#what are they going to do. fire him? torture him? shoot him?

[nanomooselet]

My Brother's Keeper (II)

As in every version of the story, Vash only plays the fool. He is not one. Oblivious, hapless and harmless are always masks he wears. From beneath them, he susses out what Wolfwood is pretty much immediately.

Not that it was hard. The man's barely trying. And really, three days into the trip to July and a guy carrying a cross from Nai's freaky book suddenly shows up, walks off the trailer slamming into him, tries to separate Vash from the reporters, lectures him about killing to survive, makes just-kidding-or-am-I remarks about being an assassin, then finally reveals he's actually carrying an absurdly overpowered laser-cross-gun before inviting himself along for their quote-unquote "protection". Nevertheless he sticks almost exclusively by Vash, who is by a very, very, very wide margin the least in need of protection among them.

Just in this scene his lighter has the Eye of Michael sigil on it and judging by the heap of butts, after picking tunnels for everyone to search (including one for him) he stayed right where he was and chain-smoked until Vash returned. Not too long afterwards Roberto abruptly and mysteriously vanishes, and Wolfwood tries to convince Vash the reporters must be dead. …Yeah, I guess that counts as subtle for someone who named himself Millions Knives, but c'mon. Knives thinks his stupid brother won't come to his party unless he's dragged there. Vash has a chaperone now whether he wants one or not.

If I were in Vash's situation I'd be quite annoyed. For fuck's sake, he's an adult. He's been one for over a century. He doesn't need a damn babysitter. And what kind of idiot sends an assassin to do that job?

Except... Knives somehow made the perfect choice in Nick.

Wolfwood's cynical rhetoric has no effect whatsoever on Vash's ideals and he's hardly any more effective at keeping Vash safe. Simply because Wolfwood's there, Zazie and Legato between them find excuses to endanger Vash, which is par for the course when Knives tries to "protect" him. No, what makes Wolfwood the best man for the job is something that may well have happened in spite of Knives, and it's this.

Regardless of his real age, at heart Nick is a kind but wounded boy who's only trying to protect his beloved family, especially his crybaby brother. He kills because he doesn't think there's any choice - he's ultimately a victim of indifferent circumstance. In a way, an innocent.

In Wolfwood Knives gave Vash everything Vash wants to believe is true of Knives himself. With all his heart, Vash wants his brother's cruelty and manipulation to be just... just some wildly misguided but sincere attempt to save the Plants, because he doesn't believe there can be any other way - but he'd be open to an alternative. Nai really does love Vash, just like Vash truly does love Nai, and Rem loved them both. His brother can't be a monster.

If he's smart and kind and strong and brave enough, if he can just overcome his fear, Vash is sure that he can help. He'd convince Nai that humanity doesn't have to die, it's just ignorance and crashing on this barren planet that made everyone's hearts so barren while they struggled to survive. They, the twins, can take responsibility for what they did and help Plants and humans to help each other. If they could do it together...

He could love his brother without it being so fucking painful. They could love each other without every encounter they have leaving more helpless people dead, more scars on Vash. From all that he's lost, he could salvage this one thing. He'd be so content with that. He's survived on much less. He ran before, but he'd stay this time, and for good. Neither of them would be alone. They'd have time.

On top of that, Vash needs to help people - it's what keeps him alive, and it makes him happy. Wolfwood needs someone who'll treat him like he's a person rather than a weapon, to remember that he doesn't have to be the Punisher. That's what keeps him alive. There's still a place for him in the world, even for what he's become.

If Vash can convince Wolfwood, his brother's agent, to accept that place... if he can help him... maybe he could do the same for his brother. Just as Luida did for Vash himself.

And Wolfwood does a damn good job playing the part without even knowing that's what he's doing. Well, he knows he's protecting Vash, but all it's in how he does it.

JPN: You only get one life. You have to fight for it, no matter who you hurt in the process. There's no other way to survive.

ENG: You only get one life, y'know? Self-sacrifice might satisfy the ego, but don't throw your life away. Survival's everything.

This is advice you'd get from a brother. If one must die so another can live, I'd rather you live - so make sure of it. Dumbass. (It's also the final request Rem made of the twins: I want you two to survive./Try your very best to survive for me.) Maybe phrased bluntly and a bit abrasive, but not… insane. No weird sermons about crusades and fire from the sky, no verbal abuse or put-downs, no blame, no hurt. What's more, while Wolfwood does try to convince Vash to leave the reporters for dead, when Vash goes back for them Wolfwood bitches all the way but goes with him. He slices open the Grand Worm for them (though I think also to annoy Zazie). And after that, he clinches it by, of all things, trying to get Meryl to eat bugs.

You're not going so survive like that. Come on!/Are any of you freaks interested in survival? Come on! Open wide!

(This is totally irrelevant, but their stupid bickering in the background in the English dub is hilarious. Nick straight up says "I'm helping!" and adds something about how short Meryl is. Meryl starts protesting that she's a "perfectly average-sized woman." I bet they were unbearable in the truck.)

Nai was always dismissive of, if not outright nasty about, Vash enjoying food he doesn't need. Nick gets it. Consuming food gives physical nourishment, and Plants don't need that to survive. But it's also togetherness, shared joy. Those are things both Plants and humans need, so it's not a 'waste'. We're more than merely serving a material purpose or function, even one that's self-declared. Even as Plants.

No matter how heavy a cross you carry, you still deserve to eat. You still deserve to laugh./Heh, no matter how heavy the cross is you carry, you deserve food. And to laugh.

Vash needed to hear that, or something like it. It's the kind of thing Rem used to say, the kind of thing Luida told him. (It's about everyone getting a share.) Meryl, though she cares for him, doesn't yet know how to break through Vash's rumination.

Nick's being a jackass older brother by happenstance, because he's letting down his guard. It's who he really is: kind of a silly kid who cares deeply about people and shows it by goofing off and pushing their buttons until they want to fucking kill him. But Vash would so relieved to have a brother who's just annoying about how much he cares. Who still cares enough to listen to his opinions, and to compromise when they disagree; who doesn't loathe the person Vash is because it's not what he thinks Vash should be. So Vash eats what Wolfwood offers, despite Roberto's warnings, extending his trust. Wolfwoof takes that in the spirit it was intended, a little shocked. Despite himself (and despite Zazie), he and Vash are genuine friends from this moment onward.

Also Nick is having a ball bugging the shit out of Meryl. She's like three feet tall and so easy to piss off! Maybe if he tries hard enough he can make her head explode. Irritating the little sister mode: activate.

That doesn't mean everything's love and peace, though.

Wolfwood's work isn't over yet. I think he's relieved Vash extended his trust both because, despite himself, Nick likes this dude (and that must have been an interesting realisation to come to about his sadistic boss's fluffy wuffy cotton ball of a twin brother) and because it makes his job easier. But now he's emotionally invested. He shouldn't be. He can't be. Zazie reminded him why, can see it in [his] eyes. The last person who cared like this was Livio.

Again, Vash isn't stupid. He does care about Nick as a person, not a surrogate Nai, just as he cares about everyone; it's why he's so easy to love and so, so many people have come to love him. (Precious darling boy.) Nevertheless, there are gaps between what Vash needs from Nick and what Nick is capable of giving. And there's one huge glaring difference between Wolfwood and Knives.

That difference meant the hope Vash came to have about confronting Knives in July was misplaced. He just couldn't have known until it was too late.

Part I

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (A bet with Simon about wearing a vibrator secretly and not to come in public)

A bet with Simon brought you to the predicament now. Squeezing through the crowded station’s concourse with his hand around you waist, looking like a normal couple, but no one knows there’s a remote controlled vibrator—designed to stimulate your g spot and have a little curve hooked snuggly against your clit—buzzing freely inside you.

Don’t come in 10 minutes, then you can do anything to him, his words ignited the competitive fire inside you.

The weather is cold, allow you to excuse your flush with it, hide your face in the scarf slightly when your moans sneak their way out.

“Only 3 minutes passed, sweetheart.” He leans down to murmur as he lead you across the concourse, the sultry tone disguised within, only able to get noticed by you. You shoot daggers back at him, try not to drop to your knees whenever someone accidentally bump into you in this packed station, making your thighs shifted in the force and the vibrator digs further into the sweet spot.

You meet his eyes behind his disposal mask and black cap, and you know the bastard is laughing at you from the crinkles at the corner of his eyes.

Your eyes are glossy with the tears from the constant stimulation, trying to threaten him with those bunny eyes but failed adorably. He can tell you’re teetering on the edge, and he’s been enjoying your fluster too much, his trousers straining behind the cover of his long coat. How can he not when you look absolutely cute like this, stopping between of your steps to forbear the orgasm, arms holding with his tighten and press your cheek against his bicep to stifle the whimpers.

You let out a sigh of relief when he dials down the intensity, look up at him with a hint of disbelief. The vibrations keeps sending shivers down your spine, your legs are doing their best to stay straight, but it’s much better than they were seconds before. So you give his hand a squeeze, resume the walk across the massive concourse.

The walk is torturous, every steps is worsening the divine ache between your legs. You didn’t like how the vibrator rutting into your sensitive clit, your panties isn’t soaked with all the juices and you’re not clenching that tight cunny under the onslaught of pleasure. You brainwash yourself repeatedly, the vibrations never cease, and you’re dancing on the edge even after Simon turned it down a few notches earlier. One minute left, just one minute…

Of course it won’t be that easy, he just wants to prolong your pleasure and get the show go on as long as it could, before finally breaking you.

Just as you two almost reach the main entrance of the station, you almost tripped when he abruptly changes the intensity once again. Covering your mouth and fully cling onto him, you’re totally speechless when he leads you to stand aside in the station, pulling you into his arms and coos lowly.

“Come for me, love, let it out.” His hand patting soothingly when you bury your face into his chest, muffling all the cries as you get pushed over the edge, gushing in your panties and you know it’s definitely ruined by now.

A few people spare a glance at your way, curious about what just happened before going on their life. Yet you’re totally unaware of it, trying to quiet your whines and you keep tucking yourself in his arms.

Simon adjusted his coat, enough to engulf you in it, and he keeps crooning sweet nothings into your ears “You’re so beautiful, so gorgeous when you came in my arms, love.” His voice soothing you along with his palm rubbing on your back, hiding you in his coat and shield you from the world, even though he’s the one bringing you the luscious torment.

Supported by his strong hands so you won’t fall to the ground with wobbly feet, you lift your head from his chest after your breaths slows down, and you manage not to punch him in the face when pat your head and remind you the truth.

“9 minutes 47 seconds, you didn’t make it to 10 minutes. what a shame.” Simon’s chest rumbles with the quiet laughters. You see the mischief in his rich brown eyes, and hell, he’s definitely thinking about how he will get you to do from losing the bet.

[highdramas]

okay hear me out… a jack abbott inspired by imgonnagetyouback… the angst? the lust? i fear you would eat this up

never not mine | dr. jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!resident!reader warnings: language, angst with a happy ending, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), reader slaps a man hehe (not jack), power imbalance (reader is a resident and jack is her attending), drug use (weed), sexual content (brief but there), jack absolutely grovels and it's a vibe word count: 3.2k summary: jack attempts to walk away. you attempt to reel him back in. it leaves you both raw and vulnerable. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. imgonnagetyouback, back to me by the marias, and honeymoon by lana all helped inspire this fic! i'm a little worried i wrote jack ooc, but then i remembered that man is a canonized yapper. this exists within the ring of fire universe, but that does not have to be read first. it is linked here if you would like to, though! i took some liberties with this so i apologize if it's not exactly how you imagined it! but i had a great time writing this! i hope you enjoy it <3 not proofread, apologies for errors!

you know exactly what it is that you’re doing. and if jack feels tortured– fine. let him. this is all his fault, anyway.

the whole time you’d been with him, whatever that even meant, you’ve felt this sense of… waiting for the other shoe to drop. you tried to tell yourself that you were crazy, that jack was good and honest and that he wasn’t going to get cold feet. that the fact that you were his resident and he was your attending didn’t bother him. that he wasn’t irrevocably haunted by demons from his past, a dead wife and an endless war that runs on a replay in his head, pain in a limb that he doesn’t even have anymore.

it’s not that you expect him to forget all of that. you just want him to be real with you.

and when he falls right into the trope, the trap that was laid by fate, you decide that you’re not going to be resentful. you’re just going to prove to him– and maybe yourself– that you’re not so easily forgotten. that you can’t be left.

it sounds both arrogant and pathetic when you think about it like that. but you don’t care. you’re going to get him back.

maybe it is cruel that you started flirting with donnie in front of him. maybe it’s evil, the way that when you all gather for your post-shift beer, it’s donnie’s bench that you settle at. when you meet abbot’s gaze from across the walkway, his eyes are always at a level of stony that make you a little bit nervous. but then you remember that he iced you out and you lift your chin up and turn your face back to donnie.

he’ll pick his poison, you decide.

when you enter lefty’s at 11pm after getting wind that the day shift– which was jack, conveniently, since he uttered the words this is a bad idea, kid. god, you want to shake his shoulders, you want to call him a coward and scream from the top of your lungs: do you need see how good it could be if you let it?

a delicate lilac top clings to your skin. you push your hair over your shoulder as santos crosses the bar to greet you with a big hug, laughter on her lips. “jesus christ, who are you trying to give a heart attack?”

your hand splays on her back and you find abbot looking at you from across the bar. you shrug your shoulders and pull back, pushing back pieces of santos’s hair. “i don’t know. maybe someone new?”

trinity’s eyebrows shoot up. “wow. spicy. i like it.”

you don’t know how much time passes. you feel a bit silly: overdressed, a beer in your hand, nothing on your mind except the man that you want to lure back in to you. your outfit is a siren song and all you can wonder is if abbot is a sailor who is as desperate as you’ve pinned him as.

if he’s as desperate as you are.

every time you look at him, he’s either already looking, or feels your gaze on him. there will be a beat of eye contact before you look away and laugh at something garcia said or engage, rapt, in a conversation with samira about the first date that she went on last week. suddenly, it’s been hours, and you’re closing out your tab when you feel a presence beside you.

it’s not the presence that you want. it’s one that’s unknown and makes you feel uncertain. it’s not abbot’s easy, calm, present demeanor beside you. the one that tells you don’t worry, i’m here, i got this. the one that washes over you like a delicious wave. the one that smells woody and warm and delicious. the man next to you is a little too clean cut, a little too polished–  he smells like laundry and looks like he’s never been through a bad thing in his life.

he takes a drink of the last of his beer. “i’ve been watching you all night.”

you didn’t notice. faintly, you think that if you were twenty three, this man next to you would have been the apple of your eye, instantly. you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off of him. but when you look at him and you see deep dimples and dark hair, all you see are dimples that are a little too deep, and hair that isn’t streaked with silver.

that pick up line strikes you as unimpressive. your finger tip circles your glass. “oh, am i supposed to say thank you?” you ask, but you manage what you try to play off as a coy smirk. absentmindedly, you look around, instinctively looking for jack. and not even because you want to see if he’s jealous. not because you want to see the look on his face, to feel that sick sense of satisfaction at the fact that you’re getting to him.

no. you want your friend. you want to give a bleak eye roll and make him smirk. you want to go back to him and say what a prick and carry on with your life. you want to go back to the normal that you’ve gotten used to– the one that, maybe, you took for granted.

if you can’t have jack as your whatever he was, you’d take him as your friend. any day.

but when your eyes scan the bar… he’s not there. the spot that he occupied next to robby is vacant. and all you’re left with is this sick sense of shame, embarrassment, and something else that you can’t quite articulate. longing, if someone put a gun to your head and forced you to put a name to it.

the man next to you says something. you don’t hear it. static rattles in your ears and suddenly all you want to do is go home, tear those lilac clothes off, wash your face, and cry. in bed.

and maybe smoke a joint on your patio, too.

he says something again. you, once again, don’t respond. you look at the bartender and answer their questions with one word answers. yes, you want to close. no, you don’t want a copy of your receipt.

“are you ignoring me, or are you just a stupid fucking bitch who can’t hear?”

at the level of shut down you’re at already, you don’t even care what he’s said. but he’s gotten the attention of the others. robby is already on his feet.

and abbot is walking down the hall from the restroom.

“i’m ignoring you,” you turn to him, spitting the words out, loud and clear. “but if calling me a stupid fucking bitch makes the rejection hurt less, knock yourself out.”

he screws his entire face up, and abbot is approaching quicker now, with that lethal anger on his face. robby isn’t far behind… or santos, either, for that matter.

“you are a stupid fucking bitch,” he says, taking a step closer to you, shrinking himself in size to be on your level. “and you’re not pretty enough to get away with an attitude like–”

abbot makes a move to lunge, and robby has to physically pull him back. the man lets out an ugly laugh and all you see is red, bright red. “oh, what’s your fuckin’ grandpa going to do?”

the crack that rings out when your palm hits his cheek could be heard around the world. it opens up a cacophony of mayhem– between you and him, the bartenders, abbot, robby, santos getting ready to throw in a punch of her own… but it all culminates with the lot of you being told to get the fuck out, this isn’t philly.

with your jaw set and your head held high, you are the first one to storm out of the bar. and maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the fact that a stranger just called you a bitch, but all you feel is an unsettled sort of anger.

you hear abbot say your name behind you.

you stop. the pittsburgh early spring still has a bite to it, especially when it’s nearing midnight. the wind makes your eyes sting, tears trailing down your cheeks. it’s the wind. it’s just the wind. “no,” you say lowly, pointing a finger in his direction. “fuck you.”

“fuck me?”

“yeah. fuck you.” you tug your jacket closer to yourself and wipe the tears away with the back of your hand. “you ignore me, you tell me this isn’t going to work, and then want to play protective… yeah. fuck you.” you go quiet, go to turn, but you can’t. you’re frozen in place. “no, it’s not even that. not really. i shouldn’t be mad at you. i should be mad at myself. i’ve been doing things, this whole time, trying to earn your affection back. trying to get you to see what you were missing, see why it was so silly to pretend that we’re not good. but… i’ve felt like shit every day, doing that. i’ve felt small.”

jack doesn’t say anything. robby has ushered all of your coworkers down the street and far away, bless him. when you assess jack’s face, there’s a myriad of things you see. you think you see regret. you know you see hurt. you want to believe you see love.

“and i don’t want to feel small,” you sniffle and wipe a fat, real tear away. “i don’t want to wear a cute outfit because you might see it. i don’t want to flirt with donnie to watch your knuckles go white. i want– i want to sit on your fucking couch. i want to watch some stupid show with you. i want to lay in bed and listen to the police scanner after sex. i want you to want me. and if you don’t, if this is all too much for you, then…” you look him up and down. the body you know intimately, the person you’d be with forever if he let you.

