#tw concealed nudity??

[gideonysis]

whoops sorry tamsyn muir

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + thirty

authors note: had some unexpected difficulty with this one. hopefully, the enjoyable parts, are, in fact, enjoyable.

cw/tw: fluff, angst, and drama

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

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 11k

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

Solana sighs, watching the water run over her hand and the makeup sponge in the palm of said hand expand with the cascade of water that drenches it. Using her wrist to shut off the water, she starts squeezing the excess.

The distraction of applying her makeup is appreciated as it deprives and prevents her from gawking at her naked husband showering behind her. 

Solana volunteered to shower first, hence her being further along in her routine. With sexual activity off the list due to her pelvic rest restrictions, separate showers have been their go-to for the past week. At least until she’s cleared.

Something that Solana finds herself looking more and more forward to with each day that passes, because whether it be pregnancy hormones or her burning attraction to her husband, the lack of physical intimacy between them is……noticeable.

Clearing her throat, and her mind, she finally answers him. “Yes, Ro. I’m sure.” She’s only said as such at least three times now, but that’s besides the point. “I told you. I want it to be a surprise.”

Roman’s sigh is heard under the sound of running water as he moves the loofah over his shoulders. “It’s a tattoo, Solana. Don’t know how much of a surprise that sort of thing should be.”

He’s not wrong, necessarily. But, he also doesn’t know the full context, and he can’t, because it’s part of the surprise of it all. 

“We stick to the plan, Roman.” Solana uses the towel on the counter to blot dry the sponge, just for good measure, before reaching for her foundation. “You drop me off, go to your therapy session, go to Fetu’s place to get the letters, see Ava, I go see Bayley, and then we meet back up at the house later this evening.”

Simple, sweet, and easy. 

If only her husband felt the same way. 

“I told you I don’t need to go this week.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you do, Ro. You didn’t go last week.”

Solana can practically feel his gaze on her through the glass doors. “Last week was a shit show, Solana. I wasn’t trying to be anywhere but with you.”

It puts a small smile on her face. Even when he’s being his usual almost harsh self, there’s still a speck of sweetness usually reserved just for her. 

“That’s even more reason to go, baby.” Especially since he made sure she didn’t miss her weekly appointment with Gail, which brings her to her next point. “I think you should go weekly like I do.”

“Weekly?” The perfect combination of horror and surprise in his voice makes her roll her eyes. Her husband can be so dramatic sometimes. “Solana, that shit is already…..uncomfortable enough, and now you want me to do it every week?”

Waiting until she’s done applying her foundation, she explains, glancing at him through the mirror. “It helps you to get to the point where you start opening up more, Roman.”

At least, that’s been Solana’s experience. Satisfied with the coverage, she hears the water shut off and moves to grab her concealer, unwilling to view the sinful sight of her husband’s nude body stepping out the shower before he can towel himself. 

“I don’t even know if she has that availability, Sol.”

And just like that, the focus is no longer on avoidance of temptation nor the blending of concealer. It’s on a single word. Solana turns around, uncaring of his nudity. “S–she?” Roman glances at her, grabbing the towel off the rack. “Your…..your therapist is….a woman?”

Roman secures the towel around his waist with a knot, as she turns back to the mirror, trying to settle herself. “Yeah.” He then asks, looking at her through that same mirror. “Is that a problem?’

“No, no. Of—of course not. I just. I—I didn’t know. That’s…..that’s all.” Solana’s answer is a concoction of stumbled words that make sense but don’t mesh well. Roman moves to stand beside her grabbing for his deodorant when he’s hit with another question. “Is—is she pretty?”

Applying said deodorant, he clarifies, “the therapist?”

“Yeah.”

Roman chuckles, finishing his application to both underarms. “I guess. Wasn’t looking at her like that. She’s not my type.”

He has to bite back a smile at the way Solana’s eyes widen when she looks at him through the mirror. “You—you have a type?”

He knows exactly what's going on now, and he also knows exactly how to handle it.

Fully immersed and dedicated to setting her up for his ‘trap,’ Roman nods. “Of course, I do.”

A part of him feels a modicum of guilt at her worried expression, even if he can tell she’s trying her best to play it up as indifference. “Wh—wh—what’s your type?”

He doesn’t say anything, just slowly moves to stand behind her, uncaring of the droplets of water that stream down his chest from his wet hair. 

“Well…….” Roman maneuvers his hands down to her legs. “I like thick thighs….” His fingers dance up to the meat of her deliciously thick thighs. “Curvy hips…..” His focus never leave her, watching every tiny, shaky breath that leaves her mouth and the way her eyes flutter from his touch. “A nice ass….” Solana’s head tilts back against his chest when he grabs and squeezes her ass cheeks before lifting his hands to her chest. “Big ass, perfect titties that fit perfectly in my hands….” Satisfaction fills him seeing how she sighs with pleasure from him gently squeezing her breast. His mouth drops to her ear, breathing with a sly smile, “and they look even better when she’s riding me.” 

“Roman,” she giggles, a blush filling her cheeks. He's partially taken back by her cheeky play into his game. “Pregnant?”

“Of course.” His hand is splayed protectively across her stomach, lips to her temple. “Mine...”

Their gazes locked through the mirror, she breathes, “yours…”

He lifts his hand, tilting her chin, craning down to capture a slow, sensual kiss. Eventually breaking it, recognizing they have to stop themselves, he reminds, “I only see you, Sol….alright?”

She nods, a soft smile on her pretty face. Content with settling her insecurities, he taps her ass and continues getting ready, acquiescing to her request. “I’ll talk with her about weekly meetings.”

“Thank you.” Her appreciation and the relief in her expression overpowers his discomfort of having to do that feelings shit once a week, but if it’ll make her happy, he’ll deal.

Because that’s all he wants.

Is to make her happy.

“I’ve been thinking….” Roman is in the midst of moisturizing his body when her quiet voice breaks their brief silence. “Remember how you told me to think about, ya know, going back to school?”

He nods. “Yes.”

She hesitates, obviously trying to find the right words. “I think….I think I want to try.” She clarifies, taking a deep breath. “I want…I want to be an RN.” Roman takes a step back, a growing proud look on his face as she continues to explain. “And, I know it probably sounds crazy, because I’m pregnant with twins, and we’re going to be parents, but I just….” she pauses, Roman detecting the emotion building. “He took so much from me. They all did, and I want it back.”

He’s not entirely certain, but he’d take a good guess that the all she’s referring to is her mother, Xavier, and Wes. Roman is unsure what to make of the sudden, potentially temporary shift Solana has made regarding her mother. Once a saint, now grouped with her abusers. It’s not his place, however, to dictate how she feels about that, because her being upset is more than valid.

Regardless of him not wanting to think about if he’d ever even met or be with his wife if she wasn’t “raised” by Xavier, the hell she went through was undeserved.

And, it didn’t need to happen. But, it did, largely because of her mother.

Her mother’s selfishness.

Solana continues to explain, almost rushed and nervous. “I wanna go for a bachelors in nursing. I could go the associates route, which would only take two years instead of four, but a bachelors in nursing is more preferred when it comes to hiring, and—”

“Solana,” he interrupts, moving back by her, gently cupping her face. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll support and help or make happen. That’s it. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Her voice is quiet and unsure. “You really think I can do it?”

“I know you can.” It’s an easy answer that doesn’t call for any thinking. Just a natural, obvious thing. “My only concern would be you stretching yourself too thin.”

“I thought about that,” she confesses. “Having the girls and being in school at the same time will be a lot, but….it’s what I want. I—I have to at least try.”

And, he understands that. Understands why this is important to her. Why she needs to do this. Another thing for herself. Another way to reclaim her life.

“Okay, then you’ll do it.” Curious, he asks, “are you think of starting this upcoming spring?”

She shakes her head, holding onto his waist. “No. That’s too soon. Maybe fall of next year. The girls will be a couple months old versus me being halfway through this pregnancy.” Her eyes light up, lips curving into a smile. “You know they’re due in May, right?” No, he didn’t know. Obviously, her being two months would put her due date in May, but it’s not necessarily something he thought about from this perspective. “That means you all will share a birthday month.”

Fuck.

It will.

Another thing he didn’t think of.

And something he doesn’t know how to feel about.

“That means every year when we celebrate their birthday—”

“Solana—”

“—we’re celebrating yours.”

“I don’t—”

“This isn’t up for debate, Ro.” Her counter effectively silences him, the assertiveness both surprising and sexy as fuck. “This is our family, and we’re going to do it the right way.” She hugs him, pressing herself against his now almost completely dry chest. “Think about it. You’re their daddy. They’ll probably love sharing a birthday month with you.”

Daddy

Roman doesn’t know how to feel or respond to that, to any of it outside of objection. He’s already made his thoughts and feelings about his birthday clear to his wife, and while a part of him dislikes that she’s not exactly respecting his wishes, he knows why, too. And, he can’t fault her.

It’s the same way he works to help her pull away from the grips of her trauma.

“We’ve gotta pick out which room should be their nursery, too.”

Another statement that makes sense but is also something he’s unsure of how to feel about. “Hmm?”

Solana looks up, explaining, “they should probably be in a room close to ours, ya know?” No, he doesn’t know. “And, I want to paint their rooms, but—”

“You can’t be around that shit while pregnant, Solana.” Because that much he knows. Safety. Everything else is…..questionable.

Her expression is a mixture of agreement and disappointment. “I know. Maybe after they’re born, I can do the painting and we can just wait a month or two before we……are you alright?” Solana’s shift in tone as well as her question pull Roman from the distancing he didn’t even realize was happening until she said something.

“Yes.” A bit of an automatic answer, one she clearly sees through.

“Ro….”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “Just have a lot on my mind. That’s all.”

He’s partially expecting her to push, albeit gently, for him to open up and talk with her. She goes for a different, unexpected route, however. “Roman, are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

Asking what she’s referring to is unnecessary. He already knows. “No. I’ll be fine. Ava’s going to be there, too.” Not that he necessarily needs anyone with him, but seeing his cousin might be nice. They haven’t really spoken since their aunt’s funeral. An understandable and necessary space for both to grieve as they so chose.

“I know.” She nods, hands lifting to his shoulders, moving up and down. A soothing gesture. “I just don’t want you to feel alone in this….”

“I’m not,” he reassures, adding almost quietly. "You've made sure of that.”

Because she has. Because as he’s told her before, there’s no way he could have handled all of this without her. No way in hell. Not in a way that was remotely good, or even healthy, at least. 

“Besides.” Roman moves his hands to her hips, thumbs moving against the fabric of her robe. “You have your own things to take care of.” Things is one way to put it, Roman flipping the question onto her. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

Her smile is soft and also reassuring. She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine, too. I’m not really nervous about telling Bayley. It’s…..it’s everyone else.”

And the telling she speaks of would be telling Bayley that they’re not just friends. They’re family. Cousins.

It’s a decision she came to after sitting down and speaking freely with him about how she wants to handle this, ultimately deciding it best to go about it in small doses. Start with Bayley. Then tackle and figure things out from there. He looks down, studying her, “you don’t think they’ll respond well?”

There’s a delayed response. “I don’t know if they’ll accept me.”

And he gets it. Gets her. Knows that feeling all too well.

“They will, Solana,” he comforts. “The way they showed up for your party, how….nice they were to you. I can’t see them not accepting you.” And, it’s the truth, just like it’s the truth that there will be hell to pay if any of those fuckers even try to reject his wife.

Fucking hell. 

—--------

There’s a part of Solana that wishes Roman was there with her. That wants him beside her as she gets her very first set of tattoos, but it’s the mere fact that it’s a set and not one, as he thinks, that is why he can't be there.

Not to mention one of the tattoos, what it is, is a surprise. A surprise just and for him. One she won’t let her anxiety ruin for her.

Especially considering she’s not alone. 

Far from it.

“I should get a tramp stamp while we’re here.”

Mickie’s voice is a welcomed break from some of the growing anxiety stirring within Solana. 

Turning to the woman behind the exclamation, setting her focus and gaze on the other two, Cam and Melina, also helps to settle Solana. It’s been a while since they’ve gathered, since they’ve been around each other, really.

Because life has just been so hectic and chaotic. Great, too. But, a lot of other things sprinkled along the way as well. And while it’s a bit difficult to not be honest with them, even about the pregnancy, Solana is grateful to be surrounded by good friends as well.

“Shut up, Mickie,” Melina dismisses, angling her body more towards Solana as they all wait in the lobby of the tattooist, Roman’s, who will be doing their tattoos today. “So, are you gonna finally tell us what’s been going on with you?”

Cam nods. “We’ve been worried.”

Solana frowns. She knows, and she feels bad for it. “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been MIA. It’s just….” She takes a deep breath. “Roman and I…..we hit a bit of a rough patch, and we’ve been trying to work through it.”

It’s a sort of lie, and a bit of the truth, namely highlighting the argument that occurred before her medical emergency. Lies and secrets that built up into an ugly climax, even if it did end up strengthening them in the long run. Still, it certainly wasn’t enjoyable in the moment.

Melina frowns. “I figured it had something to do with your marriage.”

“Did you try sitting on his face?”

“Mickie!” Cam scolds, rubbing her temples. “Sex does not fix everything.”

Mickie shrugs, defending herself and her typical antics. “It might!”

“Ignore her. We question if she’s been taking her meds as prescribed."

“Optional,” Mickie disregards. Solana makes a mental note to circle back around to that. Medication adherence is critical for the sustainability of their recovery. 

“We’re sorry,” Cam apologizes. Probably both for Mickie and also what she just shared. “Is there….is there anything we can do to help?”

No. Because there really isn’t an “issue” anymore. Sure, Solana and Roman still have things to sort and work through, but it’s nothing they can’t tackle together. “No. We’re gonna….we’re gonna get it together.”

Because they will. 

They’re already in the process of doing so.

“Well, while you guys are doing that, please don’t cut us off. Like I said, we’ve been worried about you,” Melina asks. A fair request.

Cam nods. “She’s right. Even if it’s just like….a text or emoji. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

And Solana appreciates that. So deeply. More than they could ever know.

“I will,” she promises. “And, I was actually hoping if maybe we can see about rescheduling that girls trip?”

Surprised looks all around, Melina being the one to double check, “seriously? Even with….whatever you have going on with Roman?”

There’s a bit of guilt at making them think the situation is more than what it is, that it’s even still going on, really, but for the sake of privacy regarding the pregnancy, it’s a must.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Solana assures, “I’ll talk to him.”

Truth be told, Solana is unsure how said conversation would go. She knows that being pregnant has definitely caused Roman to tighten his grip—and her security—her gaze briefly falling to Bautista who stands by the door, surveying the perimeter. And, she understands it. She just hopes that he can understand why she still wants to do this. Feels a need to almost do it. Because once the girls are here, that’s it. They’ll definitely be limited to their ability to just and do things, so before that availability is greatly minimized, Solana wants to take advantage of this time.

And going on a girls trip with her closest friends seems like the perfect way to do so.

Mickie snorts. “You sure that overprotective man of yours won’t try to tag along?”

Melina rolls her eyes. “Like he wants to be around us.”

“But, he always wants to be around her,” Cam comments with a sly smile. “I could see him making that sacrifice.”

It’s hard for Solana to hold back her smile, a blush forming on her cheeks. “If he did come, he’d probably stay somewhere else.”

Because Solana can definitely see him wanting to tag along. Just not staying under the same roof as herself and her friends.

That seems too much forced socialization for him.

“I’ll just talk to him and see what he says,” she decides. “I really don’t think he’d say no.”

Emphasis on think.

Because again, Roman’s protectiveness since finding out about the pregnancy has definitely been kicked up a few notches. Or more.

“Well, just let us know so I can repack my suitcase,” Mickie bounces from side to side, gasping. “Wait, so we saw the design you made for our tattoos, but what’s the other one you’re getting?” 

The smile on Solana’s face could be seen from the stars. Grabbing her sketchbook from the seat beside her, she starts flipping through, seeking the one she’s excited most about.

“Let me show you...”

—---------

“You’re quiet today.”

“I was quiet last time.”

“Ehh. Debatable.”

Roman’s infamous glare is on the woman who’s lazily shuffling the abnormally large Uno cards. But, before he can follow up with a smartass comment, she hits him with an unexpected question. “What’s your earliest memory?”

The glare deepens. “What?”

Rolling her eyes, she asks again, enunciating each word. “What is your earliest memory?”

“Why is that relevan—”

“Last I checked, mental health is my specialty. I don’t tell you how to do your mafia shit, do I?” A pointed, fair question. He’ll give her that. “Now again—”

“Fine,” Roman relents, more eager to shut her up than anything. Leaning back into the sofa, he takes a minute, having to dig through a ton of shit to recover said memory. “I was young. Maybe 5 or 6. I don’t know, but I’d fallen or tripped or some shit, scraped up my knee, so I’d asked my….my mother to help me up. She said no. My dad just looked at me annoyed and walked off. They both did.”

Lita leans back in her chair as well, pausing the shuffling to ask him, “what do you make of that?”

Roman shrugs, looking away, intentionally not wanting to meet her studying stare. “Make of what?”

“Your earliest memory is that of sadness. Of not being supported and helped by the two people in your life who should have done just that.”

His response is carefully but truthfully worded. “I don’t make anything of it, because that’s just how it’s always been. I’ve always had to take care of myself.”

Because he has. Because as wonderful as Fetu was, she wasn’t always around. That just wasn't physically possible. As much as she could, sure, but there were most definitely plenty of moments where she wasn’t. Where she wasn’t there to help and support him when maybe he needed it, because she couldn’t be everything all the time. 

That’s what his parents should have been for him.

But, they weren't.

“You still feel that way?” Another unexpected question. “Like you have to take care of yourself?”

And here comes one of the many dilemmas with this therapy shit. The point is to share. He doesn’t want to share, more than that, Roman can never show his hand regarding the absolute hold Solana has on him. The depth of his love and devotion to and for her. 

It’s….dangerous, to say the least.

But, she’s also the first and only person to pop in his head at Lita’s latest probe.

Finally, he settles on a very Roman answer. “Comes with the job.”

Her smile is knowing. “Nice deflection.” A pause. “What about your wife?”

Naturally, his shoulders tense up. She’s never asked about Solana before. “What about her?”

Lita makes a face. “What’s that like? The whole arranged marriage thing.”

And just like that, his irritation is mounting. He’s here to work on him. “This shit isn’t about her.”

“Defensive.” Lita’s eyes narrow, but it’s nothing negative. More….assessing. “You’re protective of her.”

Roman finds it easy to justify his said defensiveness without giving the real reason away. “She’s my wife. It’s my job to protect her.”

Lita’s countenance is calm and inquisitive, as she asks most unexpectedly. “And who protected you?”

Silence.

“What?”

She shrugs, laying out the facts. “You protect everyone else. The Bloodline. The Cosa Nostra. Your wife. Yourself as a child. Who protected you?”

Roman can’t deny there’s a bit of a waver in his tone and expression. “I didn’t need to be protected.”

“Yes, you did,” is her calm, leveled counter. “Roman, children need to be protected. It’s the natural hierarchy of things. Young, innocent, and green, you’re not supposed to know how to navigate the world. It’s something we learn over time as we grow, but it’s as we’re growing and learning that we’re supposed to be protected when we can’t do it for ourselves. It’s what gives us that feeling of safety and security and trust, all things we should have from a very young age.” Her voice and expression soften. “You clearly didn’t have that. You didn’t get to have that, which is why you obviously struggle with it so much as an adult.”

There’s a good almost two minutes of silence as Roman is forced to sit on and allow her insight, correct and accurate, to marinate, stirring up an abundance of uncomfortable, unfamiliar emotions. 

“I’m gonna tell you something, but I swear on fucking everything, you repeat this shit to anyone, and I’ll kill you, your husband, and your three kids.” A scarily calm prelude to a confession he’s not sure just why he’s about to make. 

Regardless, he watches a brief flash of fear travel across her face before she replies just as calmly, “you have my word. Not a soul.”

Having her word doesn’t really do much for Roman. People lie on and about that shit all the time, hence him needing to make it clear what she stands to lose should she make the deadly mistake of fucking him over or betraying him. Because as much as she thinks she knows about him, he knows a hell of a lot more about her.

Leverage.

“Solana is pregnant.” A quiet, low admission followed by difficult words and a layer of vulnerability. “And, I don’t…..I don’t know how to feel about that.”

A horrible, awful thing to say aloud, especially considering the huge scare they had not even two weeks ago, but an accurate, truthful thing, nonetheless. Because in the midst of that crisis, yes, Roman was concerned about a grim outcome. Concerned what that would do to his wife, concerned about him potentially contributing in some way to said outcome. Concerned for losses of lives not even yet lived, but it’s out of that crisis, out of that danger zone, that the reality is setting in.

Partially fueled by his wife’s words this morning.

Daddy.

Father.

Parents. 

He doesn’t know shit about any of that, nor does he feel any way in particular about it.

“How do you think you should feel?” Lita asks, head tilted. 

“I don’t fucking know,” he mutters, running his hand down his face, shrugging. “What Solana’s feeling.”

“Do you experience emotions the way she does?”

An easy answer. “Hell no.”

“So not necessarily a fair comparison then, is it?” Rhetorical. And followed up with a sigh. “It’s different for women, sometimes. She’s carrying and will grow the child, thus forming a bond before the baby even arrives. You could even argue that it’ll be a bit easier for her. Regardless, whatever you feel or don’t feel is valid, Roman.”

More silence.

And vulnerability. 

“I can’t be like them,” a quiet, almost heartfelt admission. “I can’t….I can’t be like my parents.” He looks away, knee shaking and foot tapping. “They fucked me up. I can’t….I can’t fuck up my own kids.”

Lita leans forward. “You are not fucked up, Roman. Do you do fucked up things? Sure. Maybe. We all do from time to time, and let’s be honest, it’s not like you were given a fair shot. The deck was already stacked against you before you were even fucking born.” She shakes her head. “Now am I saying you’re perfectly fine and don’t need to work on anything? Hell no. It might take years to help you process the shitstorm that’s been your life, but if you’re willing to put in the work, I’m willing to walk beside you the entire way through.”

He doesn’t say anything, partially overwhelmed by all of this. This therapy shit just might be one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do.

Albeit clearly needed.

“And for what it’s worth, whether you believe me or not, I think you’re gonna make a great dad.” She shrugs again, leaning back in her chair, a small smirk on her face. “Ya know, when you’re not being an asshole.”

The latter comment is appreciated, a break from all of the heaviness of this conversation. Lita clears her throat and goes back to shuffling, asking casually. 

