#these scenes come one right after another

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + thirty five

authors note: hopefully, after this one, a lot of things will make sense. long-term storytelling, friends.....i know what i'm doing.

cw/tw: angst, graphic violence, attempted and real violence against women and children, scenes regarding sexual assault, and discussion of csa.

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

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 13k 

The second Solana didn’t answer the phone when he called, Roman knew something was very, very wrong.

Solana always answers his calls and texts, and every single one of those outreach attempts by the Tribal Chief goes unanswered.

So, it’s not him being notified that there was an “incident” at the library where she works and he knew she was, that triggered him. It wasn’t even Bautista not answering his phone. It was being hit with the sound of Solana’s sweet voice via her voicemail that he just knew something bad had happened.

And, it had him sick to his stomach. 

The minute Roman arrives at the taped off library, police and first responders surrounding the area, a crowd of individuals gathered, trying to see what’s happened.

Matteo and Dwayne in tow, Roman is barely on the steps when the all too familiar stench hits him.

Death.

It’s the smell of death, and it permeates the environment, bypassing the roped off establishment, slapping him in the face the minute he walks in and is met with the grisly sight.

A sight that makes Dwayne mutter, “Jesus Christ….”

Bodies almost lined up, stacked against and with each other. Some overlapping. Some right beside each other. The coroner has clearly yet to arrive, as they’re all still uncovered, revealing the gristly details of their demise. Riddled with bullets, gaping holes telling the onslaught was something similar to a firing squad.

But, it’s two bodies in particular that draw the attention of the three men. Separate from the rest, faces grotesquely disfigured, their shirts ripped open and revealing their chests that are also riddled with bullets. It’s not that horrific site that has Roman crouching down for a better examination.

It’s what’s been carved into what remains of their chests that has his blood boiling. A symbol.

A symbol that he knows all too well.

The Nightmare Factory.

Matteo is saying something, either to him or Dwayne, but Roman is too consumed with a level of rage he’s never felt before.

“Rhodes.” It’s a simple word filled and consumed with an almost ungodly amount of hatred. “Rhodes is behind this.”

Cody Rhodes is responsible for this attack, this violent, grisly attack that claimed the lives of so many, two of his best men included, and even more, the kidnapping of his wife.

Because Roman has lived long enough to recognize the optics of this situation. The place where his wife works was attacked, countless people killed, and yet his wife is nowhere to be accounted for. Not to mention that a calling card, a message was clearly left, letting him know exactly who was behind this. 

It all points to one thing, and one thing only.

Cody fucking Rhodes has taken Solana.

He’s taken his pregnant wife.

“I don’t know.” It’s Matteo’s voice. That much Roman can make out. Nothing else, because the amount of rage burning within his big body is on the verge of an explosion. “Something feels off about—“

“Let me through!”

The voice of the one man Roman both hates and loves to hear in this moment. The Tribal Chief stands up and turns around to see the man of the hour who’s just zoomed past the barricade of cops zoning off the area.

Or, supposed to be. 

And, in yet another twist that no one could have seen coming, an almost deranged Cody makes his way directly towards Roman, screaming almost wildly, “you evil son of a bitch!”

Wrong….fucking…..words.

Naturally, both Matteo and Dwayne move to prevent Cody from swinging on Roman, but it makes no difference, because the Head of the Table easily bulldozes his way in between them and makes a beeline for his target.

Roman’s powerful punch sends Cody flying flat on his ass. Roman wastes no time jumping on top of him, big hands wrapped around his neck. “WHERE IS SHE!” 

A roar of a question that travels through nearly every floor of the library. It’s met with Cody’s hands grasping at Roman’s forearms, trying to pry himself free from the other man’s iron grip. When that fails to work, he takes advantage of Roman’s focus on choking the life out of him to lift his leg, knocking Roman off.

And in a matter of seconds, the roles are switched, Cody landing a rather nasty blow to Roman’s right cheek. “Where’s Brandi and Emma!”

As Dwayne and Matteo move to separate the powerhouses, the latter of the two starts to put the confusing out of place pieces together.

Yanking Cody off his brother, restraining the other man as Dwayne does the same with Roman, Matteo's younger brother barks, “WHERE THE HELL IS SHE!”

Naturally, Cody growls back, seemingly unbothered in the face of a borderline mad man. "Where's my wife!”

And, it’s in both men asking the same thing yet again that it clicks for Matteo, prompting him to shout, “would you both just wait a damn minute!”

Of course, neither man is trying to listen, both continuing to fight like hell to break free before they can rip each other apart and fall right into the trap that’s clearly been laid out for them.

Even if they’re both too blinded by rage and grief to see it.

“Listen to me!” Matteo hisses, his voice borderline venomous. He forces Cody’s gaze on him, putting two and two together. “Your wife and daughter have been taken.” And then, redirection to Roman. “And your wife has been taken.” Able to grasp his younger brother‘s attention, Matteo doesn’t waste the opportunity. “If Cody is truly the one responsible for this kidnapping, what sense does it make for him to show up and be here right now?”

Then back to Cody who is no longer thrashing as hard against him, “and if Roman was responsible for the kidnapping of your family, why would he be out here in the open right now, showing his hand?” He looks between the two men whose faces reveal they’re both at least trying to consider Matteo’s assessment. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Dwayne also seems to be biting but gestures with his head to the desecrated bodies. “But what about the Nightmare insignia?”

At that, Cody barks a confused, “what?”

It’s only them that Matteo releases him and motions over to the fallen Bloodline men. Cody walks over, the other three never taking their eyes off him.

Matteo especially watches as his face fills with confusion before he looks over, speaking directly to the Tribal Chief. “I didn’t order any hit.” He takes it to another level, clarifying with an almost clenched jaw. “And, I damn sure didn’t kidnap your wife.”

“And, he didn’t kidnap yours,” Matteo informs, recognizing his brother is far too irate still to offer any sort of response. “But, someone did.” 

“And they just wanted you to think each other did,” Dwayne supplies, fully following and believing Matteo’s train of thought. The same way, with excellent peripheral vision, he’s followed the subtle change in body language of the guards who have watched quietly, without any overt reaction to the scene before them.

The same way Roman and Cody, even in the midst of their unbridled fury, noticed the brief shared look between two of their guards.

Bloodline and Nightmare Factory.

Matteo also noticed, commenting in that same unsuspecting tone. “They wanted to draw you both out at the same time….”

“At the same place,” Dwayne finishes for him, again giving away nothing.

And then, chaos. 

It’s almost like a scene out of a movie, something that defies logic and science with how fast the four men whip out the guns they all have on them.

How one minute, the four are involved in a tense exchange amongst one another, and the next, they’re shooting down the same men who should be there protecting and watching them.

Bodies crumble and fall to the floor as the four men are relentless and merciless, nothing but headshots as they skillfully maneuver and evade the returned fire.  Hiding and dodging the rain of gunfire, each man ends up partially hiding behind some sort of object as they smartly aim for the guards that attempt to enter the premises, dropping them before they can step foot in.

The unlikely group manage to shoot their way out of the front of the library, the previously nosy crowd scrambling and running for their lives amongst the gunfire.

“Come on!” Dwayne guides and ushers them toward the SUV after the last cop is dropped, nothing but bleeding, deceased corpses surrounding them. “We need to get the fuck out of here before they send more.”

“He’s not coming with us,” Roman growls, ripping the front door open.

“Yes, he is,” Dwayne protests, earning a look that would absolutely kill, if possible, from his younger cousin. “Look, we need to find out just what—”

Cody, however, is not here for it just as much as the Tribal Chief isn’t. “I’m not going anywhere with you pieces of—” An abrupt interruption followed by his body starting to crumple, only to reveal a bored and irritated looking Matteo, clearly having done them all a favor with a single, effective knock to the back of the head.

The Italian man curses. “He talks too damn much.” Matteo doesn’t waste any time in shoving Cody’s unconscious body into the back of the car, directing to Dwayne. “We need to go to my house.”

“Why?” Roman asks, partially present, mostly elsewhere. So much has happened in under the span of an hour, even more in just the past twenty minutes. And the thought that keeps booming in his head, keeps oscillating, poking and torturing him is the most unbelievable and terrifying of them all.

Solana has been taken. 

His wife, who he swore to protect with everything in him, has been taken.

And though nothing would bring him greater joy than to beat Rhodes to a bloody pulp until he fesses up where she is, Matteo and Dwayne are right.

It doesn’t make sense.

Rhodes is an evil son of a bitch, but he’s not stupid. He would never make such a risky move and follow up with a public appearance. He’d make sure to throw that stone and hide the hell out of his hands. Even more, there’s something to be said about the fact that Rhodes wife and child have also been taken.

Something tells Roman the blonde bitch isn’t lying about that. The feral, almost devastated look in his eyes revealed as much.

It’s the same look Roman’s had since realizing what’s happened.

“We’re being hunted down and targeted,” Matteo answers as the four men are in the vehicle, Dwayne driving them to what Roman would guess is Matteo’s house. “They’re more than likely to have gone after my wife as well.”

Dwayne chuckles darkly. “Their death wish.”

Roman is once again tuned out, eyes closed, forehead against the window of the SUV. 

Solana.

His sweet, innocent wife who he just saw hours earlier, who was excited about sharing so many things with him this evening, is gone. 

Taken.

Kidnapped.

Missing. 

How did this happen?

“What the fuck is going on?” Ava’s confused, irritated, angry voice rips Roman from his thoughts, as he realizes it’s coming through the speakers of the SUV. Dwayne, who’s driving them now to Matteo’s house, has called her. 

“You were attacked.” A statement, not a question from Dwayne. He then jumps to an absolute question, “you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine.” A bit of a frazzled response, the anger coming down and settling into more of reality setting in. “My place is a disaster, but I guess that’s a given with all the dead bodies.”

A bit of a grim visual for the Tribal Chief, though he finds himself both pleased and unsurprised. Though Ava keeps a bit of a distance from the dark side of the business, much like everyone else in his family, she can defend herself. 

She can defend herself very well.

“Someone needs to answer my question though,” she interrupts, the anger building back up again. “Why the hell did our men attack me?”

“It’s a coup,” Roman speaks for the first time, gaze focused outside the window, watching the passing cars. “Someone’s trying to overthrow me.” No emotion attached. Just laying of the facts. Until the next thing that comes out of his mouth. “They’ve—they’ve taken Solana.”

Silence on the other end. “What?” A heavy, shaky sigh. “Oh my God….”

Roman closes his eyes. The sentiment is shared.

More than anyone could ever realize.

“Ava, where are you?” She shares an approximate location, as she’s also driving around, trying to put as much distance between herself and her home. “I need you to listen to me carefully.” Dwayne grabs his phone, expertly navigating the device in his hand and the steering wheel in the other. “I just sent you an address. I need you to go straight there. Don’t text, call or talk to a single fucking soul. Only answer your phone if it’s me, Matteo, or Roman. You understand me?”

“Got it.” The most affirmative her voice has sounded in the entire call. “But, what—”

“Wait.” Another interruption from Roman. Dwayne has just set his phone back down as he glances between the road and his cousin. Roman directs his next statement to Ava. “I need you to stop somewhere first.”

—-----

Pain.

That’s the first thing Solana feels as she slowly blinks her eyes, coming to. It’s a sensation that’s focalized in her wrists, face, and the back of her head. Throbbing and stinging in three separate areas. Sensations that dominate her wherewithal as she slowly ascends to consciousness. Eyes now completely open, she blinks a couple times, an almost old, stale odor invading her senses. Frowning and scowling, Solana looks around, recognizing the almost abrasiveness against her cheek. The floor. It’s from the aged, concrete flooring. And, the difficulty she has in sitting up is mostly due to the fact that her hands are bound in front of her with zip ties that are digging into her skin, small specks of scraped and bloodied skin visible as she assesses the tight hold.

Slight panic builds up in her from being restrained and unable to feel her belly. Touch her baby bump. A self-soothing gesture that will help alleviate her nerves regarding the safety of her babies. But, she can’t. Bound and restricted, she’s delegated to a sort of common sense train. The only solace in her stemming from the fact that she feels no pain or discomfort anywhere near her abdominal area.

That’s one issue somewhat tackled.

But, there’s so many more left.

And, they all come rushing into her with the devastating weight and depth of a category 5 hurricane.

The library. Brandi and Emma. The invasion of both Nightmare and Bloodline men alike. Solo. Bron.

Tears fill her eyes. 

Sami

Bautista 

Dead.

The children whose fate she can only hope was different from the two men who so bravely risked and lost their lives trying to save others.

Roman.

That’s when the tears threaten to spill over, and Solana has to work harder than she ever has in her life to keep it together. 

He’s fine. 

He’s fine.

He’s fine.

She has to tell herself this. Can believe nothing else. Because, anything else is surely enough to drag her to the inescapable depths of emotional hell.

She’s certain she’ll concede to the nervous breakdown she’s on the verge of from what’s happened alone if she allows herself to think about something happening to her soulmate.

Sitting up and looking around, Solana does her best to pull from and implement some of her therapy skills. She’s a mess right now, and while anyone in her situation would be and feel just the same, Solana doesn’t have that luxury. She doesn’t have that luxury because of the two lives growing inside her. 

She has to keep it together.

For her girls.

Like her life depends on it. 

Because their lives depend on it.

The room she’s in is old, dark, shabby, and dreary. A cot is in the corner with a raggedy blanket, but outside of that and a rusty looking desk and chair on the other side, there’s nothing else. Nothing but the dark, heavy looking door that’s shut and the window above her that informs her it’s daytime, given the natural sunlight that shines through.

It doesn’t make a difference.

There’s no sun or anything sunny about what’s occurred.

Only darkness.

Solana is searching and looking around the room, eager and almost desperate for anything that could distract her from how broken she feels when a sound startles her.

It’s coming from across her. 

The door.

Fear partially paralyzes her as she watches the knob turn, her breath withheld, gaze focused as a figure appears in the doorway, almost entirely eclipsing anything beyond said door with their robust figure.

And just like that, fear gradually chips away and is built up with a new set of emotions.

Confusion and anger.

Solana can’t look away, her voice barely above a breath, as she speaks from the heart. From visceral emotion. “You son of a bitch….”

Rikishi's expression is smug. “You’re up.” A generic, calm, almost friendly acknowledgement. Solana catches a glimpse of the guards behind him departing, shutting the door for him, leaving the two of them alone. She can’t, won’t look away as he moves to sit at the rinky-dink chair in the corner of the room. “Can I get you anything?” The cruel, taunt in the wake of his smirk only spikes her anger to another level.

She sneers, appalled, shocked, disgusted, horrified. “You’re behind this.” 

Rikishi’s smile deepens. “Surprise.”

Solana feels sick. “Where is my husband?” It’s just one of many questions she has, but the location—and status—of her husband is the most important. 

Rikishi chuckles. “You mean is he still alive?” The delay in his answer is the longest 30 seconds of Solana’s life. “Yes, Roman still lives.” As much as she hates showing her relief at his answer, she can’t help it. Should she believe him? Probably not. He could be lying. He’s obviously a lying snake, but in this moment, she needs to believe him. She needs to believe that her husband is still alive.

She needs the hope.

“For now, at least.” And just like that, the hope is dashed, dread filling her. “It’s only a matter of time before he shows up, guns blazing because we took his precious little wife.” Rikishi's sick, demented smile returns. “And, then we’ll have him right where we want him.”

There’s something about the ‘we’ that triggers something for her, makes her curious as to just how deep this betrayal goes, but the priority is rather on something else implied in his statement. A cruel, terrifying realization. 

“A trap,” she whispers, the color almost draining from her face. “It’s…it’s a trap.”

They’ve taken her to draw out Roman.

To trap him.

Solana shakes her head, refusing, unable to believe him. To listen to him. “He won’t—he won’t fall for it.” No. Roman is too smart for that.

“You really are a stupid girl, aren’t you?” Rikishi laughs, humor nowhere to be found in the sound that leaves his rotund body. “Of course, he will. Roman can’t see or think straight when it comes to you. He’ll show up here, alone, outnumbered, thinking he’s going to save you—”

Solana’s eyes water. “No.”

“And, he’ll be alone, because we’ve swept the rug from under him. He knows he can’t trust his own Bloodline anymore, and that’s gotta be killing him right about now. That and the fact that his weak little wife has been taken. He’s not thinking straight.”

She whimpers, eyes closing, tears streaming. “Stop it.”

“And who does he have left? Fucking Dwayne and a brother he refuses to acknowledge?” Rikishi snorts. “He has nothing.” He tilts his head to the side, pride filling him seeing the toll his words are taking on the young girl. “And really, as much as it’s your fault, in that same breath, we also have you to thank for this.” Rikishi leans forward in the chair, shrugging one shoulder. “Sure, you fucked up with the original plan—”

Solana’s eyes shoot open. "What?” When he says nothing, she has to ask again, all the while hating how destroyed she sounds. “What—what are you talking about?”

Delight fills his face. “Where do you think your father got the plan from in the first place for you to kill Roman?” Solana might as well have been shoved and slammed into the wall behind her. It would have the same impact as his words. “It was all supposed to be so much more simpler than this, really. You wouldn’t even have had to get close enough to gain his trust. Didn’t need it. Just slip the poison in his food.” The bile building up in Solana’s throat is on the verge of morphing into vomit. “But, of course, my little cousin had to throw us for a loop. He cut off your contact with your family, so we had no idea what was going on….until we did.”

She wants to say something, anything, but words seem a thing no longer accessible for her, prompting him to continue.

“I could see it. The way he started to feel something for you. To care for you.” Disgust is his countenance. “Love.” But, just as quickly as he was disgusted, he’s gleeful. “And then a new opportunity was presented. A first. Because for the first time, the great Roman Reigns had a weakness.” She closes her eyes. “So, a new plan was formed. One that would finally uproot that arrogant son of a bitch from his throne and allow a new era. A better one.”

Solo. 

She’s a terrible mess of emotions, but that one indication is baffling to her. Does he really think Solo is fit to lead the Bloodline? But, it’s a short-lived thing, because what gnaws at her is his accusation. A truthful statement, if she’s being honest with herself.

She has become Roman’s weakness. The one way to get to him, and it’s worked.

It’s worked to a depressing T.

Solana is still filled with so many questions, but a single word sits at the tip of her tongue, spilling over. “Why?” That’s the part she can’t seem to grasp. This plan has clearly been in the makes for months, so it can’t be because of what happened after Fetu’s funeral. So, just what has driven this man to such a diabolical, evil course of action. “Why are you doing this to him? He’s done everything for the Bloodl—”

“He should have never been the one to lead!” Rikishi snaps, banging his fist on the table. “Not Roman. Not Nakoa. None of them!” He continues, Solana remembering that Nakoa was Roman’s father. “It should have been me and my sons. And, it would have, if he had just died like the rest of them that night.”

It’s then. In that moment, with that one telling, revealing statement, Solana puts the devastating, heartbreaking pieces together. “Oh my God….” Her eyes are traveling everywhere before setting on evil personified. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Rikishi lifts his chin, an almost unspoken acknowledgment. “You….you were behind the hit?”

Calling it a 'hit’ seems too minimizing. Massacre. It was a massacre.

Rikishi simply huffs. “I simply made Dusty aware that Nakoa planned to turn on him. The idiot was too stupid and fearful of losing his growing empire to realize it was all lies. Such a weak ass man. It was far too easy to plant the seeds. I just had to watch them grow.”

“Oh my God…” Solana repeats, as a new wave of tears builds up. Rikishi. He was the one behind it all. The reason Roman lost his family, and almost his life. It was because of his own flesh and blood. 

The same flesh and blood behind the most current attempt to take out her husband once more. To put him down.

For good this time.

“I won’t—I won’t let you hurt him,” she vows, shaking her head. She looks up, matching his dark, evil gaze. “I won’t.” Because he’s already caused her husband so much hurt, so much pain, it feels almost criminal for her to not do what she can to stop that. To save him.

A small smile followed by a laugh. Loud and hearty. “Oh, you stupid, stupid girl.” Rikishi stands up, walking over to her, Solana refusing to look away or cower, even as he bends over. “What are you gonna do? Huh?” Solana gasps loudly from the sudden, unexpected impact of his hand against her face. Her eyes clench shut from the stinging and throbbing. “You are nothing without Roman or the Bloodline.” His eyes burn with intense hatred and disgust, watching and enjoying how Solana struggles to lift her head. “You’re going to die just like him—”

She cries. “no.”

Solana winces when he grabs her by her jaw, squeezing, forcing her to look at him. “—but while Roman will leave a sort of legacy behind him, what will you have? Huh? Nothing!” He screams in her face, Solana closing her eyes, trying her best to block out his hurtful words. “You’ll have nothing, because you are nothing. We found you as a stupid, uneducated, naive, weak, broken bitch, and that’s exactly how you’ll die.”

—------------

It’s strategic. All of it. Necessary.

Parking a little up the road from where Matteo’s house sits, almost nestled back into a corner, surrounded by trees in the back. A forest of sorts. A forest that serves as the shielding used by the men who realize what idiocy comes with trying to pull up to the front of the house, especially given the SUV’s already parked out front.

Bloodline vehicles.

Once a good thing, now an omen.

Naturally, Matteo leads the charge, knowing the layout of his property better than the other two men, especially Roman who’d never been here prior to today.

A still unconscious Cody is left locked in the SUV. Not that Roman cares. Behind the kidnapping or not, that son of a bitch could drop dead for all the Tribal Chief cares.

Nonverbal communication and hand gestures as the three men smartly make their way into the home from the back. As they move inside, ready and prepared for whatever, it’s almost anti-climatic. Because, for Roman, at least, there’s a slight expectation for some Bloodline security to try to attack them.

Except, entering the spacious foyer of Matteo’s home, what they’re met with is a scene similar to the library. Bodies laid around. 12. Roman counts twelve. Each with a minimum of one gunshot wound. Execution style. Throats slashed. A few with obvious stab wounds in the chest.

In the heart.

“And, I’d just mopped these damn floors, too.” The sound of a voice, bored and feminine, draws the attention of the three men. Sitting down on the middle of the steps is none other than a dangerously calm looking Afia. Gun in one hand, bloody butcher knife in the other, the only indication she has of being involved in any sort of altercation is the splotches of blood splashed on her shirt and the weapons on her person. “I’m also offended they only sent twelve. I deserve at least twenty.”

Dwayne and Roman lower their guns, surveying the deceased once more to make sure they are, in fact, no longer among the living. Matteo is the first to respond, chuckling as he lowers his gun. “I suppose that’s the reason for the overkill, no?”

Afia makes a sound, rising from off the stairs where she stands, still with the gun and knife in hand. Her eyes are narrowed. Listening Watching. Waiting.

Once pleased and satisfied that the threats have all been eliminated, she responds. 

“The overkill is because they chose the wrong damn house.” A vicious statement accompanied by a murderous gleam in her eyes. “One of you want to tell me why?”

Matteo has other pressing concerns. “The children—”

“In the panic room,” she answers, seeing the relief cross his handsome face. “They’re safe.”

Roman looks away. He’d give anything for that to be the case with Solana right now.