“then no hard feelings.”

you don’t give jack the opportunity to respond. maybe that’s its own special brand of self preservation. you turn, and you walk away from him, towards an empty apartment.

–

when you get home, you do exactly as you cited. you rid yourself of your clothes. you furiously wash your face and then go through the rest of your skin care. you roll yourself a joint, and you bring it out to your patio, and the small table, chair, and ashtray that sit out there.

your apartment isn’t as high up as jack’s. you live in an old building on the third floor, one of the world war two types, with the radiators and beautiful hardwood floors and all of the character in the world. in exchange, you get no dishwasher and a patio that probably isn’t up to city code.

lighting the joint with one hand, you take in a long, nice, inhale. you lean your head back against the wall. you grab your phone and put the marias on and let those big tears roll down your cheeks freely.

the low rumble of a truck pulling up gets your attention. you lift your head up and watch as the vehicle that you’d sat in countless times goes into park. you hear the door open. you watch jack round it, and his eyes are instantly drawn to your patio. he holds his hand up in a wave.

you flip him off.

the chuckle that gets out of him should infuriate you. but it doesn’t.

“yeah, i deserve that.”

“you’re a dick,” you reply, marijuana leaving you honest. you stand up and lean on the railing, looking down at him.

“i am.”

his hands are in his pockets and you can see a war going on in his mind, but then he starts talking. “i’m not good at this part. the… communication, part. i’m not good at this part at all.”

you raise your eyebrows. he continues. “when annie died, i was content to not be with anyone. ever again. a random fuck there and again, just to get it out of my system, sure. but i was content with not opening myself up to that. i always just thought… i thought i was already so fucked up, and since annie knew me before i was so fucked up. i told myself that she was the only one that was going to get it. get me.” he stares up at you. “now, i know that i was wrong in that. obviously.”

you give a slow nod of your head. “but i lived in that reality for so long. that i wasn’t going to be open to that again. and then we started hanging out, and at first, i was able to convince myself it was innocent. i’m your mentor. no lines would get blurred. and then, obviously, they did. but i told myself it was all casual. and when i told myself that, i felt like… yeah, i could do that. i could be good to someone in that capacity. but then,i felt greedy with you. i felt like i wasn’t going to be able to let myself walk away if i stayed any longer. so i forced myself. thought i was doing you a favor.” he rubs the back of his neck. “thought i was doing right by myself. like, the safest option. and then i talked to my therapist.”

you smirk. “the age old solution.”

“yeah, right?” he smirks back at you. “and i told him all of this, yesterday. and you know what he said?” he waits a beat. “he told me i’m a fucking idiot. and i responded, and said that i know i was. because deep down… deep down, i knew it was all bullshit. a defense mechanism.”

he walks closer and puts his hands on the railing of the first floor patio, staring right up at you, you staring down at him. “i should never have made you feel small. and all i want is to show you that i mean it.”

nodding your head slowly, you mull over his every word. you open and close your mouth a couple of times. “i want to tell you to fuck off,” you say honestly. “i want to think you’re just bullshitting me. but…” you meet his eyes. “that’s probably my defense mechanism.”

the quiet overtakes the two of you. all there is is the lull of traffic and the faint whistle of the wind. “it wasn’t about you,” you say. “i knew why you were pushing me away. i understood. i just wanted you to see why those things weren’t real. and i thought that i could control that. and then i just left myself feeling disappointed, and desperate, and messy.”

the two of you watch each other like feral cats, unblinking and unwavering. maybe that’s what you are.

“i’m sorry,” he says, voice softened. “i was a dick. and you were right.”

you nod your head. “come inside before you catch a cold.”

most of the time, you went over to his place. when he steps over the threshold into your apartment, you think that it feels good to have him in your space. to watch him set his shoes by the door, hang his coat up on the little rack. there’s this awkward sort of tension that simmers between the two of you. he must sense it, because he gives you a sideways look. “that wasn’t all i had to say.”

“yeah?” you ask with a playful smile, filling up a glass of water and taking a big gulp from it.

his hands pin you in at your kitchen counter. all of the air is sucked right out of the room. “you told me that you wanted me to want you. right?” you give a nod of your head. “i wanted to be face to face with you when i said this part.” he ghosts his fingertips over your cheeks. “i want every fucking part of you. your wild, messy parts included. especially, even.” his eyes darken a shade. “do you know how crazy you’ve made me? flirting with donnie, that purple you wore tonight?”

you roll your eyes, mostly at yourself. “that was sort of the plan.”

“it worked.” his thumbs brush your hipbones. “every day, i went home to an apartment that had you all over it. a coffee mug on the counter with a lipgloss mark. the blanket that you love and curl into almost every single night. your book on my coffee table. i felt stupid. i felt small, too. i felt like a coward. i was a coward. and i just–”

you raise up your hand, pressing it against his chest. not pressing him away, just… there. his brows furrow. you say, “you ramble when you’re nervous and when you want someone to feel better.” your hand slides up his chest. “i forgive you.”

the relief that washes over him is a visible, tangible thing. you feel it in the way he grips your hips as a result, the way his face falls into the crook of your neck. you close your eyes and run your hand through the silver streak you love so much. he pulls back and there’s a little tear shining in his eye. and he says three words that are simple but profound, that strike you where you stand. “i love you.” he nods. that steady, stable, self-assured version of himself is there again. “i know that now. i knew it then, too.”

you nod your head slowly. “i know you do,” you say, because you do, you really do. “and i love you too.”

those dimples shine at you. not too deep. just right. he pulls your body in flush with his and it’s like you melt away into nothing but a glowing ball of light. fuzzy and warm.

a switch is flipped. your hands go hungry and your lips find his. jack leads you to your bedroom. he lays you down and he spreads you out. he takes off each article of clothing, slowly. he lowers himself until his head is between your thighs and apologizes with his tongue, until you arch off your bed. he climbs up and he sinks inside of you in one satisfying motion. you’re all nails down his back and relentless eye contact, and you’re the kind of desperate and messy that you want to be. he’s just the same– his pace is consistent, deep, and each thrust tells you just how sorry he really is.

you finish with an explosion behind your eyes, and he tumbles over off that cliff after you. he rolls off of you and you lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling. your hand goes to rest on his chest. he takes it and presses a kiss to it before he raises, comes back with a damp cloth and cleans you up with care. love. he leans down and presses a kiss to your lips, tender and right.

he starts messing with the covers, brows all screwed up. “what could you possibly be looking for right now?” you ask, chest still heaving.

“this,” he says, locating his phone. he stares down at it until he puts it between you. a faint static emits from it.

“what the hell is–”

“3B60, the subject is fleeing on foot.”

you between him and his phone, police scanner coming from the speaker, incredulously. he just grunts as he settles back into bed, pulling you into him. “i’m just listening to what you want, kid.”

[seospicybin]

THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.

PART II

Bangchan x reader. (s)

Chapters: Part I / Part III / Final.

Synopsis: To help you moving on from your break-up, Chan takes you out for a night. However, he doesn't expect you will find a potential new love in someone else. (9,5k words)

Author's note: Here's one you've been asking for. Please tell me what you think about it! Nevertheless, enjoy x

"I think we're done for the day, huh?" You sigh in relief after dumping the dirty towels into the laundry bag and tossing it to the back room.

"No, actually, someone just walked in and wanted a haircut," your co-worker says while holding a stack of clean towels in front of her.

"Keem can have it," you resolve, you've finished all of your appointments for the day, and you're tired and ready to go home.

"Yeah, that's the problem. He specifically asked for you," your co-worker answers, putting the towels into the shelf full of them.

You plant your hands on each side of your waist and shoot a puzzled look at your coworker, "Huh?"

Is this customer aware that the salon is about to close and there's another hairstylist on duty? That exciting feeling of getting home soon is slowly fading as you head in to meet this customer who specifically asks for you.

The second you walk in, Keem, the other stylist, grabs your elbow and then leans into your side to whisper, "He's so cute."

Hearing it doesn't lift your mood at all, you just want to get it over with and go home.

"Where?" You ask as you put on your apron.

"He's right there," she whispers, pointing to the middle seat hidden behind the big mirror then detaches herself off you to go back behind the counter.

For a customer who chooses an awful time to get a haircut, you put on a phony smile and shove your hands into the pockets of your apron as you greet.

"Hi, what can I do for... You!" The infliction in your voice changes as you see who that customer is.

It's the shit-eating grin, the stupid dimples on his stupid face and

"It's enough torture to have you as my neighbor and now I have to you see at work too," you say as you cross your arms together in front of you.

"Oh, wow, is this how you treat your customer?" He says with a fake concerned look.

"Only the select few," you say with a sinister smile.

"I made it on your list of honors? Is this because we had sex—"

You hurriedly cover his mouth with your hand and make sure no one is seeing what you're doing to him, or worse, letting them acquire that piece of information.

"What do you want?" You scold him with a piercing glare.

He takes your hand off of his mouth and dramatically gasps for air, "I want a haircut," he simply answers.

With a huff, you swivel his chair to face the mirror and grab the cape for him, putting it around his neck, then clip it together. You put on a phony smile as you look at him through the reflection in the mirror.

"So, what do you want me to do with your hair besides setting it on fire?" You sarcastically ask him.

It's amazing how his grin doesn't wear off even just for a second, "We don't need to cut much, I guess just the tip," he says.

"Just the tip," you repeat, "Is that the title of your sex tape?"

Chan cracks a sonorous laugh, "That's a good one!"

Once you hear the sound of the scissors snipping away the hair, you get in the zone. You focus on giving his hair a nice shape that accentuates his strong jawline and makes his facial features more prominent.

"Don't talk much, huh?" He asks, slightly turning his head to the side.

You grab the nape of his neck and forcefully turn his head back to the front, "just here trying my best not to snip you somewhere else," you calmly mutter.

"Ooh, chills!" He responds with a shudder.

You switch your scissors with a hair clipper and it starts buzzing as you turn it on, you're holding it in his hand as you look at him and say, "You're going to regret coming here and allowing me to be this close to you with a sharp object."

Seeing you bringing the hair clipper close to his face, he reflexively closes his eyes so tightly and you hold the urge to not laugh at it.

"Oh, okay, I regret it now," he says like a frightened child left alone by his parents.

You gently place your hand on his jaw, "Stay still," you warn him.

He obeys you, keeping his head still and his eyes closed as you're carefully trimming his sideburns. You suddenly find yourself admiring his face and his beautiful features of a long, big nose and voluptuous lips.

For a split second, you so badly want to run your thumb on his lips and feel how soft they are. You did feel it once with your lips but you were too sad to notice and now you realize how much you regret it.

Before the temptation returns, you turn off the trimmer and put it away, then proceed to help brush the hair on his face and around his neck with a soft brush.

"You're all done," you announce, taking the cape from around his neck.

Chan stays on his seat as you brush the excess hair off the nape of his neck and make sure they don't stick to his skin. You put all of your equipment on the cart next to you and anticipate his reaction to your haircut.

Not trying to brag here but you did a good job here because he looks even more attractive with a fresh cut.

"Aren't you going to tell me how handsome I am and then kiss me on the cheek?" He asks while blinking his big eyes at you.

"I'm not your mom," you reply with a plain smile.

When you think you already got rid of him after giving him a haircut, you see him lounging around the counter and putting on his charms for Keem. You plan on keeping it a secret that you know each other but if he starts flirting with your co-worker, then there's a possibility you'll see her walking out of his apartment the next day and it only gets messy from there. You come up to him and tug at the sleeve of his jacket, then pull him to the side.

"Why are you still here?" You ask through your gritted teeth and keeping your volume low.

"I'm waiting for you."

"Why?"

"Because we're going out tonight," he answers.

"We?"

"And no, my panties are not in a twist," he says with a teeth-baring grin, "You can check it yourself if you want."

"Ugh. No!" You groan in refusal.

What is it about him anyway that makes the girls go crazy for him? If you're thinking with your depraved, brutal, and cavewoman brain, it must be the body that is inexplicably electric and sexually charged, braced with heavy muscles, and injected with a high dose of testosterone. In other words, he's hot, and it's hard not to be biologically attracted to him. But if you're thinking progressively and in the 21st century way, you know you should avoid this fuckboy at all costs.

"If you don't want to go then I'll just take Keem," he says, secretly threatening not only you but also your workplace dynamic.

"I'm sure she's keem for it," he makes a pun.

"Ugh. Okay," you groan in agreement this time.

And then, there's something called human error.

-

At first, Chan thought that you have that stoic expression only whenever you're around him but he was wrong. He learns that it's just your default expression and you wear it like a defense mechanism to keep the predators at bay. At least, he shouldn't worry about leaving you alone in the bar as he's working the DJ booth.

Once he's done with his set, he ignores the calls for his name and walks up to you, seeing you rather unimpressed by what he just did. What did he expect though? You're not most girls.

He taps the table, signaling the bartender to come and tend to his order, "The usual, please?"

The bartender nods and is about to turn away to make his drink when he calls for him again, "And one more for this nice lady," he adds, gesturing at you and flashing you a sly smile.

Chan turns around to face the dance floor and leans his back against the counter, "So, what do you think?"

"It was good," you answer after sipping your drink.

"You have a filthy expression on your face," he teases you and gently elbows your side, "go on, tell me what you're really thinking."

"Strangling you with my bare hands," you answer without a beat.

Chan leans in close enough that he can get a whiff of the smell of your shampoo, "so that's your kink?"

"Only when I see fear in your eyes," you answer with a wicked smile.

"Wow. You know how to excite a guy," he praises, not entirely lying about it because he gets a little excited from your snarky comments.

The bartender comes with both of your drinks and you hurriedly finish your previous one to go ahead with the next. He watches as you take a small sip and then waits to see how your nose scrunched at the bitter aftertaste.

"You're single now and maybe it's time for you to get out there, you know, find a new love," he says, secretly hoping that you'll find it in him when he looks at you.

"Hey, Chris," a girl comes and without hesitating, placing a kiss on his cheek, "Great set!"

"Thanks, Alicia," he says to the tall lady with beautiful braided hair.

"This one is on me," she says as she gives him a drink from the ones she ordered.

"Cheers then!" He says, clinking his glass with hers with his charming smile on.

The lady leaves to take the drinks away and is soon engulfed by the crowd. Chan notices that you remain calm about that interaction, and again, what did he expect?

"At least, one of us has no problems getting some tonight," you take a jab at him.

"I'm taking you out so we can have fun tonight and enjoy yourself—"

"The only way I can enjoy myself is when I'm alone."

"Oh?" He gasps and gives you a wild glare.

You roll your eyes and sigh once you realize he's taking it the wrong way, "I just want to go home and binge my favorite show and sleep," you finish your sentence with a big gulp of drink and he gets to see another nose scrunch from you.

The intention was to take you out of the apartment and perhaps, he can get you to loosen up a little bit, making this getting to know each other thing a little easier for him. It seems like he's forcing it on you and maybe it wasn't a good idea after all.

"Okay, then, we'll go home after this one," he says, lifting his glass close to his mouth.

"Or you can just stay here and do your thing, and I'm going home," you suggest a better idea after finishing your drink and you grab your bag as if you just can't wait to get out of here.

Chan is quick to grab your arm and stops you from leaving, "Hey, at least, let me finish my drink first," he protests.

"You don't have to leave with me. I can go home myself," you say to him.

"Just wait for me," he squeezes on your arm and adds, "Please?"

You consider it for a moment and then say, "I'll wait for you outside."

Since he's done a gig here, Chan has to make a proper exit out of the club, he greets a few people who work there and grabs his backpack of equipment, carrying it in his hand as he walks out of there. He finds you leaning against the street lamp and the light casts a glowing halo on your head, making you look like an angel... with a stoic expression.

He grins when you notice him coming, "Okay, I lied, there's another thing we have to do tonight," he says.

"Goodness, Chris, just bag a lady and call it a night," you groan in complaint.

Both of his eyebrows ratchet up at your words, "It has nothing to do with that."

"What is it then?" You cross your arms together in front of you.

"Only the best part of the night," he answers with a cryptic smile.

Chan knew he should have started the night with food. He can see that your mood gradually elevates with every bite you take from the delicious kebab he recommended to get after a boozy night out.

By the time you both arrive at the apartment building, you get all quiet like a drowsy child after a day out at the park and he finds it cute, especially with the way your lips slowly jutting out and you keep widening your eyes to stay awake.

"How about next Friday night we're doing it your way?" he suggests as he keeps the elevator door open for you with his back.

"If that means you'll leave me alone then yes," your eyes turn small as you politely moan into your hand.

"We're going to stay in and binge-watch your favorite show and sleep," he lists everything you mentioned earlier and an idea pops into his head.

"We'll have a pajama party!" He announces along with a poor imitation of tooting horns.

"No!" You flatly reject the idea.

"I'll bring the snacks," he offers.

You steadfastly shake your head.

"Then I'll keep knocking on your door until you let me in," he annoyingly moves into your side until he's rubbing elbows with yours.

"Then I hope you get abducted by aliens," you come out with an absurd wish and it cackles him.

"You would miss me," he confidently remarks with his signature grin.

"Doubtful. Very doubtful."

"Why?"

"I know I'd get to see you again someday—"

Chan can't help himself from smiling but little does he know, you're not done with your sentence yet.

"— in hell."

That wipes the smile off his face, "but I'm a good person. People like me," he says while making an innocent face.

"Because they don't know you, if they did, someone would have kicked your ass already."

"They'd try," Chan easily says with a nonchalant shrug, and at the same time, you both burst out laughing.

This is not flirting and he's aware there's something wrong with this interaction but you know what? He likes every bit of it.

Chan's heart sinks when it's time for the two of you to part ways and before you get to slip away from him, he tugs at the strap of your bag.

"Hey, can't wait for our pajama party," he says.

You pull your bag until the strap slips out of his hand and head to your apartment door.

"No response," he points out, "it's as a yes then."

"No!" You shout.

"So... it's a no?" He asks in confusion.

You push the door to get inside your apartment and lingers by the doorway, facing him.

"No," you cheekily respond and then close the door, leaving him with a different kind of thrill for what comes next.

-

From the way this person treats your door like a tambourine, you can safely guess that it's Chan knocking on the door for the so-called pajama party.

Ugh, why did you agree to it in the first place? It's so unlike you to let someone in on your space but it doesn't matter whether you let him or not, the boundaries have been crossed so many times that there's no such thing as personal space anymore.

Before letting him in, you check through the peephole, and just as you expected, he comes undressed, literally. He's standing on the other side of the door wearing nothing but gray sweatpants hanging low around his hips.

"Please have mercy on my eyes and put some clothes on!" You shout through the door with your hand holding the knob.

"I don't wear pajamas. This is what I wear to sleep," he responds and you can hear him faintly laughing with your ear pressed on the door.

