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trippinsorrows · 3 days ago

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looking through your eyes + thirty three

authors note: last chapter before shit starts to hit the fan....

cw/tw: fluff and angst

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

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 16k (diabolical)

“Baby!” The sound of Solana’s voice somehow travels through the space of their massive home and reaches the ears of Roman right as he’s finished yet another bench press. “I’m home!”

Naturally, Dulce, who’d been calmly laying on the padded mat watching him workout, lifts her head. Her ears perk up and her tail wags at hearing the voice of her favorite person in the whole world.

Roman chuckles, taking the towel to wipe off the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Mom’s home.”

Dulce barks in celebration and runs out said room before turning back around, standing in the doorway, clearly waiting for him. She barks again as he wraps the towel around the back of his neck. He’s obviously taking too long. “I’m coming,” is his response. Roman allows his pet to guide him through the turns and hallways of their palatial home until they reach the living room where Solana is walking in while holding a grocery bag.

Naturally, Roman rushes over to her, relieving her of the bag. “I told you I don’t want you lifting on things, Sol.” He places the bag that only has a pack of napkins in it on the counter, seeing security carrying in the rest of the bags.

“It’s just one bag, Ro,” she defends, crouching down to pet Dulce. Smiling, Solana stands up and walks over to him, leaning up and kissing his cheek. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he responds, hand on her hip. Prepared to ask how she’s feeling, Roman is momentarily distracted in realizing security is still bringing in groceries, their counters and island filled with brown paper bags. “Sol….how much food did you get?”

She looks around and then back at him. “The usual.”

His bushy brow lifts. “This is the usual?” He knows it’s not, solely because he usually goes grocery shopping with her these days and only didn’t today because she’d snuck out their bed early in the morning to do so on her own.

She shrugs. “Okay, maybe….maybe a little more than the usual.” He’d argue it’s a lot more than that. “But, baby, you eat a lot.” One suggestive look, and she’s blushing, slapping his chest. “Stop it.” He chuckles and kisses her temple. She’s so easily flustered sometimes. “I just—I had to get more, because I’m gonna cook you up some meals for while I’m gone.”

Roman sighs. “Sol….”

“I got you some of your favorite snacks, too,” she shares, walking away to start emptying bags. He moves to stand beside her, assisting as she shows him all of his guilty pleasures, the things that make him have to spend a little extra time in the gym. All worth it though.

Solana is loading up the drawer in the fridge with his favorite yogurts she’d also purchased when he pulls something from the bag he was emptying. “Sol….” She turns to look at him, to see the item in his hand. “What is this?”

She gasps, almost happily. “Your new vitamins.”

Naturally, he’s scowling. “Vitamins?” Roman briefly reads the writing on the bottle. One-A-Day for Men. “I don’t take vitamins.”

“Well, you’re gonna start.” She answers so matter-of-factly, closing the fridge door, arms crossed. “I was talking to Dr. Michaels—”

“Since when do you talk to him?”

“We do weekly check-ins,” she shares casually, explaining, “I let him know how you’re doing and if you’re taking your meds, and he lets me know if you’re attending appointments and getting your blood work checked like you should.”

Roman is partially surprised, but he shouldn't be. He shouldn’t be, because he freely sighed an ROI for his wife to communicate with Michaels regarding his care. Something that felt only right in the name of wanting to be more open with her, but right now, it’s seeming like it’s biting him in the ass just a bit.

“And he told me that he’s been trying to get you to take vitamins for years.

“He has.” Roman won’t deny that. It’s the truth. “And for years, I’ve been ignoring his ass.”

Solana frowns. “Well, not anymore.” She announces, walking over to him and pointing to the benefits listed on the packaging. “Dr. Michaels said this is the best brand for you, and it’s only once a day, so you can take it when you take your blood pressure medication.”

Roman scratches his beard, reminding calmly, “Solana, you know I don’t like taking pills.”

“Yes, but I also know that you need to,” she counters, crossing her arms. “Lots of people take vitamins. I take them. Well, now I take my prenatals, but before that, I took a daily supplement.”

“That’s different, Sol.”

“How?” She presses, scowling a bit. “How is it different?”

“You’re pregnant. You have to take that shit,” he answers, placing the bottle back in the bag. “I don’t have to take anything.”

Roman prepares to move to another bag when Solana reaches past him and pulls the bottle right back out. “Roman, you are taking these pills.”

He’s taken back by both the conviction in her voice and the determination written all over her face. “Solana, I don’t want—”

“Roman Tamasa Reigns, I don’t care what you want,” she cuts him off, the Tribal Chief’s eyes widening ever so softly as she uses his full name for the first time ever as well as the quick, rushed, wordy rant she goes on in Spanish before closing her eyes. Solana takes a deep breath, switching back to English and handing him the bottle. “You are taking these vitamins, okay?”

It’s a strange thing. Roman has experienced many sides of his wife. Anxious Solana. Scared Solana. Depressed Solana.

Suicidal Solana.

But, he can’t say he’s ever seen an angry Solana, and she’s most definitely angry.

It’s why he wordlessly accepts the bottle, not wanting to say anything to further upset her. He just places it on the counter and goes back to emptying bags when he hears it.

A sniffle.

Turning back to her, Roman is once again taken back.

Why the fuck is she crying? Wasn’t she just angry with him? What the fuck is even happening right now?

“Baby–” He goes to reach for her to comfort her, though he’s not quite sure just what he’s comforting her for, cause again, why is she even crying right now? “I’m sor—”

“I went to the grocery store, and I got all these—these groceries for you—” She hiccups, motioning around their big kitchen. “And you can’t even do this one thing for me.” She breaks down crying into her hands, and God forgive him, but Roman’s first reaction isn’t to tuck her into him and console her.

His first instinct is what the fuck because she was literally just upset with him, and now she’s crying over some damn vitamins?

The fuck?

Regardless of being confused as all the outdoors, Roman welcomes her into his chest, apologizing, “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”

“You don’t care,” she cries into him.

“I do care, Solana,” he tries to save face, though not sure just how she became so upset so quickly. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“I’m just trying to help you,” she cries heavier, and as awful as Roman feels about it, he’s having a hard time taking her serious. Roman has held his wife as she cried into him, sobbed into him so violently that her body jolted from the intensity.

This….this feels different.

It is different.

An overreaction, but that’s uncharacteristic for her personality. Something that doesn’t define her, but it’s absolutely what’s happening right now. Regardless, her crying, overreaction or not, is something he doesn’t like, so he has to make it right.

“I know you are, Sol, and I’m sorry.” She sniffles, coming down a bit. It’s then he offers, “I’ll—I’ll take the vitamins, okay?” Anything to just get her to stop. “Alright?”

She looks up at him, pouting almost. “You promise?”

No. “Yes.”

More sniffling as he wipes away her tears. “Okay.” More sniffling as she hiccups, “I think—I think I’m gonna go lay down.”

“Yes,” he says it much too quickly, way too eager for her to just go…..calm down or something. “Go take a nap. I’ll finish putting everything away.”

“Okay.” She nods, walking over and picking up Dulce who Roman swears looks just as confused as he feels. “Come on, baby.”

Roman waits until Solana is out of the kitchen and up the stairs before leaning back against the kitchen counter, lost as fuck over what just happened.

—------

“And then she just started crying.” Roman’s retelling is borderline dramatic as he sits forward on the sofa, legs spread, hand gestures included with his storytelling.

Lita lifts a brow. “Crying?”

“Yes.”

She makes a sound, asking, “so what’d you do?”

“I told her I would take the vitamins, and it seemed to calm her down, then she went for a nap.” Roman slaps his hands on his thighs, leaning back. “But, then I went upstairs a little while later, and she wanted to have sex.”

“Did you?”

“Of course.” An easy answer that’s always the same. “But, I don’t understand how she went from being upset with me, to being sad and crying, to being horny and wanting to fuck.” Roman crosses his arms, a thought crossing his mind. “Maybe it’s her medication. She might need an adjustment.” He looks at Lita, asking, “you think I should talk to Stratus?”

Lita takes a breath, trying to figure out how to word her response for what’s inarguably been her most challenging yet interesting client ever. “Roman, how much do you know about pregnancy? About pregnant women?”

“I know a couple things.” There’s an almost insulting tone to his voice, like he’s confused as to why she would even ask him such a thing. “Why?”

Lita sucks her teeth. “Cause I think it’s time you read up on what pregnancy does to women in all areas. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.” She shrugs, sharing, “what you’re describing is pretty typical for pregnant women sometimes. The hormonal changes that occur often result in mood swings. That’s what that was. She was having a mood swing.”

At that, the Tribal Chief sits forward once more. “You’re telling me that shit was normal?”

Lita chuckles. “Pretty much.”

Roman looks off, like his whole world has been turned upside down. Like he was expecting any other answer than what he’s been given. “Well, when does it stop?”

“When is she due?”

“May,” he answers, a small sense of pride laid underneath his tone.

Lita senses it but tucks it away for a later time. “Then, May.”

Once more, his eyes are widening. “You mean she’s going to be this way until she gives birth?”

Lita has to hold back her laughter as she takes some more notes while explaining, “nine times out of ten, the mood swings will eventually subside, but I think you’re better served learning how to effectively communicate with her and respond to her when she gets that way versus waiting around for her hormones to level out.”

“What do you mean?”

Lita sighs. “It’s obvious that you were bothered by the abrupt changes in her mood.”

The sneer on his face is accompanied by a harsh rebuff. “I wasn’t bothered.”

“Then why are we discussing it right now?” Silence. Lita also sits forward, deciding to share some of the man tidbits she’s noticed about Roman in their time working together. “I’ve noticed you are very against saying anything that could be perceived as remotely negative or, God forbid, someone else saying anything remotely negative about your wife.” Lita has a good guess Roman’s response would be physical in the event of that second one. “And I know, a lot of that comes from how protective you are of her. Some of that codependency as well. But, two truths can exist in the same universe where she’s allowed to say or do something that upsets or bothers you and you can bring it to her attention. It doesn’t make you a bad husband.”

Roman’s gaze and focus is on the wall to the side of him instead of the woman in front of him. “I don’t want to argue with her. She has….trauma with that.”

“And, I understand that, but you also have trauma. Whether you want to admit it or not is fine, I’ll respect that. Wholly. But, part of your struggle is opening up about your feelings with people, which again, I know is not for good reason, though it’s painfully obvious that your wife is a safe person for you, so if you were to open up to someone, it would be her.” More silence. “And discussion doesn’t have to equate an argument.”

When he still says nothing, Lita continues, “and yes, know that you have problems controlling your temper, but I also know that if there’s one person you’d control it with, it’s your wife.”

She'd bet her life on that.

“I don’t want to be put in that position,” Roman finally speaks, voice even but also filled with something almost heavy. “They last time we argued…..” he trails off, a memory returning. “It just wasn’t good. She doesn’t need that stress with her pregnancy.”

Lita looks at him, makes note of his nonverbals, sees that this wall will take a little longer to chip away at.

“How are you doing with that anyway?” He looks at her, prompting her to clarify. “The pregnancy. You haven’t really touched on it in our past two sessions.”

Roman thinks about her question, considers how he wants to answer and how honest he wants to be. “I think….I think it’s getting….better.”

��Better, how?”

Again, more thinking. “I don’t….I don’t feel as unsure about it.”

Lita nods slowly, tentatively questioning, “what do you feel?” To cut some of the tension, she gestures with her thumb. “You want the feeling wheel?”

Roman instantly scowls. “I’m not using that damn thing.” Lita chuckles, and though he won’t admit it, he appreciates it. Appreciates her trying to make this a little less uncomfortable. “I don’t….I don’t want to say excited.” And maybe he does, but something holds him back, prevents him from owning that. “But, something….something like that.”

Lita adjusts in her seat, paraphrasing. “The idea of being a father is becoming less abstract and more concrete.” She shrugs, offering, “it’s starting to feel more real, because it is real.”

Lita’s right. Roman won’t verbally acknowledge it, but she’s correct. Every appointment he attends with Solana, every time he opens up the app to see where she is, where the girls are, developmentally speaking, makes it all the more real.

And while there’s a part of that that’s terrifying as fuck, because he’s still lost on so many things and has so much to learn, there’s still that part of him that doesn’t feel as unsure, like he said. He feels a form of excitement.

He is excited.

“Yeah,” is all he offers, though something tells him Lita has a good mind where his head is, because despite her being annoying as fuck sometimes with her probing questions that end up landing him right where she wants him, she’s effective. And, they work well together.

She meets him where he is, and he’s grateful for that.

Doesn’t mean he’s just gonna spill his heart out to her. No. Fuck that. He’ll share as and when he pleases.

“She’s three months, right?”

“Yeah,” Roman answers and starts to leave it at that, but some small part of him, a part he doesn’t quite understand, offers. “Twins….twin girls.”

At that, Lita’s eyes widen. “Well, shit, double trouble? And girls, too?” She scoffs, grabbing her Stanley to take a sip. “Yeah, buddy, you might want to start reading up now.”

Roman scowls. “What do you mean?”

“You’re struggling as it is with your wife’s mood swings while pregnant, just wait till those girls hit puberty and wifey is either pregnant again, so you’re getting it from all ends.”

That sounds like something out of a nightmare, but there’s something else about her wording that he’s focused on.

Almost suspicious, Roman inquires, “did she tell you about all these kids she wants?”

“Wait, what?” Lita’s visible confusion at his question looks and feels authentic, Roman not getting a sense that she’s playing dumb. “You know my policy, I don’t talk to anyone unless you authorize it. Even wifey.” He does recall her saying that, but he also knows he signed an ROI so she could share information with Solana, and since his wife seems to be in cahoots with his doctor, why not the therapist as well? “She wants more kids after this?”

Roman nods, crossing his arms once more. “Three more.”

Lita’s eyes widen. “She wants how many more?”

Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s what I fucking said.”

Lita nods to herself, shrugging, “well….that woman clearly loves you.” She then asks, “what about you?”

“What about me?”

Without skipping a beat, she asks directly, “do you want more kids after this?”

A fair thing to be asked, but something Roman, in true Roman fashion, answers almost indirectly. Sort of. “I think we should be focusing on this pregnancy before talking about more kids.”

“You know that’s not what I asked you, right?” Yes, he absolutely does. If only he cared. “Look….it’s okay for you to not have an answer, but based on what you’ve shared with me in the past regarding your thoughts and feelings on kids, if I had to take a guess, I’d say you’re sca—”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Roman’s interruption cuts deep, his entire disposition almost doing a 180. Like whatever almost lighthearted tone that was there before is gone now. Replaced with something almost cold. “Change the subject. Now.”

And Lita sees this, sees the shifts, knows why said shift happens, but she respects it. Respects him. Respects that he’s not ready to go there just yet. “Okay.” And she does change the subject, asking, “any plans for while the wife is away?”

—-------

“Okay, I labeled everything for you. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snack, and dessert,” Solana’s explanation is accompanied by her holding the refrigerator door open as she points to the generous amount of clear containers. She pulls one out that, sure enough, reads breakfast. “You just have to see which one you want.” She gasps, bumping the door closed as she moves over to the other side of the kitchen. “I should have labeled what each meal is.”

“Solana, it’s fine. I don’t need all that.”

She’s not listening, too busy using the sharpie she grabbed out of the pen holder on the counter to label the container in her hand. “I’ll do it before we leave. I don’t want you accidentally picking something thinking it’s something else.”

“Sol—”

“I also picked up your blood pressure medicine from the pharmacy this morning, cause you were running low, so you should be good with your meds.” She looks up, adding firmly, “and your vitamins.” Roman pushes back his scowl. Those damn vitamins. “And if for some reason, you get through all the meals in the fridge, I have some in the freezer as well.”

“Solana—”

“Dulce should be good with her food, too, but I did pick her up some of those treats she likes, so maybe give her one with her dinner once or twice?” The question is more informative than anything as Solana moves back over to the fridge to grab another container that she doesn’t need to label. “Oh my gosh,” she stops, slapping her forehead. “I forgot to do that last load of laundry for you.” She shakes her head, placing the bowl and pen on the counter. “Let me just go do that right—”

Roman moves quickly, using his arm to block her path, forcing her to finally look at and listen to him. “Solana.” Her attention on him, he doesn’t waste this opportunity to point out the real reason behind her almost frantic-like behavior. “I’ll be fine.”

He sees it. The concern that flashes in her gaze and how her shoulders drop. “I just…..I just want to make sure you’re okay while I’m gone.” Her hands on his chest, the truth continues to make itself known. “I haven’t been away from you since….” She doesn’t say it, but she doesn’t need to.

Since Fetu passed.

Solana has been with him, by his side, supporting and loving him x10 since Fetu passed.

“I know,” he mutters, reaching up to push some of her hair back, eyes briefly focused on her tattoo. “But, I’ll be fine, Sol. I can take care of myself. I’ve done it for a long time.”

“But, you don’t have to anymore,” she counters, softly. “You have me. I—I can take care of you. I can make sure you’re good.”

“And, I am, Sol. Largely because of you.” He kisses her forehead, reminding, “but you also have to take care of yourself. That’s why I’m letting you go.”

Letting her doesn’t feel like the right word, but in the moment, it’s the best he has. Because he would never want her to feel like she needs his permission to do anything in life. She’s had enough of that shit from men to last her a lifetime, but there is some say he has with her comings and goings due to her being pregnant with their children.

For safety reasons, he has to have a say.

“I know,” she murmurs, moving to hug him. “I’ll only be gone a couple days.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, but a part of him, the selfless part of him hopes it’s longer than that. Solely because of the other plan she has for while she’s in Mexico on her “girls trip.”

Paloma.

She plans to tell Paloma who she really is.

And from that, Roman hopes she gets to spend time with the closest living, remaining connection she has to her mother.

Solana deserves that.

Especially…..especially if she ends up having to go and/or stay even longer for a different reason.

A very different reason.