“It’s a coup,” Dwayne answers, looking around, as if suspecting another onslaught of attacks. “Someone’s trying to overthrow Roman.”

“I think it’s more than just an overthrow,” Afia corrects, walking over and kicking one of the men so he’s on his back. She points down. “Is that not the insignia of the Bloodline?” A rhetorical question. She doesn’t need anyone to tell her what she already knows. “This is an inside job.” She directs her statement to Roman. “You’ve been betrayed.”

Words that he doesn’t need to hear. A realization Roman came to the minute he realized his men were about to turn their guns on him back at the library.

A weighty, heavy thing, but nothing that anchors him down as much as the next thing that comes out his mouth. “Solana’s been kidnapped.”

And, at that, Afia gives the first indication of any type of emotion. “What?” Roman looks away. “Well, we have to get her back—”

“We will,” Matteo assures. “We just need to sit down and figure out the how.”

“And, we need to get the hell out of here,” Dwayne’s expression is a little more pressing, as he continues to look around. Watchful. Cautious. “I have a place we can go. It’ll be safe. They won’t be able to find us.” 

Afia nods, Matteo and her disappearing to go retrieve the children from the panic room.  It’s when he’s alone with his cousin for the first time, Dwayne voices what he knows his younger cousin is thinking.

“Roman….” The other man is turned away, looking down, taking in the state and amount of deceased that surrounds them. “This isn’t your fault—”

“Yes, it is.” A pained, quiet, angry interruption. Dwayne watches the way Roman’s jaw clenches, how his eyes shut and his fist forms at his side. “I should have—I should have seen this coming.”

And, for the life of him, Roman doesn’t know how he didn’t. He’s always prided himself on being three, five, hell, even ten steps ahead. It’s how he’s stayed on top for so long, never giving his enemies the opportunity to advance on him. And now, everything he’s built, everything he’s worked for is crumbling down right in front of him.

And, he doesn’t mean the Bloodline.

“We always prepare for threats from the outside, uce. Not the inside—”

“But, I should have.” Another interruption as Roman turns to his cousin, the turmoil that eats him up loud and evident. “I’m supposed to be better than that. I should have been, but I wasn’t and now—”

“Hey.” Dwayne places a hand on his shoulder, forcing his distressed gaze on him. 

“She’s pregnant, Dwayne….”

“I know.” His voice is contrite and sympathetic, recognizing that it’s not just Solana Roman fears for. It’s for their children she’s carrying that, he prays with everything in him, is something she knows to keep hidden from her kidnappers. By whatever means necessary. “But, let me tell you something about that wife of yours, uce. She’s got some fire in her. If anyone can handle this, can manage until we can get to her, it’s Solana.”

As objectively reassuring as Dwayne’s words are, they don’t do much to abate the fear and nerves of the Tribal Chief.

Because Roman has a nagging, almost gut-like feeling that someone isn’t making it out of this alive, and he doesn’t care if it’s him. 

He’ll just be damned if it’s her.

And, if he is the one to fall, he’s dragging every son of a bitch involved with this coup with him to the gates of hell.

—------

Solana knows exactly the last time she felt this way.

Heavy. 

Hurting. 

Hopeless. 

It was the night of her second suicide attempt.

In this moment, she doesn’t feel suicidal. Has no desire to take her own life. She just feels a tremendous, overwhelming amount of grief. Grief at what occurred then, what’s about to occur, and what still remains to occur.

It’s all so devastating. 

Solana knows evil. Was raised by it for a good chunk of her life. But, there’s just something she can’t fathom about Rikishi being able to parade himself as this trusted advisor to Roman, an ally, a friend, a cousin, all the while knowing he was responsible for the vicious murder of Roman’s family.

That he also tried to kill Roman once but failed.

And, now he’s trying again.

That makes her cry a little harder. Maybe a lot harder. It goes back to that helplessness, the suffocating feeling of having all of this information and no way to get it to him. To provide him with the truth, to give him a warning, something, but none of it is an option. It’s not an option, because she has no idea where she is and no way to contact him or anyone. Hands still bound, she doesn’t need them to feel in her back pocket to see her phone is no longer there.

Most likely taken or fell out at some point during her kidnapping.

Again, hopeless.

Solana jumps once more when the door is swung open with so much force that it slams against the wall behind it. She’s ready and prepared for Rikishi to enter, only for it to not be him and someone else. Two people. One she recognizes, and the other she does not. It's a tall white man with an intimidating, muscular build, ropes of muscles for arm. But, it's not his physique that makes Solana nervous. It's the way his bright blue eyes settle on her. Predatory. It sends chills down her spine, an uneasy feeling overcoming Solana, forcing her to focus on the person she knows.

Brandi.

But, whatever discomfort she’d felt from the man’s unsettling stare is quickly replaced with an overwhelming amount of dread and horror taking in the appearance of Emma's mother. Brandi’s face is bruised, her lip busted, and her clothes are disheveled, but it’s the empty, almost dazed look in her eyes that Solana knows all too well.

And the realization is crushing. 

Solana gasps when the man just tosses Brandi down onto the floor, offering a look of disgust to the woman he just discarded as if she was trash and a look of nothing good to Solana. However, it’s not until he slams the door shut behind him that Solana does her best to get up, an almost impossible task with her baby bump as well as her wrists still being bound.

“Brandi….”

Solana watches how Brandi offers no sign of acknowledgment, just crawls over to the nearest wall and pulls her legs up to her chest, a sign of pain flashing across her battered face as she settles into a fetal position.

Solana’s chest tightens. She knows exactly what Brandi is feeling right now. Numb. It’s a numbness that feels like everything and nothing at the same time, a deep, guttural scream lying within the confines of shock from trauma.

A trauma Solana knows all too well.

“Brandi, please—”

“Just leave me alone.” A whispered, pained thing. Empty and hollow.

Solana swallows. “I–”

“This is all your fault.”

Five words. A simple sentence. One hell of an impact.

The tightening in Solana’s chest only intensifies, just as the tears brewing threaten to spill down her face for the umpteenth time today. “Wh–what?”

It’s only then that Brandi looks up, that hollowness replaced with indescribable anger. And pain. “I’m here because of you.” Her bottom lip trembles as she lifts one hand, pointing to the door. “My baby is somewhere out there because of you.” Her volume increases as she gestures to herself with a trembling hand. “I was just rap—” Her eyes close, her entire body shaking as she breaks out in sobs, hands covering her face. 

And, in that moment, while Solana’s heart swells with a tremendous amount of empathy, of heartbreaking understanding.

She can do nothing else, she can say nothing else.

Because, Brandi isn’t entirely wrong.

She’s not entirely wrong at all.

—----------

It’s about 45 minutes into the drive that Roman realizes where Dwayne is taking them all, and initially, he’s irritated, not necessarily because of where they’re going and more because of the fact that they have to go there.

In hiding.

Because, they are.

Because, they no longer know who to trust.

Roman no longer knows who to trust.

After driving for a total of almost two hours, they arrrive at their destination.

Roman steps out of the parked SUV at the same time as Dwayne. Out the corner of his eye, he sees Matteo and Afia helping the children out the Escalade that they drove. 

“Well, ya’ll look like shit.” 

Beer in hand, bid body leaning against the pillar on his porch, Steve Austin’s gaze is assessing and judgmental. Typical for the man whose attitude could only be matched by his ferocity in the field.

A legendary mercenary who worked closely with Dwayne many years ago on countless assignments and missions but is now semi-retired working as a private firearm dealer.

Dwayne chuckles, taking the first step onto said porch. “We’ve seen better days.” His small smile morphs into something almost regretful. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Steve makes a sound, brushing off the unnecessary indirect apology. “All the times you saved my ass when we were out there young, dumb, hotheads? Don’t mention it.” He directs his attention then to Roman, also looking something close to repentant. “Real sorry to hear about what’s happening.”

Roman says nothing. What does someone being and feeling sorry for him do?

Not a damn thing.

The door to the house busts open, revealing a flustered Ava who has a slight cut on her eyebrow. Her focus immediately lands on Roman, who she makes a beeline over, pulling him into a hug.

“We’re gonna get her back,” she whispers in his ear, holding him close and tight.

Again, nothing is said. 

He’d give anything to feel that way, because right about now, Roman can’t deny the helpless feeling building and budding inside of them.

He does have to ask, trailing off, “did you….”

Ava nods. “She’s upstairs sleeping.”

Roman nods.

One.

That’s one thing he can feel slightly relieved about.

Dulce.

Dulce is safe, Roman asking Ava to pick her up from the groomers, because Solana being kidnapped is one thing, but he’ll be damned if he lets anything happen to her dog who she loves more than anything.

The same dog he can admit, only to himself, he also loves.

Just then, the backdoor opens as a just-now-coming-to Rhodes exits, looking just as lost as he probably feels. Hand to the back of his head, he asks no one in particular. “Where the hell am I?”

Ava looks over at Cody with an undeniable amount of anger. Her gaze and question is then set to Roman. “What the hell is he—”

“It’s a long story,” he dismisses, asking Steve. “Can we come in?”

Finishing off his beer—probably the third of the day—he tosses it with zero regard. “Well, I sure as hell ain’t gon’ make ya’ll stand out here looking like a bunch of dumbasses.”

The group make their way into the house, Steve granting them privacy and Ava offering to take the kids upstairs with snacks and drinks so they also don’t have to overhear what’s bound to be a heavy conversation.

“So, what do we know?” Afia asks as the lot of them surround Steve’s large dining room table, Dwayne sitting at said table with his laptop open, attempting to access the Bloodline database.

A fruitless effort, given the quiet curse that leaves his mouth and the flashing red from the screen. Roman has never been tech savvy, but he knows enough to know that’s never a good sign.

“Solana, Brandi Rhodes, and Emma Rhodes, Brandi and Cody’s daughter were all kidnapped earlier this afternoon at the local library where Solana works and mother and daughter were visiting for some reason.” Matteo supplies, looking over at Cody. “Is it normal for her to go there—”

“No,” Cody answers immediately, pacing back and forth. “And, I don’t know why the hell she was there in the first place. I know….I know she went a couple months ago, and somehow Emma got separated from her, but from what Brandi told me, Solana found Emma and helped her find—”

“Wait, what?” Roman would like nothing more to kill Cody. For one reason. For no reason. For all the reasons. There’s a river of red and blood that’s too deep, too thick for them to ever see eye to eye, so it’s safe to say the Tribal Chief wasn’t listening to a damn thing the man was saying until he got to that part. “What do you mean Solana found her? They know each other?”

Cody looks over, shaking his head. “I don’t know specifics. Just that Brandi told me Solana helped Emma get back to her, and that Emma…she really liked her.” his voice trails off, his gaze focusing on the wall adjacent to him, emotion bubbling. He clears his throat, clearly remembering where he is and who he’s talking to. “I told her never to go back there after that, so for the life of me, I can’t figure out why she went back.”

Roman is quiet, not giving two shits about why the fuck Rhodes’ wife went against his orders and is more concerned with why and how Solana never told him about this. How no one in her security detail never thought to tell him.

How Solo, who was probably still her personal guard at the time, never said a thing.

And as if listening, a beep sounds from the computer.

"What is it?" Matteo inquires.

"It's a video conference request," Dwayne answers. He looks over at Roman. "From Solo."

Something unknown but heavy laps at Roman, an almost eerie knowing, as he mutters a quiet but firm. "Answer it."

Dwayne does just that, jabbing the button on the laptop, the group all waiting for the video to load.

And, then it does.

“Son of a bitch….” Is Dwayne’s hissed response at the sight of several men standing behind one man who sits in the middle, dressed in an all black suit with a red ula fala around his neck.

Solo.

It’s Solo.

But, he’s not alone, because Roman recognizes four of the men behind him.

Tama, Tonga, Jacob, and Rikishi.

All his family. 

All currently behind the violent siege underway.

“I’m going to fucking rip you to pieces,” Roman vows, hand fisting at his side as, in a matter of mere seconds, he went from feeling an array of emotions to just one.

Anger.

Nothing but anger.

All of them. 

He’s going to kill every single fucking one of them. Slowly. Painfully. Methodically. In every brutal, grisly way that he can think of.

Solo smirks, lifting his chin. “Roman Reigns.” A formal acknowledgement tinged with a hint of humor. “I think you’ve seen better days.”

Roman takes no one by surprise when the anger courses through his body manifests in him screaming out, “where is she!”

Rikishi makes a tsk tsk tsk sound. “You never were good with patience, huh?”

“Cut the shit, you two,” Dwayne practically growls, both him and Matteo doing their best to study the background to try to get some sense of where he might be located. The fucker is smart though, as it seems there’s some sort of black draping, intended to shield from that sort of detection. “Where’s Solana?”

Cody also cuts in with similar sentiments as Roman. “Where’s Brandi and Emma!”

Solo rolls his eyes. “That’s a question for your lil’ cousin, Rhodes.”

At that, Roman sees the way Cody’s face pales. “Bron?” And then, the anger. “Bron is behind this?”

“They both are,” Roman states, teeth gritted, putting the pieces together in real time. “They’ve been working together.”

Solo’s smirk confirms as such. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Why both the Bloodline and Nightmare Factory men turned on both him and Cody back at the library. An alliance of some sort has been formed between the former enforcers. 

“Roman isn’t fit to lead the Bloodline anymore,” Solo growls, fist on the table before him. “We need new leadership. It just so happened Bron felt the same about the Nightmare Factory."

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Roman snarls. “You can’t trust a fucking Rhodes!”

Solo’s smile is nothing shut of evil, his voice sickeningly sweet. “Just like you couldn’t trust us, huh?”

A blow.

It’s a fucking blow to the gut. To the chest. To the soul. Because Solo is right in that.

Roman couldn’t trust him, but he did, and it’s potentially cost him everything.

“But, aye, I’m a generous Tribal Chief, so imma do you a favor.” He stands up, gesturing for whoever is filming to follow him. “Come on.”

A maniacal laugh sounds from behind the camera, and in that single second, the situation progresses from bad to worse.

Roman would know that sound anywhere, but it’s an equally pissed Rhodes who identifies the person. “Seth...”

Roman’s eyes shut. Of course. Of course, they would recruit him for this. That psychotic son of a bitch has no love for Roman nor Cody, believing himself a “victim” and “abandoned” by both of them. Roman’s caution is upped a notch with this new piece of information.

Seth is the definition of a wild card. Whatever role he plays in this whole thing can’t be minimized nor downplayed.

They’re moving down a dimly lit hall, and Roman can see out of the corner of his eye Afia taking notes, clearly trying to document as much of the space as possible. Trying to narrow down a potential location.

Helpful but maybe not necessary.

Solo finally arrives in a dingy looking room that’s filled with more of Roman's men, his former Bloodline, armed and ready.

But then, Roman’s world shatters. 

“Solana…”

He sees her. Solana. She’s alive, but her face is red and bruised, a cut on her cheek, dried blood caked on her pretty skin. He searches her body for any other sign of injury, but it’s impossible to do so given the oversized hoodie, jeans, and sneakers she wears.

He has no idea how to know about….about the girls.

It kills him.

But, that’s nothing compared to when he realizes just what’s happening. She’s being dragged by her hair into the room where fucking Tama throws her to the ground, Solana landing on her palms.

“You asked for her, right?” Solo mocks, a cruel grin on his face. “Here she is.” He barks at Tama to pick her back up. “Aye, Solana, you remember that?” 

The camera switches from the scene of Solana being yanked up once again by her hair to a medium large stainless steel bucket that Roman can see is filled with water. Instantly, he knows what’s about to happen.

“I swear to God, Solo, if you—” He’s stopped by the camera panning to Solana who was clearly looking in the direction of the camera, probably hearing his voice, but now it’s directed toward her.

Catches the moment she sees the bin and also knows what's about to occur.

“No.” Her eyes are wide and filled with fright that practically cripples him. “No!” Solana cries, instantly moving to try to break free as Tama leads her over to the bucket. “No, please!”

“Solo, please—” Roman finds himself begging almost. He doesn’t give a fuck. He’ll do whatever it takes. Because Solana being subjected to that, to the torture she worked so hard to escape, it kills him. His pride doesn’t exist in that moment.

“What kind of weak man goes after an innocent woman, huh?” Matteo barks, the anger felt amongst the group of them nothing compared to the pain that fills Roman.

He was supposed to protect her.

He promised to protect her.

And now, look.

He’s failed her.

He’s failed her just like he failed his family.

Soalna’s screams and cries haunt him, Roman preparing to plead, whatever it takes, when a new voice is heard.

“Aye! What you doing, man!”

Chills. 

No.

The day’s events must be taking their toll on Roman, because there’s no way—

And then, he sees it.

Sees how the camera pans to a furious looking Jey who grabs Tama, punching him out and putting himself between Solana and their cousin. Solana scrambles away to the nearest wall, eyes closed, hand over her chest, obviously trying to settle her nerves.

“What the hell is this, Solo!” Jey shouts as Tonga restrains Tama from striking back. “You ain’t say it was gonna be all of this! I ain’t sign up for this shit!”

There’s a rush of emotions running through Roman in this moment for a variety of reasons. He can hear the shocked, angry responses of those around him, see how Solo chides his older brother for being so “weak,” but all of that pales in comparison to how Roman’s chest tightens seeing Solana scream out in fear when Jey moves toward her.

“Don’t touch me!” She shouts, shaking her head. “How—how could you do this to us?” She sounds every bit as hurt and betrayed as he feels. “How could you do this to Roman?”

The same question probably shared amongst the group helplessly watching the horrors unfold. 

“God, you're so goddamn annoying."

A new voice added to the conversation.

Also, not unfamiliar.  

Samantha appears in frame, but she’s not alone. She’s roughly holding the arm of a young, crying child. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together to figure out who said child is.

Cody’s shoulders drop. “Emma!”

Emma is crying, face red and ruddy. “Where’s my mommy!” She cries harder when Samantha tosses her to the ground. “I want my daddy!” 

It’s a gut-wrenching scene to watch, for sure, but while a devastated Cody tries to gather the attention of his terrified daughter, Roman can only focus and watch as Solana gets up and rushes over to Emma, holding and cradling her.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she comforts. Roman sees the way Emma holds onto her, clearly feeling safe with his wife. A strange, almost solemn scene. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

A sneering Sam advances over to Solana and Emma, but Solana is quick, easily maneuvering Emma behind her.

“Don’t you dare touch her,” Solana hisses, shoulders squared, voice firm. It’s a bit of a shift for Roman, something close to surprise and pride filling him. It’s such a switch. The fear that had Solana cowered in the corner is nowhere to be seen as she puts herself between this child who she doesn’t even know, not well anyway, and a woman clearly intent on no good.

Samantha scoffs, stepping forward. “Move.” A sick smirk appears on her face as she lifts up a folding knife, effectively stilling the Tribal Chief. Fuck. “Or maybe I’ll just do us all a favor and kill you now.”

Roman isn’t sure what he expects his wife to do. He just knows that it kills him to have to watch all of this unfold and not do anything about it.

Not be able to protect her.

And then, it happens. Almost too quick. Solana’s speed seems to defy logic. Her forearm against Samantha’s neck, throwing her off balance, forcing her to drop the knife that Solana doesn’t hesitate to grab. And with continued swiftness, Solana suddenly has the upper hand. She’s holding Samantha’s arms behind her back, the knife in Solana’s hand pressed dangerously into her back, possibly drawing blood given the wince on Sam’s face.

Mouth near her ear, Solana hisses, loud enough for all to hear. “I’d like to see you try, bitch.”

She shoves and kicks her away, expertly retracting the knife that disappears in the sleeve of her hoodie. 

Impressed isn’t exactly the right word to use to describe what Roman feels. There’s nothing impressive about what’s happening, but a small sense of relief does build in him in seeing that even in this midst of what’s happened, Solana hasn’t lost it.

Hasn’t lost that fight and fire she’s worked so hard over the past months to build.

“You got this, Sol…” Afia whispers, loud enough for him to hear. “Don’t give up.”

A shared sentiment. 

But, as Samantha gets up and prepares to lunge for Solana, Jey once again stands in front of Solana who continues to protect Emma.

“You ain’t putting your fucking hands on her.”

Words that Roman would like to find reassuring, but he can’t. He can’t, because Jey is a part of this whole thing.

He’s clearly picked his side, and it’s not Roman’s.

Solo makes a sound, big face back in the screen. “As you can see, there’s a lot going on.” He blows out a breath, as if overwhelmed by it all. As if this isn’t all his doing. “But look, Imma’ cut right to the point.” There’s movement from Solo walking out the room, camera focused only on him. “You got 48hrs to bring your ass here, so we can settle this once and for all. And to help you out, I’m gon send you the exact coordinates of where we are.” He then adds, as if remembering. “Same goes for your new buddy, Cody.”

It’s a difficult, almost painful thing for Roman to focus on what’s being said when all he can visualize is Solo’s bloody, gruesome corpse after Roman gets his hands on him. But then, he says it, he says what Roman’s emotions have blocked him from considering.

“And, I know you got a lot going on right now, but even you and that big ass ego you got can’t deny you already know how this gon’ turn out.” He rolls his shoulders, voice equally menacing as it is threatening. “Not only have you been outsmarted, but you’re outmanned, outnumbered, outgunned.” He smiles, once again, no trace of humor to be detected. “Who you got there? Dwayne? Matteo? Rhodes?” He laughs, humorlessly. “You have nothing.”

Matteo and Dwayne say something in response, but Roman does not. He says nothing, because there’s nothing to say.

Solo is right.

Roman has been betrayed and turned on by the people closest to him, his Bloodline, maybe even the Cosa Nostra at this point. He doesn’t even fucking know anymore. He just knows, for the first time in his life, he’s been backed into a corner and the way out seems to be a far off, distant, nearly impossible thing.

“....And that’s not just a prediction—” Solo’s statement, familiar and close, snatches Roman away from his depressing realization. He looks off camera, only for another figure to fill the frame, Roman’s devastation deepening.

Paul’s smirking frame takes up the entire shot. “It’s a spoiler.”

The screen goes black.

“Son of a bitc—”

Dwayne’s curse is silence by Roman tipping over a chair as he angrily marches outside the house through the backdoor and into the yard. He throws a nearby chair across the spacious yard, uncaring of any damage or destruction caused in the process.

His chest hurts, and his head throbs, consumed with swimming, overwhelming thoughts.

They’ve betrayed him. Every fucking person he thought he could trust has all turned on him.

They’ve all fucking betrayed him.

Eyes shut, breathing heavy, Roman has to place his hand over his chest to settle himself. It’s too much. 

Too fucking much.

Heavy footsteps behind him give away the person present, but Roman isn’t in the mood.

“Roman….”

“Not right now,” he grits out, on the verge of a panic attack. Or maybe a nervous breakdown. Or, hell, maybe a fucking heart attack. At this point, who fucking knows.