“Now, are we stacking today or not?”

Roman looks at her, aware of the double meaning. Pushing against preference and comfort, recognizing the importance of this, of all of this, he answers.

“Stacking.”

—---------

It’s been some time since Solana has felt this nervous. The apprehension coursing through her is about what and what when she realized she’d accidentally left Fetus’ letter and her sonogram photo in the bathroom back at the house. Ironically enough, an event that transpired and caused her to run out on the woman sitting directly across from her.

Bayley

They’re in her salon, just the two of them, sans Solana’s security who stand by the door and outside the building, surveying and monitoring.

It’s an uncomfortable silence, one that has her tapping her foot against the metal footrest of the salon chair.

And, it’s a silence that Bayley is ultimately the one to break.

“Look, Solana,” she starts off, sighing heavily. “It’s obvious something is going on with you, and I don’t want to push, but you asked to meet me, alone, and here, so I’m really hoping you can give me something.”

And she will. Solana is ready, albeit nervous, to give her more than something.

“I—I was suicidal on my wedding day.” An unexpected, shocking admission that has Bayley’s eyes widening. Solana’s head drops as she revisits that painful day. “I—I was so low. Felt so sad and confused and scared and just….empty, but I still—” Her voice cracks. “I still remember when you asked me how I wanted my makeup, and it was the first time in a long time that anyone asked me what I wanted. Gave me some autonomy in my life. You did that for me, and I will never forget it. I will never, as long as I live, forget what you did for me that day.”

A small act of kindness that truly made a difference.

Maybe even saved her life.

Bayley’s eyes are misting. “Solana….”

Sniffling, Solana grabs her sketchbook and pulls out the letter. “I have…I have been distant. I know. But, it’s not because you did anything. All you’ve ever done is support and love me when I needed it the most, and I’m so grateful. I….” Shaking hands reach over the stack of papers. “I only hope that can continue after you find out the truth.”

Bayley frowns, accepting the papers. “The truth?”

Solana nods and wipes at her eyes. “I found that letter when sorting through my journals. It’s from….from my mother.” At that, Bayley looks almost guilty.

She shakes her head, trying to hand the stack back to her. “Solana, I shouldn’t be reading this then. It’s personal.”

Calmly, Solana objects, placing a hand over Bayley’s. “Please. I….I want you to. No, I—I need you to.”

There’s still indecision, but it’s followed by a reluctant nod as Bayley’s focus shifts to the letter. 

Solana has to look away, has to focus on the beauty of Bayley’s salon. It’s been some time since she was here, but the calm, serene atmosphere hasn’t changed. It’s welcomed and needed to help soothe Solana as she waits for Bayley to learn the truth that Solana herself hasn’t quite fully processed. 

She’s starting to though, trying to gradually put the pieces together. 

Starting with Bayley.

A few minutes pass followed by a breathy, “oh my God….” Solana finally turns her gaze back on the other woman who lifts her head. “You’re….you’re my cousin?”

Solana chuckles. Knowing it is one thing. Hearing Bayley say it, acknowledge it, is something entirely different. 

“Apparently so,” Solana manages to answer with a watery chuckle. “I—”

“Your mom….was Aunt Alma?” It’s less being posed to Solana and more just a general statement bred from shock. “Holy shit, I don’t know how—this is a lot.”

“I know.” No one knows that more than Solana. “And….and I understand if you need time and/or space from me, I just—”

“Solana.” Bayley places the papers down on the counter and moves out of her chair, walking over and gently holding her hands. “Why the hell would I want or even need space from you?” She shakes her head, a genuinely warm, amenable smile on her face. “You’re mi familia, prima.”

That’s what makes her break, that shatters the damn holding up the waterworks. Solana pulls Bayley into a tight hug, both women a mixture of all the feels, tears streaming down their faces.

It’s a sustained hug that only ends as Bayley pulls back to chuckle, stating, “I can’t believe we’re really family.” It’s such a proud, happy exclamation. “We—we have to tell everyone. My dad…..Aunt Paloma.” Her eyes widen ever so slightly, as she also puts two and two together. “Wait, that makes her your—”

“My grandmother,” Solana finishes in a small voice. “I—I want to tell her too, but I—I don’t feel ready.”

“Of course.” Bayley nods, apologizing and offering. “I'm sorry. Whenever you’re ready. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to handle this on your own.”

More appreciation. An abundance. “Thank you, Bayley. I–I want to tell your parents at least, but I’m….I’m nervous.”

Bayley frowns, asking, “why?”

Her head drops, insecurity rising, “I don’t…..I don’t know how they’ll take it. If….if they’ll believe it. Believe me.”

Because as Bayley said, this is a lot to take in. A lot to process. 

A lot to believe.

“Solana, when I tell you that my parents, my family, our family, already loves you, I mean that shit. They love you, and to find out that you’re….that you’re Aunt Alma’s daughter?” Her eyes start watering all over again. “You have no idea how much closure you’re going to give so many people. How happy they’re going to be. I promise you, not only will they believe you, they’re going to love you even more than they already do. I sure as hell know I do.”

Solana’s smile deepens as Bayley wipes at her tears. “How about this? We’re having a get-together at the restaurant this Friday. Come a little early. We can tell them together, yeah?” Solana finds herself nodding, not even really needing to think about it, feeling an immense amount of comfort and appreciation.

And love.

“I—I think I’d like that.” Because having Bayley beside her will truly make a difference and help alleviate some of her anxiety. Will be a tremendous source of support and relief.

“Me too,” Bayley agrees, blotting at her eyes. “Got me crying and shit. You know I hate tears.” The two ladies share a laugh as Bayley gestures to Solana’s clavicle. “New tattoo. New family members. And a new hairstyle? You really are spreading your wings, Solana.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

Bayley clears her throat and takes a step back, moving behind Solana and playfully lifting her hair, asking, “so….” She leans down, hugging her cousin. “What are we doing today, prima?”

—---------------

“I can’t believe she’s gone.”

Roman’s gaze falls over to his cousin as she brings the beer to her lips, eyes focused on the forest before them.

Choosing to have therapy and returning to Fetu’s place to retrieve the trunk with her letters probably shouldn’t have been done on the same day, but it was a decision already made, nonetheless.

Not to mention seeing and speaking to Ava for the first time in a couple weeks is helpful in a way he didn’t expect. Even if it’s mostly just them sitting in silence while sharing a pack of beer.

He’s quiet at first, eventually agreeing. “I know.”

Ava takes another sip before smiling bitterly. “Can you imagine what she’d say if she saw us right now?”

A small smile falls on Roman’s face. “Probably cussing us out for being all soft.”

Ava laughs. “Yup.”

Because that was his aunt. She could be equally brutal as she was supportive. But, it was always with love. She led and lived her life with love.

Her own kind of love.

Ava looks over at Roman, “how you been holding up?”

An honest, fair question he’s not sure he wants to answer, but he does so regardless.

“Well enough.” It also feels like an honest, fair answer, because he truly feels out of that initial haze of guilt and grief that paralyzed him in the immediate days of Fetu’s passing. It still hurts. It’ll always hurt, but having Solana, her support, her love, has truly made a difference. “You?”

Ava’s smile doesn’t meet her eyes as she playfully nudges him. “Well enough.”

Roman shakes his head, looking away again, muttering, “she’d probably be happy we’re not trying to kill each other, at least.”

It’s not missed upon him how Ava doesn’t say anything. Not first, at least.

“Don’t speak too soon.”

Roman’s suspicious gaze falls back on her only to refocus on the sound of a running vehicle, his defenses rising and grip on the beer tightening as an SUV pulls up and into the driveway right behind his own car.

He turns to his cousin, question accusatory. “What the fuck, Ava?”

Roman places the beer down on the steps and stands up, Ava following suit as the truck comes to a stop.

He asks again, just in a different way. “What did you do?”

She lifts her chin, asserting, “we need to make this right.”

He’s understandably confused until he sees the driver and passenger doors open, two familiar faces stepping out.

Roman curses and looks away.

“Uce.” Jimmy’s solemn voice travels as he and Jey make their way towards the steps leading into the house. “We need to talk.”

“Like hell we do,” Roman dismisses. Looking back towards his cousins, his focus is on Jey.

And Jey’s focus is right back on him. 

Ava rolls her eyes. “Roman, you know Fetu wouldn’t want—”

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved,” he snaps, unapologetic. She really shouldn’t have. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Aye,” Jimmy cuts in. “She’s family too, Roman.”

“My issue isn’t with her though,” is his immediate, sharp response. “It’s not even with you.”

“It’s me, right?” Jey finally speak, an edge and irritation to his voice. “Go on and say it. You think I was wrong for defending my pops?”

And Roman, true to Roman, doesn’t hesitate to speak his mind. “I think you’re a fucking idiot for defending someone who was clearly in the wrong.”

“Roman!” Ava scolds, grabbing his arm. “This isn’t the way to go about this.”

“Who the fuck you calling an idiot, Uce?” Jey snaps, Jimmy having to move over to his brother to restrain him. “I’m not gon’ keep letting you fucking talk to me any ole’ kind of way. This shit gon stop today.”

Roman jerks his arm from Ava’s grasp, walking down a step. “And what the fuck are you gon do, huh? You gon’ challenge me again? You know how that turns out every fucking time, Jey.”

“Would you both just calm the hell down?” Jimmy pleads, clearly exasperated. “Ya’ll both are such damn hotheads that you can’t see past your anger.” He shakes his head. “We’re better than this. We’re brothers.”

There’s something about that brothers word that triggers Roman.

Perhaps it’s the digging into his childhood in therapy earlier today or continued grief, but something about Jimmy using that word ticks him off.

Jimmy and Jey are brothers.

Jimmy, Jey, and Solo are brothers. 

Jimmy, Jey, Solo, and the rest of Rikishi’s sons are brothers. 

And that family bond/dynamic is something that can’t be mimicked or duplicated. They've been close, yes. Friends, yes. But brothers? Like them? Sure. But, actual brothers is something Roman has never really experienced since his family was killed that night.

It’s a dynamic he noticed when he lived in the Uso household following the murder of his family. Until he was twelve and Rikishi put him out, forcing him to live on his own.

Where were his brothers then?

And deep down, Roman knows Jimmy and Jey aren’t to blame for their dad’s actions, knows that they were kids too at the time. The same age as him. They were innocent.

But, they’re not kids anymore. They’re grown ass men who should be able to distinguish right from wrong. Something Roman can acknowledge Jimmy is doing. 

He can’t say the same for Jey.

Jey scoffs, shaking his head, anger rising. “Naw. This exactly who he is. Who he always been. He’s always thought he was better than us! That he the best!”

“I am the best!” Roman snaps, unable to keep his own unmanaged emotions from creeping into this intervention turned argument. “That’s all I know! That’s all I’ve ever known! Is to be the best!” A confession coming from a place much deeper than the three before them could probably ever realize. 

Or, maybe not.

Ava’s voice shifts into something softer. “Roman….”

“None of ya’ll could ever fucking understand what that’s like! To have to always be fucking perfect, cause none of you could ever do what I fucking do! What I've been forced to do!”

A surprised, almost sympathetic expression on Jimmy as he tries to step forward. “Roman, we not trying—”

“Man! Listen to him!” Jey’s expression, however, is anything but shocked or sympathetic. It’s just a continuing, growing thing of anger. “Man, you got your head so far up your ass you can’t even see or think straight! You not God, Roman. The world don’t fucking stop and end with you just cause you the Tribal Chief, and you not above our rules and ways.” A scoff followed up with a dangerous inclusion. “And neither is Solana.”

Roman pauses. A shift. “What the hell did you just say?”

Jimmy attempts to intercede. “Jey, that’s enough.”

“Pops was wrong, yes, but Solana was wrong, too, and the fact that you can’t see that is what’s so messed up. That you can’t see why you was wrong is messed up.” Jey continues, the anger simmering into something slightly more manageable. “I love Solana like a sister, but that don’t mean I can’t hold her accountable—”

“Accountable?” Roman interrupts, fist forming at his side. “Your dad tried to hit my wife, and you talking about some fucking accountability?”

“What?” Ava gasps, turning to Jimmy and Jey. “Ya’ll didn’t tell me that! You just said—”

“They said what they wanted you to know,” Roman cuts off, hoping Ava realizes just why she shouldn’t have interjected herself.

Family or no family. 

“Ya’ll, we not getting nowhere.” Jimmy runs his hand over his face. “Can we please just sit down—”

“Why?” Jey scoffs, breaking away. “He don’t want—”

“I don’t have a damn thing to say to him,” Roman does them both a favor, saying what they’re both feeling. “To either of ya’ll.”

Because while a part of him understands what Jimmy is trying to do, the focus should be less on a conversation with the three of them and more on a conversation with his twin who seems completely beyond rationality at this point. 

“Fuck you, Roman!” Jey’s outburst is unsurprising, the traces of the hothead lying dormant revealing itself. He always knew it wasn’t completely settled. He just didn’t know it would return for something like this. “I’m done with all this shit!”

The feeling is fucking mutual. Roman turns to head back into the house, ignoring the call of Ava who fails in her efforts to get him to stay. 

Running her hands through her hair, she turns her focus to the twins, fully prepared to snap on them for not giving her the entire picture when she sees an irate Jey is heading to the car and a defeated Jimmy going to the passenger side.

“.....Fuck him!” Another enraged outburst as Jey slides into the passenger seat. “I hope he get exactly what he deserve!”

The door slamming accompanies the frown on Ava’s face.

Just what is that supposed to mean?

—-----------------

The drive back home is a long, quiet, heavy one. Roman’s grip on the steering wheel is relentless almost the entire time, his knuckles practically white.

He’s pissed at Ava. Pissed at her involvement. Pissed at Jimmy. Pissed at his misdirected focus. And pissed at Jey for all the things but one thing more than the rest.

Solana.

The fact that Jey is using Solana as a scapegoat. That he’s using Solana and the situation with Rikishi as an excuse for what his anger is really about and towards. It’s towards him. Jey is upset with Roman, but he’s using Solana as the face of that anger, and that irks Roman more than anything.

Because he knows damn well Jey’s prideful ass is still upset about what went down at Solana’s party, which could also be another reason he keeps pulling the Solana card. Perhaps there is some anger there towards Solana.

His grip tightens.

That only further incenses him. 

Solana didn’t do anything fucking wrong, and the fact that Jey refuses to acknowledge that shows just how deep this shit goes. 

Reveals that the incident at her party only helped to revive what was never really dead.

Indicates that perhaps this needs to be handled the same way it was handled before. 

Tribal Combat.

Before, it was for the ula fala, and Roman doubts that’s what Jey wants. Not that he could handle it, even if he tried. But, Tribal Combat doesn’t have to be for the mantle. It can be for many other things, including settling scores.

And, it seems there’s certainly a growing score to settle with his cousin.

Finally arriving home, Roman does his best to leave the weight of his day with him outside before he steps foot into the house, because he doesn’t know what kind of day his wife has had, either. Intermittent check up via texts would indicate her day went fine, but he also indicated that his day went fine, which couldn’t be farthest from the truth. Regardless, his pregnant wife doesn’t need anything else put on her, especially not all of his muddy shit.

So a deep breath is taken as he turns the knob and steps foot into his home, immediately hit with a delicious and familiar scent. He can’t name it, but he knows it. One of his favorite dishes prepared by his wife. A welcomed, helpful thing for a heavy soul.

“Baby, is that you?”

Solana’s voice is clearly coming from the kitchen, a small smile on his face. Just the sound of her voice is enough to evoke pleasant emotions.

The hold she has on him truly is dangerous.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he shouts, barely able to take another step when she yells again, voice more urgent.

“Wait!” He does, his smile shifting. “Don’t come in yet! It’s a surprise!” Roman rolls his eyes, more from amusement than irritation. “Close your eyes!”

A small sigh. “Solana, you know I don’t—”

“No arguing!” She cuts him off, the determination making him chuckle. “Close em;!”

Well, this is certainly unexpected but slightly appreciated as it helps to ebb away the stress and tension that’s had him weighed down, literally and metaphorically, for most of the day. 

Solana knows good and well he doesn’t like surprises, but what he hates more is upsetting his wife. So, he obliges. 

“Alright, they’re closed,” he informs.

“You promise?”

Another small smile. “I promise.”

Roman feels slightly bad for keeping his sweet, naive wife out of the loop regarding just how effective his training has been over the many years. Because he absolutely can hear the moment she starts walking from the kitchen, through the living room, to the front door. Partially betrayed by her heels, a little by her sweet perfume that travels with her, but also his excellent senses.

As he is also very aware that she’s facing him, standing right before him, waving her hand in front of his face to ensure his eyes are really shut. But, he won’t spoil that for her.

“Okay.” She takes his hands, starting to gently tug him forward. “Just….just follow me.”

And, he will. Wherever she goes. Always.

The small smile is stapled on his face as she asks along the way if he’s looking or “peeking,” to which his answer is a simple no. But, it’s humorous to him how he can just see the nervous expression on his wife’s pretty face, the way she’s chewing down on her bottom lip, probably unsure of his veracity. 

He helps her a bit as she directs him to sit down, most likely at his seat at the head of their dining room table. Solana moves her hands to cover his eyes, explaining, “okay, you can open but keep your eyes forward and on the table. Don’t look at me.”

That dims his smile a bit. “Solana—” 

Her lips, soft and full, are pressed against his cheek before she shifts, dropping her hands to clearly to stand behind him. “Trust me.”

A difficult yet easy thing to do. One of the many contradictions he finds himself navigating these days. “Alright.”

Her giggle soothes him just a bit more. “Okay, open…..now!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

And, he does, immediately taken back by the extent of what he sees. He knew she cooked, could tell by the aroma the minute he walked into the door, but he just didn’t know how much she cooked.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. Roman’s eyes jump from dish to dish, the table completely covered with various items.

“I made all your favorites,” Solana explains in the sweetest, most her voice, still behind him. “Chicken Flautas. Sausage and Rice Skillet. Chicken Birria Tacos. Fajitas. Enchiladas. Desserts too, of course. Tres Leches Cake. Sopaipillas.” It seems like the list is endless, Roman’s appreciation growing with each item she lists.

“Sol, you didn’t have to do all this.”

She really didn't. He’s forever appreciative, more than willing to consume the whole damn table if he could, but he’ll always prefer her taking it easy over anything. “You should be re—”

“Baby, I am. But, being on pelvic rest doesn’t mean I can’t do all the things I enjoy. Like cooking. Besides, I wanted to do something nice for you….” It takes a lot of restraint for him to not look at her as she moves her hands to his shoulders and kisses the top of his head. “Plus….it might…it might lessen the blow if you don’t….if you don’t like them.”

Another confused expression. “Them?”

Roman hears the deep breath she takes followed by a shift from behind to beside. Bypassing the previous instructions, Roman finally lands his gaze on his wife after a day of absence.

And what a sight.

“Solana….”

It’s hard for his brain and eyes to work together on what the focus on first. The sexy red dress low cut by the chest, accented with a black bow that accentuates her ample cleavage and something else. But, that’s battled with the difficulty he has in also not focusing on her hair that’s jet black at the roots, fading down into an almost dark red. Still the same length, just a new color combo.

Bloodline colors.

Solana biting on her bottom lip briefly pulls him from his alternating focus. “I know it’s a lot…” Her fingers go to her hair, blood red locks intertwined in her fingers. “I’ve always wanted to dye my hair red, but I didn’t know if all red would look good on me, so Bayley suggested—”

“You look beautiful, Solana,” he cuts in, unable to stop himself from angling his body so that he can pull her between his spread thighs. “You always look beautiful, but this….”

A hopeful, nervous inquiry. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” he breathes, having to work hard to redirect his focus to the other new change. Right by her clavicle on the left side of her body, covered with Saniderm is fresh ink. 

siempRe tú  

All black and lower cased letters with the exception of the ‘R’ that’s uppercase and blood red.

He has an idea, but not the specifics. “Solana….”

Her smile is warm and bashful. “It means ‘always you’ in Spanish.” She angles her head down, hand carefully placed around the perimeter of it. “The ‘R’ is for you. For Roman. That’s why it’s in red.” His gaze darts to hers, locked in, intense, meaningful. “Because it’ll always be you, Ro. Always and forever.”

It’s a lot to take in. He knew she was getting a tattoo, knew that it was on her list of things that she wanted to do, but he was under the impression she was getting a mental health themed tattoo. Hence her and her new friend group going together, as they were all planning to get one.

But this…

“You got a tattoo for me?” 

Loving him is one thing, being with him is one thing, but putting something permanent on her body for him is something entirely different. 

She nods, moving her hand to his face, gently stroking his beard. “I did. And the truth is I wanted your full name, but I don’t know if that would be…safe. If it would give away the truth of our relationship….”

She’s not entirely wrong. But, he himself doesn’t know just how he would feel about that. 

Undeserving.

He ghosts his hand along the edge of the Saniderm, chuckling in disbelief. “It looks amazing.”

Her smile is bright and appreciative. “Thank you.” Solana moves her hands to the bottom of her dress. “I designed them both myself.”

And yet another frown. “Both?”

It’s in her lifting her dress and turning to the side, Roman puts together what Solana was referring to when she said them earlier. 

The new hair.

The new tattoo.

The other new tattoo. 

Because inked on her side is yet another new piece of artwork. The word breathe, except the ‘B’ is actually a butterfly whose body is made up of a semicolon. Once again, Roman’s hand is near her soft skin, Solana explaining, “this is the one we all got together.”

And, he can understand why, Solana having explained to him the symbolism behind a semicolon for people with mental health struggles.

People like herself. 

"It looks amazing, Solana." Because it does, and the fact that she designed both herself just makes it even better.

Her smile is warm and loving. "Thank you." It shifts though, quickly almost, into something slightly solemn. “Ro….” There’s persistent and consistent difficulty in not getting so caught up and consumed in all the things stirring within him at all of these unexpected things, but it’s helped by her continued explanations. “Do you remember….when I was in the hospital and you asked about the butterflies on my wrist? What the other three were?”

“Yeah.” A quiet answer as she moves herself onto his lap, her hands on his chest. 

Her smile shifts once more into something still slightly sad yet proud. “One was for Dulce, and the other two….they were for Lina and Leya.”

Another bombshell that has him speechless, an effect hardly seen, if ever, in the Head of the Table.

“I first started to have the dreams when I was in the hospital, and…..and I didn’t know then that they would actually be coming, of course, but….but just the idea of them….it made a difference.” She swallows, wiping her eyes as a lone tear escapes. “So, I want to get the butterflies as tattoos, but I want you to be there with me for that.”