“I know.” He’ll play along. Go with what’s needed to make her feel most comfortable. Roman wraps his arms around her, reiterating, “we’ll be fine.” He looks over at Dulce who lays in her bed in the living room—she must have one in every damn room at this point—sleeping peacefully. “She’ll probably sleep the whole damn time anyway.”

Solana giggles into him and slaps his arm. “Stop it.”

Roman holds her for a couple more minutes before realizing time is not on their side, and they need to get moving. “Come on.” He lightly slaps and squeezes her ass, invoking another giggle. It makes him smile a little. “We gotta be out of here soon.”

At that, she steps away, frowning. “Why do we have to leave again so early? I told the girls to be at the airport around 2”

Roman’s answer is right away, even if it’s something he comes up with on the spot. “I’m not trying to be around your annoying ass friends, Solana.”

As expected, she rolls her eyes, protesting lightly, “Roman, my friends aren’t annoying, and Bayley, even Melina, are technically family.”

“Don’t remind me,” he mutters, following her as she leads them upstairs.

Solana being Solana absolutely makes sure to start up that last load of laundry. She also goes through at least two more lists of unnecessary things she did for him to “help” him out while she’s gone. And while Roman does consider it unnecessary, he’s appreciative.

Appreciative of her and all she does for him, all that she is for him.

“What about this?” Solana asks him as they sit in the back of the SUV, on the way to the airport. It’s a design option for kitchen counters. A beautiful, unique granite.

“It’s nice,” he responds. “But, Sol, you already know I don’t care what goes in the kitchen. It’s whatever you want.”

She looks up at him. “I know, but this house is for us, so your input matters, too, Ro.”

He doesn’t disagree, though there’s certain parts about said house they plan to build that he wouldn’t mind being for just her. Like the kitchen, cause Lord knows he’ll never be in there cooking and baking like she does. “The kitchen is your space though. Now our bedroom, yeah, I want some say.”

A crafty smile forms on her pretty face. “So, you don’t want to paint it pink?”

“Solana, don’t fucking play with me like that,” he mutters, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. She giggles and leans further back into him, clearly finding humor in his distress. “It’s bad enough you keep talking about all these damn kids you want.”

“That I’m going to have,” she corrects, like that shit is supposed to make sense. Like he’s supposed to be okay with this plan she has to be pregnant every year or something.

“Solana.” He has to talk some sense into this girl. Is this another pregnancy thing? He makes a note to ask Lita about it in their next session. “I need you to be serious with me. Do you know how stressful it would be to have five children?”

Massively, insanely stressful, for maybe more reasons than he's willing to currently acknowledge...

She pouts and responds so casually. “It wouldn’t always be stressful.” She turns more to look at him, hand resting comfortably on his abs. “And, if we’re going to have this massive house, we need to fill it up….”

“With furniture,” he supplies. “We can fill it up with furniture. Not a bunch of kids.”

That’s clearly not the answer she wants, as evidenced by the scowl on her face. “I want more kids, Roman.”

“And, I told you we can have one more after the girls, but anything beyond that, Solana—”

“I’m getting my kids, Ro, and that’s final.” Solana not only cutting him off, but doing so with attitude is something the Tribal Chief could have and would never bet on, but that’s exactly what’s happened. His sassy ass wife redirects her attention back to her scrolling on that red app she likes that has a lot of pictures and proceeds like she didn’t just cop an attitude.

“Solana,” he finds himself saying, sitting up a bit. “You—”

“We’ll talk about it later.” Another interruption. Less sassy. Still an interruption, nonetheless.

There’s a revolving door of emotions in that moment. At first, he’s annoyed, which is significantly tamer than what he’d feel if this was anyone else speaking to him this way. Roman’s killed for lesser offenses.

Then there’s slight amusement, because his 5’0 wife hitting him with the attitude of someone his height and stature is the last thing anyone would expect.

Followed up with a slight tightening in his pants, because there’s something undeniably attractive about Solana being assertive. About standing on business. He might not agree with what she’s standing on, but he damn sure respects it.

And then finally, he arrives at the largest and most lasting emotion. Proud. Roman feels proud of his wife.

It’s still hard for him to grasp the fact that this is the woman he met all those months ago who could barely withstand more than 30 seconds of eye contact. Who was terrified of him. Terrified of the world that had only been unkind to her.

Now, she sits before him, openly going against him without any sign of anxiety or fear. And while he now knows her pregnancy hormones are playing a large role in the oscillation of her emotions, it doesn’t negate the fact that even before becoming pregnant, the Solana he knew then is not the same Solana he knows now.

Stronger in every way. A tremendous and beautiful growth.

Roman finds himself dipping his head to kiss her temple. “I’m proud of you,” he murmurs, finger moving up and down her upper arm. “Extremely fucking proud of you.”

And even that seems not enough to adequately describe it.

However, the small smile on Roman’s face is wiped away when she looks up at him and asks with a mischievous smile. “Enough to have three more kids?”

“Solana.”

She laughs once more, finding delight in his misery. Roman sighs loudly as his wife leans up and strokes his beard, kissing his cheek, “thank you, mi amor.”

Roman still hasn’t really picked up much of Spanish outside a couple words, but there’s something universal about her statement.

Love.

The rest of the drive is relatively quiet, Solana showing Roman a few more photos of ideas she has for the kitchen when they arrive at the airport. Naturally, Roman slides his expensive sunglasses over his eyes and exits the car first so he can open Solana’s door for her.

He holds her hand as she steps out and tugs up those tight ass pants that have him forcing to ignore the recoil of her fat ass with said adjustment. The transition is aided by her confused countenance at the jet that is not the one they took last time. She turns to him with a frown. “You got a new jet?”

“I did,” he confirms, lifting his sunglasses up, setting them atop his head. “But not for me.” Solana’s eyes start to widen as he shares, “it’s for you.”

Hands planted over her mouth, she looks in shock between himself and the private jet with pink lining, pink steps descended to reveal a glimpse of the interior that also has shades of pink. “Roman, no.”

“I don’t really like the idea of your dumbass friends in my space,” he shares, moving toward her, hands on her waist. “Plus, if I’m away on work, and you decide to fly down to Mexico, you need transportation.”

She scoffs, offering so innocently, “But, I could just book a flight, Ro.”

“That’s not fucking happening.” It’ll be a cold day in hell when Roman ever allows his wife to fly commercial. Absolutely not.

Solana is still very much in a state of disbelief, but her smile grows wider as she exclaims with all of the shock. “I can’t believe you got me a whole private jet.” Giggles erupt from her as she suddenly throws herself into him, arms wrapped around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

It’s hard for Roman to not smile, feeling her immense love and appreciation for something that seems so simple to him. Maybe not in price, not that that’s a factor, but just how overtly grateful she is for anything he does for her.

Her spirit is so pure.

“You’re welcome,” he mutters, kissing her temple and lightly slapping her ass. Solana is back on the ground, looking up at him with undeniable excitement, when he asks, “you wanna see it?” Light laughter at how she nods rapidly and takes his hand, guiding him toward the jet.

Roman feels a bit silly feeling relieved almost at how Solana “ooohs” and “awwws” at the interior of her private jet, predominantly pink and white, amenities based upon her and what he knows about her. Roman is good at a lot of things, including reading people in terms of their likes and dislikes. But, there’s always a small part of him that’s unsure of himself when it comes to doing and getting things for his wife.

A fear of letting her down.

Of disappointing her.

Something he hasn’t felt or worried about in a long time.

“I love it so much, Roman,” she says after they finish the tour. She’s got her arms back around his neck, that beautiful smile dimming just a bit. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay while I’m gone?”

Roman chuckles. “I’m sure. You need to do this, Sol.”

“I know,” she sighs. Roman soothingly moves his hands up and down her sides. “I just….you know I don’t like being away from you.”

He knows. The same way he doesn’t like being apart from her either, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Your life can’t revolve around me, Solana.” A gentle reminder. Necessary, too, perhaps.

“But, you’re such a big part of my life,” she replies, voice soft, eyes focused on his shirt as she lightly pulls at the material. “Not being around you feels…..weird….wrong.”

Roman knows Solana is codependent when it comes to him. The same way he realizes he’s codependent with her as well. But, he’s been reminded of it even more in the past few weeks with how involved she wants him in all the things, which is fine and normal, especially as it pertains to the pregnancy. But, it’s the not knowing what she would do without him that’s starting to have him concerned.

Especially if the situation arises where she doesn’t have a choice.

He’d mentioned it to Gail, asked her to work with Solana on that, but so much has happened between now and then that he wouldn’t be surprised if they haven’t even gotten to it yet.

A disservice. Understandable, but a disservice, nonetheless.

“Everything will be fine, Solana.” He kisses her forehead, reminding, “you already know if you need me, just call me, and I’ll be there.”

And there’s the hard part. There are times, like this, where he sees how independent and capable she’s become that he thinks she’ll be okay. Where he thinks she’ll be able to handle a separation, if necessary. But, it’s not consistent, not reliable, and that’s where his biggest issue comes to play.

Then there’s also the role he plays. Roman knows he makes himself always available to her, and in some ways, that’s also his comfort. It…..bothers him to not be available for her if she needs something.

And if he’s being honest with himself, that largely stems from that night. The night she tried to take her own life.

The night he wasn’t there, and she needed him.

He won’t risk that again.

He’s terrified to risk that again.

��---------

It’s a fun time from the minute the ladies all board the jet, to the conversations that transpire, but most definitely when they all arrive to Roman and Solana’s home in Isla Mujeres. Solana considered asking Roman if they could rent something instead, as she knows how much he values their space being their space, but he shocked her by recommending they just stay at the home he purchased for them.

Her guess would be it’s because it’s not their main home, the space only being used every so often. Only once, really, since Solana’s birthday trip back in July.

“This is so nice!” Mickie shouts from the top of the stairs as she and Cameron claim a room. “I love being friends with rich people!”

Solana smiles as Afia shakes her head. “That one is interesting, for sure.”

“Very,” she giggles. One thing Solana was a bit nervous about was inviting Afia, not because she didn’t want her to attend. Hardly. What she was most nervous about was Afia not meshing well with the rest of the ladies who had already met before and vibed well enough. However, that concern was quickly squashed as Solana realized her sister-in-law’s former career of seamlessly blending in just about anywhere is a skill that’s stuck with her.

It didn’t take Afia long to join in with the rest of the gang. So much so that she’ll be sharing a room with Melina. Bayley and Naomi will be rooming together.

Apparently, no one wanted to share a bed with Solana because, “girl, we know Roman be turning you every way but loose in that bed. We’re good.”

And while her face burned with all of the embarrassment, she couldn’t deny it. That same bed is the same bed her shackles were broken in the most beautiful, memorable manner, and in some ways, she would prefer to keep her space with her husband a space for just them.

After everyone gets settled into their rooms, there’s almost a universal agreement that the first stop needs to be by the beach. Solana shouldn’t be surprised that arriving at said beach with her friends, via the private entrance from their house, that her husband made arrangements similar to last time to where it’s almost “reserved” just for them.

Something she understands a little bit better this time around. While Roman is not present for this trip, Bautista is, as well as her upped security detail, her husband has obviously setting up parameters to ensure her safety during her stay. For her and for their babies.

Solana feels the most grateful to have such a wonderful, protective man to call her husband.

It’s why she not only has Mickie take some photos of her adorned in her bathing suit, but she also takes some selfies of herself at the beach. Photos that she nervously shares with him, only to receive the most validating and steamy response that makes most sense for her husband.

Roman: Fuck.

Roman: You’re making me regret letting your fine ass leave, baby.

Solana: 🙈🙈🙈

Solana: I’ll be home before you know it, papa bear. 🥰

Roman: Not soon enough.

Roman: Send me more photos while you’re there.

Roman: Can use them for….purposes.

Solana: Roman! 😭

Despite Solana feeling completely flustered at her husband’s dirty intentions for her photos, she absolutely makes a mental note to share any selfies taken during this trip.

And something tells her there’s going to be a fair share.

“Oh my goodness, are you texting Roman?” Bayley asks, walking over, standing in front of the blanket that Solana is laid on top of. “Tell him to get a fucking life. You’re busy.”

Solana frowns, locking her phone and placing it beside her. “Bayley, be nice.”

She rolls her eyes. “I said I’d try. Shit takes time.”

“Leave her alone,” Mickie pouts, her and Cameron waiting for their sunscreen to set in before entering the beautiful, blue waters. “At least she has a man.”

“I thought you were talking to—”

“Fuck him!” Mickie interrupts Melina, lifting up her middle finger for dramatic effect. “That’s what I get for messing around with someone named Kevin who has a pot belly.”

“Mickie!” Cameron scolds, shaking her head. “That’s not nice. He seemed like a good guy.”

“Yeah, I thought you liked him,” Solana chimes, remembering their conversations via group chats and group facetimes where Mickie practically raved about the guy she’s been seeing.

“He was. Too good.” Mickie shrugs, picking at her fingers. “He wanted to settle down eventually.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Afia’s question is posed with pure curiosity versus judgment. A sort of judgment Solana only detects on the face of Naomi who’s been abnormally quiet for the whole conversation.

Has been quiet since meeting at the airport, now that she thinks about it.

Mickie leans back on the palm of her hands, answering with a simple, “that’s not what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for?” Bayley inquires, coming to sit beside Solana, tiring of standing, the sun beaming down on her back.

“I don’t know.” It’s an honest answer, something almost indecipherable flashing in Mickie’s eyes that Solana is almost sure only she, Cameron, and Melina notice. Treatment. It’s a similar look that Mickie would get when they were in treatment. When she was thinking back on something else.

Something much darker.

Solana clears her throat, drawing attention to herself as she suggests, “we should all take a picture together.”

“Hell yeah!” Bayley is standing up yet again, as the rest of the women also express some level of excitement for the photo.

“I’ll take em’,” Naomi offers, standing and brushing some sand off the back of her legs.

Solana frowns. “No, you have to be in them.” Solana is more than ready to ask one of the security guards to come snap photos of them to avoid anyone being left out when Naomi reiterates her offer.

“Naw, it’s fine. I’ll catch some other photos.” She shrugs, her face giving away indifference that doesn’t match who Solana has always known her to be. This doesn’t feel like the Naomi Solana has grown to know, love, and view as a sister.

Stepping forward, voice lowered, she asks, “is everything al—”

“Oh my gosh!” Mickie’s excited voice prevents Solana from penning her question, as the attention of all is redirected to the water where Mickie is pointing. “Was that—was that a dolphin?”

Her own question is answered when a dolphin can, in fact, be seen in the distance leaping in and out of the water. It draws the awes and a set of cell phones as to capture the sight before them, but it’s the way Naomi stands off to the side, texting on her phone instead of photographing, that has Solana wondering.

What’s going on with her?

—--------

“And that was the last time I ever fucked three men in one week,” Mickie finishes, downing the rest of her beer while chuckling. “That yeast infection afterwards was not worth it.”

A round of groans, Melina being the one to express, “Mickie, literally no one needed to hear that.”

“I second that,” Bayley lifts her beer, still halfway full. “Though we appreciate the…..lesson?”

Afia nods, gracefully drinking some of her mimosa. “Yes, lesson seems like an appropriate euphemism.”

Mickie blinks exactly three times. “Yeah, I’m too buzzed to even try to figure out what that means.”

Afia laughs a little. “Fair.”

Cameron directs her attention to Solana, lifting up the bottle of wine as she pours herself another glass. “Are you sure you don’t want some, Sol?”

“I’m good,” Solana answers, hoping and praying the change in her tone doesn’t give anything away. For good measure, she offers a true, hopefully believable excuse. “The last time I drank wasn’t…..it wasn’t a good time.”

And, while it’s not a total lie, there’s a part of Solana that’s appreciative of that night. The night that seemed to be a turning point for her relationship with Roman. She still doesn’t recall everything that was shared, on either end, but one thing she knows is that next day was the first time she truly felt like they could make this work.

Make their relationship into a real marriage, and not only have they succeeded with that, they’ve taken it a step further by moving to the next step.

Children.

Their love has now resulted into the creation of two beautiful lives.

Solana has to stop herself from placing her hand on her stomach. It’s something Afia seems to notice as she intentionally draws attention to herself. “It’s probably best we don’t let her drink. You all know how that lovely husband of hers is.”

A sound of agreement, Bayley muttering, “lovely is one way to put it.”

“Bayley…”

She lifts her hands in a defensive manner. “What? I didn’t even say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Melina says in a sing-song voice. “Granted, I mean, it’s not like you’re entirely wrong.” As Solana gives her the same look she was giving Bayley, defends, “Solana, come on, I met that man months ago, and he still calls me Mandy.”

“He’s not good with names,” Solana murmurs.

“I don’t think he calls me anything,” Afia wonders aloud only to shrug. “Not that I care but still.”

“Pretty sure he just calls me bitch.” Bayley shares so nonchalantly.

“I don’t think he even knows our names.” Cameron gestures between herself and Mickie.

“Okay,” Solana cuts in, sitting up on the sofa. “I know….I know Roman can be a little….rough around the edges, but he does mean well.”

Though Solana can’t deny that she agrees with Cameron. Roman really doesn't know their names. But, that’s neither here nor there.

“No, he doesn’t.” It’s the introduction of a new voice. Naomi. From where she sits on the love chair, almost separate from the other women who are spread among the living room. “Roman is an asshole. A selfish asshole.”

There’s a shift in the atmosphere. Something that’s clearly palpable given the shared, almost uncomfortable expressions amongst the group of women.

Except Naomi.

“Roman isn’t an easy person. I get that,” Solana starts, choosing her words carefully. Mindful of the fact that there’s an audience. “But, he’s still my husband.”

Something flashes across Naomi’s face. “Why can’t he be both?”

Building. There’s something that’s been building ever since the group arrived in Isla Mujeres on yesterday afternoon. Something Solana sensed when they were on the beach, as the went shopping in the markets earlier in the day, as they shared dinner at a local, popular restaurant in the evening. And, it’s reaching a head as they all sit in this space, Naomi growing restless and clearly sitting on something she needs to share.

