#You can definitely see how this is going to end

[k-aemi]

yo hiori ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ a little blood wont hurt right?

smut, period, blood play(?), dub/non, none of my work are proofread.

yo hiori would definitely love the sight of your blood on his cock. just seeing the red stain on his dick turns him on more and his thrive to continue. if you were to protest a bit, he wouldnt force but convince you into it. "cmon baby, sex helps the cramps yknow.." rubbing that stomach of yours.

you tried to push him off but he insists. telling you to trust him and only the "tip" would be inserted. but can you really trust him? this man has a thing for crippled girls that cant escape from him. "but hurts too much.." youd grumbled.

"see? my dick will help okay? just the tip, yeah baby?" hed grind against your ass, feeling his bulge prodding at you. hes your boyfriend, so he wouldnt go beyond the boundary right? just the tip he said, yeah! just that...

"but my blood-" he shushed you. "'s okay baby, i bet your blood will make my dick look super pretty." he cooed you as he settled in between your legs, taking his hardened cock out to rub on your panties as he held it. seeing his cock head in and out as your panties wettened by the second.

you dont know this but hiori perhaps love the smell of your period blood mixed with your pussy juices. he doesnt know why but it has this musty skin smell that gets him thriving for more. he loves sniffing your panties inhaling that sweet nectar scent of yours. how could he only just put the tip in?

"'kay baby ready?" he slides his cock against your slit and you give a meek nod. you werent expecting him to insert it in, you just barely moved your head..."oh fuck...baby your pussy feels great..." he wasnt sure if it was because you were on your period, but it felt fucking great to him. whimpers elicit from your mouth as you clench your pillow.

"baby can i put more in...? please, feels too good." he didnt even get your permission yet and hes pushing more of his cock in! "w-wait yo...ah" you breathed out as the cramps were still present. "s-shit..." he shuttered. hiori wasnt that thick, but sure was lengthy. reached the deepest parts of you.

pulling out was probably his favorite sight, he got to see the blood coated on his dick, and it spurred something inside of him, like this desire to do oh so many things to you. "look baby, all your bloods on me." he grinned, starting his rough pace.

"w-wait yo-! you said just the tip.." you whimpered as tears peaked from the corner of your eyes, biting the pillow that laid below you. "but baby you feel so good, your cramps g'na go away soon ok? just let me have this..." he growled as he continued to look below him, blood mixed with your juices squishing out your tight hole, he cant hide that smirked of his.

you muffle your cries otherwise the neighbors downstairs will complain probably, youd hate the thought of knowing others you and your boyfriend have sex mostly every week...but the way he pounds into you, you cant contain them as shrieks spilled from your throat. your body tenses when you feel his thumb rub circles on your clit. you were on edge, your orgasm coming in soon.

"baby you tightened up, g'na cum?" he has that dumb innocent smile on him as hes pounding you so rough. skin slapping skin filling the room. you cant even give him an answer as your juices gush out, on his cock and sheets. red staining both.

hiori can only fasten his pace as he loses his rhythm, signaling his end. pulling out and jerking himself before he spill his hot liquid on your stomach and pussy. he sighs and admires the mess upon him. he falls next to you, wrapping his arm around you. "feel better?" he kissed you. but theres no response, he looks over to you and perhaps it was too much, you ended up passing out.

hi. back again(kinda). pls request :>

divider creds: cafekitsune, anitalenia

[puma-riki]

Clear Crystal Roses ⭑.ᐟ

𝓷ishimura 𝓻iki x 𝓻eader fluff ~ skinship ~ kissing ~ est. relationship ~ not proofread

𝒮ynopsis ~ bf! riki with an s/o who wears glasses. thats it. thats the post. send tweet

ℒ illy's note ~ have this draft while I, again, work on the next no one noticed update. Can you tell I didn't know how to end this drabble LMAO

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Ni-ki is absolutely in love with your glasses

like you give him so much cuteness aggression and teasing material

He thinks they make you look extra cute, and he never shuts up about it in the most teasing, yet affectionate way.

He likes pushing them up for you but in the most unnecessary dramatic way. If they slip down your nose, he'll use one exaggerated finger to push them back up for you. Sometimes he'll boop your nose after too.

When you're making him feel particularly soft, he'll gently push them back up by the corner, and caress the side of your face or a strand of your hair.

He's definitely the type to steal them to put them on and then ask you how you see in them and then hold up a hand and ask how many fingers he's holding up. I'm sorry.

He gets a kick out of seeing you rush after him to get them back. The way you huff and get annoyed and have to pry on his arm to even be able to reach the hand he has them in.

After he's had his fun he'll give them back, "You look better in them anyway"

AHHHHHHHHBKSAHSKJD$%%WQ&

He also likes reaching behind your ears where the arms of your glasses sit and pushing them up and down so they'll move up and down on your face. You don't understand why but it makes him giggle so you just let him.

He also complains when you don't have them on. He thinks they make you look extra you, and he adores how they add to your charm. It's not that he thinks you look bad without them, he just prefers you with them. They're such a staple in his mind that seeing you without them feels almost wrong— like something is missing.

So he is the #1 contact hater and when you step out of the bathroom while he's waiting just outside the door, asking if you're ready to leave and you come out without your glasses, he literally gasps

"Where are your glasses? Did you leave them on the nightstand? I'll go grab them." He's already turning on his heel, ready to retrieve them like its an emergency.

You manage to catch him by the arm before he disappears. "Riki, I'm wearing contacts. It's fine"

He stops, eyes flicking to yours, registering the difference. And then, the smallest, most genuine pout forms on his lips. "Oh."

There's something so disappointing in that tiny syllable. You blink up at him, suddenly feeling self-conscious, reaching your hand up so your fingers rest just below your lower eye lid. "Do I look bad with contacts in?"

His head snaps up. "No! Of course not!" His words come out so fast, so earnest, that you almost laugh. "And I'm not saying you shouldn't do what makes you feel comfortable or confident..." His voice trails off and you can tell he wants to say more. "But?" You urge, hands clasping around one of his.

"But... you should wear your glasses... for like... ever. And never take them off becauseyoulooksoprettyinthem." His voice drops a little at the end, like he's admitting something embarrassing, but his gaze is steady— completely sincere. While you just stare at him, unsure how to respond, he exhales dramatically, flopping against the door frame.

"I just like them. They make you look really cute and dorky, and I can't imagine you without them." He gives you a look, like you're personally inconveniencing him by not wearing them. Then, just as you're about to open your mouth to tell him how stupid he is— "Wait. Can you even see me properly right now? Do contacts even work as well as glasses?"

You roll your eyes and swat at his arm. "Yes, dummy. I can see just fine"

If you're not entirely convinced that he doesn't think you look bad without your glasses, well you've got another thing coming

because there's been a time or two he's absolutely hated your glasses.