Roman nods, understanding why she didn’t want him around for this round. Because of the first tattoo, because she clearly wanted it to be a surprise, and a surprise it certainly is. 

"Of course, I'll go with you."

Partially because he too wants to follow her lead.

Wants to get a tattoo for her.

But, he has time to figure that out.

And, he will figure it out.

Solana kisses his cheek, mumbling a 'thank you,' asking once more. “So you really do like them?”

Her nervous question evokes a small sigh as he brings his hand back to her cheek. “I love them.” An honest answer, as he also tips over the edge of comfortably. “I—I don’t know how I feel about the tattoo for me, not because I don’t like it, but because it’s so permanent. You putting me on your body like that….”

“It’s what I wanted,” she reassures. Her voice is firm and unwavering. “I love you, Roman. I’ll always love you.”

But, I don’t deserve it.

Thoughts that float through his head. Thoughts that should be shared, and he will. As uncomfortable as it is, he promised Solana he’d try to be more open with her.

But, not tonight. Not when she’s had a seemingly nice day and has gone above and beyond for him. They can have that. Have tonight. He’ll give her that much. 

She stands up and kisses his forehead. “Come on. The food is getting cold.”

Dinner is shared amongst the two of them, conversation sprinkled throughout a bit of overindulgence on Roman’s part, an extended gym session in his near future but so worth it. 

Always worth it. 

Naturally, he helps her put away what’s left over, not much, and clean up the kitchen before he guides them into the living room. On the sofa, her body leaned back into his, his arm protectively around her, the other lax on the top of the sofa. Dulce sleeps comfortably on the loveseat opposite them, also full and content from her homemade dog friendly dinner. 

“You wanna tell me how your day really went.” Not a question. More an option. A knowing he should not have put past her. She’s learned him too well.

His mate in every sense of the word. Whether he feels deserving of her or not.

Sighing, he kisses the top of her head. “Not really.”

Her fingers dance gently across the top of his hand. “Roman….”

He knows where this is going, can see it a mile away, and while his preference is to put it off for tomorrow, he knows it’s all inevitable. “Ava….Ava arranged a meeting between me and the twins.”

Solana looks up, eyes full of curiosity, “did you know?”

He shakes his head. “No.” Because, if he did, he would have never gone. “It didn’t go well.”

“Ro…”

“Not even Jimmy, as much as Jey. It feels like…..like we’re in our twenties all over again, and he’s trying me. I thought we were past this shit, but clearly not. He thinks I'm in the wrong with the whole Rikishi situation.” And before she can even ask, he answers, unapologetic. “I told him to fuck off.”

She sighs against him. “Roman, it’s….I don’t want that to get between you two.”

“It shouldn’t,” he agrees. “But, it’s also deeper than that one situation. I think Jey’s probably been feeling some sort of way for a while, and this situation along with your party just broke the camel’s back. Regardless, I’m not changing my mind. He’s wrong, and that’s just that.”

“He’s your family, Roman.”

“That doesn’t mean shit, Solana, and you know it.” She of all people should know that. “His loyalty is clearly to his father, and that’s fine, but right is right and wrong is wrong. He’s wrong, and Rikishi was dead wrong, too. Whether they wanna see and/or acknowledge that is on them.”

She doesn’t say anything, continuing to look up at him, eventually asking in a small voice, “so what does that mean for ya’ll?”

His answer is honest. “I don’t know.” 

Because, he doesn’t. This isn’t like when they were still kids, for all intents and purposes. They’re grown men and should be able to handle it as such, but Jey seems incapable of that, consumed and controlled by his emotions. And, Roman doesn’t have time to deal with that shit. Nor a desire to. Jey is going to have to work through his shit before they can even attempt to attack this again. 

Or, as he was thinking earlier, they lay it out in the ring.

Tribal Combat.

Solana, however, doesn't need to know that part. Not yet. If it becomes a sure thing, he'll share it. For now though, it stays with him.

“But, it’s not a priority right now.” Or much of a concern, really. Not compared to everything else he has going on. “You’re my priority.” Navigating this pregnancy is a priority. Not Jey being in his fucking feelings over stupid shit.

“I don’t like this.” Roman can admit, at least to himself, that he doesn’t, either. But, it is what it is. And, he voices as such.

“We just have to see how it plays out.” However and whatever that may be. “How did it go with Bayley?”

The corner of her lip lifts into a half, sad smile. “Are you trying to change the subject?”

Possibly. “Trying to see how my wife’s day was.”

Solana rolls her eyes, thankfully, agreeing to the transition. “It….went good. She….she was happy.” 

“Yeah?”

Nodding, Solana chews on her bottom lip, sharing in a soft voice. “Surprised, of course. But….she didn’t question it. Didn’t seem like she wanted like….proof or something.”

“The proof is in the letter, Sol.”

“I know. I know. I just….I think I was nervous she would….” Solana shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. She’s happy that we’re literally family and even offered to help me tell everyone else.”

Roman nods, happy for his wife. Happy that it went over well, though he had little doubt it would. Regardless of whatever unprocessed feelings still linger towards Bayley, deep down, he truly does trust she loves Solana. As a friend first. Now as family.

“So when is that supposed to happen?” 

“This week.” The answer surprises him a bit. He wasn’t expecting that so soon. Regardless, if it’s what she wants, good for her on going for it. “Which brings me to a question….a favor I need from you.”

“Baby, how many times I gotta tell you doing things for you is never a favor? It’s my job as your husband.”

Solana chews on her bottom lip, angling her body more towards him. “You haven’t heard what it is, yet…” There’s a pause between her initial statement and the rest of it. “Bayley’s family is having a get together at their restaurant this Friday—”

“Okay…..” And it’s when she gives him that look that it dawns on him. “Oh hell no.”

“Baby, please,” she pouts, hand to his chest. “I want you there with me.”

“Around people?” The word people is laced with disgust and irritation. “Solana, you know I hate people.”

“They’re….they’re my family, Roman.” It’s a pointed, poignant counter, one that definitely tugs out a bit of guilt from him. “They’re gonna be the girls’ family. I want you to have a relationship with them as well.” He looks away, slightly comforted by her hand gently moving up and down his chest. “Please?”

The guilt was already pushing him one way, but it’s the ‘please’ that pushes him over the edge. “Okay, I’ll go with you.” Roman scowls, not from the way she moves to climb on his lap, straddling him, kissing his cheek, but from the thought of this forced socialization. “But, I’m not talking to anyone.”

Solana frowns. “Roman…”

“Or, I’m sitting in the car.”

“Roman, you are not sitting in the car,” she protests, informing. “Dwayne and Matteo are gonna be there, too.” 

“What? Why?” They’re not even her family. 

“Because I invited them,” she answers so calmly, fingers playing with his beard. “Bayley also invited Naomi, so I don’t know if Jimmy will be there….”

“There’s food. He’ll be there.” She smiles a little at his deadpanned tone. “I still don’t get why you invited Dwayne and Matteo.”

“Because they’re your family, and you like Dwayne. It’ll give you someone to talk to. Maybe even Matteo too…..”

Roman sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Solana, I know you want me—”

“I just want you to be happy, Roman.” An honest, kind, almost vulnerable thing that makes sense for her. That’s just who she is.

His hand moves in comforting circles on the small of her back. “I am happy, Solana. I have you, and I’ll have them.” His gaze moves to her stomach, briefly darting to her tattoo. “That’s all I need.”

“No, it’s not.” Unexpected disagreement. A testament of her growing assertiveness, something he both appreciates but also dislikes. Dislikes how adept she’s become at reading him. “But, I understand you need time. Just know I’m not giving up on this. I have family and so do you. And we deserve it. To be surrounded by and have people who love and care about us. Because…because that’s who’s going to love and care about the girls, too.”

He’s silent. Sitting on her words. So heavy and true. Accurate, even if they stir up more of those damn emotions.

Finally, he settles on a response that's almost second nature at this point. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” She kisses his cheek, laying her head in the crook of his neck. A few, comfortable minutes of silence pass before anything else is said. “Ro, can I ask you something?”

A sigh and kiss to her temple. “You can ask me anything, Sol. You know this.”

If only he knew what she planned to ask though. “How many kids do we have in your dreams?”

Shit.

It’s an innocent question, really. One that should provide an easy answer but not for the fact he’s thinking about what she shared with him when she was in the hospital. About wanting more kids. 

Several more kids.

Normally, Roman could easily get away with a little white lie. But, it’s the delay in his answer, as well as the gruffness in his voice, that betray him. “Just the girls.”

Solana lifts her head to look at him, a knowing, crafty smile on her pretty face. 

And right away, he knows he’s fucked up.

“It’s the five, isn’t it?”

A last minute effort to sway her. “No, I get a vasectomy after the twins.”

She shakes her head, clearly seeing past his bullshit. “No, you don’t.”

“Solana—”

“It’s Lina and Leya—”

“Sol—”

“A little boy afterwards—”

“We can’t—”

“And then another set of twins, right?” 

Damn. 

The joy on her face is a stark contrast to the horror on his when she proudly announces, “we’re gonna have five kids.”

“Solana, we are not having five kids.” Just saying it aloud makes his head hurt. “You think my blood pressure is high now? Are you trying to kill me?”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re being dramatic, Ro.”

“No, you’re being delusional if you really think I’m gonna give you five children.” Because as much as he loves this girl with everything in him, she’s clearly not thinking straight. “What am I gonna do with all them damn kids, Solana? I’m too old for all that.”

Leave it to her ass, and she’ll have him pushing 60 with a toddler and a college freshman. “And what about Dulce?”

Solana pouts. “What about her?”

“You saw how she was with Jey’s kids.” The mentioning of said children prompts their puppy to lift her head, eyes alert and searching. “See, the damn dog got PTSD just from that one day. Imagine if it was all the time.”

Solana moves her hands to the collar of his shirt, adjusting it as she calmly explains, “our kids won’t be like them. You won’t let them be like them.”

She has a point there. It’ll be a cold day in hell before any of his children exhibit even a fraction of the disobedience that marks Jey’s entire offspring. 

An idea crosses his mind, Roman suggesting, “what if I got you another dog instead?”

But, at that, not only does Dulce lift her head again, she makes a low growling sound. 

Solana bites back a smile. “I don’t think she likes that idea.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like the idea of people thinking we’re fucking Mormons or that I’m breeding you out or some shit.” But, it’s in saying that second part aloud, he finds himself asking, “do you have a breeding kink?’

Because talking about having three more kids when she’s not even three months pregnant with their first set is almost asinine to him.

And his eyes nearly widen when she shrugs and answers in a small voice“I don’t know.” What the actual fuck? “I just want more kids, Roman.”

“We can have one more,” he compromises. Because three is manageable, especially considering they’ll still need a son for him to have an official heir.

Too bad she’s not going for it. “Three.”

“One.”

And Solana’s journey to assertiveness continues as she grabs his face, stating firmly, “three.”

“Solana.” He shifts, carefully lowering her hands from his face. “I love you, but I’m telling you right now, we’re not having five kids, and that’s just that.”

She rolls her pretty eyes, muttering, “we’ll see” and climbs off his lap, walking out of the living room.

“Yeah, we’ll see alright,” he huffs, scoffing and shaking his head. “This girl done lost her damn mind.” Looking over at Dulce who’s been privy to the whole scene, he finds himself asking, “can you believe her?”

Dulce’s response is a bark. Agreement, clearly.

“Thank you,” he responds, rubbing his temples and leaning back into the sofa.

He could sure use a drink or something right about now.

Five kids?

Hell no.

He's always been unable to say no to her, but there's a first time for everything, because over his dead body will he produce five children.

Absolutely fucking not.

Solana suddenly comes up from behind, leaning down and hugging him. “Fine. We won’t have five kids.” Relief fills him as she kisses his cheek. It’s about damn time she comes to her senses. “We’ll have six.”

The sound of her giggling as she runs off is conjoined with his eyes widening as he stands up to go after her because what the fuck?

This girl most definitely has some type of breeding kink.

“Solana!”

[imaginethat-imnotawriter]

Spencer Imagine

***MDNI***

So this is my first post. Disclaimer: I am not a writer. I am just a girl with dreams. I do not take responsibility if this is terrible, but I hope you read it anyway.

TW: situationship, angst (happy ending), you get a migraine, platonic nudity, nonplatonic nudity, fingering (I think that's everything.)

This story has smut, but it is mostly just plot and dialogue. I rate it one 🌶️/5 Spencer is absolutely pathetic in this, so if you like princess treatment, you may like this.

Word count: 12,673

Enjoy~

Spencer sees as you make a beeline for your desk while avoiding making eye contact with anyone. He decides to walk up to you, grabbing your forearm and turning you around to face him.

"What's wrong?" He whispers.

"Why does it matter?" You retort.

He crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. He was trying to be cautious with you, but seems like this is not the situation for that.

"Because you're acting strange and I'm concerned about you." He replies, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

You look at him but turn back to your desk. "Go show your concern to the witness you seem to find so enrapturing. I wouldn't want to waste your time" You roll your eyes, your jealousy on clear display.

He stops dead in his tracks, knowing exactly what you're getting at.

"You're jealous of the witness?" He asks, sounding a bit amused.

"What? No way. Why would I be?" You say in an angry voice.

Spencer laughs and leans on the desk next to yours.

"You are jealous that I was talking to the witness, aren't you?"

You stand up abruptly ready to take your leave and clock out early to get out of this situation, but  Spencer grabs your arm, stopping you from leaving.

"Come on, I was just playing around..." He says, the playfulness in his voice gone, replaced with a hint of guilt.

Your breath comes out in pants, feeling uncomfortable in the situation. "Honestly, I don't know what I'm feeling right now" You confess, still looking around for a way out.

He watches you carefully, looking at the way you're glancing towards the exits.

"It's okay, I'm sorry if it made you upset" He says, loosening his grip on your arm, his thumb rubbing circles slowly, trying his best to soothe you.

You turn away, unsure of how to continue this awkward conversation. He gently grabs your chin, making you look back at him, feeling his own anxiety rise at your uncharacteristic response.

"Hey, talk to me... please" He asks gently, meeting your eyes, his brown eyes filled with genuine concern.

"She's into you. The witness."  He sighs at your response, dropping his hand from your chin. 

"I know that she was flirting with me...obviously" He says, seeming a little annoyed with the fact that you think it's necessary to point out a truth he is already aware of.

You give him a look of carefully concealed rage, the feeling slipping into your voice. "Then tell me, why were you humoring her?"

He furrows his brow, not appreciating the look you're giving him. "I was just being nice, it's what I do" He says bluntly, getting a feeling that he's walking into a trap.

You scoff turning your head away from him. "Unbelievable."

He grabs your chin again, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Unbelievable? You're the one getting all jealous over some witness who happened to be flirting with me." He retorts, matching your incredulous tone.

"YOU FLIRTED BACK!" you shout.

"I was being friendly!" He snaps, getting a little bit irritated with you. "And besides, what's it to you? I'm not in a relationship, I can flirt with whoever I want."

"You know what, you're right. I'll be leaving now." You turn towards the elevator, making large steps to get there quickly. "I don't need to be around this."

He watches you walk away for a few moments, feeling a mixture of annoyance and confusion, before following after you. "Hey, wait!" He calls out, rushing forward to grab your arm again to stop you from entering the elevator.

"Let me go," You say in annoyance, ripping your arm out of his grasp. "Go back to your new escapade, you're wasting your time with me."

He lets go of your arm, feeling a pang of guilt. "Just give me a minute" He says, a hint of pleading in his voice.

You huff and give him an incredulous look. "For what? Do tell."

He sighs, taking a step closer to you. "I don't understand why you're getting so upset over this" His usually soothing voice wavering with frustration.

"Some genius" You say hearing the elevator ding and watching the doors open, feeling slightly relieved at finally finding an exit.

He watches your gaze turn towards the elevator, and he quickly steps closer to you. There's a mixture of annoyance and desperation in his eyes, almost as if begging you to stay. He hesitantly grabs both of your arms, pulling you away from the elevator. "Can you stop for a second and talk to me?" He asks, his voice cracking with frustration.

"You said you were being friendly, what else is there to say Reid?" His name leaves your lips in a hiss, your anger at him clear in your tone.

He flinches at the way you say his name, not used to such unconcealed vitriol, but continues anyway.

"Do you think I was being flirty with her because I want to be with her?" He asks bluntly, his hands still firmly holding onto your arms.

"What does it matter? It has nothing to do with me" You pull away, pressing the button for the elevator again, making sure it doesn't leave yet.

"Nothing to do with you?" He repeats, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "You're getting jealous over me, you're trying to run away as soon as things get complicated, and you're saying that none of this has anything to do with you?!"

"You made it quite clear that I have no stake in this. You aren't in a relationship. Do whatever you want" You reply tiredly, your fight leaving you, the urge to cry starting to creep up. ‘I need to leave fast’ you think.

His heart sinks at your words. He knows he's been stubborn, but seeing you give up makes him stop and reconsider his actions.

"Wait-" He says, gently tightening his grip on your arm. "You do have a stake in this, okay? I'm sorry for being so-" He's cut off by his own guilt, looking down at his shoes for a moment.

"So, what?" You say, waiting for him to finish his sentence, but feeling foolish for doing so.

"So stubborn. So careless. So stupid..." He mumbles under his breath, guilt lacing his words. "Can you please just listen to me?" He asks, his voice hoarse. He lets go of your arm and gently grabs your hand, holding it in his own.

"I suppose careless is one way of putting it. I know I don't mean anything to you, but you don't have to rub it in my face like that." You turn around again and slip into the elevator pulling your hand away.

He sighs in defeat, watching you pull your hand back and enter the elevator. He looks down, a wave of guilt washing over him as he realizes all the mistakes he's made. Suddenly, he makes a split-second decision. As the elevator doors begin to close, he quickly slips through them, stepping inside with you and quickly slamming his hand against the 'stop' button.

"Reid," You say, refusing to call him by his first name on principle at this point. No use in using formality when he was so cold to you today. "What do you think you're doing?"

He looks at you, his eyes locking with yours. There's a mixture of desperation and guilt in his usually neutral expression. "I'm trying to stop you from running away. From me. From us. I messed up, okay? I was selfish and careless and I do care about you" He says, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

You scoff, but refuse to reply.

He continues, noticing your reluctance to respond. Spencer takes a hesitant step closer to you, his voice getting more and more desperate. "Yes, I was being friendly with the witness. But no, I was not flirting with her. I was just being nice, doing my job. And do you want to know why?" 

You still refuse to speak but meet his gaze anyway.

He takes another step closer, the distance between you both getting smaller. "Because I like you. Actually, no, I don't just like you, I more than like you" He confesses, his eyes begging for your response, for some sort of reaction.

"You sure have a terrible way of showing it" You respond, still feeling the pain in your heart.

Spencer steps even closer again, his eyes full of guilt and remorse. "I know, I know I do. And I'm sorry-" He stops himself, taking a deep breath before continuing, the words pouring out of him like he's releasing them for the first time. "Do you wanna know why I don't tell you how I feel? Why I always keep it to myself? Why I just watch you walk around everyday, without ever telling you how much I want to hold you, how much I want to kiss you..."

"Reid–" You say again, wondering where he's going with this, but not yet ready to give in to him.

He continues, taking another step closer, his words getting more and more passionate. "Because I'm afraid, okay? I'm afraid of losing you, losing what we have. I'm afraid that if I do say something, it'll change everything. I'm afraid you'll wake up one day and realize that you deserve someone more stable, less damaged... someone who doesn't have my mental baggage, who isn't as emotionally stunted as I am." He finishes his rambling, the picture perfect image of desperation.

You almost roll your eyes at him, but refrain. "Reid. You know very well how I carry just as much mental baggage as you. If you think I can't handle yours, then what does that say about me? We're all damaged here. The only reason I want to run is that you keep pushing me away in such painful ways."

He listens to your words, his heart clenching with guilt. He knows that he's been pushing you away, hurting you even when he doesn't really mean to. He feels foolish for letting his own fears and insecurities get in the way of something that could be wonderful. Spencer closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before slowly reopening them and looking at you. This time his eyes are filled with sincerity, and there's a touch of vulnerability in his voice. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to push you away. I'm trying, I really am-"

You give him a skeptical look "Are you?"

He nods rapidly, his gaze locked with yours. He seems almost desperate for you to believe him. "Yes, yes I am. I'm just... I'm not used to this. To admitting how I feel-" He sighs, looking down for a moment before quickly meeting your eyes again "I need you to believe me when I say I care about you. I care about you so much it scares me"

You sigh and look off to the side, still unwilling to believe his pretty words. Especially since his actions have failed to prove him reliable. This situationship has gone on too long and you have finally hit your limit. Either this ends with him taking you seriously, or it ends ugly.

When Spencer sees you looking away, he feels a pang of anxiety. Is he losing you already? He takes another step forward, so close that he's practically towering over you, though his presence feels non-threatening. He gently puts his hand on your cheek, turning your head so you're looking at him again.

"Please, please believe me. I don't want to lose you..." His voice breaks, showing the vulnerability that he usually tries so hard to conceal.

"I'm too weak for you Spencer." You finally call him by his first name. "I'm tired of giving you chances for you to burn me again."

The doctor feels a mixture of relief and guilt wash over him when you call him Spencer. It's something he's been waiting for you to say since this cursed conversation started. He silently hopes that it means you are starting to believe him. "I'm so sorry for hurting you. I don't want to screw things up, or make you feel like I don't care-" He takes a deep breath "I do care about you. More than you know."

"I'll give you one more chance, Spencer. My heart can’t take any more of you denying me in public while you care for me in private." You gesture around to the location in which the two of you are. Alone. Still in the elevator. "You can say pretty things when there's no one around and it makes me realize how you're ashamed to be seen with me."

Spencer’s expression is pained, knowing that his actions have made you doubt how he feels about you. He takes another deep breath, still holding your gaze with intensity.

"No, no that's not it-" He says with urgency, dropping his hand from your cheek "I'm not ashamed to be seen with you, not at all... It's just-" He pauses briefly, trying to figure out how to put it into words. He swallows hard, feeling ashamed of the reason he's been hiding his feelings.

You look down at your shoes as you wait for him to continue, not willing to give him any assistance. This mess is his to clean up.

He sighs, looking down for a moment before looking back into your eyes. "I'm scared, okay? Not of you, or of how I feel about you. God no." He starts, his voice cracking slightly from the emotion behind his words "I'm scared of how other people will react. I'm scared of how they'll treat us, how they'll look at us... how it'll change the way they think of you."