Dwayne sighs. “Roman, you—”

“WHAT!” Roman turns around and snaps. All of the emotions, the happenings, the loss, the betrayal finally bubbling over and erupting. Roman motions to nothing in particular, just the dark abyss of the wooded forest beyond Steve’s backyard. “He has the Bloodline! He has the Nightmare Factory! He has my wife!” It’s with that last acknowledgment Roman’s shoulders slump, the despair taking front row. His voice lowered, he clarifies. “My pregnant wife.” Premature defeat as well as an unfamiliar helplessness fills the devastated man’s voice, as he admits, “I have nothing to lose.”

Dwayne allows it. Allows him the moment to have this. To let it all hit him, heavy and crushing, but necessary, nonetheless. 

Because there’s no way in hell they can survive this with him suppressing all of his feelings.

“That’s bullshit, Roman, and you know it.” Dwayne finally speaks after a few minutes of silence. “You have everything to lose.” Dwayne points back to the house. “He has your wife, yes. He has the backing of the Bloodline. Maybe. But, you know what he doesn’t have? He doesn’t have your mind. He doesn’t have your ruthlessness. Doesn’t have your intellect. Solo’s a little bitch cosplaying as a grown man cause his fat ass daddy has bucked him up to think he’s fit for the job.” Dwayne continues, seeing and knowing his younger cousin well enough to know he’s taking in everything that’s being said. “He thinks he’s won, because he knows what Solana means to you, knows how much you love her, and he thinks it’s made you weak.”

“He’s right.” Matteo’s voice suddenly sounds from the steps leading into the house. “He’s playing a mind game with you.” Stepping down into the yard, he crosses his arms, adding, “he’s clearly been watching you. Studying you.”

When Dwayne gives him the nod of approval, a sign to continue, Matteo doesn’t waste it. “You must have a million and one emotions running through you right now. That’s okay. Hone it and use it. Use it to fuel your anger and your fury, because you’re going to need it to make it through this.”

Eyes shut, words marinating, there’s a settling of the previously spiking panic that’s minimizing and settling into something else inside of Roman. Something powerful and stirring.

“You’ve been betrayed. Clearly. From several angles, and that shit’s gotta hurt like hell coming from family.” Roman looks away. “But, you know as well as I do, that’s not the priority right now. The priority is getting Solana back and reminding those bastards why the biggest and last mistake they’ll ever make in life was crossing Roman fucking Reigns.”

To say this has been the worst day of his life would be an understatement. The worst day of his life would be more than welcomed over whatever this is. Regardless of how awful and hurt and lost Roman feels at all that’s occurred, the wise, sage words of his relatives are effective.

They tap into that part of him that hasn’t been needed in a while. The part of him that he’s always wanted to keep hidden away from Solana. The reason he’s as feared as he is.

Because, it’s needed.

Roman isn’t needed in this moment. Roman needs to rest and recover.

The Tribal Chief is who’s needed.

And, that’s exactly who Solo is going to get.

“We have to play this smart,” is Roman’s only acknowledgment of everything that was stated. He appreciates it, but to go beyond that would require a deeper amount of reflecting. He doesn’t have time for this shit. Doesn’t have time to be Roman Reigns right now. 

They made him into the ruthless, aggressive, merciless killer that he is, and that’s exactly who they’re about to receive.

“They have the numbers advantage,” Roman finishes. Because as lethal as the combination of himself, Dwayne, Matteo, and maybe Afia and Ava could be, it still pales in comparison to not only the Bloodline, but the Nightmare Factory. 

A big advantage.

Dwayne shakes his head. “Maybe not.” Both Matteo and Roman cast skeptical expressions as he vaguely answers. “I may have made a call.”

And just like that, Roman’s defenses are up again. “To who?”

A voice clearing from by the back door sounds, drawing the attention of all three men. It’s Ava. “So, Santos Escobar is here?

Roman easily shifts from cautious to irritated. “What the fuck, Dwayne?”

The older man lifts his hands in an almost defensive manner. “Look, I know you’ve got no love for Escobar, and the feeling is mutual, but you yourself told me he said Solana is also under the protection of the Legado Del Fantasma, so that means they’d be willing to help us.”

But, it mostly goes in one ear and out the other. Stubbornly, almost defiantly, Roman reiterates, “I don’t need his help.”

“Yes, you do, Roman,” Matteo cuts in, his voice almost gentle like. “Like you said, they have the number advantage. We have to try to even that up as much as we can.”

At that, his own words being used against him, Roman has no retort.

He has no retort because that nagging voice inside of him acknowledges that Matteo and Dwayne are right.

If there’s help to be offered, he would be a fool to decline it.

But, it’s almost impossible for him to not be chained down by both his pride and his trauma at once again being betrayed. At being in a place where the same man who he once thought he’d lay down his life for if the situation called for it, is working with the people hellbent on seeing Roman’s demise.

Solo and Rikishi’s betrayal is crushing.

Jey’s is shattering.

And Roman isn’t stupid. He knows how tense things with Jey have been, maybe always been to some extent, but this coup has clearly been a well plotted, planned thing for some time. Long before his issues with Jey stirred up again for round two.

When Roman thought they were fine, they weren’t. 

They very clearly weren’t.

Roman turns away, hands on his head as he blows out a deep breath. The battle between logic and trauma in the final round, tussling deep within his chest and soul.

And then a memory hits him, a scene from one of his many dreams rolling him into the battle for a paramount, necessary perspective switch.

Leya sniffles to the left of him. “You have to save her, daddy.”  His head snaps to her, confused by her words, confused by the fact that he’s not freaking out more, by the fact that he just somehow knows that Solana has been taken. “She won’t have much time.”

“Mommy can only fight with us for so long.” His attention switches to Lina, her comment leaving him just as perplexed as her twin. “You’re gonna have to trust them, daddy.”

“What?” He breathes. The weight on his chest is intensifying by the fucking second. “I don’t—”

“It’s the only way to save her.” Leyah reaches for his arm, her little mouth formed into a frown. “They’re gonna kill her if you don’t.”

His chest nearly explodes at that one word.

Kill

But, it’s when the next statement that leaves their mouths, at the same time, that does him over.

“And they’re gonna kill us too.”

The entire flashback to his ominous dream almost nightmare is overall unsettling in many ways, but there’s a certain part he can’t negate, that he can’t ignore.

“You’re gonna have to trust them, daddy.”

Trust.

Such a difficult, impossible thing for Roman, especially when it’s that same thing that has him in the situation he’s in now.

He trusted the wrong people, and now Solana—and his unborn daughters—are paying for it.

Roman closes his eyes.

Utilizing the words from his dream children from an actual dream as a guiding force might not be the best. It might even be crazy to some people, but he’s starting to believe that Solana was right when she said the dreams meant something.

Premonitions, almost. 

Needed for a time like this. 

Because, it’s all he has. 

“Okay.” 

A simple word. 

A powerful agreement.

Matteo and Dwayne exchange a look, neither willing or wanting to say anything to risk Roman backtracking. They simply guide him back into the house where, sure enough, Escobar waits with two men and one women trailing him. Roman recognizes the two men from being at the restaurant that day. 

He also recognizes the woman. 

Bayley.

And, she looks just as gutted as Roman feels. 

“That son of a bitch.” She shakes her head, fist at her side. “What kind of piece of shit goes after an innocent woman?”

Her question is presented to no one in particular. Just a necessary thing she clearly needs to get out, along with an array of other emotions. She angrily wipes at her teary eyes, looking away.

Santos gaze is leveled as he directs his question toward Roman. “Do you have her location?”

Dwayne answers. “Yes. An abandoned plant about two hours out from here.”

The shorter man nods, taking in the information. “Are you sure?”

“Solo sent us the coordinates.” Matteo supplies, already knowing he doesn’t need to say anything else after that. Santos look in response is telling enough. 

Looking directly at Roman, he states aloud, “he wants you to come.” 

Bayley whispers what everyone was thinking when Solo first announced he was sharing the address so willingly. “A trap.”

Roman says nothing. Trap or not, nothing could keep him from going to save his wife. Even if he had to go at it alone.

“Someone wants to speak to you.” Santos appearance was unexpected as hell, but such a statement leaving his mouth is at the top of the unexpected hill. “And, it’s not a request.”

Just like that, the anger is building up again in the Head of the Table. “Excuse me? Who the fuck—”

“Roman.” Matteo’s single word is layered with all the unspoken things. The reminder he needs. Priorities.

Biting his tongue and setting aside his pride, Roman grits out a reluctant, “fine.”

Santos and his men move quickly to set up an open laptop where Dwayne’s once was, motioning for Roman to take the seat previously occupied by his older cousin.

And, in a matter of minutes, the setup is completed. It’s the same crowd gathered around to watch and observe, sans Cody, who’d apparently gone out front.

For similar reasons as Roman, he’d guess.

It’s a similar setup to Solo and crew, but in this one, the background is obvious and visible. They’re in a conference room. A man sitting at the front of the table with another to the right of him, older and a bit heavier. There’s something familiar about him that Roman can’t put his hand on.

Santos speaks in Spanish to the men, and it’s then how Roman notices the improved posture of the latest guests. A sign of respect and reverence for whoever these men are, clearly.

“Roman Reigns,” the one at the head of the table speaks, his deep voice thickly accented. “Not exactly the circumstances under which I’d thought we’d meet, but an honor, nonetheless.”

If only Roman felt the same.

“Who the hell are you?”

But, while the majority of the room hit Roman with disapproving glances at his brusque response, the man on screen simply smiles. “Your reputation precedes you. I’m impressed.”

And, I don’t care.

Roman is just about to snap at Escobar for wasting his time when finally, a proper introduction is given. “My name is Domingo Lopez.” Right away, any trace of irritability felt within Roman is washed away and replaced with a sense of surprise and confusion. 

Roman knows that name very well. Anyone in the business does.

Domingo Lopez.

The head of the Gulf Cartel, the oldest and biggest Mexican criminal syndicate.

The same syndicate Roman has been trying and planning to meet with to discuss a possible alliance with for some weeks now. Months, maybe. But, something had always come up, either on Roman’s end or Lopez's end.

What a meeting, indeed.  

Domingo chuckles. “I take it you know who I am now.”

No shit. The shift in Roman’s tone is audible, even his body language. “I do.”

Domingo sits forward. “And you’re wondering what the hell it is I want with you.” He then gestures to the man beside him. “This is Tomas Escobar. Old man has served the Cartel for decades. A loyal aid to my father before he retired and a trusted guide for me since I took over so many years ago at the age of 18. Similar to yourself.” Roman is focused less on the connections and more the name.

He knows that name.

It was in the letter Solana let him read. The one from her mother. 

Tomas Escobar.

Her uncle.

Tomas is Solana’s great uncle.

And judging now by the slight similarities in appearance, Santos' father.

Still, making all of these connections is something Roman keeps to himself, instead asking a more relevant question that comes out as more of a statement. “You’re aware of what’s happened.”

Domingo nods. “I am.” He leans back into his seat. Roman would guess Santos informed his father, and his father made his boss aware. But, why?

“Normally, I would allow a select number of men to aid in this rescue effort you plan to undergo. Whatever men and resources within the Legado Del Fantasma would be your limit, but….but this is different.” He clasps his hands together, acknowledging. “Tomas has served me well, and Santos has also proven to be an effective leader. But, the truth of the matter is that what I am prepared to do is solely because of your wife, Mr. Reigns.”

Brows furrowed, Roman doesn’t hesitate to ask. “What do you mean?” 

“A few months ago, during your trip to Isla Mujeres, you and your wife met my daughter, Aurora.” Roman stills, instantly recalling the quiet little girl who’d taken a liking to him but especially Solana.

Shit. 

That same girl is Mexico’s biggest cartel leader’s daughter?

“Solana was kind to her, offering a simple gesture of kindness that has not only helped my little girl in more ways than you can imagine but my family as a whole.” He explains, voice shifting into something almost sentimental. A rare thing for such a man. “And for that, I owe your wife a great debt that I intend to make good on right now.”

“Solana may be an Escobar by blood and thus has the protection of the Legado Del Fantasma, but from here on out, she also will have the protection of the full Gulf Cartel as well.”

Roman is stunned into silence. What does he say to that?

“Right now, as we speak, I have several fleets of my best men and weapons headed your way. They should arrive in a few hours.” A wave of silence overcomes the entire room, a disbelief of sorts for almost everyone. Especially Roman. “Whatever else you need, ask, and it is yours.”

To say this day has been one of the most stressful of his life would absolutely be putting it lightly. Just this morning, everything was fine. By the afternoon, he felt like he was in hell. And now, he sits here before another of one of the most feared men on the continent, hearing that not only is the Cartel supplying the Tribal Chief with an army and unlimited resources, but there’s a standing invitation for support later down the road.

He’s fucking floored.

Domingo, however, isn’t done. “Mr. Reigns, you will bring your wife home safely, strike down anyone who was a part of this coup, and when the dust settles, we shall meet to discuss business.” He smirks, eyes alight with greed and anticipation. “An alliance with the Bloodline and Cosa Nostra will only strengthen our empires.” The same sentiment Roman had when his initial interest piqued in the Cartel. “But, I am only interested in securing that deal if it is you who sits at the head of the table, because as I said earlier, your reputation precedes you.” A beat. “And, as far as I am concerned, you are the only Tribal Chief.”

—-----------

The minute Solana is thrown back into the same room she was in before, where Brandi still lies there, silent and unmoving, she feels it.

Small, subtle, but present.

There’s a switch that’s occurred. A death and a rebirth.

She doesn’t feel the same sense of dread that had her feeling helpless and hopeless. Doesn't feel as empty and deterred. 

She feels the exact opposite. 

Determined.

Hopeful.

Angry,

And, it’s all because of a single little girl.

Emma.

Because when Samantha moved to hurt Emma, something snapped in Solana. It was like she was broken from the shackles of her despair and thrust into an overwhelming sense of urgency and protection.

Because, it wasn’t Emma’s crying, helpless face she saw.

It was herself.

Solana saw a younger version of herself.

She was that helpless, defenseless child.

But, she’ll be damned if she lets Emma suffer the same fate.

It’s why she stood so boldly and with confidence against Samantha, because that’s what she needs to make it out of this alive. And, she will. Because she made a promise. 

To herself. 

To her girls.

To her family

Her husband and unborn children that she’ll do whatever it takes to protect them. 

Because it’s when she was being dragged back to her cell by Nia, another accomplice in this nightmare, a memory hit her. A recollection of what, at the time, felt like a dream, but now, she most definitely knows and understands was not a dream.

It was a warning.

“Mommy.”

Solana is startled by the sudden presence of her girls. She never even heard them walk over. “Yes, baby?”

“You’re gonna protect us, right?”

Eyes crinkling with confusion, Solana adjusts her baby boy, lightly patting his back. “What–what do you mean, honey?”

Her oldest eyes watering only sets Solana off even more, as she looks to Roman for some assistance only to see he’s no longer there.

He’s gone.

Solana’s stomach drops as she turns her head, looking to see where he’s gone when her daughter moves a hand to the baby’s back. “You’re gonna have to fight for us.”

Solana is beyond confused right now. About it all. “I don’t—”

“Daddy’s not gonna be there. You have to do it, mama.” The quieter of the two taking a turn to speak, voice almost desperate and emotional only exacerbates the situation. Solana feels her own tears forming when her daughter reaches out her little hand, placing it on her shoulder. “And you can’t trust them.”

That’s when Solana really stills. Looking between the two who wear such troubled expressions, she asks, “trust who?”

Solana’s eyes shut.

Rikishi. 

Solo. 

Nia.

Jey.

That’s who the girls were talking about. They were who she couldn’t trust.

But, it’s less the warning from her daughters that Solana keeps at the forefront of her mind, and more the question, “you’re gonna protect us, right?” and the reminder, “you’re gonna have to fight for us.”

Hands now free from the ties, she places her hand over her belly, a silent promise made.

Fight.

Something Solana at one point didn’t think she was capable of, but the truth of the matter is that she’s been fighting her whole life.

She fought to live, beat her coma, when the men who took her mother’s life also tried to take hers.

She fought and dragged her way out that house after being gang raped and beaten as a child, overcoming her injuries to live.

She survived not one but two attempts at taking her own life.

Solana has spent her entire life surviving adversity after adversity, and she’s damn sure not about to stop now.

Deep down, she knows Roman is coming for her, knows that there’s no way in hell he won’t, and while it terrifies her what he could be walking into, she has to trust he knows what he’s doing. Trust that he’s got this.

She just has to stay alive long enough for him to get to her.

Gaze falling over to Brandi, Solana is careful in her movements, keeping a comfortable distance as she settles on her knees in front of the woman.

“I saw Emma.”

Just like that, Brandi jumps up, eyes wide, filled with abject fear. “What? Is sh—”

“She’s okay,” Solana assures. Jey had told her he’d make sure no one hurt the little girl after also promising to try to secure it to where Emma could be with them. Not that it makes much of a difference.

He’s a liar and can go to hell just like the rest of them.

“Brandi, I need you to listen to me.” Solana doesn’t know how much time she has until the woman before her, who’s now crying again, overwhelmed with everything that’s happened, shuts her out again. “You’re hurt and confused and angry and so many other things, and I know this not just because….because we’re both in this situation together, but….” She drops her head, pushing back some of her hair, voice lowering into an almost whisper. “Because I felt the same way after I was raped.”

Had she been looking up, Solana would have seen the horrified gleam in the other woman’s eyes. “And that….that’s going to take time to heal from, but you will heal from it. I promise you that.” Solana believes that with everything in her. She has to. “But right now….right now is not about healing, it’s about surviving.” Solana looks back at her, swallowing and returning to her previously strong, firm voice. “We are not going to die in here. Your daughter is not going to die in here.”

My daughters are not going to die in here, Solana thinks to herself. A vow. A promise. An oath.

“We are going to fight like hell, and we are going to survive this.” Brandi’s bottom lip trembles, as she remains quiet but listening. “But, we have to do it together. And, I know….I know our husband’s history with each other, but it’s not about that right now. That’s them. This is us. And right now, our priority is to get out of here alive, which I know we can do….but, I need you to trust me.”

Such an impossible thing for the other woman, Solana is certain. She’s certain because it’s that trust that landed them in the situation they’re in. 

Roman

Cody

Solana

Brandi

They all trusted the people who swore to love and protect them, but now, those same people seek to destroy them.

And she can’t let that happen.

Solana doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want to pressure Brandi, just wants to leave her with important things to consider.

And, she does, because just as Solana is preparing to move back to where she was previously sitting, a still, small voice fills the room.

“What do you need me to do?”

An indescribable joy and relief fills Solana that's only matched by her determination that make every bastard that's apart of this plot pay for what they've done.

She’s about to show them all just how “stupid” this bitch is.

[vampstarkey]

❝  jealous of your brother ..

Masterlist ☆

＿ warnings: unprotected sex, sucking on the neck, virgin reader, cheating, pussy slapping, jealous reader, face sitting, boobs pressing and female masturbation.

＿ Note: this has not been reviewed (if that's not your thing then leave)

You were the adopted daughter of the Cameron family, the little princess Kook. Ever since you were little, everyone on the island knew your name. You grew up surrounded by privileges, always protected by Rafe, your older brother. He wouldn't let anything or anyone get close to you without his approval. No matter how old you were, he always made sure to watch over you, keep you away from any danger and, especially, from anyone he deemed unworthy of your presence. After all, brothers do these things, right?

But lately, things started to change. Rafe, the same guy who spent nights at parties hugging different girls, was suddenly in a serious relationship. You never imagined he was the kind of guy who would get attached to someone, not after so many nights watching him drink until he lost his mind and get involved with any girl who came along. This always bothered you, although you would never admit it. It was a strange, suffocating feeling, but you tried to swallow it.

That night, another party was happening at the Cameron mansion. Ward and Rose were out, and as always, Rafe took advantage of his parents' absence to turn the house into a meeting place for his friends, the same ones as always, all noisy, drinking and having fun. You usually preferred to avoid that kind of environment. But this time, you decided to come down from your room, maybe out of curiosity, maybe because a part of you wanted to see Rafe.

As you crossed the crowded room, your eyes soon found the scene that made your stomach turn: a brunette sitting on his lap, her lips close to your ear as she whispered something that made you smile in a way you didn't like at all. His arm rested on her waist, his fingers drawing lazy circles on her skin. It was obvious that the girl was his girlfriend.

You felt a lump tighten in your throat, a heat rising through your body, an almost childish urge to roll your eyes and leave. But before you could move away, Rafe had already noticed your presence. And now, his eyes were fixed on you. "What are you doing here?" Rafe looked at you in surprise, after all he knew that you almost never showed up when he was throwing a party.

You crossed your arms trying to look indifferent, even though you felt the weight of his gaze falling on you “I didn’t know I needed your permission to walk around my own house, Rafe.”

The boy raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms before lightly touching the girl's leg in his lap. "Give me a minute with my little sister, dear." He told her, giving her a carefree smile. The brunette nodded, standing up without question and blending into the crowd. As soon as she was out of sight, Rafe turned his attention to you, walking over to where you were. "I never said you couldn't come, y/n, I just assumed you'd be staying in your room, like always." His eyes went up and down, looking at your body.

"Well, but now I'm here, is there a problem?" The words came out more firmly than you felt inside, but heat quickly rose to your cheeks when he looked at you like that, maybe it was just in your head. "No, no problem, I just think you should change out of those short pajamas, it's not the right environment for that." There he was giving you orders like he always did and in fact it was to be expected. "I don't want to change," you replied without hesitation.

“Don’t test my patience, go upstairs and put on something else right now.” The order was direct, sharp, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. Considering the environment, your outfit really wasn’t appropriate at all, but that seemed more like an excuse than a genuine concern. The short pink shorts made of thin silk and the white blouse that accentuated your breasts, a combination you wore only to feel comfortable at home, now seemed to be the center of criticism. Rafe, who always saw you wearing this type of outfit, knew very well the impact it caused.

You arched an eyebrow, trying not to let your discomfort show, and responded with a forced smile. “Stop it. Why don’t you go worry about your girlfriend?” A sarcastic smile expanded on Rafe’s face, and he realized right away what was happening. It was as if he was amused by the fact that you couldn’t hide your irritation and jealousy. He let out a low laugh, but the teasing tone was clear. “Oh, so that’s it, are you jealous?” Your eyes widened at that observation. He wasn't wrong, but of course you weren't going to say it.

"That's the stupidest thing you've ever said to me, I'm not jealous." The answer came out in a rush, louder than you would have liked, trying to hide the truth behind words that didn't have as much power as your trembling voice. "Don't be silly, I know you." He watched you with an almost triumphant smile, as if he was unraveling every piece of you.

He took a long step towards you, and before you could react, he grabbed your arm tightly. Rafe came even closer, his lips almost touching your ear as he whispered: “I can prove you right, sis.” That low, possessive tone of voice was enough to send shivers down anyone’s spine.

The feeling of having no control over what was happening made your mind spin, and you found yourself wondering where this would take you. “Don’t play with me like that, Rafey.” His name, pronounced that way, had a different weight. That was how you used to call him when you were still a little girl.

“Oh, yeah? I don’t play with things I’m interested in, sis.” Rafe’s voice sounded almost like a challenge, loaded with something you couldn’t define. Before you could respond, he still held your arm tightly, pulling you without warning to a secluded corner of the house.