Something Solana is eager to hear.

“Hey!” Mickie cuts in. She seems to be good at that. “You know what we should do?” Eyes focus on her, clearly eager to de-escalate the tension that’s built up and consumed the room. “That TikTok challenge I was telling ya’ll about.”

At that, Melina scoffs. “Mickie, we’re all too old for that.”

“Speak for yourself,” she rebuffs. “I’m 25 and will keep turning 25 until I decide I’m ready to be 26.” As she hops off the sofa and starts moving the coffee table, Cameron assisting her, Solana looks back over to see Naomi has gotten up and headed out back by the pool.

Bayley stands and makes eye contact with her cousin, mouthing, “let me talk to her.”

As she leaves out, Solana finds herself appreciative but also something else.

Annoyed.

She feels annoyed with Naomi. Not only because of her sour attitude on this trip thus far but her comments about Roman. As she stated, Solana knows Roman is not an easy person to deal with. He can be mean, and he can be an asshole at times. These are all things Naomi and even Bayley have said, joked about in the past, but there was something different about this time.

This time, Solana felt an almost sense of anger coming from the other woman.

Personal.

It felt personal, and she doesn’t like that.

She doesn’t like it at all.

A warm hand on her lap pulls Solana’s focus to Afia. Her sister-in-law motions to the phone beside Solana.

Naturally, she grabs it, unsurprised to see an unread text.

Afia: Can I offer a bit of advice?

Solana: yes. of course.

Afia: Be careful with that one. Her energy is…..off. Has been since she stepped foot on the jet.

Afia: Remember, Solana. Not everyone you call a ‘friend’ is actually your friend.

Solana doesn't reply after that, too busy sitting on Afia’s sage wisdom as well as what just transpired. It’s not something Solana didn't already know. That not everyone who claims to be a friend is actually a friend.

But, what does one do when it’s a sister?

—-------

“I thought that Mona girl was A.” It’s a frustrated acknowledgement followed by a deep scowl as Roman turns to look at Dulce who sits on the sofa beside him. “Who the fuck is Cece?” A rhetorical question to the Pomeranian who lays her head back down and continues to stare at the screen.

Thoroughly disgusted, Roman scoops more of the popcorn in the bowl in his mouth. He grumbles, “I don’t know how your mom watches this shit.”

Roman doesn’t know just why he’s watching this shit, either. Maybe, in some weird way, it makes him feel close to Solana. Helps distract him from her lack of presence. It’s certainly not because he’s interested in this show where the parents have to be the dumbest people alive and these teenage girls sleep with grown men like shit is normal while some psychotic bitch, or bitches, make their lives a living hell.

And yet, he’s on his second episode after finding himself needing a break from work and something mind-numbing to dull his stress levels.

This certainly does it, Roman thinks to himself.

Uninterested in yet another person who’s supposedly this ‘A,’ Roman grabs his phone, hitting the lock button on the side. And just like that, his irritation is almost instantly melted away. His lock screen photo snagging his attention and filling him with an almost warm feeling. It’s from one of Solana’s OB-GYN appointments. Dr. Sharmell moving the transducer around Solana's stomach, the doctor and his wife's heads turned, focused on the screens where he can make out two figures. Babies.

His babies.

It’s one of his favorite photos.

Unlocking his phone, Roman navigates to his camera roll where the most recent photos are made up of his wife. Photos and videos she’s shared with him from her trip. A trip she seems to be enjoying the hell out of based on the smile on her pretty face and the joyful laughter that leaves her in most of the videos.

Roman’s happy. Happy to know that despite her reservations about leaving, she’s having a good time. She deserves that. She deserves the world.

He’s about to send her a quick text, just to check in on her when the doorbell ringing pulls his focus.

Roman is instantly scowling. He glances at the time in the corner of the screen. Who the fuck is at his house at damn near 6pm?

Dulce is also intrigued, lifting her head and jumping off the sofa. Little body moving towards the door, she stops and turns around to bark at him.

“Coming,” he grunts, sitting up and grabbing the remote to hit pause. Not that it matters. The show is a shitshow anyway.

Big body carrying him to the front door, Roman doesn’t bother using the peephole, already knowing his security protocol is to only allow Bloodline members through the gate.

But, it’s when he opens the door that his frown deepens.

“What the hell are ya’ll doing here?”

Roman doesn’t receive an answer. He instead receives his cousin Ava, walking past him, in his house, uninvited. “Dulce!”

Dulce barks and excitedly wags her tail as Ava picks her up and starts cuddling her. “You are just the cutest lil thing, oh yes you are.”

Roman doesn’t even have time to process his traitorous dog not barking at these damn intruders, because Dwayne is also walking in, slapping him on his back, lifting the six pack of beers in his other hand.

“Don’t worry, we didn’t come empty handed, brotha.”

However, Roman couldn’t give two shits about that. “I’m trying to figure out why ya’ll are here at all.”

Once more, he is deprived of an answer as Dwayne and Ava descend deeper into the house when another entrant arrives. More than one.

Roman’s eyes widen slightly, as he’s forced to look all the way down to two tiny, almost identical humans looking up at him with almost the same surprised, almost familiar expressions. Like he’s seen them before, but where?

He turns, thankful to see Dwayne is still in the vicinity. Pointing down, Roman asks, needing answers, “what are these?”

But, it’s not Dwayne who answers. “These are my sons, Roman.” The Tribal Chief turns to see yet another uninvited person standing in his doorway. But, Matteo isn’t alone. He’s holding a little girl who shares the same complexion and eyes as her brother, an almost intense gaze set on him. Matteo kisses the little girl’s temple. “And this is my daughter.”

Matteo suddenly reminds, “I suppose I didn’t get a chance to properly introduce you to them at the restaurant that night.”

It’s only when Matteo says as such that Roman remembers he most definitely has seen and, somewhat, met these children before.

His biological nephews and niece.

He won’t say it, would never admit it aloud, but there is a sense of shame that fills him at not remembering, because it feels like something he should have remembered.

Right?

Still trying to process the fact that all these people are at and in his house, along with this possibly problematic forgetting, Roman is only partially paying attention when Matteo transitions to name offering. “That’s Giovanni. We call him Gio. And Nino. He likes being called Nio.” A small smile appears on his face as he looks at the still staring little girl. “And this is Hassana, but we call her Sana.” Way too much information for Roman to process. “Kids, this is your cousin, Roman.” Matteo switches to Italian as both boys, almost in synchronization, offer quiet “hello’s.”

Unsure of just what to do and feeling almost pressured to respond, Roman mutters a low, “hi” and redirects his focus to the man in front of him. “What are you all doing here?”

Because, for the life of him, Roman cannot see any good, valid reason why Dwayne, Ava, Matteo and his three children have randomly popped up at his house this evening.

Matteo frowns. “Solana didn’t tell you?”

At that, Roman’s interest is intensely piqued. “Tell me what?”

“This is nice!”

And just like that, this evening has gone from strange to annoying to what the fuck.

Dulce running towards the door draws the attention of the boys whose eyes light up. “Puppy!”

Except, instead of running in terror like she did when confronted with Jey’s children, Dulce seems to bask in the gentle petting and belly rubs received by the boys. Hassana’s attention is also drawn, as she points to the dog, prompting Matteo to walk them over.

His departure paves the way for the appearance of two more faces.

“Hi there, Tribal Chief.” Sami offers a small, little wave. “Sorry to just pop up uninvited.”

“So, why did you?” Roman’s voice is significantly harsher. His technical, biological family being there is one thing, but it’s another for fucking Sami to be standing at his door. “Why are ya’ll here?”

R-Truth’s eyes widen a bit as he answers honestly, “I just came for the ride.”

Sami chuckles nervously, lifting a container of food. “I had some leftover Kibbeh, and Solana mentioned always wanting to try some, so I figured—”

“She’s not here,” Roman interrupts, going to snatch the container. “I’ll make sure she gets it.”

“Is that a puppy?” R-Truth’s voice is almost childlike as he looks past Roman to see the children still playing with Dulce. “Look at lil Toto!”

“Her name is Dulce,” Roman corrects, but it’s wasted breath, because Truth welcomes himself in Roman’s house, just like everyone else it seems, petting Dulce, asking something about Dorothy.

Whoever the fuck that is.

“Truth, come on, dude,” Sami says, the only one still respecting the Chief’s boundaries by remaining in the doorway. “We’ve gotta—”

“Sami!” Dwayne’s voice is heard again as he walks over, beer in one hand. “What’s up, man? You joining us?”

“No,” Roman answers, quickly. Cause again, what the fuck is going on. “Joining what?”

“The get-together Solana planned.”

Dwayne’s answer aligns with Matteo’s comment about Solana, prompting Roman to pull out his phone, as his older cousin welcomes Sami into the home.

Roman: Solana….what did you do?

Solana: i take it they’ve started arriving 🤭

Roman: Why the fuck are all these people in our house right now, Sol?

Solana: don’t get upset, baby, but i may have arranged a little get-together for you while i’m gone….

Roman: You did WHAT?

Solana: i didn’t want you to be alone the entire time i’m gone, ro! 😭 it’s just one night, baby, and it’s literally only ava, dwayne, and matteo. well, the kids, too, but they’re so sweet and well behaved!

Roman: Solana…

Solana: it’s one night, baby. you can handle one night, ro.

Roman: 20 minutes. They can stay for 20 minutes.

Solana: 😑

Roman: What?

Solana: at least give them an hour, roman, please.

Roman: No.

Solana: roman, please. 😭 for me? Please?

Roman: Fine. An hour.

Solana: thank you, baby. 🥰

Roman: Whatever.

Solana: 😘❤️

—--------

“Roman, baby, calm down. Just take some deep breaths.”

“I am calm.” He is most definitely not calm. Not in the slightest. “Who the fuck do they think they are? I’ll kill all of them!”

“Roman.” Solana sighs, rubbing her temples. Half an hour. It’s been almost a half hour since her husband blew up her phone for the second time tonight, causing her anxiety to spike. She thought something bad had happened at his get-together. That wasn’t the case.

Just not according to him.

The first incident was arguably the most ridiculous thing. Roman was upset, borderline petulant as he ranted about this nice local performer named Joe Hendry who the group of women laughed and interacted with as he performed at the restaurant they were chose for the evening. It was nothing but innocent singing and dancing, some of which was caught on camera. The footage shared by Bayley and Afia, prompting Roman to start texting Solana wanting to know the name of "the fucker" who was "all up" on her.

Joe was, in fact, not on her but rather interacting with the group as a whole. Not that that made a difference to her husband.

So, she had to deescalate that.

And then, there was the second round. The one she's in the middle of now.

Mickie and Bayley, unbeknownst to Solana, uploaded a video of one of the dance challenges she’d done with the girls the other night to Solana's Instagram page. The Tapout challenge, she thinks it’s called. Regardless of the name, it was the dancing, the twerking and throwing of ass she was doing that was shared to her page that has her husband on the brink of a stroke. “You can’t kill people just because they liked my video.”

“The fuck I can’t,” he protests, running his hands through his hair. “This is why I hate this social media shit.”

Right about now, Solana feels the same. “Baby, I made the video private. No one can see it anymore."

“But, they did see it, Solana, and they were liking and….commenting on it with those weird little ass picture things.”

“Emojis, Ro.” Solana closes her eyes. “They’re called emojis, honey.”

He’s dismissive, too wound up and focused on an issue that isn’t even a big issue. “Whatever they’re called, there were hearts and shit. And someone even had the fucking audacity to put a tongue. What the fuck does that even mean?”

Solana has a guess, but she’s not going to give him that supposition. He’s already upset enough.

She decides to try to redirect the subject. “How was the get-together?”

He shoots her a look that’s more telling than any answer he could give. “The worse fucking night of my life.” Solana rolls her eyes. Her husband can be so dramatic. “All those damn people.”

“Roman, it was literally your family.”

“And?” She shakes her head. While Solana knew he wouldn’t be thrilled, she was hoping he’d get something out of it.

“You mean to tell me the entire night was awful?” And, it’s in posing that question, Solana sees it. Sees something flash in his eyes. “Did—did something happen?”

More hesitation, before he almost reluctantly answers, “I had a….talk with Matteo.”

Solana’s eyes widen. She definitely wasn’t expecting that. “Oh?” Solana shifts on the bed, wanting to give him her full, undivided attention. “How….how was that?”

Roman looks off in the distance, the difficulty he’s having in verbalizing himself evident and visible to his wife. “Wasn’t what I was expecting.” His answer is vague, borderline dismissive, and Solana is prepared to drop it, to tell him he doesn’t have to tell her anything more, when he continues in an almost low voice. “I’ll—I’ll tell you about it when you get home.”

An unexpected offer. One she’s extremely appreciative of. Not even because it’s important for her to know what happened in and with this conversation, but because it means a lot to her that her husband is willing to share that with her. She knows how hard vulnerability is for Roman, so any opportunity she has to provide that safe space for him, she’ll do it. Every single time.

“Okay,” is the answer she settles on, followed by a gentle, “you know I’m always here for you, Ro…..whatever you need.”

“I know.” A simple response and acknowledgment.

More than enough.

They talk for another half hour, Solana checking in on him, making sure he’s eating well, sleeping well, taking his meds. The usual. He asks about how her trip has been, any unpleasant pregnancy symptoms, ensuring she doesn’t need him for anything. Again, the usual for them.

Always looking out for each other.

And when their FaceTime call finally ends, Solana feels inclined to send him a text, reminding him once more that she’s available if he needs to talk. About anything.

But, a soft knock at the door pulls Solana from her mid-typing. She lifts her head to see Afia standing in the doorway, wearing a soft smile, something black folded over her forearm. “Busy?”

She shakes her head, waving her head. “Not at all. Come in.”

Afia does so, closing the previously cracked door behind her. She walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. “Everything alright?”

Solana nods, a small smile on her face. “He’s fine. Just being Roman.” Looking her over, she has to ask, “are the kids okay?”

It’s always a wonderful thing to see how Afia’s face lights up whenever Solana mentions or asks about her children. “Yes. They miss me, of course, but they love their dad, so they’re managing just fine.”

Solana believes that. Believes that just as Afia is a wonderful, attentive, caring mother, Matteo is just the same as a father. She saw how the kids flocked to him at the party, boys roughhousing with their dad, while Sana laid her little head against his chest when she became tired. It’s obvious what a wonderful, close-knit family they are.

“I hope Roman and I can have what you have with your kids,” she confesses, quietly. Because, she does. Because what Solana wants more than anything for her children is for them to be happy. To give them the childhood she and Roman never got to have.

“You will,” Afia affirms. “It’ll be even better than what we have.” The reassurance ignites a warm, appreciative smile on Solana’s face when her sister-in-law hands her the black item. “Which is why I had to get this for you.” Slightly confused, Solana accepts the item. “Or maybe I should say Roman.”

Eager for clarification, Solana lifts and opens up what she realizes is a shirt. A gasp. “Afia!” Solana is instantly laughing, scoffing in disbelief. “You didn’t.”

The Nigerian woman chuckles. “I did. I saw your face light up when you saw it.” Solana continues to look at the large black shirt that reads “Real Men Make Twins” in Spanish. A shirt she’d seen when the group went out shopping earlier. “It was obvious you wanted it, but I know you couldn’t get it without drawing suspicion. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about that.”

Solana brings the shirt to her chest, hugging it, imagining Roman wearing said shirt. Wearing the shirt while holding their twin daughters. “Thank you, Afia.”

Solana reaches and hugs the other woman who murmurs into her ear, “you’re welcome.” As the two separate and Solana once again finds herself in awe over the thoughtful gesture, Afia inquires, “everything still going good?”

Nodding, the mother-to-be offers, “yes. According to my doctor, it’s only a matter of time before I start showing.” Not soon enough though, to Solana. She knows she’s pregnant, but there’s something about being able to physically see that she’s pregnant is what she’s looking forward to the most.

Afia chuckles. “You’re three months, right?” Solana nods, and Afia chuckles. “Oh, yes. Twins, too? Yes. you’ll wake up one morning and find a whole ass baby bump.”

Curious, Solana questions, “is that how it was for you?”

Afia nods. “For both my pregnancies. On a Monday, I woke up with abs. By Wednesday morning, I was showing.”

While there’s a bit of faux irritation in her voice in describing her experience, Solana finds excitement growing within her.

She can’t wait to experience that for herself.

And with Roman, too.

Eager to pry Afia’s brain for something Solana has been thinking about the past couple weeks, as well as knowing a conversation happened between their husbands tonight, she shifts on the bed. “Hey, can I ask—”

A knock on the door interrupts the asking of said question as Solana quickly hides the shirt behind her pillow before calling out. “Come in.”

Afia turns just in time to see Naomi turn the knob and open the door. Solana is watching the whole time, so she sees the way Naomi’s small smile drops into a straight line.

Clearing her throat, Solana maintains her smile. “Hey.” She moves over on the bed and pats the spot next to her. “Come join us.”

Naomi shakes her head, that same almost negative energy that’s surrounded her the whole trip so far, permeating the atmosphere. “That’s alright.”

Afia moves to get up. “I can leave, if you’d prefer—”

“I said, that’s alright,” Naomi cuts her off, both Afia and Solana wearing partially shocked expressions by her abruptness. “Just forget it.”

As she turns to leave, there’s another turn that happens. Not literally, like Naomi’s departure from the room, but something abstract and almost metaphorical.

The knob that exists within Solana regarding her emotions. The dial between patience and impatience, and right now, Solana is leaning much toward the latter than the former.

Untangling her legs from the bed, she mutters to Afia, “I’ll be right back.”

Afia says something, but Solana isn’t listening, too focused, too frustrated, too pissed.

Moving down the hall, she’s grateful to find Naomi’s door cracked and the room void of Bayley, who’s clearly still out back by the pool with Cameron and Mickie.