You scoff again "Reid, look." You start, straight back to his last name. "I'm under no delusion that we’re a normal couple. No. That we'd make a normal couple." You have to correct yourself since the two of you are obviously not in a relationship as he so rudely pointed out. "But give me the respect to make my own decisions, rather than you stepping in and making them for me."

He feels another pang of guilt hit him. You're making completely valid points, expressing your feelings with honesty, and he's been shutting you down at every turn. He feels the shame of the way he's been treating you start to grip at him painfully. "You're right... you're absolutely right. That was wrong of me, and I'm sorry" Spencer says, his voice still full of guilt. "I know I have no right to make decisions for you... or to hide my feelings out of fear. You deserve better."

You hit the button to start the elevator again. "You're sorry, huh?"

Spencer watches you press the button again, knowing that this is probably not going to be over anytime soon. He lets out a deep sigh, still feeling a pang of pain in his heart. "Yes, okay? I'm so sorry. Not just for this, but for pushing you away and pretending like I don't care about you. I was being an idiot. A jerk, actually."

"-an asshole" You provide, knowing that's the better term for his behavior.

"Yeah, yeah, I was being an ass, okay?" He says with remorse, running a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than usual. "I don't want to do this to you anymore. I don't want to push you away... to watch you walk away."

"Then why did you say those things to me?" You feel a bit of relief when the elevator finally opens again, desperate to get out of such close quarters with him.

Spencer follows you out of the elevator, still not wanting to let you go without trying his best to salvage some part of the relationship that he's practically destroyed.

"Because I'm stupid, okay? And a coward, apparently..." He trails off, taking a few fast steps to reach you. He reaches out and puts his hand on your arm once more, stopping your movements.

"You could say that again," You pull no punches, wanting Spencer to feel a fraction of pain that you have since this situationship started. You look back at him, trying to decide whether or not to believe his apologetic display.

His heart clenches again, hurting at your blunt tone, and realizing that you still don't believe him. He knows that he still has a lot of work to do to gain your trust again.

"Please..." He says, looking into your eyes pleadingly, still holding onto your arm "I know I've messed up, but I'm begging you not to walk away... I don't want to lose you."

You sigh, hoping to not live to regret this decision. "Get in the car Reid."

Spencer looks at you in disbelief, almost as if he can't believe that you've decided not to walk away. There's a mixture of relief and gratefulness in his expression. He nods, still holding onto your arm.

"Okay. Okay, I'll get in the car..." He stutters, almost as if agreeing to a compromise, though not fully believing that you're still willing to be in a car with him, alone.

You pull away from him and slump down into the driver's seat. Turning it on and putting it in drive quickly, not giving him much time to get in before just changing your mind and just driving off without him.

He quickly gets into the passenger seat, making sure to keep himself close to the door to allow you as much physical space as possible, not wanting you to change your mind at allowing him to ride in your car with you.

He sits there quietly for a moment, unable to figure out what to say after your previous interaction. He doesn't want to screw anything up again, so he settles for remaining silent until you speak.

You settle in and just start driving, not exactly sure of where you are heading and finding it a bit difficult to decide where to go. You risk a glance over at him and he's looking utterly pathetic. Curled up on himself obviously feeling terrible. Finally, you decide to just drive home, not wanting to be in public anymore. He watches you drive, keeping silent and staying as still as possible. He tries to keep himself from glancing over at you, though he finds it hard not to. Spencer feels desperate to reach out to you, to try to comfort you, but he knows that his touch is probably the very last thing you want right now. So he stays silent and keeps his distance, feeling incredibly guilty and ashamed of how he's behaved. 

You keep on the route to your place wondering what to do now, you sigh softly, unsure of what to say. Suddenly, Spencer realizes what route that you're taking, knowing that it leads to your place. His heart feels like it's constricting, and he's overcome by guilt once again. He doesn't want to take this as an invitation of any sort, as he knows that he has a lot of work to do to earn back your trust. He's willing to put in the effort, but he's afraid that you'll tell him to leave as soon as you pull into the driveway.

You see the last turn coming up at the stop sign, but pause before turning, feeling the beginnings of a migraine start behind your eyes. The fight with Spencer has died down to silent treatment, but the high stress has finally caught up to you. You stop longer than normal at the stop sign and clench your eyes closed for a while, urging it to go away.

He glances in your direction when he notices you’ve stopped the car. You are sitting still with your eyes shut so tightly he can't help but feel concerned. He can tell something is bothering you, but doesn't know if it's okay to ask if you're alright.

"Are you..." He starts to say, hesitating for a moment. He doesn't want to annoy you by asking if you're okay, but he really can't hold back his caring nature. "...Are you alright?"

"I'm fine" You snap at him, not ready to hear him speak quite yet. You force your eyes back open, the migraine still lurking. You take the final turn and rush to pull into the driveway, parking in the garage.

Spencer flinches a bit at your sharp reply, realizing that he probably should have just kept quiet. He watches as you pull into the garage and sighs, knowing that it's probably time for him to go. Still, he doesn't dare move without you telling him to, or at least without any sort of response from you. Reid is still fighting an internal battle on whether or not to risk reaching for your arm, or if that would just send you over the edge.

You take a deep breath as you shut the car off and unbuckle your seatbelt, reaching for the button to close the garage door behind the car. You don't instruct Spencer to do anything, just exiting the car and entering the house without shutting the door behind you.

He swallows hard, seeing you get out of the car without saying anything. He slowly unbuckles his seatbelt as well, feeling the weight of guilt upon him heavier than ever. He takes his time getting out of the car, almost as if preparing himself to be asked to leave. After he climbs out of the car, he slowly closes the passenger door and follows you inside, unsure if you'll be happy or pissed to see him.

You remove your jacket and hang it up on one of the hooks and toe off your shoes, giving Reid a pointed glare that he should remove his too. He quickly removes his shoes, placing them carefully next to yours. He knows better than to make you mad by leaving his shoes on, especially in your home.

You make your way into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of ice water and chugging it down. You open the freezer for an ice pack and drape it around your neck, hoping that it'll stop the migraine that you can already feel will be a bad one.

Spencer watches you hurry into the kitchen, silently noticing your strange behavior. He feels a pang of concern, knowing that something has to be wrong if you're taking such measures. He follows you into the kitchen, though he doesn't walk up right behind you. Spencer keeps his distance, his heart twisting in worry when he finally puts together that you have a headache. And it seems to be a fairly severe one.

You head towards the bedroom, closing the blinds and letting out a sigh of relief as you are finally free of the painful sunlight before turning around to look at Spencer who you have heard following you through the house. Spencer doesn't dare come any closer to you, afraid that his presence will be unwelcome.

"Reid," You whisper.

Spencer’s breath hitches as you finally speak to him, the sound of your voice making his heart constrict. He doesn't allow himself to hope that you calling out for him could possibly be a sign of forgiveness, but a part of him can't help but feel just a little optimistic. "Yes..?" He answers, his voice just as quiet as yours.

"I'm still angry, but right now, I'm in a lot of pain. Please…draw me a bath." Your voice is so quiet it's almost difficult to hear, but Spencer heard it anyway, his heart sinking a bit when you tell him that your anger hasn’t wavered. However, his expression quickly changes to concern when you tell him that you’re hurt. His heart aches with sympathy and guilt, hating knowing that you're in pain, guessing (correctly) that it is due to him causing you so much emotional turmoil.

Spencer swallows hard, before responding "Y-Yeah, I can draw you a bath... Anything for you..."

You watch as Spencer leaves towards the bathroom and then you sit down on the bed, hearing the water start to run. You massage your temples and take deep breaths.

Spencer enters the bathroom, turning on the faucet to draw a warm bath for you. He can't help but think of how pathetic he feels. He used to have the courage to pull you closer and hold you when you were hurting, but now he doesn't even know if he's allowed to ask if he can get closer to examine the source of your pain. He's scared of doing anything that would just make you push him away even more. When he's finished drawing the bath, he hesitantly peaks his head into your bedroom, not wanting to startle you and worsen your headache.

When you hear the tap turn off, you look up and see Spencer waiting. Standing up and making your way over to the bathroom, you throw all caution into the wind and decide to rely on Spencer to help you through the pain. You sit down on the chair in the bathroom and look over at Spencer, the exhaustion clear in your eyes. "Help me undress for the bath. I'm too tired to do it myself. Turn the light off first." You say, needing darkness mostly because of the migraine, but you are also relieved that the darkness can help you shield yourself from him seeing you so vulnerable.

Spencer wastes no time and  immediately switches off the light as soon as you request for him to do so. He doesn't want you to feel even more pain from the light in your already weakened state. Reid quietly walks over to stand in front of you, looking down at you with a compassionate, though hesitant expression. "Are you... Are you sure about this? Letting me... Undress you?" He asks, feeling a bit nervous.

"Don't make me repeat myself.” Your voice is cold and tired as you feel exhaustion pulling at your bones. You carefully lean your head back against the ice pack. “I'm not asking you to do this because I want something from you."

He swallows hard, trying to push the feeling aside that you're just using him as nothing more than a tool right now. The feeling hurts him more painfully than a bullet wound. He reaches for the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up so that he can help you remove it, though he tries to avoid looking at anything and keeps his eyes focused solely on helping you. Once he gets your shirt over your head, he hesitantly puts his hands on the waistline of your pants, his eyes still averted from your body. He swallows again, before speaking up. "Lift your hips so I can remove your pants..."

You set the ice pack down so it doesn't make a loud noise if it falls. Your arms fall limply as he removes your shirt but you give no reaction at all, face blank and eyes are tired. "I'm not sure if I have the strength to do that right now" You sniffle as you feel tears rush to your eyes.

His heart clenches with sympathy as you sniffle, and he has to fight the sudden, overwhelming urge to wrap you up in a hug and run a comforting hand through your hair. He knows can't do that right now. He just has to keep reminding himself that you don't want his touch.

However, he can still comfort you with his words.

"It's alright, I'll help you..." He says reassuringly. He kneels down on the ground in front of you, gently taking one of your hands in his own.

You watch him, tears falling down your cheeks silently.

He gently squeezes your hand in reassurance, trying to offer some sort of comfort to you. He quickly but carefully pulls your pants down, lifting each of your legs up to help you take them all the way off. Once he has removed your pants, he carefully returns your legs to the ground, before speaking up in a soft tone. "I'm going to help you into the bathtub now, okay? Do you think you can stand?"

A sob leaves your lips "I don't think so" You whisper.

He feels another wave of guilt wash over him, hating how weak and helpless you seem in this moment, and he hates himself even more for being the reason you're feeling this way. "Okay, that... that's fine..." He says, his voice thick with sympathy. His heart twists in his chest painfully as you sob, feeling absolutely awful about this whole situation. He slowly guides you off the seat, putting his arms around you for support.

As you near the tub, the climb to get in looks taller than a mountain and one of your legs twitch, but refuses to pull up high enough to make it over the side.

Spencer notices your hesitation as you approach the edge of the bathtub, and can guess that you won't be able to get into the tub on your own. "Hey, hey, it's okay..." He soothes, holding you closer to him. He gently puts an arm under your bottom and one behind your back, lifting you up carefully so that you're able to get into the tub.

You are shaky as Spencer sets you down on your feet and then you realize that you are standing nude right in front of him, but he's treating you so gently. "Help me lie down please, I don't want to fall" You keep your voice quiet, barely even a whisper. However, since there is no noise in the house, it still feels loud.

Spencer turns his face to the side, looking away to give you some sense of privacy as he carefully lowers you down into the bathtub. His hands are extremely gentle, his touch barely even registering on your skin as he helps you sit down . Once you're in, he stands up, averting his eyes, trying his best to make sure you don't feel as though he’s taking advantage of the situation.

"Do you... need help with anything else?" He asks, though he doesn't know what else he could possibly help you with while you're sitting in the bathtub. He just doesn't want to leave until he's certain that you're okay.

"Pass me the ice pack please." Your response is soft, and you can’t help but feel slightly pathetic at your inability to do anything. If you sat up, you’d likely be able to reach it yourself, but the pounding in your head keeps you from making any movements at all.

Spencer is happy to help, not even pausing before reaching for the ice pack that was already sitting on the little shelf on the side of the tub. He watches you take it from him, trying to resist the urge to help you place it around your neck, or to even reach for the washcloth on the other side of the bathtub.

You lean your head back and place the ice pack over your eyes, sitting in silence for a moment, weighing the options and deciding to keep Spencer around. Because even though he’s hurt you, he's still a comforting presence "could you..." I trail off, unsure of whether or not I should actually ask him.

Spencer is standing nearby, a respectable distance away. He doesn't want to overstep. However, when you seem to think better of whatever it was you were about to ask, his curiosity piques. "Hm? Could I what?"

"Massage my shoulders? I know it sounds weird, but sometimes it helps the pain go away." You feel ashamed for having to ask for so much help and are glad that the ice pack covers most of your face so he can't see your shame.

Reid blinks in surprise, a bit shocked at your request, though he's not sure if he's shocked at the fact that you're seeking so much physical comfort from him, or if it's at the fact that you're asking for a massage. He swallows hard, contemplating whether or not it's really okay for him to touch you in such an intimate way.

His silence has you jumping to conclusions. "You don't have to if you don't feel comfortable. If you want to leave, it's okay. You've done enough already" You say, not wanting him to feel trapped just because you’re hurting.

He quickly takes a small step closer to you, still unable to look at your body, but not wanting to let you believe he's going to leave. "No... no, it's alright... I can do it for you, I don't mind..." He says, trying to sound reassuring.

You sigh in relief knowing that he's going to help you and try to keep yourself from crying again.

His heart continues to twist with both sympathy and guilt for you, hating the way you look in this moment. So weak. So tired. He hates himself for being the cause, and he feels a lump in his throat, but he tries his hardest to push it down and focus on you. "Do you mind if I get in the bathtub with you?" He asks hesitantly, trying to make the question as un-suggestive as possible. Knowing that there's no way in hell he could massage you from outside of the tub without being completely awkward. The bathtub is tucked inside of a nook, and the open edge is to the side…if he were to try to massage you from the outside, it wouldn’t be very effective.

You pause for a moment, knowing why he's asked, but still feeling a little awkward "You can. But could you keep your underwear on please? I'd be more comfortable that way."

He swallows painfully at your request, a pang stabbing his heart as you clarify the necessity of him keeping his underwear on. Not that he would do otherwise. He's not a pig. However, the fact that you need to clarify such things speaks volumes on your level of current comfort and trust in him, and it makes his heart sink even more. "Of course I will... I'll keep them on, I swear."

You wait in silence hearing him undress, but you don't move to remove the ice pack from your eyes. Happy to have a blindfold.

Spencer slowly starts to remove his shirt. He's feeling even more vulnerable than usual at the moment, stripping down to his underwear in front of you. Reid is well aware that you aren’t looking at him, but this situation is very different than he’s used to and he feels unsure in the moment. He quickly removes the rest of his clothes before losing his nerve and slowly lowers himself in the bathtub behind you, swallowing hard as he tries to keep his eyes averted from your body. He hesitantly reaches for you, his fingers gently touching your shoulders, giving them a light pinch.

You let out soft cries, your shoulders being really tense. It hurts, and that much is obvious. But in order to curb the migraine, it’s necessary to push through the pain.

He almost flinches at the noise, feeling a pang in his heart as he hears you cry out from the pain, but he tries to push the feeling away as he slowly starts to massage your shoulders. "Tell me if you need me to stop... or if I'm pressing too hard..."

"Okay," You whisper, it was so soft that you wonder if it actually left your lips or not.

He continues massaging your shoulders, slowly and gently. He tries his hardest to be mindful of the pressure. He can see the expression on your face. At least the part of your face that isn’t covered by the ice pack. He knows that it's not completely comfortable for you, but he also knows that discomfort is to be expected. It's a massage. They're never comfortable. He keeps his hands placed carefully on your shoulders, trying his best to avoid touching elsewhere on your body...

You bring your hands up to hold the ice pack against your eyes as you lean forward, wanting him to massage a little bit lower on your back. "Are you still there?" You ask, knowing why he's being silent, but he's hesitant too.

"Yeah..." He responds in a soft tone, his hands still positioned on your shoulders, massaging your bare skin there. They hesitate as he tries to gauge whether or not he should move them lower. He finally decides to move them down, lowering his hands inch by inch, careful not to touch anywhere inappropriate.

You decide that's enough on your back and lean your full weight back against him, resting your head on his shoulder, and allowing the ice pack to just sit atop your eyes. ‘It's so much easier to be near him when I don't have to see anything’ you think to yourself.

His breath hitches as you lean back against him, sitting right against his chest. He stiffens up a little bit, not expecting such a move, feeling a mixture of surprise and a tiny bit of panic. He was not expecting anything like this... but also, he knows that he should have. He slowly resumes massaging your shoulders, trying to keep himself from reacting to having you so close against him, forcing himself to remain calm.

"You can stop massaging my shoulders now," You whisper quietly, "just hold me." The request is more of a plea, feeling the need to feel loved in the moment.

He almost sighs in relief that you've finally asked for physical comfort from him again. He immediately stops massaging your shoulders, instead wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you close, feeling his heart race at finally getting to hold you again. His arms wrap fully around you, pulling you securely back against his chest, letting his cheek rest gently against the top of your head.

"Spencer" You say softly.

His heart skips a beat as you speak, but he doesn’t remove his cheek that rests on the top of your head. He swallows hard, loving the sound of your voice as you speak his name, feeling a wave of relief that you're finally speaking to him on a first name basis again. It means you're finally forgiving him. He can't help but whisper his response in return. "Yes?"

"Don't hurt me again. You've never seen the aftermath until now, but I get these migraines each time you do this. I can't bear another." You don't move and just lie there, listening to his breathing. All the fight has left you, and you just want his love again.

His heart sinks deeper and deeper as your words seem to echo in his brain. The pain returns to his chest knowing that he had hurt you this bad so many times. He feels the burn in his eyes, threatening to turn into tears, but he desperately holds them back, not wanting to lose control in front of you. Today isn’t about him. Spencer refuses to be selfish anymore. He swallows hard, his hold on you tightening, but not too much that it would be uncomfortable. He's desperate to feel you as close to him as possible. "I won't... I swear, I won't do it again..."

"I believe you" You whisper, hoping that you’re not foolish for doing so.

He feels a pang of hope at your words, loving the way that you trust him, even now, when you have every reason not to. "Good... good, that's good..." He says, still trying to keep himself and his emotions in check. He knows better than to push his luck by asking for too much, but he can't help himself, whispering his next words in a quiet, pleading tone. "Can... can I ask you something?"

"What?" You keep your tone neutral, even in whispers.

Spencer swallows hard, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He knows that you can probably feel it against your back... he tries to steady his voice, feeling extremely nervous at the thought of asking you this. "Can, I... Can I kiss you...?" If you were to look at his face right now, you would see that his eyes are screwed shut, as if he's unable to hold your gaze, as if he's too nervous to look.

You remove the ice pack from your eyes and gaze up at his face "Spencer" You say, waiting for him to turn back to you.

He swallows hard, keeping his eyes shut, trying to prepare himself for whatever you're going to say. He was really hoping that you'd just say yes, that you'd let him kiss you. But he has a horrible feeling that you're about to reject him, and he's trying to hold himself together for when that happens. "Yes...?" He responds, slowly opening his eyes, his heart speeding in his chest as he turns his gaze down to look at you.

You can sense his fear of rejection, and while you still feel sorrowful at the events of today, you’re no longer angry. "It would be an awkward angle to try and kiss in this tub" Yousay, slightly sarcastically but not denying his wish.

His heart stops racing as he notices that you haven't actually said "no" yet. In fact, he's almost certain that that was... dare he think it... you actually accepting it…?? His hopes rise even further hearing you mention that it'd be an awkward angle to kiss in the tub. He can't help but let a little smirk creep onto his face as he responds. "So, if we weren't in the bathtub, you wouldn't mind?"

You roll your eyes. Spencer is back. "Oh brother." You can't help it, a small smile creeps onto your face even with the migraine, though under Spencer’s care, it has ebbed away considerably.

He feels his heart almost skip a beat as he notices your small smile, feeling a wave of relief and hope as he sees you finally, truly smiling at him again. A weight that he didn't know was on his chest feels like it's being lifted, as he responds just as sarcastically as you were being, a smile still playing on his lips. "Hey, don't roll your eyes at me."

"I can do whatever I please, Spencer."

Spencer feels the sudden urge to laugh loudly, but reels himself back in, feeling his heart swell with happiness as you banter with him. He loves this, seeing you finally act like yourself around him again. Finally forgiving him. He responds playfully, not wanting the banter to end. "Whatever you say. I'm still gonna call you out for rolling your eyes at me though."

"You deserved it" Your response is blunt, but still laced with humor.

He smirks again, feeling a bit of his confidence returning. He's loving this playful banter. This feels so familiar. So... normal. He missed this. "You're rude." He responds, in the same playful manner.

"Only because you're dumb" You retort. To the untrained ear, this conversation may seem rude, but it feels so natural with Spencer to tease him this way.

Hearing you call him dumb almost makes him burst into laughter. He's so incredibly relieved that you're acting this way. So playful and sarcastic again. He's not used to you being serious and upset. He responds in the same playful manner, not to be outdone. "Says the girl who lets the guy who 'keeps hurting her' hold her in the bathtub..."

"Give me more sense and I might just change my mind. Don't tempt me." You cock your eyebrow and give him the side eye.

He tries to keep the smirk off of his face, knowing that you probably need rest right now. Hell, he needs some rest...however, he can't help but tease you just a little bit. "Well, that's a shame. I like tempting you."

You glare at him out of the corner of your eye again. "Dumbass." You whisper.

He snickers, trying his hardest not to just burst out into full-on laughter. He loves this, he loves hearing you insult him. It feels right. It feels like things are actually getting back to normal... 

He responds, again, as playful as possible. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say Princess. That's the best you've got?"

"You really want me to dig into you, don't you? Is this some weird degradation kink you have? I'm not into that kind of thing."

He almost actually laughs this time, some of the noise escaping from his lips. Your quick wit always surprises him…you're even implying that he has a 'degradation kink'??? He's definitely not into that.

He snickers one more time before responding, hoping you're just teasing him. "If I had a degradation kink, I don't think I'd be the one getting talked down to here, Princess..."

"You insult me and those will be your final words, Reid" You pull his last name back to show you mean business.

His eyes widen at the stern sound of his last name being said by you. He feels a pang in his heart, but then he notices the hint of a playful smirk on your face, making him sigh in relief. His response comes in a softer tone, though he definitely isn't admitting defeat. "Fine, fine. I'll shut up..."

