down and indeed. My muscular chest was replaced by a pair of big boobs. My mother's boobs. I am my MOTHER

Me:"Mom, why are you doing this? Why me?"

My body:"Ah, you're so naive. I am not your mom, Logan. Or I should call you Cristine, now. Or better yet, MOM."

He started flexing and laughing at me

My body:"The chicks are gonna love this. I can't wait to fuck someone as a man again. Being a woman sucks."

I still sat there in shock, watching my body posing, flexing and enjoying his new reflection.

Only then I noticed the phone next to the mirror. My body noticed it.

My body:"Oh this? That's for me to have a memory. And also an insurance if you won't behave. I recorded what I did in your mother's body and If you won't behave I won't hesitate to use that as evidence to get you in prison. Unless you want to join your father and mother in prison, I suggest you behave. Now, go cook something, woman. I am hungry and now I got a job to do."

I got up from the floor, looking back at my body, feeling up my body.

I need to get help somehow

Prisoner's P.O.V.

Getting this kid's body is like a gold medal. After many years in my overweight body and then being that woman, this is by far the best thing yet.

I took out his phone to snap a few photos.

This kid has an amazing body. I can't wait to put it to test.

A message came to his phone number from LOVE<3. I browsed through the messaged. Fuck, this kid is gay. Nevermind, gonna turn him straight and dump this fucker. There won't be no more gay shit under my watch.

"Jeez. He's like a sculpture. If I had looked like this before, I wouldn't have to steal from all those people. This is amazing. Let's get this body showered and ready for Stacy."

At Stacy's house

Stacy:"Fuck. I can't believe it worked again. I was worried, that you would stay in that woman's body. I couldn't picture us like that back together."

Prisoner:"Don't worry, my darling. I found myself a great body for you to suck and enjoy. Wait till you see the dick that this kid has. Not only it is big, but the head of the cock is so strange, but hot at the same time."

They started making out. The tongues moving from one mouth into another. But there was a problem, that has never happened before.

Prisoner:"Wait. Something is wrong."

Stacy:"It happens sometimes. Remember that you're in other man's body and you're still not used to it."

Prisoner:"It's not that. This kid is gay. I think I can't get hard for you."

Frustrated and bored, the new Logan rested in the living room of his new body. The "mother" was walking around suspiciously, but careful.

Prisoner:"This is bullshit. I can't be gay forever. I need to find a better body to swap."

The younger brother rushed in with his way too loose Spiderman costume to hug his brother, who now wasn't used to it and pushed him off of himself.

Kyle:"Why did you do that?"

Prisoner:"I don't want another man to touch me."

Kyle:"You're funny, Logan. If you wouldn't have a boyfriend, i would believe you."

Prisoner:"Right."

Kyle:"Ok, so byeee."

Prisoner:"Where are you going dressed like that? It's not Halloween."

Kyle:"To Johnny's. We are having a costume party sleepover, while his older brother is gonna look after us."

Prisoner:"Who is the brother? Do I know him?"

Kyle:"Yeah, you do. You played football together. He's in university."

Prisoner:"Hmm. Interesting." I just hope it's not another gay jock like this one.

Prisoner:"Kyle? I have a cool deal for you. Wanna hear it?"

Kyle:"I bet mom won't know a difference between me and Logan. I can pretend to be him easily without her noticing. But I wonder why would Logan do that. It's nice of him that he gave me his body to try the costume, but he went to that party instead of me. I was looking forward to that."

Kyle pulled up the zip of the costume and started doing Spiderman poses.

Kyle:"Hell, yeah. Wait till the boys see how my costume first better then everybody else's!"

[seratopia]

miguel o'hara x reader (fluff) - please? → she/her pronouns!

miguel begs you not to get out of bed

By far the highest blessing you could receive in the morning is Miguel O'Hara's morning voice.

Deep, gravelly, and sparse, Miguel's morning voice always manages to send chills down your spine, especially when you're nothing but a hair's width apart from his chest.

You can feel his heart slowly beat against your cheek, his chest rising and falling to the sound of his breathing. Waking up to a face full of chest has been unexpectedly, one of the numerous highlights of your day.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open, and it takes you a moment to come to your senses. He smells nice, a reminder of the shower gel you keep in your bathroom for when he visits.

Miguel's almost too big for your bed; he takes up your space, barely fits the comforter, but you love him anyway. You really don't know how, or why Miguel chooses to sleep with you in your tiny little bed, but you don't complain.

"Amor."

His wording rumbles from the deepest parts of his throat, and you can feel the vibration of his voice against your ear. You squirm a little, tiny noises escaping your mouth as you make yourself just a little more comfortable.

"Mmmph... what time is it?" You murmur into his skin, savoring the warmth he omits.

Miguel lazily rests his heavy arm over you, running his abnormally large hand over your back. He presses a darling kiss into your hair, humming. It's only you who gets to see him like this, all sleepy-eyed and touchy beyond repair. You try to savor this version of Miguel as possible, knowing that he has to be someone else when he's at work.

Miguel keeps a single arm on you while you try to bend your arm in impossible ways, twisting and turning your limb to try to reach your phone on the bedside table. Eventually it works, and you manage to slip your phone into your fingers before you dislocate your arm.

"It's 9:23..." You breathe, sighing before turning your phone back off and placing it next to your pillow.

Miguel's pulling you in like a magnet, snuggling you like a puppy would a teddy bear. He's just too cute like this, hands and legs roaming around your body for something to squeeze. As much as you absolutely hate to let go of him, duty calls.

"Miguel... we have to go to work."

He can hear the distaste in your voice, reminded of the agonizingly long spread of cleanup, the idea of people bothering him, the mediocre food at the cafeteria. (Except for the empanadas, lmao)

Miguel doesn't want to go to work today, and he doesn't think you do either. Wearing a skin-tight supersuit just wasn't it today.

"Noo...." Miguel whines, strengthening his arms around you. You have to tap on his arm, just so enough air can find it's way back to your lungs again.

"Miguel, we have a job to do." You say, rubbing the sleep away from your eyes. You hear him groan into your hair, your mind practically going blank at the sound of his intense morning voice.

We mUST stay focused brothers, we must stay focused!!!

Almost like every morning, you begin your wrestle for freedom, pushing at his forearms wrapped tight over you. It's almost like you forget that Miguel's a superhuman Spider-Man. Stubbornly, he keeps his lazy stance, ignoring your tiny pushes and shoves.

"Oh my gosh, Miguel. Let me go. If you don't go to work, I will." You curse, squirming and kicking yourself in all sorts of directions.

He shakes his head again, eyes closed shut and nose still in your hair.

It was only a matter of time before you'd tire yourself out.

And you did.

Miguel's got the shittiest, most satisfied grin on his face, and all you can do is scowl at him. Still, he hasn't let go of you, and now you're convinced he wont let you go until the end of the day.

As much as Miguel was stubborn, you were too. You have a final ace up your sleeve, and hopefully it'll save both Jessica and the kids from disarray in the office today.

Miguel's face starts to melt down a little when you flutter your eyelashes at him, shoving your face into his chest and pressing a sweet little kiss between his pectorals.

It's like the satisfaction from Miguel transferred over to you, and Miguel is left speechless as you trail your way up to his clavicle, nipping and kissing at the surface of his skin.

"Let me go, please?" You ask, specifically in the tone of voice that you know Miguel loses his shit over.

His voice is hitched in his throat, ears turning scarlet as his grip around you starts to loosen.

"I... honey-"

The moment you reach his neck, Miguel know's he's done for, a chill running down his neck and back. It makes him all hot, his mind being wiped clean like a whiteboard. Just for the funsies, you kiss his pulse point a little, wrapping your own arms around his neck.

Utterly, Miguel melts, the sweetest, poutiest expression on his face like he doesn't know what to.

You win.

While you still can, you slip out of Miguel's grip, your feet finally meeting the carpeted floor. Miguel realizes your little act, grumbling and pouting to himself as he relishes the disappearance of your warmth.

"If you come to work, we can do more..." You tease, trotting off to your bathroom with a chuckle.

Reluctantly, the man rises from your bed, the boards creaking under his weight. (One day, he's gonna break your bed, somehow.) He follows after you, running his hand through his messy bedhead.

"Coming, sweetie."

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[xoxoaugust]

See You Again

In which: Sae Itoshi knew what he wanted from the beginning. He wanted to be a professional soccer player, and to play alongside those who weren't a waste of time (well according to him). Unbeknownst to Sae, a little birdie told him that you, a childhood friend of his, would be in Spain for the next three years. He didn't think he'd ever see you again, especially not after your, not so peaceful falling-out. But who knows what might happen when he comes face to face with you again? (2.0k wc)

an: This is 4 years after the start of the first selection, so Sae is around 22 years old. In this timeline, Sae and Rin have made up (because I said so) and he has returned to Spain to continue playing. I put this with the U-20 team because the only other person I know of that was on the Spainish team is Luna, sooooooo idk idk. Reader is fem, and is a university student in film studies. Enjoyyyy!(might make multiple parts)

His POV

January 1st, 2022

The New Year, god he hated the New Year. What is so special about a new year? It's just another 365 days to spend, what is so different that you must celebrate so loudly. Sae was just a little bit grumpy that all he could hear was loud music, drunkenly cheers, and laughter all night long.

Sae was meticulous about his night routine, he would work out, shower, brush his teeth, wash his face, set his hair, put on his sleep mask and then pass out. Unfortunately for his teammates, he couldn't sleep properly that night, so now everyone must suffer. Luckily, practices were called off for the week, for new years, and weather reasons.

'no practice' is not a thing to Sae, even if they were called off, he would still be at that field. So there he was 6:00 AM on January 1st, practicing alone. He didn't mind being alone, he was more than used to it. But sometimes, even just for a split second, he forgets that there was a time where he wasn't truly lonely. That split second eats at his mind like that plague, he hated how vulnerable it made him feel, so he would act like it never happen.

January 5th, 2022

When he wasn't at the field practicing or at home watching clips, he would be found at the little family cafe down a couple blocks from his penthouse. He would go there after an early morning jog, and order the same thing. An unsweetened iced matcha with a yogurt fruit bowl, he liked it because it didn't fill him up too much before a practice.

That morning at practice in locker rooms, he overheard something...interesting. He couldn't give a crap about anything Aiku had to say, but this was the only time he was truly listening.

"A close friend of mine is coming back for some time, she hasn't told me how long she's going to stay, but she's studying here."

Out of curiosity, Sendou asks,

"What's her name? Is she hot?"

"Why is that the first thing you think of? She's pretty but thats so weird to say. Her name is [y/n]."

"Well my bad! Its not like i'm going to try, I'm going to date a hot actress."

The groans let out in that room echoed from wall to wall, but Sae on the other hand broke character. Sae is know for his neutral, cold demeanor, but hearing your name clashed against the chink in his armor, and was enough for the walls to come crashing down.

November 27th, 2017

His POV

God, what a drag. Why was Rin so damn persistent on that dream, it wasn't even realistic.

Sae had just won the goal against Rin, and sealed the deal of scrapping that old dream. He had to say, he didn't enjoy saying this to his brother, but if no one was going to be honest with him, who was?

He knew his brother would be at that field, but he didn't know that you would be there.

He turned to look at you, standing there with a shocked expression and teary eyes. He couldn't stand it, why were you looking at him like that? Like he was evil, or something.

You walked closer to the brothers. Sae thought you would walk to him and say something. Maybe a 'Welcome back!' or something that matched your usually cheerful personality. But no, you walked right over to Rin, and helped him up off the ground.

Rin saw you like an older sister, you basically were. You always made sure he took care of himself, even before Sae left. He had immense respect for you, he considered you his best friend.

Rin stared down at you with a heartbreaking expression, tears flowed down his face as he avoided making eye contact with you for too long, he thought it might spare some of his dignity.

Your POV

At first you were shocked, how could Sae do this? Easy answer, this wasn't your Sae.

Your Sae would rather die than ever hurt his little brother, he would never intentionally hurt him. Your Sae would give his younger brother the last popsicle, he would bandage his wounds, he would play with him, protect him from anything or anyone that even tried to harm his precious brother. They were like peas in a pod.

You would know, you and Sae had practically raised Rin. You would pack him and Sae food to eat after playing because they would always forget, and they would always get hangry. They would stop by your house right next door and take you to their games, to get popsicles. You saw how kind Sae truly was, Rin brought out the best in him.

But now, he's changed.

Now you felt anger, unadulterated rage.

You didn't hesitate. Not even a little bit.

You shot a glare at him before marching up to him.

You slapped the everliving shit out of him.

You left a red mark on his face, the hands he used to hold had now hurt him.

The two of you never dated, but you acted like a couple. Just two kids holding hands on the park benches eating snacks, stolen glances and warm cheeks.

Sae was your first love, and you were his first love.

No, scratch that. You taught him love.

He stood there, like a kicked puppy holding his cheek. No expression, just a frown tattooed on his pretty face, the same on he walked in with.

You never yelled at him, until today.

"Sae Itoshi, I don't know what happened to you in Spain, and honestly I don't care right now, but you cannot treat Rin this way!

I don't know who you think you are, maybe that 'Japan's Treasure' title finally got to you, but the audacity is appalling!

You come back after FOUR WHOLE YEARS, you didn't contact Rin or I for three years out of the four.

and the first FUCKING thing you say is say is this lame, no PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A HELLO?

no, you don't get to treat either of us this way, some treasure you are."

That got his attention.

"What did you want me to do? Let him live on with some childish dream? He won't get anywhere dreaming like a toddler. I was busy building my career, not that you would know anything about that."

If you weren't angry before, you were SCATHING now.

You took a breath in, and out.

You wanted to scream, but you knew it would be a lost cause.

"When did you get so cruel?"

...

Thats where the memory ended before Aiku's loud voice snapped him out of his daze. His mind clouded by the vision of her teary eyes.

It couldn't be you right? There could always be another person with the same name, there's no way you could ever be friends with Oliver Aiku.

*incoming call from [name]*

Oliver picked up his phone and answered your call.

"Hey what's up?"

"I'm at the airport right now, can you drop me to my apartment building?"

"I am nothing but a servant to you huh?"

"So dramatic, i'll just take an uber you lazy ass"

Oliver laughs before saying

"No i'm done with practice i'm on my way"

Now he was sure, it was you. He would never forget that voice. The voice that he would wait to hear every night over the phone when he first went to Spain. The voice that brought him comfort when he was homesick. And the same voice that flooded him with guilt for the last 5 years.

a week later ----------------------------------------------------------------

He jogs to his little cafe down the street, same time as usual. He walks in, slightly sweaty.

As he approached the counter, he froze.

"Can I have one sweetened iced matcha and one avocado toast? Thanks!" You smiled as you swiped the card and clicked the 20% tip option before turning around to find a nice table.

When you turned around, you made eye contact with Sae.

It was as if time stood still, or rather time spun backwards.  

You hated this, you hated how you turned into that lovesick little girl in his presence, even after five whole years.  

You broke eye contact. You weren’t going to let him ruin your breakfast or ruin your stay in Spain. You walked past him to the nice table next to the window.  

He walked up to the register and order his usual. He tends to forget that he grew to love matcha because of you, yet another reminder of you.  

He grabs his food and sits at the table right next to you.  

“You just can’t leave me alone, can you?” You said sharply. 

“You’re sitting at the table I usually sit at; this was the next best seat.” 

“Still an ass I see” you laughed bitterly. 

You sipped on your matcha as you typed away on your laptop, being an exchange student was no joke. You felt Sae’s eyes on your screen.  

“What are you studying here?” Sae asked. 

You sighed, loudly.  

“I’m here for my bachelor’s degree, in film studies.” 

“You still want to be an actor? Wow, you haven’t changed.” 

You turned to him and glared. 

“No, I'm studying to be a director.”  

He turned his head to look at you.

"You always talked about how much you wanted to be an actress, what changed?"

You scoffed, how dense can one man be?

"Well people change, you're walking proof."

He sighed, he and Rin had made up years ago, why were you still upset?

"You know Rin and I made up right?"

You stopped typing.

"I know." You said softly.

In all honesty, you didn't know why you were still angry, it was probably bitterness because he didn't reach out in those five years to say anything, but then again you didn't expect him to anyways.

In your mind you felt bad, you shouldn't hold a grudge, especially not for this long, but you'd never admit that out loud.

"How have you been? It's been a while." You said, in effort to reciprocate the conversation.

"Not too bad, what about you?"

"I'd be good if my professor wouldn't assign more than he can grade, but aside from that i'm good."

You smiled awkwardly before turning back to your laptop to type. Sae felt relief, he's never felt this tense about anything.

"How is Rin? Did you see him before coming here?" he asked.

You felt a smile creep up to your lips, you knew he loved his brother.

"I did, he's doing great, he's playing in pro leagues now, watch out though, he might kick your ass."

He almost laughed, you're still the funny and loving girl you've always been. You sat in comfortable silence for the remaining time, but as you got up to leave and say goodbye, he stops you. He writes something down on a notecard that slipped out of your bag.

"Is this your number?"

"Yes, I got a new one back when I got a new phone. Call me if you need anything."

You smiled.

"I will, i'll see you around." You waved at him before walking out of the cafe.

You had only just left, but Sae hopes that you'll call soon.

As he jogs back to his penthouse, he feels his phone vibrate.

Today 7:13 AM

Is this Sae? It's {name}

Yes this is Sae.

jeez you text like an old man

Using grammar is being like an old man?

yes

Now I see how you and Aiku are friends.

thats so mean :(

whatever

Oliver told me to come to one of your practices so you might see me there

Okay, see you then.