Ni-ki's trying to focus on kissing you, but your glasses are making it damn near impossible.

The frames keep digging into his cheek, pressing uncomfortably between both of you, and every time he tilts his head to get closer they dig in more. He ignores it at first, too caught up in the way your lips are moving against his, in the way you have a fist full of the fabric of his hoodie like you need him just as badly as he needs you.

But then you pull away abruptly with a sharp hiss when he pushes just a bit too hard, and the bridge of your glasses dig into your own face.

He mutters a quick apology before he brings his hand up to the side of your face and carefully, but without hesitation, curls his fingers around the corner of the frames and pushes them up, settling them on top of your head, where they're finally out of the way.

His eyes flicker over your face now that nothings blocking the view, and something about it makes his stomach flip. He exhales softly, hands sliding down to cup your jaw as he murmurs, "You're so pretty."

And before you can even process the warmth in his voice, he's kissing you again— hungrier, deeper— like he's making up for lost time.

Jesus, I NEED HIM SO BAD

Moving on....

Whenever you say something dorky or correct him, he will always put a finger up in the air and repeat what you said in the most obnoxious voice he can muster.

Yeah, he thinks it's peak comedy.

You give him a deadpan look every time, and he'll ruffle your hair or kiss your cheek to make up for it.

He also points out anything that has glasses and immediately associates it with you.

like this teddy bear has glasses? that's so you! There's an edited picture of some animal with glasses on his phone? That's literally you and he's sending it to you to let you know.

He also hates that one movie cliche where the love interest takes off the female MC's glasses to show her that she's "pretty"

and when a character gets a make-over/glow-up and they take away their glasses

like he cannot express how irritated it makes him.

anytime it shows up in a movie, whether you're there or not, he's rolling his eyes, arms crossed, already muttering under his breath before the scene even finishes.

"Oh, wow," he deadpans, voice dripping with sarcasm. "She took her glasses off, and now she's pretty? Crazy." he's already turning towards you to complain further.

"Do people even actually think like this? Like, does anyone actually believe that glasses make someone less pretty?"

"Maybe you just like glasses too much." He shakes his head, arms flailing in exasperation. "No, it's just dumb! They always act like wearing glasses is like some kind of curse, like, 'Oh no I can't see too well! Now I'll be ugly forever!"

And god forbid some guy in a movie takes off a girl's glasses to tell her she's beautiful. Ni-ki will literally pause the movie/show, Jaw slack with disbelief.

"What the fuck? Why did he have to take them off to see she was pretty? They were just sitting there on her face! She was already pretty!"

He actually gets heated about it. Genuinely offended

He watches you laugh at his mini-meltdown over a silly cliche that only exists in movies. Ni-ki just really likes your glasses. Of course, he thinks you're pretty with them, and without. They're a big part of who you are, even if you don't think much of the frames that sit on your face every day.

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𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧!)ᯓ★

Taglist | @jiiyen @yangjungwonnie @amoressb @chrrific @stvrriki @hyukabean ...loading

[that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction]

I need a fic where Lancelot gets hit by a curse that makes him extremely honest/completely removes his thought to speech filter.

Like, he doesn’t blurt secrets but he’s got no sense of fear for saying things he probably shouldn’t and just starts saying all the quiet parts out loud.

Merlin’s immediately worried about him. I kinda imagine it like:

Merlin: Do you think you’ll say anything about..?

Lance: your secret? No. Definitely not. It’s your secret to tell. Arthur should know how much you do for him even without it though. You should remind him you’re not obligated to do so much if he keeps taking advantage of your kindness.

Merlin: That…

Lance: I clearly mean it. It’s your choice of course. You know I love you too much to betray your trust.

(I’m a sucker for Mercelot but take that however you want)

Then when they all get back to Camelot and one of the towns people is struggling to fix a cart with a broken wheel.

Lance *goes over to help and starts berating the knights*: we’re knights. We’re supposed to help people. If you just want to beat people up, we’ve run into plenty of bandits that would probably take you.

And we all know he doesn’t like the structure of statuses and how power is distributed in Camelot so while he’s still respectful to Arthur as a king, the rest of the lords not so much. He avoids them as much as possible to avoid causing unnecessary problems but when Arthur asks if he’ll be at a council meeting, he’s gotta say no:

Lance: I don’t think that’d be a good idea.

Arthur: why not? I could use someone honest on the council.

Lance: I am honest with you. Mostly. You definitely shouldn’t ask what I think about magic until I can be tactful about my answer. But If I get a chance to be honest in the same room as Lord NoName I’m going to ask him if he doesn’t want to pay taxes because too much of his coin already goes to his mistresses and his wife will find out if he’s forced to document it.

Arthur: …

Lance: …

Arthur: … I don’t know which part to focus on first. If Lord NoName isn’t there will you attend?

Lance: he’s not the only one. Personally, I think they should hear it, but I don’t want to be callous about it. Their wives deserve better and forcing them to find out through gossip and rumours just seems unnecessarily cruel.

Arthur: I’ll call a round table meeting later.

Lance: Probably for the best. You should give Merlin a seat, he’s braver and has done more for you than anyone. I’ll see you later, sire.

I can imagine the magic thing would keep coming up too, just little comments about how he’s frustrated that he’ll be used as an example for why magic should be banned when it’s not all bad and can actually be quite amazing.

Everyone’s confused but he just asks Leon if he likes being alive because he wouldn’t be without the Druids and the cup of life.

Heaven forbid anyone says anything bad about Merlin. He never out’s Merlin’s secret as promised, but he absolutely makes sure everyone is aware how much Merlin does for people out of the goodness of his heart.

I also want him to shit on Uther at some point. About his parenting style or how he ruled Camelot, I don’t mind which.

I imagine someone mentioning how well Lance is handling the curse and “taking it like a man” and getting immediately shot down.

Noble: he’s handling it well, taking it like a man.

Lancelot: Hypocritical coming from you, Lord He-Payed-Less-Than-I-Did-Even-Though-It-was-Proportional-To-Everything-Else. (I don’t pretend to understand how a fictional court set in about 5 different historical eras is run) Actually, not complaining about a situation that sucks isn’t a manly trait at all. All of the problems we’re dealing with are because something happened and someone “took it like a man.” Tax evasion, wars, uneven distribution of wealth, *putting reports on the table for each one* The last time someone “took it like a man” we ended up with an entire people being murdered because a king fucked up, lost his wife, and didn’t want to admit fault and grieve like a sane person.

Everyone’s just silent for a moment.

Lance: … *thinks about what he said for a second*

Lance: No, I stand by that. I’ll apologise for my lack of tact, but not the content.

Meanwhile, watching in horror and barely contained glee:

Arthur: Should have let him sit this one out.