"And what makes you think you're going to sleep at my place tonight?"

"I don't know. A hunch," he playfully responds.

"Pajama party is officially canceled!" You say through the peephole.

"Okay, okay, I'll put some clothes on," he sighs in defeat.

You watch through the peephole to see if he's really going to his apartment to change. With his broad shoulders, all hunched up, he walks back to his apartment and doesn't even bother to close the door, he grabs whatever lying close to him and puts the dark t-shirt over his head. Even under the poor lighting, the ridges of his muscles are visible and inviting you to feel it with your touch.

As though he knows he's being watched, he looks your way and then trudges his way back to your door. The first thing you see after you open the door for him is his big grin that sends his dimples sinking deep into his cheeks.

With a glare at his empty hands, you ask, "And where's the snack?"

Chan puts his arms on each side of the doorframe and leans in close, towering you with his big figure, proudly he answers, "Ma'am, I am the snack."

Can't tell if he's trying to charm you, intimidate you, or both, doesn't matter because he failed at all of them.

"But you promised!" You can tolerate people when they make jokes about anything but you can't accept when it involves food.

Chan takes his phone out of his pocket and shows it to you, "It's being delivered. See?"

Your jaws unclenched in a second and you open the door wider for him, "You may come in!" You sweetly say with a curtsy.

"Thank you, Your Majesty!" He says with a bow before steps into your apartment.

It's ironic how you prepared everything despite you were grudging it, you set the sofa, put some cushions and since he said he was bringing the food, you bought drinks for tonight.

"I have juice, soda, and beers," you list everything you have in your fridge as you're looking at it.

"We'll have the soda for now and beers for later," Chan strategically plans.

The food he ordered only lasts for two episodes and from there, you both run on beers and chips while sitting on opposite sides of each other on the couch with your feet touching.

"I like seeing white stockings on women," Chan comments after seeing the female character wearing it under her dress.

"This is why I hate watching with a man," you say in a condescending tone.

"I'm not even saying anything about her body," he defends himself and playfully rubs his foot with yours.

"Just shh..." you hush him, getting back at him by tackling his foot with yours.

The whole time the TV show is playing, your attention is on him, you're merely curious if he's genuinely invested in it or just wants to annoy you with his presence. From your observation, it seems like it's the former but the jury's still out.

"Wait, is that it?" He asks as the first season has just ended and the credit title rolls down the screen.

"That's the end of the first season," you say, starting to gather the trash on the table and put it into a plastic bag.

"But there's another season, right?" He says, looking distressed that the show ends with a cliffhanger.

"Yeah," you answer.

"Then let's watch it!" He says with a grin and slowly blinking his eyes at you.

"No, Chris, it's late," you show him the time on the screen on your phone that it's close to midnight.

"But I want to know what happens next and I need to know now," he speaks like a spoiled little brat.

You get up from the sofa to get rid of the trash, "You can watch it on your own."

Grabbing the back of your sweater, Chan pulls you hard until you plop down onto the sofa next to you then he puts his arm around you to keep you down.

"Let's just party all night, eh?" He persuades you as he leans in close to the side of your head you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek.

You leer to the side at him and ask, "I can't make you leave, do I?"

"Not a chance," he shortly answers.

Seeing that there's no other way to make him leave but to fulfill his wish, you give in and sit back down on the sofa as Chan hits the play button.

With your stomach full and the exhaustion from the day, and you feel snug on the sofa wrapped in your blanket, you're getting drowsy as the night gets late. You manage to stay awake for two episodes but not long after that, your eyes get really heavy and you can barely keep them open anymore.

Going to rest my eyes for a bit, you tell yourself in your head but close your eyes, slowly drifting into deep slumber.

-

It's not new that Chan wakes up not knowing where he is, he lifts his head and looks around, taking in his surroundings to give him clues of his whereabouts. One look at the TV screen that shows a question whether he's still watching or not, he immediately recalls where he is, what he's doing here, and—

"Owh!" He lowly gasps as you accidentally elbow him on the ribs.

There he is, lying next to you on the sofa, your back pressed close to his chest he can feel every rise and fall of your body as you're breathing. He doesn't know how it comes to this and he's not complaining though, if anything, it's an opportunity for him to admire you up close.

Cautiously, he removes the hair covering your face to the side and takes an intimate look at your facial features, first at your eyes with your eyelashes fanning out so beautifully, he runs his fingertip down your nose and eventually at your lips which he dreams of kissing.

Do you know that you're so beautiful yet so unaware of it?

Chan gently buries his nose in your neck and inhales your heavenly scent that gets him intoxicated, putting himself in a test of restraint that he'll be likely to fail. All of a sudden, you stir in your sleep and nuzzle closer as if you're seeking warmth from his body heat.

What did he just put himself into? He frustratingly asks in his head.

Soon enough, he can feel your body start to mold against him and it feels nice, you're fulfilling his need for this closeness but unfortunately, he can't control how his body is reacting to this as it wants to do more than just being pressed close to yours.

Chan carefully places his hand on your hips and quietly, he tries to push you away to make a safe space between your bodies even though he has to suffer the loss of your warmth against him.

As if your body knows what he's trying to do, you push back even further and the curve of your ass sits right on the bulge growing inside his sweatpants, putting him at a greater risk.

"Fuck!" he mouthes in distress.

If it wasn't for the TV light that casts a hazy glow on you, he wouldn't notice that your eyes are open and you're waking up to him with his hand on your hips which he's afraid only giving you the impression that he tries to pull you close instead of the opposite.

"I—" he can't say anything without sounding like he's lying because he knows that a greater part of him wanted it, wanting you.

In the next moment, he finds your hand reaching for him and unexpectedly, you put your fingers across his lips, asking him to stop talking as you bring his head close until your lips touch. He doesn't dare to do anything but when you stroke his lower lip with your tongue, his instincts take over.

To no one's surprise, Chan claims your mouth like a starved man.

However, Chan doesn't plunge right into it, he's starting the kiss with innocent brushes of his lips on yours and teasing licks before taking your mouth once again in a deeper kiss.

When he draws back, your lips are parted on soundless gasps of desire. It takes a moment for your eyes to clear enough to focus on him and with a low voice, he says, "I couldn't resist it."

He can't waste a second without kissing you so he indulges in another dizzying kiss, "I thought about kissing you all week."

Days, weeks, months, it comes to a blur to him but he learned the agony of waiting so he counts the time until his lips can reunite with yours again, hopefully, once and for all.

"Now, I can't seem to stop," As he speaks, he threads his fingers into your hair and angles your head back. He trails kisses along your jawline, nips your chin, and kisses the corner of your mouth.

A murmur humming in your throat as he kisses you yet again and your hand flies into his hair, fingertips lazily scratching at his scalp. You suddenly pull away from the kiss and gaze into his dark eyes, "Then don't stop."

So Chan hasn't been the only one, after all.

Planting his mouth on yours again, he twines his tongue with yours, and oh... this taste, this softness, your hand in his hair, kiss after kiss after kiss.

He allows himself to run his fingertips down the length of your arm and smiles when goosebumps ripple outward. Nuzzling your neck, he breathes in the soft scent of your skin and kisses the sweet spot just behind your jaw. Your lips are calling him, but instead, he sucks on your earlobe and bites it, startling a shaky sigh from you.

He allows himself to explore more by running his hand along the length of your body, cupping the curve of your breasts, and even through the layers of fabrics, he can feel the firm buds of your nipple. He so badly wants to pinch it, love on it, but there is too much fabric in the way. He simply resolves it by slipping his hand under and he finds your soft mounds in a second, not wasting another second to fondle on it.

As he kisses you harder, and you arch into his body, you're undulating your hips against the aching bulge inside its confine, forcing him to bite back his groan.

Oh, he hasn’t wanted someone like this in... Has he ever wanted someone like this?

He reels himself back to the present, glancing down at his pale hand and your nipple caught between his fingers, it's an erotic sight indeed that he can't resist pinching it and enjoying your sharp intake of breath.

"Chris..."

The sound of his name falling from your lips is just as unexpected as it is hot. He sees you breathe through your parted lips that's swollen and glistening wet from all the kissing, and then at your wide, lustful eyes that tell him you're ready for more.

An impatient hand glides down your stomach and slips beneath the waistband of your shorts, his gentle fingers caress you with slow strokes. He is touching you there, right where you need him and you shiver, then burrow closer to him as more goosebumps dotted your skin.

"My God, you're drenched," he says and with each syllable, his lips grazed your ear.

Your body clenched hard, clenched even harder when he presses a finger deep into you, filling you. He massages your clit with lazy swirls of his thumb, making you start trembling against him.

He lowers a kiss on you again, tongue and teeth invading your mouth and that's all it takes to send you climbing quick and sharp toward your release.

His mouth finds your ear and with his hot breath tickles you, he lowly asks, "Does it feel good?”

There's no answer but you sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you throw your head back, inhaling sharply. Chan can feel tiny muscles fluttering around his fingers, and he knows you are close.

He doesn't need to see to know the answer, he can feel it with his hand, "You’re drenching my palm," he whispers again.

With your hand in his hair, you bring his head close and peck his lips, "Chris, I want it," you mutter as you pull away.

"It?" He asks to confirm if you're thinking of the same thing and he's not taking the wrong sign.

You lightly nod, "Mmh-hmm."

"Condom?"

"No need," you shortly answer, "I'm on the pill."

A jolt of excitement surges all over his body just from the thought that he'll be inside you with no layer of protection and it utterly exhilarates him that he needs to calm down for a minute. He uses the time to remove your shorts and then his sweatpants next without taking his other arm from around you.

Once he settles himself behind you, he puts his hand between your legs, lifting a leg and putting it over his hips, allowing his hard member to get between your legs. It feels a whole lot different to feel how wet you are on every inch of his length.

"Feel that?" He asks you with his mouth nestled close to your ear and his swollen cock rubbing between your folds, "I'm aching for you."

Chan kisses your mouth, your jaw, your neck as hard flesh prodding at your sex, making you stop breathing for a moment and you feel nothing but a sensuous stretching that goes on and on until he seated himself fully inside you and oh, he fits perfectly.

"It's too good. You feel– oh... I'm going to lose it," he can't comprehend what he's feeling right now.

The heat, this tightness, so perfect for him and his body asks for nothing but more and more and more of you.

Responding to his body's needs, he withdraws and then thrusts back into you, soon enough, he sets a steady pace. His free hand slides down to your bundle of nerves, touching you there for added stimulation. You grip his wrist, seemingly intending to pull him away, but your hand refuses to cooperate.

The twin assaults of his fingers and his cock that fills you full kindle a flame inside you that spread all over you like wildfire. Your mouth is parted open but all that comes out are gasps and sighs of pleasure so instead of words, you communicate how you feel through your body. You spread your thighs wider and writhe to match his thrust for thrust.

There's nothing but the sounds of his hips slapping your ass and his cock that incessantly slipping in and out of you, and he likes how he finds peace despite his body being in pure chaos.

With his mouth lingering close to your ear, he knows you hear every shudder of his breath to the lowest of his sultry moans slipped out of his mouth, and honestly, he would have been embarrassed if it weren’t for your hand tangled in his curls and keep pulling him for a kiss, before finding his hand that rests on your chest and hold it.

"Perfect..." the word tumbles out of his mouth as your fingers slip right between the spaces of his fingers and lace it together.

"Ah, ah, ah," more moans fall out of your lips as you arch into him, and through it all, your eyes locked in a gaze with his, letting him see the pure pleasure that builds up inside you.

Chan has slept with a handful of people, but he’s never been so in tune with someone's body. He’s never been so desperate to please or so elated when he hears you cry his name as you cum around him.

The high takes you over and also your ability to move, speak, and think. You curl up, making you feel smaller against him. The hand interlaced with his tightens as he speeds up the motions of his hips and with one last deep thrust, he joins you in falling apart.

Using this tender moment to pour his affection for you, he's whispering your name and kissing you softly, then slowly, he eases out of—

"No, don't!" Your hand grabs at his hips, hard, nails digging into the flesh, "Stay."

Obeying your words, Chan holds you close, limbs to limb, skin to skin, hearts lying so close to each other with mere flesh and bones in between. He doesn't know what this was, but it sure as hell was not fucking. He kisses you hard and soft to find out.

It's when he pulls away and looks into your eyes that he figures out the answer as the most incredible feeling of being loved washes over him.

-

When Chan wakes up the next morning. He registers the sunlight on his face, the distant barking of a neighborhood dog, and the delicious smell of buttered toast and coffee, it's all around him and—

It just hits him that he's waking up on your sofa and he burrows into the blanket with a happy sigh once he recalls everything that happened last night to the tiniest details, summoning the butterflies to flutter around in his stomach.

The sound of your footsteps forces him to get out of his daze and he scrambles to get up when you walk past the sofa on your way to the kitchen.

"Morning!" He cheerily greets you while covering his naked lower half with the blanket.

Without looking and with your hands tying your hair, you fainty reply to his greeting, "Morning."

You didn't reply to his level of enthusiasm but that's okay, he just doesn't expect you to be this stoic this early in the day. Instead of searching for his sweatpants, he wraps the blanket around his hips like a towel and waddles his way to the kitchen.

"You're up early," he says, noticing that it's barely seven and he knows you usually leave for work a little after eight, sometimes close to nine.

"Early appointment. Have to do a client's hair. Wedding," you concisely explain as you quietly sip your coffee from a big red mug.

It's strange, the way you speak and how your eyes are looking anywhere but in his direction. For now, he's going to think that you're just tired and not fully meeting your dose of caffeine yet

"Okay, so what's for breakfast?" He asks, excitedly tapping the dining table with his hands and grinning at you.

"Toast and coffee," you say while standing on your toes to get a glass from the top cabinet.

"Anything but coffee, please?" He politely asks, watching you walk the other way to get a carton of orange juice out of the fridge.

It's a sunny day but the room shares the same temperature as the glass of orange juice you pour into his glass. He observantly watches you, searching for any clues whether this is how you are in the morning or something is actually off with you.

There's one way to know, first, he takes a small sip of his juice to help with his dry throat and then jabs around the topic, "Last night was fun, don't you think?"

There's no answer and he can't see your reaction toward it when you're standing with your back facing him and he begins to think that it's the latter.

"I'm thinking we should do this again next Friday but I'll get to pick what we're going to watch and you bring—"

"Chris, I'm sorry but..." You swiftly turn on your feet and check the time on the clock, "I have to leave now."

"Sure, yeah, you can't be late for a wedding," he playfully says while keeps searching for your eyes to make you look at him.

You walk around your apartment to gather your things, your phone, and your wallet, stuffing them into a purse. You grab another bag which he guesses is one you usually carry for work and that only confirms that you're indeed leaving for an appointment.

"You can stay for breakfast and use the spare keys to lock the door when you leave," you say those things in a hurry as you drag your bag to the foyer.

He turns on his chair to look at you as he jokes, "We've only slept together twice and you're already giving me your apartment keys?"

Unfortunately, the jokes fall short as he hears nothing but the sound of the knob turning and you're getting out of the apartment.

"Have a great day at work!" He shouts at you but all he gets in response is the door closing and then clicks in place.

Chan can't tell anymore if you're leaving for work or you're leaving him, but it feels like he's getting his karma for always being the one leaving in the morning.

-

It's wedding season and that explains why there are a lot of scribbles on your calendar, you have a lot of appointments to do this month, and you get so busy that he's hardly seeing you lately.

Work is one thing he can understand but you can't possibly work 24 hours a day without a day off, right? At one point, he should have caught you leaving or coming home from work, whichever it is, the chance never comes to him, not even once.

Chan begins to wonder if you're avoiding him, he knows because there's a slight difference to it and it's in the purpose. You've been purposely doing things to avoid him.

With an excuse prepared in his head, Chan comes knocking on your door the next Friday night. He's been keeping your spare keys and can easily let himself in but that would be impolite, he needs to be on your good side to earn your trust.

After a few times knocking with no answer, he lets himself in but not because he has the spare keys, the door is unlocked so he figures you must be at home and doing something that makes you unable to get the door.

"Anyone's home?" He shouts into the void in your living room and hesitantly walks further inside.

Hearing the loud humming of a hairdryer, he walks to your bedroom. Unexpectedly, you're coming out as he's about to walk in.

"Oh, God!" You gasp in surprise as you hold the front of your bathrobe together, "What are you doing here?"

In contrast, Chan laughs seeing your shell-shocked expression in his presence. He then crosses his arms together and leans the side of his body against the doorframe, not forgetting to wear his grin as he answers to you, "Just checking to see if my neighbor is alive."

"Well, I'm alive," You're talking as you're taking dresses out of your closet, "and I need your help."

Looking at your mood and the way you talk normally to him, he concludes that the thought that you've been purposely avoiding him was just a silly thought after all. Other than that, you need his help and he likes being needed by you.

"I'm at your service," Chan says, permitting himself to step into your bedroom and sit on the end of your bed.

You're standing in front of him, holding up two dresses in your hands, one is a white line dress with a v-neck and the other is a body-hugging velvet dress in a deep burgundy color. Both will look good on you but he needs to know one thing before he gives his vote.

"Are we going out tonight?" He playfully asks, feeling a buzz of excitement filling him.

You turn around to face the full-length mirror while holding the dress in front of you in turn to give you ideas on how it will look on you.

"I have a date," you tell him.

Hearing that, the excitement in his body vanishes in a second and is replaced by a cold shudder of panic. He tries to laugh it off in denial.

"A–a date?" He stammers.

"Uh-huh," You end up settling the dress situation yourself by choosing to go with the white linen dress, "Can you get out of my room so I can change?"

His subconscious has the tendency to obey you, he gets up from the bed and walks out of your room, and he lingers there by the door, contemplating whether he should push the conversation or not.

"With who?" He doesn't want to know but curiosity gets the best of him.

"A guy I met at one of the weddings," you share from inside your bedroom.

"Is this—" he pauses to swallow air, "Is this your first date?"

"Yes and I'm excited," your voice grows louder and soon, the door cracks open and you reveal yourself to him, "Now, tell me I made the right choice?"

He takes a staggering step backward and asks, "On the date or the dress?"

You take a look at yourself on the round mirror hanging on the wall, "Is it too casual? No?"

For a second, Chan forgets about the direness of the situation and takes a good look at you, the dress compliments your shape so well, the hem flares up like a blooming flower and the v-cut neckline offers a modest cleavage, perfect for a first date. If he has to be honest, even without the dress, it won't make you less comely but he hates that you look this good and it's not for him.

"You look... good," he tries to make it sound like your appearance doesn't make any impression on him.

You wipe the excess lipstick on the corner of your mouth then look over your shoulder, "And the date?"

He doesn't expect you to give him the chance to say something about it and obviously, he's going to try his best to intercept your plan.