He felt his chest bubble when he heard you call Aiku by his first name. But, at least he knew when he'd see you again.

xoxo, august

(pt 2 upon request)

[mirrorball-leclerc]

track six - i can still make the whole place shimmer

series masterlist

JAPAN 2023

QATAR 2023

ines_alonso and charles_leclerc posted to close friends

so proud of you oscarpiastri, sucks that i can't be there with you the only way to celebrate a third championship and a maiden sprint win. this can only go wrong from here monopoly has been cancelled after someone nearly broke the table when he got beat

CHARLES' BIRTHDAY

ines_alonso and oscarpiastri posted new stories

he actually liked this cake, don't listen to whatever oscar has to say birthday boy 🥳🩷 an artist at work...i actually don't know what's she's trying to make

oscarpiastri and ines_alonso posted new stories

inés said we were on a time crunch, now i've lost her inside a flower shop and she's not answering her phone. send help. sos. birthday boy seems to have something devious planned second birthday cake was a success!!!

liked by charles_leclerc, isahernaez, pedri and others

ines_alonso feliz cumpleaños amorcito!! here's to spending more by your side (with osc of course) for many more years 🩷🎉

tagged: charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc oh mon soleil, i might start crying again. please don't do this to me.

oscarpiastri you'll cry regardless charlie charles_leclerc stop being mean to me, it's my birthday oscarpiastri i got you a cake, that's enough user01 their love language is bullying each other

user02 had to sneak oscar in there somehow

user03 inés loves both her boys. i'm convinced she will never shut up about them user02 i fear you may be right bestie

oscarpiastri happy birthday booger 🧡

charles_leclerc thank you stinker ❤️ pedri i will never understand how this dynamic works arthur_leclerc mate it's been years and i still don't understand it. half the time i'm convinced they hate each other. oscarpiastri it's our love language arthur, leave us alone.

isahernaez feliz cumple charlie 🎉

charles_leclerc gracias isa 😊 user04 brother lost even his ex-girlfriend in the divorce to charles user05 not only is he not winning races but he's also not winning life, shit must suck for him. user06 he just became the only non redbull winner of the entire season, put some respect on his name louieee bitch won the race at the sacrifice of his own teammate, we'll put respect on his name when he fucking earns it. user07 besides this post is about charles, not his fucking whiny ass teammate

user08 i want to know what the product of that picture charles was taking in slide 2

user09 he's the embodiment of that proud boyfriend meme user10 he's just a silly little goofy guy

fernandoalo_oficial feliz cumpleaños to that french guy or whatever

charles_leclerc you sent me an entire paragraph telling me happy birthday this morning you're not fooling anyone fernandoalo_oficial that was supposed to be a secret tonto charles_leclerc oops

jensonbutton HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLES!! 🎉🎉 YOU'RE SO OLD NOW!!

charles_leclerc THANK YOU OLD MAN!! user11 the difference between fernando and jenson's comments is so fucking funny to me

maxverstappen1 drinks are on the birthday boy this weekend

charles_leclerc you people are animals when you drink. i should be getting free drinks not the other way around alex_albon well for my birthday i was forced to pay, so you should have to pay this weekend charles_leclerc this a hate crime against me

user12 i can't believe charles is 26, it feels like just yesterday he was starting out as a rookie at sauber

user13 STOP! YOU'RE MAKING ME FEEL OLD!! user12 your bio says you're 16? how the fuck does that make you feel old?? user13 IT JUST DOES OKAY?! DON'T QUESTION ME!

patriciooward FELIZ CUMPLE CABRON!!

charles_leclerc GRACIAS PATITO!! user14 i've seen enough scuderriaferrari get this guy into your car as carlos' replacement. he speaks spanish too user15 and charles actually likes this one

ximena.gomez feliz cumpleaños charlie!!

charles_leclerc gracias ximena! inés said to ask you about the thing ximena.gomez the answer is still no charles_leclerc one chance, just one chance that's all she asks

TEXAS 2023

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, francesca.cgomes and others

ines_alonso there's no weekend like austin gp weekend (this message was paid for by daniel ricciardo) (p.s. please wear your fucking boots right. the jeans go on the outside not tucked inside the boots)

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francesca.cgomes you know what they say, save horse ride a cowgirl

ines_alonso yeehaw!! charles_leclerc please stop flirting with her oscarpiastri you're never beating the allegations ines_alonso WHAT ALLEGATIONS?? francesca.cgomes that the boys are a cover up for our super secret romance. ines_alonso oh that, no, that is true pierregasly STOP THIS MADNESS!!

user16 how i love women

charles_leclerc i feel like this is directed towards me...

ines_alonso that outfit is atrocious and i never want to be in your presence when you wear it. justice for andrea. charles_leclerc OSCAR SAID IT LOOKED GOOD! ines_alsonso OSCAR WEARS T-SHIRTS AND SHORTS AND CALLS IT A DAY, NEVER LISTEN TO HIM maxverstappen1 mate, i'm afraid oscar lied to you oscarpiastri i live to see him make an embarrassment of himself in public. charles_leclerc you're sleeping on the couch when we get home alex_albon that's an upgrade from when your drunk ass made him sleep on a piece of turf on your balcony last year landonorris why the fuck am i never invited to anything? first it was the group bowling and now this party? danielricciardo he-who-shall-not-be-named is your friend louieee because you're a snitch bitch that's why asshole logansargeant in their defense the party was before bowling and no one wants to party with peter pettigrew or lord voldemort user17 the harry potter references i'm dying

user18 so are we supposed to act like you didn't embarrass yourself in front of patrick dempsey?

ines_alonso if we could do that, that would be great thanks user18 oh girl, that's going to haunt you for the rest of your life.

danielricciardo thank you inés i'll be venmoing you $150 later today

ines_alonso pleasure doing business with you mr.ricciardo logansargeant he's actually paying you?? he told me i would get a shoutout on his .jpg account ines_alonso i'm his favorite logan, you should know this logansargeant doesn't mean i should like it

jensonbutton i had a blast this weekend, i enjoyed watching you lose your shit on danica patrick this weekend.

ines_alonso you're ass is such a shitstirrer, i'm telling my dad! jensonbutton he sent me an audio of him cackling for a straight 3 minutes. his ass enjoyed that too user18 this is my favorite daughter and step-father duo user19 jenson button is not a step father but the father that stepped UP

lilymhe the cutest cowgirl ever

ines_alonso oh stop it, i'm actually blushing oscarpiastri unfortunately she is actually blushing. charles is glaring at her from across the room lilymhe damn charles_leclerc i took your girl charles_leclerc fight me lily alex_albon come get your girlfriend she's being irrational again alex_albon mate, we are not having this debate ever again. they're in love, let them be. charles_leclerc you're literally no fucking help

user20 love how inés, kika, and lily flirt with each other to piss off the boys

user21 alex is just resigned to the fact that they do this, charles and pierre absolutely lose it every time, meanwhile oscar just lets them have fun to see charles lose it everytime. user22 inés and oscar live for tormenting charles and i love that user20 it's the difference between gen z's born in the 00's to the 90's is so noticeable between the three of them.

MEXICO 2023

BRAZIL 2023

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ines_alonso a little photo dump for the girlies as we head into the final race of the triple header

tagged: charles_leclerc, fernandoalo_oficial, oscarpiastri, lewishamilton, maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, alex_albon, lilymhe

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patriciooward nano and honey make a reappearance!!

louieee she's kept them hidden from us for too long ines_alonoso they're camera shy

alex_albon i've missed my godchild nano!!

maxverstappen1 that's my godchild albon! ines_alonso ladies, please, you're both nano's god father alex_albon um, i'm more qualified to take nano if a 'tragic' accident were to happen to any of you maxverstappen1 i have two cats alex, you have a fucking farm, we are not doing this. ines_alonso i've made a horrible mistake

charles_leclerc where's the picture of my mexico podium??

oscarpiastri maybe win a race then she'll post you charles_leclerc you won a sprint! not an actual race! oscarpiastri I STILL WON!

arthur_leclerc i see there's no mention of me taking that 6th picture?? where is my credit alonso??

ines_alonso we bought you dinner and yet you still found a way to complain about taking one picture arthur_leclerc you try fourth-wheeling you, dumb, and dumber louieee it's dumb, dumber, and dumbest maxverstappen1 wait but who's who? oscarpiastri charles is clearly dumbest charles_leclerc this is why people think you hate me oscarpiastri haven't you heard, we're the second coming of seb and mark. multi-21 2.0 incoming alex_albon it was very clearly multi-21 (lovers edition) oscar user23 mark is probably shitting himself seeing this comment oscarpiastri i can confirm that

user24 just a pretty girl with her pretty boyfriends

user25 how to get inés alonso to blush 101 ines_alonso wrong! it's how to get three idiots to blush

kellypiquet i see the picture of the broken table didn't make it to the photo dump

ines_alonso we're never playing monopoly again maxverstappen1 if someone hadn't cheated the table would've never broke! georgerussell63 I DIDN'T CHEAT, YOU JUST SUCK! alex_albon YEAH, TELL HIM GEORGE! user26 i feel like we're missing some important lore here pierregasly post championship and sprint win monopoly is great, until someone (max) breaks the table patriciooward don't forget to specify that it's drunk monopoly alex_albon i feel like i would remember if you were there? patriciooward oh, i wasn't there in person but i was there via facetime. all of you were so fucked up that you don't even remember it

user27 i don't know what's more surprising max breaking a table, george cheating (allegedly) at monopoly, or all of them ending up so drunk they don't remember anything besides a broken table??

user28 definitely the broken table. user29 yeah, the drunkenness is expected from them so is george facing cheating allegations in monopoly.

fernandoalo_oficial i did not give my consent to having that picture posted

ines_alonso too bad old man. you snooze, you lose. user30 the world may be calm (not really) but you can count on inés and fernando always being their chaotic selves

logansargeant this is logan sargeant erasure

ines_alonso oh sorry, the whole world must know i bought you a single shot after your point in austin logansargeant well now i feel bad because it came at the expense of lewis... charles_leclerc what about me?! i'm the reason you got the point! logansargeant you said you wouldn't watch hamilton with me again... charles_leclerc fine, we can watch hamilton again logansargeant 😄😄 user31 a duo i didn't know i needed

danielricciardo is that the picture max and i took when you fell asleep?

ines_alonso yes, i'm never leaving my phone unattended with you two maxverstappen1 that's a consequence that comes with flying airmax, deal with it baby alonso louieee BABY ALONSO!!! ines_alonso oh no, that's going to stick isn't it?? estebanocon they've been calling you baby alonso behind your back for years. jensonbutton we've been calling you baby alonso since 2015 ines_alonso oh my god

lilymhe thank you for beautifully capturing my relationship with alex

ines_alonso you're welcome my love 🩷 alex_albon i'm right here lilymhe shhh alex, it's okay, you're my one and only (sometimes) alex_albon WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?! ines_alonso it means that whenever you piss her off she runs to me and kika francesca.cgomes it's true, we kick oscar and charles out of the apartment and force them to spend the night with pierre alex_albon STOP MAKING ME SEEM LIKE A BAD BOYFRIEND! ines_alonso you're a good boyfriend alex, we're just teasing. (got to get ahead of the media)

VEGAS 2023

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ines_alonso a week spent in los angeles and las vegas. met some new friends and hung out with some old friends

tagged: charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, sabrinacarpenter, schecoperez, logansargeant, alex_albon, lilymhe, jensonbutton, joris__trouche

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maxverstappen1 where the fuck am i?

ines_alonso bitch, you won every race this season, let other people have a chance maxverstappen1 YOU HAVE CHECO ON HERE!! schecoperez me odias o qué? maxverstappen1 no, do not put words in my mouth checo!

user32 ariana (sabrina) what are you doing here?

user33 talk about an unexpected crossover user34 the most unexpected friendship to come out of the 2023 season

louieee ooh, we look so cute

ines_alonso yeah we do!! louieee 🩷🎀

charles_leclerc i'm still mad at you...

oscarpiastri maybe you shouldn't go around telling us to call you charles leclerc-verstappen maxverstappen1 well now i'm max leclerc-verstappen redbullracing max, we can't do this again, the rumors just stopped oscarpiastri i know where you live scuderiaferrari here we go again (the rumors never stopped) mclaren oscar, please refrain from threatening fellow drivers user35 they're just so tired of having to pr train oscar user36 we're talking about the kid who willingly admitted he pushed inés off the track when they were karting because they had a bet going on and he didn't want to lose

sabrinacarpenter it was a delight to meet you and sharles

ines_alonso enough to get a nonsense outro?? sabrinacarpenter woah, take me out on a date first ines_alonso name a time and place baby 😏 charles_leclerc i can fight... oscarpiastri i can laugh as you take charles down... sabrinacarpenter oscar's my favorite now charles_leclerc of course he is

jensonbutton WHERE DID YOU GET THAT PICTURE??

ines_alonso it's a screenshot from the sky sports broadcast. it's the face i make whenever i'm forced to work with that woman jensonbutton oh my god ines_alonso it's my favorite f1 meme now

charles_leclerc now that i'm no longer upset, you look beautiful ma belle 🩷

ines_alonso thank you bebe ❤️ user37 he's trying to get back in her good graces guys oscarpiastri ass kisser charles_leclerc YOU WON'T LET ME GET A DOG alex_albon jeez oscar, let the guy get a dog oscarpiastri HE'S THE ONE WHO SAID NO MORE PETS AFTER HONEY!

logansargeant LET'S GO!! I'M OUT OF THE TRENCHES!!

patriciooward FROM THE TRENCHES WE RISE!! user38 now this, this is my favorite duo inés alonso has given us

lilymhe i look great and alex is there

francesca.cgomes she's everything and he's just ken ines_alonso the realest comment here sabrinacarpenter girls who are everything and boyfriends who are just ken pierregasly our job is just car

joris__trouche he did not want to let go of mimi

ines_alonso he genuinely cried when we left charles_leclerc STOP EXPOSING ME!! oscarpiastri you called me sobbing because you were leaving mimi behind maxverstappen1 just get him a dog oscar oscarpiastri he dug his own grave max

user39 the random jenson meme is sending me

user40 the fact that both of them have pulled the same face while working with d*nica user41 they're further proving the buttlonso lovechild allegations because i feel like fernando has also pulled the same face. user39 oh my god you're so right

francesca.cgomes just a pretty girl living her best life

ines_alonso i'm blushing oscarpiastri can confirm she is blushing charles_leclerc i'm so done. user42 free my guy user42 not from the relationship but from his partners (inés) flirting with the girls (kika, lily, sabrina) user43 nah, my guy brought this onto himself by flirting with max verstappen at every single fucking opportunity liked by ines_alonso and oscarpiastri

¡taglist!

@minmira95 // @lesliiieeeee // @vroomvroommuppett // @prongsvault // @justtprachisblog // @scuderiadevils // @cataf1 // @chezmardybum // @formulaal // @lilsiz // @norstappenvibes // @ironspdy // @nikfigueiredo @hinamesgigantica // @niniluvsainz // @matchaverse // @fakeikeastore // @theseus-jpg // @six-call // @81folklore // @emppusofi // @luvsforme // @nichmeddar // @loloekie // @luvpedro // @donttouchthegnote // @nothaqks // @inferiusreggie // @mochimommy2002 // @rach3164 // @clove08 // @clove0 // @lillysbigwilly // @jenxjar // @blupblupfish // @thereadinggremlin05 // @meowiarty // @magical-spit // @camdensreg // @laneyspaulding19 // @ocyeanicc // @yelenasloverrrrr // @percervall // @blushmimi // @spilled-coffee-cup // @greantii // @ietss // @yeanoskrrt // @brakingboundaries

¡not taggable!

@ashlovestoread1411 // @books-thingys-andstuff // @ale-522 // @aandreea_2005 // @Katness1 // @mgmoore // @Scott-McCall-could-lift-mjolnir // @xxx-betty // @ririyulife // @landonorizzz // @moldyshorts1997 // @itstimeforutogo // @yar16 // @em-andemm // @killjoycra // @◇Heart- Trees◇ //@michelleyw81

¡leclerc-s speaks!

unfortunately with the current state of the us, this is my only escape. i don't know why it became so unhinged but i remember people joking about max and charles getting married and this is a fanfic so i thought, why the fuck not?? IT'S ALL JOKES PEOPLE!!

¡disclaimer!

this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[thaleleah]

𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓶

Pairing: Billy The Kid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Dark-ish!Billy (just the tiniest bit tho), Virgin!Reader, Dub-Con, P in V, Hate Fucking (kinda but not really lol i tried), Fingering, Creampie, Possessive Behavior, Mentions of a gun shot graze, Talk of tying up/restraining/bondage, Slight Dirty Talk, Rough Touches (he grabs her face & throat), Use of the word “drawers” instead of panties cause I'm cringey like that lol

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: Dedicated to my anon who sent in this ask and put the thought of hate fucking in my head. I tried, hun lol. Didn't turn out how I thought it would and it's not my best work, but it did help me get out of my writing slump a bit sooooo i hope you enjoy it.

A/N 2: Please accept this supposed to be drabble that turned into basically a fic length thing as compensation for not having Godless Part 2 out yet. Hoping to finish it up within the next couple of weeks 🤞🏻

Summary: Jesse's younger sister is a pretty problem for Billy.

He’s so pissed at you. 

Jesse’s little sister once again trying to prove herself useful, trying to prove that she’s ‘one of the boys’, but doing nothing except getting in the way and causing trouble. 

It was supposed to be a quick job. They’ve rustled cattle together enough to have their system down pat, everyone in their gang playing their part perfectly so that they can be in and out of their target’s territory in the shortest amount of time. Very rarely do they get caught in the act now - and if they do, they’re good enough to never suffer losses. 

But when there’s a sweet-voiced, overly driven Miss suddenly among their operation when there’s not supposed to be, things can go wrong. 

You must have followed them, just far enough behind that they didn’t see you during their final look around before starting their run. One minute, everything was fine. None of the ranch owner’s cowboys were in sight and the cattle were proving to be easy to corral, not a single one of them choosing to go rogue and trying to push out of the herd. 

And then the next minute, you were there. You were wearing a dress when they left, a pretty little thing that Billy thought made the color of your eyes pop. It’s not your normal outfit, but you own it now courtesy of Jesse who was tired of hearing you nag about how much you wanted to come with them, how ‘helpful’ you could be if he just gave you a chance, and told you that if you wanted to be helpful you would run down to the local liquor store and make sure he had something to drink when they got back. 

You had switched out of the dress and back into your shirt and overalls, the shoes on your feet traded for riding boots instead of those dainty lace up ones. The hat that sat on your head covered your hair and the first thing that Billy notices when you ride up next to him is how tightly your hands are gripping the reins. 

The sight of you there catches him off guard and his gallop turns into a canter as he stares at you with wide eyes.

“Hey!” Jesse shouts from a little farther out. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’ here?”

“I deserve to be here just as much as any of you,” You reply, head held high as you glare back at your brother. 

“Hell no! Get your ass ou–” 

The bullet whizzes past his head, cutting through the air with a near deadly precision. Everyone ducks, heads snapping to where the bullet came from as the sound of the gunshot rings in their ears. There’s a couple of the ranch owner’s cowboys standing at the top of the hill, firing shot after shot towards the gang and the compromised cattle. Another bullet just barely avoids digging itself into Billy’s arm, the hot lead grazing against his upper arm and tearing through his shirt. Your eyes are wide when Billy shouts in pain, your own yell echoing his as he instinctively clutches his arm. 

He can see in your face that you’re terrified. You don’t know what to do. You’re going to get hurt if he doesn’t do something. 

Without thinking, Billy jerks his horse towards yours, forcefully nudging your own horse in the direction of the nearby treeline while he pulls out his gun with his uninjured arm to help return fire. The gang scatters, most of the cattle is already out past the property line and able to be herded during the commotion. The gunshots continue but no one else gets hit, and the group hollers the entire way back to the house, adrenaline pumping from just the taste of a bit of dangerous contact. 

You stay silent the entire ride back home. So does Billy. And so does Jesse.

But the second your feet are back on the ground, you’re in trouble. 

Jesse lays into you.

“What the hell did you think you were doin’?”

“I just wanted to help!”

“Yeah? Some help you were. You distracted us! You could have gotten us all killed,”

“Them shootin’ at you had nothin’ to do with me! I deserved to be there!”

Billy sits on the top post of the paddock fence as he presses a clean cloth against the graze on his arm, watching you both as you tear at each other's throats. He’s glaring at you too, bright blue eyes piercing into the side of your face as you scream at your brother. He watches as the tears fall from your pretty eyes, twin streams cascading down your cheeks as your hands fly around you in frustration. 

A Pretty Problem. That’s what you are. 

You’re a problem when you’re shooting. Your aim is always off, missing targets by an inch and somehow never able to fix yourself enough to hit them the next time. It’s a problem how you ask him for help, your back pressing against his chest and he guides you to adjust your position. Those are the only times your bullets hit the standing cans. When he steps back and you try again, you’re back to missing, and Billy just refrains from rolling his eyes even as his body feels like it’s been touched with a live wire just from the smallest bit of contact with you.  