Merlin: Absolutely not. This might become the most productive council meeting we’ve had in years.

Anyway, I just want Lance being able to lean more into the unhinged side of his character sometimes.

He’s still got to fundamentally be a good person, he’s just less filtered in watching the casual stupidity of the nobles, or more honest about people not thanking servants enough (especially to the knights who seemed to forget that they were once common born too) and isn’t afraid to call people on their bullshit when necessary.

Everyone learns to appreciate it too so when the spell wears off, he’s less anxious about giving his opinions on things.

Just let Lancelot be the unfiltered chaotic good that he is.

[ineffectualdemon]

Ok so my experiences are from growing up in the United States in the nineties. If you were a cis white woman who was conventionally attractive and/or successfully married there were certain benefits they got from maintaining the patriarchy. I also became a mother in the 2000s in the UK and went to baby groups and saw how other parents raised their children. So I'm going off of my experiences so it's anecdotal but there are studies by smarter people who back this up. But I can't source it today because bandwidth

Now I will say this in advance: this also involved the patriarchy hurting the women in question but they were willing to maintain it and prop it up and it required them to do so to exist. It's a crab bucket scenario but it's about staying in the top of the bucket and not the bottom

Being a married white woman, in the 90s at least, carried Social Status. You were taken more seriously, infantilised less by strangers, and were in a subtle position of authority over unmarried women. The only people with more social status were those with children

It gave a sense of authority over other women of same economic status but who didn't have a husband or children. In fact to an extent you could be seen and treated better by a woman of a higher economic status if you were married and she was not

Marriage, children and the Role of the Wife and Mother as a homemaker and the only one who could do care tasks was an image they needed to feed into to maintain that authority over other women.

To that end they did things like:

• tell their teenage daughters and nieces etc that if their boyfriend cheats it's because they aren't putting out enough

• it's fine if they start sex when you don't want to when you're in a relationship because you will get wet eventually

• dismiss sexual assault of their daughters etc "you're making a big fuss over nothing"

They needed to do that to maintain their authority over other women in their personal life and to justify what they have gone through as "not that bad"

There can definitely be a racial element to this but you need to read stuff from black feminists because I am not the right person to speak on that

As a parent who had a toddler in the 2010s in the UK it was a bit different but something remained

This goes hand in hand with seeing children as property though and has it's roots going far back.

There is an old saying "your son is your son til he takes a wife, your daughter's your daughter all her life"

And I hate it but it does sum up how some mothers treat their boys as "things for someone else" and their girls "their property"

It manifests as:

• not spending time with their sons outside of "mommy loves you" and "boys will be boys" and giving them the iPad. Not teaching them how to clean or cook or spending time doing arts and crafts because they "aren't interested" without even checking

• expecting girls to want to do the cleaning and cooking and arts and cute stuff because they are seen as "more patient" and able to be quiet.

• demanding cuddles from girls because girls are supposed to be cuddly and not expecting it from boys because they are "free spirits" which teaches girls that their body is not their own

It doesn't always manifest like this. You get boy moms who have a creepy emotional incest thing going on with their sons and see their daughters as competition for their husbands affection but either way it's teaching fucked up things because they want the benefit of owning a child who is "required" to love them unconditionally

Finally slut shaming and tearing down other women for not being either pure enough or the "not like other girls" attitude gives the benefit of male attention and not just sexual. A woman who works in a male dominated industry might choose to go the route of saying something like: "ugh these girls who claim everything is sexual harassment are just frigid bitches who can't take a joke" about a coworker who spoke out might get the promotion over that woman.

The real benefits white woman specifically get do deal with racism factored in because there is the real problem with white tears. I won't speak much on this but my mother did teach me to cry to get my own way from my dad which is such a problem on so many levels but fake white women tears used to accuse a black man (or even a child!) of a false crime can, and has, got people killed

Again I am not the best to speak on this aspect but I think it's important

These are just some examples I've seen

but fr I'll never take it seriously when someone says "i was abused by men, I'm allowed to hate them and anyone trying to show love for men is an MRA" like you know how many of us were abused by our mothers and it's still (rightfully) considered not okay to say that women are all abusers just waiting to kill their children. If you blame violence on someones gender instead of the societal mechanisms that encourage and allow violent and harmful behaviour you're perpetuating that cycle.

[lvrrgirlll]

Dublin in ecstasy // wanted to write something silly for st patrick’s day so here’s this (two days late...)

paring: artrick x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: oral m and f receiving, spitroasting, drunk sex, hastily proofread lol

a/n: this is highkey all over the place so keep in mind i am NOT claiming this to be my best work by any means lol... just something silly for the holiday (I say that and then I somehow ended up writing 3.5k words but that's besides the point)

The circumstances couldn’t have been more perfect. Art had decided to do a semester abroad in Ireland while Patrick conveniently was playing tournament in Dublin. And better yet, it all lined up over St. Patrick’s Day.

“C’mon man, it’s my fucking day after all,” Patrick insisted as he stretched out his arms as if basking in his own glory. The two men were holed up in Art’s dorm, a single, of course, since the Europeans always seemed to have more class when it came to university living situations.

“You’re playing the day after tomorrow and I’ve got a mountain of assignments I’m behind on. We’re not getting drunk tonight,” Art retorted quickly, shooting Patrick a stern glance. This hard front, though, swiftly melted when Patrick brought his hands to Art’s shoulders, leaning down so he was at eye level as Art sat at his desk.

“You don’t wanna help me celebrate my day?” He gave him a puppy dog stare, really trying to break down his best friend’s cool exterior. And he knew deep down that Art could be like putty in his hands if he played his cards right. Art’s eyes scanned Patrick’s dramatized expression, leaving him sighing in resignation.

“Fine,” Art groaned, rolling his eyes. “Can we just take it easy though?”

“Yeah man, sure. Whatever you want.”

Art should’ve trusted his gut when he had even an inkling that they wouldn’t be taking it easy. It was St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin for fucks sake. Patrick had outfitted them both with hastily made (sharpied on) “kiss me I’m Irish” shirts much to Art’s protest.

“It’s gonna be a let down when girls see me in this shirt and then hear my American accent,” Art huffs, tugging at the ends of the shirt.

“Nah man, it’s a conversation starter. You just have to be a conversation continuer. Plus, it’s straightforward. It’s a holiday. Girls will kiss you if your shirt says so.” Patrick seemed very confident about that.

“I’m like one-sixteenth Irish man, this feels like false advertising.”

“Forget about it, it’s not like I’m Darby O’Gill or anything, it’s just a t-shirt.”

Art sighed yet again, feeling more and more like this was a bad idea. His mind changed, however, when he and Patrick saw you from across the pub.