The surroundings seemed to disappear, and the only sound that filled the space was the distant music of The Weeknd that played in the background, creating a melody that contrasted with the tension, that was enough for you to realize what was happening. “Did you know that I always wanted you, y/n?” Rafe’s words hung in the air, a whisper that seemed to carry an immense weight, he looked at your lips as if he wanted to devour them.

You wanted to deny it, to push that idea away, but somehow you knew he was telling the truth and you could no longer try to hide how much you wanted your hot brother to touch you or do anything with your body, no matter how wrong and dirty it was. “Do you really want me, Rafe?” You asked hopefully as you felt the space shrinking more and more as he got closer.

Rafe took a strand of your hair and put it behind your ear. “You know I do, don’t play innocent, you can be everything, but innocent I know you’re not.” The boy placed you against the wall, holding your hands on each side of your body, leaving you immobile.

What you didn't know was that your older brother had caught you masturbating in your room a few times during the night, but he never intervened since he loved watching you rubbing yourself on your pillow or desperately sticking your fingers inside.

Every now and then, when you were out of the house, Rafe would take some of those thin lace panties of yours from your dresser drawer and smell them, he would rub them on his own cock while imagining everything he would like to do to his sweet and dear little sister.

Rafe's touch was quick, pulling the back of your neck firmly. In a subtle movement, his lips brushed yours, he bit your lips slowly, almost as if he was testing your limits, while his tongue slid softly into your red mouth, teasing you. "But... what about your girlfriend?" You asked with difficulty since the way he played with your lips made it a little difficult for you to speak.

“Shh, be quiet, don’t worry about her, we’re not doing anything wrong, after all I’m your brother.” He continued to pay attention to your lips, but now finally attacking them for good, Rafe kissed you with desire, pressing your body even more against the wall. His hands followed your waist, going down lower and lower in hot grips, the boy groped your ass with desire as he felt an uncontrolled, almost primitive hunger, the forbidden desire was erotic.

“Let me take care of you, will you let me?” He squeezed once more on the pink fabric of your short shorts that revealed a piece of your soft ass. “Yeah, I’ll let you..” A muffled moan left your lips after feeling the heat of Rafe’s hands against your skin. “Come with me, trust me.” Rafe said full of authority that you couldn’t ignore. He grabbed your hand with a firmness that seemed like a command, and before you could even think about the consequences, your feet moved, following you without question. He climbed the stairs with an almost predatory agility, the pressure of his hand pulling you closer to him.

When you reached the door to his room, you opened it without hesitation, and the sound of the latch clicking was like a signal for what was to come. In one fluid movement, he pulled you inside, and the air in the room seemed denser, heavier, as if the world outside no longer existed, the door closed behind you, and the darkness of Rafe's room seemed to envelop everything, as if you were in a place where nothing else mattered, just him and you.

— ☆ . .

Rafe was on top of you, already shirtless, as he hurriedly took off your silk shorts. “Tell me, has anyone ever fucked this sweet little pussy?” You shook your head in disagreement, no one had ever done anything sexual to you before. “Your brother is going to take your virginity then, sweetie.” It felt so wrong, but it was so delicious that you were just letting yourself get carried away.

Your shorts were thrown on the floor, giving Rafe a view of your tiny panties, he could see the wet spot that had formed from your arousal. Knowing that you were a virgin had only made the boy harder, being the first to taste your pussy was all he wanted.

“Sit on my face.” Overcome with lust, that was exactly what you did, it didn’t take long for the positions to reverse, you pulled your panties down, throwing them on the floor, soon adjusting yourself on top of Rafe, you sat on his face relaxing your pussy on top of him.

Rafe felt like he was going to collapse having all that sight before him. His brother's tongue moved slightly against your wet pussy while he had his hands resting on your thigh. "God, that feels so good.." You moaned, starting to rub yourself against his face.

Your pussy covered his face, Rafe felt like he could die suffocated by your pussy and still die happy. You held on to the headboard of the bed while your hips moved on his face, sliding so easily that it made you numb. The feeling of having a tongue sucking you for the first time was incredible, you just wanted more, you wanted to be able to feel everything Rafe was capable of giving you.

He sucked your clit, rubbing his tongue and nose against you, feeling your taste and your smell. "I want to taste this pussy every day, it tastes delicious." Rafe's hot breath hit your slit, you were trying hard not to moan loudly as he sucked you like that. Rafe was squeezing you tightly, swallowing you like it was the last thing he could do in his life.

You pulled your shirt hard, letting it fall, your nipples were hard and exposed, they swayed in a back and forth motion as you rubbed yourself against his face. “Rafey..” Your eyes closed tightly as you moaned softly, Rafe knew you were going to cum fast, you had never had this kind of contact, so he stopped sucking you, preventing you from finishing so quickly.

“Why did you stop, Ray?” You said as you sat back down on the bed, your breath coming up and down in your chest frantically. “You can’t cum now, sweetie, or the fun will be over.” Rafe said as he took off his pants along with his blue boxers clumsily, you watched feeling a heat between your legs, he soon pulled you again, but this time turning you to the side. “I want to fuck you like this.” The rough way he picked you up and turned you to the side made you bite your lip.

Rafe stood behind you, moving your hair away from your neck and getting closer. He could feel your ass rubbing against his cock from behind. “Open your legs for me.” As soon as you heard the request, you opened yourself for him. Rafe held your thigh as he began to rub his cock against your wet pussy.

His free hand found one of your breasts, squeezing it. Your body shivered as the head of his cock touched your pussy, which was getting increasingly wet. Rafe slid in, but still didn’t penetrate you. You could feel the way he played with your folds. “Be careful..” Your voice came out lower than you intended, a mix of adrenaline and excitement.

Rafe laughed at the comment, but without giving you any answers, he continued rubbing against you. His nose touched your smooth neck, smelling it and leaving small hickeys on the area that immediately turned purple as he continued.

“I’m going to put it inside you now, okay?” Rafe was usually pretty rough in bed, but since it was your first time, he felt the need to warn you before pushing in. “O-okay..”

He rubbed your entrance one last time before putting his cock inside, he pushed slowly as you felt a new and delicious sensation inside you. “Can you handle these nine inches of your brother, sweetie?” He pushed harder and harder as he heard your moans getting more intense.

“Yes, I can.” Rafe kept you open for him, soon moving. “Little slut, naughty.” The boy squeezed one of your breasts again, moving in and out of your pussy, the headboard of the bed banged against the wall, the only thing that could stop anyone from hearing what was happening inside the room was the music that was still playing outside. “Fuck, I love this.” He thought it was funny to see you cursing, it was fucking exciting to see how slutty you could be when no one was watching. His hips moved quickly, you felt like he could burst the walls of your pussy.

His breathing was fast against your ear, you welcomed every inch. “See how good your brother is fucking you, huh..” What you imagined when you were alone in your room was happening, your brother was really fucking you. “You make me feel so good..” You said, squirming on his cock.

Rafe stopped squeezing your breasts and started stimulating your clit with two fingers, he could feel how tight you were, he had never fucked a girl like that, your brother was marking his territory. “Now you’re mine, no one can touch you like this but me.” He slammed deep inside, your legs were getting weak. “Only I can make you cum, sis.” The words had a strong effect on you, Rafe slapped your pussy causing spasms throughout your body, it was as if moments ago you hadn't even had a little "argument" over jealousy.

He continued rubbing your clit as you slowly melted. "Ray, I-I'm going to-" Your words were cut off by the sensation that took over you, a delicious orgasm slowly hitting you as Rafe thrust inside. "Like that, sweetie, so good." Rafe slapped your pussy again feeling you cum on him.

The boy turned to you again, seeing you completely sweaty after what they did. “Don’t tell daddy what we did, or it’ll get us in trouble.” He grabbed a sheet that was next to him, covering your body. “I won’t tell.” His voice was low and tired as he looked at him with his beautiful Bambi eyes. “Great, sweetie, that’ll be our secret.”

Before he could do anything, Rafe tilted his head slightly, his eyes shining with a mix of amusement and something deeper. “Now tell me, were you jealous?” You crossed your arms and pouted involuntarily, hesitating for a moment before admitting in a low voice: “Okay, I confess… I didn’t like seeing you with another girl.”

The sarcastic smile that formed on his lips was one you already knew very well, full of provocation and certainty. “I may be with her now, but the one I really want is you.”

Your chest rose and fell quickly, the weight of his words hitting you like a shock. But before you could react, a loud knock echoed from the other side of the door, cutting the moment abruptly.

“Hey, Rafe, are you there, man?” Topper’s voice sounded from the other side, full of impatience.

Rafe let out a frustrated sigh as he quickly moved away from you. In a hurried movement, he picked up his scattered clothes and began to dress, clearly as surprised as you were by the interruption. “I have to go, y/n.” He said as he adjusted his shirt, his eyes fixed on yours, as if he wanted to assure you that this wouldn’t end there. “Stay here in my room, I promise I’ll be back, okay?”

Before you could respond, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against your forehead. The gesture was contradictory, but loaded with something more. The last thing you heard before the door closed was his voice saying to his friend: “Hey, man.”

[margonite-seer]

Hello, it's yappin' o'clock for me so I need to yell a little about one of the moments we as Hansry addicts sleep on a lot.

You know the war council meeting just before the romance scene? The one where they make up the suicide plan to get reinforcements and sabotage the Praguers' camp and where Henry and Samuel agree to go together?

What really gets me in this scene is Hans.

At first, he is willing to have the entire room draw straws on who will go. Which is very in character for him, because it is quirky, a bit childish, and reckless without any sense of logical thinking of choice with it but actually very objective and pushing for equality at the same time. He does not exclude himself from this list of people who would draw straws, but he does not put himself to the front either.

That all changes completely when Henry says he will go (whether alone or with Sam). The moment Hans hears this, he leaps at the opportunity to go with him.

No hesitation whatsoever.

He just does immediately because Henry is going.

I know Žižka commends Hans' bravery but, with all respect to Hans, I actually think it has less to do with his general bravery and more with this blind unquestionable loyalty and attachment that boils down to a very simple "wherever Henry goes, I go" and this intensifies if it's something serious and dangerous (as opposed to, let's say, a trivial event such as Henry doing chores for someone).

Hans just cannot comprehend the thought of staying behind when Henry is willingly putting himself in danger, double so now that this is late in the game and by now Hans is neck deep in love with Henry and fully knows it himself. He omits all planning, he talks before he thinks here. Before he declares he is going too, he doesn't stop for a second to even start pondering what Žižka replies with and what we all (and Hans should too) knows is true: that it would be unwise for Hans to go due to his political importance.

And then, finally, Hans realizes that he is not going to be joining Henry. That Henry will go without him on this mission that everyone in the room claims to be dangerous at best, clearly suicidal at worst. And he is so upset by this that he swears in Czech that angry frustrated "Fine.... Kurva." First of all, swearing like this under his breath is so unusual for Hans, as he usually lets the whole world know when he is pissed off. And this was the first and only time (correct me if I am wrong, I did not watch that much of English dub) that he swears in Czech in the English dub, bringing even more primal emotions to the situation. (Breaks the immersion a bit after the developers tried so hard to anglicize him by changing his name and all but whatever, that is for another post.)

He does not even sulk like an angry spoiled child, he is scared and desperate. He deflates, protectively terrified of the fact that yet again he won't be there for Henry. And this is even more obvious shortly after during THE romance scene. The entire story about Lancelot and Galehaut was, as we know, obviously a way to tell Henry he loves him but also to tell him how absolutely terrified he is for him. We all heard the way his voice shook when he was not even able to finish his thought about what would happen if anything happened to Henry.

However, what chilled me a lot watching this scene was what happened right after. And right before Henry puts his hand on Hans'.

"I'll be back."

At that, Hans shakes his head.

In a way that he looks like he wants to shake that sentence out of his head, to forget that Henry even said it in the first place. Because it sounds too much like a goodbye. And Hans knows this is a suicide mission, so Henry saying he will be back is just empty words that will make Hans hurt even more if Henry does not come back, right?

Hearing Henry say this as such a rare occurrence just further proves to Hans that this truly is a suicide mission where Henry is in a very high danger of dying/getting captured and never returning. And that just sends him spiralling even further into the despair that he might lose Henry and he cannot do anything about it because he must stay behind for the greater good.

And then, only then, Henry puts his hand on Hans'. When he sees how upset he is. "I promise you." That alone could have sent Hans even deeper into panic, because hearing promises sounds too much like a goodbye yet again, but Henry grounds him and brings him back to earth by putting his hand on his reassuringly.

And the rest is history, as Hans completely folds under the weight of his feelings.

Anyway this was a yap and a half, but I just love this love story so much. It has soooo many little gradual things that I will cherish this so beautifully done slow burn romance forever.

[captivating-flavors]

date | zayne

pairing: zayne x non mc actress!reader

prompt: -

summary: you did your own stunt but it went wrong.

words: 1,785

warning(s): mentions of loss

a/n: inspired by this hc by @sylusonychinus and valentines day also i think i have to preface this by saying that english is not my first language and my laptop broke down so this is poorly edited and.... yeahh enjoy <3 reblogs, comments and feedbacks are much appreciated since its been a while since i wrote anything

It was supposed to be a simple stunt; that’s why the Director even allowed you to do it in the first place. You were supposed to jump of the railing, with a harness attached of course, but accidents happen and you ended up having to land earlier than the timing agreed beforehand. You didn’t have enough experiences with stunts, therefore you panicked and landed on the wrong position.

“I’m fine, Tara.” You said as you were holding an icebag against your right foot.

“What do you mean you’re fine? Your ankle is purple and swollen!”

“The standby medic said it was fine. You didn’t need to call for a freaking doctor.” You knew Tara, you best friend and assistant, meant well but calling for a doctor over a sprained ankle is just way too dramatic.

“No, but what if it doesn’t heal right? Or what if–”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I’m pretty sure Dr. Greyson, who’s a heart doctor mind you, has other and more important things to do than tend to a sprained ankle, don’t you think?”

Tara had been dating Greyson for the past few months and it’s not the first time Tara has called him over for you. She did that once when you got a fever after shooting a scene in the rain and another time when you caught a stomach bug.

“He’s a cardiac surgeon–”

“Exactly, my point why would he–”

“Also, that’s not who I called.”

“Wait, what? Then, who’d you–”

At that exact moment, the door to your trailer swung open and Dr. Zayne, the Dr. Zayne, walked in carrying a small white bag.

“Wait, Dr. Zayne? What– Why are you here?”

“I heard from Tara that you got into an accident. What happened?” Zayne looked frantic, a detachment to what you’re used to seeing from him, calm and composed.

You were about open your mouth, to tell him that it was not a big deal and to just go back to the hospital, when Tara interjected, “She fell, sprained her ankle and now it’s swollen. You should–”

“Miss Tara, could you please come to the Director’s tent? Thank you.” The walkie-talkie snapped onto Tara’s waistband interrupted her.

“I have to go. Thanks for coming Dr. Zayne.” Tara said before she left the trailer, leaving the two of you alone.

Zayne walked over to your chair and knelt in front of you, taking your right foot in his hands, examining the swollen area of your ankle. You winced as he tilts your foot from one side to another.

“It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. The medic said it’ll heal in a few weeks. You must be pretty busy so you should head back, Dr. Zayne.”

“I told you to call me Zayne.” He said as he grabbed a compression wrap from his bag and started wrapping it around your ankle.

He did tell you that the last time you guys met, when you came over to the hospital to give him coffee and visit the kids two months ago.

The two of you have somewhat of an odd relationship. You first met him at a fundraising event held by a charity specializing in helping children in need to get treatments and surgeries for Protocore Syndrome two years ago. Where the two of you had a meaningful conversation about wanting to help those with the disease, whilst also keeping the memory of the ones you’ve lost. Your sister and his childhood best friend.

And then there’s Tara and Greyson. Tara would visit him during the monthly filming breaks and more often than not you’d come with her. At first, you only tagged along to do somewhat-of-a-research for an upcoming project that you’ll be filming in eight months, in which you were cast as the lead in a medical romcom. At some point, the hospital visits got boring because you would only sit on the lounge as to not intrude on Tara and Greyson’s time together, and observe the doctors as they rush through the halls to tend to their patients.

On your visits, you rarely ever encountered Zayne. Greyson had mention that whenever he’s not in surgery, he prefers to spend his free time in his office. Until one day, you were sitting on one of the seats in the lounge, doing your usual people watching routine when you saw him.

“Dr. Zayne, what a lovely surprise.”

“Likewise, Miss Y/N.” He responded, as polite and curt as ever, continuing to stride towards the nurse station a few feet away from your seat. You felt that it was nice to see a somewhat familiar face because the observation had just gotten boring, since it does not seem like a busy day at the hospital.

“I told you, just Y/N is fine. I never see you around during my previous visits.”

“So, what brings you here,” he pauses, before continuing, “Y/N?”

“Tara wanted to see Greyson and I agreed to come along since I needed a breather from the scripts, rehearsing and all that. Oh, and I’ve also been taking notes of how doctors act and work, you know, for a project.”

“I see.”

He turns his attention to the nurse behind the station desk, “Hello, Yvonne.”

“Good morning, Dr. Zayne. I assume you’re here for the treats?”

“Yes.”

The nurse grabbed a small jar of what seemed to be candy and hands it over to him, “Here you go.”

“Thank you."

“So, what are you up to, Dr. Zayne?”

“I’m visiting my younger patients over at the kids’ ward.”

“Oh, that's so sweet of you, Dr. Zayne.”

He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Would you like to join me?”

“Alright, why not?”

You tagged along and got on to the elevator behind him, him pressing the sixth-floor button.

“So, you’re just going to hand them candies?”

“Yes. To cheer them up as they recover, I suppose.”

The two of you arrived at the sixth-floor and got off the elevator to a hallway of rooms, all of them filled with kids and their families as they recover. You follow behind Zayne as he approaches the first of the beds, where a young girl, probably seven or eight, sits up.

“Hello, Eleanor.”

“Hi, Doctor Zayne.” The child says cheerfully.

“How are you feeling today? Does anything hurt?” He asks as he places the end of his stethoscope over the girl’s heart and she shakes her head in response.

“Have you been taking your medicine regularly?”

“Yes, but they taste awful.” The child grimaces.

“Here’s your reward for listening to your doctor well and it might help with the bitterness.” He hands the kid two pieces of wrapped candy.

“Thank you, Doctor Zayne! But, Doctor, why is the Princess of Solon behind you?” Eleanor questioned, referring to your character from your latest movie.

“Well, she’s here to cheer you up.” He says as he nudges you forward.

“Hello, Eleanor.” You said, putting on your princess voice.

And that was the start to your somewhat tradition with Zayne. The two of you would come to the kids’ ward, he’d check on their progress, give them their rewards and you’d talk and take pictures with them. It was refreshing to see that there was actually a warmer side to Zayne, as opposed to the polite and curt side he always seemed to project.

“That was fun. We should do that again.”

“I agree. The kids were infinitely happier in the presence of the Princess of Solon.”

And that became a regular thing. Every time you had your monthly breaks, the two of you would spend the day at the hospital chatting and playing with the kids. It just became a regular way for you to spend the day or two off each month you got it. You also managed to feel somewhat closer to Zayne through the days spent together, as you genuinely enjoyed spending the day with him. Seeing him interact with the kids and care so much about more than just their physical well-being made you admire him even more.

But despite being able to act warmly towards the children, whenever it was just the two of you it felt like he’d go back and forth from his warm side to his regular curt self. He’d open up a little bit, do little things that makes your heart race like remember your exact coffee order and have it ready by the time you came by, but then he’d shut down again, going back to his distant self. But you still looked forward to seeing him and spending the day with him each break.

A gentle pressure against your foot brought you back to the present.

“Well, you did. But you’re always so…”

His voice from your last meeting two months ago rang in your head.

“You know, you can just call me Zayne.”

“I hope to hear it the next time we meet.”

He looked up at you, “So what?”

“Formal? I don’t think that’s the right word. I don’t know. You always seem so close but distant at the same time that it kind of sounds weird to just say your name like... Zayne.”

He stopped, never taking his eyes off yours, “Say that again.”

“Zayne.”

He shifted his gaze back down and continued to wrap the bandage over your ankle, putting slight pressure against the adhesive, making you wince. And you swore that his ears were red.

“There. You should be fine in about two weeks as long as you don’t move too much.”

“Thank you. But really, you didn’t have to come all this way for a sprained ankle. It didn’t even hurt, much.”

“I didn’t come for a sprained ankle. I came for you.”

That was not the response you expected from him, “…What?”

“I was worried when I heard from Tara that you’d gotten into an accident. I wanted to come and see for myself that you were alright. And you haven’t been to the hospital in a while. The kids missed you.”

“Yeah, about that. I haven’t gotten a day off in the past two months since they’re reshooting some of the scenes and–”

“Also, I missed you. And I’d rather not wait for another accident to see you.”

“I– What?” To say you were baffled by the confession would be an understatement.

“Let’s have dinner instead. When you’re all better, of course.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Yes.” You chuckled, amused at despite how confident and blunt he sounded, yet you could see the entire time that his ears were red.

“...Alright, then. Let’s set a date once I’m doing better,” you paused to smile at him, “Zayne.”

[simplysamiblog]

The weight of a perfect goodbye

Before I even begin sharing my thoughts, I need to make one very important thing clear: I am a firm believer in the theory that Jayce and Viktor survived the ending of Arcane. As far as I’m concerned, they were teleported through time and space and are now slowly, painstakingly rebuilding their lives. Together, of course.

I’ve read dozens of (amazing) fanfics where this is exactly how their story unfolds, and some are so well-written that I honestly consider them canon.

That said.

I’ve seen several discussions online about this very topic:

"The creators confirmed it: they’re dead."

"The creators don’t know anything, they’re alive."

"Accept it, they were disintegrated by the Rune."

And so on.

But here’s what I think (not that it matters to anyone or carries any weight at all):

We can’t completely dismiss or outright reject the idea that, yes, Jayce and Viktor are, unfortunately, dead. At some level, we need to accept it—to believe it.

But let me explain why.

Not out of respect for the creators, the canon, the fandom, or anything like that. But out of love for the story, for the essence of their narrative.

At the risk of sounding cliché, do you really think Arcane would have been just as special if Jayce and Viktor had survived? Can you picture the scene? The protagonists recover, the fog of war and chaos clears, and there they are—Jayce and Viktor—standing atop the Hexgates, smiling. Ah, what a happy ending. What a good ending.

Sure. Nice. Nothing more.

Or imagine if we had gotten something like: "And they remained like brothers forever." Ugh.

It’s cruel, it’s unfair, it’s heartbreaking—

But it’s perfect.

The chain of events (cough) that led to that moment, the sacrifice that sealed their fate—

The relationship between Jayce and Viktor would never have been as impactful otherwise. Personally, I don’t think I fully grasped the depth of their bond until their foreheads rested against each other. In that moment of resignation, of acceptance.

Their story, their magic, was beautiful precisely because it ended right then, in that instant.