You let out a soft giggle and relax against him again.

Spencer feels his heart swell as he hears you giggle. It's like music to his ears. It's literally the first laugh he's heard you let out since he hurt you, and it's absolutely beautiful... He swallows hard, trying to keep himself from getting too carried away, as he decides to press his luck a little bit. "Hey, um... Can I ask you something kind of weird, or random?"

"You're full of questions, aren't you doctor?"

He grins a little bit at the fact that you still refuse to call him by his first name, but he'll get there. 

However, hearing you call him 'doctor' does bring another thought to his mind that makes his heart swell... "Yep. And I plan on asking a lot more."

"Fine. Hit me with it" You relent, curious as to what he has to ask.

He takes a deep breath, slowly trying to form the words he wants to say... "Uh... I was kind of wondering if... Um..." He says, pausing for a moment, suddenly feeling so nervous about this. But he needs to ask, so he finally forces the question out without hesitation. "Could I call you by a nickname..?"

You freeze. Well that was unexpected. You turn your head to look at him the best you can while lying against him, "What did you have in mind?" You ask tentatively.

He swallows hard, seeing the unsure look on your face at his suggestion. He decides to just go for it... "It's... stupid... but, um..." He pauses for another second, still nervous that you'll say 'no'. "Can I call you... 'Baby'?"

You giggle a little "Come on doctor, be a little more creative."

He can't help the grin on his face when hearing your challenge. He really loves your attitude, and he really wishes that he wasn't such a coward. He knows that 'baby' is so boring and unoriginal... "Fine, fine..." He grumbles before continuing. "Can I call you..." He pauses for a second, trying to think of a good nickname… "Babe?"

You groan, "That's somehow even worse!" You turn to tuck your shoulder against his side so you can look at him better.

Spencer can't help but chuckle a bit, loving your sassiness and your stubbornness. "Okay, you're just being difficult now..." He responds playfully, feeling his heart race as he looks down at your gaze.

"If I'm gonna allow a nickname, doctor, it better be a good one. Keep thinking."

Spencer feels his heart speed in his chest, loving it when you call him 'doctor' again, especially in the playful manner that you're doing it in. However, he knows that he has a challenge ahead of him... Reid lets out a deep sigh, but he keeps searching for a good nickname. He can't think of anything else off the top of his head though... "Um... I don't know... I'm not so good with this sort of thing, but... 'babe', 'baby', 'darling'... I just don't know."

"You decided on wanting to give me a nickname before thinking of a good one? How short sighted" You say holding in your laughter.

He almost huffs in annoyance, though he's mostly just amused by you. "Shut up." Spencer responds, still looking for a good nickname. He doesn't want to give up yet. "How about..." He says, trying to think of a good pet name that would suit you.

"What is it this time?" You sigh and rest your head against his shoulder and lay your hand on his chest.

He wrecks his mind to find another nickname, hoping that it isn't too corny. "Sweetheart?" He almost scoffs as he says it, realizing right away that it's so unoriginal. At this point, he's actually starting to grow frustrated with himself and how awful he is at pet names.

Your face scrunches up "Ummm...."

He sighs heavily seeing your reaction, knowing that all his attempts have been failures. "Oh, come on, I'm not good at this. If you can come up with something better, then be my guest."

"Sweetie?"

He nearly snorts, thinking that that one is just as bad as 'sweetheart.' "Sweetie?" He responds, trying to hold back his laughter.

You pout. "Hey! You're not being very friendly. I AM sweet."

He can't help but laugh at the little pout on your face. "Okay, okay, you're sweet, but the nickname still makes me wanna laugh." He says still chuckling a bit.

"Isn't it a good thing that the nickname brings you joy too?" ‘Laughter is a good thing, is it not?’ you think to yourself.

Spencer’s laughter dies down as he thinks about what you just said. "I mean... yeah. But I'm pretty sure it's supposed to bring you joy... You're the one that I'm trying to find a nickname for, not me."

"Well, try it out. Use it in a sentence or something and I'll tell you what I think of it."

He hesitates for a second before slowly nodding. "Okay..." He responds quietly, before finally saying it out loud. "...Sweetie?"

You squeal and kick your legs a little bit "No way! That gives you far too much power, we have to think of one that doesn't make me want to hug you." Your tone is full of merriment.

At your reaction to the nickname, Spencer lets out a hearty laugh, smiling as you kick your legs a bit and giving you a curious glance. "Oh? And why wouldn't you want to hug me?"

You squint your eyes at him "You're testing me again. Foolish man."

He smirks, enjoying your playful banter too much to stop. "I absolutely am." He responds, almost daring you to challenge him further.

You let out a ‘humph’ and turn back around, quickly pressing your weight back against him, trying to knock the breath out of his chest. When you hear an ‘OOF,’ you know that you were successful at catching him off guard.

"Feisty... I like it..."

"I'll show you feisty, you popsicle stick" You mumble.

He chuckles at your pathetic little insult. "A popsicle stick? Come on. You can insult me better than that."

"Again with the degradation kink. What is it with you??? Weirdo." The last word comes out in a whisper, trying to sound horrified at Spencer.

"Hey, I'm not the one who came up with a not-so insulting nickname that makes us both sound very hungry, princess..."

You glance back at him wondering if he's realized it yet, but alas, Spencer is as thick headed as he is smart. His face is the picture of dumbfounded confusion. He hasn’t realized anything.

"Uh... What?" Spencer says cautiously.

"You've already given me a nickname, ya nitwit" Punctuating your sentence with an eye roll.

"Wait, what? No I haven't. Sweetheart doesn't count..." ‘Clueless as ever,’ you think at his response.

"If I keep rolling my eyes, I'm gonna lose them in the back of my head at this point. I need to talk to whoever tested your genius and give him a piece of my mind. That's not what I meant."

"Then...what the hell are you talking about?"

"Princess" You say with a 'duh' tone. "You only use it when you're being sassy, but you've used it more than once tonight."

He feels like an idiot. "Oh...right..." He pauses for a moment, finally coming to a realization. "But...it's not even a real nickname. I mean, I don't really call you princess seriously."

At that, you fix him with a deadly glare. "Am I or am I not a pretty princess?"

He immediately regrets what he just said, the fact that you're a princess being extremely obvious in his eyes. "Yes! Yes, you're a pretty princess..."

"Good. It's settled then."

He sighs in relief. Feeling like he's escaped your ire for now. "I can't believe I didn't realize I'd already given you a nickname until right now." He pauses for a second, though he has another question. "How long have you noticed that I only call you that when I'm being sassy?" Genuinely wondering how long he's been subconsciously calling you that without realizing it.

"I notice a lot more than you do, doctor." Your response stays cryptic, not wishing to give away how long you have been making tiny notes about how he shows affection.

He scoffs a bit as he responds. "Alright, yeah. Don't rub it in, princess." Spencer tries to hold back a grin.

You let out a sigh, deciding that you want to get out of the tub, but would rather be clean first "The princess has a demand for her most loyal servant" You say in an over-the-top royal voice.

He barely holds himself together at your sudden change in character. He decides to indulge you, enjoying the banter.

"Yes, your majesty. Anything for you." He responds, playing along with your little game.

You give him a sideways glance "are you truly the most loyal" You ask, squinting your eyes at him in scrutinization.

He smirks as he responds, already knowing what you're getting at.

"I assure you, Princess, I am most loyal to no one more than you." He says, giving you a playful wink.

"Very well then. I need to be washed. Grab the soap, my servant."

He smiles, loving how into this you're getting as he reaches for the soap.

"Yes, Princess." Spencer responds, reaching to hand you the soap so that you can wash yourself. He doesn't know what the extent of your 'demands' will be.

You turn back around and make no moves to reach for the soap "well?" You say expectantly.

His hand freezes in midair, holding a bar of soap and he is back to being unsure of what to do.

"You want me to wash you myself?" He asks cautiously, not wanting to cross any boundaries here.

"A princess does not wash herself." You say petulantly.

He finally smiles, amused by your playfulness as he responds. "Yes, your majesty." He says, before beginning to run the bar of soap gently down your back, washing your shoulders first.

"You know, your majesty is reserved for a queen. Your highness is what you call a princess" You say this a little absentmindedly, appreciating his gentle movements.

He grins a bit, amused by your correction of his incorrect use of royal terminology. He continues washing your back before responding. "I'll be sure to remember that, your highness." He moves one of his hands to gently run along your side, washing your waist now.

You take a deep breath and relax against him once again. "I'll forgive the misspeak, this time."

"Thank you, your highness." He responds playfully, moving the soap along your waist and stomach. "Now, if you'll permit me... Could I have the honor of washing your chest?"

"My request to be washed included my whole body, you lowly servant" You say this in a 'you should know that' tone.

A grin splits Spencer’s face at your little scolding tone, loving your princess behavior. "Yes, of course, your highness. My apologies." He responds, moving one hand closer to the middle of your chest now, gently lathering soap across your skin there.

You bite your lip to hide your grin, pleased at how he's treating you with such care.

However, Spencer spots your grin and he just knows that you're enjoying this. He decides to test your royal highness by asking another question. "May I ask something, your highness?"

You pull your face back to a royal one and give him a sideways glance. "I'll allow it."

‘Gosh, I missed seeing her like this’ Spencer thinks to himself. ‘She really fits the princess title.’ He moves his hand along your chest, making sure to get every spot. "Well... I was just wondering... Do you really need help washing your legs?" He asks, a little bit nervous about your reaction. He knows he's pushing it a little bit here.

You scoff again "You tell me servant, are my legs a part of my body?" You know you’re being a brat, but this game is far too fun to stop now.

A smirk cracks his face, scaring away his nervousness. He’s always loved how stubborn you are, and right now is exactly why. "Yes, your highness, your legs are indeed a part of your body."

"Then use the tiny brain that you seem to possess and rethink the order I gave you."

His smirk grows, finding this little bit of your stubbornness strangely playful and adorable. He moves his hand down to your thighs. "Very well, your highness. I will use my tiny brain to wash your legs now."

"Smart choice. Make another mistake and I'll have your head." Teasing him is far too much fun. It's not everyday that you can call a genius a pea-brain.

His smirk refuses to leave his face, knowing that your threat holds no weight. He moves his hands down from your thighs to your calves, making sure that your legs are covered completely in soap.

"Don't worry, I'm a quick learner." He responds, still in the playful mood.

"It isn't me that should be worrying. Princesses do not worry over petty servants" Crossing your arms to punctuate the sentence.

He lets out a soft laugh at your little show of attitude. He decides to play along again, playing the role of the humble servant and 'admitting his mistake.'"Forgive me, your highness. What I meant to say was that I know you do not worry because you are a princess who doesn't worry over petty servants."

"Goodness, I can almost feel your tiny brain growing the longer you spend in my royal presence."

Spencer snorts a bit, loving the way that you keep coming up with new ways to say that his brain is small. It's honestly almost cute the way you keep trying. "Yes, all of the royal knowledge that you've bestowed upon me is truly overwhelming me, your highness."

"I am endlessly gracious, aren't I?"

He smiles, loving how fast your sarcasm comes in this situation, deciding to push the boundary just a bit further. "Yes, yes, you truly are endlessly gracious. Now... I do have one last place that your highness needs washed. Or do you want to do that yourself?" He asks, trying to fight back a smirk.

"Lowly servant! Must I repeat myself again, or would you rather keep your head?" You give him a look saying that you know what he's thinking, but there's no way you’ll be backing down from this challenge.

He smirks, loving how committed you are to your little act. He decides to continue, already knowing that you're not gonna back down. "My apologies, your highness. You'll have to give me specific instructions though... Your loyal servant is a bit dense."

"Dense is to gracious a word for how pathetic my lowly servant is, my God. If you don't wash me there right now, I will have you thrown out on your behind. Headless."

The chuckle he lets escape his lips hearing your stubbornness is downright sinful... but the more you talk like this...he has to admit...fuck it’s turning him on. He does his best to hide it though, knowing that it would ruin the game. "Oh, your highness, I beg of you, please forgive me for my mistake." He moves his hands down further, gently rubbing soap onto the parts of your inner thighs, slowly letting his hands move closer and closer to your innermost area.

"Is there no end to my graciousness? I will forgive you only if you complete your final task perfectly."

Spencer smirks, he absolutely loves your little game. "There truly is no end to your graciousness, your highness..." He moves even closer, his hands almost... but not quite touching your most sensitive area. "I pray I can complete this final task perfectly."

"Don't pray to a god, my servant, pray to me" You tilt your head back against his shoulder and let out a sensual exhale.

His smirk grows, loving that you're enjoying this just as much as he is. "You are right... I am no true believer of a god..." He responds before leaning in a little closer, speaking gently in your ear with a voice full of reverence and devotion. "I pray to only you, your highness."

"You truly are my most loyal" You whisper in anticipation of him finally reaching me where you need it most.

His jaw nearly drops as he hears you speak in such a sensual tone. He almost loses it, and he nearly does lose it as he recognizes the soft anticipation behind your voice. He decides to get right to the point, slowly moving his hands forward until he's just barely touching you, the feeling making his heart race even more. "Your highness... May I...? It is my final task..."

"Please" Your voice comes out desperate, your facade of being demanding crumbling slightly. "Make your goddess feel good."

He swallows hard at your desperate plea, feeling his heart race at the use of the term 'goddess' from you. Spencer can see it clearly now, you are his goddess, and he keeps returning to you, longing to worship you. He decides to go for it, trying to fight back a moan as he responds in a low tone. "As my goddess commands..." He slowly moves one of his hands forward, finally touching you between your legs.

A breath leaves you quickly in relief, and your hips buck up against his hand, Spencer knows just how to build up your desperation, and he’s done his best work tonight.

Spencer feels your reaction to his touch and lets out a pained groan. He leans a bit more forward, kissing your cheek and bringing his mouth closer to your ear. "Just relax and follow my lead, my goddess..." He says, his voice low and soft, full of lust and devotion, as he starts to gently caress and explore you with his fingers.

"As you wish" You manage to say, your voice breathy and full of need.

Spencer’s heart skips a beat hearing your voice, the need, the trust, the desperation in it fueling his flame. Spencer starts slow with gentle circles around your clit, but he gives a light tap tap tap against it and you jolt at the intense feeling. He can't help but let out a sigh, his breath warm against your neck, as he feels himself getting more worked up by this with every passing second. Spencer does his very best to hold back a groan, but he can't help but feel like this is the most intimate moment he's ever shared with you. You have trusted him to care for you when you were hurting, and now you are allowing him to bring you pleasure.

"More~~" You truly can't help but beg him regardless of the fact it’s unnecessary to do, he's always known exactly what you need.

He lets out a soft, shaky moan as you whimper into his ear, your soft voice sending a shiver down his spine. He obliges, his fingers still moving in a circular motion, continuing to massage that same place with the same slow, gentle pace as he whispers into your ear with a low, shaky breath. "That's it, my goddess... Just let me take care of you..." Spencer moves his other hand down to join the first and gently circles your entrance before gently dipping inside.

A broken moan leaves your lips. ‘Finally,’ you think with a sigh of relief.

His heartbeat speeds up even more, his breath becoming more and more shaky as the moment grows even more intimate. He starts to increase his pressure against your clit, dipping his long fingers as deep as they can reach. His fingers gradually speed up their pace and movement, continuing to let your soft, needy moans and whimpers fill his ears as the sound drives him crazy. He begins to kiss and nibble on your neck and jaw, his breath warm against your skin.

Your breath picks up speed, and your hips can no longer keep still, you need more, but don't know how to ask for it.

But you needn’t say a word. Spencer can feel the need in your movements, as well as hear it in the soft breaths that are leaving your lips. He knows what you need, so he takes it upon himself to give it to you, as he synchronizes the movements of both of his hands and turns to bite down on the juncture between your neck and shoulder, trying to fight back a moan of his own as he feels how badly you want it.

"Spencer" You finally break, crashing through your release, your hands grasping at his wrists to hold his hands against you, not allowing them to leave your body.

His jaw drops a bit, breathing deeply through his nose trying to keep his composure. He feels you spasming around his fingers, and he gently guides you through the feeling and slowly brings you back to the present. He can't help but moan a little bit, feeling your hands hold him in place, keeping him down there. He waits until you've rode it out before slowly, reluctantly and gently pulling his hands away.

"Thank you" It’s an odd thing to say in a moment like this, but it feels right anyway.

He lets out an unsteady breath, almost like he's panting from all of the emotion and need of the moment, before voicing his response. "You're welcome, my goddess..." Pulling his head away from your neck, Spencer stares at you for a moment and his eyes scan your face, as if he's looking at you for the first time. He stares at you for a few more seconds, the love and care crystal clear in his gaze before he finally speaks again. "You're so beautiful like this..."

"Help me from the tub, my loyal follower, I'm starting to catch a chill from the cooling water" You look at him, and the emotions in his eyes reflect in your own.

"Yes, my goddess." He responds with a soft, warm smile, slowly standing up without breaking eye contact with you. Spencer’s hands gently tuck under your arms, using his strength to lift you from the water and he helps you out of the tub before quickly grabbing a towel to help you dry off. Spencer starts on his next task to softly dry every last part of you...just because he can.

You stand there watching him dry you reverently, finally feeling the love you've been needing for so long.

Spencer stares into your eyes as he gently rubs the towel over your bare skin, drying every last part of you off without missing an inch. It's clear from the look in his eyes that he loves nothing in this world as much as he loves doing this with you, taking care of you and loving on you. Once he's finally satisfied that you're dry, he glances down, grabbing the edge of the towel and gently wrapping it around your body, leaving you tucked into a little bundle.

"I'm a burrito goddess" You say, the migraine has mostly gone away, but you blame it for the stupid comment anyway as you make your way back to the bedroom and grab a fluffy robe. After putting it on, you open the drawer that holds a few spare clothes Spencer left behind at your place from last nights he spent here and pass him a clean and dry pair of underwear.

He lets out a soft snort at your cute little comment, watching you walk back to the bedroom and put on your fuzzy robe. When you return with his spare underwear, he takes them with one hand, watching you with a small smile. "Thanks." He says, deciding to go on ahead and remove the sopping wet pair he has on and slip the clean pair on right in front of you, not caring if you see. He knows it's silly, but he wants you to see that he's completely comfortable being this vulnerable with you.

"Come lay with me?" You ask, not wanting it to sound sexual, but needing reassurance that he's staying the night.

He looks at you for a second before gently and softly responding. "That was the plan." He responds, loving that you're feeling vulnerable enough to even ask. He walks up to you, leaning down and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into a light hug and taking in your scent, kissing your head softly for a moment before pulling away and staring into your eyes. "Of course I'll lay with you..." He responds, his voice soft and comforting.

You tilt your head back, finally giving him the kiss he asked for at the beginning of the bath.

Spencer leans forward, his eyes fluttering a bit as he finally feels your lips against his, savoring the feeling of you finally kissing him, he closes his eyes and kisses you back softly. After a few seconds, he reluctantly pulls away, though he keeps his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes slowly open to stare into your eyes. He smiles a bit and speaks again. "I could kiss you like that all day."

"Even if people see you do it?" You prod because he seems to lose his nerve to show his feelings for you when you’re not alone. That's why you were hurt in the first place.

Spencer immediately realizes what you're talking about, and his smile slowly fades. "You're right. That was kind of a dick move on my part." He swallows hard, guilt returning, and he can't help but look away from your gaze, ashamed of himself.

"I just don't want you to be ashamed of me, of us." Your voice is soft and non accusatory.

He takes another deep breath before slowly looking back at you, his jaw quivering a bit, his voice shaky. "I'm not ashamed of you. I think you're perfect." He shakes his head, his stomach twisting and churning with guilt. "I'm ashamed of myself. You deserve better than someone like me. Someone who doesn't want to lose everyone around him. Someone who doesn't run away from his feelings. Someone who is terrified of being vulnerable. Someone who doesn't... can't... allow himself to be loved."

"My love is there for you. Whether or not you accept it, is a choice you make on your own." You say this and turn to go lay down, still feeling the exhaustion that grips your bones.

He swallows hard, letting you go as you walk over to the bed. He decides to wait by the edge, watching you, before finally responding softly. "Just a choice I have to make, huh?" He slowly walks over to the bed, climbing under the covers with you. He looks at you for a moment, deciding to try and take a leap here... "And if I decide to take that love that you're offering...What will you do?"

"Give you more" You say it simply, for what else could you do?

Spencer blinks back tears, feeling his heart race and his stomach knot again as he listens to your response, staring at you, not able to look away.

"What could 'more' possibly be? You say that you love me...What could be more than that?" He asks, genuinely curious, as his eyes trace over every detail of your face.

"The amount of love a goddess shares is endless and self sacrificing. I will love you to the ends of the earth. Just stop being afraid of it" You look at him seriously.

His expression softens a bit as he listens to your words, unable to look away from those gorgeous eyes of yours, his heartbeat speeding up as he slowly nods. "I'm just not used to being loved, at least not in a way that isn't painful..." Spencer never breaks eye contact with you, feeling as though he's baring his soul to you in this moment.

"Love shouldn't hurt, Spencer" Calling him by his name feels right again, so you say it with reverence.

He swallows hard again, loving hearing his name on your lips. It's been too long since he's heard that reverent, loving tone come from you.

"I know it shouldn't, my goddess..." He responds, his own voice still shaky, but full of love and care. His head drops back to the pillow and Spencer finally finds the moment too much to keep eye contact. His eyes close.

"Then stop running from it. I'm only your goddess, I don't need any more followers. I have so much love to give and only you to lavish it upon. Let yourself be loved for real."

He slowly nods, reconnecting his gaze with yours. "Alright... Yeah... You're right." His voice is shaky at first, but he slowly finds his confidence again as his voice gains strength and conviction. "I'm tired of running, Princess...I don't want to run anymore. No matter what happens, I'm not leaving you again..."

"Good. That's what I needed to hear." Your tone holds finality in it, and Spencer feels a little stupid at how simple your logic is in this situation. Why hasn’t he seen how well you fit together? Why has it taken him so long to accept your love?

He stares at you for a moment before slowly nodding. "Yeah, me too."

With that, he slowly slides closer to you under the covers, gently wrapping his arms around you, as if making sure that you're real and that he isn't dreaming all of this... Spencer loves the feeling of you in his arms, he loves knowing that you're not going to leave or run away at the first sign of him being vulnerable and trying to trust you.