They’d been there for about an hour now, standing off to the side, pints of Guinness in hand, trying to feel out what kind of night it’d be. Of course, Patrick was eyeing nearly every girl in the place, most of them with their strong Irish boyfriends, though, but he wasn’t really interested until he noticed you.

You were notably without a boyfriend, currently arguing with the bartender about the pour on your Guinness. Both Art and Patrick were awestruck. The way you were so passionate was admirable, and it definitely helped that, to the both of them, you were the most beautiful girl in the place.

“I’ll be back, don’t wait up too long,” Patrick murmured, slipping away from Art and towards you.

Art stammered, trying to think of a way to stop Patrick, but Patrick just turned around, reminding him how he wanted to “take it easy” tonight. Damnit. Art was eating his own words.

“You seem like you know your beer,” Patrick mused, trying to seem nonchalant from behind you. You turned and he had to physically restrain himself from letting his jaw go slack. From a distance you were already something else, but up close, even a ladies man like Patrick would be flustered.

“Not really. I just know when they’ve screwed me giving me more air than actual drink,” you joked, taking the handsome stranger in as you turned around.

“I like a girl who knows what she wants.” It was excessively bold, but Patrick had already downed two pints, quickly going on three, and was feeling ballsy.

He watched as your eyes flitted down then, reading the messily written words on his shirt. You giggled. “Are you really Irish? You don’t have an accent,” you asked then, an eyebrow quirking up as you looked up at him.

“As Irish as you want me to be,” he chuckled before shaking his head. “No, really, I’m like 10% Irish. It hardly counts.”

A smirk flashed across your lips as you shot him a devious look through your lashes. “So I shouldn’t kiss you then?” That left him grasping for words, unsure where to take this. Of course, he wanted to kiss you. But his desperation (and slight drunkenness) was getting in the way of his sarcastic, charming banter.

Just in time, though, Art swooped in, much to Patrick’s dismay. “Hi, uh… I saw you from across the room, I just wanted to come say you’re, uh, really beautiful.” Smooth.

Patrick stifled a chuckle, giving Art a skeptical glance from behind you. Art’s eyes narrowed briefly as he glanced at Patrick, a subtle sign that the game was on, but you didn’t miss it.

“Do you two know each other?” You looked between the two of them, brows furrowing as you took a sip of your drink.

They had to give in, of course. The pair formally introduced themselves, gave you the whole spiel about how they go way back and they both play tennis, and Art was sure to mention that he was there for school (selfishly hoping that would impress you).

“So what are you doing in Ireland,” Art asked, ever the gentleman.

“I’ve taken a semester off of school to travel. I guess I’m sort of seeking new experiences; new opportunities, y’know.” You couldn’t help but notice that as you spoke both of them seemed to be hanging off of every word.

“New experiences, huh,” Patrick repeated, smirking before taking a heavy swig from his drink. He didn’t miss the wink you gave him from over the rim of his glass, but he decided to keep any more comments to himself for the time being.

Art kept the conversation going, mostly because he was drunk too at this point and he didn’t want you to leave. You talked for a while, the pub slowly getting more and more crowded (it was St. Patrick’s Day after all), until you were abruptly run into, causing you to spill your drink all over yourself.

“Fuck,” you cursed, the cold of the drink running down your body and soaking right through (and staining) your now see-through white shirt.

Neither Art nor Patrick knew exactly what to do, but Patrick ran to your rescue immediately, shouting at the guy who had run into you. Art had, more passively, made a break for the bathroom, getting paper towels. It was all no use, though. You were soaked; cold, wet, and uncomfortable. And it was looking like Patrick was on his way to a bar fight.

That’s how the three of you ended up stood outside the bar, you clutching your jacket around your body, Patrick pouting about getting you guys kicked out, and Art feeling sorry that he couldn’t help either of you more.

Patrick moved for his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and holding it in your direction. Though you didn’t typically smoke, you took one. It had been a night. As Patrick held his lighter up to the end of the cigarette, you two exchanged glances, still lust filled despite the unsavory events that got you here.

All of you sat in silence, taking steady drags off the cigarettes until you laughed, a dry, sarcastic little laugh. “Y’know what’s great?” You looked in their direction. “I don’t even live around here. I came cause I’ve got some friends here, but they all ditched me for their boyfriends and now I’ve got to take the bus home like this,” you spoke frustratedly, looking down at your state. That’s when a sneaky little idea came to Patrick.

“Well, my hotel’s only a 5 minute walk from here. Come shower there, you can dry off and then you can take the bus back to wherever it is,” he nearly insisted. Art shot him a look that you couldn’t quite discern, but Patrick didn’t seem moved by it. “What do ‘ya say? It’s not a bad idea…” he gave you those same puppy dog eyes he had given Art before, and damnit, they really did work. Patrick Zweig could convince the Pope to convert if he wanted to.

“Sure. Yeah, ok, lead the way.” Obviously, you knew deep down that this would not just be some sort of act of convenience and kindness, but hey, you weren't really opposed to that.

On the walk over, Art huddled up close to Patrick, whispering endless questions and concerns. "Dude, what am I supposed to do? Walk of shame back to my place while you get to fuck her?" He snuck a glance back at you trying to make sure you hadn't heard him. Patrick slung an arm around him, though, pulling him in closer.

"Don't you worry, Artie," his tone was mocking, but still somehow reassuring. "Let St. Patrick handle it. I have a feeling both of us will be getting lucky tonight." Art rolled his eyes, absolutely sick of the holiday related talk, but he took it in stride, trusting his friend (against his better judgement). It's not like they hadn't talked about sharing girls before. Maybe it really was that Irish luck that had sent you their way.

Back at Patrick's hotel, which was much nicer than you had expected (it was on his parents' dime, after all), you made a break for the shower, dying to free yourself from the confines of your drenched shirt. While you showered, the guys were talking strategy.

"So if it turns out she is only into one of us, then what," Art asked from the armchair in the corner.

"Then one of us gets to fuck her, obviously. If it comes to it, I'd get out of here for you." Art shakes his head at Patrick's crude words. "But like I said earlier, I think we could both luck out tonight. I mean, she did say she was looking for new experiences after all..."

"Right," Art quipped sarcastically. Both of them in their drunkenness had failed to realize that the water had stopped running, though.

"Imagine the noises she'd make...fuck man. And the way she'd probably give you the best head of your life. You saw her lips, right?"

"Jesus, Patrick, you've gotta stop,” Art sighed, a light laugh escaping though.

"But I'm right, right?" A silence lingered between the two before Art looked to Patrick, a goofy smile painted across his features.

"Yeah. Yeah, you are. I wouldn't make her do that, though. I mean, she seems like she'd be more into receiving than giving anyways, y'know..." And Patrick nodded. He knew exactly what Art meant.