Jayce asked Viktor, "Why did you ever give me this?"

He could have let him die in the storm. Or, if he wanted to be more merciful, he could have simply saved him without giving him the Rune—

The world would have been safe. The world would have been saved.

But…

The world wasn’t as important as the moments they shared. Their friendship, their collaboration, their bond.

Viktor couldn’t deny another Viktor those moments. That brief but immense joy. Those years in which he had truly lived.

They were stronger than everything—stronger than everyone—

Even stronger than death.

And that’s why, in a way, their death is precisely what makes them so wonderful.

Call it cliché or a bit of a stretch, but the first comparison that comes to mind is Romeo and Juliet. Would it really be the most famous love story if they hadn’t met their tragic end?

"Happily ever after."

Or—

"Never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

Sure, they might have survived, somewhere. And it’s absolutely valid to believe that.

But if not for that ending, for that terrible, heartbreaking moment, how much would we have missed out on? How many incredible fanfictions wouldn’t exist? How many fanarts, how many works of art would we have been unknowingly deprived of?

We’ll never know, and I don’t want to know.

Because what we have is amazing.

So yes, I accept the idea that they’re dead—because it makes the fantasy that they’re alive and in love so much sweeter.

But most of all, it makes their relationship a game of fate, something they built around each other. A perfect circle, an inseparable chain binding them as one.

Pulling them together, pushing them apart—only to bring them back to each other again.

Over and over.

Forever.

[sillylilsquid]

Late Night Apology

✨summary: when thanos shows back up at your place after four months of no contact, you learn information you never thought you would. and he shows you truly how sorry he is. ✨word count: 2.8k ✨18+, mdni! sexual themes, mentions of fighting/verbal abuse. ooc thanos.

Thanos and you were destined for failure from the start. His drug addiction and party lifestyle was the exact opposite of how you lived your life. In fact, you’re not even sure how the two of you made it work for as long as you did. You first met him at Club Pentagon when your friends dragged you with them, but soon left you alone to get drunk and dance with guys they’d met. He approached you at the bar rambling on about how you were so beautiful, blah, blah, blah. His words were slurred, body language and pupils blown out indicating he was obviously high off something. You gave him your number anyway. You didn’t know why exactly, but something drew you to him. For months the two of you would hook up and even though the two of you weren’t dating, you had vowed not to sleep with anyone other than him. You knew it was a one sided promise. Thanos always had a new girl with him; he was never shy about it either. He’d post them on his instagram, or snapchat like it was no big deal–yet he’d always find his way back to you.

There were countless nights when you had to pick him up from some party because he was too fucked up to figure out how to get home. You’d receive incoherent phone calls from him and you never questioned it. Always showed up, brought him back to your place and let him sleep it off. He tried to get you to join in, but you stuck true to your word that the party scene wasn’t your thing. Whatever type of “relationship” you had was toxic. The fights between the two of you became constant. Arguing about him not taking care of himself, him telling you that you don’t know what was good for him. He’d throw stuff and punch the walls. Get in your face and scream as loud as he could muster, just to get under your skin. Call you names that cut deep into your soul. It never scared you though. You knew even in his drunken or high stupor he would never hurt you, not physically at least. You rarely fought back. Mostly just listening to him, but sometimes you couldn’t help yourself but raise your voice. Try to stick up for yourself. The last fight the two of you had ended with you throwing all of his stuff outside into the rain, telling him never to come back. A few neighbors in your apartment building came out to see what the commotion was, while others peeked through their windows.

He laughed at you. Right in your face. Told you how you’d come crawling back to him; saying he never cared about you. To him you were just another fuck; girls threw themselves at him and he wouldn’t be lost without you. It embarrassed you. But you still didn’t cry, not wanting to give him another excuse to make fun of you. So you slammed the door in his face, locking it and that’s when you allowed the hot tears begin to stream down your face.

That was four months ago. You hadn’t heard from him since. No texts, no phone calls. In fact you had not seen a social media post from him either. Yes, of course you still stalked his accounts because even if he treated you like nothing more than the dirt on his shoe…you still had feelings for him. And you hated yourself for that. It worried you seeing him so silent. What if something bad happened? You were sure you’d hear about it somehow, or see his friends post about it. During that time you tried to go on a few dates, and even slept with a couple guys but nothing compared to Thanos. You never called any of those men back. They didn’t know your body like he did. Didn’t know the right words to say to make your knees weak. As much as it pained you, you knew going back to Thanos was never going to happen. You couldn’t let it happen. You grew to enjoy your own company and stopped feeling lonely after a couple weeks. Other than leaving for work you would sequester yourself in your apartment.

It was winter now, and you sat in the warmth of your tiny apartment watching how it snowed outside. The television provided a comforting noise in the background while you tried to read the book you held loosely in your hands. Your friends tried to get you to go clubbing with them, of course you turned them down. They hated how you turned into a homebody, but you didn’t care. The time on your small wall clock showed it was getting late, almost 10pm now. So when you heard a knock at your front door you froze. Who would be knocking this late? Maybe it was a neighbor who needed something, you thought. Or a delivery person who accidentally had the wrong apartment? 

Slowly you stood up from your comfortable spot on the couch, tossing the blanket on the back of it. You wore only a pair of panties and a sweatshirt that hung low on your thighs, you were sure it was one of Thanos’ but you didn’t care. It was comfortable, you slept in it almost every night. You walked towards the door when the mystery person knocked again. It was times like this you wish you had a peep hole in your door–maybe you’d talk to your landlord about that. Reluctantly you opened the door just enough to peek your head out. You stopped breathing, your body froze when you saw who stood on the other side. Thanos. He wore a pair of baggy gray sweatpants, and a hoodie. The hood was pulled up tightly over his head but his faded purple hair stuck out some. He was damp and shivering from the snow storm outside.

Thanos kept his eyes glued to your feet not daring to look up at you. Once you snapped out of your trance you went to slam the door shut, but he quickly stuck his foot in to keep it from closing. Your name rolled off his lips, “listen, I need somewhere to stay.” he muttered, his voice as silky as you remembered it. But his words were clear, no slurring. His eyes still never met yours. You let out a short laugh. “No fucking way.” you responded, trying to continue to close the door even with his foot in the way. Again he repeated your name. Your hands shook as you tightly gripped the door. “Can I at least come in to talk? It’s fucking freezing.” his tone growing irritated. Shaking your head you replied, “Leave or I’m calling the cops.”

He laughed at that, knowing it was an empty threat. You stood tall trying to show him you weren’t fazed by seeing him–but you were. Your hands were clammy, your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt that familiar tingle in between your legs. How could this man still have this effect on you? You swore you had gotten over those feelings. “I just got out of rehab,” he admitted, his eyes finally locking on yours. It was the first time you saw his eyes without his pupils dilated. “I was staying with Nam Gyu before, but I just…I can’t go back there right now.” you hadn’t expected to hear him so hesitant. It wasn’t like him. Thanos had always been so sure of himself. So bold, but now he stood before you like he was embarrassed. You were surprised to hear he went to rehab, that must’ve been where he was for the past four months. Maybe he hadn’t actually been ignoring you. No, don’t think like that. This is the man who always made promises to you and always broke them. Men like him never change.

The two of you stood staring at each other for a few minutes. His shoulders were slumped, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket to seek any warmth he could. Silently you stepped to the side, opening the door just enough for him to enter. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. Stop him now, a part of your brain told you. Don’t let him in–he’ll just hurt you again. Once inside you closed and locked the front door but didn’t leave your spot. It dawned on you that you were standing in front of him in nothing but your panties and hoodie. His fucking hoodie. You felt so exposed, wrapping your arms around your middle to cover yourself. Meanwhile Thanos kicked off his wet shoes and pulled his hoodie off. His shirt briefly lifted up revealing his tattooed back before falling back down. He shook his head like a dog to get the snow out of his hair.

You stood in the same spot, not daring to move. Realizing he was probably still freezing you decided to offer your help–after all, he was still a human being. “Do you wanna shower?” you mumbled, eyes glued to the floor. Thanos responded and waited to follow you towards your bathroom. He knew where it was, but he waited for you to lead anyway. Once you heard the water running and you were sure he was behind the curtain you dropped a set of clothes on the counter for him. You allowed him to shower and you waited for him in the living room. A blanket wrapped snugly around you with your knees tucked into your chest. His footsteps against the hardwood floor caused you to tense up. Thanos plopped down on the couch next to you, thanking you for the shower. You nodded. What the fuck were you supposed to do now?

“Did you really go to rehab? Or are you just trying to use my kindness against me?” you muttered, your voice sounding ruder than you intended. He frowned, shoulders slumping. “I checked myself the day after our fight,” he admitted. “Got really fucked up that night…it was scary.” you sat, completely silent as you listened to him. “And I stayed there for four months because I was terrified that if I left, I’d just go get high again. That’s why I came here–you were the only person I could think of that wouldn’t have any drugs.” he chuckled lightly, and it made a tiny smile come across your face. You took a deep breath and tried to think of what to say. “I’m proud of you.” you finally said. His eyes widened, not expecting to hear that from you. “That’s a really hard thing to do…and you did it. So, I am proud of you.”

Thanos cleared his throat, shrugging as if it was no big deal. There was the smug man you knew. “Baby, I–” but you cut him off. “You don’t get to call me that.” you whispered. “Sorry.” he mumbled, shocked that you stood up for yourself so quickly. “I am sorry about–well, everything. You’re a great girl, you never deserved the way I treated you and for that I am sorry.” it was the first time you heard him say those words. Thanos was never one to apologize to you. A small “thank you” was all you could muster up to say. You felt his frame inch closer to yours and as much as you tried to resist the urge, you leaned into his side. He placed his hand lazily on your exposed thigh, tracing small circles on your skin. “I’m sorry too,” you whispered, face buried in his neck. You could feel his pulse quicken. “I knew you needed help, and I never offered it.” slowly, you placed your hand against his chest. Thanos stiffened underneath your touch. He explained how you didn’t need to apologize, but you weren’t really paying attention. You were too focused on his hand now gripping your plush thigh. As much as you tried to tell yourself to stop, tried to tell yourself it was a bad idea…you couldn’t stop yourself.

Slowly you slid yourself off the couch, kneeling in front of the taller male. His eyes watched your every move. Your hands slid up his thighs and rested upon his waistband. He whispered your name. You shook your head. “Let me,” you whispered, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down just enough to expose him. “I have missed you more than words can explain.” you took his length in your hand, slowly pumping it up and down. Thanos’ breath hitched. “Baby girl,” he groaned, and you didn’t correct him. You couldn’t. Because hearing his sweet nicknames for you made you feel so special. You sat up on your knees to take his cock in your mouth. Your head bobbed up and down, using your hand to pump whatever you couldn’t take in your mouth. His tattooed hand roughly tangled in your hair, but you felt him correct his. That made you smile.

He helped move your head and you removed your hand to grasp onto his thighs. You let him thrust his hips up, forcing his cock deeper in your mouth. Your eyes locked on him which made his breath falter. Your nose was pressed against his skin before he pulled you away and allowed you to catch your breath. Tears welled at your eyes but your head moved back down on his cock. Thanos writhed and groaned underneath you, whispering praises and curses. “That’s it,” his tongue shot out to wet his lips. “I missed this, I missed you.” he admitted, your hands squeezed against his thighs. You never expected him to say that to you. “Such a good girl, you miss me too?” Thanos asked, and you hummed while his cock hit the back of your throat. He hissed, using your hair to pull you off him. Drool ran down your chin and you stared up at him with wide, needy eyes. 

Thanos gently tugged your hair to force you to stand up. Quickly you stood in front of him, watching as he reached to lift off your sweatshirt. He admired you momentarily before standing up and throwing you over his shoulder. You squealed, always finding it hot how he could toss you around like a ragdoll. One hand rested on your ass as he made his way towards your bedroom, dropping you on the bed. He slowly pulled your panties off along with his own shirt. The two of you now fully naked just stared at each other. Your breath came out in pants as you needily reached out for him. “Please,” you begged him. Thanos flipped you over, pulling your ass towards him and pushing your face into the bed. “You fuck any other guys while I was gone?” he questioned, hands kneading your skin. You hesitated but finally nodded. “Not as good as me, huh?” Thanos teased, gently pushing the tip of his cock against you. Your hips shot backwards trying to rush him, but he held you still. “Answer me.” he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“They never made me cum,” you mumbled, straining your neck to turn back and look up at him. He let out a playful gasp, pushing himself inside you barely. “Don’t worry, I’ll make you cum.” Thanos assured you, smirking down at you. You knew you looked like a needy mess underneath him, but you didn’t care. You knew he loved to see it. Thanos thrusted his hips to push the rest of his length inside you. Your walls tightened against him momentarily before relaxing. It made him moan in response. As he began pounding into you he held your waist tightly, knowing it would leave fingertip sized bruises on your skin. Oh how you missed this. The both you panted and moaned as he fucked you into the mattress. You whined, feeling how Thanos pulled himself out of you. Then he did something he had never done before. He flipped you over to lay on your back. 

Positioning his cock again he thrust back inside you, keeping his pace quick as he leaned down to kiss you sloppily. Your hands didn’t know where to go. They scratched down his back, gripped his biceps, and ran through his hair. He never fucked you while facing you. It was always in a position where you couldn’t look at him. This made the whole act feel more intimate. Thanos’ eyes never left yours as he moaned out your name and you knew he was close. You were too. “I love you baby girl,” he whispered against your lips. You felt your orgasm take over, screaming as you pulled him down close to you. Your legs shook ever so slightly when you felt him feel you with his seed. The two of you stayed still, sweaty bodies pressed together. “I love you too, Thanos.” you replied, fingers tangled in his hair. You knew in that moment things would be different. He really had started to change. He came back to you. He apologized to you, and you believed him. Thanos was finally yours again, better than ever.

☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆

✨a/n: thanos really does things to me omf. feel free to send in fic requests!

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Clutter (Dean Winchester x female reader)

You've recently moved into the bunker, and your "girly stuff" in the bathroom confuses Dean.

Read it on AO3

Rated T. 910 words. Dean x female reader. Domestic fluff. Moving in together. Cosmetics. Dean being difficult (but he comes around).

You’re walking down the hallway, about a month after you’ve moved into the bunker, when you hear clanging coming from the bathroom, followed by a hearty: “Son of a bitch!”

Closing the distance to the door, you carefully peek in. Dean is standing in front of the bathroom counter, hands raised, several small tubes and tubs and glass bottles upended before him. You walk in with a frown on your face.

“What are you doing?” you ask, making Dean turn around.

“Your weird girly stuff is everywhere,” he complains, looking frustrated. You raise your eyebrows in response.

“My girly stuff?” you repeat, stepping a little closer.

“Yeah,” Dean answers. “It used to be just toothbrushes and toothpaste on here, maybe a razor once in a while, and now it’s all... this.” He underlines the last word by motioning towards the mess in front of him.

“Dean,” you say, shaking your head but unable to hide your amusement at his agitated state. “It’s just moisturizer and some nail polish. It’s not like it’s a bunch of stuff.” Dean makes a face.

“I don’t even know what you’re saying,” he replies. You push your fists into your sides.

“I know you know what nail polish is,” you answer, “and moisturizer… I mean, it kind of explains itself, no?” Dean is about to respond something, but you can tell your calm response is making him realize how silly his reaction to his own clumsiness is. You’re pretty sure half of it is embarrassment at pushing over the stuff in the first place.

“Well,” he continues, not quite ready to drop the topic, “what about this?” He points at a small glass bottle.

“My perfume?” you ask, walking closer to him. “You like my perfume.”

“Yeah,” he immediately replies. “When it’s on you. Not when it’s standing around, taking up space.” You lean one hand on the counter.

“And what’s your proposed solution?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug. “Can’t you keep it in your room?”

“Sure I could,” you respond. That really takes the wind out of Dean’s sails.

You have no intention of moving the stuff to your room, since it would mean you would have to move back and forth between your bedroom and the bathroom much more than necessary. But if there’s one thing you have learned about discussions with Dean, it’s that not meeting him halfway on his irritation usually ends the thing before it even begins. Sam could really take a page out of your book.

Like now, Dean is already looking embarrassed. He looks back at one of the tubes that has fallen over, rights it.

“I mean,” he says, not looking at you, “you don’t have to. It’s your bathroom too. But maybe some of it can go in the drawers?”

“Absolutely,” you say, turning to open one of the drawers he mentioned, and placing a majority of the products in there. You close the drawer by pushing your hip against it as you turn back to Dean. He has his hands shoved into his pockets and his lips are pursed.

“And I guess I could have just asked you that in the first place, instead of making a scene,” he says, still not looking at you directly.

“Yep,” you say, then move closer to him and wrap your arms around him.

Dean chews the inside of his cheeks before he looks at your face. “And you’re not even gonna make me feel bad for being an idiot?”

“Please,” you say, pressing a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Your idiot side is, like, my fifth favorite side of you.” Dean raises his eyebrows.

“What’s number one?” he asks.

“When you’re all rueful and sorry about being said idiot,” you say, kissing him again. “And want to spoil me to make up for it.” Dean chuckles abashedly.

“Right,” he mumbles, then looks at your face again. “I’m sorry.” You smile up at him.

“Already forgotten,” you reply. Dean studies your face for another second, then wraps his arms around you too, presses his face into your neck. You giggle at the way it tickles you.

The two of you stand like that for a minute, before you feel Dean inhale deeply, like a drowning man coming up for air. He really does like your perfume on you.

“What the hell is moisturizer?” he says into your neck and you can’t help but laugh.

“It’s what you’re gonna have to start using at some point,” you answer, “if you don’t want to look like Skeletor by the time we’re sixty.”

“Skeletor’s ripped,” Dean mumbles against your skin.

“That’s not the part I was referring to,” you point out, kneading the back of his neck. To your disappointment, Dean disentangles his face from you and looks at you, frowning.

“Wait, are you saying we’re still gonna be together when we’re sixty?” he asks and you nod.

“Which is why,” you add, “you have to start taking care of yourself. Otherwise people are going to ask, why is that gorgeous, smooth-skinned woman with that old, ugly—hey!”

Dean has wrapped his arms around your waist and picked you up, thrown you across his shoulder. You’re giggling like crazy when he carries you out of the bathroom.

“Dean!” you squeal. “What are you doing?” Dean playfully slaps your butt, all caveman-firefighter-style.

“Spoiling you,” he answers, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

[supernotnatural2005]

The Full Circle

Pairing: College!Dean x Reader AU

Summary: A tale of mutual pinning, miscommunication and heartbreak. Will the reader and Dean finally figure it all out?

Word Count: 3.2k

Prompt: "Don't take me for granted!"

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, angst, feelings are hard! Drinking, swearing.

AN: Okay so this one was a tough one 😅 i don’t know why i struggled so much with this prompt, i wrote like 5 different stories lol. But this is the one that stuck. Another square filled for @jacklesversebingo I hope you enjoy 💕 feedback is appreciated 💕

Main Masterlist

JVB Masterlist

The bass from the speakers thumped in rhythm with the nerves twisting in your stomach as you stepped through the door of Ash’s place. The apartment was already packed, the air thick with the scent of alcohol, cheap cologne, and the unmistakable energy of a party well underway. 

Charlie nudged you playfully with her elbow, grinning as she surveyed the scene. “Relax,” she said, noticing your anxiousness, you had been a little off lately and she thought this would be a good way to get you out of your funk. “We’re gonna have some fun tonight.” 

Fun.

You wished it were that simple. But you knew he would be here.

Your fingers clenched around the strap of your purse as you followed Charlie inside, weaving through the mass of people. The excitement of the party barely registered through the storm in your chest. 

You had been to countless parties before—hell, you’d been to plenty here at Ash’s place—but this was the first one where you felt like you didn’t quite belong. Because two weeks ago, you had made the biggest mistake of your life.

Or maybe it wasn’t a mistake at all.

“Hey, there’s my favourite new wingwoman!” Jo’s voice rang out, breaking through your thoughts. Her blonde hair was curled in loose waves, her wide grin easy and familiar as she pulled you into a hug. “Come on, I need you to help me school these idiots in beer pong.”

You smirked, letting the energy of the party pull you in. “Oh, absolutely. Let’s crush them.”

Jo clapped her hands together. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Ash appeared with a beer in each hand, passing one to Charlie. His lazy grin and signature mullet were as ridiculous as ever. “You guys made it. I was starting to think you bailed.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Charlie replied, already taking a sip.

Before you could respond, Jo grabbed your wrist and dragged you toward the beer pong table. A small crowd had gathered, cups already set up, the air buzzing with playful competition.

“You’re going down, Harvelle,” Benny taunted from the other side of the table, standing next to some unfortunate teammate who already looked nervous.

Jo scoffed, grabbing a ping pong ball. “That’s cute, Lafitte. Real cute.” She tossed the ball, sinking it in one shot. The group erupted in cheers and groans, and you laughed as Benny’s teammate sighed, already reaching for his drink.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to dominate the game, sending team after team packing. You felt lighter, almost giddy, as you landed another perfect shot, throwing your arms up victoriously.

Jo whooped, nudging your shoulder. “Hell yeah! That’s my girl!”

“Y’all are cheating,” Ash grumbled from the sidelines, shaking his head.

“Don’t be bitter,” Charlie teased, bumping his hip with hers.

You grinned, soaking in the moment, the warmth of alcohol settling in your veins, and let yourself relax into the atmosphere, mingling with your friends. The tension in your chest lessened—until you turned your head and saw him.

Dean.

The sight of him sent a sharp pang through your chest. He was standing near the kitchen, laughing at something Cas said. And Lisa was right beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm, her body angled toward him like he was her whole world.

Your stomach dropped. It wasn’t like you hadn’t known she would be here. But knowing and seeing were two very different things.

Dean’s eyes lifted, and for a split second, they locked onto yours. His smile faltered. The air between you shifted, invisible threads tightening and pulling. But then, just as quickly, he looked away, muttering something to Lisa, and your throat closed up.

Charlie must have noticed because she nudged you again. “You good?”

You swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. Totally fine.”

You weren’t.

The night pressed on, alcohol dulling the edges of your pain. You found yourself actually enjoying the party, letting the noise and laughter drown out the ache in your chest. You danced with Jo, took shots with Ash, and even managed to joke around with Cas and Meg. For a while, it was almost easy to forget.

Almost.

You had been on your way to the bathroom, the buzz making your steps lighter than they should have been, when you rounded the corner and nearly collided with someone.

“Whoa,” Dean’s hands shot out to steady you. “You alright?”

Your skin burned where he touched you. You stepped back quickly, shaking off the daze. “I’m fine.”

He hesitated, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Can we talk?”

The question knocked the air from your lungs. You blinked up at him, surprised. “Talk?”

Dean’s jaw tensed, his green eyes searching yours. “Yeah. About…about that night.”

That night.

The words sent a fresh wave of emotions crashing over you—longing, regret, anger. The alcohol in your system made it impossible to shove them down this time.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, now you want to talk about it?”

His eyes darkened. “Come on, it’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” The words slipped out before you could stop them. “You’re still with her, Dean.”