You finally give in to your exhaustion, drifting off into a pleasant sleep. Spencer watches as your breathing settles and your body relaxes as you fall asleep in his arms, feeling his tense, stressed body calm significantly as he holds you. He takes a moment to just savor the weight and feeling of you in his arms, the feeling of truly loving and being loved with no running, fighting, or hiding. He smiles softly, finally feeling safe, as he kisses your head softly and gently. Without even trying to stay awake, he soon allows you to drag him into sleep with you, and he does so happily, without resistance, finally completely at peace.

[dilfiam-afton]

Altschmerz

Squidnuudel!William Afton x Reader

^ reference picture at the bottom end of story!

William thought he had left the insecurity about his looks in the past..

Tw; mention of masturbation, non-sexual nudity

GENDER NEUTRAL

William had always put a lot of effort into his looks; hair well styled, body hair trimmed and shaved, fancy outfits, manicures, hell, this man even polishes his shoes! You, however had made the mistake of chalking all of his extensive self-care up to vanity or perhaps even arrogance. If only you knew how wrong you were.

You were once again watching your lover promptly standing in front of the big mirror in your shared masterbedroom, closely eyeing himself up and down. He scrunched his face upon looking at his body, slowly lifting his chin, revealing the scars on his neck. The pained look on his face turned into a charismatic smirk as he saw you in the reflection. Giggling, you approached the older man, holding him from behind, letting your head rest on his broad back. "What's wrong, princess? Is your under-eye concealer creasing again?" you joked before pressing a kiss to his back, earning an off-sounding sigh from William. For a mere second you peeked into the mirror from behind his back, and felt your heart sink as you realized he wasn't looking at himself endearingly but sorrowful.

The man chuckled deeply before replying "oh I wish." He brought a hand up to his face, tugging down on his cheek to temporarily rid himself of the wrinkles under his eye and now, more whispered than properly repeated "I wish."

And oh how it pained you to see him like that. "William?" "Yeah?" you now stood next to him, getting on your tippy-toes to cradle his face in your hands "I love you", pressing gentle kisses all over his aged face as your thumbs caressed his cheeks. "I love you so much.." you whispered to him over, and over and over again. William let out a little chuckle "sure don't hear this on the daily" he simply replied. Did it hurt your feelings? Yes, yes it did. But you knew your dearest wasn't the best at expressing his feelings. And yet you found yourself giggling once again as he leaned over to press a firm kiss to your nose. You cheered him up, if only temporarily.

~ Timeskip, 5 days later ~

William had just returned from work, and per usual he had hurried off to the bathroom for his daily after-work shower. You had found yourself rather needy for affection today so why not join him, you thought. Like the sneaky little thing you were, you quickly made your way to the bathroom as well, now standing in front of your large walk-in shower like god had made you.

For a rather long second you were debating now on if you ACTUALLY wanted to join your beloved, as you suspected he was...let's say enjoying himself. William was facing you with his back, head tilted downwards, one hand running up and down himself and letting out soft sighs every now and then. Eh, fuck it you stepped in, running a single finger up his spine. William turned around as quickly as ever but to your surprise it wasn't his erect member in his hands, no. It was a roll of belly-chub! Come to think of it, his eyes and nose looked red and puffy. Has he...been crying? Oh yes he definetely had. "What a lovely surprise." He quickly spoke, trying to hide his tears by tilting his head back under the shower head, letting water run down his face. "What's wrong?" the man sighed. "I'm just not who I used to be. Already grey at the roots, not a single hair spared. Heck, I even debated botox for my wrinkles!" he let out and awkward laugh "and as for the rest of me? I have gained quite some fluff, don't you think?" well, yea..he did. But you weren't gonna tell him that!

"Matter of fact I find you very attractive." "Nonsense." You felt helpless, what were you supposed to do?? "You'd be stunned if only you knew how many young women fawn over old men as long as they posess a little wealth." Being helpless now turned into absolute disbelief. "You can't seriously accuse me of using you for money." panick rising within you, afraid he'll leave you because of a false assumption he had made, deciding he'd rather die alone than with someone who only wants him for his money. "William I-" a sob escapting your throat, cutting you off. "Why would you ever think that?" "Why now Y/N we both know I'm not attractive, never was. And we're also both very well aware that I'm not of the best character either. Actually developing feelings for me is simply-" he paused for a brief second "very unlikely to say the least." and that's when it hit you- Your William wasn't some arrogant snob just trying to look as posh as possible, he was insecure! "That's not true! Please William, I do love you!" your voice was trembling. The older man let out a defeated sigh "I wish I could believe you my Darling. I really wish I could." he pulled you in for a hug. You immidiately started running one hand up and down his back whilst letting the other gently caress his happy-trail. You earned another sigh from William as he pressed his lips against your forehead. His voice now a faint whisper "I love you so much, Y/N. Please let it be true." You nodded as you wrapped your arms around his neck, practically forcing him into a kiss.

After your shower you both had gone to bed early, falling asleep snuggled up in eachothers arms.

Picture like promised!! The art belongs to @6simp_nuudel9 on instagram!

[svysimsstrait]

GARDEN OF EDEN | THE SIMS 4 STORY

Title: Garden Of Eden

Genre: Romance

Subspecies : Drama

Age restrictions: adult readers only

PLOT:

Avalon, the enigmatic dancer, moves through shadows with a grace that conceals her desires. In the intimate darkness of shared spaces, Hunter, her roommate with benefits, strums chords of passion that resonate deep within her. But a different allure beckons when Thomas, an older, mysterious figure, enters her life, his words like silk, promising secrets and sanctuary. Enveloped in a sensual web of choices, Avalon dances on the edge of ecstasy and enigma.

TW: prost!tution, s3x, dr*gs, mentions of su!c!de, hard k!nks, mental health, nudity etc.

CONTENTS:

Characters part 1

Characters part 2

Avalon and Hunter • relation

[what-if-i-just-did]

Guilt & Revenge: Bleeding Through Bandages

Whumptober, Day 22: Bleeding Through Bandages

Guilt & Revenge Masterlist

Due to some technical mishaps, I am once again running behind. I may end up having to do some of the writing on my damn phone. But! I managed to write this in about an hour, so short but whumpy mild Amber torture. Yay!

TWs: Whumper purposefully scarring whumpee, captivity, blood, and mentions of reward for behaving, lack of medical resources, nausea, and forced partial nudity (nonsexual)

Amber meekly accepted the bandages handed to him by Mercedes. She’d torn open his cheek again, and he was exhausted. It would definitely scar by now, this just felt… excessive. He shut his mouth over it though. He wouldn’t be listened to, it wasn’t his place…

He’d started getting used to the pain in his cheek. It still bled heavily every time it was torn open, and he hated the taste of blood. He was grateful for the bandages, at least. He only got them sometimes, when he behaved.

Maybe more bandages were in his future.

He tried his best to figure out how to apply the bandages without help or a mirror, but his face was slippery with the blood. And possibly some tears, but he had no way of telling. It was humiliating, the way Mercedes was seemingly waiting for him to be done. 

Something felt off. He finally got the bandages around his head, but he could still feel the blood dripping off his face. He touched his hand to the middle of the bandages, and it came away red. For a split second, he was overcome with gratitude for the light being on, and being able to see colors. But then the worry set in. He was bleeding through the bandages, way too fast. “Mercedes?”

She tilted her head, as if telling him to get on with what he was gonna say. 

“Can I- May I have more bandages? This isn’t.. I can’t- it’s not working, I’m.. bleeding through the- the bandages, I need.. uh.”

He stammered through his request, words with barely concealed desperation.

“I gave you bandages. If you can’t use them properly, that is not my problem.”

The blood was running down his neck onto his chest now. For once, he was glad that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. The taste of blood in his mouth was nauseating, and trying to keep his tongue from poking at the slashes in his cheek was surprisingly difficult.

Mercedes left at some point between blood dripping down only his chin, and Amber’s entire torso being covered. She turned off the light as she left, and Amber whimpered when he realized he couldn’t see the red anymore. That would make anything more difficult.

So there he sat, in the dark, covered in blood, and quite possibly snot and tears too. He didn’t dare go close to his bed or his small pile of clothes in his corner for fear of covering them in blood. He laid on the ground, careful not to sob. His cheek hurt.

[downydig]

doodle dump as well as artistic nudity under cut 👌

[lewis-winters]

Day 7: Routine

So far into October and this is the first spoopy entry into my OC-tober challenge? Gasp, a disgrace! Even more so than me cheating and repurposing an old drabble for my own nefarious schemes.

tw: implied child sexual abuse, prostitution, and rape-- only a line or two for all that, but it's there; vampires and all that (bloody) entails

Every night, upon her waking, Talbert dresses her.

They haven't truly talked about it, not in depth. Not after Natalie had given him the rundown of his duties as her familiar, from finding and luring her unsuspecting prey, to serving as her mirror, doing half the work of making her presentable in order to entice and ensnare all those who were unfortunate enough to fall under her spell. In the beginning, a part of her wondered if perhaps a male familiar would find ladies' fashion to be quite difficult to grasp; he, after all, was a proper man’s man, not even a dandy to inspire confidence in any of his skills past all his gentlemanly training. Shooting, hand to hand combat, and boot shining. But Talbert had proven her wrong. Perhaps adept at the dressing of women due to his time spent undressing many to begin with, Natalie had found that, like everything about him, his eye for color and style was near impeccable, and after a few weeks he'd learned all her preferences and felt brave enough to expand beyond her set horizons.

With him, her corsets were never too tight or too loose. Her skirts, always full. And her hair, having been the one thing she'd struggled so long with due to her sorry lack of a reflection, now had a shine to it that, in the gentle moonlight, made it look like spun gold— an observation that she bases entirely on what she's heard poor, clueless men tell her. Talbert, on the other hand, never says anything. He prefers, instead, to step close just to smell it, touch it, care for it, both within their home and when they are out and about, hunting or fabricating closeness for the sake of their marriage ruse. Though he never boasts about it—no doubt in respect for the absolutely dismal state in which he’d found her in—his inability to stay away betrays all of his pride for his handiwork. Natalie allows him some of that vanity, for he is a quick study, and Natalie herself is pleased with his service.

After the initial briefing, no further clarification was needed, and the subject of nudity and the casual intimacy that comes with his duties was never brought up again, any awkwardness immediately melting into nightly routine. Natalie wakes upon the setting of the sun, Talbert fetches her from coffin, and then quietly, efficiently, dresses her for the hunt.

Or, so she tells herself.

His hands shake, sometimes—not with fear. Or with barely concealed disgust. Her keen nose picks up neither of those scents when he not-so accidentally brushes her bare skin, skimming the line of her arm, the smooth planes of her torso as he helps shroud her in the white linen of her chemise. Instead, he reeks of a sort of excitement; arousal and reverence all balled into one. In awe, perhaps, of a creature as powerful as this, making herself pliable and agreeable enough to be his doll in this endeavor. His fingers linger too often—his eyes do, too. Gaze substituting for touch, or vice versa, the weight of both so equal, often times she can barely tell the difference. Buttons on the back of her blouses seem to take eternity to finish, his deft fingers easily distracted by the sweet smell of her hair, whose scent seems to put him in a trance every time, he can barely find the right holes, inching discreetly forward until his chest is pressed to her back, lips inches away from the sensitive skin of her nape, or the tender skin behind the shell of her ear. Sometimes, when he feels bold, he'll leave her stockings and boots for last, kneeling as she sits upon the great red velvet seat he so loves to pamper her in, letting the pads of his fingers stroke the curve of her calf as he pulls her stocking up, up, up, searing a warm line across her skin until it ends with a purposeful caress on the sensitive inside of her thigh. Then, carefully and with great concentration, he’d take his time doing up all her ribbons, from her garters to her boots, into impeccable bows. Once finished, he'd smile at her, dark blue eyes alight.

"Mistress," he'll say, like the word itself is another name for God. Like he should be whispering it into her ear while he takes her, fucks her into the bed with his hands cradling her throat. "My Lady Morse."

Leave it to her familiar to make the act of dressing as seductive as undressing.

Not that Natalie is flustered. Not at all. Though effective on human women, these tactics don't particularly faze her. Not when she knows that it certainly isn't of his own volition, and that if it is, then it's simply a very sloppy means to an end. Talbert isn't the first familiar to look at her like that. Being a creature of the night brings about its own kind of seduction, a particular hypnosis made quite useful in the ensnaring of prey. Humans gravitate toward Natalie like moths to an open flame, and familiars are the foolhardiest of them all, with ambitions to become something bigger and more powerful than their paper wings can carry.

But a familiar is to be rewarded, after all, if their time in the service does not kill them first. Talbert is to become a vampire yet, if Natalie were to find him worthy; and though she has always been a creature of her word, turning many of her familiars upon the tenth winter of their time with her, that has not stopped a great number of them from batting their eyelashes and attempting to seduce her into giving them what they want early.

They always leave once they get it.

Of all of her kind here in New York City, Natalie has learned to deal with the melancholy of goodbye the most. ---

At the end of each night, Talbert undresses her.

This part should be easy—Natalie has always been a messy eater, and every night the blood on her clothes is certainly enough of a reminder to her familiars that she is more than just a pretty thing, a means to an end. Those days are long gone. She's a monster, now. Stronger, faster, infinitely more dangerous than any of them can fathom. No matter how long they've been in her service, watching their wide eyes unable to meet her gaze has always given her some level of satisfaction.

Other times, the foolish ones will look upon her with a hunger of their own, craving the power that runs through her veins and the strength that makes her stand as tall as she does. To them, she is predator, but predator open and vulnerable enough for the taking, if they somehow managed to force her into submission. Those familiars, she never deems worth keeping around, too similar to those from a dozen or so lifetimes ago, with their rough hands, chapped lips, and sharp blade on parts of her she would have never offered to them willingly. Those familiars' blood tastes the most bitter; she never swallows more after the initial bite.

It was much more satisfying watching them slowly bleed out by her feet.

In the beginning, Talbert had fallen in the first camp. Averting his gaze as his shaking hands carefully rid her of the evidence of her meal, mournfully bringing ruined garments to the fire if unsalvageable, and setting aside those that could still be saved. But like his initial clumsiness, that too faded away quickly, and in its place grew a new sort of gaze that she has never quite experienced before—a sort of respectful aversion, like a gentleman might have for a lady. Or a husband for his new bride. The distinction makes her laugh, sometimes. What they are to each other has far transcended that, surely?

Now, he takes her clothes off with less care for the garments themselves, and more for the body that lay beneath. Again, his fingers retrace their earlier steps, the certainty of their caress as reassuring as the gentleness of his gaze, the simple murmurs of observation he makes, about loose buttons and mused muslin. Crushed silk and stained velvet. The blood barely fazes him, now, which Natalie garners some great disappointment from, but she does not let her confusion on the matter stop him from disrobing her until she, once again, stands before him. Naked, devoid of any armor. Any shield. Vulnerable as she had started, once again pliable and agreeable in his hands.

Some nights, quite like tonight, he bathes her.

This part, she likes. Though large bodies of water make her uncomfortable, stirring within her a primal kind of fear that is deeper and older than any of her centuries’ worth of understanding of her existence; still, warm water in elegant, porcelain tubs, smelling faintly of lavender and eucalyptus salts and soaps, has quickly become one of her most favorite things. And to think, she'd lived in a time when baths were only taken once a month for hygiene's sake. A preposterous idea—thank God for modern science. The idea of her past filth makes her want to bathe every day.

She says as much to him, earning her a laugh. "I know you can take the form of a great grim—but can a vampire become a fish?" he asks her in return. Natalie gives him a flick of water in lieu of a reply. Talbert laughs some more.

He handles the sponge expertly; delicately, as to not rub at her skin, but hard enough to thoroughly scrub the dirt off her, leaving her feeling soft and sweet smelling. His fingers, neither rough nor limp, dig into the parts of her that ache with stiffness—her shoulder blades, the lower parts of her back—and she allows herself to melt into his hold. At times, when really called for, he massages oils into her scalp, running those talented fingers through the locks of her hair until finally, he rinses her off. Holds the back of her head with one hand, carefully lowering her into the water, while the other lays, innocuously, upon her chest. A baptism, of sorts. Natalie closes her eyes.

No other familiar has seen her with her eyes closed before.

But then again, no other familiar has ever left her feeling so thoroughly cleansed like Talbert.

Often, when Natalie rises to the surface and opens her eyes, she catches him staring at her. A softness in his gaze that both confuses and scares her in equal measure. At first, she'd wondered if maybe she should punish him for such insolence, but later on found it to be harmless. For whatever softness he must have for her will no doubt be forgotten the second he'd earned his own fangs. Let the boy look, let Natalie revel in his warmth. At least one day, when the beating of his pulse will be replaced with silence, the memory of his heat will remain with her until the ravages of time chose to take that, too.

Talbert wipes her down once she steps out of the tub, helps her again into her simple nightgown, hands warm against the chill of her newly washed skin, and holds her hand until she is safe in her coffin, looking up at his silhouette haloed by the gentle candlelight.

"Sleep well, mistress," he says, reaching down to run a finger over the gentle curve of Natalie's cheek. She closes her eyes to the sensation. "I will be here when you wake."

He lowers the lid. And Natalie sleeps.

[hwalloween]

Rainy Days (YuSan X Reader)

Pairing: Boyfriend!Yunho X Reader X Boyfriend!San 

Synopsis: Rainy days weren’t your favorites, but that one took the trophy. Thank god you had Yunho and San to help out. 

Genre: Fluff fluff fluff, a tiny bit of crack

Word Count: 1.7k

Warning: Poly Relationship, just a lot of gushy mushy stuff, mention of period stuff, some swearing, there is nudity but it’s just really UwU

Tag: @galaxteez​ you said you’re in your period so 

A/N: This is the fluffiest I can get before my filfthy brain gets in the way. This is for all the people that are in their period now, I feel you baby 

Rainy days weren‘t definitely your favorites. The thunders and storms, swings on the internet, the inability of going outside and doing something much better than just staring at the TV. Everything about it seemed to make you down. But that rainy day, that was the worst of the worst. 

Laying on the couch, you were in a fetal position, eyes closed, hands together on top of the low part of your stomach, mind too busy to care with anything else but the pain. Oh the pain. If dying inside could have a sensation, you were pretty sure that would be it, a stabbing pain of a thousand knives running through your entire body, concentrating just on your most sensitive part. For your misfortune, you had woken up on your period, and as if destiny had decided to mock your face, there were no painkillers in the kitchen, which made you get even grumpier. The only solution by now was just lay somewhere and cry while the solution didn’t appear at your door. 

But you weren’t suffering alone, oh no, a period cramp is a collective cramp. Your boyfriends were also having a hard time, not by trying to please you, but by seeing you suffering without being able to do much so. Yunho was by your side, gently rubbing your back and frowning each time you moaned out of pain, wondering if there was something he could do. San was long gone, having left the house to get groceries for what was supposed to be a movie night, but had become more of a horror movie itself. Rolling in your back, you stared at the selling with teary eyes, the cramps were undeniably hard that day. 

— Hey, come here - You heard Yunho speak up, groaning just at the thought of having to move a single finger. Chuckling lightly, your boyfriend involved your body on his arms, pulling you off the couch and placing you on his lap, hugging you tightly as you hide your face on the crook of his neck, smelling the fresh perfume he had. 

— I know you’re in pain, San is buying everything you need. But in the meanwhile, is there anything I can do? - His puppy eyes stared at you with worry, hands rubbing your lower back to try and sooth you. 

— I don’t know… - You moaned quietly, putting your cheek against his broad shoulders and looking back at him with even puppier eyes - Can you magically take the pain of me? 

— No… - He said quietly, a sad tone coating his voice. Biting his lower lip, Yunho looked around the apartment, trying to find a temporary solution. As if a light had clicked upon his head, he picked you up, legs around his waist, and carried you all the way over to the kitchen, placing you on the counter top and moving to the shelves. Losing the warm contact with Yunho made you pout, bringing your legs to your chest and resting your face on your knees, they weren’t wrong when calling you their little baby. 

You got curious when you saw Yunho grabbing two mugs, then going to the fridge and searching for something. Just as you were about to ask him what he was doing, a painful cramp hitted you, making you close your eyes shut due to the pain and hug your legs even more, whining and sobbing a little, that was a nightmare. 

— Hey, got you something, I guess - Looking up, you saw your boyfriend holding one of the mugs, specifically your mug, and you could see a little bit of steam coming out of it. Grabbing gently, you noticed that there was hot cocoa inside, the little bubbles popping themselves and disappearing. That put a little smile on your face, looking back at the tall boy in front of you, that wrapped his arms around you and gave you a gentle peck in the lips.  Just as you were about to give a little sip, key sounds were heard, the front door then opening and revealing a soaked San with grocery bags. He waved one of the bags, a little one, a tired smile appearing on his face. 

— Got the painkillers, and some other stuff - He said with a chuckle. The solution had, indeed, appeared in your door. Kicking off his shoes and entering, you could see the droplets of rain all over his jacket and jeans, his hair all wet and sticking to his forehead. 

— Just in time, Y/N was about to drink something - Yunho said, looking at you with a little smile. God you loved your boyfriends. San came to the kitchen, placing the groceries by your side and then stuffing his hand inside the small bag, pulling out three medicine boxes. 

— I didn’t know how much you needed, so I grabbed three just in case… - The younger said shyly, handing over one of the boxes to you. You grabbed his arm as he did, pulling him lightly and then giving him a loving kiss, thanking for his effort and thoughtfulness. Popping one of the pills out, you put the medicine in your tongue, giving a big gulp of the hot cocoa and swallowing everything together. It burned your throat lightly, but was worth it to feel no more pain in the next couple of hours. 

— Gosh, I think I need a shower - San commented, looking at himself. He was, indeed, soaking wet, which you would normally think was hot, but in that context, could get him a cold. 

— I could make a use of one too… - You mumbled, sipping on the drink and thinking. Maybe a shower could get all the yucky feeling off of your body. 

— Let’s all go together, this way the bill is smaller - Yunho concluded, using his strong arms to get you off of the counter top. 

— Can we all fit in the bathtub? I mean, the shower barely holds tw- - San began, but Yunho fastly shushed him, putting a finger on the younger’s lips and shaking his head. 

— We can fit there, that bathtub is more powerful than you think - You and San looked at each other questionly, then looking back at the tall boy - I’ll go grab the clothes, you two to the bathroom, now.

Without missing a beat, both you and San moved to the bathroom, a shiver going down your spine as soon as a little bit of clothing started to come off. It was rather cold that day, so your skin had goosebumps all the way over to your toes, hands slightly shaking as you took off your pajamas and placed them to the side. San, on the other hand, was already naked, checking the temperature of the water, making sure it was warm and nice for you. No matter how many times you saw them without clothes, San’s and Yunho’s body still amazed you, the fine lines and curves of them being more than eye-candy to you. Sitting on the rather large tub, the dark-haired boy motioned for you to come, guiding you to sit on his lap. 