Just then, the bathroom door clicked, making the boys' heads snap back in your direction. Now in only Patrick's t-shirt, which he had promptly stripped off and offered you when you got to the hotel, you padded out of the bathroom.

“Shit, did you hear that,” Art asked, embarrassed. Clearly, he couldn’t have been that embarrassed though, his eyes raking down your bare legs hungrily. Patrick, similarly, took no discretion in ogling you, leaning back and smiling like a cat who got the cream.

“You look good in my shirt, babe.” The nickname was maybe a bit much, but then again, when was Patrick ever afraid of too much?

Taking a seat on the bed, you smiled, looking down at the shirt again, chuckling lightly to yourself.

“You’d look better with it off, though…” he mutters under his breath, loud enough so you could hear it.

One thing led to another and now you, Art, and Patrick were all on the bed, Art kissing your neck and along your jaw while Patrick had lifted up your shirt and was paying close attention to your tits. It was unfamiliar, feeling two sets of lips on you at once, but there was something so euphoric about it too.

“Have you guys done this before-,” a slight gasp escaped your lips, cutting you off. “Shared the same girl?” Art hummed a quick ‘no’ against your skin, but Patrick didn’t even move to speak, only shaking his head ‘no’ as he continued to mouth at your hard nipples.

Patrick pulled away, taking a second to watch the way his best friend sucked at your neck, sure to leave a spot. Call him a cuck, but he felt harder than he’d ever been.

Nestling in behind you, he pulled you in away from Art so you were leaning against his bare chest. He dragged his hands up your waist to your tits, massaging them while placing little kisses along your shoulders. “C’mere Art…” he beckoned. Patrick’s big hands reached down, spreading your legs and holding them open.

Art practically scrambled up to you, a hopeless look in his heavily lidded eyes. You’d lost your shirt long ago, now only in a pair of lacy (soaked) panties.

He pulled them to the side, running a finger through your folds. His fingers were cold causing you to inhale a sharp breath. “Fuck…” he sighed, looking over your shoulder at Patrick. “She’s perfect.” Art slipped your panties down your legs, you helping a bit to kick them off your ankles, and pocketed them, not missing Patrick’s look of impressed approval. He leaned down, then, his fingers returning to your slick heat. He prodded at your hole, pushing one, then two fingers in, the feeling of you tightening around him sending a rush to his cock. He pumped in and out at a rapid pace, making your chest heave and your eyes flutter shut.

He leaned in closer to you, tonguing at your clit, absolutely obsessed with the way you were moaning with your head settled back against Patrick’s shoulder. He licked thick stripes along your pussy, fingers so deep inside you that it was hard to keep your legs spread, squirming and whimpering like a mess. “Fuck, Art… t- too much. M’ gonna… fuck, gonna cum.” That only encouraged him, pressing his face into you with so much dedication. You could feel his nose rub against you as he tongued around your hole, still filled by his fingers. Your hands tangled in his hair while Patrick kissed your neck feverishly, still holding your legs open for Art.

When you came, it was ecstasy. You felt like you were melting into Patrick as you leaned back into him, hips bucking up against Art’s face. Your legs were shaking as Art pulled his fingers out, still sloppily licking into you.

“Okay man, don’t get greedy,” Patrick murmured, pushing Art’s head away boyishly and pulling you up to sit up a little more. You giggled, still a little blissed out but wanting more, wanting to impress them.

“Here,” you started, moving onto all fours. “Let me return the favor.” Art was now in front of you, hard as a rock, while Patrick was left behind you, staring at your glistening pussy. You arched your back a little, ass in the air as you looked back at Patrick. “Well don’t just stand there…”

Patrick found his place behind you, the sound of his zipper coming down music to your ears as you worked on ridding Art of his pants. When you looked up at him, he was blushing, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol doing it to him or the situation at hand. He let out a shuttered breath when you slid his boxers down, his length slapping up against his stomach.

You bit you lip, eyeing his cock and noting the way his tip was pink and leaking precum. "Artie," you say, looking up at him doe eyed as if you weren't about to get spitroasted by two best friends.

"Y- yeah..." he replied, looking down at you pathetically, mouth hanging open as he waited for your reply.

"It's really pretty," you lilt before licking from the base to the tip. His eyes screw shut immediately and he makes a sound unlike any you'd heard before.

Patrick, clearly over the praise for Art, though, thrusts into you with no warning, bottoming out quickly and leaving you gasping for air. "Fuck, warn a girl next time..." you sigh as he stills, the feeling of being completely full overwhelming, but exciting.

"I'm so good I need a warning? I haven't even started moving, babe." Patrick speaks with a mocking tone, but you eat it up. Art, feeling left out then, reaches for your jaw, guiding your lips to his cock again. Everything he does, he does with a gentle, polite sort of touch, and you can admire that, especially when it's so starkly contrasted by Patrick.

When you finally take Art into your mouth, it's hard to miss the way his abs ripple while his cock twitches. You could tell he was long when you looked at it, but you realize just how long when his tip is forcing itself against your throat.

Unbeknownst to you, the two boys exchange looks, Patrick mouthing a '3...2....1' before they both started moving in tandem. Patrick's pace was quick and you could feel just how big he was by the stretch. Art, as if he wanted to outdo his friend, was now uncharacteristically bullying his cock down your throat. Though in true Art fashion, he combed a hand through your hair slowly, sweetly, as if he wasn't practically defiling you.

You couldn't help but gag, the sound only encouraging the two men. "She's so tight, man. You've gotta feel her pussy," Patrick huffed.

"You...were...right..." Art panted, lost in the feeling of your lips wrapped around him. "It's like she was made for this..." He almost felt guilty for being so crass... almost. But he was nothing if not easily influenced by his friend.

"Oh- she definitely liked that," Patrick slurs. "She's squeezing me so tight man -fuck." His hands were firmly holding your hips in place as the sound of skin slapping filled the room, his pace unrelenting.

And with each thrust from Patrick, you only pushed further down onto Art, now a drooling, gagging mess beneath him. You could hardly tell now, unable to focus in light of the mess being made of you, but Art kept a hand holding your jaw, caressing it even, as if to silently say 'good girl'.

Noticing your squirming, Patrick knew you were close. He reached a hand around to your clit, thumbing at it in swift circles and grunting like a mad man when you tightened around him. "Fuck, you like that baby? I know you're close... shit- I can feel it."

With Art still stuffing your mouth, all you could do was nod rapidly, pushing back onto Patrick now. Feeling him hit that spot over and over again, you lost yourself a bit, legs getting shaky as you moaned and whined around Art's cock. And then it snapped, that tight feeling in your stomach released as you came hard around Patrick's cock.