Closing it behind her to secure privacy, Solana gets right to it. “Okay, what is your problem?” As Naomi stands on the opposite side of the room, arms crossed, pacing almost, Solana continues. “You’ve been off this entire trip. Distant as heck, and I’m trying to figure out why.”

Distant is a nice way to put what Solana really wants to say, the not so nice word that comes to mind remaining in the safe confines of her mind.

Naomi, however, shakes her head. “This isn’t the place.”

Solana couldn’t disagree more. “I think this is exactly the place.” Crossing her arms, she asks again, tone a bit softer. “Naomi, please….talk to me.”

That, however, seems to be the wrong thing to say. “Talk to you?” She smiles, but there’s nothing happy or comical about it. “You want me to talk to you? Why? Why should I when you’ve been damn MIA for months now?”

Solana finds herself frowning. “What–what are you talking about?”

Her head tilts back, as she moves to pinch her nose. “Solana, for months now, you’ve been acting weird. One minute, we’re hearing from you, the next, I can’t even get a text back. One minute, we’re training a couple times a week. Now, I don’t know the last time I saw you at the Warehouse. Unanswered texts then a random ass invite to dinner where all you can talk about is Roman and how you’ve been trying to help him, while also putting me in an uncomfortable position by asking me to keep secrets from Jimmy.”

“Naomi, I didn’t—”

“And then after scheduling and canceling this girls trip 5011 times, you finally have it, and you’re acting like everything’s fine and dandy when it’s not. Things are a mess right now, Solana, and in every version I’ve heard of what happened, you are the nucleus of every story.”

Solana knew something was going on with Naomi, but she could have never anticipated what she’s hearing would come out of the woman’s mouth. “What—what are you talking about?”

Another wrong thing to say. “You seriously don’t know?” Solana doesn’t have to answer, because Naomi is already onto explanations. “Roman kicked Rikishi, Jey, and Solo out of his inner circle. Demoted them all.”

Eyes widening, Solana only has one word oscillating in her mind, a word that escapes. “What?”

“Yes,” Naomi scoffs, crossing her arms. “Whatever happened with you and Rikishi a couple months ago is something Roman clearly isn’t over, or maybe his pride is wounded—”

“Do you know what happened?” Solana finds herself asking, interrupting, irritation starting to bubble again. She doesn’t like Naomi’s almost accusatory tone. “What he tried to do?”

Naomi shakes her head and presses her fingers to her temple. “Solana, I love you. I promise I do, but right now, I don’t care what happened, because whatever it was has spiraled into this big mess.” She blows out a breath, laying it all out. “Jey is pissed with Roman, and I have to hear about it every day since Roman has him helping me train new recruits. Jimmy hears it the most though. He’s so torn with this whole thing. Being put in a position where he feels like he has to pick between his actual brothers and the man he always viewed as a brother. He’s been so stressed out, and it’s affecting our marriage, Solana.”

Each sentence is like a slice into Solana’s heart, because underneath Naomi’s frustration, she sees it, she feels it. The hurt.

Naomi is hurt behind it all.

“And don’t get me wrong, Jey was wrong for that scene he pulled at the restaurant and even at your welcome home party, but Roman is wrong for taking this all so personal and responding the way he has.”

That.

That, however, is the comment that makes Solana’s compassion dwindle just a bit.

“I didn’t know Roman had demoted them, Naomi. I—I didn’t.” She truly didn’t, and while a part of her wishes her husband had told her about this, she can understand why he didn’t. The same reason she’s prepared to point out to Naomi. “But, his hands are tied. Jey—Jey has been out of control lately. What was Roman supposed to do? He had to make a call, and he made it.”

Naomi cuts her eyes to the ceiling. “He made the wrong call though, Solana.”

“According to who?”

“Roman is the Tribal Chief,” Solana defends, uncrossing her arms. “He did what he did because it was best for the Bloodline—”

“Roman did what was best for you, Solana!” Naomi cuts her off, voice raised, borderline a shout. Solana is quiet, still trying to process just what’s transpiring. “He felt like you were disrespected, and he couldn’t have that, so he made it about you.”

A heavy, loaded pause followed by an almost whispered question. “You–you think all this is my fault?”

It’s clear that Naomi is heedful with her answer, each word carefully chosen. “I think a lot of Roman’s decision making has been based upon what’s best for you and him, not what’s good for the Bloodline, and if you can’t see that, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

But regardless of the methodical wording, it’s painfully obvious that it could all be summarized to one, telling word.

Yes.

Yes, she does think this is Solana’s fault.

Similarly, the younger woman is also careful in her wording. Finding that balance between assertive and validating. “You’re upset, and I get that. You’re allowed to be upset. It’s not fair. And, I really am so sorry that what’s happening is not only happening but affecting you and Jimmy.” All of that is just as true as the next portion of her thought-out response. “But, I will not allow you to put this on me. You know better than most people how much I struggled with blaming myself for things, so I am not going to let you bring me back to that headspace.” Tears brim in Solana's eyes for a variety of reasons, because of the small ways that she already has been taken to that space.

Glimpses of all the times blame was laid toward her. Largely from Xavier and Wesley. From the most mundane things, like breakfast not being ready on time, all the way up to being told it was her fault she was raped because she didn't "fight hard enough."

She was blamed for all the things no one should be blamed for.

Never again.

Never will she allow that to be the case.

Not even with someone she considers a sister.

Guilt and a sense of sadness gleams in Naomi’s soft brown eyes. “Solana, I didn’t mean—”

“You should leave.”

A pregnant pause. “What?”

Solana swallows, doing her best to keep the tears at bay. “It’s obvious you feel some type of way about me right now, about Roman, and I–I have to respect that. I will, but you have to respect that I can’t have that kind of energy around me right now. It’s not fair to me or any of the other girls.”

It isn’t. Naomi’s attitude has been a thing noticed and commented on not only by herself but Afia, Mickie, and even Cameron, who normally doesn’t like to comment on things like that. And, it’s clear that said attitude isn’t going away anytime soon, because there’s a lot that needs to be discussed and worked through. None of which Solana is interested in doing right now or at any point on this trip.

She’s got enough on her plate.

“I’ll have Bautista make arrangements for you to use the jet to fly back in the morning—”

“Seriously, Solana?” Naomi scoffs, her face a mixture of several emotions. “You’re really doing this?”

“I don’t want to do this, Naomi.” She really doesn’t. This is the last outcome she expected when walking into this room. “But—but I can’t deal with this right now. I don’t want to.” She wipes at a tear that’s managed to escape, gliding down her cheek. “When I get back home, you and I can talk one on one, because you do deserve clarity and answers. I just….I don’t want to do it right now.”

Naomi just looks at her. “Wow.” There’s a tension and heaviness that travels through the room, settling on the walls, making itself at home, dwelling in the roots of discord that have been planted. “After everything we’ve been through, the friendship, the sisterhood we have, this is how you’re treating me?”

“Naomi.” Solana closes her eyes. It seems like this somehow becomes more and more complicated, twisted, and messy with every second that passes. “I want to figure this out with you, make things right, because you mean so much to me. You are my sister. My best friend, but I—I just need you to understand that mentally, I can’t do this right now.” Repeating of the same thing, just with elaboration and vulnerability. A certain amount of it, because what Solana really wants to say is stress is something she can’t have due to her pregnancy.

A pregnancy Naomi still doesn’t know about.

A pregnancy, as much as it pains her to think it, Solana is somewhat happy Naomi doesn’t know about.

Because with what’s been said, the distance and tension that exists between them, Solana doesn’t know if the woman she considered, still considers to be a sister, would be happy for her.

And, that hurts.

It hurts like hell.

—---------

Solana feels sick, and for the first time in months, it has nothing to do with the children growing inside of her and everything to do with the past, present, and future.

She has no idea how long she’s been in the shower. Long enough for her fingers to prune and sweat to form on her forehead from the steam of the borderline scorching water. A small smile forms on her face recalling a shower she took with her husband before leaving for her trip, Roman’s scowl as he stepped in the water and cursed almost immediately from the temperature.

“Solana, what the hell? Are you trying to fucking burn us?”

It’s a memory that makes her laugh. For someone so serious, her husband might be one of the funniest people she knows.

But just as quickly as her smile was there, it’s wiped away as she’s reminded once more that that was then, and this is now. Roman isn’t here. Because she told him she didn’t need him. Told him she could do this on her own, and she can, but she can’t. A wicked dichotomy that’s resulted in nothing but overthinking and ruminating over the past few hours.

Catastrophizing, as Gail would call it. Playing out the worst case scenario, and both believing and accepting it as true. It’s exactly what she’s done. What she’s been doing.

And to her credit, Solana does her best to utilize the techniques she’s learned in therapy when situations like this arrive, but this particular occurrence is a more challenging one, because all Solana wants to do is climb back in bed and forget about the whole thing.

And, she could. Solana knows that no one can make her do this. Roman would especially encourage her to do what feels most right to her. What she’s comfortable with. But, the reality is that what’s comfortable isn’t what’s always right. She needs to do this. Solana knows she needs to do this, but damn, is she terrified.

That’s the future concern. Then, there’s the past.

The conversation, borderline argument, with Naomi that had Solana so messed up, Bayley happened to walk by and overheard her crying in her room, prompting her cousin to come see what was wrong. Solana didn’t provide specifics, didn’t want to make Bayley feel like she was in the middle of things, but she did share that they’d had a disagreement and Naomi was leaving in the morning.

To say that situation didn’t fuck with her mentally would be a lie.

Naomi means so much to Solana. She’s a best friend and a sister, one of the first Solana has had in her entire life. It guts her to know Naomi feels the way she does and is going through what she is. That the mess with the Bloodline is now impacting her marriage with Jimmy.

Solana especially hates that. They’ve always had such a strong union, a wonderful dynamic. To know that’s not the case anymore, at least right now, is rough.

And, then there’s the whole Bloodline dynamic. Solana had no idea Roman had dismissed and demoted the three men. He didn’t tell her, and she knows why he didn’t, doesn’t blame him, per se. But, damn, once again, something else on her husband’s plate he’s been dealing with alone.

She hates that.

Hates that she didn’t know, even if she gets why he probably didn’t keep her in the loop.

But, still.

Eventually, after recognizing it’s only a matter of time until someone comes looking for her, Solana actually completes her shower and steps out, wrapping the towel around her body. She uses another smaller towel to clear a chunk of the mirror from the accumulated condensation, granting her a view of herself. Eyes falling to the counter where her toiletries are spread, a blush climbs up to her cheeks as she’s hit with another memory.

Propped up on the counter, her husband’s face buried in between her legs before he carried her to their bedroom and made love to her. Her birthday trip. The days after when they’d been intimate for the first time, a door opening that Solana never intends to allow anyone to ever force her to have shut anymore.

But, as was the case with the shower memory, the recollection of a steamier encounter is no match for her anxiety, because she’s right back to overthinking. Overthinking the conversation with Naomi but especially the conversation she’s supposed to have in a matter of hours.

Right back to picturing the worst case ever when it comes to something she initially believed could go okay. And, there’s a part of her that knows this. Knows that the most realistic outcome will be okay.

So, why can’t she just focus on that instead of visions and flashes of being called a liar, screamed at, sent away, rejected?

Solana swallows the lump in the back of her throat and proceeds to carry on with her routine. Dental hygiene, styling her hair, applying deodorant and her body oils and creams. No makeup. She’s certain tears will be shed for one reason or another, and having black streaks down her face doesn’t sound like a fun time.

None of it does, but that’s a small thing that’ll only exacerbate things.

Solana sprays her Delina perfume, a gift from Roman, on her pulse points and lightly taps her wrists together before reaching for her bra, underwear, and gray dress she’d picked. A pick she’s also now questioning, because what if it’s too revealing? Truth be told, with her large chest, anything she wears could fall into the “revealing” category, especially as she’s noticed some slight changes in her body in the past few weeks. Breast slightly bigger, hips a little wider. All symptoms of her pregnancy, certainly, but still noticeable, nonetheless.

Granted, Isla Mujeres is hot as hell, so too much clothing will certainly attract too much heat and make her sweat. Her dress is most appropriate given the weather, just maybe not the occasion.

Frustrated with yet another issue her brain has made an issue, Solana dresses herself, unable to keep the tears at bay. Droplets sliding down her face, she rubs them away with all of the frustration growing inside of her. Try as hard as she does to push it back, Solana can’t deny the growing difficulty she’s having in not at least texting or calling her husband.

She doesn’t need him here, per se, so she thinks, but hearing his voice, or even his reassuring messages could make a huge difference.

But, he’s busy. She knows he’s busy, especially after what she learned last night. Roman is always busy, and yet, he always makes time for her. He’s done it a tremendous amount of times ever since learning of the pregnancy, so much so that she feels bad putting this on him as well.

She just needs to deal with this on her own, even though she’s not alone. She’s surrounded by friends who would love and support her. But, there’s just something different about her husband. His support hits harder, feels stronger. It’s truly the balm she needs in most situations.

Just not in this one.

She’ll have to deal.

It’s a realization Solana begrudgingly comes to accept when she grabs her phone off the counter and opens the door to head back into her room. Except, the minute she does, that same phone she just picked up is now on the plush carpet of the master bedroom, and the tears brewing are pushed over the edge.

Solana opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Words aren’t what she wants right now. What she wants is to be in her husband’s warm embrace, and that’s exactly what she does.

Her feet quickly carry her across the room where she flings herself into Roman’s waiting arms from where he sits on the edge of their bed. The force of the collision forces him back on the bed, but she doesn’t care. She prefers it. Prefers lying atop him, his big, strong arms wrapped protectively around her as she nuzzles her face into his neck.

This was the last thing Solana expected. For Roman to be here, to surprise her by popping up in Mexico.

She doesn’t know why he’s here or how he even knew to come, but she doesn’t question it. Doesn’t question it at all.

Because it’s exactly what she needed.

Solana feels his warm lips pressed against her temple, the way one hand soothes along the length of her back and the other palms her ass. Placement that’s calming in a way only he can achieve. She’s clutching him, basking in the relief he brings when his deep voice rumbles in her ear. “What’s wrong, pretty girl?”

A lot. There’s a lot Solana could bring up to him right now, namely the Bloodline situation, but that’s less of a pressing issue than the one she has to face in a few hours.

One thing at a time.

A sad smile against him followed by a quiet confession. “I don’t think I can do this, Ro.”

He sighs. “Sol…”

Solana also sighs and reluctantly shifts so she’s no longer hugging him but propped up on one elbow, other hand on his chest as she looks down at him. “What if she doesn’t believe me? Or—or rejects me?” Roman reaches his hand to brush away some of her tears. “I just….I don’t think I can handle that.”

“Solana, why would she reject you?” His question is posed with all the consideration and care. “She already likes you. Hell, she probably already loves you.”

“But, Roman….” And it’s only then, the deeply buried fear, the core belief that drives so much of Solana’s doubt and fear is revealed. “Her daughter’s dead because….because of me.” She closes her eyes, biting down on her bottom lip to try to contain the second set of tears. “What….what if she blames me?”

It’s a scary but true thing to admit aloud, to verbally express something she herself struggled with for years. Blaming herself for her mother’s murder, and while Solana is still trying to work through, largely with therapy, her now confusing feelings toward her mother, the fact of what happened and how it’s impacted her remains unchanged.

It’s still and will probably always be something she has a bit of self-blame about.

A sort of blame she fears she’ll receive from Paloma.

“Solana…” Roman sits up and adjusts them, tugging her onto his lap so she’s straddling him, hands on her hips. “You were a child. Do you honestly think she will blame you for what happened?” He doesn’t offer time for her to answer, transitioning to his next set of questions. “That she’d be upset to find out that she has a granddaughter? That she has some living, remaining connection to her daughter?” One of Roman’s hands shifts to Solana’s stomach, moving in small circles. “That she’s going to be angry at finding out you’re going to make her a great-grandmother?”

As always, his words and nonverbal gestures are comforting and soothing, dwindling down her anxiety. “She already loves you. This isn’t going to change that. If anything, it might make it stronger.”

The explanation is effective, chipping away and dismantling her fears, replacing it with something similar to confidence. Most logical outcome trumping worst case scanrios.

“You’re right,” she murmurs after a few minutes of mulling over all of his counterpoints. Solana closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I—I can do this.”

“Of course, you can,” he encourages, lifting her chin to bring her gaze onto him. “Do you want me to go with you?”

A part of her wants to say yes, another part wants to say no. One overpowers the other. “Yes.”

He doesn’t have to come inside, doesn’t even have to leave the car. Just having his presence right before will be enough.

Solana leans forward and hugs him, eyes shutting. “Thank you.”

His response is a kiss to her cheek and the reiteration of his mantra when it comes to her. Always. “I’ve got you.”

—---------

There's brief discussion who should accompany Solana to go see Paloma. Initially, it was going to be Bayley, but with Roman now present, as well as not wanting to give anything away before Solana can explain, it's settled that it'll just be Solana and Roman.

And, she's grateful for him. Holds his hand the entire drive there and basks in the comforting way he kisses her after helping her out of the SUV.

She's even grateful for the little nod Bautista gives her, before she moves down the stone path to the front door. He obviously doesn't know the specifics, but he knows enough to know she's about to do something important.

Something potentially life-changing and terrifying. All of which overwhelms her and slams her in the face as she nervously knocks on the door.

But, it's the minute that the door opens, Solana is immediately engulfed by a burst of warm, loving energy.

“Solana.” Paloma’s smile is wide and welcoming as she claps her hands on the apron around her waist before stepping over the mantle and welcoming her into a tight embrace. Initially, there’s discomfort on Solana’s end, not from the physical gesture but from the fact that it’s here. That she’s finally here. “It’s so good to see you, child.”

The second introductory statement pushes down some of the anxiety, Solana able to lean into the embrace, accepting it, allowing the energy to transfer over to her.

Paloma squeezes her once more before stepping back, surveying her almost. “Look at your hair.” She reaches for the ends, complimenting, “you look good, Solana.”

“Thank you,” is Solana’s quiet response, as Paloma looks over her shoulder.