You’re a problem when they’re drinking, a bottle in your hand as you try your best to match their intake. The others would leave you on the floor, stepping over you when you inevitably drop from too much alcohol. It’s Billy that picks you up, wrapping his arm around your waist and carrying you to your bed. 

You’re a problem when you’re laying there, sprawled out along the sheets somewhere between sleep and forcing yourself to stay awake. The way you look up at him is a problem, eyes glassy and half-lidded as you mumble a soft ‘thanks, Billy,”. He knows he’s not a good person, no matter how hard he tries convince himself he is, but fuck - he deserves some extra points for the self restraint he has to leave you there like that. 

You’re a problem when you’re being a brat. The constant butting into conversations, volunteering for jobs and then throwing fits when you’re turned down. You’ve taken to pleading with him for support, asking him to speak on your behalf just to make your brother and the other men see sense. 

“You’re the youngest,” You say, and your eyes are wide and nearly watering as you beg. “That’s why they call you The Kid. Doesn’t that bother you? Imagine how I feel!”

And how can you even ask him to do that? You can’t even shoot right on your own. Ain’t no way he’s speaking up for you so you can go on dangerous jobs and get killed. 

No. 

You fight just as harshly as Jesse does, spewing out insults and arguing your points until you’re both blue in the face. Neither of you notice when Billy jumps off the fence and heads into the house. You make him so angry - so naive and so willing to put yourself in danger just to try to prove yourself. Jesse is right. You could have gotten them all killed today with your little stunt. If you hadn’t been there, then their attention wouldn’t have been divided. Maybe he or Jesse could have seen the cowboys up on the hill a few seconds earlier and gotten out of there without even so much as a graze. In this world, every second is important and being distracted for even a moment can cost you your life. 

He’s still stewing when you follow him into the house only a few minutes later. Your eyes are rimmed red, lips puffy from where you’ve clearly been biting them. Bad girl, he thinks as he glares at them. It’s a nervous habit you have and he’s constantly telling you to stop. The sight of your teeth biting into your bottom lip always makes him go crazy. It should be his teeth digging into it instead. 

“What?” He mumbles gruffly.

“Are you okay?”

“Got grazed by a bullet,” He says, his eyes never leaving yours even as he hooks a thumb under one of his suspenders and pulls it off his shoulder. “You think I’m okay?”

He watches you as you watch him pull the other one off too, your eyes following the fallen straps as they hang around his waist. They follow his hands back up as he undoes the buttons on his shirt, one after the other after the other until the thin material separates in the middle and he can push it off his shoulders. 

His skin feels hot under your intense gaze, and the darker more primal part of his brain wishes you would follow his lead. Undo your own suspenders, unbutton your shirt but make it slow - tease him a little bit cause that’s what you are.

A tease and a brat. And he should treat you like one. 

Instead, you’re stepping up to him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Your fingers trace just below the thankfully shallow wound of the graze. “You should let me wrap this for you. So it doesn’t get infected,”

“You shouldn’t have been there,” He says in return, and his anger flares as he watches you roll your eyes. 

“God, Billy. Come on. Didn’t I get enough of this from Jesse?”

“You could have- hey!” Billy’s hand snaps out to grip your jaw, stopping you in your tracks as you turn to walk away from him. He holds you still, forcing your face to stay turned towards him as he growls. “You could have been killed today with your little stunt. You had no place there,”

Your hands clamp around his wrist trying to pry his hand off of your face and your words are determined despite the small flicker of fear present in your eyes. “I deserve to be there just as much as any of you,” 

“Oh yeah? Is that why I had to save you today?”

“You nudged me in a direction I was already goin’ to pull my horse in. I wouldn’t call that savin’,”

He pushes forward, making you shuffle back even as his hand stays firm around your chin. Your back hits the opposite wall, a pretty gasp falling from your lips from the rough movement.

“Brat,” Billy hisses as he presses his body against yours, pinning you to the wall. “You’re a troublemaker. I should tie you to your bed, keep you there - bound and out of harm’s way.”

Your breathing hitches at his words and he can feel the way your fingers clamp tighter around his wrist, those big wide eyes that torment him in his dreams staring up at him. 

“Billy,” You whisper, but he just continues his thought. 

“I’ll take care of you,” He says, voice low and quiet between the two of you but it somehow sounds deafening in the silence of the house. “Keep you fed and safe. Give you a nice blanket to keep you comfortable while you wait for me to get home.”

Billy’s hand releases your chin, calloused palms sliding down your jaw and wrapping around your throat. He can feel how you swallow thickly under his hold. 

“And you can take care of me in return,” He continues, his words almost a growl in your face as his warm breath fans across your skin. “As a reward for keeping you out of trouble.”

Even with only centimeters apart, he can barely hear you as you whisper. “Reward you how?”

And fuck, if you knew all the dirty things that play in his mind at night…

“On your knees,” He says, the hand not currently wrapped around your throat reaches up to flick off the suspender strap around your shoulder. It falls around your waist much like his did just minutes before. “On your back.” The other suspender falls like its twin. 

The sound of your heavy breathing echoes in his ears. His eyes drop to your parted lips and he’s sure that his pupils are just as large as yours are. His breathing stops in anticipation despite the fact that it's him who leans in, closing the distance between the two of you as he presses his lips against yours for the first time. 

He wants to be embarrassed by the sound he makes when he tastes you, so soft and sweet and somehow so much better than he ever imagined. Your breathing shudders when his tongue brushes against your bottom lip, but it cuts off in a soft gasp when he presses in again to kiss you harder. Need curls tightly in his gut, anger burning through his veins at you for making him feel this way. 

So on edge all the time, so unhinged. So desperate. 

The hand around your throat tightens a bit and the little squeak you let out in response has him swelling in his trousers.

“Troublemakers like you need to be put in their place,” He says, voice raw and gravely with lust. “You wanna be a big girl and ride horses all day on dangerous trips?” His nose bumps against yours, lips just barely brushing against your own as he speaks. “You can ride me instead.”

His hand leaves your throat to pull at the button on your overalls, and your own hands grip onto the tight muscles of his biceps. 

“Billy, wait,” You say, hand moving down to cover his as he pops open the buttons, but he grabs your chin in his hold again. 

Wait? Wait? You want him to fucking wait? No, you’ve already made him wait long enough. 

“Shut up!” He growls. “I’ve heard enough from you.”

His other hand manages to push down your overalls and they fall to the ground, pooling around your ankles. You whimper as his hand slides across your belly, his long fingers tracing over your soft skin as they travel down and down until they slip under the thin material of your drawers. 

“Good girls do what they’re told,” He whispers, breathing hot and heavy as he presses his mouth against your cheek, and you can feel the stubble that’s started to grow back already on his jaw scratch at your face. “I’ll have to teach you better.”

You gasp when his fingers first touch you, the gentle caress of his fingertips on your clit that has you jumping against the wall but unable to go anywhere with how he has you pinned. He groans against your cheek when he feels how wet you are already, soaking into the pads of his fingers as he circles the bundle of nerves between your thighs. 

“Billy,” You moan, and he kisses you harshly, cutting off the rest of your sentence if there even was more because he can’t bear the thought of you trying to get him to stop again.

No waiting. No stopping. You’re his. 

“Just be a good girl for me, okay?”

His fingers slide through your wetness, trailing slowly over your slit as his arm pushes deeper into your drawers. The tip of his finger nudges at your entrance, rubbing and teasing against your dripping hole for a moment before pushing inside you, and fuck - you feel so tight around him already. Your pussy clenches around his finger as he moves it inside of you, sweet cries ripping from your throat when he adds another, stretching you more as he curls his fingers against your slick walls. 

He muffles your moans with his lips, and he can’t help but push his hips against you, pressing the thick bulge in his pants against your thigh for some relief. 

Damn you, he thinks. Damn you and your driven attitude, bad shooting, sweet demeanor, and pretty face. Jesse could kill him for this. Jesse would, and he would deserve it. But this is your fault. Your. Fault. You tempted him like this. Threw him off his game and destroyed his self control just by being you and he hates you for it. 

Your moans are a constant now, turning into desperate whines of “Billy, please! Oh, god, please!” as he watches you greedily hump his hand. He’s throbbing in his pants, cock pulsing with need and heavy as he presses harder against your thigh. He’s not going to last long - not with the way you look right now and the way he knows you're going to feel wrapped around his cock just from how you feel clamping around his fingers right now. 

You’re not going to last much longer either, and his fingers thrust inside you faster, thumb rolling over your clit as he pushes you closer and closer towards that edge.

Come on, pretty girl. Be good for me.

He’s never touched you this way before, but it’s like he knows your body inside and out already. The look on your face tells him you’re about to cum, and he wants to see it - wants to see it so badly to see if it matches the same look you have when he makes you cum in his dreams - but he wants to make you suffer. Just a little bit more. Like you make him suffer. 

The cry of protest you make when he pulls his hand away is beautiful, as is the way your eyes widen when he brings the soaked digits to his mouth, sucking your taste from them and fuuuuckkk you taste so good. Of course, you taste this good. 

He kisses you again, sliding his tongue inside your mouth against yours just to make you taste yourself too as he undoes the buttons on his own pants. The restricting material is gone in seconds along with both of your underwear. His hand grips your hip, squeezing the flesh between his fingers before dragging his hand along the curve of your ass and down the back of your thigh.

In one swift movement, he has your leg hooked around his hip and his cock positioned at your entrance. 

“Wait,” You whimper, looking up at him with those beautiful big eyes of yours. “I’ve never–”

“I’ll take care of you,” He says, slowly pushing himself forward. The clench of your pussy as he works his cock inside you feels like heaven, slick walls squeezing him tight as he fills you up. 

Your arms wrap tightly around his neck as he sinks in, face digging into his neck to muffle your soft cry. A pang of guilt shoots through him at your pain. He doesn’t want you hurt. You’re a brat and a troublemaker, but he’s only ever wanted to keep you safe. But the more primal part of his brain keens at the idea. 

It’s your first time. He’s your first. You’re his. Only his.

His good girl.

His pretty problem.

He wants to fuck you hard, wants his hips snapping against yours so hard they leave bruises. Wants you crying against his mouth, moans and whimpers so uncontrollable that your brother and the rest of the gang hears them from outside from how loud you’re being. He’s not going to last long, he was right about that. His hips move slowly against yours, cock dragging against your walls as he pulls out until just the tip is left buried in your cunt. 

Your small whines of pain quickly turn into pleasure as he rocks into you, your warmth hugging his cock so tightly he thinks you might be trying to keep him buried inside you forever. He fucks you faster, pressing you harder against the wall as he claims your lips again. His fingers find the sensitive nub between your legs, rough fingertips circling your clit relentlessly until your panting against his mouth. He greedily swallows your squeal when you cum around him, cunt forming a tight and unforgiving blissful prison around his cock as you drench him and his fingers. 

He moans with you, hips stuttering and inconsistent as your orgasm triggers his. He holds your face against his, his other hand clutching your hip as he holds you still, not letting you run away from him even if you try as he spills himself inside you, painting your walls white.

It’s quiet in the room as you both come down from your high, just the sounds of panting as you both try to catch your breath. He should pull out. Anyone could just walk in at any moment and catch you, but he grits his teeth at the thought of having to move away from you. He’d die happily inside you if he could. So, he takes another moment, letting himself revel in the feel of your still pulsing walls around his length as he lays his forehead against yours.

“You’re goin’ to keep being my good girl, right?” He says softly into the space between you. “Stay out of trouble?”

And despite the exhausted look on your face, when your eyes meet his, all he sees is that strong-willed defiance.

A pretty problem indeed.

[flowerandblood]

Object of Despair (2/3)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, oral sex, fingering, hate sex, smut, angst, domination, violence, swearing, humiliation, hard chauvinism ]

[ description: Aemond is forced to marry a widow from House Arryn as part of the alliance and support of his brother in the war against the Black faction. After their wedding night, which went completely differently than he imagined, Aemond tries to return to his daily routine. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. Lots of hate sex, violence and chauvinism. ]

Part 1 − Object of Desire Part 3 − Object of Delight Epilogue

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Their wedding night was so different from what he had imagined that he was at once horrified, ashamed and intrigued by the person who had been living in the chamber next to his for several days. She wasn't seeking his company or attention, appearing only at suppers spent together with his family.

He knew he could have summoned her to his chamber at any time, and it would have been her duty to come and give him what he wanted, but every time he meant to do so he changed his mind and resigned, frustrated, staring into the light of the fire burning in the fireplace, sitting in front of it on his ornate wooden chair, thinking about that evening.

After what had happened between them it seemed to him that they had both suddenly come down to earth, not knowing what to make of how aggressive and full of rage the rapprochement had been.

He let her go and watched her, breathing unevenly, tying back his breeches, as she immediately covered her buttocks back up with her nightgown − he could see that her whole body was shaking, her lips trembling, her eyes big, her cheeks puffy from the tears that ran down her face.

She calmed down a little after his words and reassurances, but she was still terrified.

She asked him in a breaking, weak, quiet voice if she could now return to her chamber, and although he had originally had no intention of letting her lay in his bed, he felt disappointment at the thought that she had not begged him to let her stay.

Not wanting to show weakness or allow her to think that her presence was something he craved, he allowed her to do so with a nod, and she left without a word, neither bowing to him nor wishing him a good night, quietly opening and closing the door of his chamber behind her.

The next day, during the duel with Criston Cole, he could not concentrate − whenever he caught sight of a shade of blue out of the corner of his eye he involuntarily looked in that direction, thinking it was her in her gown that he remembered so fondly, his heart pounding hard with shame.

He pressed his lips together, turning his head away, snorting, playing with the hilt of his sword in his hand with apparent impatience, seeing some other woman − Cole watched him vigilantly, but not dared to ask either about her or his impressions of her.

Her presence was a taboo for him.

That same day, he walked and spent long hours in the great royal library, despite the fact that he usually instructed his servants to bring thick, old volumes filled with the history of his family and all Essos to his chamber. He hoped to meet her there, to confront her again, this time clearly showing her where she belonged.

To his disappointment, he did not see her until the evening − her blue gown immediately catched his attention, sewn from a soft, lovely fabric it fell heavily over her pleasant, girlish curves, accentuating her figure.

He swallowed hard as he looked at her face and noticed a large red bruise under her eye, which must have been the result of the moment he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head on the table.

She was discussing something in a whisper with Helaena, his sister bent over her with concern, playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture they had all inherited from their mother.

They fell silent when they noticed him − her violet eyes looked up at him, sad, resigned and tired. He thought, feeling a burning embarrassment in his chest, that explaining to her who had the final word on what their marriage would look like was no longer necessary.

Sitting down at the table next to her he knew what awaited him − when his mother walked into the chamber and saw his wife she froze, the smile gone from her face.

She looked at him with pain, with disappointment he could not bear and he closed his eyes, thinking only of the fact that he wanted to sink to the ground.

"Dear sister-in-law, has my brother given you another gift besides, we all pray, his future heir in your womb?" Aegon asked with a sneer. He clenched his teeth, sucking in a deep breath, looking at his brother with grim fury, to which he only smirked, popping a grape into his mouth, biting through it with a loud crunch, amused.

He felt his wife shift beside him − his heart began to beat faster in panic at the thought that she was about to say something to humiliate him, to mock him in front of his entire family to take revenge on him.

"I slipped in the bath, my King." She replied simply, without emotion, regret or anger. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, surprised at the ease with which she lied despite it being obvious that everyone around her had guessed what had really happened.

His brother raised an eyebrow clearly impressed, cocking his head, leaning back in his chair with a loud creak of wood.

"You slipped." He repeated softly and she replied nothing, looking at him calmly.

She and Aegon exchanged glances for a moment − it seemed to him that she feared neither him nor his position.

"I hope no more such unpleasant…accident happens to you, my Lady. Such a pretty face." He hummed, reaching for his cup, but she merely blinked, no grimace passing across her face, as if his words did not bother her at all.

He himself didn't know what he thought of all this, so he decided to go back to his daily routine, pretending that she simply wasn't there, convincing himself that it would be better that way.

He didn't need her, he didn't want her, and her silence and distance were doing him a favour.

He watched her sometimes from afar, seeing her pleasant silhouette glide between the columns as he trained in the courtyard, always headed for the garden, the tree he had read about before she came to King's Landing, and at which he understood the Northerners prayed.

He did not think of it at first, but then he began to notice the gazes of the men and guards fixed on her as she passed them, their smiles, their dreamy gaze as if they were imagining what they would do with her body, the body of his wife, his right and his duty.

It planted a seed of doubt in him − he wondered if perhaps she was meeting her lover there, if he was a source of ridicule in the keep because the servants already knew that she had not been faithful to him, that she had betrayed her crippled husband.

This thought made him furious, but having no proof for his supposition he decided one day to change his plan for the afternoon and watch her through the window − as soon as he caught sight of her figure passing through the cloisters he left his chamber, moving unhurriedly after her.

As he walked between the tall shrubbery, hearing the grass rustling and the birds singing, he tried to focus on other sounds, expecting quiet moans and panting to reach his ears, but heard only his own footsteps traversing the path strewn with small rocks rattling under his feet.

He stopped as he stepped into a small clearing − a large, white weirwood with a disturbing, wrinkled, red face on its trunk looked at him ominously, his wife lying on her back on the grass beneath it, her eyes closed, her dark, loose hair surrounding her head, her hands laid on her stomach.

He stood motionless, wondering if she was waiting for someone, however, she did not open her eyes or look around.

He thought with surprise that she was asleep.

He swallowed loudly, for some reason feeling desire at the sight of her lying silhouette, the fact that someone could see and hear them, that she was his wife, and he could take her here and anywhere else he wished.

He felt how his cock swell in his breeches, his lips tightening into a thin line as the heat spilled in his lower abdomen.

She shuddered and opened her eyes when she heard him move towards her − she lifted herself up on her arm, her lips parted in disbelief, however for some reason she did not rise or try to escape.

He stood, towering over her, feeling his superiority and dominance over her in this position and this situation, his fingers slid down to his breeches, untying them in a calm, nimble manner.

"Come here, wife. I promised you something, didn't I?" He asked, feeling his heart pounding like mad, releasing his aching erection, its pink tip glistening from his precum.

It seemed to him that she was shocked by his insolence, by the fact that he wanted to profane her sacred place, after a moment, however, the expression on her face changed. He parted his lips noticing how she rose slowly, kneeling before him as if to pray, with a light flick of her hand sliding the material of his breeches lower, looking him straight in the eyes.

No fear, no terror, no regret.

He sighed and immediately grabbed her by the hair, wanting to be in control of what was happening when her hand grasped his throbbing, hard cock in her soft palm, squeezing it at the base. He drew in a loud breath as her lips brushed its tip without any hesitation, her pink, shiny tongue licking it encouragingly. He tilted his head back, delighted.

"− fuck − keep going −" He commanded, impatiently pressing her closer to his lower abdomen, watching her with excitement and curiosity, his manhood quivering with desire in her hand, her fingers giving it a calm, assured strokes. He groaned involuntarily when he saw how she slowly slid the fat head of his cock between her lips, the tip of her tongue teasing him lazily.

She sighed as the thrust of his hips slid it deeper into her mouth − he heard her almost choke when it hit the back of her throat, her palate wonderfully wet and warm, her lips clamped down on it, in some natural, subconscious reflex beginning to suck it.