Patrick, reveling in the feeling, kept thrusting in and out, each thrust getting sloppier and more shallow. "Shit, don't worry babe," he breathed out heavily. "I'll -fuck- I'll pull out." But right as he moved to do so, you pulled off of Art abruptly, turning to face Patrick shaking your head. Your lips were swollen and glimmering as you shook your head desperately at Patrick.

"I'm on the pill," is all you said, turning back to Art then. You kissed at his tip before taking him back, deep down into your throat. When Patrick pushed back in, it was like the first time again. In pulling out for even a few seconds, he'd forgotten how good you felt, how tight and warm and wet you were.

And when Patrick's hips began to stutter, the feeling of him completely overstimulating you, he made sure to look Art right in the eyes. "Fuck," he gasped, staring right at his flushed, sweating friend as he came inside you, filling you up.

The image of Patrick, jaw slack and making eye contact, drove Art over the edge. Without any sort of warning, you could suddenly feel hot ropes of cum shooting down your throat. He pulled out a bit prematurely, some of his cum spurting onto your lips too, but you made sure to look up at him and lick it up like a champ.

"Holy shit..." he mumbled.

"Holy indeed..." Patrick hummed, pulling out and settling on the bed behind you.

Once you were cleaned up, the three of you nestled into bed, you drifting off in their arms quickly, completely spent from the night's activities. Before either boy could fall asleep, though, Patrick startled Art by ruffling a hand through his hair.

"What's that for," Art asked, bewildered.

"I told you St. Patrick would deliver."

[rotagnus]

how does this person feel about you?

can be asked about platonic/romantic bonds--but this person should be one you have interacted with at least once. doesn't apply to celebrities or people who don't know an ounce about your existence, sorry baby <3

uhhh this will be intuitive. and tarot reading, obviously. you can ask this for multiple people and pick different piles--if it doesn't resonate, don't force it to. a tarot reader cannot resonate for the whole population of tumblr pac enthusiasts!! :) i generally advise asking this about someone near your age, not figures who have an imbalance with you.

(it's a great time to be a ufc and frank ocean fan guys...)

pile 1.

this person has done a lot of growth in their life. for most, you'll know what i'm talking about--they may have gone through deep troubles in their life that left their soul mottled with burns and pains. yet they still keep a cheery face, bold and bright in this vast galaxy. a lot of them give off fire sign energy; particularly noticeable in a crowd. the kind of person who you'd know would smile at you if they saw you in a hallway. they suck at hiding their feelings.

okay, so right off the bat, they think you're way ahead of them in life. you may be older by a bit, or you simply exude a more commanding presence. they may be rebellious and do stupid things, and you're always the one who's like 'no, that's a bad idea'. you guys are like those pairings in old animated films, where the guy is kinda stupid and the girl is always like no bro what the hell are you doing. you may be particularly good academically is what i'm hearing, and a lot of you also kind of look diplomatic and smart. you may wear glasses and present yourself in a rather formal manner.

you, for them, possess a very strong radiance. they see you as well-versed in your feminine energy, and they like this. i can't really read what they feel about you, whether it's platonic or romantic; if you're friends with this person, that bond is appreciated greatly. they value you and trust you and know that you're a person they can lean on. i think this bond could last a life-time if you treat it right. a lot of you may live in apartments and MAY be roommates with the person you asked about. if you're looking for advice on what to do, i would say just go with the flow. humans live for a long time for a reason. take that as you may.

pile 2.

whoever this person is, i just want you to know that they see you. i'm not even sure in what way, but they do ☠️☠️. which can be good or bad. so be wary of that. okay, now they DEFINITELY see you, they're onto you...they're not quite sure what they're onto, but they see it. several eyes in these cards. anyways, this person is kind of on the darker side--alternative, dark-featured, or has simply been through it in life. they see themselves as a lone wolf...some of them may have brainrot humor, guys...they see themselves as self-righteous. they're probably the kind of person to try to be mysterious and end up falling over. endearing, though.

i'm not sure how well you conduct yourself in front of this person, but you're a mystery to them. always changing...you kind of make them, change, too. you don't realize it but you're a very hot and cold person, and some of you may have pushed this person away in the past (advertently or inadvertently). they know that you've struggled in the past, too, which can forge a sense of kinship OR a sense of distrust. they have some regrets towards you. you guys are very similar in certain ways, in the best ways, i'm hearing. they feel like they can be free around you, but also, are generally very distrusting so don't be surprised if they put up a cold front around you.

a lot of you scare the FUCK out of this person God help me. you're so positive and you're kind of...a catalyst for change in this person's life, and this scares them. they'll still be in their old habits, but they'll be thinking about you and how you change and grow and keep your chin up despite the odds. you're the STAR, literally, with this card. they want to be empathetic to you, listen to your woes, just be in your life. but they're scared. they're not a very...people person? they're scared that this is all temporary, in their life, and that you'll fade away. the magician fell out; i think that this will all come down soon, but you gotta stop focusing on this person. i am here to tell you that while they are worried about this situation, they are NOT going as nuts over it as you are. they care. promise. pinkie promise, in fact. but you overthink it. for most, this is romantic; crushes aren't supposed to be all-consuming. space out, a little; focus on something else for a while. it'll all come on God's timing.

pile 3.

this person is very sensual. they're very observant and on the quieter side, for a lot of you. i'm guessing that a lot of you aren't very close to them, particularly because they seem to be extremely selective with what they let into their life. they're suspicious of almost everything and everyone, and kind of come off unhinged and like the hermit. they seem very hurt, though. they're the kind of person who's eyes just look...aged beyond their years, carrying heavy, heavy weights. they seem like they need a hug, whoever they are.

they see you as a very strong person. you're the kind of person who acts like those silly characters in tv shows do, in front of a person they idolize. the type of person who'd flex in front of their crush or try to show off. LMAOOO you're so sweet. whatever you're trying to appear as to your person is working. they think you're the star...pile 2 may resonate for you too, as a lot of the same cards are popping up. however, this person thinks that you might hate them. TUN TUN TUN...you have terrible rbf, baby, and you're also not the most friendly person. you kind of come off as cold and distant towards most people, in a way that's different than this person you're asking about. they're quiet, but not your kind of quiet.

they think that this situation is very fragile. whatever they feel for you is a very friable impression they have. yeah, they think you're a cool person, but they don't know nothing about you. you're idealized in their head and this person is extremely self-aware and recognizes that. they may have gone through worse things than you (this doesn't undermine your own struggles, my love!!) and be more apprehensive. even if they're trying to open up, it may not work, and you may have to let go. they are on their own journey, and if you really REALLY want this person in your life, you'll have to watch them take their baby steps, bit by bit. examine what you want out of your life; if they lag behind, you may have to leave them there.

pile 4.