"Don't you think it's too soon?" He follows you as you head back to your bedroom then stops at the doorway as you enter the bathroom after, "To get on a date."

You take off the hair rollers nestling on the crown of your hair and your hair flows down like big springs, then brush it down with your fingers.

"You told me yourself that I should get out there and find new love," you return his words to him.

That feels like he's just slapped himself in the face. Why did he tell you that? Oh, yeah, that's because he wants you to start opening up so he can let himself in and fill that position.

"But that's not– I just didn't think..." his words trailing off as he can't exactly explain the reason why he said it, not now at least.

You put all of your hair to the front then flip it all together to the back, you're shaking the end with your fingers, sending the sweet smell of your shampoo flying around in the room.

"Didn't think what?" You curiously ask as you apply a fresh coat of lipstick on your lips, the shade is bright red like a flamethrower.

"When I said you should start finding a new love, I was hoping that you could finally see me and..." he can't find another way of telling you without saying it out loud, "perhaps, you can find it in me."

That makes you stop whatever you're doing and turn around on your feet, leaning against the bathroom counter, you look at him in eerie silence, and then out of nowhere, a laugh bursts out of you.

"Chris, stop playing!" You brush past him on the way out of the bathroom.

He's trailing behind you as you pick up a purse from a collection of them in your closet, "I'm not playing," he assures you.

"Okay, yeah, I trust you," you half-heartedly respond, heading out and going to the foyer to pick your shoes next.

"Can you please look at me?" He pleads as he waits for you to make up your mind with your choice of shoes.

"Just look at me, please?" He begs again, desperately.

You take your chosen shoes and hold them in one hand as you hold his gaze, "Okay, I'm looking at you."

In those fierce eyes, Chan finds the courage to assess his feelings and tries to fathom them into words. He inhales air before letting it out in a long, low sigh.

"Don't go on that date," he demands.

"Why?"

"Because I want you here."

"Chris, that's not a good enough reason," you say with a low laugh.

He gently places his hands on each of your elbows and tenderly stares into your eyes, "Then go ahead, ask me that one question."

"What question?"

"Ask me what are we," he steadily holds your gaze even though he feels a whirlwind in his head and chaos stirring inside his chest.

You brush it off with a laugh, "Why should I ask you—"

"Just ask me the question!" He accidentally raises his voice at you and immediately lowers his voice after, he looks down to take a breather before looking back into your eyes, "Ask me what are we!"

It feels like an eternity waiting for you to ask him that but he has the patience and an answer to that, he only needs you to ask him that.

You drop the shoes onto the floor and take a step forward, you hold his gaze as he holds his breath. Deep down, he knows that you'd have to be blind to not see the light of affection in his eyes.

To his dismay, you unexpectedly retreat and pick up everything with you toward the door. With your back turned to him, you say, "I don't want to be late for the date."

-

It's been an hour since he came back from your apartment and he's still stuck in the denial stage. He's lying in the dark and stares at the ceiling of his bedroom, ignoring his phone that's been tirelessly blaring with notifications.

It's not a rejection if you don't give him a definite, abundantly clear answer, right? Besides, there's a chance that the guy blew the date and you can see that he's the better man. Is he though? Is he any better?

There are two ways to handle this situation. One, he can try to forget all about it, hit call back on one of the girls contacting him right now, get out of here, and distract himself with a physical release. Or two, wait because there's something in him that tells him to wait just a little longer.

But wait for what? Wait until you return from your date? Wait until he sees it happens, you with your new beau, all lovey-dovey next door?

It seems like he's finally progressed into the next stage: anger.

Every thought that crosses his head right now is not nice and he needs an outlet for this anger. He shoots up from the bed, he starts pacing back and forth in the room, hands balled into fists, he gets this urge to punch something, he wants to— No, he can't wait with this ugly feeling slowly taking over him and driving him insane.

"Fuck this," he curses out loud into the void in his apartment, he picks up his phone and texts someone about meeting up tonight.

While typing a text, knocking comes on his door, and whoever it is, they'd better not piss him off or— the knocking comes again, he exhales air out of his mouth to calm down and walks in heavy steps to get the door.

It seems as if his anger wasn't there in the first place, the second he opens the door and sees you, all of those nasty thoughts vanish into thin air.

You're carrying your shoes in one hand and the other is holding one side of the doorframe. You look at him with a smile ever so softly blooms on your face, "So..."

See? It wasn't a rejection. He just needed to wait a little longer and God, he was glad he did.

"So...?" He asks back, holding the urge to smile back at you.

You daringly stare into his eyes as you take a step into his apartment, "So... what are we, Chris?"

It's crazy how your magnetic field is so strong that he can't stand being this close to you and not touching you, his hesitant hands are reaching for you, they retreat and give, doing it for a while until you drop everything off your hands and put your hands around his shoulders. Indirectly permitted him to put his hands on you.

"What are we, mmh?" You ask again with your eyes flickering like they hold stars in them.

"We are..." he considers to let the truth out but what's the fun in that? He needs to get back at you for making him doubt everything earlier, "Neighbors."

"No," you shake your head in disagreement, "You're definitely going to say something else."

Luckily, he's strong enough to hold you steady as you put your whole weight against him, leaving not even an inch of gap between your bodies.

"Someone still has her panties in a twist," he playfully responds with his charming grin on, dimples and all.

"Shame on you because I don't have any panties on," you say with your small smile turning into a broad one.

His eyes widen in slight shock, and his hand automatically glides downward, landing a caress on the curve of your ass and slipping under the hem of your dress to check whether your words are true or not. His fingers edge at the lacy fabric of your underwear and it turns out to be the latter.

"Ugh, you're lying!" He groans in complaint but it doesn't make him less happy, he's elated, and his heart is about to burst.

"Partly."

"How so?"

"Because you're about to take them off," you shamelessly say.

Chan wants to let go of all the things that hold him back. He brings both of your lips together, he kisses you like you're oxygen and he's short on air. He runs his hands down your back to your hips, cupping your sweet ass, and pulls you even closer. You struggle to get closer as he kisses you deep and hard your head tilted to the back, you weave your fingers through his hair as you pour yourself into the kiss.

Everything that happened before this is in the past now, all he knows now is your taste and the hot sighs of your breath, and then this irrepressible want to devour you.

"I'm going to carry you to bed," Chan's plush lips brushing yours as he speaks.

The idea of carrying you to bed is highly appealing to him at the moment. He likes holding you and as messed up as it was, he wants to throw you onto the bed, in the most respectful way.

"Then what are you waiting for, kangaroo boy?"

A sharp gasp escapes your mouth as he swoops you into his arms and carries you in the direction of the bedroom. You have your arms looped around his neck to hold onto and place kisses along his jaw all the way to his bedroom.

Instead of throwing you onto the bed like he planned, he throws both of you onto the bed and it quakes, he immediately props an elbow against the mattress to not put his weights on you.

"God, you're so beautiful," his sigh tells how overwhelmed he is by what he's seeing and what a privilege that he's able to place kisses on such beauty.

When you try to gasp a mouthful of air, he breathes it into you with his hand resting on your jaw, you look up at him, and a starburst of emotion expands inside him. He thinks you see it in his eyes because you softly smile at him.

Giving you time to breathe, he shifts his focus elsewhere, he kisses and sucks on your neck, all the while his hands are keeping your body closely pressed against him, making you aware of the firm flesh prodding your crotch through his blue jeans.

The next thing is his mouth searching for the source of the heat and your body goes into total system failure as his mouth inches closer to where you want him. Between your thighs, you flush and tingle with wanting.

"This smell..." he hums as he buries his nose in your clothed sex, making you able to feel every sharp intake of air he inhales through his nose.

He pries his mouth open and plants it on your heating wetness, not caring about the lacy fabric that blocks him from tasting it raw.

"Mmh..." he deeply hums again, almost like the low roar of a wild animal hunting at night, "I want this smell all over me."

The intensity of your desire frightens and embarrasses you at the same time, you need a little control but control is gone when Chan tugs the waistband of your underwear between his teeth and begins to pull it down your legs.

He places his hands on the back of your thighs and slowly, lifts both of your legs upward as he keeps biting your underwear. You're watching as he tries to take it off of you with such determination.

Once he succeeds, he grabs the underwear from between his teeth and holds it up to show you his latest conquest, "Twisted panties no more," he says with a sly grin.

Instead of tossing it aside, he puts the underwear into the back pocket of his jeans, "I'm keeping it."

There are so many layers of clothing keeping him from feeling your skin but he can start by removing his t-shirt, having no problems showing you his taut muscles and his pale skin that reddens around the chest, neck, and both ears.

Next, Chan grabs your knees, he pulls them apart to bare your sex to his eyes and his chest expands on a sharp inhalation. The look on his face tells it all, he wants you, he wants you so bad that he swallows air, sending his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

It's the first time that he gets to see it open and bare, gushing with essence, tantalizing. He leisurely takes his time to admire it while plotting things he wants to do to it.

He rubs his hands down the sides of your thighs and lowly sighs, without his eyes straying away from the sight between your legs, he says, "You have the prettiest little—”

He thinks he's imagining it but he's not the only one hearing knocks on his apartment door. Sensing someone else's presence, your legs instinctively shut and you pull the hem of your dress down.

"Chris, are you expecting someone?" You ask with your forehead wrinkled in question.

"No," he shortly answers, he doesn't want you to think that he's waiting for someone else other than you, "I don't—"

The knocking comes again a while later, a little too aggressive that both of you can't ignore it anymore.

"Someone is knocking on your door," you say.

"Yeah, but I swear, I don't—"

You place your hand on his waist and look at him, "well, then, get the door and find out."

He'd rather have someone sawing him off of you than having to voluntarily get away from you, whoever this person is will be responsible for what's not going down at this moment.

"Only if you promise you won't change your mind," he tells you with a sly smirk.

"If you don't hurry and get the door, I might," you say back.

"Stay still. Don't move. Not even an inch," he pecks your lips for every warning with both hands cupping your face. He plants another long peck on your lips before dashing toward the front door and thinking of just sending this person away so he can get back to you.

This is where he makes a mistake. He doesn't check through the peephole and opens the door right away, having the faintest idea that catastrophe awaits on the other side of the door.

"Ah, there you are!" The girl says, jumping at him and immediately locking lips with him.

It happens so fast that by the time Chan registers it, the girl pulls away but keeps her arms looped around his shoulders.

"I came here as soon as I received your text," she grabs his chin and kisses his slacked-open mouth, "I hope I didn't make you wait long."

On the other end of the room, he hears your footsteps coming and soon, you come into his sight. You look so calm and he'd prefer a raging sea because with calm water, he never really knows what he's dealing with.

With an enigmatic smile, you look at him and say, "You know what, Chris? I change my mind."

-

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[vaginalvr]

Hello😈‼️‼️ I’m back again because you did so good with the overstimulation request and I’m greedy ASF (and now a little addicted to your writing.)

Could you write something about Spencer getting really needy, maybe after he has his first time with reader and he just becomes really clingy but unsure how to ask for what he wants. Something like that, with really whiny sex after because I’m naught but a whore. Sending love!!!!

a/n I fear whiny spencer is becoming my niche... enjoy!

cw:smut, clingy!Spencer, whiny!Spencer, first time aftermath, needy sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, soft dom/sub dynamic, mutual pleasure, emotional vulnerability, praise kink, creampie

You noticed it the morning after.

At first, it was sweet — how Spencer curled around you in bed, still naked under the sheets, his long fingers tracing lazy shapes on your back. You’d expected some awkwardness, maybe a rush to dress or distance himself. After all, it had been his first time — and he'd whispered that into your neck last night with such raw honesty it had made you feel dizzy. You hadn’t rushed him. Hadn’t teased or laughed. You’d just held him, letting him explore, guiding him gently until his head dropped onto your shoulder and he came with the softest, desperate whine.

But now?

He couldn’t stop touching you.

His hands were on your waist while you brewed coffee, trailing up your sides like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. When you sat down on the couch, he followed — practically draped over your back, nosing into your hair. And his eyes? Wide and dark and fixed on you like he was starving and you were the meal.

You turned toward him with a gentle smile. “Spence?”

He blinked, face flushed. “Sorry—I just. Um.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Your stomach flipped.

“About last night?” you asked softly.

He nodded, pink creeping across his neck. “It was—so much. I didn’t know it could feel like that. I—I want—” He cut himself off, visibly flustered, fingers curling in his lap.

You leaned closer, letting your hand brush his knee. “What do you want, Spencer?”

He made a soft, helpless sound. “I don’t know how to ask for it. But I feel… I need something. I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin if I don’t get it.”

Oh.

You watched his breathing pick up. His eyes dropped to your mouth, then your chest, and back again. He looked overwhelmed — needy and frustrated and embarrassed by it all.

“Do you want me to help you feel good again?” you whispered.

His head bobbed quickly, curls falling into his eyes. “Yes. Please.”

Back in your bedroom, you coaxed him onto the mattress, watching the way he writhed just from kissing. He kissed like a man who couldn’t get enough — open-mouthed, panting, greedy. When you palmed him through his boxers, he moaned loud enough to make your thighs clench.

“Is this what you needed?” you murmured against his lips. “To be touched like this again?”

“Y-Yes,” he gasped, hips bucking into your hand. “God, I—It’s worse than before, I feel like I’m on fire, I can’t—”

“Shh, baby.” You slipped your hand inside his waistband and wrapped around his cock. He whined — high-pitched and raw, legs trembling beneath you. “You don’t have to do anything, Spencer. Just let me take care of you.”

He looked up at you like you’d hung the stars.

You had him naked and beneath you in minutes, trembling and flushed, his thighs already shaking before you’d even sunk down onto him. He gasped — arms shooting up to grab your waist, eyes squeezing shut as he twitched inside you.

“Oh—fuck—” His voice cracked on the curse. “You feel so good, I can’t—how did I live without this—?”

You smiled as you slowly rocked your hips, keeping your pace torturously slow.

“You were so patient, Spence. Waiting all this time.” You leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “And now you don’t have to wait anymore. I’ll let you have it anytime you want.”

He whimpered. “I-I don’t know what to do with myself, I need you all the time now, it’s like I’m addicted—”

“You are,” you cooed, grinding harder now, just to hear him moan. “You’re addicted to my pussy, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes—oh fuck yes—” His back arched, hands gripping you tight. “Please don’t stop, please don’t ever stop—”

You kissed down his neck, letting your teeth scrape his collarbone. “You want to come inside me again? Fill me up like last time?”

He sobbed, nodding frantically. “Please, please—I’ll be good, I’ll do anything—”

His desperation was delicious.

You rode him harder, watching him fall apart beneath you. Every time your hips met, his thighs jerked, cock twitching helplessly inside you, lips parted in breathless moans. He looked wrecked — sweat dampening his curls, cheeks flushed, mouth trembling from how overwhelmed he was.

“Touch yourself,” you whispered. “Get yourself there.”

He obeyed instantly — hand flying to where your bodies met, rubbing frantic little circles against his cock with an embarrassing, choked moan.

“Oh my god—oh my god—I’m gonna come—I can’t—oh fuck—”

You pressed down hard, grinding your clit against him as you felt him swell inside you.

“That’s it, baby. Come for me. Fill me up.”

Spencer wailed, the sound punching out of him like a sob, cock jerking inside you as he spilled deep with hot, needy pulses. His whole body trembled under yours, hands gripping your hips like he might float away if he didn’t hold on.

You kept moving until he was whimpering — not from pleasure now, but overstimulation. His hands fluttered against your skin like he couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or push you away.

“S-Stop—too much—feels so good but—”

You finally stilled, breathing hard as you sank down on his softening cock. He was still panting, eyes glassy and wide, like he couldn’t believe he survived it.

You brushed the hair from his damp forehead.

“You okay, Spence?”

He nodded weakly. “I… don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.”

You laughed gently. “I think you’re just dick-drunk, baby.”

He pulled you down to his chest, arms locking around you tight like a security blanket. “I don’t care. I just want you. Forever.”

You kissed his neck, grinning.

“Forever sounds good.”

[monstersholygrail]

I've had an idea on my mind forever. I cant word it though, but I'll try my best.

Dragon friend whose secretly in love with their traveling partner/rider. Hers horny and the rider helps them, but hes far too big, resulting in him using his tongue, instead.

Reading this I can figure out what you meant, but the terms on who's doing what is a bit mixed and it gave me a hilarious idea.

When you arrived at the academy, they almost didn't know what to do with you. You were a giant after all. Most if not all their dragons were huge, sure, but huge for humans. Proportional to a human and what they'd need to ride. You had passed all the field and written exams with ease and how couldn’t you... you were a giant. So they couldn't exactly kick you to the curb. But what else could they do?!

And that's when they remembered your Dragon friend. He was ginormous, the biggest dragon in all the land. Much too big for a human to be able to control. But you? You were the answer to his prayers and he was the answer to yours. The two of you worked as an incredible team and became fast friends. And maybe something more. If either of you could just admit your feelings for one another.

Going out for patrols where you would have to ride your Dragon friend’s back was a special kind of torture for you both. Hours on end with no break as your sweet core is so close yet so far from where you both need it most. Your Dragon friend could feel the heat emit from you and it took all his strength not to throw you down and have his way with you. Meanwhile every flap of his wings sent his body bumping against you and you could barely hold yourself back from grinding against his scales.

Today was especially tricky as the winds didn’t seem to be on their sides. It seemed particularly intent on their ruin as it blowed rapidly against them, causing your Dragon friend to flap his wings furiously in attempts to steady the both of you. His body practically rocking between your thighs. You couldn’t help the arousal you feel building up inside you. And sadly, you aren’t subtle about it either as one long sniff and your Dragon friend can smell it as it surrounds his senses.

He quickly tells you he needs to land and before you can disagree he’s descending down to the ground. You try and act clueless as to why he’s paused your patrols but one look from him and a blush covers your cheeks. He tells you that he can’t fly like this with your smell wafting in his nose every few minutes and disorienting him.

That’s how you find yourself maneuvering your giant self on top of your Dragon friend’s snout. His large dragon body laying on his back and ready to lick your hole till you go weak in the knees. He can feel the fire burning in his throat, so turned on he could shoot flames right now.

He’s been waiting so long for this moment. Wanting to finally taste you more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. So when his tongue finally dips inside your core a growl rumbles through him and he unleashes his every desire onto you. His tongue swirling inside you and hitting every place right. You cry out, body jerking forward. Your hands finding purchase on the top of a couple trees in front of you. Using them as leverage to help grind into your Dragon friend’s face.

Your climax crashes through you as his tongue repeatedly hits that spot deep inside you that has your mind spinning and your toes curling. Your cum shoots all over your friend’s face and he roars in pleasure. You moan and shake as he works you through your orgasm. Then when he’s done he continues to care for you and helps clean you and his face up. Plus he just wants more of your taste on his tongue.