His lips parted, like he wanted to say something, but before he could, a voice called down the hall.

“Dean?”

Lisa.

Your heart clenched. You sucked in a sharp breath, brushed past him, and shoved the bathroom door open before locking yourself inside.

Your hands trembled as you gripped the sink, staring at your reflection. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes shining with frustration and something deeper, something you didn’t want to name.

After a little while spent calming yourself down, a knock came at the door. “Hey,” Charlie’s voice was softer than usual. “You okay?”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”

“You sure?”

You exhaled shakily. “Yeah.”

When you finally rejoined the party, Charlie eyed you carefully before murmuring, “Dean’s been in a mood all night.” She took a sip from her drink, her gaze shrewd. “Something going on with you two?”

Of course she'd noticed the distance between you both, and it wasn't the first time she'd asked. But your answer was always the same.

You forced a smile, ignoring the lump in your throat. “Nope.”

Charlie didn’t believe you. But thankfully, she didn’t push.

You let the party swallow you whole again, pretending, just for a little while longer, that your heart wasn’t breaking all over again.

The night stretched on, the alcohol dulling the edges of your pain but not enough to make you forget the way Dean’s gaze found you every few minutes. It was never long, never obvious, but it was enough. Enough to keep your heart lodged in your throat, enough to make you reach for another drink each time you caught him looking.

You weren’t the only one getting drunker by the minute—Dean was knocking back beers like he was trying to drown something, and maybe he was.

The party carried on in full force. Jo and Ash had somehow convinced Cas, to do a ridiculous impression of his favourite movie character, which ended in him dramatically monologuing in his deep, gravelly voice about how “profound” love was while Meg cackled beside him. 

Someone, probably Jo, suggested a game of spin the bottle, and in your drunken haze, you let yourself be dragged into it. Dean was already sitting in the circle when you plopped down beside Charlie. Unfortunately, that put you right next to him. 

Lisa was on his other side, chatting away to him whilst you tried to ignore the close proximity. The way his knee brushed yours every so often, the intoxicating scent of his cologne, and the soothing warmth of his body heat. 

The dares started off innocent enough. Jo spun and had to take a shot off Charlie’s stomach, which ended in her nearly choking on tequila while everyone laughed. Garth kissed Benny, which neither of them seemed to mind. Meg was dared to whisper the dirtiest thing she could think of into Cas’s ear, and whatever she said had him turning an alarming shade of red.

Then Meg, drunk and mischievous, turned to Dean with a lazy smirk. “Alright, Winchester. I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”

Your stomach dropped. The group hollered, whistling as everyone waited for Dean to do something. You braced yourself for him to turn to Lisa, to get it over with—but he didn’t.

Instead, before you could react, his lips crashed against yours.

The world tilted. The room faded. Your heart slammed against your ribs as his hands cupped your face, his lips warm and firm against yours. It was so wrong, but felt so, so right. Like everything you had ever wanted, everything you had been aching for since that night.

But then reality slammed into you—Lisa.

You pulled away, eyes wide, heart pounding.

The room fell silent, all laughter fading into hushed whispers. And then Lisa was climbing to her feet and rushing for the door. 

She was already halfway, her face set in a mix of hurt and fury, before Dean blinked, as if just realising what he had done, and immediately pushed himself to his feet, following after her.

A heavy silence settled over the room, but it didn’t last long.

“What did I say, huh?” Lisa’s voice rang out from the hallway, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t take me for granted!” Lisa was furious, her voice shaking. 

Everyone winced. You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting painfully.

“You promised me nothing was going on!”

“Lisa, I—”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

You couldn’t listen to it anymore. You needed air.

Stumbling to your feet, you made a beeline for the bathroom, locking the door behind you as you gripped the sink. Your reflection stared back at you, wide-eyed and flushed, lips still tingling from Dean’s kiss.

Why did he do that? What was he thinking?

Your breath came uneven, chest rising and falling too fast. It wasn’t just the kiss. It was everything. The weeks of silence, the confusion, the guilt, the ache of loving him when you knew you shouldn’t. He had kissed you so easily, so thoughtlessly, in front of everyone. Like you were something he could just have. But then why had he let you go so easily after that night? Why had he stayed with her?

A knock at the door made you jolt.

“Y/N, it’s me.” Dean’s voice was muffled but unmistakable. “Can we please talk?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Go away, Dean.”

“Please. Just… let me explain.”

“Explain what?” Your voice wavered as you turned, pressing your back against the door. “That you’re still with her? That you let me believe I was just some stupid mistake? That you—” Your breath hitched, and you shook your head. “I can’t do this. Not here.”

You yanked the door open, brushing past him before he could stop you. The apartment felt too small, too suffocating. You needed to get out.

Charlie spotted you the moment you stepped into the main room, her brows furrowing as she saw your expression. “Hey, where are you—”

You didn’t answer, just shoved through the crowd, stepping out into the cold night air. The second the door shut behind you, you exhaled sharply, your hands trembling.

Charlie was right behind you. “Okay, what the hell happened in there?”

You let out a bitter laugh, wrapping your arms around yourself as you walked down the quiet street. The cool night air did little to soothe the heat still burning under your skin. “I slept with Dean.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Two weeks ago.” The words tumbled out in a rush, your voice shaking. “We were drinking, talking, and it just… happened.” Your breaths came uneven, heart still racing from the disaster you had just left behind.

Charlie stared at you, processing. “Jesus Christ.” She ran a hand through her hair, looking torn between shock and exasperation. “I knew something was up. You two have been acting weird as hell. But this?” She let out a breath, shaking her head. “Shit.”

You swallowed hard, guilt settling deep in your stomach. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt,” you admitted. “I just… I don’t know what to do. I’m just so confused.”

Charlie softened. She could see the way your body trembled, whether from the cold, the adrenaline, or the sheer weight of everything, she wasn’t sure.

Without a word, she pulled you into her arms, rubbing slow circles on your back. “Okay,” she murmured. “Okay, deep breaths. We’ll figure it out. But first, let’s get you home, get me a strong-ass coffee so I can process all this, and then we’ll talk. Sound good?”

You nodded into her shoulder, blinking back tears.

The walk back to the apartment was mostly silent, except for the occasional sniffle from you and the way Charlie muttered something about “dumbass Winchesters” under her breath. Once inside, you changed into sweats, Charlie made her coffee, and then you told her everything.

You told her about how you had always felt about Dean, how it had never seemed like the right time, how you both kept dating other people as if that would fix things. You told her about that night, how you had been comforting him, the way he had opened up about his mom, who was sick, the drinks, the lingering touches that had turned into something more.

“And then I panicked,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I left the next morning because I didn’t know what to say, I felt so guilty. But then that afternoon, I went to talk to him. I was ready to apologise, to at least get everything out in the open.” You swallowed, throat tightening. “But then I saw Lisa going into his apartment. Like nothing had changed. And it stung. It hurt so much, Charlie.”

Charlie sighed, rubbing her face. “And he just… stayed with her?”

You nodded. “I waited for him to end it. To say something. But he didn’t. So I distanced myself.”

Charlie looked down at her coffee, then back at you. “I don’t know what to say, dude. Lisa isn’t exactly my favourite person in the world, she barely tolerates any of us, and yeah, Dean has been distant because of her… but she didn’t deserve that.” She met your eyes, her voice softer now. “Neither did you.”

You exhaled shakily. “I feel awful. But at the same time, I’m in love with him, Charlie. And it fucking hurts.”

Charlie reached across the couch, squeezing your hand. “I get it. And I get why you’re pissed, but… maybe you should let him explain.”

You scoffed, but before you could respond, a knock at the door had both of your heads snapping up.

Charlie arched an eyebrow. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You already knew who it was before Charlie even moved to open the door.

Dean.

He looked wrecked. His hair was a mess, his green eyes glassy, his jaw clenched like he was barely holding it together. “Is she here?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Charlie glanced back at you. “You wanna hear him out?”

You hesitated. But then you nodded.

Charlie stepped aside, letting him in before shooting him a glare. “Don’t be an ass.” Then she disappeared into her room, leaving the two of you alone.

Dean exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before meeting your gaze. “I fucked up.”

You swallowed; arms crossed protectively over yourself. “Yeah. You did.”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue but knew he had no right to. Instead, he took a slow step forward. “I need you to know that morning you left? It felt like a punch to the gut. I woke up, and you were gone. No note, no call, nothing. I thought… I thought you regretted it. That it didn’t mean anything to you.”

Your breath hitched. “That’s not… I just didn’t know what to say.”

Dean let out a shaky breath. “And that day, when Lisa came over… I was going to tell her. I swear. But before I could, she told me her grandma died. And I didn’t know what to do.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And then you started pulling away, and I just felt like I was drowning. I fucked up. I know I did. But I need you to know that it’s always been you. Since the moment I met you, it’s been you. I just… I was too much of a coward to admit it before.”

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. “Do you know how much that hurt, Dean?” Your voice cracked. “Watching you with her, waiting for you to say something, to do something—but you didn’t. And I thought I meant nothing to you.”

His face twisted in pain. “You mean everything to me.”

The weight of the night, the emotions, the months—years—of feelings left unspoken all crashed down on you at once. Your breath hitched, your vision blurred with tears as you sank onto the couch, your hands trembling as they covered your face. It was too much. All of it. The heartbreak, the confusion, the love you had carried for him for so long.

A moment later, you felt him. Dean knelt in front of you, his hands carefully wrapping around yours, pulling them away from your face. “Hey, look at me,” he whispered, his voice gentle but urgent.

You did. And the way he was looking at you—it made your breath catch. There was so much emotion in his eyes, so much love, so much regret.

“I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve loved you since the first damn moment I met you. And I’m sorry. For everything. For waiting too long, for hurting you, for not being brave enough to do something about this sooner.” He swallowed hard, squeezing your hands.

“Lisa and I—we’re done. I should have ended it earlier; I should have never let things get this messy. But all I want is you. If you’ll have me, I’m yours. No more doubts, no more waiting. Just you and me. Always.”

A shaky sob escaped you as you stared at him, searching his face for any hesitation, any doubt. There was none. Just Dean, raw and open, laying his heart at your feet.

You didn’t think. You just surged forward, pressing your lips to his in a desperate, aching kiss. He responded immediately, his hands cupping your face, holding you to him like he was terrified you might slip away again. The kiss was everything—a promise, an apology, a confession all in one.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard, your fingers tangled together.

“Always,” you whispered, and the way his lips curved into a soft, relieved smile before kissing you again told you everything you needed to know.

AN: Okay this one was a little on the angsty side, but there was a happy ending right? for some... 👀😅 I just want to throw out there that I don't condone cheating, just adding a little flavour other than all around fluff for once lol. I hope you all enjoyed! 💕 Feedback is much appreciated 💕

Also did any of you get the Perks of being a wallflower parallel? 👀

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[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with The Guardian (2025)

The actor Jonathan Bailey sits at a large table in an otherwise empty room: charcoal cable knit sweater, loose pinstripe trousers, hair neatly coiffed. He is chewing gum, sipping coffee, talking through his recent career, and a certain serendipity that has rendered him reflective. At 36, he’s fresh from his turn as likely-lad love interest Fiyero in Hollywood’s blockbuster adaptation of Wicked; as a child, seeing the stage show was a milestone for him. “I remember thinking Fiyero was such a good part.” Later this year he will star in Jurassic World Rebirth alongside Mahershala Ali and Scarlett Johansson. “I saw the original Jurassic Park with my family, aged six, at the cinema,” he says. “It was the first time we all went together to something like that. It was seminal, but so rare for us.”

And this month, Bailey will star in Richard II at the Bridge Theatre, directed by Nicholas Hytner. Bailey is its protagonist. It is another example of full-circle career moment. In 2013, he appeared on stage in Hytner’s Othello. Same playwright, same director, same city – Bailey can’t help but consider all that’s changed in the intervening years. “Back then I was too young,” he says. “I came into the rehearsal process not mature or confident enough.”

Landing the role of Cassio, one of Othello’s lieutenants, had been so important to him then. “I didn’t go to drama school,” he says, “and there was a common belief that if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be able to do classical texts, or perform in the big theatres. There are all these stories we are born into that we have to unpick. For me, one of those was how limited I felt.”

Bailey remembers the day that changed. “It was late December,” he says, “and I was walking along London’s South Bank.” He was on his way to the National Theatre to meet Hytner for a callback. “I’d worked so hard and for so many reasons it felt…” He cuts himself off, then goes on, “Working at the National was beyond my wildest dreams.”

Bailey performed the two scenes he’d prepared. Then, Hytner unexpectedly suggested a third, which Bailey hadn’t rehearsed. “I’m not very good at just reading and going,” he says. “I can’t really come up with… Anyway, I went with instincts. He offered me the job in the room. It was a defining moment in my career.”

All sorts of opportunities followed for Bailey: American Psycho at the Almeida; Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s TV debut Crashing; King Lear opposite Ian McKellen; BBC satirical sitcom W1A. He was made very famous for playing a leading Lothario in Bridgerton, the Netflix behemoth. “Now being back with Nick,” he says. “I have a much fuller and more cherished understanding of him as a human as well as a director. Getting back into a room with him now, with all that’s happening, just felt obvious.” Hytner’s praise for Bailey is just as high: “He can speak Shakespeare like it’s his first language… The stage is his element.”

It’s Wednesday lunchtime, early January, in a central London studio space. We’re meeting halfway through five weeks of Richard II rehearsals in full swing a few floors below us. He’s sitting at a large table. In front of him is a bulky script covered in yellow highlights. “It’s only half,” he says, flicking through, playful panic in his voice. “Not only that, I’ve thinned it, and taken out the scenes I’m not in, which feels very Richard II.”

It’s Bailey’s first stage production since 2022. Through Bridgerton, he has been exposed to a global audience. But theatre is where it all began. “So returning to the stage, now, just felt so right. And I don’t think I’ve changed at all, even if certain things around me have.” It has taken some adjustment, this new level of “Black Mirror-esque” notoriety that he’s experiencing. It’s why he likes the intimacy of these rehearsals, after months spent on sprawling film sets. And he’s enjoying being based in London for an extended period, close to friends and family.

Bailey is charming, handsome and self-effacing as we talk, but doesn’t seem entirely at ease. That gum chewing is fervent now; he’s fiddling with what’s in front of him. He habitually self-edits as he speaks. There’s a vagueness that, at times, feels purposeful. At regular intervals, he simply stops mid-sentence.

Take the play itself. “It’s such an incredible, searing interrogation of power, government and monarchy…” he says. “You have someone with the cast-iron right to rule, who is absolutely unfit to lead, emotionally underdeveloped… And Shakespeare wrote to be played, not published. There are so many references and nuances to what an Elizabethan audience would have understood… It’s about translating it from that, and delivering it to a modern audience, so the effect hopefully has the same vivid fervency and front-footedness especially politically and especially in this instance with monarchy and leadership.”

It sounds interesting. So where is he turning to for inspiration for his tyrannical overlord? I ask. Trump? King Charles? The Saudis?

“That’s for the viewer to see. I have very clear ideas and I hope the audience will, too…”

He won’t be drawn. I’m curious as to why. He shakes his head.

“You’ll have to come and see it.”

Later, over email, Hytner is more forthright: “The play wonders what happens when an entirely legitimate leader is set on ruining the country he leads. No good options. Submit or resist – either way you end up with chaos.”

Ahead of Wicked’s late-November release, there was a preview screening in Sydney. “It was part of this massive press tour, but for me it only lasted two weeks. The girls are incredible,” Bailey says of his co-stars Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo, plugging the project for months on end. “And they’re still at it, still shining.”

In Oz, Bailey went along with one of his sisters and her two daughters in tow. It was the first time he’d sat back and watched the film properly. “I was so overwhelmed,” he says. “Even now, it makes me quite emotional. If there was the purest form of joy I had as a kid, it was singing and dancing.”

His family was based between Reading and Oxford. Bailey has three older sisters. As a child, he’d be dropped at basketball club at the local village hall. “From outside, I could see my sister’s ballet lessons through the window. I wanted to be in there with them. I’d go and wait at the back of their class in my Velcro trainers.” He enrolled. “I was obsessed and loved it. Dancing and singing felt like a vocation.”

Music also filled the family home. By the time Bailey was 10, his sisters would go out clubbing. “The next morning, they’d come back, and I’d get them, hungover, to do impressions of their different friends dancing.” It was a family affair. “We loved 90s club classics. Me, Mum, Dad and my sisters went through a phase of going into the new room – we had an extension, then called it that for 20 years – and we’d put on vinyls and dance, all of us.”

One day, he stopped. “I don’t know what happened,” he says, “for whatever reason, I didn’t confidently carry through the dancing. I got self-conscious in my teens that it was signalling something else. It just didn’t feel… I probably just knew it was better to be playing rugby than dancing. I became really self-conscious. There weren’t other dudes dancing.” One teacher called Bailey a “fairy” in front of his entire class. “In your teenage years it’s so raw. You lose your skin. And there are certain things in life,” he says, “that allow people to think they know something about you, and those assumptions mean you stop doing something you love. You curb or you police yourself. You don’t make the joke, or say the quip. You don’t stand up and advocate for yourself or your friends. And you start to slowly crumple. That’s purely on the basis of this idea of signalling. These stereotypes.”

One becomes fearful, he continues, of the immense hurt that others can cause. “Even more pain than binding yourself up slowly and creating a space of safety and refuge in your own mind or heart. That’s where it gets dangerous and people stop doing the things they’re supposed to. And how brilliant that we…” He pauses, surprised, concerned even – it seems – by how much he’s sharing. “It’s a scary time, isn’t it. On the one hand, I do think there’s such a… People are so much more open-minded about what defines masculinity now. What defines heterosexuality. What defines gender. But on the other hand, there’s a swing, obviously, towards… Anyway, that one will have to be a dot-dot-dot for you.”

It’s not that Bailey dropped performing as a child, only that things took off in a different direction. Back in ballet class, there’d been a callout from the Royal Shakespeare Company. “They needed young boys to play Tiny Tim in A Christmas Carol.” He was seven years old. “My parents weren’t sure. It was so outside their world.” His mum worked in the NHS. “And Dad was a DJ, basically, in Piccadilly Circus at [70s nightclub] Snoopys.” But a child actor? “It’s a big ask, from a kid. I was really protected by them, but they gave me this opportunity.” He was cast, and continued to be through school. “It was extraordinary, really. I didn’t miss any lessons. By 13, I’d done three productions for the RSC, and a stint in the West End. All before I hit puberty.” Then came his first Shakespeare production: Prince Arthur in King John at the Barbican with the RSC. “I was 12 or 13, and that set me on another course. ‘Fuck, OK, you can also do this.’” The memories are visceral, even now: “The sickly, sweet smell of fake blood. Dry ice. All those senses. I was taken. That’s maybe where my creative juices were channelled more, over singing and dancing.”

He has worked solidly since his teenage years. Bridgerton, though, catapulted him to stardom. Afterwards, says Bailey, “I was contending with how things would change in my life.” The press introduction, a growing, global fandom, interest in his personal life and sexuality… “On one hand,” he says, “the success of Bridgerton, being able to play that role, and for who I am not to affect people’s perceptions; the love story between a man and a woman.” He pauses, again. Oh, actually.” Some nervous laughter. “It’s just, I’m cautious. I’m who I am and always will be. It’s an extraordinary thing to see and hear the word ‘gay’ next to your name all the time. It’s something I’m incredibly proud of, but it’s also not something anyone else would be defined by. So to go straight from Bridgerton, where inevitably that was talked about, to do a series like Fellow Travellers? It came along like some sort of beacon.”

Fellow Travellers, a Showtime series in which Bailey and Matt Bomer star, follows the romance between two American politicos, from the 1950s to 1980s. Production started as series one of Bridgerton started streaming. Among a predominantly queer central cast, cocooned on set, Bailey’s sexuality was entirely un-noteworthy. “All with our own experiences,” he says, “coming together. And learning about the history… The men who endured and experienced such horrendous and extraordinary things.”

Simultaneously, he was inundated with requests from charities following Bridgerton’s success. “I felt frozen by wanting to help.” The sheer scale of what was being asked and what he might do with his platform, connections and cash felt overwhelming. So, he founded the Shameless Fund. “Raising cash and erasing shame to support the global LGBTQ+ community. We’re giving grants this year. I’m so proud of it. It was all in theory. It seems so obvious and clear. We’ve raised a lot of money for initiatives that need cash and a platform. “And the thing is,” he says, “I can’t be a mouthpiece. I’m an actor.” As is clear through our conversation so far, he’s impassioned and engaged, but being outspoken doesn’t always feel comfortable. It must be challenging, I say. So many eyes and ears pointed in his direction. “The noise is turned up,” he says. “And when it’s about your family, or your identity… And nobody is going to question that headline, in a different outlet with their own agenda. That’s what’s left and it isn’t true. That’s why I’m really protective. I’ve seen something so specific about my identity be twisted. Ultimately you want peace within yourself, because the world is wild enough as it is. It’s too important now, with rights being stripped away. What’s so obviously looming…” Back to Wicked, I suggest.

“OK,” he says, relieved, “so I was doing Cock [his West End stint in Mike Bartlett’s comedy about sexual identity] and I knew a film of Wicked was happening.” In the dressing room before curtain up one night, Bailey recorded a self-tape. “As I was singing, doing a karaoke version of [Fiyero’s big number] Dancing Through Life, I got called to stage on the Tannoy. Fuck it, I just sent it.” There were some positive noises. “Then the dates didn’t look to be working out. Wicked said they couldn’t be sure about what they wanted…” Bailey made other plans. Then, out the blue, dates shifted: the part was his. The months that followed were hectic: during one stretch, while juggling Fellow Travellers, Bridgerton and Wicked, he was filming for 34 days straight.

“I’d come from set, sleep on a flight, go straight to a Bridgerton ball, then the next day be dancing with Ari and Cynthia. Everyone else for Wicked had three months of rehearsal. I had three days.” There’s a knock at the door: Bailey is being summoned back down to rehearsals. “The conclusion to that,” he says, “is Wicked happened and I’m so proud. Before I knew it I was Dancing Through Life…” Suffice to say, he’s thrilled to be.

Richard II is at the Bridge Theatre until 10 May, bridgetheatre.co.uk

Source

[erikiara80]

Just some thoughts. Correct me if I'm wrong, but only three people vanish from the void while El is trying to make contact with them: Will, Terry and Mike (Hop in the woods in S3 doesn't count, imo, because she was interrupting the contact)

There's a parallel between Will and Terry. Willbyersabyss noticed that Will is moving his eyes under his eyelids in the void scene, before he vanishes (the video and my post about it) He does that in S2 when he's using powers. And Henry does the same thing in S4.

Terry moves her eyes too here.

But why do they both vanish when it seem that they're using powers? Shouldn't they stay in the void a little longer? Ok, one could say that Will is tired and Terry's mind is damaged. But I think it's sus that it happens twice. I think the writers are connecting these moments.