"− that's it − there you go −" He gasped with awe at the perverted sight before him, his fingers entwined in her smooth, soft hair, clenching down on it, controlling himself, however, so as not to cause her too much pain, forcing her head not to escape when his hips with sure deep pushes invaded her throat.

"− did you often satisfy your late husband like this? − it's clear this isn't your first time − little slut −" He exhaled, groaning lowly listening to the loud clicks of her saliva each time his aching cock disappeared again and again deep into her mouth, her hand tightening on it more firmly, making him accelerate his pace.

"− stop − that's enough −" He muttered, having no intention of wasting his seed, wanting to finish inside her, trying to push her away, but he felt her tongue trailing down his length, her free hand clamped down on his buttock, not allowing him to escape − he had to lean against the tree trunk, his other hand holding her hair as his cock thrust into her greedily.

"− f-fuck, fuck, fuckkk −" He hissed out in rage combined with delight and groaned loudly in relief as he felt his semen spill over her palate. He looked down at her, her eyes closed, all around them only the rustle of the leaves, his shaky, loud breaths and the sound of her swallowing, so lewd it sent shivers down his spine.

Slowly she slid it out of her mouth, his cock all slick and glistening from her wetness − her soft, pink tongue licked it for a while longer, teasing and sucking lightly on its tip from which the remnants of his seed still flowed. He stroked her smooth hair, feeling his body still shudder with shivers of pleasure after such intense fulfilment.

"− you look perfect like this −" He gasped softly, his thumb running over her cheek, noticing with some kind of relief that there was hardly a trace left of the bruise from a few days ago.

"− you will spend this night in my chamber − you should try how it tastes sticky with your moisture − don't touch yourself −"

That evening he waited impatiently for her, strangely excited and anxious, pacing around his chamber, absorbed in his thoughts.

He feared that she would humiliate him, show him, by not coming to his summons, that she despised and disrespected him, and then force him to use violence against her again.

He did not want any more accusing glances from his mother directed towards him at the table.

He shuddered as the door to his chamber opened suddenly − he turned over his shoulder and swallowed hard, noticing her figure covered only by her night gown and the cashmere blue shawl thrown over her shoulders − her long dark hair were loose, the look of her violet eyes calm and full of some kind of curiosity.

"− have you touched yourself? −" He asked coolly as the door closed behind her with a loud clatter of wood, turning towards her, walking in her direction with his hands folded behind his back.

"− no −" She replied softly, without any pleasantries or further elaboration, looking straight into his face without a sign of fear or uncertainty.

He intended to regain control of the situation she had taken from him when she decided when he would come and how, all by herself.

Stupid cunt.

"− undress and lie on your stomach −" He commanded in a dispassionate, cool, deep tone, from which her gaze darkened a little, as if clouded, her plump lips parted slightly but no sound came out of them.

She walked past him without a word, heading barefoot towards his bed and climbed onto it, her back turned to him as she sat on his bedding, letting him watch as her fingers slid the fabric of the robe off her shoulders, letting it fall down, revealing her naked, smooth body.

His hands began to undo the clasps of his tunic as she lay on her stomach following his command, her face turned the other way so that he could not see her gaze − the sizzle of the fire in the fireplace all around them, and besides, a complete silence filled with a heavy, stifling tension, a threat of what was about to happen between them.

He felt what he saw in his cock, his manhood expressing painful impatience, throbbing in his breeches at the thought that he intended to come deep inside her that night more than once.

"− did you love that fool? −" He asked indifferently in a voice slightly hoarse with arousal, licking his lips with his tongue in satisfaction to see that her whole body tensed, her fingers clenched on the pillow lying under her head, her back rising in a shuddering breath.

She was silent for a long moment, as if his question had startled her − he watched her vigilantly, pulling his boots off his feet, staying only in his undershirt and breeches as she lay exposed, bare, vulnerable, condemned to him and him alone.

No matter what her answer would be.

She shuddered, as if snapped out of her reverie, as he sat up behind her, his large hand running over and stroking her full, soft buttocks.

"− speak −" He hissed, his hand slapping her bare skin so sharply and quickly that she bounced and squealed. He gave a reassuring stroke to the spot, red and throbbing in the indistinct shape of his hand − involuntarily his lips curved into a teasing smirk as he noticed the moisture glistening between her thighs, her folds pink, throbbing and swollen.

She liked this kind of games, he knew that.

"− I was the furnishings of his household − I loved him as much as his chair, his bed or his table could −" She muttered, and he looked at her, surprised, not knowing himself what he thought of her words. He stared at her face, her gaze fixed on his window, her lower lip trembling as if she was trying not to cry.

He hummed, intrigued, moving forward, placing his hands on either side of her head, his long hair tickling the bare skin of her back and shoulders, making her gasp loudly, her body quivering all over in anticipation and uncertainty, fear and curiosity at what he was about to do.

"− I am, I believe, in his debt − he taught my wife how to suck cock so well −" He whispered quietly with a hint of dark mockery and threat, her lips parted wide in a quiet moan as he slid one of his hands under her stomach, parting her legs with his knee, forcing her to spread them in front of him, his mouth ran over her neck as his fingers sank into her leaking, soft, hot womanhood.

"− but did he fuck you good? − hm? − did he know your weaknesses? − your most sensitive points? −" He murmured, her whole body breathless, her buttocks bucking up towards him and rubbing against his hard cock, moving to the rhythm of his fingers as their tips dug into her tender skin, trailing around her bud, teasing her once in a while, his hand all sticky with her juices.

"− fucking answer me − he fucked you with his fingers 'till you mewled his name? − 'till you begged for his seed? −" He growled, crushing her with the weight of his body, his other hand clamping down on her neck, careful not to overdo it though − she whimpered loudly, writhing beneath him as he quickened his pace, running his fingers over her puffy slit again and again, leaking from her fluids, his fingers invading her fleshy folds with a loud, lewd click, his aching manhood hitting her buttocks.

"− yes − he's gained experience with whores and servants before, just like you −" She hissed out, her breath caught in her throat as his fingers tightened harder around her neck, his two fingers forced their way inside her, stretching her tight, hot, wet walls with sure, deep pushes to which her hips responded greedily with rocking, meeting him halfway.

"− shameless whore − maybe I should care less about your pleasure, hm? − fuck you so that you cry out in pain −" He threatened, and she laughed, struggling to catch air, her lips parted wide, her eyelids clenched.

"− objects do not know fulfilment or disappointment − love or hate − do what you want with me −" She breathed out, her eyes opened, releasing a wave of tears that ran down her cheeks, seeing this he slid his fingers out from inside her and let go of her neck, quickly untying his breeches, for some reason furious at her words, his nostrils twitched dangerously in accelerated breath.

His thumbs spread her folds wide to the sides, allowing the fat head of his cock to force its way inside her with her loud moan of surprise, his one, brutal push was enough for him to thrust deep into her with a sigh of pleasure and satisfaction.

"− listen − that sounds like disappointment to you? − like hatred? −" He sneered, panting loudly, placing his hands on either side of her head again, his knees spreading her thighs wide so that he slid fully into her, bucking his hips, his thrusts violent, sure and deep, each time his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a loud click of her moisture.

"− fuckin' leaking − all thirsty for my cock −" He gasped, feeling her muscles squeeze him tightly in pleasure, his face sinking into her soft, fragrant hair, his hands in some subconscious, natural reflex found her breasts, caressing and kneading them between his fingers, teasing her nipples with his thumbs.

"− ah −" She cried out innocently, girlishly − he stifled a low groan hearing that sound, accelerating his pace, opening her slick cunt wide on his cock again and again with brutal, quick thrusts, his mouth sliding down to her neck, clamping down on her skin, sucking her so painfully hard that she hissed, grabbing him helplessly by the hair.

"− I promise you that when I'm done with you, you won't be able to sit up tomorrow − your stomach and womb full of my seed −" He growled out into her ear, his breath caught in his throat as her hands found his, clenching on his fingers, entwining them together, her hips responding to his thrusts so eagerly that he struggled to restrain himself from coming just yet.

"− don't stop − fill me, please, please, please −" She mewled so loudly and sweetly that he lost control completely; he could feel the sweat trickling down his back from the exertion, one of his hands slid down her stomach, giving her pearl a few encouraging strokes from which her whole body quivered.

"− good girl − say my name −" He muttered with his face pressed against her soft hair, no longer controlling his movements, his hips slamming into her involuntarily, aggressively and quickly, no longer sliding out of her, chasing his own fulfilment, her walls clenched against him greedily, sucking him inside, wet and hot.

"− Aemond, fuck me, fuck me, f-fuck −" She whimpered and that was the end of it, from her lips came sounds of pleasure and relief he had never heard before, sweet, girlish, innocent, vulnerable, he felt her moisture trickle down her thighs, soaking him all over, her core throbbing hard in fulfillment, giving him wonderfull squeeze.

He gasped loudly, letting go at last, coming so hard inside her that it went dark before his eyes, his fingers tightened on her body to make sure she wouldn't escape him, their bodies writhing in convulsions, overwhelmed by how intense the fulfilment was, slapping against each other.

"− oh gods −" He mumbled, stroking her smooth shoulders, breasts, hips, thighs with his large, rough hands − he felt as if the scent of her body, her hair and her moisture had completely overwhelmed him, filling his lungs and his head. He closed his eyes, panting loudly with her, only realising after a moment that the fingers of one of her hands were still entwined with his.

They lay like that for a moment, trying to calm themselves, his lips finding her cheek, neck and shoulder, placing hot, lazy, wet kisses on them. He heard her sigh softly, her words like honey to his ears.

"− I want to taste you now −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddessing @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[teleit]

Rhaenyra would never kill her own kin? Say it with your hand on the Bible and watch the Lord punish you for perjury

Team black stans is being almost hysterical, trying to convince us that Saint Rhaenyra would never dare to kill Alicent's children, that Otto and Alicent are the second and third coming of Satan, and they are must be blame for everything, from the birth of the Night King to the end of the Daenerys arc, and if it weren't for these two, Westeros would have already installed electricity, invented penicillin and learned to wash their asses more than once a month.

As proof, you are given quotes from a book that these fans have hardly read in its entirety, their own opinion, which, of course, is an indisputable fact and, sometimes, even "well, she would have killed some greens so what, why make such a fuss about it."

These people don't know how to work with a narrative, and it shows. Stories like Dance of the Dragons require you to dive into the personalities of both teams so you can understand the tragedy of the situation - a civil war between family members that will nearly destroy House Targaryen and Westeros.

Now imagine that you, Alyssa/Baelon Targaryen, are Alicent's fifth child. And this is a fanfic (show), not a book, so we're going to base this on the events of the adaptation.

Your father doesn't care about you, and you don't understand why. Did you do something wrong? Why does your father love your half-sister and her children, but not you and your siblings? Why doesn't he protect you from your nephews' bullying?

You don't get a dragon egg because they are few and far between, and Rhaenyra has another child who needs one more. You get the egg that comes later, or you ride a full-grown dragon.

Your half-sister Rhaenyra HATES you. She shows no shame in showing her disdain, barely tolerates your existence, and never punishes her children for bullying you. She won't talk to you, won't play with you, and even seems to hate your name.

You hear rumors that your nephews are bastards. You know that having bastards is wrong and against the Faith, and you don't understand why Rhaenyra is never punished for her bad deeds. You saw Aemond being scolded for standing up to our nephews, why is no one scolding Rhaenyra?

At Laena's funeral, your brother Aemond becomes a Vhagar rider, and Luke cuts out his eye for it. When the argument happens, you are afraid, scared, and crying, because father is angry at Aemond, and instead of comforting and protecting him, he demands something from him. Rhaenyra demands that Aemond be tortured, and no one protects your brother from her. Your father yells at Aegon because Aemond said that Aegon is the one who lied about your nephews being legitimate Velaryons. You don't understand how words can be as bad as your brother's injury. No one ever scolded or punished Rhaenyra for anything, so what if her children were called a bad word? Your father declares that there will be no punishment for your brother's injury, as if a lost eye is like a scratched knee and nothing bad happened. Your mother is angry at Rhaenyra and tries to hurt Luke, and suddenly she is the bad one and it's all her fault, and everyone has forgotten that Rhaenyra wanted to torture Aegon, who was hurt, as if it doesn't matter.

You are scared to get your dragon. What if Rhaena decides that this dragon was meant to be hers and you are a thief too, just like she accused Aemond? Will they cut out your eye too?

Laenor dies, and you hear that Rhaenyra has married Daemon, ignoring the mourning period. You remember this man - he laughed at Laena's funeral and frightened your mother with his presence. You have heard terrible things about him, and you are afraid to be near him - but thank the gods he does not come to the Red Keep, so you sleep peacefully. You are afraid to think about how exactly Laenor died, and whether Rhaenyra and Daemon were involved.

When your half-sister finally appears at the Red Keep, her first act is to claim Driftmark for her bastard son. When Vaemond Velaryon, your distant relative, calls her a whore and her children bastards, Daemon cuts off his head, and none of the Blacks look sad, even though he was a close relative to Rhaenys, Baela, and Rhaenyra's three eldest sons (presumably).

And that's just part of the shit that goes on in your life. If it were possible, you'd demand a refund.

If someone told you that Rhaenyra wouldn't kill you for the sake of her peaceful reign, would you believe them?

PS. not a native speaker and it shows, so what?

[alexa-yukiyu]

Hello there this is a request from a friend (who doesn't have Tumblr) for a request for a Whitebeard Pirates x reader

A young 13 year old girl she knows Whitebeard is her father but she doesn't care, like she was a product of a one night stand, like she has his hair, strength, and haki,

Like she knows Whitebeard is her father but she doesn't make a big deal about it, like in a way she doesn't see Whitebeard as her father, (not in a hateful way of course), but she kinda sees him as a stranger, but in a good way

She's also has a devil fruit power, copy-copy fruit, that lets her copy another devil fruit though physical touch, she has train herself and study about other devil fruit powers, if in cause she counters one

Like if she tells anyone who her father was they would shock but she was just shrugged it off, not taking it seriously that, she is the only daughter of the World Strongest Man in the world

Like father like daughter she also has his physical strength and stamina, also you know about Whitebeard giant genes, yeah she also has it and is the same height as Ace, despite only being 13 years old

But when it comes in their personalities she was more laid back, even in serious situations, example: with her lack of reaction with also knowing that her father is the captain of the Whitebeard pirates, she really doesn't take anything serious

Mandatory Visits ( Whitebeard pirates x f!teen!reader)

A/N Two in a row??? :0 Let’s pray guys to keep the streak going, or at weekly streak 🤔. I don’t think I will keep the streak tomorrow, I need to do my exercises yall.Not sure how to feel about this one though guys, did I fell out or is it hitting?

Reader here is replaced by dokucha which stands for reader in japanese

Dividers by @/drinkthesky and @/firefly-graphics

“Dokucha, do you really have to go?” Luffy whined, looking down at the teen from the deck of the ship

“For the hundredth time, yes, I need to go, you know that,” she sighed as she began to work on ropes keeping the Mini Merry from drifting from the Sunny.

“You already went last week, though; why do you have to go again?”

“Luffy-nii, That was months ago.”

“So?”

“So the deal was that I need to check in every few months, or he comes here himself and won’t allow me back.”

“So let the old man come! I won’t let him steal my crewmates!” he growled out.

She lets out a sigh, but a small smile grows on her otherwise serious face at her captain’s antics.

“Don’t worry, Luffy-nii, he won’t steal me. All I have to do is check in, and I can come back.”

“You’re leaving?” A small voice piped from the Deck

“Oh, That’s right. You weren’t here the last time I had to do this, weren’t you, Chopper?” She questions, looking up at the reindeer

“I have to go to the Moby Dick.”

“The Moby Dick? The Whitebeards ship? What do you need to go there for?”

“The Old Man allowed me to leave the crew as long as I would check in with him and my brothers every few months,” She answered absentmindedly.

“Your dad is with the Whitebeard Pirates?” He questioned

“Hah? Her old man is Whitebeard,” Luffy said dismissively.

“Oh”

Dokucha watched as the statement slowly sank in, and Chopper’s features slowly morphed into one of horror.

"W-W-Whitebeard?!"

“Hmm, did I not mention it? Sorry, Chopper, I must have forgotten.

“You’ll be back in a week?” Luffy questioned, ignoring the existential crisis his doctor was experiencing

“Just like always,” she promised.

“Finally here,” she sighed, relieved, pulling the small vessel closer to the Moby Dick and tying them together to ensure that the Mini Merry didn’t venture off.

Once this was completed, however, a force landed on the small ship, violently swaying it against the waves. Dokucha rapidly activated her Devil Fruit, igniting one of her hands in fire. She then sent a fist to the intruder, only for her attack to be stopped by an equally fiery palm and a very familiar grin.

“You’re getting better at it, but you still don’t hold a candle to the original.” He laughed

“Ace-nii,” She sighed out, extinguishing her hand; the man in front of him mirrored her actions and opened his arms wide for the tall teen, grinning when she walked into them.

“I thought you would be out on a mission.”

“And miss my favorite sister visiting us? No way”

“Ace, I’m your only sister.”

“Therefore, my favorite one.”

Any Comeback the teen may have had is cut off by the voice of their eldest brother sounding from the deck above them.

“Alright, you two, enough of that, come on board; Pops is waiting for you, Dokucha.”

“I’m coming,” she called dismissively as she grabbed hold of the rope ladder. The man behind her once again copied her movements and watched as she turned around to address him.

“You really think I got better at copying your fruit?” she questioned, a tinge of nervousness behind her words.

“You have; last time you visited, you were only able to make a few sparks, pretty weak sparks if you ask me,” He answered, letting out a few snickers.

“Alright, no need to be a jerk about it,” She called, rolling her eyes as she continued climbing up the ladder, a proud smile taking over her features, taking a hold of Marco’s outstretched hand, letting out a small squeak as he quickly pulled her over the railing and crashing against him, letting out a laugh as he did.

“Are you getting smaller?” he teased, looking down at her.

“You’re an even bigger jerk, Marco-nii,” she deadpanned, glaring up at the man.

“I’ll have you know I am quite tall for my age. Give me another year, and we’ll see who’s gonna laugh last,” She growled, pushing him away.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear the noise you let out,” he called out teasingly.

“Shut up!” She growled and stomped her way to the upper deck, where she knew she would her father would be

“Alright, you old Man, here I am.”

“Still as insolent as ever, you damn brat,” he barked, narrowing his eyes at her remark, a heavy fist hitting the side of his chair as he spoke his words.

“And you are as brittle as ever. Don’t move too much there; you might dislocate a bone. Heard it is common at your age,” she shot back, matching the glare that was sent his way

This continued for a while, with neither side wanting to back down until a smile broke into the giant’s face, a booming laugh escaping him soon after

“You have certainly grown in the past months, but you are still as cheeky as you were. Have you decided to stay?”

She scoffs at this

“Dream on; I don’t care if you are my flesh and blood; I am a Mugiwara trough and trough, and nothing will change that.”

“You’ll change your mind one of these days, child, and we will be waiting with open arms for the day.”