Afterwards as you’re both getting prepped to fly again, you’re a blushing mess while your friend acts like nothing happened. What you don’t know and will soon find out is how every time the scent of your arousal dares to fill his senses he’s gonna take you back to the ground and pound you into it.

[soy-soi-si]

Imagine y/n having to join the team as a stand in for another person that was supposed to be there. And everything goes wrong.

Tw. angst, brief torture, injuries, death, past abuse, helplessness, reader almost dying. Foul language! Really crappy writing and not proof read prolly missing a few Tw's as well.

Y/n doesn't like the group at first. They seem patronizing, constantly talking about the person who was going to join. Constantly asking if you could actually do what he was supposed to. Hell even when she was completing the mission they kept checking on her more than each other even if two of them were under fire. She got so annoyed with Price after the genuine thirtieth time he told her the step by step of what she already did.

“If you keep fucking patronizing me I'll bust your balls Mr. Price is right. Now fuck off I'm already done.” She sighs at the deactivated bomb having completely gutted it and made sure it's not going to explode. Not to mention rescuing the hostages and securing the building and her section.

The laughter over comes echo's in her ear as she turns to the man it was strapped to as he cries out his thanks. She already checked him for weapons along with the other hostages; she untied them all and now has them in a corner taking cover just in case. Mostly women and a couple kids like three men including the one she saved.

She also deactivated the other bombs in her building and surrounding. “Christ sake your feisty lass!” she scoffs in response to soap, no longer looking at the civilians “You cunts have done nothing but baby and patronize me the entire time I've been around you. Sit and spin you big bitch.” The others chuckle at the end of the sentence.

“What am I sitting on again lassie?” she smirks “My fuckin 31cm dildo I'm gonna fuck you with later.” The cackles echo from gaz and roach. She hums before turning back to the civilians. “She's right about you patronizing her.” Ghost's voice echoes from the coms as a gunshot does as well. “my sector is clear.” She blinks as she hears movement outside.

“I think some strays came to my sector. I'm hearing stuff outside.” She raises her gun slowly moving to a window. She catches a peak of a huge group of the enemy surrounding her building. “I'm surrounded, there's easily a hundred if not over. Shit!” she notices one of them aiming up at the windows and she drops down. “these guy were not fucking anywhere near here until now…” she pauses as she hears one of the radios from the enemy in the hall and she crawls over to the door and she spots it sitting out front by the dead body and she grabs it closing the door again.

She listens to them moving to defend the hostages. “shit, they're telling everyone to come to my building!” She puts the other Radio against her mic. “Find the hostages, and the woman…” that's all she can make out before the window shatters along with an explosion. “take her alive and kill everyone else.” her ears are ringing as she sees someone coming out of the smoker and she shoots at them.

Searing agony sweeps through her after a second. She couldn't even tell she screamed as someone tackled her. “Get the fuck off of me!” Shooting them straight in the face then she shoots once at any movement she can make out the gun quickly clicking in response so she drops it pulling her handgun.

Then it's knocked from her hand as soldiers shoot at her from the doorway and it doesn't take long for her to realize she's on the floor surrounded by enemies. Each hostage she just saved gathered in front of her an executive guilt filling her body as each of them are made to look at her. She can't lift her hands or legs anymore in pure agony as the adrenaline is gone and so is each person she just met.

The seemingly leader steps in front of her holding a knife flipping it in his hand smiling as he crouches down to her eye level. She saw his picture and couldn't help but recognize him. “Hello there doll, you mind telling me where the pretty boy who was supposed to be on this mission is?” she glares at him. As he taps it against her neck, lightly cutting her skin each time. “So you've got Intel from our base. Sorry but he's fuckin dead. Died off base via a psycho girlfriend who thought he was cheating on him.” he takes a second before smiling. “Amazing news, pity I didn't get the honor though.” he cuts her wire. “But I'll make up for that with you pretty girl.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

She never wanted to die, at least not like this, not after lying her ass off about everything they wanted to know as they tortured her. She wanted to gloat in their face after what she said gets them caught and killed. But she could be proud at least at the wide eye angel personality and face she's pulling the cries and blubbering all fake.

“Puhluse I've told you everything!” She sniffles crying in agony, her eyes wide as she's pushed into a freezer, one you would have in a garage for wild game or fish except it's more like a transport cooler in size. The lid slammed shut over her and it's pushed into a hole of sorts crashing into the side then onto the small box beneath her.

“No, no no!” She tries pushing the lid up but it's heavier and heavier as dirt covers it. “FUCKIN BASTARD!” She kicks the lid, not even budging. She lays as she notices how cold it is here, probably freshly turned off.

She takes a few deep breaths as she knows she'll die in here sooner or later. She searches for her phone in her bra quickly finding it. Looking at the battery it's almost dead. “Shit” 10% she quickly shoots a text to her brothers group chat. A simple I love you. Before she calls the number one of the idiots gave her before they actually went on field. She desperately listens to the ringing before it's picked up. “Are you the Sargent!” She can hear the vehicle running. “Yes it's fuckin me! I lied to them about the information. They're headed for West Point and go get them! I want them to die for this!” She tears up knowing damn well she's setting herself up to die sending them away from her she bites her lip sniffling at the bright screen in agony.

“I’m sorry I fucked up big time. Just tell my brothers I'm sorry and that I love them.” “Y/n where are you.” Price's voice now echoes from the phone. “Dunno, but I'll be, I'll be.” she chokes back a sob at the words memories coming back as she looks at the lid above her. “I’ll be fine, just go get 'em for me. West point I sent them towards the dummy container and warehouse they're looking for weaponry.” her hands are shaking as the cold gets to her.

“Y/n breathe for me what are your surroundings like right now.” Gaz practically chokes out his question. “They buried me. You won't find me in time even if you look. Just go get them! Stop worrying about me and go get them! I didn't just go through torture for you to fucking fail on me!” She is starting to get sleepy as she switches her phone to the most battery saving settings she can. Sniffling, she looks at the phone. “Please tell him I love him and that I'm sorry. He's the, he's the one that was supposed to be on the mission he's my little brother,” laughing once she sighs, “Thank you for everything even if it was annoying for you to patronize me.” She smiles at the screen as Ghost goes to speak “we’re not going to-” it dies in the middle of his sentence, leaving her alone in the pitch black. She begins sobbing uncontrollably holding her phone in front of her wishing it was still on.

“N-no, ple-euase, I don-n't wa-auhnnt to digh-ie,” she can't breathe with how much she's choked up. “N, Noaut liku- ke, th-This-ss,” she's just getting more distraught by the second as all the composure she's been keeping until now is gone. She just sits there remembering her life, her recent life, then her childhood remembering how her dad would lock her in their freezer when he got angry.

“Da-Daddy please I don't want to die like this.” she can practically hear him scream from the other side as white spots appear in her vision. “Shut the fuck up you little whore!”

She reaches up barely able to feel her body as she knocks on the freezer like how she used to since it was against her and her siblings room. She can't even speak as she can't move anymore and she turns looking at her phone again in her limp hand.

I'm so sorry, I said I'd be fine on my own.

She didn't even realize she passed out not until her eyes opened again as sudden warmth hit her, let alone how it grabbed her neck. “She's alive!” Roaches' voice screams from above her as she's ripped from the freezing cold and put on the burning hot dirt of the outback. Someone pushed her onto her back doing chest compression then grabbing her nose before blowing into her mouth her head tilted back. Once then twice. Then three times as suddenly she gains control of her breathing, her head no longer as fuzzy as she chokes breathing looking around dazed.

She's rolled onto her side. “She's lost a huge amount of blood, the freezer floors full of it!” She hears roach climbing out as she lays her head on the dirt, unable to move besides shaking, noticing the early signs of hypothermia in her hands as they're almost blue.

“I got her phone to come on!” Roach and the second person here get in the back of the buggy and she notices finally it's a blonde man with a balaclava pulled down showing his scarred face then she sees the familiar mask on the top of his head and the tactical gear and she hears soap cursing in the front. “Patch her up already you fuckin bastards!” she looks at Ghost, feeling her tear stained face clearly along with her snot caked onto her. Seeing some on him from mouth to mouth.

He leans over her trying to wrap her head but she reaches up using what's left of her sleeve to wipe off her snot and tears off of him. He looks at her surprised but more so worried. “Aren’t you handsome, sorry about the snot.” her voice is barely there as her arm falls as she passes out again.

She didn't know scared older military men were her type.

[junkpuppet225]

note: Some more forced proximity with our favorite archer. Walkers are literally the worst.

The comfort you found in Daryl’s silence is torture now, grating on your nerves as you rummage through another nameless corner mart. He’s barely escaped being bitten twice since that kiss under the bed choosing to fight instead of flee in fear you’d both end up trapped somewhere again.

The only sound comes from the faint snarl of a lone walker clawing at the back door as you search for anything edible to bring back to the group. The thought of Carl or Judith going hungry another day motivates you to join the grumpy archer on his runs. Much to his dismay.

Daryl tosses a small bag of expired beef jerky at your feet, the first sign that he’s acknowledging your existence since the rundown cabin. You lift your eyes to him slowly but his gaze is burned into the empty racks, bottom lip pulled between blunt teeth as he busies himself searching the nothing before him. That now familiar ache tightens in your chest as you let your eyes fall to the small bag of dehydrated meat, grabbing it to place it in your bag for the kids.

“Eat.” The word is so low and threatening it barely registers, bringing your eyes back to his quickly. Daryl stands with his back rigid - the muscles in his arms coiled tightly but he won’t look at you. He can’t risk looking at you. “What?”

“I can hear yer stomach growlin’ all the way over here.”

As if on cue a deep rumble emerges from your core filling your cheeks with warmth as you advert your eyes quickly. Yeah you’re hungry but so is everyone else. “I’m okay.” You assure him willing your stomach to quiet down. It answers with another deep groan. “Wasn’t askin’.” Daryl growls, hands clenching to fists at his sides as he finally glares at you.

“A-are you mad at me?” You place your hands in your lap as you look up at him with eyes that threaten tears. The two of you had an unspoken understanding, you worked well together - had each other’s backs but now he treats you like a pariah. All over one amazing kiss.

“No.” Daryl looks offended you would even suggest such a thing narrowing his eyes to slits.

“Did I do something wrong?” You hate the desperation in your voice. Hate the way his kiss lingers in your memory. The world is on fire - the dead walking and you’re fighting back tears because a grouchy redneck hurt your feelings.

He was the one who kissed you.

“Na. Ya didn’t do nothin’.”

You wipe away the tears that betray you and let your gaze fall to your lap. Above you Daryl starts to pace, nervous energy filling his limbs as he watches you stuff the jerky into your bag to share with the others. It fills him with a white hot rage and although you’re the one he unleashes it on it has nothing to do with you. He’s angry with himself, angry with these unfamiliar thoughts and feelings suffocating him every second of the day. Feelings he has no fucking idea how to show or give credence to. They’re eating him up inside - driving him fucking crazy.

“Fuckin’ eat.”

“I don’t—-.”

“Why ya gotta be so goddamn hard headed?! Huh? Ya think I don’t see ya? Don’t watch ya every fucking day take less food than the others?”

You grab the beef jerky from your bag and shoot up to your feet, closing the space between you to shove it into his chest glaring. “Yeah? Who do you think I learned it from?” Daryl always takes less food even opting to not eat at all if it’s something Carl actually likes. Your combined unwavering selflessness will be your downfalls.

Daryl grabs your wrist, holding your palm to his chest as he glares back - molars grinding from the flood of emotion filling his soul. Anger that you’re starving and there’s nothing he can do about it, regret from running away after kissing you that day and desire from how fucking beautiful you look standing here before him. It sends an ache through his chest as you take another step forward and sink your free hand into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Do you regret kissing me?” Your words are feathery soft, eyes trained on his lips that part with needed air. “No.” Daryl pulls you flush against his chest still gripping your wrist tightly while his other hand slides down your side and along your hip. “I want you to kiss me again.”

He answers with your name rumbling deep in his chest. Kissing you is the last thing on his mind right now. He wants to fuck you against these empty shelves - to feel every fucking part of you wrapped around him. Finally letting go of your wrist the beef jerky is all but forgotten as he brushes his rough palm against your cheek - fingers sinking into the back of your hair and chest heaving with desire as his ocean eyes search yours.

The words he wants to say are trapped in his throat - your faces so close he can feel your soft pants of needed air against his lips. “Kiss m—-.” Your request is cut off by his mouth on yours - one rough hand sliding to the small of your back while the other sinks deeper into your hair - kissing you with every ounce of desire running through him. He’s like a man starved, using his much larger body to push you back into the biting shelves - demanding your tongue with his as he swallows those beautiful little groans that escape your throat - sliding his hand further up your shirt to grasp at your waist.

Somewhere behind you the lone walker begins to thrash against the door - jarring the mop handle you used as a makeshift lock until it’s rattling dangerously. “D-Daryl…” Your worried eyes flutter shut as his mouth finds your throat, trailing a wet kiss to your collar bone as an idle hand brushes against the swell of your breast - bringing a deep almost primal growl to his lips. “…ain’t gonna get in.” He whispers in that rough thrilling voice before returning his lips to yours quickly - grasping at your hips to lift you up easily.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and cling to him as his slow desperate tongue moves with yours - worn boots kicking useless shit out of his way before he swipes his arm over the front counter sending empty boxes flying. He sits you down without breaking your kiss - grabbing your waist to bring your body against his as he settles himself between your thighs and buries his hands into your hair.

Daryl kisses you like his sole purpose in life is your mouth on his and it sends a wave of pure pleasure straight to your core as you kiss him back just as fiercely - placing your hands at the nape of his neck, nails digging into the back of his hair as he groans into your mouth. All sense of reality slips away - the world isn’t over, the dead aren’t walking - it’s just you and Daryl and his hard body pressed into yours so close you swear you can feel his heart hammering against your chest.

The archer pulls away from your mouth just enough to take in a ragged breath, eyes searching as he tries to figure out what to do with you. He wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything in his miserable life but the back door begins to bang louder - one walker can’t break through the barricade but several have no problem snapping the mop handle to pour inside the futile gas station.

Daryl hangs his head for a moment, a slew of profanity falling from his lips as he realizes he has to stop this again. He won’t risk your life no matter how good you’re making him feel. He won’t ever risk you. When he lifts his eyes to yours he’s taken back at the desire in your gaze, stealing one last long kiss as the back door finally burst open and several snarling dead bodies push through the narrow space.

He whispers motherfucker against your lips then grabs his crossbow from the ground beside him - turning to the threat as you hop off the counter to help. Once the walkers are truly dead you grab the small bag of beef jerky from on your way out. Daryl watches you idly as you take a mouthful of the processed meat and hand him the rest - silently daring him to protest. To your surprise the grumpy archer finishes it off as you make your way back to the others empty handed.

Later that night as your group sits around the low fire with hollow bellies and broken spirits Daryl watches you, replying every second of your time together today with his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. There’s so many concerning things that need to be addressed with the others of but all he can process is the feel of your lips against his. Idly wondering when he’ll get to taste them again.

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Epilogue

AN: You can blame Mexico and Onyx Storm for my delay on this one. But for those who are curious, here is our sweet little epilogue for Joel and Freckles. Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, shared, and encouraged me while writing this story. I love you, and so does Joel and Freckles. XO

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist

Five Years Later

“You wanna come,” he practically taunts, “Don’t you, sweet girl?” 

Every muscle in your body is weak, causing the leather cuffs of the St. Andrews Cross to rub at your wrists and ankles. He’s been teasing you for hours, stopping every time you’re about to shatter. 

This night has been a long while in the making. After five years with your firm you were finally given the lead on a big case; a case that your boss handed to you and said this was your chance to earn your partnership. You spent upwards of eighty to ninety hours a week preparing and Joel could not have been more perfect during that time. He’d often show up with food or coffee for you and your team of junior lawyers, interns, and paralegals. He never complained when you’d bring work home; however, every time you said something negative about yourself, Joel would mark it on the fridge. Over the three and a half weeks of prep work thirty ticks ended up on the small piece of paper that was hung with a Berkeley magnet. You didn’t have time to ask Joel what they meant, and truthfully, you didn’t really care; you trusted that whatever he planned to do with those ticks was for your own good. 

During the trial, another twelve ticks were added. When the verdict was announced and you had won your case, Joel was there in the courtroom, smiling warmly at you when you glanced back at him. When you got home that evening, after a celebratory round or two of cocktails, Joel made you kneel in front of him as he explained that each tick, all forty two of them, symbolized a denied orgasm, a punishment meant to remind you not to talk bad about things that Joel owns. Especially brilliant lawyers who win their first big case and secure themselves as partner.  

As he strapped you to the padded X shaped piece of furniture tonight, he said, ‘if you’re the sweet girl I know you to be, then you won’t whine when I stop. Instead, you’ll say “Thank you, Mister Miller” and I’ll count that as two. Forty two orgasms being denied is not going to be easy, so do yourself a favour and don’t whine; you don’t want to know what happens if you do.’

The only response to his teasing that you can muster now is a whimper and a nod. He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Use your words, honey.”

Your voice is almost silent. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

He walks behind you, trailing the small vibrator along your skin. “Such a good girl for me tonight. Saying yes to everything. Remind me, how many orgasms have I denied you so far?”

Your pussy throbs with the deep timber of his voice, this is truly torture and your safeword is on the tip of your tongue. “Twenty one,” you mumble.

“Poor, sweet girl,” He says from behind you, leaning in closely to whisper in your ear. “Did you learn your lesson?”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You swallow the dry lump in your throat.

“Should I let you pick how you want to come?”

He completes his circle around you and the crossing, stepping in close to you. He uses the little vibrator to gently tease your nipples. You can barely form a thought and just let a small ‘yes’ mixed with moans leave your lips as your sweat covered back arches off the padded back of the cross. The heat of Joel’s body this close makes you feel like you’re on fire. 

“Want to come on my fingers?” He asks, then easily slips three of them inside of you. Your gaze shoots to his as a strangled cry fills the room. 

“Yesyes - fuuuuck, please.” You feel your pussy tightening around his digits.

“What about my cock? You love being stuffed full of my thick cock while I strum your clit. Don’t you? My perfect little slut.” He teases you further by pumping his fingers forward once, revelling in the feel of you clenching tighter around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he continues.

“No, I know,” his fingers slip out from your pussy and you gasp, unable to protest in your weakened state. Not that you would protest; you know better than to do that, and he told you not to whine tonight. You are a good girl, you know that what your dom says is best. Plus, you need to come so badly that you think you might actually die if you don’t, and Joel is just sadistic enough to keep you like this for days. 