The second time El goes into Terry's mind (Terry doesn't vanish this time, it's El who interrupts the contact), when she opens her eyes in the void, there's the same eerie sound we hear in S1, when she makes contact with the Demogorgon and opens the gate -> connection to Will

Then there's Mike. Well, this seems different, right? El wasn't even trying to make contact with him, but for a moment she sees him, and he's screaming It's a trap!

But after that, she sees something scary (possessed Will?) that convinces her to come back. Another connection to Will. So, maybe that's the reason she's able to see Mike? He's is the only one who's able to snap Will out of his visions. Maybe El is able to see him, even though she's not trying to make contact with him, because Will is also there?

Also, interesting that they don't show us what she sees, and when Joyce asks her what she saw, we never hear the answer

[octuscle]

Ideology

Sebastian Fox was an up-and-coming young lawyer in a prestigious law firm. He had just successfully completed a complicated commercial case when his boss called him in. “We have a new case for you,” he said, handing Sebastian the file. “A band. Contract disputes.”

Sebastian was surprised, but as he looked through the documents, his face darkened. “These people are skinheads. Right-wing extremists. Why are we taking on a case like this?” His boss leaned back. “Because they pay well. And because we're lawyers, not moralizers. Our job is to uphold the law.” Sebastian reluctantly agreed. The next day, he met the clients: four bull-necked men with shaved heads and an intimidating demeanor. Their front man, Erik, greeted him with a rough handshake. “Finally someone who understands our cause.”

Sebastian didn't understand anything. He was disgusted by their world view, their martial masculinity, their snide laughter at everything that didn't fit in with their world view. But with every meeting he noticed something: they had principles. They were loyal to each other. They stuck together while the music industry wanted to exploit them. He began to understand their anger - not their ideology, but their rejection of a society that despised them.

After a week, he found himself looking at himself in the mirror and wondering what he would look like if he was bald. That very evening, he reached for the clippers. Damn it, he must have gone mad. One blonde lock after another fell to the floor. He looked into a completely alien face. He pulled up one corner of his mouth. “You want one in the face, faggot?” he asked his reflection. Shit, he got a hard-on. A massive hard-on. He jerked off and squirted into his cropped locks. His boss grinned when Sebastian came into the office the next day. Bald head, tight jeans, Ben Sherman shirt. Sebastian was absorbed in his new role. Fully and completely. His clients appreciated that. And it paid off very well for the law firm. “Erik, we'll kick their asses, don't worry.” he was heard to say. “Sure, I'm in, 9pm, usual place, I'll be there!”

After some time, Sebastian was sick of his gym; Erik had recommended a mixed martial arts school to him. “You have to be able to defend yourself,” Erik explained with a grin as he took him to his first training session. The next day, Sebastian came into the office with a stitched wound on his eyebrow. His knuckles were scabbed over. His boss said that he appreciated the way he sacrificed himself, but Sebastian would still have to stick to the dress code a bit. “Dude, I have to piss now, shut the fuck up!” said Sebastian and turned around. ”Young man, that wasn't a request!” “Fuck you!” said Sebastian, giving his boss the middle finger. “You're fired!”

The band was happy to hear Sebastian tell them that he would now be representing them directly and no longer as the firm's lawyer. The five of them celebrated with a proper binge. Erik said that Sebastian was a crap name. Einar would suit him much better. “Einar” grunted Sebastian drunkenly… ”Call me Einar!”

Einar couldn't make a living just from the band as a client. He also represented a few of Erik and the boys' friends. For example, Alf, a tattoo artist who occasionally had tax problems. Einar was good at tax matters. And Alf showed his appreciation. With a bit of his black money, but also in kind. He decorated Einar's growing biceps with a few Nordic battle scenes. And his cock with a PA. And Alf personally checked whether the effect on Einar's cock was as he had hoped. And yes, damn it, with the PA a blowjob was so much more intense than before.

Einar was soon no longer just their lawyer. He was their tour manager, their confidant. He had given up his apartment and moved in with Alf. The boy needed someone to look after him. And Einar needed someone who was ready when he had pressure on his balls. And Einar had a lot of pressure on his balls. He loved his life: He stood with the boys in dodgy bars, laughed at the sayings he would have found repugnant not long ago. He wore combat boots, rolled-up jeans and undershirts that emphasized his toned muscles. And when they got into a fight after a concert, it was Einar who landed the first blow.

Einar was a skinhead. A real guy of the nastiest kind. He had arrived.

Inspired by @tf-vigilante

[she-whatshername]

I don't think you have done this yet, but honestly you're my favourite FW writer on here so I wanted to ask if you could make a sceanrio were its all the marked ones (set wherever kitchen, lounge room, someones bedroom, etc) with us/her/he/them (idk) and were all platonic no one is dating us/her/he/them (still don't know lol) and its just a hang out with all of them with some light banter, chit chats, private converstaions, funny moments, people coming in and out, etc. Something that can be chaotic but calm at them same time, and just make your heart warm since all of these people are still alive and breathing and you get to still have time to relax with them, no war, no pain, just love. (idk how to explain it) If you can do this YOU HAVE MY HEART when it comes to writting FW scenarios/headcanons (you already do though). Sorry if this is alot 😅 I haven't seen anyone do this yet

OMG, STAP! You are so sweet. I can’t even. Thank you for the very kind words. Also, thank you for being so patient while I worked this one out. I know its been in my inbox for awhile.

I like this prompt; honestly it could be a whole series. I do love a good calm moment with the marked ones theme. So, lets give it a go.

“Seriously, none of you are going to move?” You huffed while turning your foot out to the side to lightly kick at Bodhi’s boots. You would give a full on shove but you were balancing a board of shot glasses and after the first round of liquor you had earlier, the most simple of movements began to feel more complex.

“No way we’re letting you back in with those.” Garrick replied from the center of the booth, his arms crossing over his broad chest, “We said get another round from the keg, not the bottle.”

“Aww, c’mon!” You smiled, “We’re celebrating here aren’t we?”

“Celebrating what? I got dumped. You’re all supposed to help cheer me up.”

“We’re celebrating another woman spared from your obnoxious dick jokes.”

“Here Here!” Imogen cheered while pressing her shoulder against the now glaring Garrick, giving him the extra nudge to scoot in just enough to let you sit in the booth. You smiled in victory, giving a wink to Imogen, always your right hard in torturing Garrick.

You pass around the shot glasses to each one of them, one for Bodhi, Garrick, Imogen and you. You eyes moved around the crowded bar in search of the final member to your celebration crew. You spot Xaden leaned up against the wall glaring at the group across the dance floor. The group that comprised of Violet and her squad, and a eager cadet looking to flirt. Poor thing.

You turn your attention back to the group, who were all waiting for you with their hands raised slightly in the air.

“Cheers to you, Garrick.” You toast. “Our favorite stallion.”

Garrick manages to wiggle his middle finger free from the glass he was holding before downing the liquor. His brown eyes roam across the dance floor, a dimpled smile making his way on his face.

“No no. Everyone lock in.” Imogen groans, knowing full well that Garrick was definitely making eyes with someone across the room. The group all leaned in, pressing up against the tall man in an attempt to keep him in his place.

“Aww c’mon.” He groaned. “I need a rebound.”

“You came out with us and you’re leaving with us.” Bodhi reminded him, “And we’ll let you out,”

“We will not.” You argue back.

“If,” Bodhi continues raising a cheeky brow, “You help me torture Xaden for a little bit.”

Everyone shifts back, giving Garrick breathing room again. Because if there is one thing everyone could find joy in, its pissing off Xaden.

“Deal.” Garrick says. You and Bodhi soot back to let Garrick out of the booth “Get us another round, we need reinforcements.”

“Will do.”

You and Imogen head up to the bar together. Over the next hour you both watch as Garrick and Bodhi toss some jokes and more shots with Xaden, even convincing him to partake in a few rounds. It was just when the night was at its peak you see a most beautiful scene on the dance floor. Garrick and Bodhi have lost their shirts, dancing together in the crowd, Garrick at one point pulling Xaden into it, though it lasted mere seconds before he got a lovely little shove so he could get back to dancing with Violet. Yes. Violet. Xaden was inebriated enough to be dancing in public with Violet. Yes. This was the good vibes you had wanted. Everyone was happy, everything was wonderful.

“Come on.” Imogen called while looping her arm around yours, “Let’s get out there.”

“Seriously. Since when did we become apart of the dance crew?” You ask. You and Imogen had a clear bond that you both were the once’s that stood on the sidelines and had your own fun chatting in the booths while everyone else gets wild.

“I’m in a rare mood. Don’t make it weird, just come on.” You’re dragged out onto the floor only to be quickly dropped at Bodhi’s side while Imogen grabs Garrick by his belt and pulls him towards her for a dance.

“I’m not going to do that to you, just so you know.” You yell to Bodhi over the music. He laughs and reaches out a hand towards you. You grab it and find yourself in a twirl before the two of you begin your own dance. You then feel a hand tap on your shoulder, twisting your eyes light up,

“Mind if I cut in?”

“Liam!”

The whole group erupts in cheers.

“We missed you!”

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“No drinking.” Even Xaden’s in on the merriment as he plucks the beer from Liams hand before passing it to Garrick, “You’ve got class tomorrow.”

“Go dance with Violet.” Liam tosses back, which earns him a glare before Xaden latterly goes back to doing just that.

You and Liam have a few moments for light conversation before he’s dragged into a circle with Garrick and Bodhi. You figure this is time to make your escape from the dance floor before a set of arms reach for you again, pulling you back into the group for more rounds of dancing, music and laughter that carries on well into the morning hours until you all walk together, arm in arm, back home.

[rafayelxsylusho]

College AU study sessions with the LADS men part 2

Xavierxreader

TW:SMUT

Xavier was exactly where you expected him to be, curled up in an oversized armchair tucked away in a quiet corner of the library, fast asleep. His blond hair was falling over his forehead as he breathed softly, a book resting open on his chest. The fading light from the setting sun outside the tall windows casting a warm glow over his face.

As you approached quietly, you couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. It was a scene you'd witnessed many times before, Xavier had the ability to fall asleep anywhere, it didn't matter the time of the day.

He stirred slightly as you drew closer, a small smile played at the corners of his mouth, as if he sensed your presence before you even spoke. Slowly, he opened his deep blue eyes and his gaze found yours.

'Y/n" he murmured, voice a bit rough from sleep. "Shouldn't you be in class?" He glanced at the clock on the wall, squinting a little to focus. "It's past six."

You were used to it now, spending late nights at the library together over the past year. While you read over your law books and case studies, he'd be engrossed in his astronomy texts, occasionally pointing out constellations in the night sky. More often than not, he'd sleep in one of these armchairs.

He stretched languidly after sitting up, the fabric of his sweater riding up to expose a strip of pale skin. "I'm starving" he said, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I was planning on heading home soon to cook some dinner. What about you? Have you eaten already or are you still at that?" He nodded towards your armful of books as stood up from the armchair, grabbing his own books and tucking them under his arm

You sighed softly, "I didn't have a chance to eat yet, I was too busy working on a project with Jeremiah." You shifted the stack of textbooks and papers you were holding, a few sheets threatening to slip out. "We were trying to get as much done as possible before the deadline tomorrow." You glanced up at Xavier, noticing how his hair still looked slightly tousled from his nap. "I guess I lost track of time."

At the mention of Jeremiah's name, a shadow seemed to pass over Xavier's features. "Jeremiah" he repeated, and there was a slight edge to his voice that wasn't there before.

He took a step closer to you, brows furrowing slightly as he looked down at you with an unreadable expression. "You were working late with Jeremiah," he said, almost like a statement rather than a question. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly on the books tucked under his arm. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, his expression still unreadable. Then, with a small shake of his head, he seemed to push away the thoughts that had darkened his eyes at the mention of Jeremiah's name.

"You know, you could always come back to my dorm with me. I can cook something for you too." His eyes flicked to the stack of books you were holding. "You could study there while I cook. Killing two birds with one stone, as they say."

But you were already shaking your head, a small smile on your lips. "Actually, I already bought us something to eat on my way over here," you said, shifting the bags to show him the takeout containers tucked inside. "I didn't want to risk another... incident in your dorm." You raised your eyebrows at him, a teasing glint in your eye.

Xavier chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck again. "Ah, right. The incident last week, I thought we'd established that cooking in close quarters with a gas stove and a man who's prone to distraction is a bad idea."

You nodded, shouldering your bag more securely as you turned towards the door. "Yeah, my dorm is closer anyway. We might as well head over there," you said, glancing up at Xavier. "Unless you're in a rush to get back to yours for some reason."

As you walked side by side out of the quiet library and into the cooler evening air, Xavier's hand brushed against yours, his fingers lingering for just a moment. "No rush, besides, I quite like the idea of spending time together outside of the library. No distractions, just you, me, and..." His eyes flicked to the bags of food in your hands. "...dinner."

Once inside your dorm room, you set the bags of takeout food down on the small table near the window. The room was cozy and familiar, with your things scattered about, textbooks on the desk, a few pieces of laundry on the chair, and a half-drunk mug of tea cooling on the nightstand.

You busied yourself with unpacking the food, the savory aromas filling the small space. "I got your favorite," you said, gesturing to the containers. As you worked, you could feel Xavier's presence behind you, his tall frame casting a shadow across the room. You glanced back over your shoulder at him, a playful smile on your lips. "I hope you're hungry," you teased, grabbing some plates and utensils from the small kitchenette. "I may have gone a little overboard with the ordering."

As you stretched up on your tiptoes to reach the cups on the top shelf, you suddenly felt a warm presence behind you. The heat of Xavier's body seemed to envelop you as he stepped closer, his chest now centimeters away from your back. He didn't touch you, but you could feel the energy emanating from him, the tension in the air between your bodies. His breath ruffled the hair at the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. "Here, let me," he murmured, his voice low and close to your ear.

Then his hands were there, one large hand wrapping around your waist to steady you, while the other easily reached up and grabbed the cups from the shelf. He set them down on the counter, his fingers lingering on you for a moment before he stepped back.

You turned around to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. He was watching you with a hint of something dark and heated in his blue eyes. "Thanks," you said softly, grabbing the cups and taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, but before you could react, Xavier was already striding towards it, his long legs eating up the short distance. He opened the door, revealing Jeremiah standing in the hallway. "Hey, is Y/n here?" He asked, glancing past Xavier to catch your eye. "I was just dropping off the rest of the project files we worked on earlier." His gaze lingered on you for a moment before flicking back to Xavier, a slight furrow in his brow.

Jeremiah was a tall, lanky guy with brown hair and glasses. He was your group project partner for the class, and also lived just a few doors down the hall in the dorm. "I thought I could come over and we could go over the final draft before tomorrow's presentation." He glanced at you, a hopeful look in his brown eyes.

You glanced over at Xavier, who was still holding the door open, his tall frame acting as a barrier between you and Jeremiah. "Jeremiah, hey," you said, stepping forward. "I was just about to have dinner with Xavier actually" You gestured to the containers of food on the table. "Is there something specific you needed to go over tonight? "

"Oh, uh, no, it's not urgent. Just wanted to review everything in detail, but I guess I can come back later or we can review it tomorrow morning before the presentation," he said, still sounding a bit uncertain.

Xavier's grip tightened slightly on the door handle, his posture stiffening. "Sounds like a plan then," he said, a note of finality in his voice. "I'm sure y/n will let you know when she's free." His tone made it clear that he expected Jeremiah to leave now.

Jeremiah blinked, catching the hint. "Right, yeah. Okay." He took a step back. "I'll just... see you tomorrow then, y/n." With a final glance at you, and a lingering look at Xavier, Jeremiah turned and walked away.

Xavier closed the door with a bit more force than necessary, the sound of it shutting echoing in the small room. He stood there for a moment, his back to you, his shoulders tense. Then, slowly, he turned around to face you.

His gaze flicked over you, taking in your startled expression. "Sorry about that," he said, his voice a bit tight. "I just... I didn't realize Jeremiah would be dropping by this late." He took a step towards you, closing the distance between you. "I didn't know he was in the habit of visiting you at... dinner time," he murmured, his voice low and a little rough around the edges.

"Jeremiah doesn't usually drop by this late. He's just really dedicated to our group project," You explain softly, "He's a nice guy, and a great study partner."

"Oh I'm sure he is", his voice a low rumble in his chest. Then you feel your heart skip a beat as Xavier leans in closer, his breath warm and tantalizing against your lips. For a moment, you think he might close the distance and capture your mouth with his own. Your eyes flutter closed instinctively, your body tensing in anticipation.

But then, unexpectedly, you feel his hand move past you, grabbing the utensils you had set down on the counter. He pulls back slightly, holding them up with a smile. "Looks like we're all set for dinner then," he says, a note of playful teasing in his voice.

As he busied himself with setting the table, you couldn't help but wonder what had just happened. You shook your head slightly, trying to clear your thoughts as you grabbed the cups to set them on the small table as well.

As you both ate, you couldn't help but notice the tension in Xavier's jaw, the way his chewing seemed a bit more aggressive than usual. He was going through the motions of eating, but his mind seemed preoccupied. You glanced up at him, a look of concern in your eyes as you watched him shove another forkful of food into his mouth. "Is everything okay, Xavier?" you asked softly, setting your own fork down on the table. "You seem a little... distracted tonight."

When he looked at you there was a hint of something dark and troubled in their blue depths. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I'm fine," he said, a bit too quickly. "Just have a lot on my mind, I guess." He shrugged, trying to brush off your concern.

Once you both finished you got up from your chair, plate in hand, and walked over to the small sink in the kitchenette to rinse it off. As you leaned over the sink, you could feel Xavier's presence behind you once again, heat radiating off his body as he reached around you to set his own plate down in the sink. His chest brushed against your back, his breath hot on the nape of your neck. "I can do that," he murmured His hands lingered on the edge of the sink, caging you in. 

 "I...I was just going to ," you managed to say, "It's n...no trouble at all, really." You stuttered, a flush creeping up your neck at the sudden proximity of Xavier's body to yours. You tried to turn around to face him, but found yourself trapped between his body and the counter. Your heart raced as you looked up at him, meeting his intense gaze. There was a fire in his eyes, a hunger that made your breath catch in your throat.

"Maybe I should...", you began to say, but Xavier cut you off. In one swift, fluid motion, he turned you around and grabbed your waist, lifting you up effortlessly. He sat you down on the edge of the counter next to the sink, his hands remaining on your hips. "Let me take care of this," he said "You've done enough for tonight."

He was so close that you couldn't help but look down at Xavier's lips, your heart pounding in your chest. The air between you felt charged, electric, and you found yourself leaning in closer, drawn to the heat of his body and the intensity of his eyes.

"Xavier, I..." you breathed, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in, his lips now a mere whisper away from yours. Your eyes fluttered closed, your breath mingling with his. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as you felt his lips brush against yours in the barest of touches. It was a teasing whisper, a promise of more to come. His thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, his touch igniting a fire deep within you. You parted your lips slightly, a breathy sigh escaping you as you gazed up at him with hooded eyes. "Xavier," you breathed out once again, your voice trembling with anticipation. Your hands came up to rest on his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. "Please," you whispered, not even sure what you were begging for, only knowing that you needed more of him. Your body ached for his touch, your soul craved his possession. In that moment, lost in the depths of his eyes, you would have given him anything he asked for.

With a soft whimper, you closed the remaining distance between you, pressing your lips fully against his in a desperate, needy kiss. Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him in as you parted your lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss. Your heart raced as you felt his lips move against yours, the kiss turning more intense, more passionate with each passing second. You poured all your longing and desire into the kiss, your body melting against his as you clung to him, craving more of his touch.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, your skirt riding up your thighs as you pulled his hard body flush against your softer curves. Your ankles locked behind his back, holding him in place. Your fingers tangled in his short hair, tugging lightly as you angled your head to slide your tongue along the seam of his lips, silently begging for entrance.

You felt Xavier's large hands run slowly up your bare thighs, his touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His fingers gripped your soft flesh, squeezing lightly as he pulled your legs tighter around his waist. He groaned into the kiss, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, as his hands reached the hem of your skirt.

He broke the kiss, only to trail his lips down the column of your throat, his breath hot against your skin. "Y/n," he growled, his voice rough with desire "you drive me crazy" he murmured, licking his tongue flat along your neck up to your flushed cheek.

You grabbed both of Xavier's hands and eagerly guided them to your hips, encouraging him to grip the soft flesh tightly. A moan escaped your lips as his fingers sank into your curves, pulling you impossibly closer. Your chest heaved against his as you panted softly, your body aching for his touch. "Touch me, Xavier," you begged, grinding your hips against his in a desperate search for friction. "Please, I need you." Your words were punctuated by needy little kisses along his jawline, your fingers tugging at his hair and his shirt. You were lost in a haze of desire, your mind consumed by the feel of his body against yours.

You grabbed the hem of Xavier's shirt with eager hands, tugging at it insistently as you tried to yank it up and off his muscular torso. Your fingers brushed against the bare skin of his abdomen, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath your touch. You let out a soft gasp as more of his skin was revealed, your eyes darkening with lust at the sight of his toned body. "Xavier," you breathed out, your voice heavy with desire, "I want to feel you. All of you." Your hands slid up his chest, exploring his pectorals and the defined lines of his abs, marveling at the strength and power beneath his skin. You leaned in, placing hot, open mouthed kisses along his collarbone and up the side of his neck, your tongue darting out to taste his skin. Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as the last of your control slipped away, leaving you bare, wanting and completely at his mercy.

When your lips marked his neck, something primal and hungry flashed in Xavier's eyes. In an instant, his hands were at the front of your shirt unbuttoning it with a sense of urgency. Buttons flew open under his fingers, your shirt falling open to reveal your lacy bra underneath. He pushed the fabric off your shoulders impatiently, leaving it to pool around your elbows as he drank in the sight of your nearly bare breasts.

With a smile playing on your lips, you reached up and unclasped your bra at the front, your breasts spilling free. Xavier's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of your bare flesh, his eyes roaming hungrily over your curves. He licked his lips, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing teasingly over your hardened nipples.

"Fuck, y/n," he groaned, his voice rough with desire. "You're so beautiful." He leaned down, his tongue flicking out to circle one straining peak before drawing it into his mouth, suckling greedily. His other hand rolled and plucked at the other. Your head fell back, a moan escaping your lips as you arched into his touch, craving more.

With your movements, your skirt had ridden up your thighs, now barely covering your panties. The flimsy fabric strained against your core, damp with your arousal. Xavier's hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips tightly. He ground his hips into yours, letting you feel the thick ridge of his erection straining against his pants. "You feel what you do to me?" He rocked into you again, the friction delicious even through the layers of clothing separating you. One hand slid around to grip your ass, squeezing it and pulling your thigh up higher around his waist. The other hand slid under your skirt, his fingers brushing teasingly over the damp lace covering your pussy. "Fuck, you're so wet for me already," his fingers pressing more firmly against your clothed sex.  When you felt Xavier push your panties to the side and drag his fingers through your folds, a sharp gasp escaped your lips. Your hips bucked into his touch, seeking more of that friction.