Kind of incomplete end but I really din’t know where to take it but I wanted to include Whitebeard for you guys, I almost just deleted it and left it to brotherly exchanges

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@dreaminganimelove

[seresinhangmanjake]

Fremen Girl: Part 2

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Fremen!Reader

Summary: The potential wife of any future Baron must prove herself by surviving in the arena before the current Baron will permit the marriage. In this case, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen wants a wife, and he might have just found a woman capable of meeting that challenge.

Notes/Warnings (for this part): cursing, lack of fighting technique knowledge, subtle reference to the thought of suicide, Dune inaccuracies and typos.

Words: 1700

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Part 1 (Here)

Feyd POV

Feyd stands aside in his uncle’s room, one hand clasping the other’s wrist behind his back as the Baron emerges from his bath with a groan, inky liquid streaking down his face. 

“Nephew” he begins without glancing in Feyd’s direction, “I hear you’ve found yourself a potential bride.”

Feyd’s lips thin. The Baron has his spies but they are not likely to be the responsible party when it comes to informing the Baron of your presence on Giedi Prime mere hours after arriving. “Rabban?”

“Just as you watch your brother, your brother watches you,” the Baron confirms. “A Fremen woman?”

Feyd takes a moment to consider everything Rabban might know, hoping, at least, that he isn’t aware you were assigned a handful of guards willing to be discrete and your own room rather than a dank cell. The Baron would never allow special treatment of a potential bride and it’s best he remains unaware of Feyd’s plans to keep you nourished and well taken care of. 

“She can win,” Feyd says. 

“And is that your only reason for wanting this one?”

There are a handful of reasons why he wants you. You’re beautiful, perhaps more so with that split lip; you’re respected, as shown by the outburst of your fellow Fedaykin a day prior; and of most value to Feyd: you aren’t afraid of him. You don’t back down from a challenge, even if that challenge is as trivial as seeing who will be the first to break their stare. You’re the only woman he’s seen who might survive the Trial. There was no chance he was going to let you go. 

“If I marry her, she can convince the Fremen to cease their efforts against us,” he tells his uncle, though it is a reason far from the priority of Feyd’s motivations and far from likely. Your people do not surrender so easily. “We can do our work on Arrakis without interference.”

This Baron’s thick fingers stroke the underside of his chubby chin as he contemplates, but Feyd knows it’s a strategic ruse. Baron Vladimir Harkonnen never lets immediate interest show, lest he give up the control he possesses over his nephews who answer to him and him alone. He has not once agreed to a request without having the suspense of being denied hanging in the air.

“Two weeks,” the Baron finally responds. “Enough time to inform all of Giedi Prime of a Marriage Trial.” 

Relief washes over Feyd, despite already expecting the agreement from his uncle. The Baron loves to watch the slaughtering of potential brides, and while the opportunity to manage spice production on Arrakis without a fuss is enticing, of equal value is the entertainment of such high stakes resting on the life of one woman—a woman his nephew wants to marry.

Regardless of whether or not you die, the Baron believes he will have a victory. But Feyd is not going to be the fool his brother is, who selects brides on lust alone and sends them into the arena unable to hold a sword above their heads. He’s going to keep you alive. He is going to marry you. And then he’ll deal with the repercussions of prematurely promising a truce that’s unlikely to occur.

—

Reader POV

“Go again.”

“Fuck off,” you spit through your heaves. His last hit to your back shot the air right out of your lungs and it’s all you have not to collapse to the floor of his training room. 

“They are not going to fuck off,” he says as he circles you, deft fingers casually flipping his knife at his side. 

You hate him for waking you at one in the morning for the seventh day in a row, and that hatred has only grown seeing how he doesn’t break a sweat while you’re thoroughly worn out. It’s humbling if you’re honest, but irritating more than anything. You’ve single-handedly taken down more Harkonnens in one fight than any other Fremen, but it’s become clear that if you met Feyd-Rautha under more hostile circumstances, he would not be a guaranteed kill. For every sparing match you’ve won in your unprepared, sleep-deprived, he's won three. 

“They are fighting for their lives, too,” Feyd reminds you. “It’s six-to-one and their only job is to kill you. You have to kill all six.”

“I know,” you groan, peeling your hair from your damp face. “You’ve been saying the same damn thing for a week.”

“Because you don't care enough,” he snaps.

You care, but he takes it to another level. While he doesn't say it outright, you know you’re training to be a source of Harkonnen entertainment; to last in the arena long enough to provide a good show. You’re the equivalent of House Ezharian’s dancing girls on Erif IV but clothed in a short-sleeved shirt and elastic trousers rather than layers of dainty chiffon fabric with gemstone trim. 

When you first stepped foot on Giedi Prime, you felt the same as you imagine those women do: that life under the close thumb of another is a life of little hope for freedom, so why fight the inevitable? But Feyd hasn’t given you the choice to stop fighting; stop living. He’s had guards watching you at all hours and anything that could have been used to harm yourself was removed from your room before you even arrived.

It didn't take long to realize your only out of this life would be to die in the arena. But being butchered by Harkonnen prisoners for others’ enjoyment is perhaps the least honorable way to go, and there’s a part of you that would never forgive yourself for letting someone else take the light out of your eyes. 

Feyd comes to a stop in front of you. You steel your spine, but before you can step into your fighting stance, he lunches at you. Fucking bastard. Your blade quickly folds in front of your body to block the sharp thrust of his knife, metal clanging against metal. He smirks before slamming his fist into your side, crippling you to your knees, but just as he goes to stab into your chest, you forward-roll out of the trajectory of his weapon. You force yourself to stand and whip around to face him.

He’s on you in a half-second, so damn fast, like a shot of lightning from the sky, but you're swift and he misses you. Unfortunately, you’re more used to fighting on sand than stone, so as you leap away from his swing, you overcalculate the force of your weight and stumble. He takes the opportunity to snatch your wrist in his free hand, and his strength overpowers your attempts to jerk free. He spins you until your back is flush with his chest. One arm wraps around your waist. The other holds the blade’s edge to your throat. 

“Not good enough,” he growls in your ear. 

He holds you, his breath bleeding down your neck, muddling your brain. You can hear him thinking—Get yourself out of this, Fremen girl. So you inhale the remainder of your might, slam your foot down onto his, and jab your elbow into his ribcage. He grunts as you slip through the span of his reach. You turn and side kick his abdomen, but it’s hardly effective past causing a brief stagger.

“Higher,” he says on the exhale of a heavy breath. 

“What?”

“If you’re going for the torso, aim your kick higher,” he tells you, patting at the space between his pecs. “More likely to knock them off balance.”

You roll your eyes. You know how to fight. He knows you know how to fight. It’s why he took such an interest in you. It’s why you were kept alive to participate in the Harkonnens’ little games while the remainder of your group remained on Arrakis.

“I know,” you grumble.

“Then why didn’t you do it?” he asks. When you don’t respond, he shakes his head. “You’re skilled, but you're being sloppy.”

“Because I’m fucking tired,” you say. “And what does it matter when it's not you I’ll be fighting? I’ve killed more than six people at a time. I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t promise that!” he shouts. The rapid change in his attitude makes you take a step back and tighten your grip on the hilt of your weapon. When he sees your knuckles whitening, he sighs and sheathes his knife. “I know the Fremen techniques, and your people never fight alone. Enemies are distracted by multiple targets and you often succeed with the element of surprise, but this time it is you—only you—that they will be after.” 

“And you think I can’t handle it.”

“I don’t get to select your opponents, so I need you to be prepared for the worst,” he tells you, moving in close and entering the ring of your personal space. Your breath quickens as your chin lifts to keep his gaze. “I want you to win this, Fremen girl. I want you to live.”

“Why?” 

“I just do,” he says.

He does not elaborate. All you hear is your alternating breaths as your eyes flick back and forth between his own. Electricity crackles in the minimal space separating your bodies—not the first time you’ve felt it from him being so close—but you don’t know what to do with it. You don’t know why you don’t hate it like you should. 

He, however, seems to enjoy it, and more so each time it catches you off guard. Physically he wants you strong, but mentally he enjoys the vulnerability that he teases out before you can conceal it.

Feyd backs away from you and reaches over his shoulder to grab the collar of his shirt, then he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside, exposing pale skin and ridges of muscles. 

For a moment, your lungs refuse oxygen. “What are you doing?” 

“It’s warm in here,” he poorly justifies. There's not a single droplet of sweat on him. Then he unsheathes his knife. “Let’s go again.”

---

A/N: should be two more parts after this one. It was originally going to be one long fic, but it got too long, so I just broke it up. Thanks for reading <3

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[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + seventeen

authors note: this chapter covers the aftermath of solana's attempt in the previous chapter. please heed to content warnings in order to make an informed decision regarding reading this chapter.

i'm going to handle solana's experience in the hospital as realistically as i can, but there are creative liberties taken as well. and don't come for me for the ending either. :/

cw/tw: angst, discussion and coverage of the aftermath of a suicide attempt, mental health discussions.

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

masterlist

words: 15k

Roman has a long to-do list. He always does and always will. But, this is by far one of the last things he wants to do. 

He’s going on 24 hours of no sleep, which isn’t the first time he’s done as such, but it’s the first time he’s done as such and actually felt the impact of the sleep deprivation. And truth be told, deep down he knows the exhaustion that he feels is more mental than anything.

It’s the result of the toll that finding out Solana tried to kill herself has taken on him. 

Is taking on him.

But, he can’t deal with that shit right now. He can’t deal with it because he’s got his Wise Man, Rikishi, Solo, Jimmy and Jey all sitting around him, wearing various levels of confused expressions. Which only irritates Roman more because Rikishi and Paul are the only ones who should be confused. The twins have been with him dealing with all of the shit the past 24 hours. 

Solo too.

Rikishi is the first to speak, studying Roman. The Tribal Chief is more than sure he noticed the grimace on Roman’s face as he went to roll his shoulders, remembering yet again of the wound that probably won’t heal as quickly as predicted given the fact he’s done the complete opposite of ‘taking it easy.’

“You gonna tell us what happened or—”

“There was an assassination attempt on Solana’s life last night.” Roman’s sentence is matter-of-fact and to the point, nevermind the fact that his right hand forms into a fist at just saying as such. 

Rikishi and Paul share shocked expressions, Roman’s older cousin being the one to ask, “is she—”

“Bullet hit me instead. Didn’t lodge. I’ll be fine.” Roman only adds that last part because of the horrified look on Paul’s face, already knowing his Wise Man will bombard him with questions about his injury. “Xavier Miller and his boy were behind the attempt. I’m handling them now.” 

“But sir, why would Miller want his own daughter dead?”

Roman closes his eyes and rolls his neck, working to settle his rising temper. He hates talking about this shit. It only spikes his eagerness to get his hands on Miller and rip him apart limb by limb. “Because she didn’t go along with his plan.”

Rikishi speaks up again. “Plan?”

Roman’s jaw clenches. “He wanted her to kill me.” 

The rest of the men look equally shocked, Paul gasping loudly, asking, “she’s a traitor?”

If looks could kill, Paul would be six feet under. Roman has to mentally restrain from acting out on his suddenly murderous urges. “She’s my wife.”

Rikishi, however, seemingly tosses his longtime friend a lifeline, trying to reason with his younger cousin. “Uce, that doesn’t mean she can’t be both—”

“What I’m hearing….” Solo surprises the men around the table as he sits forward. “—is that she can’t be trusted.”

Roman isn’t sure just how much of his anger and rage at the accusations being slung against Solana is showing, his Solana, but it must be enough for the twins, of all people, to try and de-escalate.

“Come on now, this is Soso we talking about.” Jimmy is the first to kick off peacemaking. He looks at his father, “pops, you was there when we first met her. She was nervous as shit. Ain’t nothing about that girl dangerous.”

Jey chimes in, handling Solo. “And you of all people should definitely know that’s not Solana. She would never hurt nobody, let alone kill nobody.”

Solo, however, simply scoffs. “Like she ain’t hurt her brother?”

“What was she supposed to do? Let him beat her?” Jimmy is the one to snap, shouting back with a suck of his teeth, “man, that bitch deserved it!”

Rikishi jumps in, defending his younger son. “I think what Solo is trying to say is that it proves she is, in fact, capable of hurting someone if she wanted to.”

“Why would she want to hurt Roman? That don’t even make no—”

“Enough!” Roman’s fist slams down on the table. “The next person to say one more negative thing about my wife is getting a bullet in their fucking skull.” There’s a blanket of silence, all of the men knowing that Roman would absolutely carry through on this threat. A promise, really. 

Roman swallows, both from anger and something else he can’t pinpoint. “Solana tried to kill herself last night. What in the fuck about that presents a danger?” He doesn’t care enough to observe the reactions of that news. Doesn’t give a fuck. “The only person she’s a danger to is herself.”

Paul is the brave soul, or perhaps just stupidly and naively asking, “is she—okay?” 

“I said tried, didn’t I?” Roman snaps, forcing the pudgy man to recoil back in his seat. Roman clenches his jaw yet again, directing his statement to the next older man. “Rikishi.” He runs a hand over his face. “Meet with the Elders. Tell them about the assassination attempt. That it was Miller. Nothing about the plan. And leave it at that.”

Rikishi removes his glasses, sitting up at the table. “Roman, the Elders should know—” 

“The Elders know what I want them to know, and I want them to know that someone tried to kill my wife, and I’m handling it. That’s it.” Incapable of dealing with any more of this shit, Roman stands up from the chair, turning his back on the rest of his family. “Wise Man, let’s go.”

The obese man also shoots up from the chair, nearly tripping over his feet as he wordlessly follows Roman out of the room. 

Left alone is just Rikishi and his sons, the patriarch asking, “she tried to kill herself?”

Jimmy and Jey wear similar frowns, recalling the horrific truth they learned about their ‘Soso’ just hours prior. Jimmy shuts his eyes, unable to push away the memory of a hysterical Naomi throwing herself into his chest at the memory of finding Solana unconscious. 

“It’s….it’s a long story,” Jey answers in a low voice, wanting to be respectful. Aware or not, Solana’s story is hers to tell and hers only. 

Truthfully, he’s slightly surprised Roman even disclosed that part of the past 24 hours. 

“Yeah, there’s a lot of the story that Roman left out,” Solo suddenly finds his voice again, sharing directly to his father and brothers. “Like the fact that Roman took that bullet for her.”

“What?” Riksihi asks, shock stamped all over his voice. 

“I was right there. I saw the whole thing. He pushed her out the way.”

Jimmy shrugs. “He protected his wife. What’s wrong with that? We all would have done the same.”

Jey nods in agreement. Rikishi looks torn. 

Solo continues, pointing out. “But, Roman ain’t like us. He’s the Tribal Chief. He needs to act like it.”

“Careful, son,” Rikishi cautions, seemingly breaking from his conflicted state. “Your Uce sits at the head of the table for a reason. His ways may be unorthodox at times, but his reign won’t be questioned. We won’t disrespect him.”

Solo scoffs. “But you’ll disrespect the other Elders by lying for him?”

Jey jumps in, chiding, “man, what’s up with you tonight?”

Solo scoffs, pointing to himself. “Me? I’m not the one whose judgment is clouded. We all know if this was one of us and the roles were reversed with our wives, Roman would want them executed. He’s not thinking straight.” Solo looks around the room, noticing there’s a brief second of silence. “Ya’ll see it too. I’m just the only one who’s willing to say it. Roman is losing focus—”

“That’s enough, Solo.” Rikishi raises his voice, firmer, that of a father. “You’re out of line, son.” 

Solo looks around the room, halfway waiting for his older brothers to jump to his defense, to agree with what they have to know is the truth. But, when that doesn’t happen, he also shoots up from the table, rocking it in the process, leaving the room without another word.

Once gone, Jimmy motions with his thumb. “Man, he is tripping.” He shakes his head, asking his father, “you want us to talk to him?”

“No.” Rikishi answers almost immediately, sighing heavily, running his hand over his face. “I’ll do it….you all just….watch Roman.” He stands up, as Jey mutters something about having the hard job. “And sons….this conversation doesn’t leave this room, understood?” Jimmy and Jey look slightly confused and taken back, Rikishi explaining, “I know you’re both closer with Roman. But, he’s just your cousin. Solo is your brother. He’s definitely tripping, but he’s still your family too, and there’s nothing more important than brotherhood, alright?”

________

Roman awakens with a heavy sigh that’s followed by his eyes closing. 

His sleep has been shit the past few days, and it’s been solely because his bed is cold and empty on the other side. Because he’s sleeping alone, something he once cherished but now can barely tolerate. He didn’t realize just how much he enjoyed Solana’s soft body pressed up against him, the satisfaction he felt waking up to her every morning.

Now, he just awakens to silence or the sound of Dulce whimpering or barking. 

Dulce’s whimpers on the side of the bed remind him of the fact that she’s still sleeping in his room. In their room. On Solana’s side.

Her empty side.

Moving the blankets off, Roman swings his big body over the side of the bed and walks over to motion for her to follow him. “Come on.”

He knows she has to empty her bladder, but he’s grateful for a reason to leave the space that reeks of Solana, a constant reminder of her absence. 

It’s….an experience, to say the least. 

Picking her up, he carries her down the steps, through the house, and out the back sliding door by the kitchen. Roman places her in the grass, letting her do her business as he goes to sit down on the edge of one of the chaise lounge.

He closes his eyes.

Love. 

Suck a weird fucking thing. Something he’s never really understood. 

Or felt. 

Not….not in this aspect at least. 

He’s always been confounded by the emotion that makes people act so outside of their character, clouds their judgment, and seizes their brain in crippling ways. He never saw the appeal in it. Never wanted it.

And then came Solana. 

If someone had told him four months ago that he’d not only be married to a woman he actually cares about let alone would end up loving, he’d probably knock them flat on their ass. Harshly criticize their stupidity at the very least. 

Falling in love with Solana was never the plan. He never wanted this for himself. He just needed to marry to create an official heir. And that was it. She would do her thing, taking care of the kid and whatnot. And he would still do him, continuing his life of commitment free sexual relations with whoever was his flavor of the week. Or day. 

And yet all of that, just the thought of it, sours his expression. 

He doesn’t want anyone other than Solana. Doesn’t desire to be intimate with anyone other than her. It’s her he wants to wake up to every morning, her he wants to make happy. He just wants her. Nobody else.

Because he loves her.

And it’s a shocking, life changing realization he finally stumbled into while sitting at her hospital bed. An epiphany he’s certain was heavily transitioned from subconscious to conscious given the events that transpired that night.

She almost died, was almost shot, and there’s not a fucking part of him would do anything differently. He’d take that bullet and any other bullet for her anytime. 

Because he loves her.

He stood between her and her piece of shit father, not thinking twice about it, only knowing that decision would forever negatively change her life. Thinking how he promised her he would never let her end up in that position. 

Because he loves her. 

And he sat at her hospital bed, holding her hand, pouring his heart out to her because the second those infamous words left Jey’s mouth, his world nearly collapsed. He couldn’t think straight as he rushed to the hospital, uncaring and uninterested in anything except being with her, holding her, catering to her. Whatever she needed. He just needs her to be okay. 

Because he loves her.

Roman’s head tilts back, the weight of all this lying on his chest. 

He can’t deny it. Can’t deny he loves her. Not to himself, at least. He just doesn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

There’s…..there’s no room for love in his life. No place for it. Love is weakness, and Roman has never and can never be weak. He’s the Tribal Chief. The Head of the Table. The leader of the Bloodline and Cosa Nostra. There is no space for weakness.