He gets onto his knees, his warm breath hitting your cunt as he speaks. “What if I put my lips around this swollen little clit? Huh? Suck her into my mouth and drink up every ounce of your cum?”

He uses his thumbs to pull the lips of your pussy further apart. He’s so close that your breath catches in your throat at the promise of relief. He blows cool air along your soaked pussy; you clench your molars together and focus on your breathing. You don’t come until he tells you. 

“Would you like that, my sweet girl?”

The restraints cut at your wrists when you try to push your hips to his mouth. “Yes. Yes. Please, Mister Miller.”

He stands abruptly, hand wrapping around the hair at the nape of your neck before he tugs to bring your gaze up to his. The pull of your hair relaxes the muscles of your neck and upper back and you melt into the padded cross.

His eyes darken as he asks, “You really would say yes to anything, wouldn’t you?” 

“Y-yes. I just need to come. Please.” He releases your hair, stepping back and crossing his arms. The veins on his forearms pop, the sleeves of his rolled black dress shirt tightening under his biceps. Since officially retiring, he’s had a strict exercise regime. He was sexy when you met him almost ten years ago, but like a fine wine, he gets better with each passing year.

The gravel in his voice returns, “But you’d say yes even if I told you we were done for the night and it was time to get dressed. Right?” 

Your eyes clench close, head falling back as the panic of not getting to come tonight races through your mind. You take a calming breath before whispering, “Yes, Mister Miller.” 

“Eyes on me, sweet girl.” You peel your eyes open and tilt your chin down to look at him. His hands are now buried in his pockets, and there’s a shift in how he’s looking at you, a slight softness to his dark eyes. 

“And what if I asked you to marry me?” His voice is shy and raspy.

He slowly pulls a ring out of his pocket and holds it up for you. A thin, gold band with a single, albeit very large, solitaire diamond on it sends sparkles all around the room. Tears line your lash line, mirroring his. He clears his throat softly.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, sweet girl. Listen carefully for me,” he pockets the ring and steps closely, wiping the happy tear that rolls down your cheek. The rough whorls on his thumb send goosebumps cascading down your body. “First, I’m going to make you come. Then, I’m going to untie you, get you all cleaned up, and get some sugar into you.”

You nod, leaning into his touch as cups your face. His eyes dart towards the bed as he says, “After that, we are getting to that bed so I can kiss you until neither of us can breathe.”

“And then,” he smiles sweetly, a tear rolling from the corner of his deep brown and honey flecked eye to his greying beard. “And then I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + thirty six

authors note: see at end of chapter.

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

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

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

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 16k 

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

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

It’s deeply appreciated.

And, the assistance doesn’t stop there. 

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

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

At that, Roman scowls. 

Uncle Dwayne?

What the fuck?

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

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

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

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

“I’m in.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

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

No one needs to ask who the he is. 

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

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

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

Roman says nothing, silently agreeing. 

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

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

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

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

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

She’ll be a great asset for the mission.

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

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

A shared sentiment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or just blow his head off altogether.

Either option is equally acceptable.

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

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

Afia knows Solana is pregnant.

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

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

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

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

He’s right. Roman knows as such.

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

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

Alive.

Bringing her back alive.

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

“He’s mine.”

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

Roman.

This is Roman’s kill to make.

A life for his to take.

In every brutal, gruesome way he can imagine.

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

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

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

Jimmy and Naomi.

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

The betrayal that’s occurred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you know?”

Simple. Straight to the point. Necessary.

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

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

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

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

He just wants to know.

He wants an answer.

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

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

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

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

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

And now, Solana has been kidnapped. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The truth is all that matters.

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

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

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

It’s going around.

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

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

The family he thought he could trust.

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

All while stabbing you in the back.

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

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

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

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

The shit just gets worse minute by minute.

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

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

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

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

Traitors.

They’re all traitors.

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

And, no one said a damn thing. 

Dead. 

They’re all dead to him. 

—------

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

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

She’s been there. 

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

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

What’s being done to her.

It’s awful.

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

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

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

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

Armed guards.

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

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

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

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

Especially if it’s Solo or Rikishi.

It’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, a reply. “They got Nicki.”

Solana pauses. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—------

 Roman has never feared death.

Not really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, it’s something he’s accepted.

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

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

Nothing else matters. 

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

He just can’t.

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

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

He obliges.

One last time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

Roman’s jaw clenches.

Family.

Aiga means family in Samoan.

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

Not with all the betrayal.

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

He needs to be focused.

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

Two words.

One meaning.

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

“Let’s go.”

—--------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That could help a ton.

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

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

Like someone had prepped it a bit.

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

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

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

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

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

They were a warning sign.

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

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

She has nowhere else to go.

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

Brock.

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

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

No.

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

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

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

On the cot.

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

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

The day she was raped.

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

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

Something that she swore would never happen to her again.

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

It’s a promise she can’t break.

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

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

She needs something else.

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

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

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

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

To save herself. 

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

This is the only way. 

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

It’s revolting. 

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

She takes the opportunity.

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

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

The unknowingly key part he’d shared.

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

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

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

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

Good.

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

A critical one. 

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

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

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

She killed him.

Solana killed this man.

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

He was going to hurt her.

He was going to rape her. 

She had no choice. 

She did what she had to do to protect herself. 

To protect her babies.

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

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

She stood on it. 

She stood on business.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She remembers Dwayne referring to her as such before.

The wife of the Tribal Chief.

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

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

Believes that he truly means her no harm.

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

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

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

That makes him just as complicit in her book.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They have to get out.

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

A bulletproof vest.

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

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

Why she has to fight. 

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

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

She owes him her life. 

—------

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

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

Targets.

They’re all nothing but intended targets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A dire, lethal mistake.

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

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

To be tortured.

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

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

Something he’s not willing to compromise on.

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

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

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

“You heard what I said.”

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

It’s a final statement. 

A last decree.

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

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

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

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

Vengeance. 

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

Go time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They all deserve to fucking burn.

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

It’s a bloodbath.

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

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

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

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

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

The Opo has truly arrived.

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

She smiles in sick satisfaction.

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

It’s obvious everyone is on the page.

Extermination.

This is a fucking extermination.

—-----

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

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

What other option does she have?

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

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

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

She’s not ready to die.

Not tonight.

Not anytime soon. 

Especially not like this.

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

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

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

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

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

No matter what.

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

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

Gunshots. 

Solana hears gunshots.

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

“Roman is here!”

And just like that, Solana’s stomach drops.

He’s here.

Roman is here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cut.

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

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

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

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

She’s on her own. 

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

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

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

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

The desire to survive. 

The desire to protect.

The desire to live.

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

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

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

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

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

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

One in the shoulder.

One in the chest.

And one in the head.

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

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

She swallows.

It’s just her and Emma now.

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

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

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

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

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

A gun.

He has a gun pressed against her stomach.

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

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

It can’t end like this. 

It can’t.

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

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

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

You’re safe.

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

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

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

“Look at me.” 

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

So, she obliges and nearly falls apart.

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

It’s home.

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

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

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

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

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

To let go.

Never. 

Never again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What if it was one of our daughters?”

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

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

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

Solo.

He’s talking about Solo.

He has to kill him.

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

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

Her voice cracks. “Roman—”

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

A group of people.

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

Cody Rhodes?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Family. 

This is her family.

And, family sticks together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’ll do anything for the man she loves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That she survived.

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

Friends.

Family. 

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

“Let’s go.”

—--------

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

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

A fatal decision, clearly.

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

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

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

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

All of which Roman has an abundance of. 

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

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

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

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

And, Solo is no different. 

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

And nothing more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another gun.

“Don’t make me do this, uce.” 

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

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

His cousin.

His supposed brother.

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

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

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

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

Solana. 

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

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

He fulfilled his goal, upheld his promise. 

His wife and children will live. 

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

He can die happy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad!” 

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

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

Not with the move he just pulled.

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

Hit by Dwayne. 

Non-fatal, but grounding.

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

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

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

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

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

Just the stillness of death.

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

“Roman!”

Solana shouts, running over to him. On her knees, she pulls him up, face paling with a devastating realization. “No….”

She’s not certain, can’t be sure, but by the amount of blood he's losing, he was stabbed close to an artery.

If not in an artery.

Her eyes water, as she caresses his face. “You’re gonna be okay, mi amor.” 

Solana moves quickly, pulling off her sweater, leaving just the bullet proof vest covering her thin blood stained tank top. She uses it to apply pressure to stop or hold off as much of the bleeding as possible from the stab wound. Gaze lifted to Dwayne and Matteo, she pleads, “help me get him up.” An unnecessary request as they were already moving to do so, helping a weakened Roman stand. 

As she goes to walk behind them, staying close to Roman, she overhears Jey’s loud curses at Afia, Bayley, and Santos who only try to help him up. He swats them away, denying their assistance, remaining with his now deceased father and brother. 

Alone.

—-------

Getting Roman outside the building and loaded into a truck takes much longer than Solana likes. It all takes too long. Dwayne and Matteo opting to go with her, the former driving as Matteo sits in the front seat after they help Roman into the back where he leans into Solana. The time it takes for her shaking hands to remove her bulletproof vest, wanting to feel her husband against her, body to body. 

Even the rushed goodbyes as the others load into different SUVs heading elsewhere or maybe following them. Solana isn’t sure. She just knows it all takes too long when time is not on their side. 

She holds him, his large, heavy body leaning into her, his breathing haggard, both his shirt and her own soaked and drenched with blood, the same as her sweater that she keeps pressed against his wound, doing her best to buy them as much time.

She doesn’t ask how far they are away from the hospital.

She won’t.

Roman’s voice is pained and weakened almost. “Solana—”

“No.” The most perfect combination of emotional and stern. A single word that’s the equivalent of someone standing in front of a door that’s threatening to burst at the seams, completely overwhelmed to the point of explosion. And, the explosion would be Solana’s calm, her sanity, because she cannot fathom nor will she even entertain what he might be trying to tell her. “Just–just rest.”

Trembling hands move up and down his shoulders. “Don’t talk. Just—just listen.” A quiet, still stern command that’s both for his physical wellbeing and her mental stability. And, while his silence might be the worst thing ever for most people, for her, it’s calming in a sense. 

Solana moves her hands to his head, stroking his hair, loose and wild. She keeps it out of the way, makes sure none of the blood that seeps through his shirt and onto her own clothing makes its way onto his silky mane. “It’s tonight,” her voice cracks, as she reminds him, “I–I told you I would tell you tonight.”

A night unlike any she’s ever experienced, she won’t let it pass without making good on her promise.

She doesn’t care about the presence of the other two men, doesn’t care what they overhear, what they learn.

It doesn’t matter. 

The only thing that matters is keeping Roman awake.

He can’t lose consciousness.

“I—I wanna use the money to create a foundation,” she starts off, having to revisit the many exciting realizations she’d stumbled across while on her trip. A trip that seems so long ago now. “I want to open up domestic violence shelters for women and children. One here and one in Mexico.” Solana holds him a little tighter, does her best to make him as comfortable as one can be in this situation. She knows the friction of the truck speeding through uneven terrain doesn’t help, but she hopes her words and information can allot him some type of solace. “And, I—I wanna name the foundation after my mother.”

That last part was something that took her a minute to settle on, the confusing, unresolved feelings of hurt, anger, and resentment towards the woman who loved and cared for her for the first ten years of her life, partially clouding her judgment. Solana had almost forgotten why that was an area she’s so passionate about.

Because while her mother wasn’t perfect and didn’t make all the right decisions, she was still a victim, too. She, like so many other women, lost her life in trying to make a better life for her daughter. For Solana. Alma didn’t do everything right, but in the end, she made the ultimate sacrifice.

And, Solana knows countless other women like her mother are out there, and she wants to use the time she has left on this earth to make it so that the number of women trapped in domestic violent relationships, along with their kids, have the help and resources Alma didn’t.

“I’m gonna double major in nursing and business, so I have that business knowledge, too.” She strokes his lightly bruised cheek, adding in a light voice. “You might have to help me sometimes with homework and stuff.”

Roman’s quiet chuckle is hard to appreciate with the grimace that follows it. He’s in pain. She knows it, and she hates it. Hates that she can’t miraculously heal him from his injuries. Can’t make the truck go any faster than it’s already going. All she can do is continue to try to soothe him with her words, distracting and informative. 

Another wave of emotion hits as Solana transitions to the more sentimental realizations. “Cataleya….I want…I want her middle name to be Alma, after….after my mother.” Scenes and flashes from the dreams of the quieter of their girls, her soft smile and warm eyes. “Because she…she has my mother’s gentle, pure aura about her.” Solana shifts just enough, moving in sync with Roman who groans quietly. “Catalina…” Solana is the one to chuckle this time, sharing, “her middle name will be Fetu.” Solana can feel it, she doesn’t know how or why, but she can feel the way he tenses almost in her arms. A tension that melts into something close to calm. “Because she has that fire in her like her daddy and her great aunt.” Flashes of their brave, strong little girl with nothing but determination and resilience.

Just like her daddy.

“And our son.” Her voice cracking reveals the toll of the situation that’s finally making its impact on her known, but Solana shoves it away. Forces it back. Not right now. “I want to name our son after you.” Solana angles her head to look at him as she gently caresses his cheek. “I wanna name him Tamasa.”

Roman’s eyes are shut, a small almost solemn smile on his face. "Yeah?"

She nods, eyes watering once more. "Yeah."

Because, she can't think of a better, stronger, kinder man than to name their firstborn son after.

It would be an honor. Truly.

Something settles in Roman's gaze, something distant and somber. His eyes close, his voice low and exhausted. “I love you.”

For the first in her life, those are the three words she doesn’t enjoy hearing. Not from him. 

Because she knows exactly what he’s saying.

He’s saying goodbye.

“No.” Solana can’t breathe. She can only shake her head, moving her hands to his face, slapping him lightly. “Roman, stay with me.” She’s only slightly relieved to see his eyes fluttering, a sign that he’s still fighting, still breathing. “You can’t leave me, okay?” He says nothing, just continues to look at her with that sad, solemn grin on his handsome face. “We have to build our house, remember? We—we have to have our big family.” Lips trembling, she presses against his temple, murmuring and crying against him, “you’re going to be okay.” 

A promise to him. A promise for herself.

For their daughters in her stomach and the children they’ll have after.

Because, Solana refuses to accept anything else.

She’s been through hell.

Roman has been through hell.

Their story won’t end this way. She won’t let it.

But, then the truck stops. Stops moving altogether, and she nearly loses it.

“What are you doing?” Solana sounds every bit as frantic as she feels. “Drive! He’s losing too much blood, we have to—we have to get him to the hospital!" Speaking aloud the uncomfortable truth and reality is a crushing, cumbersome thing. Because the reality is that while her words soothed him in some ways, it didn’t stop nor slow down the blood that continues to soak him, her, and the seat of the car.

A devastating reminder that time is most definitely not on their side. Every fucking second is precious, and she won’t stand for any of it being wasted.

“Drive!” She screams once more, nearly hyperventilating when both Matteo and Dwayne hop out of the truck. A nervous breakdown is right around the corner until the side door is ripped open, and a blinding light forces Solana to look away, protectively cradling her husband. 

But, it’s not just the light, there’s sound. It’s loud. Familiar. Chipped, intermittent. Deafening in some ways. 

The light is eclipsed by two bulky figures, Matteo and Dwayne. 

Solana realizes they’re pulling Roman away from her.

And, the panic sets in.

“No!”

“Solana, look!” Matteo’s voice is urgent and pressing, one hand restricting her, which only exacerbates her anxiety and anger.

But, she does look, and when she does, it’s an instant switch. 

The panic that filled and threatened to overwhelm her is melted into an abundance of relief as she takes in the scene before her, nothing short of a miracle.

A helicopter with the same color patterns as the local hospital, the star of life, blades moving rapidly, as if ready to take off at any moment. Bright lights on and doors opened, two medical professionals rush out to meet Dwayne who’s helping Roman remain upright and on his feet.

“We knew someone would be needing medical attention,” Matteo informs, as she looks over at him wide eyed and bursting with appreciation. "So, we prepared ahead of time." He gestures to where Dwayne can be seen talking to the paramedic, likely explaining the nature of Roman’s injuries.

If not for the situation, Solana would 1000% express to Matteo her immense gratitude. For everything. For it all.

But, in this moment, her only concern, the only thing she can think about, is being with her husband.

Solana is once again a frantic mess as she moves to climb out the truck, her legs carrying her over just in time as she tells, not asks, the flight paramedic, “I’m going with him.”

She’s met with zero protests despite the tight space, Roman’s big body taking up more space than the average person. Of that, she’s sure.

But, none of that matters. 

There’s a bit of a blur around her, as they work to get an IV into Roman, talks of tourniquets, hemostatic dressings, blood transfusions, while they work to get him as stable as possible as the helicopter lifts off, carrying them to the hospital where he’ll get the medical treatment he needs.

The treatment that will save his life. 

And, that’s what matters to Solana. That’s what has her finally sobbing, her hand in his, both caked in old and fresh blood, the same blood that stains her clothing and body, some splatters on her face. It’s all irrelevant. All immaterial.

They’re safe.

Roman is safe. 

He’s going to be alright.

He’s going to live.

She’s safe. 

She’s going to be alright.

And most importantly, their babies are safe.

The girls are going to be alright.

It’s a welcomed, cherished, moving thing and scene that contrasts the backdrop of a sudden loud boom, a painting of orange and yellow hues that paint the night sky miles behind and under. An explosion at the same plant where they just were.

Where some still remain.

--------

a/n: these two have been through enough. to kill off either of them would be trauma porn. not to mention, neither would ever really, truly recover if they lost one another. it would make all their progress null and void.

[cheegu3]

Hi

Can you write the reaction of yander skz when the reader ignores them?

warnings; yandere relationship / yandere themes, abuse, torture, violence, jealousy, possessiveness, depression, mentions of blood and punishments, choking, talks of sex, swearing, sadism

Stray kids - reaction to reader ignoring them

Bang Chan

He would have none of it. Like most times when you knew you'd fucked up, his face went stoic; dead of emotion, smile dropping in a second and his voice disappearing, fading immediately.

He would give you a death stare, which he admittedly enjoyed doing more than anything. He'd give anything to see that look of pure terror striking your face be replayed over and over again in his head.

You ignoring him once was all he needed to lose any bit of happiness he had felt during the day. It didn't matter if you'd been good all week; on your best behavior. None of that mattered as soon as you turned away from him when he asked you something, lips sealed tightly shut.

A few seconds of silence passed. You could practically envision his blank face in your head despite not facing him.