— Harsh day? - He asked, placing his chin on your shoulder, arms sliding around your waist and holding you dearly. You confirmed with your head, letting yourself rest against his body, hearing the door opening again and a tall figure come in with some comfy clothes. Yunho joined both of you in the bathtub, the warm water tickling your skin and bringing a good sensation — Y/N - You looked up, facing San’s sweet gaze - Can I wash your hair? 

It wasn’t much before San’s fingers were massaging your scalp, making you feel sleepy as you slumped against him, feeling Yunho massaging your feet and legs on the other side of the tub. If heaven had a feeling, it probably was that one. You heard some giggling, looking back at the tallest of your three and seeing that he was holding back a laugh, putting his hand over his mouth to conceal the sound. Yunho must have seen how confused you looked, so he motioned back to San, who was also holding back a laugh. 

 — Yah! Why are both of you laughing? - You said, earning more laughs from both your boyfriends. 

 — Maybe you should look in the mirror, Y/N - Yunho said, grabbing a hand mirror that was in the sink close to his side. When looking at your reflexion, you finally saw what was the fuze about, and you hitted San’s chest, making him laugh even more

— Why did you make horns with my hair, San?! - You splashed water on his face, seeing as he stopped laughing and throwed water back at you, accidentally hitting Yunho and starting a water fight. If the bathroom was clean, it wasn’t anymore. Your faces were all wet, and bubbles were flying through the room, the pain you had on your body was long forgotten as your hands fluffed your hair, taking off the horns. Yunho was the first to leave the bath, offering you a hand and helping you out, while San also got up and put a towel around your figure, making you warm again. Yunho placed you on top of the sink counter, giving you a kiss on the forehead as he grabbed the clothes, unfolding them and helping you to get yourself on them. 

Warm and comfy, you three directed yourselves to the living room, grabbing the rest of the bags San had brought on the way. The boys opened the couch, and you guys plopped yourselves on it, throwing a blanket over everyone and cuddling all together. On the bags, there were various snacks and sweets, everything your mother would absolutely prohibe to eat on the daily, so it was even yummier. San grabbed the TV control, deciding to put on some random movie, just to have something to do. You yawned, feeling the sleep starting to hit you after a long and painful day.

— Go to sleep, sweetheart - San said, getting even closer to you and allowing your heart to rest better on his shoulder. 

— We’ll be here if you need, now rest - Yunho completed, making sure that the blanket was covering you nicely. Both boys gave you a little peck, eyeing on you as your own eyes started to close and you quickly drifted off to dreamland. 

Rainy days weren’t definitely your favorites, but at least you had your two favorite boys in the world to make it better. 

[i-lionheart]

IT'S NOT A WIP ANYMORE BITCHES!!!!!

Ok so i wrote a fic that's basically this post by the-modern-typewriter but i took the concept and some main elements and rewrote it as a kylo ren self insert because of course i did i wanted a comfort fic and i refuse to apologize its not plagiarism i cited my sources k thx

anyways this is a Kylo ren x fem!reader (but the only time reader's gender is referenced as when they're referred to as "good girl" so make of that what you will). Angst, torture mention, self harm tw, suicide tw, depression tw, safe for work but implicit nudity. Also there's none of that "y/n" or (name) shit because I just personally hate it. I made this for me not you but it totally fukin slaps so read on at your own risk lmao

Tell Me Why

“You’ve been astonishingly resilient,” Ren said softly. “What a shame it has to come to this.”

His gaze roamed over you lazily, possessively, drinking in the sight of you. You were bound, gagged, and strapped down to an interrogation table. In his personal quarters, of all places.

You would trade every star in the galaxy to be anywhere but here.

Ren picked up a syringe full of clear, thick liquid off the tray of wicked-looking instruments that lay beside you and held it in front of your eyes. “I’m expect you’re quite familiar with this," he said, voice deceptively casual. "The resistance undoubtedly trained you to resist truth serum as insurance against the unthinkable. Obviously,” he said, indicating your current predicament, “They are fools.”

So it would be truth serum. You could handle this easily enough. All you had to do was tell him the truth, but not the one he was looking for. Simple.

Some miniscule change in your expression must have given your hubris away. Ren chuckled. “You poor thing.” he said. “Do you really think that we haven’t made… improvements on this since my grandfather held your precious General captive so long ago?”

You swallowed thickly, blood pounding through your temples as your breath caught in your throat. What could he possibly be talking about? Truth serum had been perfected in the days of Old Republic and hadn’t changed for centuries.

What advantage could he possibly hope to have?

Ren lowered his face until his eyes were level with yours. Though every fiber of your being screamed at you to look away, you met his gaze, trembling.

“You know as well as I do that the Old Republic, the Jedi, were weak. Fools,” he spat. “They were afraid to do what was truly necessary to meet their goals. The First Order has no such weaknesses.”

He lowered his mouth and whispered rapidly in your ear, his breath ghosting along your skin. “Unfortunately for you, I am not a Jedi, and this will hurt quite a bit. I only wish that I could remove that gag and hear every shriek that comes out of that pretty little mouth without risking you biting off your own tongue.” He clucked his tongue softly as he stood up. “What a shame.”

He replaced the syringe on the tray and selected a small pair of medical scissors, then began to methodically cut through the fabric of your sleeve. "I would apologize for the outfit," he said sardonically, "but I rather suspect that you have much bigger things to be worrying about at the moment."

Once your sleeve was split all the way to your elbow, Ren set the scissors down and set his leather-clad fingers to the task of spreading the halved fabric of your sleeve to fully reveal your bare skin. He was agonizingly gentle, as though trying to spread the petals of a struggling flower and help it bloom.

His work complete, his eyes and his fingers roved over your exposed arm, relishing your vulnerability. If you weren't paralyzed with fear, you would have squirmed, thrashed, done anything to flee his scrutiny.

Force, please, you thought desperately, don't let him see them. Please, anything but that. I'll give anything. Let him do what he wishes to me as long as they go unnoticed. Please.

As though sensing your frantic pleas, Ren's eyes locked onto your wrist, onto the unnaturally straight cuts and scars criss crossing your skin.

"What is this?" he said softly.

Shit.

It was the last straw. The spell of fear holding you in place broke. You twisted your arm as far as you could in the restraints, trying to hide what it was far too late to conceal. Instantly his hand shot out and pinned your wrist to the table as you writhed in his grasp.

"You know as well as I do that you cannot take back what has been revealed. The mynock is out of the bag, little one. Are you going to lie still, and let me finish what your own foolish actions have started? Or am I going to have to make you?"

Realizing it was of no use, that you were absolutely, utterly powerless, you stopped thrashing. Tears glistened on your cheeks. Your breath hitched as choked sobs pushed their way past your gag. You fought for every inhale and exhale, lungs crushed under the weight of your own rising panic.

But bewilderingly, inexorably, you were still.

"Good girl," he breathed.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his hand from your wrist. When you remained motionless, even without his grip holding you to the table, his hands moved to your elbow and, abandoning those damn scissors, he began to finish what he had started.

He tore first one sleeve, then the other, and made short work of everything else until you were laid bare before him. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

Kylo Ren's eyes roved over you, taking in every mark, every scar, every bruise on your bare skin. You wanted to fight it so badly, wanted twist yourself away from his agonizing scrutiny, but all you could do was shut your eyes and pray for it to be over. His burning gaze held you immobile like the galaxy's most powerful vice.

"I know what marks I've left on this body, little one," he said, voice unbearably tender. "I know what scars one gets from doing what we do. But this-" his fingers brushed your wrists, your thighs, your torso, tracing the bar code that you had marked yourself with in so many places- "this is not that." His voice, though still intolerably gentle, was taut, hinting at the tightly leashed rage that you could feel bubbling just below his deceptively calm exterior.

For so long, you had been terrified that someone would find out, would ask an unavoidable question, would see something they shouldn't have because you slipped up.

You hadn't expected it to be him.

What the hell was he going to do to you?

After another excruciating moment of consideration, he reached up and unbuckled the gag, carefully sliding it out from between your teeth and setting it on the tray beside the scissors and abandoned syringe. You worked your jaw, gratefully bringing a bit of relief to your sore muscles and parched mouth. You were so tired. So, so tired, too physically and psychologically exhausted to care what happened to you anymore. You had already been on this table for an eternity too long. Let him get what he wanted from you and finally, at long last, leave you for dead.

"What is it?" he asked evenly. "Control? Punishment? Or something else?"

Your eyes snapped open, wide with fear and shock, only to find your gaze locked together with his.

"What?" The word came out of your mouth in a grating, dry rasp.

"You heard me," he said. "Why do you do it?"

How dare he. How dare he. The absolute nerve he had, to strap you to a table you and torture you endlessly, and then find out about this and pretend that he cared.

"Fuck off," you said.

"That's no answer."

"You don't even care." You glanced away, eyes flooded with silent tears that you were too embarrassed about to let him see. "No one does."

You flinched as you felt a leather glove hand touch you, then realized that he was caressing your face. Stroking your hair. Comforting you, exactly where you needed it. Holding you like your mother did, so long ago. Touching you the way you had been starving for for so long.

How could he possibly know what you needed so desperately, much less be doing it of his own accord? What happened to him?

You finally mustered up the courage to look back at him, despite the blinding tears and your fear of what you might see. When you finally wrenched your gaze up to meet his, you were shocked by what you saw.

Pity. Concern. Genuine worry. Anger, not at you, but at the people who watched you spiral so far down and did nothing.

All this he told you with his eyes alone.

How was this possible? Stars' sake, he was your enemy. He hated you. So why was he looking at you like he was trying to offer you a lifeline when he was supposed to want you dead?

"Why are you doing this to me?" you whispered.

"Answer me," he said quietly, "And I'll stop."

You took a rattling breath in, and shut your eyes.

You had no choice.

"It's everything," you said softly. "The control. The punishment. All of it." You opened your eyes again and looked back at him as a sob built in your throat. "It keeps me alive, even though I don't deserve to be."

---

"It keeps me alive, even though I don't deserve to be."

The words hit Kylo like a dagger to the heart.

So that was why you had never acted on the desires he sensed in you, why you wanted to join him so badly but rejected his offers at every turn. That was why, when he offered you his hand, his teaching, his service, a position by his side, you almost took it before you wrenched yourself away. The Resistance never understood you, saw you as nothing more than a tool for a job. And you didn't think you deserved the what he could provide.

The sobs he had watched you struggle against for so long finally spilled past your lips in a tidal wave. He shushed you as one would a frightened animal, brushed away your tears with his thumb, and quickly undid the restraints at your ankles and wrist. He slid his arms under you and lifted you as easily as though you were a child, one arm under your legs to support your weight, the other pressing your head to his chest as you sobbed, the Force supporting you where he couldn't.

"Easy now," he said, voice low and soothing. "Easy, easy, easy- there we go, come on, come on, there's a good girl. I've got you. I've got you. You're safe now. You're safe. Good girl, come with me. Come with me, now."

He kept up the constant stream of reassurances as he carried you to his bed, holding you with one arm and the Force as he pulled back the covers with the other before setting you in the bed. He kicked off his boots and slid in beside you, pulling you close to his chest, telling you what you had needed to hear for so long.

You were going to be okay, he told you. He promised. Vowed to keep you by his side and give you everything he had to offer, fulfill your every need.

He'd give you the galaxy, if you asked for it. But all you needed was him.

The two of you stayed there until your sobs subsided, his hand absently stroking your hair, your tears soaking his shirt. Neither of you said anything, but you both knew.

You were finally where you belonged. And you were here to stay.

[bangchanstudio]

my roommate is a ghost | han jisung (ch. 1)

pairing: han jisung x reader (fem)

genre: fluff, college;au, parallel universe??

tw: mild nudity, mild talk of death, ghosts, cursing

word count: 1,355

writer’s note: okay so i haven’t written a fic in the longest time so sorry if it’s not that great. i was bored and felt inspired to write, might make a little series out of this, but i’m not sure yet lol let me know if you like it~ ps. sorry it’s so short T.T

plot: you had a bad habit of seeing ghosts. sometimes they were scary, sometimes they were rude, but hardly were they ever cute. one day as you were getting ready for class you walked in on your roommate showering... except you didn’t have a roommate. (inspired by Freaking Romance webtoon by Snailords)

[6:27am]

“wh-who are you?! get out!!” you shrieked, throwing whatever you could at the naked boy in your shower, though it was so humid you couldn’t really see his body, not that you wanted to. This was not what you had signed up for when you decided to move away for college and into a dorm hall. Not the loud parties or constant smell of weed in the corridor, not the times you’ve had your ass smacked by random strangers and definitely not finding a random guy in your shower at 6am.

“Hey what the hell, this is my room!” the boy retorted taking his toothbrush out of his mouth and dogging the hand soap you threw at him. “Just give me a sec--”

“how did you even get in here?! my door is locked!!” but was it? you did have a habit of being forgetful... that wasn’t important right now, what was important was getting this guy out before he made you late to your lecture. He grabbed a towel that was on the shower curtain rod before stepping out, the cloud that once hid him was gone now with the open door and you looked away trying to hide the stupid pink that rose on your checks. “get dressed”

you sat on your bed cross legged, nibbling your bottom lip impatiently and staring intently at the closed bathroom door. was he just another ghost? you thought. It had been at least a year since you last saw one. Ever since you were a small child you would see them. From the old man by the big oak tree at the park by your preschool, to the woman crying for her lost child on the corner of Mason Street and Wells Ave. Sometimes you would wake up to tens of ghosts crowded in your bedroom at 3am who wouldn’t disappear until you shrieked them away or came into physical contact with them. If your skin touched theirs they would just “poof”. That’s what made them a little less scary.

glancing at your clock it had been over 5 minutes but the guy still hadn’t come out of the bathroom. you jumped out of bed and pounded on the bathroom door, “does it really take you that long to put some clothes on?”

you waited for a response but all you could hear was the dripping of the faucet. “I’m coming in!” you warned before pushing the bathroom door open only to reveal... an empty bathroom. you stood there puzzled for a second as the door hit the wall. he was gone. as if he had never been there, the shower was dry as if it hadn’t been turned on, there was no fog on the mirror. had you just imagined it? maybe he was just a ghost, it wouldn’t be the first time after all.

[9:43pm]

finally, home sweet home. or dorm sweet dorm? it was a long day and you’d never felt happier to lay on your hard futon couch face down ready to d-word from the long day of lectures and group projects. how was it possible for professors to assign so much work on the first week of classes? you heard your phone buzz as a new notification popped up on the screen

-1 New Message from Aelin- Aelin: party at bryan’s later. wanna come?

you groaned into your decorative pillow before dragging yourself into a sitting position resting your head on your knee staring at the message trying to come up with an excuse not to go. for a 19 year old you weren’t great at doing normal 19 year old things. one such thing being parties or big crowds. plus it’s not like you had anything nice or slutty to wear to a frat party. but then again Aelin wasn’t the best drunk, and that was enough to convince your introverted soul into agreeing to go, although you regretted it the second you sent the message.

New Message Aelin: GREAT, I’ll come down in 20!

you got up quickly browsing through your limited closet before settled on a black slip dress Aelin let you borrow over summer and a leather jacket tossing them on your bed before stripping on your way to the shower to get at least a little cleaned up. turning on the hot water and letting it run down your hair reminded you of that morning with that hot ghost guy. the thought made you a little sad. if he was a ghost that means he had to have died and nothing was sadder than seeing young ghosts knowing they had their whole lives ahead of them. after a quick scrub down you hop out of the shower and wrapped a clean towel around yourself and using another to scrunch dry your hair. there wouldn’t be time for you to style it so you settled with slapping on some product to help the curls air dry nicely.

you annoyingly slap on some make up, quick foundation + concealer, some liquid blush and red lip tint. you didn’t need any mascara since your eyelash extensions were still pretty new and full. Aelin had the worst habit of inviting you out last minute. checking the clock on the counter you only had 5 minutes before aelin would come down, late as her libra ass may be she was always punctual when it came to a good time.

the cold air of the dorm room greeted you as you left the warm cloud of the bathroom behind. your hair was still a little damp so you took the towel off your body to dry it a bit more, thanking the gods you were able to get a dorm room to yourself giving you the freedom to wander around the small space nude all you wanted.

“oh shit-” that voice. you whirled around to see the ghost from earlier coming out of the bathroom you were just in. he held his hands up to cover his eyes.

“not again!” you groaned throwing your phone at him and wrapping the towel around tightly around yourself. “what are you doing here again! no one said this room was haunted! they’re suppose to disclose that shit!”

He rubbed his arm were the phone hit, “what do you mean haunted?! I’m not a ghost, you are!!”

you crossed the small distance to him. if you make skin to skin contact he will disappear, just make him disappear like the other ghosts. he backed into the wall at your sudden and determined advancement.

“go away!” you shouted as you slapped him, your hand making contacted with his cheek his eyes widening.

but he didn’t. he didn’t disappear.

you both stared at each other in shock.

a knock at the door made you both snap out of your daze.

you gathered yourself pushing the ghost-not-ghost-guy into the corner enough for you to open your bedroom door.

“aelin!!” you greeted nervously, your friend looking as good as ever with her gold dress, dark smokey eyes and pin straight blonde hair. she looked you up from head to toe, eyes squinting in suspicion.

“am i interrupting something?” she asked. crap, you forgot you were still in a towel.

“actually,” you cleared your throat, “I’m not feeling too well, sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I thought a shower would make me feel better but i feel worse so just go on without me. just text me if you need a ride or something,”

aelin lingered a bit trying to feel out what you were trying to hide, but resorted to taking your word for it, “okay no worries! i’m sure i’ll be fine, Hana is going too so don’t worry about my drunk ass!”

she laughed giving you a wink before skipping down the hallway to Hana’s room calling over her shoulder, “work on your lies! you still suck!”

rolling your eyes you shut the door and ended up face to face with the hot ghost again who was still rubbing his cheek.

“my name is han jisung, so stop calling me ghost.”

this was going to be a long night.

[smolnarwhalwrites]

Heirloom Whumpee - Part 11

Link to original prompt and part 1. Link to AO3.

TW: Whump. Mention of implied non-con.

<< Part 10 --- Part 12 >>

Damien found Tobias in a dreadful state. He was slumped over, his arms bound to the wall behind him. His wings had been forced apart, the muzzle pressed across his face once more. He was completely nude. Blood dripped down his skin, staining his pale hair. He wasn't conscious, although that position couldn't have been comfortable.

Damien was nervous to approach, unsure of how the slave would react to seeing him. He crossed the room slowly and unbound Tobias, laying him carefully on the tile floor. Damien removed his jacket and placed it over his hips, concealing his nudity.

There was so much blood.

Jagged wounds carved through his skin on his abdomen and back. His wrists and arms had rubbed raw where the chains had held him, blood caked on his torn skin. He had a split lip and a patchwork of bruises on his forearms and thighs. The muzzle had left a red stripe across his face where it had broken the skin.

Damien supported Tobias' head in his lap, appalled by the damage that had been done to him. If it hadn't been for the faint rise and fall of his chest, the prince would have thought him dead. No mere mortal would have been able to survive that much damage.

It was a while before Tobias awoke, his indigo eyes flicking open. The fear in them shook Damien to his core.

Tobias didn't move, but his entire body stiffened. He didn't make a sound, staying completely still.

"Hey," Damien murmured. "Relax, it's only me."

Tobias took a deep breath and slowly relaxed. Damien ran his fingers gently through his hair, avoiding the spots where blood had dried and caked. He would bring some warm water and rags down in a bit, he decided.

They sat still and silent for a long time, the winged slave melting beneath his touch. After a while, Damien sighed, "I'm sorry for hurting you, Tobias."

Tobias didn't respond.

"I didn't want to, but I had to."

Damien wished he could explain himself, justify his actions. He wanted to tell Tobias that it was because he was protecting him. If he hadn't hurt Tobias, then his father would have. And if Damien showed lack of resolve, then his father might make arrangements for Julian to inherit Tobias instead. He wanted to believe that those were his reasons for doing it.

But the truth was so much uglier.

He was scared. Scared for his younger sister, scared for Tobias, but mostly, scared for himself. He was a coward and he knew it.

He was ashamed of his fear. He shouldn't have been afraid for himself. Tobias had had it a lot worse for a lot longer. So why had he still hurt him?

"It's okay," Tobias told him softly. His voice was barely audible, a rough rasp in the back of his throat. "I understand."

Equal parts shame and relief washed over Damien at those words. He couldn't imagine why Tobias would forgive him after everything that happened, but he was grateful.

"Here, sit up," he requested gently. The slave complied, pushing his body up. Pain flashed across his face, but then it was gone. Damien got to his feet, "I'll be right back."

The prince left and returned with a bowl of warm water, some rags, some bandages, and a pair of trousers. Tobias was right where he's left him, leaning against the wall with only the prince's jacket covering his body.

Something about the way he was looking at the prince hit Damien right in the chest. If it hadn't been for the blood and grime, Tobias would have been attractive. The unsightly scars and protruding ribs made Damien mourn the slave's rough life, but underneath it all was a person who the prince had begun to care about more than he'd realized. And the depth of that affection ran deeper than Damien had expected.

He shoved the feelings away almost violently. Even if Tobias ever did feel the same way, it couldn't happen. Damien would find a way to free Tobias and he would leave.

Damien handed the trousers to the slave, turning his back to give him privacy while he changed. Once he'd dressed, they sat down on the cold tile floor and the prince washed away the blood as gently as he could, bandaging the wounds as he went.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Tobias murmured as the prince finished up. "Where did you learn to dress wounds?"

"I had a lot of practice when I was training Destiny."

"Your bed slave?"

Damien met Tobias' indigo gaze as he nodded, attempting to gauge his reaction.

"You have only one?"

Damien snorted, "Yes, and she's hardly a bed slave at all. She's more of a friend."

Tobias frowned, "Then why keep her?"

"Because my father wouldn't let me set her free."

Tobias considered this for a long moment, his expression difficult to read.

Damien scooted back against the wall, stretching out his legs and patting his thighs, "Come here."

Tobias' cheeks flushed slightly, but he put his head in Damien's lap again. The prince played with his white locks. They were surprisingly soft, especially now that they were free of blood. When the prince pressed his palm gently against Tobias' cheek, he leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut.

Damien tried not to think too hard about it, but the action sent his heart hammering in his chest.