Or love. 

And yet….it’s there.

It’s there for her. 

Dulce walking over to the chaise lounge that Roman realizes is usually the one she sits on when she’s writing brings him back to the sadness that creeps in at her absence. Dulce must feel the same as she lays down, ears also down, whimpering.

Roman beckons her over, watching as she slowly walks over to his feet, ears still down as he picks her up and places her on his lap. It’s something not even a week ago he would probably do. But, that was then, and this is now. 

And now, he almost feels a sense of duty to Solana’s puppy. 

Because it’s this same puppy, he’s learned, that barked nonstop at Bayley and Naomi, running over to Solana and starting to cry, effectively alerting them that something was wrong.

Very wrong.

With an uncharacteristic level of emotion, Roman gently strokes the top of her head. “You saved her life….” For his own mental sanity, Roman chooses not to think about what the alternative could have been. What his reality would be if this small, five pound animal didn’t have such a close, protective bond to her human. “Thank you.”

Dulce whimpers in response, laying her body on his lap, staring at the empty pool chair. 

Roman sighs, eyes shutting again. 

The emotion is undeniable as he acknowledges in a soft voice. “I miss her too..”

This shit is much harder than he realized. 

________

Roman: How are you doing? 

Solana glances at her lock screen at hearing the familiar, personalized notification sound. The sound she set specifically for texts from her husband. Her smile is already set on her face but settles into something deeper as another message slides in.

Roman: Do you need me to come home?

Placing the pencil down on the nearest surface, she swaps out her task at hand for a brief break to respond to the question she anticipated would be proposed at some point in the day. 

Just not this soon, perhaps.

Solana wipes one hand on her shorts, the other unlocking her phone to open his thread. Preparing to reply, her gaze shifts over to her sweet baby boy, sleeping peacefully in his infant pillow. Low, relaxing music plays from her Alexa on the nightstand, lulling and keeping him in his slumber. Similarly, Dulce lays peacefully in her bed on Solana’s side of the bed, curled into a little ball.

The smile somehow grows deeper.

Solana: I’m okay. You don’t need to come home, really.

Solana quickly snaps a photo of the baby and includes it with her next message.

Solana: We’re good. :) 

Solana brings her finger to gently caress her son’s cheek. He has such a calm disposition about him. Even at 6 weeks. She can just see he’s taken on more of her demeanor than his dad’s. Granted, she also noticed the same thing about her oldest twin, only for her to gradually be morphing into the female version of her father.

Roman hearting the photo captures her attention once again followed by his reply, which seems to be the result of long distance mind reading.

Roman: He’s been a lot easier than the girls were. But, time will tell. 

Roman: Where are they?

She giggles, imagining his elongated sigh as he considers what could be in store for them once their son starts to get bigger and older. Can move around and get into things with his sisters. It’s more likely than not bound to happen.

Solana: In their playrooms. They’ve been surprisingly quiet too….for now. Lol

Solana knows her girls well enough to know silence with them, mostly when they’re together, isn’t usually long lived. The quieter of the two is very much like Solana, able to stay and keep to herself just fine without making much or any noise. Her sister, however, older by 6 minutes exactly, is not.

She is rambunctious and loud and loves to be moving. And when they’re together, that adventurous nature rubs off on Solana’s twin, usually resulting in them getting into something. More often than not.

Roman: I talked to them last night. Reminded them it's important they listen and help you out.

This is something she already knew, having overheard as he put them to bed while she catered to their newborn. He’s done that a lot since the birth of their son. Really taken over as much as he can with helping the girls, when it’s something he can do. And if he can’t do it, like them wanting to do art with her or bake something, usually the youngest vs the oldest, he’s on baby duty. 

Whether he realizes it or not, he truly is great at being a dad. Though something tells her, always has, that even three kids deep, he struggles with that insecurity at not being good at it.

Not being good enough.

Roman: I still think it was too early for me to come back to work and leave you alone with everything.

And there it is. What Solana already knew he was thinking but is happy to see him finally admit. Roman’s been working from home the past six weeks, since the birth of their son. And while she’s appreciated having him home, helping her out with managing their growing family, it was time for him to return back to the ‘office.’ 

She knows he worries about her, worries about her feeling overwhelmed, but she’s been good the past few years with being open with him. That hasn’t and won’t change. 

Solana: You were going to have to go back eventually, Ro. I’m okay, really. The girls really don’t cause me any issues. And he’s easy.

Solana: Outside of when he’s groping and squeezing the mess out of my breast. 😅

Breastfeeding has never been much of an issue for Solana. And, while it was definitely a bit of a challenge breastfeeding twins, there was never a pressing enough problem for her to not consider doing the same for her third child.

Granted, unlike the girls who, at most, felt around her breast while getting their fill, her son is more handsy. His little palms often slapping, squeezing and even scratching with his nails she makes sure to try to keep cut low. 

She chuckles, thinking about how this could very much be another small sign she’s in store for yet another energetic child. It lines up though. Even when he’s sleepy, little scowl on his face, she sees Roman. In all of the children, really. But with him, the way his little lips dip and light eyebrows cave into a look of unmistakable disapproval, usually when she takes too long to pick him up or feed him, that’s all Roman.

Roman: Smart kid. 

She giggles, sending out a reply that’s a result of years of growing more comfortable with teetering the lines of risque topics and innuendos.

Solana: Your kid, clearly. 😅

Roman: Damn straight.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she keeps the conversation going with another risky text. 

Solana: Just two more weeks until I’m….cleared. 

Over the years, and as she’s continued to heal, Solana has found herself with a sexual appetite that’s nowhere near her husband’s nor most women her age, but it’s there. Coming and going. Ebbing and flowing. And lately, it’s been on the flowing side.

Roman: We should wait longer. 

Roman: I’m not taking any risks.

She sighs at his reply that’s not entirely unsurprising. He absolutely would want to go past the recommended 8 weeks that she was told by her doctor that they would need to wait to resume intimacy. An extended period of time than the usual 6 weeks due to the second degree tear she sustained while birthing her third child. A thing that can happen during childbirth and wasn’t anything too serious, but something she knows her husband sees as just that.

Thus him wanting to not ‘take any risks.’ 

Solana: I understand.

Understanding is different from agreeing, but she won’t push him on it. 

Solana: Besides, don’t want to risk another baby.

Solana: Just yet anyway….

Having this conversation over text probably isn’t the way to go, but she has no doubt he’ll talk with her about it more in person when he comes home tonight, after all three kids are down for bed.

That doesn’t mean they can’t start it now, at least, though.

Roman: Seriously? You really want another baby?

Roman: He isn’t even a year yet.

Roman: You forget I’m 10 years older than you. I’m getting too old for all these kids, Solana.

It’s true they just welcomed their baby boy not even two months ago. And Roman is aging. He’s older, the gray in his beard spreading by the day, but he’s still just as active and fit into his forties as he was when they met years prior. Thus, he’s exaggerating. 

Solana: No, you’re not.

Solana: And that wasn’t a no…..

His reply comes in a bit quicker than she was anticipating. 

Roman: It wasn’t. 

She smiles. Solana has learned her husband well over the years. Knows him well enough to know that if there wasn’t a part of him also interested in maybe having another child, he would be clear about his standpoint. He would express his disagreement. 

So his comment would suggest he’s not team no. That he’s open, and his following texts confirm as such.

Roman: But, this would be it. Four is more than enough.

She smiles, knowing that this definitely will still be discussed in person tonight but happy that he’s unwilling to deny himself. Solana’s love for him has only deepened since seeing him step into the role of fatherhood. 

She just wishes she could get him to see how good he is at this. The girls wouldn’t adore him as much as they do if he was bad at it, per se.

But, he’s not.

If only he could see it. 

Solana: Unless we get another set of twins….😅

Roman: Jesus Christ 

Solana giggles, imagining the look he must have on his face. Probably similar to when they found out about the girls. She wasn’t entirely surprised given how strongly twins run on his side of the family.

But, he most certainly was.

A quiet knock pulls her from the conversation as she lays her eyes on the twins who are waiting by the door with hesitant expressions. She waves them over, placing her finger over her mouth to remind them to be quiet to avoid waking up the still sleeping baby.

They tip toe over to her, moving to her side of the bed, leaning over and looking at him. The oldest is the one to ask, whispering, “why does he sleep so much, mama?”

Solana chuckles. “That’s what babies do. They need a lot of sleep to grow big and strong.”

The quieter of the two of them deviates from her usual silence to predict, “he’s gonna be big and strong like papa.”

The oldest, however, doesn’t hesitate to reiterate. “I’m still gonna be the tribal chief though.”

Solana has such a torn reaction she does well at hiding. As much as she loves how much her technically first born admires Roman and wants to be just like him, she also has no idea just what it is that Roman really does. The true weight that comes with wearing the Ula Fala. 

Or the fact that by his family’s laws and traditions, their son is the true heir to the Bloodline. Granted, she also suspects it’s those same laws and traditions Roman will fight tooth and nail to change should their daughter, even after knowing the truth about the Bloodline, still want to pursue taking his place when the time comes for him to step down.

Roman would do anything to give her just as much a chance to the keys to the kingdom as her brother.

But, that’s so far down the line, and Solana doesn’t like thinking about it too much. She just wants to enjoy her children as they are now, innocent and oblivious.

Ms. Quiet stays on her talking streak, asking quietly, “can we still go to aunt Bayley’s house today?”

Solana nods. She briefly forgot about that, but it’s still very much doable. “Of course.” 

The girls gasp and look at each other, Solana already knowing another request is about to follow. Roman’s little twin ends up being the one to ask, “mama, can we go see papa at his office before?”

She shouldn’t be surprised. One of their favorite things to do is stop by and see Roman while he’s at work. Something she hasn’t done in some time, not since the birth of her son and even then, it had been a few months.

Solana starts to text and ask him if he’s busy, but one look at the happiness on the girls’ faces at being able to see their dad, and she knows she doesn’t need to.

She knows there’s no way on God’s green earth that he would turn them away, even if he stopped or canceled a meeting just to interact with them.

That’s just the kind of father he is.

His kids come first. 

With excitement bubbling in her stomach at seeing her husband, Solana takes a glance at her son, smile growing as he stirs, clearly just as ready to see daddy. 

She then looks back at her just excited girls, sharing, “time to go see papa.”

“Time to get up.”

Solana has to blink a couple of times to reorient herself, almost entirely due to the shocking nature of her dream. A dream she’s now had every night since being admitted to the hospital, glimpses, and what feels like peeks, into the future.

Her future.

But, at the same time, it’s a distant thing that seems unattainable and unrealistic given where she is now. On a legally mandated psychiatric hold after attempting to die by suicide.

“You up, sweetie?”

Solana nods and sits up in the bed, accepting the water and pills in the small medicine bowl. She doesn’t hesitate to swallow all three, offering a small smile to the nurse who’s been assigned to her, making sure she takes her medication as prescribed.

The nurse, Carol, she thinks, reminds, “breakfast starts in twenty.”

Solana nods, pushing back some of her hair, waiting for the older woman to leave before she lays back down on the bed. 

She shuts her eyes. 

The past few days have been…..an experience. An emotional ride unlike any she’s been on in years. The last time she can recall struggling and feeling as heavy as she was was when she woke up from her coma and had it confirmed that her mother was dead. Something she knew but held onto the invisible string of hope that Nina somehow survived. 

Even though Solana still recalls the moment she heard and saw her mother take her last breath. 

It’s a weight that’s lessened tremendously over the past couple of days, since she woke up yet a second time, less irrational, not as hysterical. Part of her reaction was most definitely due to still feeling suicidal, still believing that being dead would be better for everyone. But her reaction was exacerbated by the fact that two male nurses moved to restrain her as she tried to move from the hospital bed. Having male hands on her like that was triggering and made her emotions that much more difficult to manage in an already tense situation.

But the second time she awoke, Solana saw nothing but women. Truth be told, she’s only had women on her care team since being admitted. It’s made such a big difference. 

All of it has.

Being in this space, so separated from the outside world. It’s been both difficult and welcomed. A nice escape from a recently draining reality but also a heavy separation that she’s brought up a couple times now in her individual therapy sessions with her therapist, Gail.

That is the difficulty in being separated from Roman. It’s a dichotomy. As much as she wants to see and talk to him, she wants to hide and avoid him. She wants to explain yet also never have to discuss it again. An avoidance behavior that is typical for survivors of suicide attempts, another thing she’s learned in therapy thus far. 

But more than anything, Solana just wants to talk to him. She remembers from when she was admitted as a teen following her first attempt that communication is typically cut off from the outside. She just didn’t realize it would be the same protocol as an adult. 

Something intended to avoid patients from being re-triggered. She gets that, but it doesn't make her miss him any less. 

This is the first time they’ve been separated from one another since before the wedding, and it’s not a fun experience. 

But yet….

It’s not a horrible experience either.

No one wants to be in the hospital. And no one definitely wants to be in the hospital on a legal hold because they’ve been deemed a danger to themselves and thus needs 24/7 supervision.

That part sucks, but what hasn’t sucked for Solana is being able to be as honest and vulnerable as she needs to be. To cry and fully acknowledge the extent of her feelings, to be as raw as she’s been in her therapy sessions thus far with Gail. The woman whose kind smile, non-judgemental and self-disclosure of also being violated has created such a safe space for her. 

Solana knew, knows, that she can talk to Roman. That he’s made it clear there’s nothing she can’t discuss with him. But, there’s something about speaking to another woman, someone who’s also sadly been through something similar that’s….that’s healing, almost. 

Knowing Carol will be back for another reminder about breakfast, Solana pulls from her thoughts and leaves her bed to start her day.

Everything in the hospital is planned, time cut out for everything from meds, breakfast, group therapy, individual therapy and more. There’s only so much time in the day that’s reserved as ‘free time,’ though being hospitalized doesn’t present a ton of options for one to choose from during said ‘free time.’

However, Solana has always been able to occupy herself and keep herself busy, and this is no different. 

Later that day, she’s in one of the common areas, utilizing her free time with one of her favorite coping mechanisms. One she’s recently revisited and brought back to lean on. Pencil in hand, Solana uses the sketchbook she was given by Gail. No particular drawing in mind, it’s not missed on her how the bare bones outline of the face she’s drawing has very similar features to that of her husband.

“Hey.”

Solana lifts her head from the page, landing on two women who she’s seen in passing and up close in her group therapy. Both are brunette with similar heights yet different builds. The shorter one looks like she keeps herself in the gym, slender muscles visible even with the hospital provided clothing they all wear. The other is a few inches taller and curvier, her breast stretched against the material. The shorter one is the one who spoke. One looks amenable, the other does not. The one who spoke is, unfortunately, not the one with the friendly expression.

Solana swallows, gaze somewhat traveling as she sees one of the orderlies already watching the interaction. Closely. He’s a big man whose size looks disproportionate to the job he holds here, and she’s noticed him watching her a couple of times. Yet, it’s never been a predatory gaze. Almost…..protective.

“Solana, right?” She nods as the two women plop on the other sofa adjacent to the one Solana sits on. “I’m AJ, and this is Candice.” She gestures to the other woman with her thumb, the brunette waving and smiling almost giddily. Before Solana can say anything else, AJ is leaned over, asking in a low voice. “You’re Roman’s wife, right?”

Solana tenses. For some reason, that rubs her the wrong way, sends an unfamiliar chill up her spine. Something in her tells her to lie, but it’s no use in denying the obvious. “Yes.”

AJ snorts and sits back, arm lazily lounged up on the top of the sofa. “Well, I was gonna ask you how’d you end up here, but I guess that’s an obvious answer.” AJ laughs darkly, making her comment to Candice but directing it towards Solana. “I’d try to off myself too if I had to be married to that son of a bitch.”

Clearly, Solana has not been in a good place recently, hence her current situation. Her emotions have been all over the place. That’s why she chalks up her next actions to the fact that she’s still coming down from her relapse. 

Closing up the sketchpad, Solana sits up and doesn't stutter as she states clearly and concisely to AJ, “you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, so why don’t you just shut up and leave me alone?” 

Candice's shock matches that of Solana’s, but the former doesn’t back down. Doesn’t suddenly regret her statement. Maybe it’s adrenaline. Maybe it’s the fact that Solana feels the anger stirring inside her at even the insinuation that Roman could ever be the cause of her trying to end her life.

When he’s the one that saved it. 

AJ, however, doesn’t look shocked. She looks pissed off.

And then she’s smiling. 

“Oh, sweetie, you have no idea who you’re messing with.” AJ starts to stand up, Candice following suit though she looks more confused and dumbfounded than anything. Like she’s there but not here. “Your psychopath husband isn’t here to save you—”

“You lay one hand on her, and I’ll snap your fucking neck like a twig.”

Three sets of eyes land on the figure who’s way too big for them to have not heard his footsteps, but that’s exactly what’s happened. The orderly who Solana has noticed watching her since her admission is standing almost protectively beside where she still sits on the sofa. His gaze and voice are hard as steel, focused on AJ and Candice. “I suggest you leave. Now. And stay the hell away from her.”

Solana looks between this man who, for some reason, is defending her and AJ, who still looks more amused than anything. She scoffs. “Of course.” Frowning, Solana is still stuck on the fact that this orderly who’s working in a psychiatric wing for women who’ve tried to kill themselves just threatened to kill another woman when AJ simply turns to walk away, Candice hot on her heel.

And as soon as they're out of the vicinity, the man steps back, as if wanting to grant Solana space. He then exclaims, further deepening her shock, “you’ll be safe here, Mrs. Reigns. You have my word.” 

Mrs. Reigns…..

Solana is suddenly taken back to her birthday trip, the way she was addressed by the pilots, the chef, and anyone else that Roman hired to assist them on their vacation. And that’s when it hits her.

“Bloodline…..” It makes so much sense. Why he’s always seemed to be around when she’s not in her room, the way he’s watched her almost nonstop since she arrived, the way he intervened just now. “You’re Bloodline.”

“Dave.” He offers a small, respectful smile that’s all the answer she needs. “But everyone calls me by my last name, Bautista.”

________

“Hey.”

It’s interesting how a simple word can bring on such a reaction.

Just yesterday, the same word was said to her and followed up with a not terrible but strange interaction.

She can only pray this time around is different. 

Solana takes a second to pause and shut her eyes before she looks up from her inner arm where she works on the assignment given in her first group therapy session.

Her eyes land on three women, all familiar faces because they’re all in her group. However, she’s never directly spoken to them prior to now.

Solana swallows and offers a small smile. “Hi….” 

Solana studies all of them, different in skintones, builds, hair colors and even facial expressions. The one who spoke first pushes her raven hair over shoulder and clears her throat, asking, “is it—is it true that your husband had the orderlies and security replaced with Bloodline members?”

The question takes her back, Solana unsure of how to respond, not because she doesn’t know the answer. She does. Baustista indirectly confirming that he was sent by her husband to watch over her has made Solana realize that it’s not just him who she catches watching her whenever she’s not in her room. It’s other men as well. Big, strong, much too in shape for a job like this.

The only logical thing that makes sense to her is that Roman is, once again, looking out for her. As he always does. 

“That’s pretty fucking cool. If so.” Another one comments, her brunette pulled to the side of her neck as she sits down on the sofa opposite Solana. “It was even better seeing AJ put in her place.”

Solana swallows, quite unsure just how to respond to that. “I—I don’t want to cause any problems.”