this person is probably rather tall and have lighter features, i think, compared to you. this person is very...spontaneous and sudden, restless even. they may deal with anxiety, social anxiety particularly, but they're the kind of person who still has a widespread social circle, but has panic attacks in locker rooms and closets. they're warm but also distant. why are them and pile 3's person so sad? you guys, check up on this person. they also have a strong sense of justice, most likely because they've seen their fair share of injustice. they have a very strong bond with their family, and they put their blood over their friends.

right of the bat, i can sense they have positive feelings about you. they think that you have a strong sense of justice just like them. you're a fighter, too. they may have tragedized you in their head, a little bit. they've got a very poetic heart, what can i say. but at the same time, they view you as a delicate creature. friable. they don't want to say the wrong thing around you. you seem like you shatter very easily, because you're very sensitive and observant to your surroundings. it's not in a bad way, but when you're near them, they can intuitively sense that you're noticing every. single. thing. that's going on around you. you might have anxiety, too.

okay, so lucky for you, i think that they don't have any bad feelings for you. they view you as a very...happy-go-lucky person, let's say. very bright minded, like a golden retriever!! at the same time, they want to know you better, so they can evaluate these feelings by themselves. they're not particularly sure if they've idealized you in their head, or if you're really what they're seeing. but the ball is in their court, and they can decide this for themselves. if you guys are friends, this will be good. if not, you should become friends.

pile 5.

this is a masculine energy for most of you asking. for a lot, they push themselves to the brink of failure--may be a gym rat, an academic junkie, or simply someone who has no where else to pour their energy into but this specific hobby. they're rather smart in many walks of life, but not emotionally. they don't let themselves feel emotions. they have problems with masculine figures in their life, many who have pronounced them weak for showing a teensy bit of feelings. right of the bat, you should be careful with this person--honey, you're a pure soul, and i don't want you getting hurt by someone who's destroying anything they touch because they're scared themselves.

they think you're very beautiful, but for those of the masculine energies that are extremely religious, they may view you as bait from God to mess up. they feel as if they're still on their journey and that they can't possibly get into this friendship, this relationship, when they still have SO much to learn. they think you're incredibly smart; although you are probably not as tied to their specific faith as they are, they still admire how strongly you believe in things. you have a remarkable belief in the goodness of humanity, and they love this quality of yours.

a lot of them will experience an ending of a cycle soon. this will bring them an ego death and they'll have a lot of realizations, some about general things like how they view relationships and how they view friendships. i don't think you interact with this person on the daily, and the next time you see them, i think they'll have a different opinion of you than they do now. i don't know if this is positive, but here's my two cents; if they're good to you then, keep them. it means this change has been good. if they're bad...honey, you're everything to someone. go and find that someone instead of chasing this person.

pile 6.

this person has some feminine energy, which for a lot of you who are asking about men is good; some of you may have issues with energies that are too masculine, and you and this person can forge a good bond. they have...a very naive sense of the world, despite seeing people hurt their whole life. they haven't been on the receiving end of pain very much, but they have a bit, so they know how bad it can be. they have a lot of respect towards people, and they are selfless and willing to help others with a steady hand. that's why you like them; because of their stability. however, they think themselves a coward, and they feel like they have a debt; so they try to be a better person. i'm listening to seigfried by frank ocean.

for a lot of you, this person wants to help you. they've firsthand seen how you were struggling, and they have pure intentions towards you, but this may not be on a particular personal note; they think themselves a martyr, which can be a good or bad thing. they'd give it all to help someone, anyone, you. they wouldn't be against developing a connection to you, though, but i would be wary if you're asking for romance. they...aren't exactly in the right headspace for that, and i know eventually they'll get out of it, but i don't want you waiting, either, sweetheart.

you guys can be man-eaters, which kind of makes this person go like uhh 😕😕😬😬...they have some trouble with feminine energies. their mom may have been a bit violent or emotionally manipulative, and even if that'd be to a small extent, it's enough for them to be hesitant. they're dog-loyal, but in order to do anything for a person, they have to have a deep connection to them. their love for the people in their life runs strong, but in order for this to happen. you have to bond. make sure there are no blockages, with you, either. you are on your journey, and i think you guys have potential to grow together--but still. be wary of faltering in your steps.

[gospelica]

"what's this 'bout a boy?"

your pervy uncle sukuna has you bent over his knee like you're about to be spanked. but rather than hit the flesh of your ass with his calloused hands, he's plunging two fingers meanly into your cunt like you deserve a punishment :(

it's not your fault! you want to say that, to beg for him to go easy on you but every time you open your pretty lips to speak all that comes out is desperate moans and pleads for more. he curls his fingers inside of you every now and then, makes you see stars just to pull that pleasure from you!

you can't be too loud, though, your parents are only in the other room. uncle sukuna is meant to be here for a family dinner, one in which he'll exchange weird jabs with your father and make your mother turn her nose up all the while he's digging nails into your thigh under the table. you haven't seen him in months now, not since the last time he visited and you ended face-down-ass-up on your pretty comforter taking his cock so deep you forgot your own name.

as if you could settle for boys your age after a taste of him.

sukuna stops his movements and, with his free hand, forces your chin up to look at him the best you can from where you're bent over his knee. "fuckin' answer me. who's the boy?"

"no one!"

"lying brat, you want me to make you cry again?"

uncle sukuna had overheard an exchange between you and your mother when he first showed up. you were telling him about a boy from your college classes that had asked you out: sweet, well mannered, probably a bore in the bedroom. your mother encouraged it, because of course she thinks you're rather lonely. after all, you've never brought a man home! she just doesn't know it's because your uncle would find a way to make his murder as cruel as possible... :(

"'m not even interested in him," you have to breathe through your mouth, squeezing around sukunas fingers which are still stalled inside of you. "he asked me out. i said no. i can't... i can't be with other guys now that i have you."

there's silence. you know your uncle doesn't like that sappy shit. he's the type to fuck you rough and mean and leave you shaking just to throw a teasing 'love you' over his shoulder as he's leaving, just to watch your eyes widen as you stand between your oblivious parents. but you also know that he's possessive. that he'll do anything he can to stake his claim on you, though because of the secrecy of your relationship that usually means inhibiting your ability to sit down without wincing for a week.

"what, you think i'm your boyfriend or something?" his fingers start up again, making your pussy squelch as he thrusts them into you at a newer, meaner pace. "got some news for you about our relationship, brat."

"no i know," you gasp as he curls his fingers up again. you're so close, so fucking close it hurts. you're digging your nails into his leg though he doesn't seem to mind at all. "still. don't want anyone else... fuuuuck, uncle sukuna, right there, please.."

you think he laughs. or maybe moans as you definitely break skin with how hard you're digging into him. he speeds up, starts rubbing your needy little clit in fast circles until you're trying to keep quiet when your orgasm crashes over you.