"Xavier!" you cried out, your voice high and breathy with need. Your fingers clawed at his back, nails digging into his skin as you clung to him desperately. Your heart raced, blood singing in your veins as the heat of your desire consumed you. You were aching, empty, and you needed him to fill you. Your legs tightened around his waist, trying to pull him closer, to align his hard length with your dripping cunt.

"Fuck me, Xavier," you begged shamelessly, too far gone to care about anything but the feel of him inside you

But he had other plans. Ignoring your desperate pleas for a moment, he suddenly dropped to his knees before you. His hands gripped your thighs, pushing them further apart as he draped your legs over his broad shoulders. He dragged you down to the edge of the counter, your sex now level with his face. His eyes locked with yours as he leaned in, his breath hot against your exposed pussy.

He pulled your panties aside once more, baring you completely to his hungry eyes. Without warning, he dragged the flat of his tongue from your entrance up to your aching clit. A low, appreciative groan rumbled in his chest as he savored your taste, his eyes fluttering shut briefly before locking with yours again

His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he began to devour you, his tongue delving between your walls to stroke and tease your most sensitive spots. He circled your clit with the tip of his tongue before sucking it between his lips, flicking it mercilessly as he plunged two long fingers deep into you. Your head fell back, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your hips bucked against his face, riding his fingers and tongue. "Yes, oh god yes!" you screamed, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to you.

Your cries grew louder and more desperate as Xavier's skilled mouth and fingers worked you towards your peak. Suddenly, he pulled back, his eyes flashing up to meet yours as he pressed a finger to your lips. "Shh, you don't want the neighbors knowing what's going on here," he murmured, his voice low and rough with arousal. "Keep quiet for me, princess." He pushed his finger past your lips, pressing it against your tongue. "Suck," he commanded, his eyes burning into yours with intense desire."Don't make a sound until I say you can." His fingers pumped faster, his tongue swirling around your clit, pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Determined to follow his command, you suckled obediently at Xavier's finger, hollowing your cheeks to muffle your increasingly desperate cries. Your tongue swirled around the digit as your hips undulated against his mouth and fingers. Xavier groaned around your cunt, the vibrations adding to the intense pleasure radiating through your core. He pumped his fingers harder, curling them to stroke that spot inside you that made your toes curl. His tongue flicked rapidly over your clit, the wet muscle fluttering against the sensitive bundle of nerves until it throbbed in time with your pounding heart. Your thighs trembled around his head. Tears of pleasure stung your eyes, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps through your nose as you fought to stay quiet. 

"C..I..cumming Xav..." you stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper. The moment the words left your lips, Xavier withdrew his fingers from your mouth, only to replace them with a harsh pinch to your nipple. At the same time, he latched onto your clit, sucking it as he pushed you over the edge. Your vision went white as your body convulsed, back arching sharply as a silent scream tore from your throat. Wave after wave of pure, bliss crashed over you, your walls clamping down around Xavier's fingers as he worked you through your peak. Your juices gushed from your spasming sex, coating his chin and dripping down onto the kitchen tile below. The world fell away, narrowing down to the feeling of Xavier's touch, his mouth, his hands on your flesh as you rode out the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm of your life.

"That was the most delicious dessert after a meal I've ever had," he said, his voice low and rough with satisfaction. Rising to his feet, he leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. 

Still trembling with the aftershocks of your intense climax, your hands moved on autopilot to unbuckle his belt. Your fingers fumbled with the leather strap, desperation making them clumsy and uncoordinated. With a low growl, Xavier brushed your hands away and quickly unfastened his pants himself. He shoved them down his muscular thighs along with his boxer briefs, freeing his large, hard cock. It sprang up, long, thick and heavy, the head flushed a dark, angry red and already glistening with beads of moisture. Your mouth watered at the sight, your core clenching with need as you gazed at his impressive length.

Xavier's hand wrapped around his cock, pumping it slowly as he watched you with a feral expression. "Fuck, I need to be inside you," he rasped, his voice strained with desire. "Now." With his other hand, he grabbed your hip, yanking you to the edge of the counter once again. Your legs automatically wrapped around his waist as he stepped between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your folds, your panties still pulled to the side.

"Hold on tight, princess," Xavier commanded. With one powerful thrust, he buried all the way into your fluttering heat. A loud moan tore from his throat at the exquisite sensation of your walls gripping him. "Fuck, you feel incredible," he panted, his hips nestling against yours as he savored the feeling of being inside you.

He gave you a moment to adjust, his eyes searching yours intensely as he caressed your cheek with a gentler touch. Then, with a roll of his hips, he began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside you before slamming back in, burying himself balls deep in your welcoming body. He set a hard, fast pace, the kitchen echoing with the slap of skin against skin and your shared moans of pleasure.

Xavier was a quiet man, but when it came to being inside you, fucking you this deep, he was anything but. Moans and grunts of pure satisfaction spilled from his lips with each powerful thrust of his hips. Obscene words, filthy praise and declarations of lust interspersed with your name, a litany of worship and desire.

Xavier grabbed your legs, his large hands wrapping around your calves as he pushed them up and out, planting your feet on the edge of the kitchen counter. This new position opened you wider, allowing him to plunge even deeper into you.

"Wider, baby," his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Let me in deeper, let me reach that sweet spot inside you. Fuck, I can feel you trembling around me. You're so close, aren't you? 

Your body tensed, back arching off the counter as a completely different sensation crashed over you. "Fuuuck!" you cried out, your voice high and thin with shock and overwhelming pleasure. Your sex clenched around his cock, squeezing him as a powerful, gushing orgasm ripped through you. Clear fluid sprayed from your core, splattering against Xavier's stomach as you squirted hard.

"Fuck yes, that's it!" Xavier's his hips never faltering as he fucked you through your climax. "Cum for me, fucking soak me with it. Goooooooods your cunt feels incredible when you cum, gripping me so fucking tight." He leaned down, capturing your lips in a messy, urgent kiss, swallowing your screams of ecstasy as he pounded into you, prolonging your mind blowing orgasm. His control shattered the moment he felt your sex clench and spasm around him once more, a second gush of your essence flooding out to soak his cock and drip down onto the kitchen floor

"Fuck, baby, I can't... I'm going to..." he snarled, his words cutting off into a moan as his hips jerked erratically. His cock throbbed and pulsed inside you, growing even harder if that was possible, before he came. Xavier moves his hand over an invisible line where your tummy was being bloated with his length and you find yourself aching for more all over again. 

As Xavier caught his breath, he looked down at your flushed cheeks, noticing you glancing at the mess on his stomach and the puddle of your combined juices on the kitchen floor. A grin spread across his face. He traced a finger through the damp spot on his abdomen, scooping up some of your essence before bringing it to his lips. Maintaining eye contact with you, he licked it off, his tongue curling in a sensual manner.

"Mmm, we made quite the mess, didn't we princess?" he murmured, his voice low and satisfied. "Looks like someone's appetite for me is insatiable" he nipped at your bottom lip, tugging on it gently before soothing the sting with a brush of his lips. His eyes, dark and intense, held your gaze as he murmured against your skin.

"I hope you didn't have any plans for the rest of the night, because you're not going anywhere. You're mine now, all night long."

[ladykailitha]

Caged Bird Extra Scene

Hehe, so a couple people commented in my discord (DM for linkie if you want to join, it's fun!) that they loved the detail about Steve hearing the band coming in the hotel lobby from the sounds of their chains.

So this is dedicated to @bookworm0690, @dreamercec and @forgottenkanji who wanted it in the last chapter but sadly no place to slide it into so I wrote this instead.

Set in the "The Caged Bird Still Sings" universe somewhere after they got together but before the epilogue (which will be in the last chapter next week).

~

Steve was still getting used to how close Eddie was with his bandmates. Like 'zero boundaries' levels of close. Which he didn't have a problem with as long they weren't actively having sex, which they had a signal for, soo...

But there were little things that Steve was starting to pick up about Eddie's friends.

None of them like oatmeal cookies, but loved the hell out Steve's no-bake cookies which had oatmeal in them.

"It's the chocolate!" Brian insisted. "Chocolate can hide a multitude of sins and that includes oatmeal."

Steve just shook his head.

Most of the band had favorite metal bands. Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, Pantera, Black Sabbath, Metallica, but if you named a glam metal band you would be shouted down. So Steve made sure to steer clear of names like Bon Jovi, Guns N' Roses, and especially Van Halen.

Eddie hated being compared to Eddie Van Halen. "Oooh you're both metal band lead singers named Eddie!" Fuck off with that shit.

One thing that Steve made sure to never bring up ever. Not even to Robin was how much the two of them looked alike. It was actually a little haunting to be honest.

Another thing he learned as a consequence of hanging out with the quartet on a regular basis. The amount of chains and jewelry they wore all the time.

He wasn't sure that they even knew they did it. The jewelry or chains themselves might change, but the amount they wore never did.

Eddie had his chain and leather bracelet, the two chains on his waist, one on his belt, the other on his wallet. He had his pick necklace and a couple of chains around his neck. On his hands were the half of a dozen oversized rings. And then there were the safety pins. The most were on the sleeve of his leather jacket, but sometimes on things like his boots or pants.

Jeff had a bunch of bangles on both his wrists and three chains on his belt. He didn't like anything around his neck but he had a chain that went from his lobe to an orbital piercing in his right ear.

Brian had the least amount of things that clinked, but he had enough. Two leather and chain bracelets, but they were more cuff like then Eddie's single band, one on each wrist. He then had two chains on his neck and single one on his belt.

Gareth didn't like having anything on his wrists, so his jewelry were mostly on his waist and around his neck. His earrings kept getting caught in his hair so while his ears were pierced he hadn't worn anything there in years. He had three chains on each side of his waist, and about a half dozen chains and necklaces around his neck. All varying lengths of course, but he jangled the most.

So Steve developed an ear for being able to tell who was coming.

He was sitting in the hotel lobby reading the newspaper as he often did after working out in the gym with a cup of coffee and a nice pain au chocolat when he heard the jangling.

"I hope you didn't forget Brian at the store again," he teased from behind his newspaper.

Then suddenly the jangling came to an abrupt stop.

"Hey there, little Canary," Eddie said with a note of amusement and a whole chorus of amazement in his voice. "How did you know that Bri wasn't with us? Did you see us come in?"

Steve lowered his newspaper to look up at his boyfriend. He snorted, "No," and went back to paper.

"Uh..." Jeff said, his voice filled with something like concern. "Then how did you know Bri wasn't with us?"

Steve huffed out a small giggle. "You all have a specific sound. The quiet under clinking of Brian's minimalism in his dress was lacking, so he clearly wasn't with you."

He cocked his head to the side. "And here he comes now."

"Hey, assholes!" Brian growled. "Next time get the god damned porters to grab your bags. I'm not a fucking pack mule."

All three of the other Corroded Coffin boys turned at once to Brian, wide-eyed in shock.

Brian blinked at them for a moment and then sighed. "All right, Stevie, what new amazing thing have you come up with this time?"

The shocked faces turned back to see Steve's smirk from over the top of the newspaper.

"Identifying how many you are and which ones by how much sound you make when you walk up."

Brian tilted his head, considering and then nodded. "Yeah that tracks."

Eddie sputtered for a moment and then pulled Steve to his feet to kiss him senseless.

"My super smart, Stevie," he breathed once they both came up for air.

Steve blushed.

"Is anyone going to take these bags!?" Brian yelled and suddenly the other three offenders went and collected their things.

Steve burst out laughing. God he loved all of these goofs. Eddie obviously came out on top, but he loved the others too.

[stnkiconverse]

Hello! I would appreciate it if you wrote Toby's reaction upon seeing his partner (dead for whatever reason you choose) come back from the dead as a ghost after months, without remembering anything. It's something I like to roleplay with on C.AI.

Thank you

Gone.

Ticci Toby x Dead!Partner!Reader

Warnings: Death, Angst???

Toby didn't think something was wrong when he came home. Just another mission, another night of blood, exhaustion, and trying to not worry too much about how numb he felt.

But then he opened your and his shared room door and the air didn't feel right. Too still. Too silent. Like there was something missing.

And thenhe saw you.

Your body wasn't hot when he brushed against it.

It wasn't cold, either.

Just—empty.

Like everything that made you had already left.

No blood, no violent scene, just you, dead, unmoving.

He dropped to his knees next to you, fingers hovering but not touching.

He couldn't.

If he touched you, it would be real.

His breath halted. His fingers convulsed uncontrollably. His tics struck him full-blown, angular, jerky snapping of his shoulders and neck, his throat made a choked sound as he fought to keep up with what he was seeing. What he wasn't seeing.

This didn't happen. This couldn't happen.

He let out a hollow, strangled laugh, gripping his hair. “Hah— okay, okay, real funny, you can stop now—”

But you didn't so much as stir. Breathe.

The world went fuzzy, but he had no idea if it was from the way his head spun or if he was actually crying. He didn't know until he felt the wetness in his palms. He shook you more forcefully once, twice.

"Wake up."

Again. Again.

"Wake the fuck up!"

Nothing. Nothing.

Toby couldn't remember how long he sat there, how long he stared at you, waiting for something, anything to change. It never changed.

Your body wasn't your body anymore. It was a body.

And for the first time in a long, long time, he felt more alone than ever.

Toby barely left his room.

People noticed, sure, but no one really bothered him about it. He was a loner to begin with, but now? Now, he was silent. Withdrawn in a way that wasn't just him not liking crowds— it was like he didn't even exist.

The sketch pad he never left behind, the pages previously covered in doodles and sketches and little comments in the margins about you were blank. He hadn't even opened it since you died.

He talked to you too, sometimes. At night, when he was alone, lying flat on his back staring at the ceiling like if he stared hard enough, he'd see you again. He said things under his breath into the void, voice cracked and rough.

"I dunno what the fuck I'm gonna do now."

"This is fucking bullshit, y'know. I didn't even get to say anything."

“You should be here. You‘re supposed to be here.”

Sleep refused to arrive.

It never would, but whenever he closed his eyes, he saw only you.

The second he realized you were dead. The discovery of your body.

The failure to say goodbye. His own voice crying out your name, over and over, as though perhaps doing so could retract something.

On certain evenings,he was sure he felt you there.

Swore he heard the sound of footsteps when nobody else was there. But each time he turned, you weren't present.

Because you were gone.

It happened on one of those nights—one where he was too exhausted to sleep, too alert to rest, too weary to go on but couldn't stop going on either.

He sat outside, hood pulled up around his face, sitting on the porch steps, simply existing.

And then he felt it.

That feeling. The one he'd experience when he turned around, knowing that he'd find you smiling at him.

His breath caught in his throat. He slowly rolled his head to the side, hesitantly, as though if he turned too fast, it would shatter whatever moment this was.

And then, he saw you.

Standing there, looking at him like he was just some other stranger.

For an instant, his mind didn't work. It wouldn't. His body moved ahead of him, standing up on shaking legs. You were there. You were- you were-

But something was wrong.

You seemed the same, yet not the same. Ghostly translucent. Glittering with a supernatural light. Your face was blank, curious, but hollow. No recognition. No welcome.

"Y/N…?" His voice was gruff, cracking, hardly above a whisper. As if saying your name too loudly would make you disappear.

You blinked. Tilted your head to the side. "Who's that?"

His stomach dropped.

Everything inside him stopped.

The seconds dragged on too long, too heavy, too suffocating. His mind was racing, trying to catch up, trying to piece it together, trying to make it make sense.

And then, you spoke again, voice soft, distant. "Do I…know you?"

Something in him broke.

There was a choked, snickering laugh. His fingers quivered, coiling into fists on either side of him. "Oh—oh, that's rich- that's really fucking funny—"

You simply stood there. Confused. Like you didn't know him anymore.

Like you'd never even met him.

The weight of it hit all at once. You were here—but not really. You weren’t you. Not his you.

Something in his chest contorted so fiercely it was as if he couldn't breathe. His throat burned. His eyes stung. His tics struck him full-force, cruel jerks of his head, his fingers convulsing against the fabric of his hoodie.

You were right here. And he'd lost you all over again.

I surprisingly rlly like this :D!!

I hope you like it as much as I do!!!

[abiatackerman]

Hey!! I was wondering if you could write a one shot where the reader sings to Levi? I thought of it when I watched the scene in Peaky Blinders were Grace sings to Tommy, and I think similar dialogue from the scene would be a really nice touch. Thanks so much lovely!

Oh my god, yes! I have just started to watch "Peaky Blinders" and I love Tommy and Grace, haha! Also making a Oneshot where the reader (I mean me lol) singing for Levi makes my heart warm! Thanks for requesting!

This is the song I used for the Oneshot! This is a beautiful song and I think it relates to Levi! I hope you'll love it!

Where nightmares end

⚔️Levi Ackerman x Female Reader⚔️

Canon universe! Captain Levi Ackerman x Reader! Fluff and comfort! Nightmares! Wholesome! Fluffy romance! 1.3k words!

Summary: After waking from another nightmare, Levi finds solace in your arms. As you hold him close, you offer to sing him a song, a lullaby to quiet his restless mind.

Tags: @theremainsof @spouseofleviackerman @levisbrat25 @itsnathateasy @violentvaleska @dreamerofthewest @meowmewow7 @mikabella7 @satorella @sugacor3 @darkstarlight82 @derealizationns @genyas-gun01

🩷If you wanna be tagged let me know🩷

✨Masterlist✨

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

The night is thick with silence, save for the occasional rustling of leaves outside the window. The candle on the bedside table flickers weakly, casting trembling shadows across the stone walls. The air is cool, yet sweat clings to Levi’s skin as he tosses and turns, trapped in the grip of another nightmare. His breath comes in sharp, ragged bursts, his fingers twitching as if reaching for a blade that isn’t there.

Then, suddenly—he jolts awake.

His chest rises and falls unevenly, silver eyes wide with the ghost of whatever horror had clawed through his dreams. His body is rigid, years of war training his muscles to snap into action at the slightest disturbance. His trembling hand instinctively reaches for the knife under his pillow—only to meet warmth instead.

You.

"Hey… you okay?"

Your voice is soft, barely above a whisper, thick with sleep as your fingers find his arm, tracing soothing circles. Your eyes are groggy, but concern flickers in them like the dying candlelight.

Levi doesn't answer right away. His breath is still uneven, his heartbeat hammering beneath his ribs. You've seen him like this before—felt the way his body tenses after a nightmare, how his shoulders lock up as if bracing for an enemy that isn't there. You know it isn't the first time, and it won't be the last.

Without hesitation, you reach for him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him against you. His forehead presses against the soft fabric of your nightshirt, his damp hair tickling your collarbone. He resists for only a second before giving in, letting you hold him.

"You're safe, love," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his hair. "I'm here. I know I'm much weaker than you, but at least I can save you from your nightmares, right?"

A heavy sigh escapes him, his body sinking into yours, his arms hesitantly circling your waist. His grip isn't tight—Levi has never been one to hold on too firmly, even when he needs to—but you feel it, the way his fingers curl against your back like he's afraid to let go.

You bury your face in his hair, inhaling his calming scent. Your eyes flutter closed, the weight of exhaustion creeping back in, but you don't let sleep take you just yet. You want to stay like this a little longer, comforting him while he's in this vulnerable state. You're happy to be here, to be the one grounding him.

Levi lets out another quiet sigh as his fingers stroke absently over your arm. The horrors of his nightmare begin to fade, replaced by the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. But guilt lingers at the edges of his mind.

"Sorry for waking you up," he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

You sigh, your face still buried in his hair, your fingers caressing his cheek. "You know what my mentality is, Levi. Stop saying nonsense."

Squeezing his cheek gently, you pout, your touch playful despite the exhaustion weighing on your limbs.

Levi snorts, the smallest of smirks tugging at his lips. "Yeah. You're an angel, I forgot."

His sarcasm makes you smile. You shift, tightening your hold around him, and he adjusts as well, resting his head more comfortably against your chest. His ear is right over your heart now, and you know he's listening to its steady beat.

Minutes pass in silence, both of you wrapped in each other's warmth. But then, a thought crosses your mind.

"Hey, Levi?" You comb your fingers through his hair, your voice soft.

He hums in acknowledgment, his eyes closed.

"Can I sing for you?"

Levi's brows furrow slightly as he lifts his head just enough to look at you. "Sing?"

You smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. "It might help you sleep."

He studies you for a long moment, as if weighing the idea in his mind. Then, with a quiet sigh, he buries his face in your chest again. "Do whatever you want."

Your smile widens as you cradle his head gently. "Tragic or romantic?"

A ghost of a sarcastic smirk flickers across his lips, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Tragic."

You huff a small laugh, your fingers stroking through his hair. "Be careful," you whisper. "That might break you."

Then quietly, shaking his head , he murmurs, "Already broken."

The way he says it—so effortlessly, like it's just a fact, like it’s not even worth debating—makes your chest ache. You know that's true and it breaks your heart every time.

So instead, you shift, cupping his face as you meet his gaze. Then, you take his hand, lacing your fingers through his, and begin to sing.

"Oh, I'm obsessed

With the way your head is layin' on my chest

How you love the things I hate about myself

And no one knows, but with you, I see hope again."

Levi stills.

His grip on your hand tightens slightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly. His silver eyes, always sharp, always guarded, soften as he listens.

"Oh, I'm a mess

When I overthink the little things in my head

You seem to always help me catch my breath

But then I lose it again

When I look at you, that's the end."

You feel it in the way his breath hitches, in the way his fingers twitch ever so slightly. He isn't just listening—he's feeling.

You press your forehead against his and keep singing.

"And why do I get so nervous when I look into your eyes?

Butterflies can't stop me falling for you

And darling, this is more than anything I felt before

You're everything that I want, but I didn't think I'd find

Someone who is worth the wait of all the years of my heartbreak

But I know now I've found the one I love."

Levi closes his eyes, his jaw tightening for a second before he exhales, slow and controlled. When he opens them again, something raw flickers in their depths. He stares at you, searching for something—an answer, a reason why your voice feels like home, why the words feel like they were carved from his own soul.

"You…" His voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. He swallows hard before speaking again. "That song."

You tilt your head, smiling softly. "What about it?"

His fingers curl slightly around yours. "It… it sounds like me." His gaze drops to your intertwined hands, his grip firm but careful. "I'm a mess. I… never thought I’d find someone like you." His thumb brushes over your skin again, slower this time. "But I did."

Warmth floods your chest, spreading like wildfire. You knew he might relate himself to the song, but when he said that... It made your heart flutter.

You squeeze his hand gently. "You're not a mess, Levi. You're a clean freak."

He lets out a soft, almost bitter chuckle. "You're the only one who'd say that."

You shift closer, your free hand brushing against his cheek. "Because I see you. Not just the Captain. Not just the soldier. You."

Levi inhales sharply, silver eyes locking onto yours. And for once, he doesn't look away.

Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words. Then, finally, he murmurs, "Sing it again."

Your lips part slightly, surprised. "You want me to—"

"Please." His voice is quiet, but firm.

You smile, heart full, as you begin to sing once more, your fingers still tangled with his.

And this time, when Levi closes his eyes, he isn't lost in nightmares—but in the sound of your voice, in the warmth of your touch, and in the quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, he isn't broken, because he's with you after all.