The first woman scoffs, also sitting down next to the other lady. “You might not, but AJ does. I honestly don’t know why they don’t put her in the other wing with Victoria.”

“The other wing?”

The third woman breaks her silence, explaining, her voice quiet and typical for her equally unassuming demeanor. “There’s two psychiatric wings here. The one we’re in and another for more….severe cases.”

“I.e. the really crazy bitches.”

“Melina!” The woman with brunette hair shakes her head, smiling a little as she formally introduces everyone. “I’m Mickey. This is Melina, and that’s Cameron, but we call her Cam.”

For some reasons, the names fit all of them, Solana moving to the side as Cam gestures to the space next to her and takes an almost apprehensive seat. 

“Solana—”

“Oh, everyone knows who you are, girl.” Mickey snickers, leaning back into the sofa and crossing her legs over one another. “You might just be my new favorite person.”

Solana frowns, completely lost at this seemingly random title. “I don’t—-I don’t understand.”

“AJ thinks she runs shit around here. Her and that dumbass friend of hers, Candice Michelle.” Melina explains, shaking her head. “AJ definitely should be in the other ward with Victoria. She’s the psychiatrist that runs it. Doesn’t put up with shit. Almost polar opposite of Dr. Stratus.”

Solana doesn’t know much beyond what’s being said, but something tells her she’s most definitely in the better of two places. Even if just getting to have Dr. Stratus manages her meds. She really likes her. 

However, this conversation brings up a very valid question that Solana doesn’t exactly know how to word very well but finds it in her to ask. “So you all….you’ve been here before?” 

It’s obvious, given the fact that they’re all so familiar with each other and dynamics. Same with this AJ and Candice person, but Solana doesn’t want to assume.

There’s a silence that falls over the women, and Solana instantly feels bad, feels silly for not recognizing how invasive that question is. However, before she can apologize, Cam is the one to speak up.

Shrugging, her smile is tight and undeniably sad as she says so simply, “demons are hard to kill.”

And just like that, Solana has never related to something more.

Feeling overcome with an almost duty to share, her eyes drop to her arms, the intricate outlines of butterflies camouflaging the scars that will never fully go away. “I get that……I really do.”

Looking up, Solana feels the set of understanding gazes on her, instantly knowing without any of them needing to share specifics that they just get it. They understand the specific and tragic ways one can end up in a place like this, oftentimes due to demons beyond their slaughtering capabilities. 

Mickey clears her throat, gesturing to Solana’s arm. “You’re really good.”

She glances down at her still unfinished art, a small smile falling on her face. “Thank you.” An idea crosses her mind as she notices each of them attempted to follow through on the assignment as well but clearly struggled. “I can—I can help, if you want?” 

Cam gasps, obviously excited by the idea of it. “Really?”

Solana’s smile grows as she explains, “I—I love art.”

Mickey squeals almost and pulls out a black sharpie from her bra, shrugging with a playful smile. 

“We were kinda hoping you said that.”

________

“You’re quiet today.” Gail’s assessment continues as she asks in a gentle voice, “are you nervous?”

Nervous is an understatement. Solana fidgets on the sofa, running her hands down her sweats. “I—I haven’t seen or spoken to him since….you know.”

Gail presses her lips together, nodding. “You don’t know what to expect.”

Solana nods, eyes starting to water. “I don’t—I don’t want him to be upset with me.” 

It’s officially been a week since Solana has been admitted into the psychiatric ward. An interesting experience, to say the least. She’s made enemies, made ‘friends’, worked through and started to process with a professional so much of her trauma, and more. And while her longing for seeing and speaking to her husband has only continued to grow by the day. The day finally being here where she’s allowed a visitor, where he will come to see her this evening feels almost….it feels too soon.

She’s just so nervous, unsure of what that reunion is going to look like. 

Gail sees the thoughts brewing in her client’s head as she asks in an attempt to redirect, “are you responsible for his emotions?”

“No, but….but I—” When she struggles to get out a coherent response, Gail presents a thought provoking question.

“Solana, based upon what you know about Roman, what’s more likely? That he’ll be upset with you or that he’ll just be happy that you’re alive?”

It’s such a good question, one that has the emotion bubbling in the back of her throat, emotion she shows as silent tears begin to fall. “I—I want him to be happy, but…..”

“You’re still struggling with feeling like a burden to him….” It’s an assessment by her therapist that is wholly correct, but one Solana can’t verbally comment on, only offering her agreement with a silent head nod. “Do you remember the exercise we did a couple of sessions ago about faulty thinking? About the ways your trauma influences your thinking.” 

Solana reflects back on that session, so heavy yet so helpful. It provided her such insight on just how deeply her experiences have painted her view of so much. Of everything, really. Including how she so lowly views herself sometimes. 

“I want you to think about that and compare it to the thoughts that you’re having now……where are they coming from?”

Solana closes her eyes and blows out a breath. “My…my fear.”

“And if your fear was a living, breathing entity sitting opposite beside you right now, how would you combat it? Think about the cognitive challenging we discussed.”

Keeping her eyes shut, Solana travels back to that session, utilizing the skills and tips and knowledge she’s learned since her admission.

She takes an ‘efficient breath’, as Gail calls them. “I’d tell my fear that….that you don’t get to control me anymore.”

Gail smiles softly, gently encouraging the young woman to continue. “What else?”

Silent tears continue to fall, but Solana’s voice remains firm and unwavering. “And that….that Roman cares about me and just wants me to be okay and….and get better.”

Gail hasn’t felt so proud and pleased with a client’s response to the empty chair exercise in quite a while. “Exactly.” She sits back in her own chair, jotting down some notes. “Can I ask what you’re feeling right now?”

Solana finally opens her eyes and wipes at her eyes, scoffing quietly. “A…a little better, actually.” She motions to her chest. “It doesn’t….it doesn’t feel as heavy.”

“Good.” Gail makes note of this and starts to ask a follow up processing question when Solana’s soft voice beats her to it.

“Can…..can I talk about something with you?”

Gail’s grin is warm and welcoming as she offers genuine assurance. “Solana, there’s nothing we can’t discuss here.” She’s pleased to see Solana’s smile grow at this reassurance. “What would you like to talk about?”

Feeling on the spot all of a sudden, despite being the one who initiated the conversation, Solana does her best to manage and push through her anxiety. “I—I’ve been….I’ve been having dreams since I got here.”

Gail is mindful of her expression as she asks in a soft voice, “dreams or…..”

Sensing what she’s asking, Solana quickly shakes her head. “No. Not those. Not nightmares. They….they really are dreams. Good dreams, I—I think.”

Studying her, Gail assesses. “You seem unsure.” 

Deciding to bite the bullet, Solana shares in a low voice, “they’re dreams of me in the future…..as….as a mother.”

Gail nods. “I see.” She makes note of one of Solana’s nonverbals. “You’re smiling right now.”

Sniffling, Solana continues to share and exhibit so much vulnerability, most of which is solely because of how safe and non-judged Gail has made her feel. “In the dreams, we have three kids. Twin girls and a baby boy.” She wipes at her nose and swallows deeply. “I—I want to be a mom someday, but I don’t….I don’t want to be a bad mom.”

If these dreams have shown her anything, it’s that she wants more than anything to be a positive influence in her future child, or children's, lives. She doesn’t want to cause them even a fraction of the parental trauma she’s experienced. 

And deep down, Solana knows that she’s absolutely nothing like her father.

But, she knows she’s very much been deeply impacted by her fathers’ abuse. By all of her trauma. And the last thing she wants is for any of that to negatively influence her children. 

“Solana, what makes you think you could ever be a bad mother?” She shrugs, shutting down a bit. Gail sighs lowly, offering words of affirmation and support. “You are not a bad person. You are not a broken person. Not a damaged person. Just a person who’s been dealt some not so  great cards, but you’re here, working on these things. Working on becoming a healthier version of yourself.” Gail chuckles, pointing out, “that doesn’t sound like a bad future mother to me.”

Really sitting on the words of encouragement and doing her best to not let the self-doubt creep in, Solana asks in a voice barely above a whisper, “do you….do you really think I could be a good mother?”

Gail’s response is almost immediate, not a thought to be had as she answers honestly, “Solana, I think you could be a damn good mother.” 

Solana laughs, emotion seeping in as she nods, utterly grateful for such kind words. “Thank….thank you. That….that means a lot to me.”

“Of course.” Gail would like to process this more, maybe get into some additional trauma work, but there’s another important thing on her agenda for this session. “Solana, as you know, your hold will be up exactly one week from now, meaning you’ll be officially discharged and allowed to return home.”

Solana eyes lighten up at that, an expected reaction as Gail gently slides into a deeper conversation pertaining to her release. “But, there’s something I would like to speak to you about.”

________

Roman doesn’t think twice as he walks into the room that’s suspiciously quiet to be located in a hospital, decorated just as one would expect a therapist’s office to look. He only briefly takes a look around before plopping his big body down on the sofa. 

He didn’t even pay any attention to the fact that Gail was attempting to extend an olive branch, offering a handshake that he so rudely ignored, clearly ready to get this over with.

She keeps her togetherness, offering a verbal introduction. “Thank you for com—”

“This has to do with Solana, right?”

Gail makes a face, pressing her lips together as she chuckles quietly. “Of course.”

“Then get to it.” Roman is quick with the demands, asking, “how is she doing?”

Gail offers a tight smile. “I’m Gail Kim, the therapist on staff who’s been handling Solana’s individual therapy sessions.”

“Did I ask you who you were?” His stare is cold and uninterested. “I asked you how she’s doing.”

Sighing, Gail refers to the tablet on her lap, opening up the notes she’s happy that she prepared ahead of time. This is going exactly as she predicted it would. “Your wife is no longer endorsing suicidal ideation which means she’s denying any thoughts and plans to take her life, which is significant progress considering it’s only been a week—”

There’s a hint of hopefulness in both his expression and voice as he asks, “so, she’s ready to come home?”

Gail hesitates. “Not exactly.”

The previous hopefulness melts into something cold and harsh. Roman is visibly and understandably irritated. “You just said she’s not suicidal anymore.”

“Yes, but it’s not that simple. Solana is….she’s an interesting case. Her trauma history is significant. Though she seems to be on the way to stabilization, there’s still a lot of work that needs to be done. She needs continued professional help.”

“Isn’t that why she’s here with you?” His tone is cruel and condescending. “If you’re too fucking incompetent to help her, let me take her home, so I can.”

Gail bites the inside of her cheek. If this was anyone else, she would set them straight on the importance of mutual respect. But, this isn’t just anyone. This is Roman Reigns, and she’s well aware of the fact that one wrong statement or sign of disrespect could very well end her life, so she does her best to remain calm and professional. And she tries an alternative approach. 

“You know, one of the exercises she did in an individual session asks about what safe spaces she has, sources of support and whatnot. And you know what she put down for almost every answer?” Gail gives a small, closed mouth smile. “You.” Well trained in reading nonverbals, she picks up on the brief giveaway sign of emotion that flashes in Roman’s eyes at this. “She put down that you are her number one reason for wanting to live.” 

There’s a good minute of silence before Roman asks in an uncharacteristically low voice. “So why did she do it?”

Gail's smile shifts into a solemn frown. “I’ll leave that discussion to the two of you. She’s expressed wanting to talk with you about that directly.”

“I’m asking you.”

Gail leans back in her chair and goes a different route. “It’s okay to be upset with her. To be angry at her. To be angry at and blame yourself.” Gail catches just a glimpse of surprise in his eyes at the last part. “To actually feel your feelings.”

Roman, however, is uninterested in any of this. Offended even. “Why the hell would I be angry at her?”

“Why wouldn’t you be? She tried to leave you. That’s essentially what suicide is. Escapism. It provides the patient with the peace they’re looking for but leaves the loved ones left behind with a world of questions and emotions.” She explains, mindful of her tone and voice. “Two truths can exist in the same universe. You can be happy she wasn’t successful and still angry at her for trying in the first place.”

Roman is quiet for a good two minutes, Gail wondering if she should transition to another topic when he breaks said silence in that same low voice. 

“I don’t understand why she didn’t call me. I told her to tell me if…..if those thoughts ever returned.”

“But she didn’t…..” Gail’s voice softens as she adds, almost empathetically. “I think you’ll find talking with her will give you some of the answers you’re looking for. But, they truly should come from her.”

Roman won’t push. He wants to, but won’t. If this is something Solana wants to discuss with him herself, he’ll respect that. So long as it’s not triggering to her, which it seems, surprisingly, it’s not. 

Gail clears her throat and transitions to the next section. “Dr. Stratus started her on a medication regimen of Sertraline, 50mg and Wellbutrin, 100mg, once a day in the morning as well as Hydroxyzine, PRN, which means as needed. The Sertraline and Wellbutrin are antidepressants, and Hydroxyzine can be taken when she starts to feel overwhelmed or triggered. So far, she’s responding well, though it typically takes 4 to 6 weeks for patients to truly notice the full benefits.” 

Roman nods, as Gina or whatever her name is, continues to explain what’s otherwise obvious. 

“We’ve been administering her medication and given how she attempted to take her life, Dr. Stratus and I strongly advise that you or someone else take over that administration upon her discharge—”

“Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to allow her to have unmonitored access to pills again?” Roman doesn’t even try, not that he was before, to hide his frustration and irritation. She’s acting like he’s stupid. His degrees may be in business, but one doesn’t need to have a degree in behavioral health to know thatyou don’t give a formerly suicidal person free access to the same method they used to take their life. 

Gail, however, decides to not feed into it. “You know, anger is sometimes just anger. Just people mad as hell. But sometimes….sometimes it’s what we call a blanket emotion, meaning there are other feelings hiding beneath it, being presented as anger.”

Roma sits forward. “Just what the hell are you trying to insinuate?”

“Nothing at all, Mr. Reigns.” A small smile falls on her face, and that only pisses him off even more. Is this bitch trying to patronize him or something? “But, you should know that we offer support for spouses and loved ones like yourself who are supporting—”

“The only thing I need for you to do is to help my wife, so I can get her the hell out of this place and home where she belongs.”

Gail takes a deep breath. 

It was worth a try. 

“I want to show you something.” She stands up from her chair, moving to her desk as she pulls out a key to unlock the drawer. “Solana signed a full release authorizing us to share all details regarding her care with you. But, there are some things she’s explicitly expressed you not being okay with knowing and seeing. This is not one of them. And I think you would find it interesting….”

If not for the fact that the therapist already made it clear that safety concerns and suicidality are exceptions to confidentiality, Roman would be concerned, wondering just what exactly Solana doesn’t want him to know.

But something tells him she’s perhaps opened up in therapy about specifics regarding her trauma more than she has with him, and if that’s the case, his only hope is that this woman knows what she’s doing and doesn’t trigger Solana further.

She walks back over, handing him a set of sheets. Roman takes them, immediately noticing the handwriting. 

Solana’s handwriting. 

He gets to reading the bolded question that each has answers of varying length.

Who is your safe person? What makes this person safe?

My husband. He’s the first man in my life to not hurt me. The first man I’ve ever trusted.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you trust this person with 1 being none and 10 being absolute trust?

 10

How does this person make you feel safe?

He’s patient with me and listens to me and makes me feel beautiful.

How does this person serve as a member of your support system?

He listens to me and always checks on me. 

How long have you experienced thoughts/urges/practices of self-harming behavior including suicidal ideation and/or attempts?

The first time I felt like I didn't want to be alive anymore was when I was ten. I woke up from my coma and realized my mother was dead. I just wanted to be with her. But it’s my brother constantly telling me I should kill myself after my mom’s murder that made me seriously think about doing it. 

He would tell me that it should have been me who died, and I should just kill myself because no one wanted me.

And I started to believe him. 

It’s been on and off since then.

Has there been a point in time where you have not had these thoughts/urges?

Yes. For the past four months. 

If you answered yes to the previous question, what caused or contributed to the cessation of these thoughts/urges?

I met my husband. I had real friends for the first time. I found myself having a real family for the first time in a long time. 

I was happy.

Prior to this gap, when was the last time you experienced any of these thoughts? What triggered them?

The day of my wedding. This was before I got to know my husband. I was scared he was going to beat me like my dad and brother.

What happened to re-trigger you? If uncomfortable sharing, list the emotions you felt during this episode. 

Sadness. Anger. Confusion.

Do you remember what thoughts you were experiencing before the suicidal and self-harming ideation returned? What were they?

I couldn’t stop thinking about my rape and my mother’s murder. It was like I was reliving them over and over again, and I couldn’t get the memories and flashbacks to stop. It felt like all my progress was reversed, and I’d have to start over, and I didn’t want to put my husband and family through that, as they’re the reason I even started to heal.

I just didn’t want to be in pain anymore, and I thought everyone would be happier if I was dead. I didn’t want to be a burden to my husband.

Looking back and reflecting on your thoughts, have they changed? And if so, how?

I don’t want to die. I still don’t feel as good as I was feeling before I found out the truth, but I’m not thinking or wanting to kill myself anymore. I still have a lot of things I want to do. I’m not ready to be done here. Just want to get better.

 Do you wish you would have done something different? What could you have done differently?

Yes.

Called my husband. 

Can you identify at least one reason your life is worth living?

Roman 

Roman has oscillated through so many different emotions reading through this worksheet from beginning to end. Anger seems like the dominant emotion, his jaw clenching as he learns how close to the paternal tree Solana’s bitch brother remained..

He’s not much better than Xavier. 

If not worse. 

And Roman is determined to find even more, additional ways to make that fucker suffer the way he made Solana suffer for so many years.

He’s also livid and something else unknown that on a day that should have been special for her, she was considering taking her own life.

And he hates himself for putting her in that position in the first place. He was the one who wanted to speed everything up, not even considering how traumatic that process could have been for her. 

But he especially doesn’t know how to feel reading just how highly Solana views and feels about him. She hasn’t been very quiet regarding how much she cares about him, but reading her words, her writing, her honesty, it makes him aware of just how much she cares. 

“You mean a lot to her. And her healing and progress moving forward will require your support.” Gail cuts in, voice calm and almost soothing. “One of the things I ask clients all the time is who their support system is and is there anything else they need from this person or persons….she couldn’t tell me a single thing she needs from you that you don’t already give her.” Roman says nothing, not even offering a nonverbal gesture or movement for her to analyze. Thus, Gail continues, reviewing her notes of topics she wanted to touch on with him prior to his seeing Solana in a few hours. “Now, I will say, Solana does exhibit strong codependent tendencies. Specifically with you. She’s extremely attached to you, and while that should probably be addressed at some point, her stabilization is the priority.”

Roman doesn’t pay much, or any, mind to that last part. He doesn’t care what this woman says. Whatever Solana needs, she’ll get. 

Especially if what she wants is him.

Cause he wants her just as much. 

________

Roman doesn’t get nervous. 

Ever.

But, he’s certain what he’s feeling in his fucking stomach is some level of nerves.

And he hates that shit.

Cause why the fuck is he at his grown age feeling anxious about seeing his wife? Perhaps it’s the fact that it’ll be the first time in a week that he’s actually laid eyes on her, seeing her not lying unconscious in a hospital bed. That he’ll be able to have her big brown eyes focused on him. Hear the sound of her voice, so soft and light.

He shuts his eyes.

Fucking nerves.