“Is he….”

Solana does the same, seeing Roman leaning back against the SUV, dark shades covering his eyes, muscled arms crossed. Waiting. He’s waiting for her signal. A sign that she’s okay.

And, she gives him that, gives him that nod of approval. Roman gives her a small nod as well, moving to talk to Bautista who stands a few feet away and will remain with her, patrolling the outside premises with her security detail.

“No,” Solana finally answers, turning back to Paloma. “Not—not this time.”

Because, if this doesn’t go horribly wrong, Solana is hoping for more interaction between her husband and the woman who is her biological grandmother.

Even if Paloma doesn’t know it just yet.

Being inside of Paloma’s home is….it’s an experience. It’s an experience, because judging by the wear and tear on some of the walls, the almost dated styling of the hacienda home, Solana would guess that she’s lived here for some time.

Long enough to raise a family.

Or at the very least, a child.

A child who grew up to be a woman. A woman who had her own children, Solana being one of those children.

“Tea?” Paloma holds up the teapot from where she stands by the stove in her kitchen. Small, warm tones, floral designs and a welcoming atmosphere. Much like the rest of her home.

Solana offers a polite decline. “No thank you.” She starts to ask what the tea is but ultimately decides against it, not wanting to risk anything. “Thank—thank you for having me.”

Paloma gives her a look. “Child, please. I’ve been waiting for this.” Paloma prepares her own cup of tea, adding just a bit of honey and a pinch of spices. “I’ve been worried about you.”

An expected thing. Solana knows her contact with Paloma has been abysmal since their initial meeting a few months back, and though not without good reason, it’s still something she feels bad about.

As Paloma sits down across from her, stirring her tea, she asks, gaze assessing. “How have you been?”

Such a simple question with a loaded, heavy answer. It’s not something Solana hasn’t thought about, twisted and turned in bed over, trying to settle on just how much she wanted to share of what’s transpired.

“It….it’s been a lot,” she finally answers after a minute or two of silence. “After…after I left here and went back home, some….some things happened, and I—my mental health got really bad.” Solana’s gaze falls to her lap as she pulls at the material of her dress, needing a distraction from the fluttering in her chest. Anxiety. “I—I was in the hospital and a treatment facility for a while.”

“Solana….”

“I’m better now,” she answers, eyes closing, reminding herself that where she was is far from where she is now. And, she’s never going back to that dark place. “I’m…significantly better.”

Paloma’s mug sits on the table, mostly untouched. She reaches over, placing a hand on top of Solana’s. “I’m so sorry.” Her warm eyes twinkle with concern. “I had a feeling something was going on with you. I’ve been praying for you. Praying for peace.”

“Thank you,” Solana murmurs. She’s not sure anyone’s ever said anything of the sort to her before. “I—I appreciate that. It….it means a lot to me.”

“Of course.” The older woman squeezes her hand, asking almost urgently. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you?”

And, there it is. The moment that Solana has both dreaded and waited for for some time now. A door being opened and paving way for her to fulfill a task that she’d give anything to push off for as long as she can, even if, deep down, she knows it’s not the right thing to do. She can’t keeping avoiding the inevitable.

It’s time.

“I—” Solana takes a deep breath. I can do this. “I—I have something I need to talk to you about. Something….something I need to tell you.” Solana swallows, doing her best to remain as open and vulnerable as she can. It’s more than needed in a situation as heavy and layered as this. “And the truth….the truth is that I’m terrified about how you’re going to respond.”

Paloma gaze shifts into something almost unreadable. “Solana, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine, child. Please. Just tell me.”

So much easier said than done. Solana looks away, blowing out a deep breath. “I—I never knew a lot about my mother’s side of the family. She never….she never really spoke about them.” And now that Solana knows the full backstory, she can’t be upset with her mother for it. Other things, yes, but not that. “I—I always wondered though.” Trembling hands reach into the purse that sits in the seat next to her, pulling out two items. An envelope and a polaroid photo turned downward. “When I was—I was going through and reorganizing some of my mom’s old journals, I found a letter she wrote me….before she passed.” Her voice dips with all the emotion that still accompanies that moment when she not only found the letter but read said letter. “And, it shared a lot. So much information that I didn’t know but now know, and it’s been hard for me finding out what I did.” A lot of her sessions with Gail since then revolving around Solana processing and working through all of the information. “But, the most important thing I gained from the letter was finding out more about her, her family….my family. And….” It’s been some time since Solana has felt this anxious, the only comparison that feels most equivalent being the night Roman found out about her pregnancy and Fetu’s letter. “If….if you’d like to read the letter—”

“No,” Paloma interrupts, her voice somehow both firm and gentle. “That—that’s too personal, Solana. Your mother most likely intended it to be for your eyes only. I could never…” She trails off, caught off guard by how Solana carefully stands from her seat and moves over to her knees in front of her. “Solana, what are you—”

“Please believe me when I say I had no idea who you were when we met. I didn’t—I didn’t know the truth then, and I’m sorry for—”

“Solana.” Gentle hands move to cup her face, Solana just now realizing that she’s crying and on the verge of an anxiety attack. “What is it?”

Solana closes her eyes. It’s time.

Licking her lips, ignoring the massive weight that feels like it’s settled upon her chest, she lifts her hand, sliding the envelope and polaroid across the table in front of Paloma. Verbal directions are unnecessary as the still very confused and very concerned older woman lowers her hands from Solana’s face to take the items she’s been handed.

Solana expects her to go for the envelope first.

She doesn’t.

She lifts up the polaroid first.

And, the minute she does, a loud, almost violent gasp leaves her. One hand over her mouth, her eyes are glued to the photo, her shoulders almost trembling. Nothing is said, and the seconds that pass are filled with every bit of anxiety and tension that Solana also feels coursing through her entire body.

“Where…..” Paloma’s voice is shaky, her eyes now watering as she looks over at Solana. “Where did you get this photo?”

“I’ve always had it,” Solana is also trembling, her voice wavering. “It’s one of my favorite photos….” No greater fear has filled Solana than waiting for whatever follows the next statement that leaves her mouth. “Of my mother.”

The gasp that emits from Paloma’s mouth this time is louder, heavier, and significantly more emotional. She drops the picture onto the table, moving her hands to look at Solana, to really look at her.

Like she’s doing so for the first time.

And, in many ways, she is.

“I always thought you looked like my Alma,” Paloma cries. “But, I didn’t say anything, because after she disappeared, I almost lost my mind, and I—I saw her in every young woman, and I just thought….” She closes her eyes, crying harder. “I can’t believe after all these years…..” Another gasp, hiccupped almost request. “Please….I must know…what happened to my daughter? What did he do to her?”

And in everything Solana feared about this moment, this is the part that frightened her the most. The moment she fears will change everything in the most awful of ways.

But, the truth is something that frees, liberates, and deserves to be voiced.

Paloma deserves to know what happened.

“When....when I was still a child, she came up with....with a plan....” Speaking is such a trepidatious thing to to do, but somehow, someway, Solana powers through it. “She was trying….she was trying to get us out of there, to….to escape my father.” Solana will never again consider Xavier her father, but thinking back to the letter, how her mother shared he lied about his identity, she knows using the name Xavier will only be confusing. Bring about more questions. And, she will answer them. But, right now, answering the question at hand is the most important thing. “But, he—he found out—” Solana sniffles, unable to settle her tears or any of the heavy emotions that accompany this weighty moment. “And, he sent—he sent men to kill us.”

Paloma’s eyes shut. “Oh my God….”

“She died protecting me,” Solana shares, the memory of her mother’s dead body atop of her returning to the front of her mind, bringing about a fresh new set of tears. “She’s—she’s dead because of me, and I’m so sorry—” She's unable to finish her sentence, too wrecked by her sobs, head falling as she covers her face. Overwhelmed with the guilt that she feels will always lie within, dormant at times, active at others.

Never to fully go away.

Paloma moves her hands to Solana’s wrist, carefully lowering her hands as she once again cups her face. “No, child.” She shakes her head, affirming with all the conviction. “What happened was not your fault.” Words that Solana heard for the first time, in a long time, for her husband. That, in many ways, changed her life. Now being repeated again by her grandmother in yet another life changing moment. “Solana….” Her smile is sad, her soul clearly heavy, but her determination unwavering. “There exists no greater act of love for a mother than to lay down her life in order to save her child.” She wipes away Solana’s tears. “And that’s exactly what my Alma did.” Solana closes her eyes, hand falling to her stomach. “She died just as she lived.” Her voice catches. “With love.”

Love.

The emotion that’s most dominant in this moment, settling over and overpowering any trace of fear and doubt and any other negative feeling Solana expected to encounter. The rejection she expected to receive in the face of the truth.

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Head falling into Paloma’s lap, Solana sobs. She sobs from the loss of her mother, from the reunification of her family, from the everything that this moment of truth has brought her, and from the love that overwhelms her.

“My granddaughter.” Paloma leans over, crying and kissing the back of Solana’s head, holding her, cradling her with an unrelenting grip. Like she won’t let go. Like she’ll never let go. “My beautiful, beautiful, nieta….”

--------

translation:

nieta = granddaughter

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns #roman reigns fic #arisnotebook

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holylulusworld · 3 days ago

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Cabin at the lake (9)

Summary: You have a much-needed vacation. There’s only one problem…

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Assistant!Reader

Warnings: SB being an ass, tension, arguments, vacation hijacking, misogynism, slow burn, cocky SB, language, fluff?

A/N: Another short drabble with these two.

Cabin at the lake (8)

Cabin at the lake masterlist

“Why don’t you let me down?” You mutter. Soldier Boy refused to let you walk inside the cabin. He carries you over the threshold, still not letting you down.

“You’ll only get hurt again. I must keep a close eye on my clumsy girl. If you get hurt again, you will blame me.” He smirks as you lean your head against his shoulder. Once again, you’re too tired and wound tight to do more than give in.

“Can you just let me have a rest and get me food?” You huff, not in the mood to argue. “You promised to cook for me. Hopefully, you want to keep that promise.”

“You won’t lift a finger tonight, sweetness. My lady doesn’t have to work or do more than take dick,” he snickers because you growl his name, along with profanities. “We will get you there, baby. I’ll make you my pretty housewife, and the moment you have little Soldier Boy in your belly, you’ll purr like a cat for me.”

“Why does everything you say have something to do with your dick?” You’re angry at Soldier Boy. He just can’t have a normal conversation. Or so it seems. “I told you that I’m hungry, and not for dick!”

“Soon, baby,” he says while carefully placing you on the couch. Soldier Boy covers you with a warm blanket and checks on your hand. “I know the meds are kicking in. The doctor said it can happen that you will feel dizzy and maybe a little disoriented. The stuff Vought gave you was no good.”

“Vought isn’t interested in helping anyone but themselves. All they have in mind is money. They use everyone, and if you are no longer useful, they’ll get rid of you. Supe or not.”

“I already got that, baby cakes,” he purrs, lips pressing against your cheek. “I use them too to make a shit ton of money before I say goodbye to living the life I always wanted to live. They believe I’m their loyal lapdog.”

Soldier Boy laughs. He walks off and toward the small kitchenette.

“You can’t fuck void over. They will know. They always know,” you harrumph. “If you try to work against them, everyone you like will stand in the line of fire.”

“I only like you, and you’re not going to leave my side. I’ll protect you,” he casually says. He doesn’t take Vought seriously, but you do. They will not let Soldier Boy, their poster boy, go.

“Soldier Boy, they will never let you out of your contract. You know that.” You try to reason with your boss. “If you try, they’ll kill you.”

“Ben,” he says while rummaging in the kitchenette.

“What?” You crane your neck to watch him get a pan out of one of the cupboards.

“My name is Ben,” Soldier Boy says. “You can call me by my name. Soldier Boy is just the suit and shield. When we are alone, you can call me Ben or baby. Whatever you like better.”

You throw a pillow at him but smile. Soldier Boy never told you his real name or did anything nice for you. Now he cooks dinner and tells you his name.

“Fine.” You snuggle into the blanket and close your eyes. “I like Ben better. If only he’d stop talking about his dick.”

“One step after another, sweetness,” he calls from the kitchenette. “You cannot expect me to tame the beast in my pants. He only wants you.”

“Christ, if you are that obsessed with my cunt, you should feed it when my hand is better,” you grumble and turn around on the couch to get some sleep. Dinner will take some time, and you’re tired.

“You want me to take care of your pussy?” He suddenly stands in front of the couch to look down at you. “Y/N, don’t play with me. If you want me to destroy it, tell me now.”

You smile to yourself but remain silent.

“I’ll take this as a yes,” Ben nods to himself. “Alright. I’ll get dinner ready for you. The moment your hand is healed, your kitty will end up well-fed…”

Tags in reblog.

#soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n #x reader #soldier boy x fem!reader #the boys fanfiction

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sunrisecaminus · 19 hours ago

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Megatron x Reader NSFW

Message - This was a request and they were so thankful to help me figure out my "ask me anything" button wasn't showing up, so it is now fixed. You know who you are and I thank you for your kindness. Hope you like what I did :3

Summary - Human Reader finds her way to Megatron's heart and told him she would like to be his conjunx, not knowing it meant marriage. She thought it just meant girlfriend/boyfriend...oops.

Warnings - Small blood scene, NSFW, biting ;3

Type of fic - Angst/Comfort, NSFW

How many times have you been at the med bay? Knockout at this point has bene telling you to avoid Megatron or your human heart would finally stop. Anytime Megatron would see you, he would talk down to you like you were some sort of rat. If you got too close to speak to him, he would flick you backwards. Your skin is full of cuts and bruises, but all of it was mostly from Airachnid or her weird giant bug men. She was the one who captured you after you were seen with one of the keys to vector sigma. After they figured out you hid it somewhere they have kept you for months to try and force the location from you. It has been a while, but now you have grown use to the giant bots and who to trust. Dreadwing was a very nice mech and has taught you a lot of ways to survive in such a horrible ship, even giving you tips on how to convince Megatron not to kill you already. You have talked to Breakdown and you accidentally have spilled that you wanted to be friends with the leader of the Decepticons and he told you to never get too close to the man in grey.

That has not stopped you though, and you have been giving Megatron secret gifts here and there. Soundwave sees you putting tiny energon candies on the throne before Megatron awakens and even has been seen cleaning up areas that the vehicons couldn't get to. Megatron has been seeing these gifts every now and than and has been recently pissed off on who has been touching his throne without his knowledge. It was to the point where he would yell at Starscream, thinking he was playing some sort of sick joke. After a while of the gifts, he asked Soundwave if he has seen Starscream to go teach him a lesson on not following his orders. Soundwave shows him that it was actually you who have been giving gifts and cleaning around the throne to keep it from getting dusty. Megatron is confused and now demands an answer as to why you have been giving him treats. Now he wonders if he has been given poison…which shouldn't be the case because he has been eating these little candies secretly in his room every time it happens.

You are right now humming a sweet toon, cleaning from under a vehicon's desk to help them out with organizing, when you feel sharp claws grabbing your entire body. Yelping from the unexpected touch, you look around to see that it is Airachnid. She giggles. "Silly little girl! What? You think I wouldn't see you trying to take confidential information?" You knew she was just wanted excuses to "play" around with you. She has been bored for staying in the cramped ship and hasn't been given orders to go out yet. Airachnid drops you on the desk and stabs her claw on your shirt, nicking your upper hip as you feel a horrible stinging around where she cut you. You scream from the pain and struggle from her trap, biting onto her finger. "AH! You little scraplet!" She moves her hand away as you quickly stand up and hide behind the computer. Airachnid sees this and angrily puts her hand around the computer to grab you, but than that is when you hear a deep voice from across the room. "Airachnid…" The voice was deep enough for you to know that it was Megatron. "Hmm? Oh my liege I apologize for not seeing you sooner! I was just trying to grab our little glitch. She bit me!" Airachnid shows her finger and shows that you bit hard, denting the side of her claw. You hear a small chuckle and quickly you hug yourself in a good ball position and stay hidden. "Well you shouldn't have played with the pet when she's in a wild mood. Take yourself to Knockout." Airachnid was shocked from his reaction, but leaves. It became quiet again until you heard Megatron's footsteps getting closure and closure, making you shake in fear. Should you run for it? Maybe just wait…he doesn't know where you are. All he knows is that you are on the desk, right? Holding your breath, you hear his tone shift to a more angry tone. "I know it was you who touched my things. Why did you give me some useless treats?" You didn't know what to say, why was he angry you gave him stuff? Maybe running is a good option. He could never catch you from how fast you were compared to him.

Thinking about running, you get yourself ready by standing up a bit. That was when you felt one of your legs being grabbed and dragged from behind the computer. "Ah! Wait!" You are now in front of him as his hand slams on the table above you, trapping you in a claw like trap. "Answer me!" Megatron's voice shakes your tiny body as you fearfully hide your face and tighten your legs together. "I'm sorry! I just wanted you to feel better!" You scream out of desperation. You didn't want to be killed, you knew he doesn't know his own strength when he is like this. Megatron stops what he was doing and just stares at you is confusion. How could any stupid creature look at him and want to be nice? He was a bit in a horrible mood lately from the unsuccessful missions a few months in a row. No…you wouldn't be so soft towards him. The human must be lying to try and get away. His thoughts were interrupted when he feels something warm on his hand and he looked down. The big cut on your hip was now bleeding from not being properly taken care of and started to drip blood all over his digits. Megatron sees that you are breathing heavier and now in shock. Your body loosens from getting weaker and softly puts your hand on one of his claws. He has never realized how soft you were and now his eyes widen from the surprised gentle gesture. He clenched his teeth and swears to himself. He is about to be a fool.