'' Did you not hear me? ''

You jumped at the sound of the chair scraping when he got up abruptly, and your blood ran cold the louder the steps got. He stopped right behind you, standing so close that you could hear him breathe, the shakiness of his breaths telling you he was seething with anger.

Closing your eyes shut, you hoped by some miracle that he would leave you alone like a normal boyfriend would. But you knew - he wasn't a normal boyfriend, not at all.

'' Y/n, I'm gonna give you a few seconds, '' he lowly warned.

What were you thinking? This was insane. You hadn't thought it through at all, it was supposed to be a small payback for Bang Chan ignoring you and being cold to you many times during the week.

You should've known, nothing's ever small with him.

In the blink of an eye, you felt pain shoot through you. Feeling confused, you opened your eyes and blinked, hazily taking in the situation. Time was up.

You were pinned against the wall. He had slammed you against it and was pressing his forearm against your throat, already making you gasp for air so easily.

His jaw clenched as he spat out his next words. '' It will take a lot more than an apology to please me now. ''

Lee Know

Cool - two can play that game, you'd see who would last the longest. Big chance it was him who would win, he'd always win, either by scaring you into submission or just due to his pure pettiness and competitiveness.

And naturally, if he didn't win he'd sulk and punish you of course. That was his right.

The first time you pushed him away when he tried initiating skinship, which he often did, he just raised his eyebrow and scoffed at you. When you did it again, he started getting angry and realized something was up.

The third was his final straw. He tried pulling you close to him when you were going to sleep as he liked cuddling before sleeping. You pushed him away, rolling your eyes and sighing loudly.

'' Stop it. I don't want to, '' you mumbled, already feeling sleepy.

He sneered. '' When have I ever cared what you wanted? ''

You couldn't help but let out a sarcastic laugh, dry of humor. At least he was self-aware. But that added more fuel to the fire, he felt mocked; hating being laughed at.

'' So what did I do this time to piss you off, princess? ''

'' Everything. I want to break up. ''

'' Not gonna happen. ''

'' Then I will ignore you until it happens, '' you shot back and rolled onto your side, away from him.

'' Fine, I love games. But...we both know I always win. ''

A chill ran down your spine as you saw flashbacks of all the other times he had been petty, back then, he was a lot less lenient than now. Anything used to set him off. You looked at the server while he was ordering? No food for the rest of the day. You said anything negative about him to your family? No phone for a month. You didn't look happy when he came home? Fine, he'd leave you in the basement then so you wouldn't have to greet him.

'' Don't we, babe? ''

All at once, the feelings from back then came rushing at you, making you almost regret having started this thing in the first place. Your chest heaved as you drew in a shaky breath.

There was no use fighting him. '' Yes, babe. '' you meekly said, closing your eyes just as a tear fell down.

Changbin

Surprisingly, he'd be kind of chill with it. He was understanding since he'd had many days when he didn't want to talk to people and he knew that he had done that to you many times.

However, if it went on longer than he thought necessary, he would grow irritated and show this to make you stop your behavior.

You had quite suddenly gotten depressed and didn't feel like talking to anyone. You barely had the energy to get out of bed in the morning so whenever your boyfriend talked to you, you never felt anything, so you said nothing.

This weird dynamic between the two of you went on for around two weeks until he was fed up. You just sat there staring with a blank look on your face at the wall or the garden, without saying a word. It hurt him to see you like this, you had turned into a corpse.

First, you would just shrug whenever he asked something or hum when he pointed things out. Then you stopped responding entirely like you weren't even acknowledging his presence.

'' Y/n. ''

His voice came through to you this time. Usually, it sounded so far away, almost as if he shouted to you from the end of a tunnel. He felt hopeful when he saw that you reacted to his voice, your head turned a bit toward his direction.

'' I think you need to see someone. You're not getting better. ''

You couldn't find the right words, mind racing with every possible thing you could say - so you said nothing. Your lips were pressed together stubbornly.

Changbin buried his head into his hands and leaned against the table. A sudden loud bang when he rammed his fist into the table in frustration made you jump.

'' I've had enough, '' he growled, '' We're going. Now. ''

You didn't have time to process what he said before you felt your arm sting in pain as he grabbed it harshly, his nails digging into the skin. He dragged you all the way to the car and slammed it shut, hurrying to the driver's seat so he could lock the car.

Well inside, he sighed in relief when he pressed the lock button, but his eyes drifted to you and for some reason, he missed when you fought back. Missed when you'd insult him and scream and try to run away. Anything was better than this, vegetable of a person.

Hyunjin

He would stare at you in disbelief and then repeat himself. Once things clicked and he realized you were doing it on purpose, he had to bite back the harsh words that he wanted to hurl at you.

It wasn't that big of a deal if you were bratty and pulled something like that in private, but in front of other people?

His cheeks heat up in embarrassment, giving them a slight red tint. But all he did was let out a small, breathy laugh while he tried his best to gather himself as quickly as possible so his inner turmoil would not be visible on the outside.

Your mutual friends still looked to him for an answer, their eyes searching his worriedly. With a sigh he quickly slipped on a fake smile, it was almost second nature to him by now. How he hated them all, he had only gotten close to them so he could get you.

'' She's just...going through something right now. ''

That seemed to make them even more worried. Your closest friend who had never really liked him as she suspected he had ulterior motives, furrowed her brows.

Hyunjin swallowed thickly and hastily added, '' It's nothing too serious, she has just fought with her sister and family a lot lately. ''

It was the best lie he could come up with on the spot. He relaxed visibly, his tense shoulders sinking down when they started accepting what he had just told them.

However, he could still feel that eerie feeling of being watched. Your friend didn't believe him, of course she didn't, she never did. He had to go after you and fix this to get her off his back.

'' I should go check on her. ''

The other murmured in agreement and barely noted when he slipped away after you. He swore under his breath and tried his best not to run.

What the fuck did you do? Couldn't you just ever behave?

Han

He would feel extremely stressed by you becoming completely unresponsive to him. This wasn't normal at all and it was driving him insane.

Why wouldn't you talk to him and tell him what was wrong so he could do anything in his power to fix it? Did you enjoy torturing him like this?

He hated when things changed so much that he always ensured you two were on good terms. Whenever you were mad at him, you'd fought, or you were crying after a punishment, he would have trouble calming himself down.

Maybe a part of that was because he didn't like how it made him feel deep down. Your cries of pain, your pleas for him to stop, your tears - what it did to him.

His breathing would become more hitched, almost bordering on a panic attack. What he needed most in those moments was reassurance that you still loved him, that you didn't hate him, and that you weren't going to leave him or that you thought he was a bad person.

'' Y/n? '' he started quite calmly, which surprised him and you.

You looked away but were startled by him sneaking up to your side after you had walked away and slipped out of his hand. The cinema where you were was packed, so it would've been easy to disappear like a ghost in the wind if you had been with anyone else. Of course with him though, he noticed immediately.

His eyes widened and he stared after you, your slightest actions caused a surge of panic coursing through him.

'' Where are you going? '' his voice sounded steady, hiding his desperation.

There was a slight edge to it, though, that made you second-guess your rebelliousness. You had asked if you could go out with your friend for an evening, and he had like always, said no. Feeling fed up with his overly clingy, anxious, and possessive personality, you felt like putting your foot down, and this was the only way you could think of.

But he didn't react the way you had predicted he would. In the only area of the cinema where fewer people were now, he leaned in, his breath tickling your neck.

'' I've given you too many chances, haven't I? '' he whispered.

You flinched. There was something different about his tone. He was enjoying it.

Felix

He would be a little bit oblivious to the whole thing. Sometimes he'd say stuff and not expect you to answer, because he was used to your mood changing from time to time.

So, he'd almost go a full 24 hours without noticing something was wrong. When he did, his eyes widened and he felt very guilty.

You had just come home from taking a walk in the evening. Like most days Felix and you sat down to watch a movie or a series.

He picked up the remote and started flipping through Netflix's home page. Being used to you choosing since you had very strong opinions about movies and tv-series, he waited patiently for you to butt in. He had almost scrolled through the entirety of his saved list when he glanced over at you. You looked bored. He could tell that you had no intention of taking the remote from him, and that’s when it clicked in his head.

Realisation spread across his face and a look of horror came upon it. “ Oh my god I’m so sorry, y/n “

“ How could I not have noticed- “ he seemed to get lost in his head as he said to himself, “ how long did I not notice for? “ 

You hadn't planned to keep it going for very long, you just wanted him to become a bit more self-aware and know of your needs and moods.

With a deep sigh, you finally spoke for the first time in hours. '' It took you a long time. ''

You felt irritated but it was also easy to tell that he genuinely felt bad, so maybe he'd make it up to you and change his behavior afterward. He sighed too and ran his fingers through his hair.

'' Come here, '' he softly said after a few minutes of silence.

It was so low that you almost missed it. As soon as you came close enough, he pulled you into his lap and started gently caressing your face.

'' I'll make it up to you, my love, '' your heart made a leap, '' I promise.''

He pressed his lips against yours and in an instant you forget why you were really mad at him.

Seungmin

His fist slammed down into the table, rattling its contents and making you jump in surprise. With narrowed eyes, he watched you closely as the tension between you increased with every moment.

'' You're not listening to me. Are you ignoring me? '' his voice raised ever so slightly making you look around with fear.

The last thing you wanted was for him to cause a scene in the restaurant.

'' Well, '' he quirked his eyebrow, '' are you? ''

You swallowed thickly. '' Not...not really. I just got lost in my thoughts.''

Seungmin hummed and started drumming his fingers against the table. You watched him anxiously, trying to predict his next move. For a long time, he just sat there, his chair pushed out and a little slumped down.

Then he got up so aggressively that you almost jumped for a second time. He stalked towards you and pulled you up in one swift movement.

'' We're going home. ''

'' But...'' your protests trailed off when he gave you a warning glare.

Reluctantly you let him walk you to his car and then got in willingly. The air on the ride home felt stiff and dry, he didn't talk at all, and if you tried to initiate a conversation or let out as much as a sound, it would make him whip his head around and clench his jaw as he stared you down.

Well home, he didn't even bother to turn off the car or park it. With a simple wave of his hand to the servants he set them off to work and dragged you inside.

When you realized where he was leading you, you stopped and went rigid, refusing to move. That familiar red door was staring back at you, and the more you looked, the more it looked like it was eerily bleeding.

It was his favorite playroom. You remembered his amused voice as he whispered in your ear on the first day you were there, ' soundproof so no one can hear your pretty screams '

'' You don't have a choice. Go, or I'll make you. ''

I.N

He'd react insecurely and possessively as hell. With his mind spinning, he almost lost his vision when he pushed you against the mattress in a chokehold, all he saw was red.

'' Who is he? ''

You could barely think since the air to your brain was rapidly restricting. At first when you tried to answer, it came out in small gasps which made I.N snap out of it and loosen his grip.

'' Speak. ''

'' Who? '' you said, your voice already hoarse. '' What are you talking about? ''

'' The guy that you're fucking! '' he screamed.

You blinked at him in confusion. All you'd done was give him short answers and squirm out of his hands when he'd try to touch you. You hadn't really meant to ignore him, you just wanted to be alone.

A scoff slipped out when you realized that he must've jumped to a conclusion. It was a long stretch but it almost always seemed to be the conclusion he jumped to when he felt threatened.

'' There's no one. I'm just not doing too well. ''

You knew it was pointless, the wild look in his bloodshot eyes already told you that he wasn't hearing anything but his own rage.

His hands moved down your body and he pulled you so close your lips were almost touching. They traveled further and he then yanked your phone out of your back pocket.

You were about to say something to try and calm him down. He interrupted you by the sound of the phone smashing into a million pieces as he threw it full force into the wall beside you.

'' Now we're even. ''

[joelsmochi]

indulge - joel miller

summary: part 2 to every man gets his wish

warnings: not proofread, porn no plot it just some self indulgent cunnilingus ;)

wc: 850

a/n: couldn’t sleep so i wrote this in 30 minutes to tire my brain >_<. enjoy <3

series masterlist | main masterlist

The camera was in the way.

Your hips hanging off of the bed was prompted by Joel happily getting on his knees. He had a dream of what the angle might look like: camera on the floor, watching him destroy you with his tongue from below.

You couldn’t help but say sure when he asked, although it wouldn’t have taken you much convincing to begin with.

The camera was angled perfectly, showing off how sweetly your cunt glistened from the filthy mixture of your juices and Joel’s spit. His tongue was seen doing every trick in the fucking book, God it was fucking amazing.

But it didn’t feel quite right. Joel’s body wasn’t pressed against yours like usual when he ate you out; his arms weren’t wrapped around your thighs while he brutally suffocated your pussy with the intensity of his mouth. He was holding back, and you hated feeling teased.

The camera was in the fucking way.

Joel sensed it when you moaned but let out a slight huff at the end of it (for the thousandth time).

“What, baby? What’s got you irritated?” He sighed after pulling away.

You sat up slightly, shooting a pout at his puppy eyes.

“You’re holding back, you’re not on me,” you explained. “The camera’s in the way.”

He chuckled, “Well, yeah, darlin’. I gotta keep the camera steady.”

“Fuck the camera!”

You tugged his hair to shove his face back into your sopping wet skin, then shifted your body deeper into his.

With hands melting into your thighs and pressure from his shoulders you felt that lick of intimacy that your body required. His warm tongue lacing the letter of his name into your precious little clit while his stubble scraped tickles into your flesh set your body on fire.

The pitch of your moans grew higher every time your core took another daring step closer to the edge. Your knuckles were pale from your grip on his greying hair, thighs pushing the remaining air out of his lungs.

This was Joel’s favorite part of it all. The torture. The pain.

Fucking you so good you could only tighten your grip or your squeeze or scream into his ear — whatever it was — it was a high Joel’s would never fucking live down.

He figured from the last twenty minutes of teasing he’d wanna see this orgasm over and over and over again, so he slowed down just long enough to put the camera back on the tripod and angled it to see both of your bodies.

Then his eyes peered up and found your sweaty beet red face. Your ponytail was a mess and your baby hairs were stuck to your forehead.

Good God, he’d never seen you so pent up.

You were tired, worn out, and Joel was going to take care of everything for you.

Moaning into your clit, you shuddered, grieving the constant waves of your climax coming and going. He was working you up to the very last moment you could hold onto, knowing how much you needed this orgasm to break you even if you didn’t know it yourself.

The moment you began softly grinding against his face he knew it was time; he traded licking for sucking because it drove you fucking insane. Not just the motion, but the constant tug of your sensitive bud between his lips that made it so puffy and red kept you wanting more.

And when it broke you, Joel held you steady, watching you arch off of the bed and into his hold without making a sound. Your throat and chest filling with unheard sounds, eyes watering and flooding your cheeks with tears, until your body finally let you exhale.

“Fuck! Ahh! Holy— fuckfuckfuck—yes, Joel! Oh my fucking God—“

Loud, praising babbles emptied from you and flooded his ears.

He couldn’t stop now, could he? No fucking way you’d want him to let up. You were shaking and shivering and screaming for him like your life depended on it.

You looked so perfect to him as you died from pure bliss, not tapping out if it meant your orgasm would prevail forever.

And he held out as long as his body could live without air. His lips parted lazily, allowing him to take a deep breath.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, tasting the remnants of you that coated his puffy lips.

You laid back, body still shaking, allowing Joel to give you a few kisses down your thigh and one last lick between your swollen folds. He smoothed a hand over your stomach to help relax you, soothing you into a lightweight slumber.

He took care of the camera and the mess between your legs before carefully moving you up the bed to lay next to him. He pulled his navy blue covers over you and kissed your forehead, watching the smile that appeared on your face afterwards.

“Told you the camera was in the way,” you said cockily despite your sleepy tone, making him snicker.

“How ‘bout you keep that pretty little mouth shut ‘fore I find somethin’ to shove in it?”

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[darknight3904]

All Too Well

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Joel get revenge for your beloved pet cat.

Warnings: Violence, guns, death, non-described torture, mentions of scars, pet death, language.

Word Count: 2.1k

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

May 2024 

The pistol that was tucked into Red Laces’ pocket comes free easily. Joel turns to his right and shoots the one with bad breath first. He stands up, straightening to his full height, ready to kill Oliver but Brett has gotten there first. 

His companion has straddled Louis’ killer and his currently beating him bloody. Joel leaves him to it and sets his sights on the other two remaining men. One of them is fumbling with his gun which appears to be jammed. The other has begun to flee the camp, he must know he’s fucked. Joel fires before the gun can be unjammed and then turns to shoot the running one down. It’s easy, pulling the trigger and watching a man fall into the dirt, covered in his own blood. 

Joel could hear the leader cursing from that tent he’d disappeared into, surely he knew that his men were dead. He approaches the tent, his boots sinking into the mud as he goes.

“Stay the fuck back!” The man snarls. 

If he were smart, he’d have a gun pointed at the tent flap, that's what Joel would do if he were him. Of course, Joel would never let his men die like dogs while he hid in a tent. What a fucking-

“Joel!” 

Joel barely gets the chance to turn around before you’re slamming into him nearly knocking him off his feet like you’re some professional linebacker for the Dallas Cowboys. Your Python is dropping to the ground with a thump as your arms wrap around his torso. 

“You alright?” You bury your face into his shirt and mumble into his chest. 

“Been better.” He motions to his still-bleeding shoulder, “Where the hell did you run off to this morning?” 

You untangle yourself from him and fix your focus on his gunshot. Ignoring his question, your hands push his jacket off his shoulder and stare at the wounded flesh. It’s not bleeding so bad anymore, hurts like a bitch but the blood has trickled off into a thin stream.  

“We should get you back to Jackson. Dr. Hill can fix you up.” 

You take a step towards the tent and Joel catches you by the arm. 

“Sweetheart, there’s somethin’ you need to know.” Joel starts, “That man you mentioned he’s…” 

“He’s in the tent, Joel.” You say looking at the halfway unzipped flap, “That missing teeth, cat-killing motherfucker is going to die. Let me go.” 

You must’ve been hiding somewhere, watching this camp, no wonder he’d conveniently been saved when Laces tried killing him. You rip your arm out of Joel’s hand and take another step to the tent. 

“Alright, Alright,” Joel says, looking at Brett who has dragged an unconscious Oliver over, “Let us bring him out here.” 

You watch as Joel and Brett disappear into the tent, the sound of a punch being delivered followed by a couple of grunts fills the air and before you know it, they’re back, dragging The Walrus out by his arms towards you. Joel tosses a hunting knife at your feet before he and Brett drop The Walrus face-first into the ground. 

“Didn’t even have a gun. Guess he thought his men would do all the killing for him.” 

It seems that The Walrus has gotten lazy, years ago when you were the one tied to a tree he always had a gun tucked into a holster on his side. He’s gotten complacent, this good-for-nothing sack of shit was seriously expecting his little group of 20-somethings would be able to protect him from you and your wrath. 