He decides to pull out his phone as a distraction while security escorts her to him in the visitors section, remembering a text from Paul that he should probably respond to. Not that he wants to, but it’s better standing here feeling fucking stupid and—

“Roman…”

He wasn’t sure just sure how he would respond or react or even feel seeing her for the first time in a week, but Solana is barely able to get his name out of his mouth when Roman snaps his head up from the phone in his hand to the direction of which the voice came. 

It happens a bit too fast for him to even process. The rise and easy falter of her smile, the gloss of her eyes, the tiny scoff of disbelief that leaves her mouth before she’s running toward him.  Roman wastes not a single fucking second to pick her up the minute she throws her body against him. And just like that, almost every trace of irritation, of vexation, of anger melts away.

Roman’s eyes shut as he holds her close against him, noticing how tightly she’s holding him back. 

Her voice cracks followed by a sniffle as she murmurs against his shoulder. “I’ve missed you….”

For a brief second, he’s angry again. Angry because has she been asking for him? And if so, why was he not informed? Stratus has been texting him frequent general updates. That she’s been consistently opening up in individual therapy, not as open in group sessions, often writes and draws during their designated free time, etc.

But nothing about her asking for him. 

He makes a mental note to ask Stratus about that shit, but not now. Now, his focus is entirely focused on the woman in his arms.

“I missed you too.” Saying he missed her feels like an understatement. Roman has been fucking miserable without her around, but what good would it serve her to share as such? So, he keeps it simple but still accurate.

He ignores the small part of him that dislikes when she finally pulls away, but that dissatisfaction is easily shoved to the side when he sees her eyes watering. “I’m so sorry. I—I didn't mean. I just—”

Roman’s focus is now solely honed in on stopping her from crying. He can’t see her upset. Not after what happened. He moves his hands to her face, gently cupping her cheeks and brushing away her tears. “Let’s talk, okay?”

She nods, stepping back, forcing his hands to drop but easily sliding her hand into one of his as she leads them in the direction from where she came. Roman won’t lie. He’s not paying attention to much in passing. Just her. It’s like there’s a blurred lens on them, distorting everything around them except his wife.

And he has zero issues with this. 

He has zero issues until they’re walking past a group of three women who seem to notice that Solana is crying and stop her, the one who almost looks like she could be Hispanic asks Solana, “are you alright?”

Who the fuck is this? Roman would most definitely ask as such as well as tell her to stay out of their damn business if not for the fact that Solana answers almost reassuringly. 

“Yes, of course.” 

To make matters worse, this irritating ass stranger has the audacity to almost send a suspicious damn near glare his way. Just who the fuck does she think she is? 

The woman on her right suddenly asks, her quiet voice strangely reminding him of Solana. Right off the bat, he can see they have similar demeanors. “You’re still joining us for breakfast, right?”

Solana answers right away, shaking her head. “Of course.”

Joining for breakfast? What the fuck is this? A psychiatric ward or summer camp?

The women all seem to give Solana that ‘call us if you need anything’ nod before finally leaving him alone with his wife. Roman has to keep his sigh to himself.

Only Solana would make ‘friends’ at a damn hospital.

She finally leads him into what he would guess is her ‘room.’ He’s instantly not impressed and annoyed because he directly instructed Stratus to make sure she had the best this place has to offer.

This clearly ain’t it. He adds it to his list of complaints to bring up to the psychiatrist. He’s also annoyed by the ‘sheet’ that serves at the door, irritated that they won’t have total privacy. But, he understands. It’s a psychiatric ward. Not the Four Seasons. 

Roman allows Solana to guide him over to her bed where she motions for him to sit down. He does as such, partially surprised when she climbs onto his lap, legs on either side. He doesn’t protest though, simply holds her by his hips as he shifts so that his back against the wall. 

Solana, however, keeps her head down, her hands scrunching the bottom of his shirt as she seems to force out, “I don’t want to talk about this—”

That’s an easy thing, Roman quickly moving to remind her of her autonomy. “Then don’t—”

She cuts him off. “But, I need to.” She finally lifts her gaze, and my God, he’s missed staring into those pretty eyes, seeing her pretty face. “I can’t—I won’t avoid it.” She takes a deep breath, asking, “what do you want to know?”

He’s partially surprised by how direct she’s being, but in his defense, the last time he spoke to her directly, she was in such a different place. A much darker place.

That doesn’t seem to be the case anymore, but he knows looks can be deceiving, so he remains cautious. His voice is surprisingly gentle, as he answers, “I think you already know the answer to that, Sol.”

Her eyes shut again, and he can’t tell if it’s because of his use of his nickname for her or the emotionality of it all. 

Both, probably. 

She brings her gaze back on him, and he hates seeing the emotion building back up. Logically, he knows that there’s no way to have this kind of conversation and emotion not be present. Doesn’t mean he has to like it though. “I just….I couldn’t think straight that night, Roman. I just kept reliving every bad thing that’s happened to me but now with the knowledge that it was my own father that was responsible. And I just….I couldn't handle it.”

This is the part he can barely handle. The knowing of the role, a large role, he played in what landed her here. He feels like shit about it and prepares to take ownership when she continues. 

“And I thought….I felt like….I felt like all the progress I had made was now gone and that I’d have to start over, and I just—-I couldn’t fathom going through all that again.” She swallows, tears starting to fall. “I felt like I would just be a burden to you and that….it would just be easier for you if I was dead.”

Gutted. Reading it was one thing, but hearing it is an entirely different experience. To know this is truly how she felt, the thought process that led to her making the decision she made. The most likely reason she didn’t call him.

Because she thought she was a burden.

It kills him.

She drops her head, and he moves his hands back to her face. “Solana, look at me.” When she continues to keep her head down, he repeats himself, voice still low and gentle. “Look at me.” She seems to hesitate but follows through, Roman hating how devastated she looks. “Nothing about my life would be easier without you in it. You are never a burden to me. You never have been, and you never will be. I want to help you. Listen to you. Whatever it is you need, I’ll do. I just need you to tell me.” This time, he’s the one swallowing back unfamiliar and uncomfortable emotions. “I just need you to not leave me, alright?” She seems slightly taken back by his honesty and vulnerability. Truthfully, so is he. It was one thing to be so honest with her while she was unconscious, but it’s another when she sits before him, aware and conscious and hanging onto every word. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about your father. I should have—”

“No. Please—please don’t.” She shakes her head, interrupting him with that same small voice. “I’m glad you didn’t.” The ‘shocked’ ball is back in his court as she explains, “I don’t….I don’t think I would have ever wanted to know the truth. It’s….it’s been too hard to have to deal with that.” 

Clearly. He can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like for her. To be stuck with the knowledge that her own flesh and blood could be so cruel, so hateful, so evil as to do what Xavier has done to his own daughter.

“The therapy has….it’s helped.” He believes it. Roman has noticed the sheets of paper that have positive affirmations and what he would guess are coping skills taped to the wall opposite her bed. She cracks a small, sad smile. “It’s….it’s been good for me.”

He believes that, too. He can see that. There’s a stark difference in her appearance, even with her being emotional as she is with the conversation at hand. She doesn’t look as fractured as the last time he saw her.

She looks stronger. Happier, even. It makes his chest swell with yet another unfamiliar sentiment.

Love, perhaps?

Just thinking about it has Roman clearing his throat, needing to focus on something other than that right now. “Have they been treating you okay?” This has been pretty high up, if not the highest, thing on his priority list.

She nods, Roman noticing and grateful that her tears are starting to dry up. “Yes. I….how many Bloodline men do you have here?”

“Enough.” She doesn’t need to know the full extent of just how above and beyond he went to ensure no one on staff at this hospital could be questionable about their intentions towards her. “I’m always gonna look out for you, baby. Always.”

Her eyes shut, not from feeling overwhelmed but something else. Something that seems less heavy and more comforting. 

Solana moves around on top of him, Roman somehow sensing what she’s trying to do, and he has zero hesitations.

He shifts his body, so he’s laying on her bed, his feet dangling off the edge of the bed, but it makes no difference to him as soon as she lays on top of him, her head cradled in his neck, her arms around him.’

“I’ve missed you.” Her arm laid against him, Roman reading to close his eyes when he catches onto something for the first time. He doesn’t know he missed it either, because it stands out. Roman gently takes her arm, turning it over.

On her inner forearm are a set of beautifully drawn butterflies of various sizes and colors, the largest being a dark blue color and the smaller one next to it, different shades of red and pinks. There are three much smaller butterflies under the two larger ones, two of them pink and the smallest also that same dark blue.

She looks up at him, offering a small smile. “It’s something they have us do in group therapy. They call it The Butterfly Project.” She shifts her body to show him her other forearm, revealing additional butterflies before she lays back down as she was. “You draw butterflies that represent the people in your life you care about and every time…you think of wanting to self-harm, you remember that you’re killing the butterflies. It’s like….like a reminder that people care about you.”

It’s an interesting concept, and judging by the emotion in her voice, a concept she resonates with deeply. Roman’s long index finger ghosts over the larger blue one as he asks, “who is this one for?” 

Solana’s smile deepens. “You.” He’s grateful that she continues to explain so he doesn't have to think much about that sentiment very similar to love that comes up at that admission. “And this one,” she gestures to the pink and red one. “--is me. My future self.” 

That doesn’t help the building emotion, so he again goes for distraction, motioning to the remaining three, asking, “and those?”

She swallows, something flashing in her eyes he can’t identify, answering gently, “I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

Her answer confuses him. He doesn’t know what to make of it, but he doesn’t want to push her either. 

“How is Dulce?” She asks suddenly, the sadness in her voice returning.

Roman won’t tell her the way her puppy sometimes sits by the front door around the time she usually gets home from work or the way she whimpers at night every so often, clearly missing her owner. He’ll spare her that, offering only a morsel of the truth. 

“The usual. Sleeping most of the day. You can tell she misses you.” 

Solana frowns. “I miss her too.” She licks her lips, asking almost nervously, “how are Bay—”

Roman is quick to shut that down, a hint of harshness in his voice. “I don’t want to talk about them.”

Truth be told, he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to look or view them the same ever again. It may be a bit irrational and unfair, but it’s how he feels. And truthfully speaking, he’s got ten million other things on his mind and in his heart he’s trying to sort through. 

“Roman…..” Solana sits up a bit, and he’s taken back for a second by how fucking beautiful she is. Even with the sadness in her eyes. “It wasn’t their fa—”

“Not now, Sol.” His tone takes on a gentler tone as he adds on, for good measure, “please. I just want to enjoy you.”

He knows she’ll bring it up again. She cares too much about the two women who Roman will never trust her with again to just let it go permanently. “Okay.” She lays herself back down on top of him, and Roman kisses the top of her head.

“How are you?”

He’s not quite sure why her question surprises him. But, the answer is an automatic, “fine.”

He’s far from fine, but she doesn't need to know that.

Again, Solana sits up, that frown almost deepening. “Are you sleeping?” She reaches over and caresses his beard. “You look tired. H–have you been taking your medicine?”

Roman is truly dumbfounded. She is the one who is currently a legally mandated patient in a psychiatric ward because she was actively suicidal only a week ago, and yet, she’s laying here worried about him. 

Roman has to push back that love feeling that’s returning. 

“I keep telling you not to worry about me,” he reminds, once again wanting and almost needing to stress to her that worrying about him should be the last thing on her plate.. “I just want you to focus on yourself.”

Her retort surprises him, bold and almost uncharacteristic of her. “And I keep telling you that I’m always going to worry about you.”

Roman chuckles, commenting, “you’re becoming more outspoken….”

She gives him a small smile. “I told you the therapy has been helping.”

Roman scoffs. She’s right. Maybe that Gemma woman does know what she’s doing. 

“Do you need anything?”

Solana says nothing, just lays back down against him, her hand moving over his chest, resting on his heart. “Just you.” She must glance at the clock on the wall as she comments, “we only have 40 minutes left….”

He knows she’s referring to the one hour time block allotted for visitors. Something he absolutely couldn't give two shits about. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.“ He’d stay the whole night if that was what she wanted. 

“Roman….” It’s funny how he already knows what she’s going to say. “The rules—”

His interruption is sharp, but it’s not aimed towards her. And she knows that. “I don’t give a fuck about rules when it comes to you.” She sighs into his chest, offering no protest, saying nothing else.

Conversation is intermittent over the next two or so hours, Solana eventually falling asleep on top of him. He doesn’t mind. As much as he enjoys talking to her, having her body on top of his is an easy, acceptable alternative.

He’s missed this. Missed being with and around her. Roman is just now realizing just how much he benefits from having her around. He’s been a complete nightmare for everyone around him outside of Dulce, even more temperamental than his usual default setting.

But the minute he laid eyes on her, saw her innocent smile, had her in his arms, everything suddenly felt so better.

That’s what she does for him. What she is for him. 

Medicine. 

An antidote. Something he never knew he was missing until he met her. It seems like it was almost impossible for him to not fall in love with her. 

Love….

Thinking about it again brings a frown to his handsome face, forcing him to face a reality that’s so easy to escape when he’s with her.

Roman may love Solana, but….he can never act on it. Not really. Can never tell her he loves her. That makes it official. That confirms that he finally has something his enemies can use against him, a distraction, a weakness.

Loving her openly would make him vulnerable, would put her at risk, and he couldn’t do that. Not just for himself but most definitely not to her. 

To be with her like this, open and vulnerable, behind closed doors is one thing. It’s an entirely different ballpark though to make that visible and public, even with just telling her.

Feeling her stir against him, Roman kisses the top of her head, tugging her closer. 

He won’t deny that he loves her. 

But, he can’t act on it either. 

He’s just going to have to find someway to push that down, tuck it away for safekeeping.

It’s just better that way. 

________

Roman stays for about two hours, Solana waking up and reluctantly expressing her okayness with him leaving. It’s not what she wants, definitely not what he wants, but it’s what’s necessary.

If even for the fact that Dulce can’t be left alone for too long.  

Solana holds onto his arm as she walks him out, Bautista not too far behind to escort her back to her room.

But, it’s when he turns to tell her bye, Roman about to ask her when she wants him to come see her again (fuck visting days), she surprises him by reaching behind her back and pulling out a sealed envelope. 

Brows furrowed, Roman is curious just how the hell he missed that when she presses it against his chest. “Promise me you won’t read it until you get home.” 

Now he’s extremely confused. It’s been a while since Solana has written to thim. They’ve progressed way past that, and it does concern him a bit that she didn’t just talk to him about whatever lies between the lines of this letter. 

But, he also knows she’s been working hard in therapy and even in being able to open up to him about what happened that night had to have been a lot for her, so he won’t push it and will respect it.

Accepting the letter, he simply says, “okay.”

She offers a close mouthed smile, a sign of appreciation and moves to hug him once more, mumbling something in Spanish against his chest that he can’t make out. When she pulls back, he doesn’t hesitate to cup her cheek, reiterating, “you need anything, you let me know, alright?” They’d already briefly discussed how she had picked up on the fact that he had his men stationed strategically all over this place, and any of them were able to get a message to him. 

She nods, repeating to him, “okay.” Solana tugs on his shirt and leans up to kiss his cheek, murmuring against his ear, “bye, Roman.”

It seems saying goodbye is difficult for her just as much as it is for him, Roman unable to reciprocate it, only letting his gaze follow her retreating form until Bautista gives him a nod and closes the door behind them. 

He stands there for a good minute or two before actually leaving.

Fuck. Leaving her seems to be getting harder and harder. 

Roman is barely in the SUV, door not even shut when his long fingers are moving with all the determination to open up the envelope. He unfolds the piece of paper, unsurprised to find her neat handwriting. 

Roman,

I need to ask you to do something for me, but I need you to please hear me out before you settle on an answer. And please know I wouldn’t be asking this of you if I didn’t believe it’s something I really need. 

I’m so sorry for putting you through this. I never want to cause you any stress or create any problems for you. 

I wasn’t in a good place, and this experience has made me realize there’s still a lot of parts of me that still need to heal. I still have a lot to work through. 

That’s why I’m asking.

Gail mentioned a treatment facility she runs about an hour away. It’s a 6 week program for women coming out of the hospital like I will be. 

Roman, I think I should go. 

I don’t think I should come home just yet.

I don’t feel ready. I’m not having those thoughts or urges anymore, but there’s still things I think I need to work through. I don’t ever want to put you through something like this again. I don’t ever want to end up back here again, but the only way I can do that is by making sure I’m good before I leave.

And I don’t know if another week can do that. 

I miss you. So much. It’s been hard being away from you and Dulce and everyone else. But, I feel like I have to do this. I need to do this. 

For us. 

But mostly for me. 

I want to get better.

Please let me.

Te quiero mucho,

Solana

BTW, I’m saying ‘I love you very much’ in Spanish. 

Because I do. 

I love you, Ro.

And I don’t need you to say it back or feel the same. With what you’ve been through, I’d never expect or ask that of you.

I just need you. Your continued support. That’s all. That’s enough.

With all my love,

Solana

________

“I’m so sick of your bloody fuckin’ shit, Seth! It’s the same fuckin’ thing over and over again, and I’m done!” 

The cadence, melody, and even tone of his wife’s rant serves as the perfect resources for Seth who is lazily sprawled out across their sofa, beer in one hand, the other hand moving as if conducting an orchestra. 

And he is.

Because this has become a song and dance with his fiery tempered, Irish wife.

Seconds later, she’s practically stomping in the living room, their daughter in hand who is most definitely old enough to remember this little spat. He cackles to himself. How unfortunate.

However, Becky’s enraged gaze is focused on him, disgust plastered all over. “Were you even listenin’ to me?”

He makes a sound, unbothered eyes falling on her, that infamous smile growing. “Of course, dear.”

Becky, however, knows better. Has been with this man long enough to know better. And she’s done. “Ya know, I thought you were getting better, yeah? But then that bloke Breaker comes over here looking for you, and I—” Becky cuts herself off, refusing to start yelling with her daughter in her arms. Her accent is even thicker, as she shares while adjusting the bag on her other shoulder, “I’m gonna go stay with Charlotte til’ I can figure out just what I’m gonna do.”

What she’s not saying is that she’ll stay with her closest American friend until she can find the funds and resources to move back home. 

She’s just done.

Seth, however, seems unconcerned by the fact that she’s leaving with their kid. “Okay, dear.” He snorts, falling into that all too familiar maniacal laugh. The one that typically accompanies the reckless and dangerous behavior that has her packed and ready to go. It was one thing when it was just the two of them, but with a child now, Becky has a responsibility to keep her daughter safe.

And there is nothing safe about her husband rekindling ties with the Nightmare Factory.

Not wanting him to see the pending tears, Becky kisses her daughter’s cheek and heads for the door, not allowing herself to hesitate as she rips it open only for her jaw to drop.

She scoffs. Unbelievable. With even more support for her decision to leave, Becky looks over her shoulder at her husband who climbs to his feet. “First the Nightmare Factory, and now the fuckin’ Bloodline?” She shakes her head. “Yeah, you dig your own fuckin’ grave, Seth.” 

And with that, she moves past the figures, determined to not look back this time.

Meanwhile, a massive smile grows on Seth’s unshaven face, delight dancing in his dark eyes.

This is certainly proving to be such an eventful day. 

He practically stumbles over but manages to stand firm as he takes a swig of his beer, burping loudly and then asking with all of the excitement, evil smile on his face.

“How can I help you?”