It has been a year sense the incident. If you could remember, you were woken up is Knockout's office and was wrapped in clean bandages. Knockout told you that Megatron threatened him to take care of you and now is going to visit you in a few hours. Ever sense, he has been very respectful to you whenever you are both alone. He talks to you in a softer tone (only Soundwave and you know when his voice changes, the others still think he talks to you like he does to the other soldiers). Oh, and when Airachnid tried to toy with you again, Megatron took that personally and let's just say you never saw her again for a few months. You talk to him about anything really. Culture, language, poetry, and anything else you too can be interesting. You are right now sweeping and wiping down some of his stuff in his room when you hear the door opening. "I knew you would be around here somewhere." You turn to see the grumpy grey giant staring at you with his predator like eyes. Smiling, you face your body towards him and bow sweetly. "Just wanting to make sure you can sleep without any dust going into your face!

You have been so sweet to him, and his spark can't take it anymore from how much you have done for the Decepticons, specifically for him. He walks over and sits on his berth and brings his servo to you. You take the hint and climb onto his servo. "I have been meaning to talk to you about something important." Megatron quiets his voice just a bit from how close you were to him as to not hurt your ears from his booming voice. You sit down crisscross and smile patiently at him to speak. "You seem to bring me into a state I haven't felt for millions of years and now I must tell you something that you shall never speak to anyone about." He waits for any motion for him to continue and you quietly nod with your full attention. He gives out a sigh of frustration. "I have been feeling a bit too comfortable around you and must ask if you would want to further the relationship you so desperately want from me for some reason."

You gasp from the sudden question and look at him in shock. Is he really asking you to date him? Knockout said something about him and Breakdown being conjunx and you wonder if that is exactly what Megatron is asking from you. You didn't know he wanted you to be his girlfriend! Awe and he was trying to be so sweet to you about it, but you knew this was definitely something he was not use to. You would think he would just tell you "You are now mine" and be done with it, but it seems he is more respectful about your opinion than you originally thought. "Awe! Of course I will be your conjunx! You are so sweet!" His eyes widen in surprise which was a bit weird in your opinion. Tilting your head in confusion from his reaction seemed to make him understand the situation. He smirks from the miscommunication and mass displaces. You yelp from the sudden shift in figure and he holds you with his now smaller hand, gripped around your waist as he starts to put a digit under your dress. "Well if you would like, I am not appose to such a thing." Before you could ask him what that meant, you feel him gently rubbing your boobs which made you gasp from the cold feeling. He liked the noises you were making and started to press another digit to your lower stomach. Knowing what he was about to do, you loosen your body a little and take your dress off. "Beautiful." He mumbles and licks your scars you had everywhere. Your moans made him hungrier for more, so his glossa slides around to your chest and his claw gently rubs on your clothed crotch. Arching your back, you yelp from the new feelings you are getting right now and moan his name in your lovely voice. Knowing he could do this to you with such little effort made him wonder how long you could last and just takes off your undergarments. Now you are fully exposed to him with you facing him. You knew this was risky, even with him mass displaced his digits felt so big to you. You wanted him to know that you trusted him fully, so you spread your legs to show him he could do whatever he wanted to do to you. Megatron takes the hint and rubs his claw in between your folds and closes his eyes, listening to your sweet voice. He can do this for hours…thankfully he gave all his reports to Soundwave so he will continue until your legs start to shake. The constant friction of him rubbing your lower region made you so weak. Bucking into his finger to make him know you want more, made him smirk even wider as he inserts a digit inside of you, widening your walls. You open your eyes and yelp from the new feeling and pressed your hand on his faceplate. He feels your soft touch, feeling as though he was getting awarded by his actions and nips your neck just barely. It made you jump a bit but moan again from the feeling. "Oh? Well isn't that new. Your body misses being abused." This made you realize how fucked you were and you start to struggle a little under his grip, but it was know use. He was under a spell from how enticing you were and kept nipping you every few minutes. After the eighth bite, your body couldn't handle any more of the pleasure that was surrounding your body and released. Megs watched your body produce cum, dripping down his digits, as his tongue glides down and starts to clean your folds. "You taste magnificent, pet." He speaks with a deeper voice, making you flustered and cover your face in embarrassment…you were now his to control, but you didn't mind.

#maccadam #tfp #transformers #transformers prime #transformers x y/n #transformers x reader #transformers x human #megatron x reader #megatron x y/n #valveplug

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the-bi-space-ace · 24 hours ago

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Refusal

Fandom: The Bad Batch

Word Count: 1,695

Summary: Echo refused to scream. He's been here for hours, days maybe, but time didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was that the batch was coming. They would always come.

Sooooo I had this idea about the batch swooping in when Echo has been held captive and I couldn't get it out of my head so here ya go, a section of a fic I may very well one day write about how far the batch will go to protect one of their own.

Warnings: blood, restraints, injury, violence.

Echo refused to scream.

That’s how he ended up here.

The man who had him chained to the floor, knees forced under him, neck aching heavy with the weight of the restraint. His wrist had long since bled and scabbed and bled again, scomp held down at a bent angel, broken and spinning without his control. He reeled back, metal over his knuckles that he planned to strike at Echo once again, trying to force him into submission.

Echo refused to scream.

What drowned out his ears instead was alarms blazing overhead. Red lights blinked furiously. With a sneer his captor spit down at him.

“Are those your pets?”

Echo spit the blood off of his lips. It splattered on the floor. “They aren’t pets.” He spit it out with as much vitriol as his raw throat would allow. The man above him swiveled, listening to the unmistakable sound of droids taking blaster fire, hitting the ground in a heap of wire and metal. Echo forced his head up, bloodshot eyes burning. “We’re a package deal, you see. A team. A squad. I save them. They save me. It’s kind of our thing.” Indistinct yelling rose from the nearby hallways. They were close, they were coming. Echo smiled through teeth he swore were chipped and lips so cracked it stung. “So, no, they aren’t pets, as you so kindly keep referring to them. But they are mine.” The door to the room he was being held in shook as something heavy was thrown against it. His captor flinched away from it while Echo’s body relaxed. Another slam against it and it bent.

Wrecker.

Something wedged its way between the doors, metal groaned as it slid apart, enough to get a hand inside. That hand was joined by another and the door was pried, inch by agonizing inch, apart. Eventually someone got impatient, cursing loudly, and big brawler hands gripped each edge. Metal bent backwards, rattling in complaint.

“And they hate you for what you’ve done.” It bit from between Echo’s lips just as the door was pried open, metal screaming while Wrecker yelled. Even with the helmet on Echo sensed the fire, the way he plunged forward. His captor threw a punch but Wrecker caught it, bending his wrist back so thoroughly Echo swore something snapped.

All the energy in his body drained, plummeting to the floor. He would’ve hit it if it hadn’t been for Tech’s - he knew it was Tech - hands gripping his chin and pulling him up, scanning to assess his injuries. Crosshair had moved to crouch directly next to him, handing off a med kit to Tech that was flung open quicker than his mind could keep up with.

Around him things blurred. They were there. Everything was fine now. He let his head fall forward again, caught this time on the warm toughness of armor plating. Someone’s shoulder was pressed against his forehead. Hands searched around his bound wrist for a release, gently but appraising, directness in the pressure.

Tech.

There was a deliberate squeeze to his arm then the hand moved to grab the chain holding him to the ground, lifting it to alleviate some pressure on his neck. Echo couldn’t help it, he sighed in relief, sinking further into the feeling of armor. Armor. Clone. Protection. Safe safe safe safe. He could feel Tech shuffle around to the back of him now, giving up on the wrist restraint to try and free his legs. Something clanked against metal behind him but he couldn’t turn to watch what was happening. Tech was muttering something under his breath, something acute, exact, but meant to comfort.

Well, it comforted Echo at least.

He focused instead on the hand now sweeping over his naked back. The firepuncher laid on the ground in front of him, abandoned on the floor in a way Echo had never witnessed before. Instead both hands were occupied, trying to both hold him up and together at the same time. Echo didn’t need that. He was fine. It took more than this to break him after everything he went through.

“I’m fine.” Echo swore he said it outloud, the hand at his back even stuttered in its path, but he was ignored. Instead the body - Crosshair’s - shuffled closer to him, covering him in a protective bubble while they worked to free him. Something behind him lit, a laser-torch flame, and the sound of cutting metal pierced his ears. Echo squeezed his eyes shut, remembering that noise, hating that noise, but he didn’t struggle. No, it was Tech, and this was Crosshair and they’d never hurt him. Never never never never.

A sickening crack broke through the flame and Echo, exhausted, tried to lift his head. He couldn’t get far, instead turning so his sweaty forehead pressed into the space between helmet and shoulder, getting eyes on what was happening in the rest of the room.

“What makes you think you can take one of my own from me?” Hunter bit out. He was in the face of that man while Wrecker held his arms. His nose was bleeding now. Had Hunter hit him? Echo couldn’t remember now. Was that the sound? Hunter’s hand gripped his face, pulling him up to look into the visor of the helmet.

“Hunter-” Echo began but he was cut off when Hunter’s fist hit him again. No, stop! Echo’s mind reeled, screamed, spiraled. He couldn’t move, not until Tech got the binds off, but Hunter had to stop. This would ruin everything. He tried to squirm but Crosshair’s grip held him tight, tight while lasers cut into the binds at his ankles. Hunter gripped the front of his shirt between shaking fingers, angry and ready to pull apart the floorboards if he had to. Rip through walls, burn the facility-

“You picked the wrong clones to fuck with-”

“Stop!” Echo’s voice croaked between them and Hunter’s pulled back fist waited, paused in its path. This was his chance. He felt the binds on his ankles snap, Tech freeing him with a flick of a wrist. “Enough.” His voice was like a bomb, piercing in its finality.

From there he could hear Hunter’s unhappy sigh. “I am the sergeant here-”

“And I’m your second.” Echo coughed, blood splattering down the front of Crosshair’s chest plate. “Listen to me.” For what it was worth Hunter did let him go. Even Wrecker loosened his grip, allowing him to kneel on the ground instead of hanging suspended in the air.

Hunter turned, flinging his arm out. “Echo, look what he did to you!” What a sight he must be. How long had it been? Hours? Days? He wasn’t sure anymore. Wasn’t sure he knew how to get up and walk out of here.

“He knows where they are.” It was like the world stopped, each of them pausing. Even Tech stopped cutting away at the bind on his neck, pausing briefly before continuing. “That’s why I let him feel like he won for so long. We need what’s in his head.” Disgruntled was as nice a way as Echo could put how Hunter behaved after that, waving his hand so Wrecker stepped back from the man now panting on the ground.

Instead Hunter approached the three of them on the ground. His hand searched around Echo’s headpiece, partially in comfort but mainly to find if it had been tampered with, swiping to check for bloodied fingers. Nothing had been inserted, couldn’t have been, but Hunter checked regardless. Knew it made Echo’s heart beat calmer to know.

“Why’re you calling them off now? Feeling remorse already?” The voice he’d grown to know was smaller now, more fearful. When he had Echo tied down he had a boisterous roar of a voice, taunting and cruel. Now he was nothing but fear.

“I’m not doing it for you.” Echo said as the restraint around his neck popped off. A groan cut through his throat as Tech removed it, laying it on the ground next to the firepuncher. “You have more to answer for than this.” Now that they’d gotten into a good rhythm Tech was able to remove the wrist and scomp restraint without much difficulty. Maneuvering him around so Tech could get to it without lasering skin was difficult but he managed to do it without burns.

Hunter watched carefully as Echo was able to straighten, back aching with the new motion. “Wrecker, help Echo.” Hunter instructed before practically stomping off to grip his captor by the back of his hair, ripping his head upwards to look Hunter in the helmet. “We’re taking you to the Republic. Maybe the Jedi will know what to do now.” He let his head fall back down again but Tech was already snapping stun cuffs on him and lifting him from the ground, keeping a close eye on his movements while Hunter pulled him along by the cuffs.

“They will. They’ll know.” Echo assured, although he wasn’t sure what he was assuring them of. Wrecker had already gotten his arms under Echo’s body, lifting him so he could curl against Wrecker’s chest. Warmth. Safety. Wrecker. “General Kenobi, General Windu. They’ll know what to do.” The beep alerted him to another scan.

This time Tech tsked. “We have to get him to a medical facility.”

Echo’s bleary eyes watched them move around him, Wrecker holding him close, body shaking. Was he okay? Had something happened? They had to be okay.

Crosshair had collected his firepuncher already, now standing facing that man. That horrible, terrible man. His shoulder shook, seething anger pulsing through him, heat radiating from his body wound so tight he could snap. He stepped close enough that barely a centimeter was between them.

“If Echo dies there will be nothing standing between you and me. Understood?” Crosshair’s threat lay low in his chest. A promise. A vow that if he saw Echo’s blood on that man’s hands then it was over. Nothing would save him. Not even the long arm of the Republic. Echo vowed to stay alive just to keep it from happening.

Crosshair’s word was as good as an oath.

#the bad batch #tbb echo #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #the bad batch fanficiton #whump

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gabessquishytum · 2 days ago

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Friend got me hooked on this oswaldxour oc concept we've been passing back and forth to make more and more deranged lol

Anyway dreamling but Dream is a crime boss who runs a club frequented by rich guys and criminals. It's neutral ground. Hob is a server there. Dream gets pervily obsessed with Hob who's always gently refused his advances which makes dream want him even more. In revenge dream makes him wear different, more revealing costumes to the other servers. I'm thinking shorts so short his hairy arse was exposed, translucent blouses, or shirts cut low enough to expose most of the hoboobies, or slinky little mini dresses

Hob would very much like to keep his job, as his criminal record makes it that this is the only work he could find, and obeys Dream.

Until one day Robin gets sick, or his scummy landlord jacks up rent trying to get Hob to 'pay in kind', or maybe even both, and Hob goes to Dream for a loan. Let's just say Dream makes him earn every red hot penny with interest for all those months Hob refused Dream

I do love these scenarios where Dream is powerful and fucking terrifying and Hob is still just some guy.

Hob is trying SO hard to keep on the straight and narrow for Robin's sake. He's a good dad - Robin is always clean and well fed and dressed nice, and he always gets to school on time. Even though it means that Hob runs himself ragged and hasn't had new clothes in so long, he's getting holes in all his shirts. His job sucks but at least he can work nights and be around for Robin in the morning and at school pickup time.

It's a precarious life and it really doesn't take much for it to fall apart. The rent goes up, and Robin needs medicine for a nasty chest infection. Hob can't really pick up more shifts at work because he needs to be at home with his sick son. He's sold everything else and it suddenly occurs to him one night that fuck it, he might as well sell himself too.

So. He goes to Dream and he swallows his pride, and he begs. He begs for Dream to help him out, just a couple of hundred to cover the month's rent and antibiotics. Dream listens with utter joy and pleasure in his heart. Finally, his darling has come to him. Of course Dream will help. He pays 6 months of Hob’s rent and has his men transfer little Robin to a private clinic where he can recover properly with all the meds he needs.

It's a lot more than Hob had expected. He knows that he'll have to pay. As Dream hands him a new outfit (its lingerie - a push-up bra, stockings and suspenders. The whole ensemble is red, the colour of Dream’s ruby pendant), Hob is trembling. He lets Dream touch him. The truth is, he'd love to be kissed and romanced, but he knows how bad Dream is. He fully expects to be roughly used and hurt in all manner of ways.

But he gets a hell of a surprise. Dream is cruel, yes. But his cruelty comes in the form of relentless pleasure. He makes Hob cum on his cock until he's overstimulated and screaming, and then he does it all over again. He doesn't leave a single bruise but he wrings Hob dry, leaves him twitching and barely conscious, and then takes even more. Its a sweet torture and Hob is totally helpless. The worst part is, he's totally ruined for any other man. Now he's obsessed with Dream. Now his life will never be normal again! And of course, Dream won't go easy... he'll make Hob beg again and again.

Dream's darling is finally his <3

#panickingstudent2 #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #mafia au #cw yandere

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bubble-tea-blossom · 24 hours ago

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The Smuggler and the Soldier

8. The Note

Pairing: f!reader x Joel Miller, wc: 4.2k

Warnings: first aid descriptions, sutures and blood, 18+ ONLY

Previous chapter

You wish your brain would leave you alone. One night without dreams would be nice. Or at least if they're going to be wildly vivid and strange, make them them pleasant. Like an acid trip with a talking bear or something.

Nope.

His face. Gunner. Its inescapable. No matter where you run, his head just grows bigger. His eyes shine like searchlights, exposing you in any corner of shadow you hide in.

Then his hand grabs your face. Nails digging into your cheeks as he turns your head left then right, inspecting. Only this time, your head never stops spinning, round and round like your neck is made of rubber.

You must be dying. All you can smell and taste and feel is the metallic iron of blood. It's rising from the floor and submerging you as your head is spun faster and faster.

You try to scream but opening your mouth only gains you a mouthful of warm sticky blood.

You have to fight to wake up. Clawing at consciousness like scaling a cliff.

Your eyes blink open slowly, eyelids made of stone. Even awake, your head is spinning, but at least your neck isn’t twisting infinitely.

A few seconds pass and you realize the scent of blood hasn’t passed with your dream either. Neither has the touch of it. You raise your hand that was laying on the cot, the palm is wet and red.

You sit up, moving much faster. You look down, at the blood soaking the mesh. Your rattled brain confuses it for yours and you worry for a second if you started your period.

Except for when you follow the trail, its clearly is coming from the smuggler.

His back is to you. The shirt he was wearing before was transformed into one long bandage that's wrapped around his torso. You must have really been out of it when you returned last night because you definitely did not notice that.

The makeshift bandage is more red than plaid at this point. It looks like a fucking murder scene. Only his muttering in his sleep keeps you from worrying that he's dead.

“Hey,” your croak is barely audible. You clear your dry throat and try again.

“Hey!” You get louder, but your voice is still quiet and croaky. You try to poke him to wake his ass up. You don’t want to prod a wound which looks like his whole torso so you end up jabbing your finger at his temple.

He stirs but doesn’t wake up. So you pinch his ear. Hard.

He snaps upright like a cobra, smacking his head against yours when you don't get out of the way fast enough, snatching your arm and violently twisting your wrist all in one move.