"Destiny isn't unattractive," Damien explained. "But after what I did while I was training her… I never wanted to do that to anyone again. She and I had a bumpy start, but we are friends now. I wouldn't ruin that by taking her to bed."

They sat in silence for a long time after that. Tobias fell asleep in Damien's lap. The prince was careful not to wake him when he left the room.

<< Part 10 --- Part 12 >>

Leave me a comment!

[tarralin]

Games

Fox Hunt, Chapter Twelve

(Board gifted by @under-sengoku-skies)

TW: adult themes, mentions of combat/death, nudity, mild profanity

Thank you @xathia-89 @tsundere-mitsuhide @ikemenfics @mmscum for beta/proofing and helping me along with this chapter!

~☆~

The kimono crafter had a variety of shimmering sheer fabrics that fit her needs exactly. Her daily layers of fabric didn't allow for much improvisation but a lowered neck collar would allow the perfect peek-a-boo for her Sengoku edition of lingerie. And since Mitsuhide had effectively declared war, she had no qualms about digging out the hair elastics from her pack that had called the darkest part of the closet home since her arrival in Azuchi. Once her hair was secured in a ponytail-- and elastics concealed by several ribbons-- it was time to set out for war.

Daily duties as Chatelaine always started with checking in on the caretakers and rearranging workloads when needed in case of a servant’s absence. Thankfully, those were almost nonexistent since the attack. Hideyoshi had been in charge of the delivery schedules during recovery while Masa took over the renovation plans as best as he could without understanding any of her personal notes in written English. Hideyoshi was not thrilled with her being back at work so soon and less enthused about her wardrobe alterations, even if he would never say so aloud.

“It’s really no trouble for me,” Hideyoshi assured as he attempted to keep the reports from her. “I can handle these.”

“So can I!” When the pleads went unheard, she switched tactics. Rolling her shoulders and fluffing her collar to show just the teeniest more skin. “Well then, if everyone really does have everything under control, I guess I'll just take a stroll through town.”

“Town?” Color drained from his face as he froze in his stance, his eyes the only sign of life as they scanned across her appearance. “Would you like my haori?”

“Nah, I think some more sun would be good for my healing while I'm about. Or I could accompany Nobunaga and Ieyasu on their troop inspection...”

She was just turning toward the castle gate when his rushed footsteps stopped at her elbow. “Actually, that reminds me, I'm supposed to be with them on inspection today. Would you mind handling the incoming deliveries, Princess?”

Victory! Finally, something other than the same housework for the last few days. “It would be my pleasure, Hideyoshi.”

Her skin prickled with a familiar sensation as she trotted back to the farmer waiting to finish the transaction.  Mitsuhide had been in council with Nobunaga late into the night after his return yesterday, and there had been no sign of him that morning so far, but it was definitely his gaze she felt now. Her eyes were on double duty as they inspected the produce before her while roaming the courtyard for any flash of white. Hiding in the blind spots, huh?

Two more deliveries were scheduled that day but, through it all, the soft weight of his watchful gaze remained; no doubt waiting for an opportunity to catch her off guard. As soon as the last cart rolled away from the castle, she started down the path away from the one her gut told her he was most likely lurking.

Good luck hunting.

~*~

She knew Mitsuhide would seek her out early in the day. She was the victor in yesterday's game of chase, having successfully evaded his pursuit all over town and castle until evening. That was bound to push even his patience to its breaking point.

“Morning, Chatelaine.”

She had not expected the near heart attack awaiting her upon opening the door. The start nearly sent the tea in her hands dashing to the floor. One point to the kitsune to tie the score.

“Mitsuhide,” she greeted dryly. “I doubt you're here to wish me a good start to a busy day?”

“Don't think it's slipped my mind that you haven't given me that answer you promised.”

“We've both been rather occupied lately, in case you haven't noticed.” She made sure to purr her words over his ear as she brushed past his shoulder. And because I'm feeling extra dramatic… hair flip in your face!

She hadn't made it two steps before his sharp intake of air sent shivers to her toes. In the next instant, his fingers locked like a vise grip around her wrist and pulled her to the dark alcove leading to a seldom-used storage room. He made a show of pinning her wrist to the wall but left her enough room to twist out of his grasp if she wished.

She didn't.

“You play a dangerous game, Little Mouse.”

“Tis only the game we've played these last few days. And I've seen no sign of danger yet.”

He laughed openly at that and it took everything in her not to melt under such an attack. “Do you not consider this dangerous then?”

“Some goals take a little danger.”

Citrine orbs narrowed upon her before he pushed off the wall faster than he had pinned her there, lips tilting back to his usual casual smirk. “Nobunaga has asked me to finally question you on your previous… employment, now that you're feeling better.”

Really, Mitsuhide? You're going to try aversion? On me?

“Perfect! I happen to be finishing up my duties now and will be free for the rest of the evening. I had planned to turn in early, so you know where I'll be. Then we can finish this conversation as well.”

If he was annoyed in any way by her easy agreement, he showed none of it. Simply bowed in response and continued down the hall as if he hadn't just veered from his path.

With a smirk of her own, she continued onto her usual routine while planning her next move.

~*~

The moon had been shining for several hours by the time Mitsuhide stood outside her door. He never stated he would meet with her tonight, never actually planned to. This was supposed to be his move in the little game that had spanned the last few days. She was the one who should be coming to him now. What was he doing here?

Nevertheless, her door is where he found himself after his work kept him in the dungeons late again. What if the Harpy was already asleep? Buddha knew she needed her rest. He rapped softly upon the frame, but it may as well have been a bell alerting of an enemy invasion in the dead of night.

“Come in.”

Oh, waiting up for me, Harpy? You shouldn't have.

“I was starting to think you had forgotten about me.”

The greeting he received from the woman bundled in her futon held no trace of fatigue despite the hour. “With your sunny personality? I wouldn't dream of it.”

A snort in response as she rolled her eyes. “Well, have a seat. I'm eager to hear what it is Nobu wishes to learn that he couldn't ask me himself.”

“Oh, the usual, my dear. What you did before coming into his employ, how you possess the skills you do. Not to mention exactly how it was you ended up so conveniently at the temple that night.”

The Harpy remained a portrait of calm for her part, allowing neither voice nor eyes to betray the workings of her mind as he stared down into those ocean blue depths of hers. She’s proven to be exemplary in many other ways, why not in this as well?

“So this is an interrogation.” There was no question in her words now as she cautiously pulled the bulk of her hair over one shoulder.

Ah, there’s the nervous tick.

“Of course not, dear Chatelaine, just a lovely chat between comrades.”

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling once more before leveling them back to him. “Every time you call me that, it sounds like there's something else you want to use. What is it you really wish to call me?”

I'd like to call you mine... No. No, stop that. The last thing he needed was the distraction she tried to levy upon him. Clearing his head, he pulled the conversation back to the matter at hand. “We can't escape the unpleasantries with distractions this time, my dear.”

“Oh, alright,” she sighed in resignation and--

Seven Hells, Harpy! Mitsuhide averted his gaze to the floor as her blanket fluttered to the ground as she stood, revealing the woman wore nothing but her own skin to bed!

“Allow me a moment to dress- oh! How rude of me… Mitsuhide would you like some tea? I brewed a fresh pot not long ago.”

Oh? Trying to unsettle me, are you? Try again little Harpy. “Tea sounds lovely.”

He could hear the clatter of cups and tried not to imagine what the moonlight was doing to that porcelain skin. The trickle of the tea into cups meant he was not picturing those dark waves of hair being tossed over that defiant shoulder-- no, not him. And he most certainly was not envisioning the ripples that movement would have caused across that supple expanse of--

“Here we are,” she purred, plopping herself onto the same spot-- the same damned spot!-- he had fixed his gaze. Face! Focus on her face! The trek to her eyes proved to be sweet torture as-- again-- his once companionable shadows turned traitorous. Slivers of darkness danced lovingly across her collarbone in the places it finally conceded to moonbeams. Oh, how he wanted to toss away that tray and-

Dangerous territory, keep your focus! Damn it, Harpy! Why are you only now crossing your legs?!

“Oh, my dear Kitsune, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re blushing.”

“W-well,” words seemed to lodge in his throat on the way up. Did she really have to use that moniker in such a manner? “It’s a good thing you know better then.”

Tense silence filled the distance between them as he claimed his cup from the tray. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why he was so disturbed. He had taken lovers in the past. He had even interrogated previous female spies under similar circumstances. The fastest course to the truth was through humiliation and nakedness seemed to do the trick usually. But, of course, the usual wouldn’t do for his Har—

No. No. Stop that. She’s not my anything.

“So…?”

“Hmm?” Did I miss a question?

“I thought I was being interrogated.”

Ah, that’s right. “As I said earlier, we’re just having a friendly chat.”

“Are we?”

“Yes.”

“Funny… you don’t seem very chatty right now. Though, you do seem to be in quite the friendly mood.” The pointed glance to his hakama only seemed to inflame him even more and he really needed to change his seating position to alleviate the tightening of his waistband, but the devilish curl to her lips solicited a low growl from him.

“What game are you playing here?”

“As I said earlier, it's the same one we’ve been playing these past several days, dear Kitsune, nothing has changed. Although, I do find it quite adorable you haven’t realized your true role.”

“What role?”

The sultry chuckle reverberating from her throat caused several pieces of him to clench in such desperate demand that he nearly doubled over to his knees right then. The Harpy seemed to be very aware of that fact as she leaned forward onto her own knees in a show of reaching for her own cup. “It wouldn’t be nearly as fun if I told you, now would it?”

Mitsuhide was on his feet and back in the hallway before he could even register the movement. Thank Buddha his reflexes were working, gods knew his brain wasn't.

The Harpy's cackling flowed from the room. “We'll chat some other time then?”

Mitsuhide didn't answer, only marched back to the dungeons in a sudden need to burn off the frustration of a failed interrogation.

~*~

The sun was setting when she perched upon the desk's edge to await her kitsune's arrival, grinning as she thought back to that morning.

Mitsuhide had been propped against the frame when she slid her door open.

“Ah, our lovely Chatelaine finally rises. Rest well?”

“Kitsune, you know I rise with the sun. And, yes, I think I slept quite well. Did you?”

“I had other matters to attend to.”

“So that's a ‘no’.” It was horrible of her-- she knew that-- but she couldn't help the small feeling of pride that swelled within her at the success of her plan.

His eyes were the same molten amber she remembered from the party weeks ago. “As much as I enjoy chasing a vexing little mouse, it is beyond time we have that conversation.”

She made no attempt to hide the giggles that bubbled as she continued down the end of the hall, preparing to deliver her final blow for the morning. “I really, really do find that adorable about you.”

He scoffed, just as any man she ever used the term on did. “And, pray tell, what is that?”

She paused at the end of the hall, turning slowly to ensure he saw her smirk fully when she spoke next. “You still think you're the cat.”

She thought that would have been the end of their interactions for the day, but then Nobu called her for a missive delivery just as the afternoon turned to evening. He didn't care for an immediate answer but still dictated her to watch the recipient read the letter, after which he instructed her to take the rest of the evening off. The timing of the task was more than perfect for a final surprise attack.

Mitsuhide's manor came into view just as town building shadows began to grow and blur together in the early evening sun. She slipped through the halls to his room and office easily without being spotted and got to work on her clothing. Stripping away the layers of the traditional garb, she stuffed the discarded garments into the pouch she carried and tugged the newest sheer fabric swatch into place. The sparkling blue transparent lining was the only pop of color under the plain white sleeping robe meticulously draped low across her shoulders.

The sun was almost set when the familiar click of his sandals on the floorboards echoed through the halls. She gulped down a quick sip of sake from the carafe she brought before pulling the bulk of her hair over one shoulder for good measure.

The surprised blink of his eyes alone was well worth the effort she put into the evening already. And is that a dry gulp I see you trying to hide?

“It appears a mouse has slipped past my attendants.” He made sure the door was properly latched before fully facing her, focusing intently above her neckline she noticed. “What brings you here in such a fashion?”

She lifted the letter up for his inspection in one hand while pouring two cups of sake with the other. “Nobu said it was urgent for you to see this. As for the fashion, well… one should always dress appropriately for battle, right?”

His chuckle lacked genuine humor as he paced to his desk cushion, accepting both letter and sake from her. “Now you speak of battle? Whatever happened to your technique of evasion and distraction these last few days? Almost makes me think you are unsure of what you want, Little Mouse.”

“Oh, if it were only that simple… No, my dear kitsune, I know what I want but I also know what I can and can't do.” She pushed from the desk to face him fully. His head tilted slightly as he waited for her to continue but his eyes were thin slits and his jaw ticked as he braced himself. After a slow inhale to steel her nerves, she conjured the words that had wreaked havoc within her since making the decision. “And I can't stay.”

There. It was out. Many say the truth hurts, but painful truths had always been a way of life and never bothered her. She'd always known Father only saw her as another weapon in his collection. Knew there was no point in planning a future outside of war and blood, with no family of her own because of it. Hell, after childhood, she never wanted one. Didn't want to risk passing on the same quiet insanity of her eldest brother or Father's cold cruelty onto a new generation.

This truth twisted and tore her insides as a shark would its prey.

This land had invaded her soul to conjure forgotten dreams she hadn't allowed herself to dally in since she was a child. Visions of a future where kimonos replaced kevlar, filled with sunsets and laughter instead of bloodshed or gunfire. But...

This was the past. There was no future here.

Mitsuhide planted his sake cup on the desktop with a thud before rising to his feet and bracing his hands on the window banister. “Why?”

She paced around the desk as softly as she spoke. “This has always been a temporary means of survival for me. I can acclimate and blend in when needed, but I can't live like this permanently. I can't keep holding my tongue, waiting on the sidelines as an errand girl. I don't belong here, Kitsune… no matter how much I wish I could.”

He pulled his gaze to hers as she propped herself as close as she dared, a sad but accepting smile decorating his features. “So, we remain only companions then.”

Her eyes darted to her feet at that. “If that's your choice, then--”

“My choice?”

She failed to hide her smirk at the genuine surprise in his voice. “I’m not so selfish as to make your decisions for you, nor noble enough to deny my own desires. Time is becoming a luxury that I don’t intend to waste on games or fantasies any longer. So whether I remain a companion or become something more, the choice is yours. As long as you promise to let me go, I don't see why we can't make the most of what little time we have left.”

“You've already planned your departure, then?”

A slow nod as she took his hand gently in hers. “I'm… to join a caravan in Kyoto that will take me home.”

“When?”

“Six weeks.”

His grip tightened as his forehead came to rest on hers. “If you truly wish to leave then I will not restrain you when the time comes, but don't think I won't do everything in my power to convince you otherwise.”

Her arms looped over his shoulders as his encircled her waist, closing the remaining distance between them while she grinned against his lips. “I wouldn't expect anything less.”

~*~

Mitsuhide couldn't remember the last time he slept so peacefully. He still woke hours before the sun, but never in recent memory had he awakened feeling so rested and ready to tackle his tasks.

The tasks would still wait, however.

If he thought his sleep was peaceful, hers would have to be a vision of perfection as she curled around a pillow with a soft smile and brow free of worry. The position allowed him to see the entirety of those peculiar prints that covered her back. In two opposing corners, there were depictions that matched her ‘dog tags’. Strange artwork of what appeared to be a type of head and foot armor claimed the other hip while a distinctive battle flag decorated the back of her right shoulder.

His fingers traced the print of her language as she would. When making notes to herself, her hand took a horizontal path beginning on the left. Most lines were broken into three parts with a sporadic few split in two or four segments.

She stirred under his ministrations and a contented sigh left her while she turned flat to her stomach, snuggling closer to his touch.

“They're names,” she whispered softly as not to disturb the quiet of the morning. He continued his trail over the markings as she explained. “That one is my brother Mark, who was more a father to me than our own. Macon is the one beside it, just like the dog tags I carry. The rest are the names of everyone who paid the ultimate price due to my ego.”

His hand froze in place over a printed line. “I don’t--”

“I was the youngest commander ever awarded the duty. Then I became the first female to lead a special operations task force. My head kept growing to where I ignored all instinct and chased the glory of high-risk missions. But all pride has a fall… many good men and women lost their lives because I failed them as a leader.” She gathered several loose tendrils of hair into a twist to reveal the entirety of print and artwork that covered her from shoulders to the end of her spine. “So, now, I carry their names with me always. I hope to lead a life that makes me worthy of their sacrifice since I was denied my place with them.”

She turned her eyes to the mattress as her hair tumbled back around her, but he caught the darkness stirring in those ocean depths. The same as Masamune when a fit arises. The same as Nobunaga after losing a regiment in battle. Oftentimes, Mitsuhide feared silently that his friends would fade to that darkness until their resolve won over the internal struggles and they discovered their own coping methods. Nobunaga with his vision of unity and Masamune with his thrill-seeking. His little Harpy’s methods seemed to lie in her need to always work. His questioning of the maids revealed she had remained in bed for only two more mornings after his departure before she was back to her usual routine.

But he could see there were still marks on her soul that no amount of work would heal.

His fingers continued their trails but with a new reverence for the meaning of the foreign language. His fingers graced over each name, each scar, each marking a new piece of the puzzle he thoroughly enjoyed solving. A shiver reverberated through her as he curled his tips to drag his knuckles back to her shoulders where he traded those for his lips at the nape of her neck, her sigh a whisper of Heaven itself.

“It was not your time, Dear One.” He laced his fingers through hers as he rose over her, his lips roaming up her neck and to the base of her jaw.

“It should have been. My soldiers… my brothers--”

“Ah, yes, what would they have to say if they heard this speech, hmm?”

Her eyes narrowed as she twisted to meet his gaze. “That's a low blow, even for you.”

“None lower than you inflict needlessly on yourself, Dearest.” He rested his forehead against hers, forcing her to hold eye contact. “I don't think I possess adequate enough terms to describe how utterly helpless I felt while you laid in that bed, assaulted by forces I couldn't touch. I may not be able to fight those enemies for you when you slumber but, if you let me, I can while you wake. Please, tell me, what haunts you so?”

For the first time in her residence, he caught a shimmer from the corner of her eye before she blinked it away. She steeled herself and turned fully in his arms to face him. “The peak of my arrogance led me to set up camp close to known enemy territory, but it was either that or extend our mission by days we couldn’t afford. Our enemy at the time wasn’t known for night raids and I thought we'd be safe...

“As soon as I heard the first screams, I knew it was a slaughter. Macon and Mark were attending the mission under my command, they found me at the beginning of the massacre and together we managed to kill off the first wave of raiders. We could have fled then, but RM and JR were still in camp somewhere. Macon wanted Mark and I to leave while he fought but no way in Hell were we going to let him go alone...

“We ran out of ammo for our guns quickly and had to rely on our knives. Three of us against dozens more coming in? I’m actually surprised we lasted as long as we did before being cornered.” A shudder tore through her, grip clenching in his as the memories fell from her.

“Macon fell first. We didn't see or hear the next fire team approach and he was shot down. Then Mark jumped in front of me, taking all the deadly hits for himself.” She paused again, choking down a sob that threatened to escape. He pulled her to him, holding her head on his shoulder when she forced herself to continue. “He was gone before I caught him in my arms— and God how I wanted to join them both. I managed to snatch a gun off an enemy but I was knocked out before I could pull the trigger on myself.

“I lost track of the days I was held captive in their camp until a key holder made the mistake of dropping the key to my chains and enabled my escape.

“I refused task force and troop leadership after that, choosing reconnaissance and asset retrieval instead. It was a good fit as it allowed me to stay active while still making a difference in the world. RM joined me but JR left the military completely and became a narcotics officer. Keeping busy helps keep the nightmares at bay.” She finished on a sigh, her face still buried in his shoulder.

Mitsuhide remained silent as he processed this new revelation, simply brushing his fingers through her hair. He had guessed she was a warrior, yes, but not a commander. Did it not make the most sense? All the rolled eyes at an imbecilic suggestion of troop leaders who tried to worm their way into Nobunaga's good graces. The numerous times he caught her biting back retorts during war councils… Thinking back to her first days, he scolded himself for not realizing it earlier. She took the reins of the castle so easily, was far too comfortable and experienced at instructing the firing team. That was the strength and power he noticed even then. And now, part of the source of that occasional dark cloud about her had been revealed.

Mitsuhide glanced to the window. Beyond the screen, the first signs of dawn were coloring the sky. Damn. There wouldn't be enough time to uncover any more of her past this morning.

Glancing back, her eyes held an edge of fear as she watched him work through his inner musings. A visible vulnerability he knew only he was allowed to see, one that would have surely brought him to his knees had he been standing. With a mind of their own, his lips landed on the top of her head while one hand tilted her chin toward him so he could continue to trail soft kisses over her features with a tenderness even he was unaware he possessed. Her hands tangled in his hair as his forehead rested on hers to gaze in her eyes once more. The dark, churning waves of fear were gone, replaced with glimmering waters of a perfect summer's day that he wished to spend eternity basking in.

He sighed as he brushed several stray strands from her face. “You'll be needed at the castle soon.”

Her groan of displeasure reflected his own feelings perfectly as she stared up to him pleadingly, fingers roaming his jaw and cheekbone as if she were trying to memorize them. “What if I call in sick? You can say I relapsed, opened my wound during questioning and you're caring for me.”

He chuckled. “I don't know what all that means but it sounds very tempting. However, the mother hen would come investigating your disappearance himself. I can almost see the horror on his face at my idea of ‘care’.”

He nipped at the sensitive skin behind the ear and her unrestrained laughter was another gift from Heaven. He cursed himself as he wrapped his arms around her once more. How could he have agreed to such ridiculous terms of surrender so easily? It would be excruciatingly painful to let her go when even the shadows sought her radiance willingly.

“Oh, Nobu's letter!” The sudden topic change pulled him from his musings as she reached a hand to the fallen and forgotten missive. “I'm to watch you read it.”

“Ah, yes, a supposedly urgent matter too, wasn't it?” He flashed his usual smirk her way as he peeled the paper open completely and scanned the words before shock wiped the expression from his features.

“What is it?” Her open worry for it's contents reminded him she knew nothing of Nobunaga's own scheming nature.

“There's no need to ‘call in sick’, my dear. It seems we've both lost our game to a third player.” The deep swell of laughter tumbling from him only seemed to worry her more. Handing the message over for her perusal, he knew the moment the she came to the same realization with a flutter of blinks and her own bark of incredulous laughter as she tossed it aside. Then those clear ocean orbs glittered like jewels caught in the sun as she pulled him to her.

~*~

Mitsuhide,

This will be the last opportunity I arrange for you two. Don't waste it.

And take tomorrow for yourselves.

~☆~