You watch as he pulls himself up, sitting back on his knees it dawns on you that you don’t know this man’s name. He was responsible for the many scars that crisscrossed your back and sides, he haunted you in your dreams and you didn’t even know his fucking name. 

“Listen. I can pay you. I got another man who will be back in a few days. There’s this settlement a few miles north, you three can have your pick of the supplies, food, women, whatever you want. Just let me live.” 

He can’t be serious, trying to weasel his way out of death like this. Did he not recognize you? You’d know his face anywhere, even now covered in mud and a shaggier beard, you knew it was him. 

You glance over at Brett whose eyes are fixed on that beaten bloody body he’d dragged over. You realize Louis is missing and come to the conclusion that Brett was staring at his friend’s now-deceased killer. Joel gives you a pointed look, his pistol is shoved into the back of The Walrus’ head, all it would take is one pull of the trigger and he’d be dead.

“You said you have another man?” You say, your voice devoid of any emotion 

“Yes. He’s out scouting a community. We’re going down to Kansas and getting the rest of my men, then we’re taking it. Come with me, I’ll pay you all well.” 

You scoff at this, a small laugh escapes your lips, what the fuck was wrong with this man. You knew he was a psychopath but seriously actually asking you to work with him? One of his men had killed Louis, another was about to shoot Joel, and for crying out loud he had four people tied up just 4 yards away. He must be delusional if he thought you, Joel, and Brett would want to work with him. 

“What’s so funny, bitch?” 

Joel smacks him in the back of the head with the butt on his gun, “Watch your fucking mouth.” 

“Or what? Is she gonna order you to shoot me? That how you live your life? Dickless, commanded by some whore with big tits?”  

You watch as Joel grabs The Walrus by a fistful of his greasy hair before slamming him into the ground so hard you’re pretty sure you heard the crunch of bone. Joel’s voice is deadly as he speaks directly into your captor's ear. 

“You’ll hold your tongue around my woman or when she tells me to shoot ya’, I’ll make sure you’ll go out real slow.” 

Joel hauls The Walrus back up into his previous position on his knees. 

“S’ that we did to Adam isn’t it, sweetheart?” 

The Walrus’ eyes flick to yours, trying to discern if Joel is lying. You nod suddenly feeling a bit small. Joel was good at this, intimidation. The man kneeling in front of you doesn’t give a shit what you do, it’s Joel he’s worried about.

“We got your second in command. See, in Jackson, we ain’t stupid the way you think we are. Caught him and that girl he was with right away.” 

“You’re full of shit.” The Walrus says in disbelief that he’s truly alone, his allies thousands of miles away in Kansas. 

Joel shakes his head, “You see, I wanted to draw it out some more, got some good hits in, even ran a knife across his skin. That sound familiar to you? Well, Adam, he cried a lot, pissed himself too, begging for his life in the dirt, “Joel raises his free hand, the one that's not holding his gun, and taps The Walrus on the forehead three times, “She put a bullet in his head with the same gun that's sitting there at her hip now.”

“Fuck you, man. You didn’t know him, he was a good guy.” The Walrus fires back 

“See that’s where you’re wrong. Good men don’t rape women.” Joel says, “Another thing a good man doesn’t do is feed em’ their pets for fun.” 

The Walrus’ eyes flick to yours, and a beat of recognition flashes. Now, he knows who you are. 

“That was years ago…I shouldn’t have…” 

You feel your voice returning, you want to speak to this man to listen to him grovel. 

“But you did.” You say softly, “You made my only friend in the whole world into bowls of soup and a bag of jerky.” 

The Walrus shakes his head like he doesn’t quite believe he did that. 

“And then, whenever we were alone you cut me up for fun, just like my cat.” Your hands shake a bit as you push your long-sleeved shirt up off your right arm to the elbow. You point to the long scars that are nestled into your skin forever, “Remember these?” 

“I-I’m sorry…” He says plainly, staring down at your arm

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it.” Joel snarls 

Joel motions for Brett to take his gun before he takes a step to his left, scooping up a big roll of duct tape that’d been sitting on top of an open bag of one of the men. He walks to you and turns your focus to him, 

“I’ll kill him for ya, sweetheart.” Joel, “Let me question him first though, Jackson needs to know about these men he's got down in Kansas.” 

You nod and feel hot tears fill your waterline. Why were you crying? You should be jumping for joy that Joel was going to put him down. Joel takes a step back and tells Brett to tape The Walrus up and drag him off to another tree where he’ll meet his end. A warm hand comes up and Joel brushes a stray tear off your face and presses a warm kiss to your forehead before moving towards where Brett is dragging your tormenter off to. 

“Joel?” 

“Hm?” 

“Make it hurt, okay?” 

The screams go on for what seems like hours. You’ve tucked yourself away under the shade of a tree that's bigger than the rest. The four captives, sit a few feet away from you. You’d cut them all loose and let them devour the bits of food the men had stashed away in their bags. Now, they sit and listen to The Walrus beg for his life as Joel works his magic. You still don’t know his name but you don’t want to know it anyway. 

Brett came back about twenty minutes ago and offered you a sandwich from his bag before plunking down beside you. You don’t know him well but you can tell he’s freaked out whether it was Joel or whatever had happened to Louis you knew Brett was scared. 

“How long do you think it’s going to go on?” He asks quietly 

Hopefully forever. 

“I dunno.” 

Another twenty minutes go by before Joel returns. He’s wiping at the blade of the knife he had initially tossed onto the ground for you to pick up.

“Let’s get goin’. We’ll send some people out to pick this stuff over later.” 

Joel reaches down and offers you his hand, you take it and he pulls you to his feet with a grunt. 

“I want to bury Louis,” Brett says as you leave the raider's camp behind 

Doubled up on the horses Joel leads you and the newcomers back to where Louis’ dead body lies, an arrow in his face. Brett rigs something up to drag the body back to Jackson and you’re on your way again. 

You press your cheek against Joel’s back and let your eyes flutter shut. Joel had insisted that you ride with him, giving Pepper’s reins to the mother and daughter you had freed. They’re a few feet behind you, the woman struggling a bit to keep Pepper walking straight. 

By the time you reach the gates of Jackson, it’s late at night. The gates groan as they open and you let a woman named Joan take the horses and charge of the newcomers. You lead Joel off to the clinic and sit by his side while Dr. Hill works her magic on Joel’s shoulder. 

You rest your head on Joel’s good shoulder, listening to the way his breath hitches a bit when the bullet finally comes out. It has to hurt yet he makes no move to cry out, always acting so tough. 

A few stitches and clean gauze later, Joel is pulling what's left of his t-shirt back on while you try to focus on anything but the skin he’s got exposed to your greedy eyes. Shame on you for thinking like that right now. He’d just been shot and you were thinking about how his chest hair had started to gray.

“Can I stay at yours?” 

Fuck, you hadn’t meant to blurt that out, god you were pathetic, not even wanting to sleep in your own home. You were 44 years old, not some toddler who needed coddling! 

Joel lets out a warm hum, slipping his old tan coat under his arm for safekeeping, 

“Course ya’ can sweetheart.” 

Next Part

...And now we can commence the romance. Joel can you and Sweetheart just kiss already, gosh!!?

How I felt last night when Tiktok wouldn't work:

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[valtsv]

Episode 14 of TSV hurt more than I expected - Faulkner's phone call with his brother legit made me cry. I think that what's powerful about TSV is that even though I kinda know how it ends (I mean, I follow you. I have seen spoilers like thousand of times) I still find myself hoping for a better end. Like I find myself going "Perhaps I have simply misunderstood those spoilers and in context everything is better <3." even though I am 100% sure that that is absolutely untrue. I mean, for starters, this is a pretty clear tragedy. Even if I misunderstood the specific nature of the spoilers, there's no way anything ends well for anyone in this story. Like when I went into this, I went with the assumption that it is a tragedy and that nothing will be well. I went into this, thinking "Oh yeah, I know how those characters die." and still I'm like "I just want her to have a good life."

And I think the funniest thing about a good tragedy is that, on some level, it is actually the exact opposite of what you want. Because a good tragedy wouldn't be good if whatever character you are crying about managed to get out of it alive or unharmed. A good tragedy makes you wish for something you actually don't wish for at all, and on some level you know this, because if your wish came true, then the story would not interest you at all.

But anyway. What is wrong with Hayward.

When I'm at it I find it kinda absurd that he managed to classify "death by crab" as first class religious homicide. Like...yeah ok sure the crab iirc was an angel of the Trawler Man and Faulkner did sorta lead it there but afaik first class homicide, at least in our world, has to be planned, and I don't think leading a crab to a group of arguing people because one of them decided to start blasting counts as planned. But I am not a lawyer so I may be wrong. I recognise that it speaks volumes of the corruption of the police force and their biases, but it's still really funny to me that, if Hayward didn't just straight up lie and pull some bs out of his ass, he really went "Yeah so he got split in two by a giant crab after trying to shoot it dead. Uh yeah the crab was an angel. It was sicked at us. Nevermind that it was trying to kill everyone." and everyone went "Hmm yes, classic first degree murder." Like...sorry but I don't think Faulkner controls the speed at which crabs kill. Also wait does killing a cop automatically count as blasphemy????? I mean it probably does and if so it's fucked up as all hell, but ngl it's funny to consider the other option for a moment. Like the other option would require Hayward to go out of his way to decide that something that happened to Daggler was blasphemy against the Cloak specifically and that he wants it on record even though he hated Daggler severely and for a second it looked like they might just kill each other. Like I know that any kind of harm to any cop probably counts as blasphemy against the Cloak (being mean to a cop probably counts too) (even defending your rights probably counts too) but idk there's something absurd about imagining Hayward like "Hmmm should I write this down as blasphemy? Daggler was a lunatic and I'm glad I don't have to deal with him anymore...but damn maybe I should write it down as blasphemy as a post mortem reward to him for dying and finally getting off my back."

Also I really loved the exchange between Carpenter and Hayward, the exchange where he claims that even if she personally didn’t do those crimes and didn’t kill those people, she has to answer for it because all those things were done in the name of her god. Because he says all that, collective guilt and what-not, but as soon as she fires back with the flesh-opening torture the police used to do (allegedly “used to”), he goes all “Oh, we don’t do that anymore.” He wants her to answer for something she might have not done at all simply because it was done for the Trawler Man but he? Well he shouldn’t be judged right here right now for something that the force he works for used to do, should he? They’ve moved on, after all. So everyone who was affected should move on too. Yet he feels it’s right to prosecute her for something he is logically aware she most likely didn’t commit. To him, she may have as well committed it, simply by association. This does not apply to him though, no. Appalling. 10/10.

Sid Wright mindfulness exercises and relaxation sessions king lmao. I mean. eternal relaxation sessions I guess but honestly at this point he could destroy the world and I'd be like "No no he deserves to do it as a treat. As self-care."

Sorry I actually had something normal and insightful to say but somehow I managed to devote several paragraphs to nonsense. So uh I think I'll leave it at this and share something more normal next time. Also as a P.S. I'd like to go on record saying that while a lot of the characters can be pinned down somewhat decently (they ARE complex, but I feel like they are also more or less easy to understand), I feel like I'd need to vivisect Hayward to understand what the hell his goddamn deal is. I mean he's a cop but I mean aside from that. Because I am starting to feel like being a cop is his smallest problem. Like I think his whole everything is a problem.

your obsession with hayward's issues is so compelling i cannot WAIT for you to learn more about the depth and breadth of how much this man has wrong with him in seasons 2 and 3

[maidenvault]

Okay so, Crosshair’s hand.

Has anyone pointed this out? When Crosshair kills Nolan, he doesn't use his shooting hand.

He uses his left. Just as he very significantly has to in the series finale.

I don't know if the writers knew as far back as "The Outpost" that Crosshair was going to lose the use of his shooting hand and by extension everything he believed made him strong, a "superior" clone, and safe from being discarded when he was kind of fascism-pilled. But it feels extra significant in retrospect that his first action taken against the Empire is not done with the hand associated with the terrible things he did as an Imperial sniper. And it's after he just got a difficult lesson about how his own personal strength and skills aren't enough to protect him - he was saved twice by Mayday, then possibly only survived through the night because he wouldn't leave him behind and could share his body heat. He may be using his left hand when he shoots Nolan because his other arm is tired from supporting Mayday all the way back, which only adds to the symbolic touch I love that Mayday is using his rifle as a crutch to help him walk as well (and of course, he's at close range so quite meaningfully Crosshair doesn't use the rifle to shoot here either). It all supports the idea of this as the first huge moment of transformation for Crosshair when he's finally turning his fire on the real enemy out of a desire to protect others, however futile and too late it is in this particular situation.

Going back and noticing this really reinforced for me that Crosshair's hand injury probably isn't just meant as a manifestation of his trauma related to Tantiss. It would make sense considering it's his shooting hand that it also has something to do with his inner conflict regarding his changed relationship with violence and killing.

The Batch were introduced as these stereotypically macho soldier characters, an impression that's softened a little as early as the pilot of TBB but still distinguishes them a little from other clones. In a kind of funny way you can look at the whole series as being about these guys who were only brought up to fight gradually discovering and finding peace with their more traditionally feminine sides - literally because of Omega, a female version of themselves who shows them the possibilities of being a family and living for others instead of for violence.

For Crosshair this journey is much more difficult and like a painful rebirth than it is for anyone else because being a soldier was so much of his identity. He's always been the one to most pointedly distinguish his squad from regs because of their "superior" traits that he thinks will make the Empire value them, and he clearly internalized the way the Kaminoans only care about clones as weapons to be used in war. And it all betrays how little value Crosshair actually believes he has deep down. It was easy to go into S3 being especially worried about his fate because he's believed so long that he's not good for anything but fighting and he's the character it was the hardest to imagine adjusting to a different life.

But in retrospect, it was stupid to think they'd let him off that easy and of course the whole point is that it takes a lot to get him there. What exactly he went through on Tantiss beyond the electroshock torture we've seen is never delved into but personally, I think being a soldier is something that's poisoned for Crosshair after he becomes a victim of the Empire himself and subject to their attempts at reconditioning. He's not psychologically able to be that person anymore, but for a long time is still trying to largely rely on himself and his own strength. He tries to sacrifice himself for others because he's still holding onto that part of himself in a way.

But for once in Star Wars we've gotten a fully realized redemption arc showing that sometimes what's harder than giving your life in a redemptive way is to actually have to figure out how to live with the bad things you've done and be better. Some of the people Crosshair hurt were his family, and he has to learn he can only make things better by being there for them. He has to learn that he actually can survive and figure out a way forward from his life as a soldier if he lets himself rely on them, just like he only survived Barton IV with help from Mayday. As @moonstrider9904 explains so well in this post, that is what's so important about Crosshair losing the hand and making that final shot to save Omega with Hunter's support. Symbolically he's had that toxic part of himself actually cut off and it's the final, most painful part of his rebirth. But because of that he's forced to find that he can live on without it, that he's surrounded by people who love and believe in him anyway, and that having superhuman skills as a killer was never what gave him worth.

No, having his shooting hand cut off doesn't "fix" anything or mean that Crosshair is healed. He's probably only begun to recover from everything he's been through. But all we really need to see is that he's firmly found his place as part of a family instead of a squad, and he's not going to be alone as he deals with all of that.

[sylvaridreams]

Inhales. You know what gets me when I think about Heart of Thorns. The anti-sylvari sentiment in-universe was SO real for a while there. During the period of time where the whole world of Tyria learned the secret that Wynne had died to protect, that sylvari came from the jungle dragon, that they were made to serve it. Everyone turned on them. Friends, lovers, commanding officers, it didn't matter anymore. They COULD turn mordrem at any time, so you had to assume that they would. You couldn't trust something that belonged to a dragon. Even Laranthir (of the Wild) right after the crash, being held captive by his own people, waiting for him to go feral and tear their throats out. The sylvari Commander was granted a little wiggle room, a little space to walk around freely, but it's all very conditional. Prove you're a good one, that you won't fall to the dragon. There's the event in Verdant Brink where they round up all the sylvari in a camp and ask you to interrogate them, to break them down until they confess to being mordrem. And inevitably a few of them are hiding among the camp, but an equal number of sylvari run from you in fear, more afraid of you and the Pact than the certain death of the jungle beyond. The other innocents that stay don't have a choice. It's keep your head down and don't say anything or be killed, one way or another, while the Commander that you've worked under for the past couple of years interrogates a crying novice, asking if they've heard a voice. And who hasn't heard the voice at that point? The Commander admits to hearing it too. Canach likens it to a buzzing fly. Irritating. Nothing more. Strong willed sylvari don't stumble when Mordremoth speaks. But even that's not true; maybe not everyone's played Heart of Thorns on a sylvari Commander, but the closer you get to the dragon, you start to falter, to black out and lose time. In its domain you actually do fall to it. Briefly. Just for a while, you forget who you are and what you're doing there, and mordrem start giving you killing orders. And you snap out of it and never tell anyone, never. They can't know how close you got.

But what GETS ME is that after the dragon is dead, no one talks about it. It all returns to normal. Like the tension was never there in the first place. I'm sure there might be some loaded quips about sylvari in Living World Season 3 right after, but the next time I actually can recall it coming up is in Path of Fire. Right as you get into Desert Highlands; Canach says something about "I always knew this whole human/gods arrangement wouldn't work out" and Kasmeer shoots back "This coming from someone with a DRAGON in their family tree." And that's that. No one actually really discusses it in-game. They all moved on and don't care if you're a dragon minion or not.

Which. Augh. WHAT!!!!! NO ONE CARES? I'm sure it's a better end-user experience than if everyone you encountered as a sylvari player was like "OOOOOH I DON'T TRUST YOUR TYPE... YOU WRETCHED DRAGON PLANT FOLK" but narratively it's a little boring. At least in the sense that it doesn't feel finished. There should still be tons of anti-sylvari sentiment in Tyria and propaganda spread to force them out of parts of society and stupid hoops to jump through to be considered safe. Just as I think that sylvari should still hold anti-asura sentiment--you're telling me their small second generation had a huge group taken away and tortured to death and there's no ingrained fear of it happening again? I want my sylvari commander to have met Gorrik in LWS4 and been like haha. uh. 😥 (do I really have to work with this guy. An inquest...) (and EVENTUALLY come to like and trust him!) instead of the game plowing over it like oh yeah don't worry about it n_n the facility exploded and all so he doesn't work there now don't worry n_n NO I'M WORRIED!-- again I'm sure that the smoothing over of Everything is a better end-user experience. rather than everyone you meet being rude to you or vice versa. However----💥 (I am killed by a sniper from a long distance so that I stop talking before I begin delving into the prejudices that are already baked into the narrative)