At your yelp, he lets you go, blinking the sleep away. He retracts, looking a little guilty while you rub your wrist.

“The hell you doing?” His voice is thick.

“What are you doing? Was your plan to just lie there and bleed out?”

Even with both of you leaning back, when the moment calms again, you find it too intimate, sitting on the same uncomfortable cot, nose to nose, glaring at each other.

You get up, and begin pacing around the room, trying to shake off the cobwebs of sleep and the way that moment made you feel.

Joel slowly straightens out, rubbing his eyes. With both feet on the ground he finally speaks, “I need your help.”

“No shit.” You snap, arms crossed.

Joel wisely keeps his mouth shut.

You sigh, “Look, if I do this, you owe me. Got that? I didn’t ask for you to come back. I don’t owe you anything.”

Joel nods, “I know.”

“And if-“ you barrel on before you realize he agreed. You hadn’t been expecting that. “Oh, ok then.”

"Well, first things first. I'm going to have to stitch you up." You grab his leather backpack from the ground and plop it on the desk.

“There’s a med kit near the bottom,” he tells you.

You rummage through his pack, sifting through spare clothes, and food rations, but mostly boxes of amo. You find a black fabric case, and pull it free. Its surprisingly heavy.

You’re already unzipping it when Joel speaks up, “that ain't it.”

The muffled clinking of glass while you handle it strikes your curiosity. The case is obviously important.

You open it like a book. On the sides are rows of small vials of glass tucked into slots, inter spaced so when the case closes they don't rub against each other. There's at least fifteen vials.

The burn of Joel's gaze ignites against you while you carefully pull one free. You hold it up to the rays of light filtering in through the boards on the window. The liquid is clear, the faded label reads 'doxycycline'.

You do some rough math as realization hits you. Slowly, you lower the vial, turning it in your fingers, the glass cool but thin, especially at the rounded top where it was meant to be broken. One drop on the floor and the precious liquid gold inside is gone. Wasted. Doomed to evaporate on the dusty floor, never providing life saving care that it could. Just gone.

You swallow your dry throat in order to speak, eyes still taking in every detail of the little bottle in your hand, "This was the payment?"

Joel speaks behind you, "Yes."

This was worth your life? You can only ponder it through a detached lens. You have experience with black market medication dealings. You know how desperate people are. How much they are willing to sacrifice for a little bottle just like this one in your hands.

"I'll take it as a compliment," you speak dryly, it does not feel like a compliment, seeing an objective amount your life costs. It makes you feel smaller than ever. The ant the mean kid burned with a magnifying glass and laughed as it writhed in agony. You return the vial to its empty slot. The whole case is worth enough that your tired brain can only come up with 'a fuck ton'.

You zip the case back up, "Well at least it might come in handy." You leave it on the table and resume your dig in the smuggler's backpack. You finally find the med kit, at the very bottom, which is not where you would keep yours. Its hard, white plastic, the iconic red cross on the front.

Inside is packed with very basic essentials. Nothing fancy. Mostly bandage rolls, a tourniquet, antiseptic wash. The suture kit is actually a sewing kit, meant for clothing repairs. It make do.

After gathering your supplies, you set the chair by the cot. But one look at Joel, his blood soaked torso. You're missing one last thing. Water. And lots of it.

Luckily the ocean isn't that far, but sewing him up on the beach in the open is too risky. You look around the little safe house for a pail or container. You dip your head into the bathroom as you pass and there's a bucket in the corner.

Wary of bathroom buckets, you inspect it, "please be a shower bucket," you pray as you pick it up. It's clean.

Oh so you'll answer prayers about buckets but nothing else? You chide the god who you know is dead.

Bucket in hand, you go to exit the bathroom when the movement in the mirror stops you in your tracks. You have to steel yourself to gain the courage to look at your reflection. Slowly you face the sink, and inch by inch raise your eyes until you're staring through your own pupils. They're uneven. Big surprise there. You definitely have a concussion.

Despite the pain you feel, seeing how shit you look is jarring. Short lacerations dominate one side of your face, caused by your skin tearing between your skull and the knuckles the soldier used on you. Your ear didn't escape any of the hits either. A cut on the ridge of your ear is too wide to stitch itself back together, you suspect you'll look like an alley cat even after it's healed.

Your nose is broken, the bridge swollen, bloody and crooked. Trying to set it straight yields a huge rush of added pain and no visible difference. Then there's your eye, the skin around your entire orbital bone has turned deep purple, the swelling preventing you from opening your eye all the way.

Your bottom lip was lacerated as well, dried blood resting in the cracks of your dry lips.

Confronting the visual proof of what happened stuns you. You knew it was bad. Yet you remember almost nothing. Only the rest of the soldiers leaving the room, and facing off with Bruce, and then you woke up to a needle in the thigh and Joel's scared, handsome facing hovering over you.

Some much hate and you were forced to wear it when you weren't even a part of any of it. You want to ask, what did I do to deserve this? But you already know. Nothing.

"Wrong place, wrong time," Joel's cold tone fills your head from what feels like a lifetime ago.

You have to force yourself to look away from your reflection with more strength than making yourself look in the first place. If you keep staring at yourself, you're going to do something very stupid.

You march out of the center without a word, slamming the door behind you.

All the walk down the beach, down the metal staircase, the images of the glass vials flash through your head. You kick sand over any blood splotches left on the ground.

You return to the boat, scanning the horizon but you see nothing. You crouch slowly, cupping water in your hands. First you scrub your hands with your nails, then slowly you wash your face, hissing at the salt in the water digging into the numerous cuts and scrapes. Despite the bite, you feel better afterwards.

You wash out the bucket, then fill it, keeping as much sand out of it as possible. But the eye sore of the boat on the beach holds you back from returning to the visitor center.

Two paths play out in your mind. One where you return to the boat, paddling it slowly down the coast. Maybe faster than on foot, but far easier to track. All FEDRA would have to do is follow the direction they saw you heading.

The other path, is returning to the city on the foot. Getting lost in the maze of the wasteland. Much harder to track. They'd have to follow on foot too, the broken concrete streets are too decayed to drive on them anymore. And most importantly, you wouldn't be in the open.

Your mind's made up. First you search the boat for anything you could use, which is not much. A coil of rope. Then you drop your pants and shirt on the sand besides the bucket. You hate swimming in heavy clothes. Then you make the executive decision to paddle out until it gets taken by a current. Once it's past the waves and floating on its own, you jump out.

"Fuck," you gasp as the cold water shocks you awake more efficiently than coffee ever could. You begin your swim back to shore.

Standing on land, dry clothes over your wet body, you watch the the waves carry the boat. You hope it gets far enough away before it crashes back on land to confuse anyone following, hopefully get them off your scent.

You pick up the bucket, and return to the visitor center.

Walking into the office, Joel looks at you, surprised, "You came back."

It's a statement, but also a question.

You stare at each other while you decide what to say. Finally you settle on, "Against my better judgment."

You want to demand him the same question. But the look on his face already tells you it's the same answer.

Joel looks you up and down, "You go for a swim?" He's standing, well more leaning over the desk, looking over maps.

"You'll get blood on those," you scold, stepping into the room. He takes a step back from the maps.

You set the bucket of water down on the ground, "I drove the boat away, I figured it was more of a liability than anything else."

Joel grunts. You can't decipher if it was a grunt of approval or the opposite. You're too tired to care. But then he says, "Good thinking."

Well at least he's not criticizing every choice you make like some men you've worked with.

You eye the cot with a little disdain, "I'll sit on the blood soaked cot, you sit on the chair," you tell him.

You do your best not to sit on the giant patch of blood, but your pants are already stained with variety of people's blood anyways so what's the fucking difference at this point.

The smuggler makes quite a site as he walks over to you. Bare chest covered in blood that you know is not all his. Blood he spilt and blood he bore for you. Looming over you, you make the mistake of making eye contact before it's broken when he sits down.

"You need to wash yourself after this" you deflect any unwanted emotions of fear or anything else with a cold remark.

He settles in the chair, leaning against the the back, facing away from you, "Agreed."

You heave a deep sigh as you wash your hands in the bucket. You hate doing sutures. No matter how many times you've done them, you still get queasy. You would much rather be getting the stitches than giving them.

You start by unraveling the makeshift bandage. Unsuccessfully, you try to keep all parts of your hands, save for the very tips of your fingers, from touching the warm body in front of you. You know it's a little silly since you're about to get very hands on. Peeling the fabric from around his ribs forces you to pass your hands around the front of his torso. With each pass your face dips close enough to his skin your breath rebounds off and warms your lips.

Finally, the bandage is free. You toss it in the far corner of the room where it hits the floor with a wet plop. The full extent of the damage is revealed.

The slash is long, extending from just above his hip all the way to edge of his shoulder blade. It's deepest at the base, becoming more shallow as is rises, however the deepest parts are concernedly deep. Days of bed rest would be ordered by any actual medical professional. Something tells you that is as unattainable in your current position as a vacation to Italy.

"Ok, let's get this over with," you announce.

You start by mopping all the dried, congealed, and fresh blood away. At the first splash of water, Joel stiffens ever so slightly before he relaxes again and makes no further hint of discomfort at the salt water soaking his wound.

"Thank you," Joel's voice is quiet, almost sheepish as you pat dry the edges of the wound.

"Thank me after you're sewn up. I'm no medic," you pluck the needle from the spool and begin threading, "This from the axe?"

"Yes ma'am."

Images of the soldier swiping the axe at Joel flash in front of you.

"Half a second later and this wouldn't be fixable." The axe would have stuck in his ribs, and tore out his insides when pulled free.

"I heard you scream and knew to duck," he tells you.

"A man that listens," you swoon while rolling your eyes, another deflection for the little spark of happiness his words lit deep inside your belly. Do people in your normal life ignore you so much that that would rise a reaction from you? Apparently.

The needle threaded and hovering, you steel yourself. One hand keeping the skin still, the other pushes the sharp tip of the needle through the flesh, the initial moment of resistance that you have to gently force past has you anticipating a flinch, a groan, a curse, anything. The needle is guided out the other side of the wound and you pull it free. Still, there is no reaction from your patient.

Looping the thread twice and slipping the needle through to create the knot, you tighten it til the skin closes taught. You cut the thread and move on to the next.

Stitch after stitch, you work your way up the wound. Gaining more confidence combined with the time pressure that right now you two are sitting ducks has you stitching and tying off the sutures faster and faster. Yet when you take a moment to view your work you're not even halfway done.

Diving back in, you lose yourself in the bloody task, trying to do a good job with the lack of expertise. As you tie off what must be your thirtieth stitch, Joel yawns.

"Did you just yawn?" you ask, pulling the the thread taught through his skin.

"Mm, did I?" He sounds sleepy.

You can't help the laugh that comes out more as a scoff, "Not your first rodeo?"

"Not my first rodeo."

"I can tell," you glance at the numerous scars adorning his back. Some are easily identifiable as gunshot wounds, others are more mysterious in origin.

You loop the thread twice and pull the needle through, closing the suture. You snip the thread and start on the next one.

"I'm glad you know what you're doing," he admits.

"Mm, May, would be looking over my shoulder, telling me all the things I'm doing wrong, then probably just shoo me away and take over. Guarantee you'd barely scar if she was doing this"

"She a medic?"

"No, not really. She was a seamstress at a theater production before the Outbreak, a transferable skill I guess. Turned into the neighborhood seamstress in the QZ, clothes or bullet holes, she can patch you up."

Talking about May, you're slapped with the reminder of the situation. You would do anything for her, and now when she's in the greatest danger, you are too far away to do anything. If FEDRA finds her, she's dead. Very real memories blur with fears, and for a moment, as if from a crystal ball, you watch a soldier shove May to the ground and put a gun to her head.

In an effort to distract yourself, you keep talking. You aren't sure why.

"Even from the start, when people would come over to get patched up, she'd have me watch. Teach me what she could. Her eyesight has started to go these days, so I've had to take over a lot of it."

There's a very long pause. You get to your fortieth stitch when Joel speaks, "Is she the one that you traded insulin for?"

Your hands falter in their movements, but you have to get over it quickly, finishing the knot. This is the first time Joel's brought up your first meeting. The last time he spoke of it, he threw it back in your face. Told you it means nothing.

"Yes," your next stitch starts with a jab rather than a poke, but you get a hold of yourself, honed with detached professionalism.

The final stretch approaches, your fingers stiff from prolonged focus. The smell of blood has overwhelmed all else for so long that you no longer notice it.

Swimming through your head are memories. Just as each one crests to the top, another comes rolling in, flooding you in a never ending cycle. Memories of May. Memories of your mother. Memories of the Outbreak, and the first time you killed someone in self defense. All the things you’ve done to keep yourself safe.

The man sitting in front of you is what pulls you back to the present. What has he done? In the short and yet simultaneously long time you’ve known him, he’s done a lot.

This doesn’t scare you like it should. Sewing the flesh of a man that’s shed his humanity, even if it was in exchange for survival. The veterinarian performing dental surgery on a tranquilized bear sheds their instincts to perform their duty.

You loop the thread and slip the needle pulling the last knot taught to his skin. Thread snipped, and needle put down, you pull a compression bandage from the kit.

“Stand up for this, it’ll be easier,” you order.

Joel complies silently, pushing the chair out of the way.

You get him to hold one end of the bandage against his side while you wrap it around his torso. It's the same dance as before, forcing you closer with each pass of the bandage around him, your heart beating faster with the uncomfortableness. It only covers the worst part of the wound, the rest of it you tape gauze over the stitches.

"There," you announce, taking a step away, "how's it feel?"

"Sore," Joel answers.

"I bet, you lost a fuck ton of blood," you're honestly a little surprised he's standing.

The smuggler does his best to scrub his hands and arms free of blood in the bucket. You give him some privacy, rummaging through the desk and collecting all the maps and papers you can find.

You carry them out into the main room, laying them flat on a table by the boarded windows. You pause at the single sheet of paper already lying on it. You pick it up gently, it looks faded and its coated in a thick layer of dust. You deposit the maps to read it, the strain hurting your eyes, the words jumping around on the paper.

Vivienne,

It's Andy, I've been waiting here for you and Elise for the last week. Where are you? Goddamn Viv, we agreed where to meet if we got split up. You can't be gone. I can feel it.

I'm heading to the tallest building downtown, I can see it from here. I have a feeling you'd head there, hoping to meet up. I'll stay there as long as I can but be careful, there are hunters in this area.

We got ambushed by some. Jordan got shot. I tried my best but I think he became septic. I buried him behind the building, facing the ocean. I'm so sorry, baby.

I'll see you soon, I know it. Tell Elise I love her to the moon and back.

And Viv, be careful.

Love, Andy

Reading the note, you hold the paper more preciously, like a newborn duckling. Its full of love and loss and desperate hope. You could use some of that right now.

Opening the front door, you don't have to step out far to see the building he was speaking of. It sticks out even more these days with the adjacent buildings in partial collapse. It's fucking huge. Sticking straight up into the sky like an ugly rod of rebar. The view you'd have from the top would extend in miles on either side of the coast.

The door opens behind you. The smuggler steps outside, looking much cleaner and fully dressed in a coffee brown t-shirt.

"I think I have an idea," you tell him. You point to the skyscraper, "perfect place to watch for any followers coming from the water while we heal." Your concussion is going to slow you down and Joel is vulnerable to infection until the wound closes, not to mention the severe blood loss.

Joel takes his time to answer, but you know he isn't ignoring you. You watch from the profile his eyes scan the building, take in the surrounding city, weighing the pros and cons.

"Could work," he says finally, "you think they'll follow?" He turns to you.

"I don't know," you sigh, "it's what I would do, if I was a fucking sociopath. Send a small team, skilled trackers, take out the loose ends."

"How much of a threat are you now?" Joel asks, which is a very polite way of asking how much you matter.

"To FEDRA as a whole? Nothing. To an offhand mission, we're both proof that whatever sham they're playing at is a lie."

"So a lot." Joel sighs.

"Yep," it helps to express your thought process out loud with someone. KNowing that Joel is now just as tangled in this mess makes it but it a lighter load to bare, "if they are following, we're sitting ducks. We need to get going."

"There'll be infected out in the city." Joel warns.

"Where are there not?"

"A lot more," he presses.

Looking at his serious face, the grey at his temple, you trust he isn't exaggerating. Since coming to the QZ, you've spent your years behind its walls, rarely patrolling the perimeter much less venturing into zones far beyond. Joel has, being a smuggler comes with an experience you don't possess.

Just one more thing you'll have to trust the man on.

You let your bravado slip, "Is there another option?"

You catch his eyes skip around the injuries on your face, his heavy brows pulling in before he shakes his head.

"Then let's get going."

You take lead, heading towards the downtown core, the smuggler following a few paces behind. Your eyes set on the skyscrapper. The sight of it, standing tall like a bolt of steel defiance against the rest of the crumbling city fills you with a naive wonder if Andy and Vivienne ever reunited. Or if he's still waiting up there, hoping.

A/N: PSA don't wash wounds with salt water.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #my writing #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel x reader #the soldier and the smuggler

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witchygagirlwrites · 2 days ago

Text

Figure it Out

Greg "Mouse" Gerwitz x Reader x Jay Halstead

How you learned that Jay and Mouse were a little more than friends that were both interested in you.

Part of the Consider Me Gone verse

Warnings: Smut, MM & FF🤷‍♀️

Jay groaned, leaning back against the seat of the humvee. The mission had been a shit show from the start.Collins had argued Henrikson about sending them to that village and look what the fuck it got them. Mouse bumped Jay’s knee lightly and leaned over a little closer to him to whisper “You good babe?” Jay shook his head “Hell no baby. This was shit” “I know. When we get back to base, we’ll have a little time to chill” Mouse assured him and Jay cut his eyes at him with a smirk before slipping his hand over onto Mouse’s knee “Good because the last few days have been hell”

When Marco slid in next to Jay Mouse pulled his knee away and Jay’s smirk deepend. Athena slid into the passenger seat while Collins slid into the driver’s seat “Man fuck Henrikson” Collins growled and everyone made some sort of noise in agreement. They just wanted to get back to base and manage to get a hot shower, hit the med tent for any injuries and sleep until they were undoubtedly dragged into a briefing where it would be blamed on them.

_______________________

When they were dismissed by Collins to either shower, sleep or get any injuries seen about Jay and Mouse headed towards the med tent but instead of going in the front Jay cut his eyes back and made sure no one was paying attention before grabbing Mouse by the hand and dipping behind the tent “Jay what the hell?” Mouse muttered but the next moment Jay was backing him up against the tent, Jay’s lips finding his. A light moan escaped Mouse as Jay’s hand slipped down to his left leg bringing it up over his hip, rolling his hips slightly into his and Mouse felt the fact that Jay was already half hard.

“Fuck Jay” Mouse groaned as Jay moved from his lips to kiss down across his jaw then to his neck “Too damn long trapped in a fucking tent with Marco and Collins and Thena” Jay muttered kissing and biting at the sensitive skin that would bring the light gasps from Mouse that he loved hearing. “Too fucking long” Mouse agreed,pulling Jay’s head back up to his so he could meet his lips in another kiss, his tongue flicking across Jay’s bottom lip asking for access and when Jay let him Mouse slipped his tongue into Jay’s mouth rolling it against Jay’s and smiling when he moaned and tightened his grip.

A noise made them break apart and they turned to see you standing there, blood on the front of your uniform and your eyes wide. You pointed in the opposite direction “I’m gonna go get air over there. I didn't mean to interrupt you two. Feel free to continue, I’ll make sure no one else comes back here”

They watched you walk off then looked back at each other “What do we do here?” Mouse asked first and Jay shrugged “I’m honestly not sure” Mouse looked down at their current position considering Jay was still currently pinning him against the tent “Well darlin, I think at the very least you may need to let me have my leg back” he laughed and Jay nodded “I guess you can have it back, for now” and leaned down to leave another kiss against Mouse’s lips, laughing when Mouse chased his lips when he pulled away. “Come on, let's move this to our tent”

______________________

The moment they got to their tent Jay secured the opening then turned to grab Mouse by the waist “Come your ass here” Mouse grinned “Impatient, aren’t ya” Jay crashed his lips against Mouse’s in a rough kiss, hand gripping his chin to turn his head where he wanted it. His hands went to Mouse’s uniform jacket, shoving it off his shoulders as Mouse worked to do the same to his. They had to break away from each other’s lips to tug their shirts off but the moment their shirts were off Mouse grinned at Jay and turned to push him down on one of the cots and Jay grinned up at him “What are you doing?”

“Whatever I want” Mouse answered, crawling up Jay to roll his lips against his in a hungry kiss. Jay’s finger dug into Mouse’s sides as Mouse moved to kiss across his jaw then down his neck “Fuck, that feels good” Jay breathed as Mouse kissed down his chest, licking and biting the sensitive skin. Mouse cut his eyes up at him with a smirk “Oh I’m just getting started” he continued down Jay’s chest and when he got to the waistband of Jay’s pants he cursed the fucking uniform pants and how hard they were to get off.

Jay laughed “I got ya babe” and moved to undo his pants, slipping them down his hips. Mouse slipped a hand into Jay’s boxers freeing his hardened cock and the moment he did he licked a solid line from the base to the tip causing Jay’s head to fall back against the pillows “God damn”

Jay leaned up to look down at Mouse and when he did the sight alone made another moan leave him. Mouse was always fucking gorgeous but with his lips wrapped around his dick and it halfway down his throat? There had damn never been a prettier sight. Jay’s fingers slid into Mouse’s hair, tugging lightly at the short locks and when it caused Mouse to moan around his cock the feeling of it had Jay’s eyes damn near rolling back as he fought the urge to thrust his hips. Mouse went down far enough on Jay’s cock then that he gagged slightly and Jay cursed under his breath “Fuck”

Mouse slid down further on Jay’s cock, hollowing his throat out to take more of his cock in and using his hand to work what wouldn’t fit. He tapped Jay’s thigh letting him know it was ok to thrust, he needed it he could do it. Jay held his eyes as he gave a tentative movement of his hips and Mouse moved with it. Jay started to fuck Mouse’s mouth in earnest, the gags coming from the other man pushing him closer and closer to that edge and when Mouse moved his hand down to roll his balls between his fingers he felt that damn burst as he came, hot cum spurting down Mouse’s throat and god damn when his blue eyed baby swallowed every bit he had to give he muttered “Fuck, you are so god damn amazing Greg”

Mouse pulled off Jay’s cock, swirling his tongue around it and grinned up at him. Jay licked his lips, chest still heaving from the force of his orgasm ”Come here” Mouse was openly bi-sexual before Jay. Jay on the other hand thought he was straight before Mouse so being with a man was a new experience for him so it was a learning curve but Mouse was patient when it came to teaching.

Jay pulled Mouse up his body, their hands exploring each other’s bodies along the way until Jay flipped them so Mouse was on his back and Jay was over him. Jay grinned and leaned down to catch Mouse’s lips in an almost gentle kiss. Jay moved from his lips to his jaw then down to his neck, hands undoing his pants easily and slipping them down his hips. Mouse laughed against his lips “It’s unfair how easy that is to you”

Jay tugged the pants off Mouse then tossed them onto the other cot where his own were in an effort to keep their clothes from being visibly filthy. Jay moved down Mouse’s neck, kissing the sensitive skin and smiling against his flesh when Mouse whispered “Fuck, feels good”

When Jay got down to Mouse’s cock he gripped it loosely then swirled his tongue around the head and Mouse’s head fell back, the sexiest groan leaving his lips. “Just like that Jay” Mouse praised and Jay swallowed as he went down, swirling his tongue around the head of Mouse’s cock and was rewarded with another moan from the other man. He felt Mouse’s hand on the back of his hand, not controlling him but guiding him up and down his cock and he felt Mouse’s hips start to gently lift to meet his mouth.

When Mouse’s cock hit the back of his throat he swallowed and Mouse’s head fell back “Fuck” and he tasted when Mouse came, the hot cum a bit thick and had a twinge to it but wasn’t unwelcomed as he swallowed it, especially when he cut his eyes up to see Mouse’s sky blue eyes on him and that crooked grin on Mouse’s face “You’ve gotten really fucking good at that”

He shook his head and moved up the cot to lay next to Mouse, pulling the thin blanket up over them both for a few minutes before they had to get dressed and go to the briefing and everything else. He slipped an arm around Mouse’s waist and pulled him back against him “Had a good teacher” he teased, pressing a kiss to Mouse’s neck.

You stepped back as your patient was carried out to the medivac, snatching your gloves off and throwing them away. With luck they’d make it to the hospital. After that it was out of your hands. This damn tent was too hot, it felt like there were too many people in it. Everything just felt like too much. Your unit had been gone for days on what you knew was a shit run and you weren’t even allowed to go with them because back to back casualties were rolling in.

“Taking a breath” you told the nearest person, Jessup and he nodded “Go ahead, looks like we hit a plateau” you gave him a small smile “Your mouth the god’s ears my guy” and headed for the back of the tent. You didn’t want to go out the front. The front meant seeing someone who would more than likely want to talk. You stepped out the back and the moment you did you were met with Jay having Mouse shoved against the back of the tent and from the looks of it they currently had their tongues shoved down each other throats. Fuck, you made out with Mouse before they left on the mission. You made out with a man that was taken. You were a fucking homewrecker or at the very least a toy for someone who was bored.

You took a step and both of their eyes turned towards you. You pointed in the opposite direction “I’m gonna go get air over there. I didn't mean to interrupt you two. Feel free to continue, I’ll make sure no one else comes back here” you turned on your heel and tried your damndest to not run in the opposite direction. You made out with Mouse and now he was making out with Jay. If they were back Thena was. You needed to talk to Thena.

_______________________

You walked through the base quickly enough, trying not to act as if you were running from something. The moment you spotted the tent you shared with Athena you burst into it and she turned halfway through changing her shirt “Well hello to you too babe” then she looked at your face “Holy hell. What happened?”

You turned and secured the opening of the tent and walked over to sit on her cot. She abandoned getting dressed and sat down next to you, eyeing the blood on your uniform “Honey?” you cut your eyes down “Shit” and slipped the jacket off only to see your shirt had got it too. She reached for the hem of your shirt before you could and you smiled when she slipped it over your head gently “Talk to me”

You cut your eyes up at her “Is Jay and Mouse together?” her eyes widened “What?” you shrugged “Are they together or is it like us?” she shrugged “I don’t think it’s like us. They’re together ish” “Ish?” you asked and she raised an eyebrow, lifting her hand to cup your chin “What happened?”

You slowly raised your eyes to meet hers “Swear not to tell?” she grinned “I don’t tell about every time my head is between your thighs or your head is between mine” you laughed “True” and took a deep breath “I made out with Mouse a few days ago then I just found them going at it outside the med tent. Thena I’m not a fucking homewrecker” “I know baby” she cooed and you dropped your gaze “What do I do? I like them both Thena..a lot but I didn’t realize they were together”

Her hand slid from your chin around to the hair at the base of your neck before pulling you into a kiss, rolling her tongue into your mouth. You sighed against her lips. When she pulled away she smiled “How about we get out of the rest of these clothes and forget about the damn stress for a little while?” you laughed “I knew you’d help Thena” she grinned as her hands reached to slip your sports bra over your head then lowered her mouth to your breasts, rolling a nipple between her teeth. Her hands went to your hips to turn you to lay flat against her cot.

She pulled away from your breast with a wet pop and winked up at you before stripping your bottom half then hers “Now, I know you like those two and I think they like you but you’re stressed. I’m gonna help you get unstressed then we’ll figure the rest out ok?” you nodded as she climbed up your body, catching your lips in a bruising kiss as her hands spread your thighs “I’m gonna make you cum twice. Once for each of them so you’re clear headed when you deal with it, ok?” you nodded “Ok” and she laughed “Good girl”

One of her fingers slipped into you, quickly followed by a second. She curled them up, finding that spot inside of you within a few strokes. You gasped her name, your back arching off the cot. “Look at our pretty little medic. Poor thing is so stressed” she cooed, pumping her fingers in and out of you, turning her wrist so she could use the heel of her palm to add pressure to your clit and your orgasm hit you with warning. You came, clenching hard around her fingers as you gasped.

Once you came down she held your eyes as she slid her fingers out of you and slipped them into her mouth,licking them clean “Ready for number two?” you nodded and she moved down your body, kissing the soft flesh of your stomach along the way. When she got to your pussy, she nudged your thighs open with her shoulder and cut her eyes up at you “Close your eyes and relax. You handle way too much” you closed your eyes and felt the first tentative lick. She flicked her tongue against your clit and you moaned her name, fingers going to her hair and she moaned against you.

You felt her add one finger then a second, moving them in tandem with her tongue. When you came your legs shook around and you had to clamp one of your hands over your mouth to be quiet. When she finally let up from your clit you looked down and she was grinning up at you “Feeling a little less stressed?” you nodded “Still feel guilty but less stressed”

You reached for her shoulders and pulled her up you “Now let me return the favor” she crawled back up your body and when she got to your lips you turned the two of you over so you were on top then and grinned down at her “Your turn now Thena” and started to kiss your way down her body. She gasped when you hit a certain spot “Fuck am I glad we got another woman in this unit”

You walked into the briefing Henrikson had summoned half the base into and saw that Mouse and Jay were standing just far enough apart for you. For weeks you’d stood with them during briefings, mainly covering for Mouse when he was still annoying the shit out of Henrikson. Both of their eyes raised to meet you, seafoam blue and sky blue. You quickly looked away and slid into the place between Collins and Athena. You weren’t a homewrecker and you damn sure weren’t a toy for a bored couple.

You listened to Henrikson drone on and on and found your head drooping over onto Collins’ shoulder. He cut his eyes down at you and smirked “They keeping you busy? We’ve missed you in the field” you smiled “I’ve missed being with you all Aleks” he winked at you “I’ve been trying to get you out that damn tent honey” you shrugged “Maybe soon” and ran a hand down your face to try to pay attention. Collins leaned his shoulder up “Take a nap. I’ll shake ya if he looks this way” you shook your head “Squad leader is supposed to keep us in line” he shrugged “You keep us alive.We’re basically partners over these idiots”

Out of everyone you had to say Collins was the one you got along best with because there was nothing else at all there. He was simply Collins.

______________________

When the briefing was finally dismissed it was chow time. Collins slung his arm around your shoulders “Come on doc. With what they serve us, I’ll be glad to have ya sitting next to me” you cut your eyes over to see Jay and Mouse looking at you and turned your eyes back to Collins “Don’t worry, I won’t let the food take you down”

“She hates us” Jay muttered as he and Mouse watched you walk towards the med tent. You’d yet to speak to either of them since catching them outside of the med tent. “I know why” Athena spoke, walking up behind them and they both turned to face her. Jay raised an eyebrow “Want to share with the class?” she shrugged, trying to figure out if that crossed the line of secrecy you swore her to. “You both have run around flirting with her, she’s thought you were just two friends after the same girl. Now she feels like a shiny new toy and is pissed”

Mouse felt his heart drop to his feet. Why the hell hadn’t he thought about that? He made out with you just days before you caught him and Jay. You didn’t know that he and Jay had agreed to the fact that if there was a shot with you for one of them to take it. Christ, he’d talked to you. You fucking loathed cheaters, homewreckers. You’d made him promise not to tell Jay and he wouldn’t but damn how the hell you must feel. Jay cut his eyes at him “We gotta get her to talk to us”

Athena shook her head “Not right now. She’s going into surgery and we’re rolling out”

You were finished with surgery and cleaning up the main area of the med tent when the flap swung open and to your horror Jay and Mouse came flying in.”He got shot” your eyes got wide when Mouse motioned to Jay who he was damn near dragging “Get him on the damn bed then Greg!” you scolded and Jay raised an eyebrow “I can walk”

You opened the med kit as Mouse helped Jay get his jacket and shirt off. Right across Jay’s upper left arm was a deep gash “You catch a round Halstead?” you asked, digging a suture kit out. “Is he gonna be ok?” Mouse asked and you cut your eyes at him and nodded “Yeah, it missed everything major. Doesn’t look like any muscle damage. Few stitches and he’ll be fine. Need to remember he’s got a lead allergy like the rest of us”

They both laughed lightly as you started to stitch Jay’s arm, keeping your eyes on the wound and focusing on your job. You could feel their eyes on you but you couldn’t do that, this? You could do. Jay spoke your name lightly and you shook your head “Don’t” “Please hear us out” he pleaded and you sighed, looking from his wound to him then to Mouse “Fuck it. You’ve got like eight more stitches Talk fast”

“We’re kinda together” Mouse spoke and you nodded “Why did you feel like you couldn’t tell me?” your hands moved as you spoke,closing the wound on Jay. “Because we saw you when you got here and wanted you too” you nodded slowly “What? Got bored and couldn’t order new sex toys?” they both said your name damn near sadly and you shook your head “I’m not a homewrecker and I’m not a toy nor am I a bigot, fuck I’m bi. You two had literally no reason to walk around here flirting with me at every damn turn, consistently seeking me out and all the while knowing I was a game”

You finished the stitches and clipped them off then covered the area. “Keep it clean and dry as possible” you turned to walk off and Jay caught your hand “So if we told you Y/N, we’re both bi and love each other but fell for you as a duo the moment we saw you. You would’ve believed us?”

You shrugged “I don’t know but you two do realize I care about both of you, a lot. If the flirting is genuine ok, if the feelings are genuine for me too, we can figure it out but no more lies” they both nodded. Jay dropped your hand “Are you talking to us again?” you raised your eyes to meet his then looked back at Mouse who was watching you closely “Yeah, I guess I am. Good thing too because from what Collins told me when he stopped in early I’ll be hitting the field with all of you tomorrow and we’re going for four days”

“Are you gonna stick close to us or just Thena and Collins?” Mouse asked with a smirk and you grinned “Jealous or something?” and Jay answered “You normally stand with us at briefings and eat with us at chow time” you shook your head “One, you can’t get jealous because I haven’t agreed to you two yet and two, I don’t know how the fuck I didn’t clock you two being together”

You were laying on your bedroll, trying not to admit how fucking cold you were. Athena and Collins were on watch duty, Marco was asleep. You turned over again and heard Mouse call your name, you cut your eyes over at him “Are you cold?” he asked and you shrugged “A little” he shook his head “Come here”

Jay leaned up from the other side of Jay and pulled you towards the two of them. They tucked you between them, Mouse leaning over to nuzzle his face into Jay’s neck which wrapped his body around yours but you honestly could’ve cared less because the closer they snuggled the more it smushed you between them and the warmer you got. “Thank you. I know it’s probably annoying to have someone between you two” you whispered.

Jay laughed “Rather that then our medic freeze. Besides we do really like you princess” you rolled your eyes at the nickname then Mouse added “A lot sweetheart” you shook your head “Just let me get some sleep. When you two switch with Thena and Collins, I’ll push my bedroll with hers” Jay pressed a kiss to Mouse’s neck and you heard him whisper in Mouse’s ear “Lucky Thena, huh?”

You shook your head and scooted a little further down so Mouse could fully snuggle into Jay’s neck even if that put your face in Jay’s clothed chest. The combined body heat was already relaxing your body. You closed your eyes and listened to both of their heartbeats, the rhythm of them combined with the warmth lulling you to sleep.

@elvenpirate51

@desimarie12

A/N: There is 2 more pieces coming with lots more Jay X Mouse scenes. One has a full sex scene with Fireball and the other is just soft domestic fluff with them while Fireball is resting from a hard shift then a cuddly day between all 3 of them

#greg mouse gerwitz x reader x jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #greg mouse gerwitz x reader #chicago pd fanfiction #chicago pd fic #chicago pd fanfic

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