"look at you, talking bout boys when you can't even last with two of my fingers inside this little cunt. fucking pathetic."

he pulls his fingers out just to sharply pinch your clit before moving you to better sit on his strong lap. "i'll drive you to classes tomorrow."

you're a little too stupid from your orgasm to get his point. "what?"

"no one knows i'm your uncle. hell, you hardly knew me yourself til i started showing up. i'll drive you, walk you in, show everyone you're spoken for."

"am i spoken for?"

"tch. don't play fuckin' dumb."

[kitkatscabinet]

SUCK, SUCK, BLOW

Requested: by anon

Summary: Giving the batboys that sloppy toppy (I personally hate sucking dick so I hope this is alright lol)

Pairings: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne x gn! Reader.

A/N: 18 + minors evaporate !! Unedited.

DICK GRAYSON

This man is a FREAK, since you've started dating, the two of you have done just about every position possible. That being said, he's obsessed with giving you head. And by the time he is ready to cum he wants to do it whilst fucking you, not in your mouth.

It takes some manoeuvring, catching him after a long patrol or work out when he’s slumped against the couch (you don’t let him get the sheets sweaty if it’s not from sex). But the second your hand wraps around the base of him and you’re pressing a teasing kiss to the tip of his dick he’s putty in your hands.

He’s got a trembling thigh thrown over your shoulder, hands clutching the closest couch cushion as he babbles incoherently.

Tries to pull you off several times cause “baby, He’s not gonna last. Honey, he’s gonna cum before he can fuck you” :((.

Somehow still doesn’t get that that’s kind of the point. Ends up accidentally overstimulating himself cause he’s trying not to cum while you’re trying very hard to make him.

JASON TODD

It's not often that Jason's in the mood to let you suck him off, not when he deals with and sees so much fucked up shit every day. When you do fuck, he wants to hold you close. Wants to kiss you senseless and bury his face in your neck.

Your best bet? Wake him up with it. Jason’s a light sleeper, he’ll pretty much wake up if you shift even an inch beside him but it’s not impossible. It still takes his brain a few seconds to kick the sleep from his system and if you’ve already got your lips wrapped around his dick then he’ll simply malfunction.

Forgets your name, forgets his name, forgets where the fuck he is the only thing he knows for sure is the glorious warmth sucking his soul out.

Tries to hide his groans by burying his face in his arm, you’re not afraid to use a little teeth to warn him otherwise.

Genuinely meets god for a few seconds after he cums, hips jerking as he moans so loud the neighbours are definitely gonna complain later.

TIM DRAKE

Blowjobs are how you often bribe him into spending time with you.

He’s working on a case for too long? Hand in his pants, until you can get your mouth on him, a lot harder for him to smack you away.

Busy dealing with WE shit? You’re on your knees beneath the desk until he’s dragging you home/to bed.

You really, really want something? He’s so fucking weak to the feel and sight of your tongue sliding against his dick that you can get him to promise you anything in the moment. Though he probably will forget about it so you need to record him making those promises :))

Cries. No matter how often you suck his dick he never gets used to it. It’s like he’s a virgin and it’s the first time anyone is ever touching him Every. Single. Time.

He’s so overworked and exhausted all the time that it honestly doesn’t take much before he’s trying to tug you off as tears line his lashes cause sweetheart you’ve already made him cum twice. He’s sensitive. He can’t go again yet!

(Spoiler alert: he can. Though he might need a few hours to recuperate after)

BRUCE WAYNE

We all know he's done some questionable shit to maintain his secret identity. Once you've been dating for a while you're even willing to sometimes help him nurture the Brucie Wayne act. It's never anything super raunchy, but one encounter with a slightly too friendly-for-comfort Selina Kyle later and it's you who's acting up.

Pulling him into an abandoned corridor of whoever's sprawling mansion this party is taking place in and dropping to your knees. He puts up a token protest, (you both know he could easily stop you) as you undo his slacks but the second your lips wrap around him he's a goner.

Listen, he’s disciplined. He’s withstood literal torture but the way you swirl your tongue against him before you take him so deeply your nose brushes his pelvis is probably the most overwhelming sensation he’s ever experienced.

Keeps one large hand on the back of your neck, forgets to even use it for leverage he’s so out of it, thighs shaking and head thrown back against the wall as he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood.

Hell, he’s so lost in the heavenly feel of your warm mouth he doesn’t even notice the scandalised giggles that ring out before disappearing as not one, but at least three separate couples stumble across you.

[22ayla21]

Hi! First of all I wanted to say that I love your stories. And i have a request as well.

I know how you already wrote about the Amphoreus trio’s reaction to their wife getting flirted with. But how about the opposite, because these men would have fan clubs no doubt. I’d think that the women would know they’re off limite but still, they’re hot. So like imagine a woman just starts to flirt with them while their wife is right there. Would she be used to it by now and let her husband take care of it or just give the woman a death stare/ tell her to fuck off(✨politely✨)

Quiet jealousy

How would his wife react when other girls hit on him.

She never doubts her husband. Mydei is not one of those who cast glances at others, especially when he has her. She knows that he is indifferent to other people's attention and does not tolerate obsession.

If a fan is too persistent, Mydei's wife does not make scenes. She will simply look at her with such a look that the latter will immediately lose the desire to approach. Without words, but extremely eloquently.

She does not even take them seriously. Someone can sigh languidly, looking at her husband, but at the end of the day, it is she who falls asleep in his arms.

If someone dares to go too far and try to touch Mydei, his wife will literally make the rival realize with one phrase ("Are you really that stupid?") that it was a huge mistake.

She does not experience fierce jealousy, but if she sees someone looking too admiringly into her husband's eyes, she can demonstratively take his hand, cuddle up to him, or even give him a kiss, just to show that this is her man.

He does not like fanatical attention. If he sees that his wife is even a little offended by it, he will definitely say something, making it clear that only she is important to him. He can even deliberately lean over and whisper something intimate to her, causing embarrassment and laughter.

Yes, if she really gets tired of someone, then her look will say more than any words. If the fan still does not get the hint - well, let him try to meet a woman who is not afraid to put even Mydei in her place.

The wife knows very well that despite his outward attractiveness and cold aristocratic appearance, Anaxa shows no interest in his fans. He is too rational to waste time on such people, and she understands this. So, jealousy? No, thank you.

If someone crosses the line of what is permitted, starts flirting or, God forbid, touching her husband, she is no longer so calm. Steel appears in her gaze, and an icy warning in her smile.

If someone is too persistent, the wife will not make a scene. She will simply look at the fan in such a way that she will want to disappear. These are not hysterics, not scandals - this is a calm, murderous look, after which the man immediately loses the desire to test her patience.

She does not need to prove anything. She is already his wife, they already have a family. Sometimes it's even funny for her to watch how some try to get his attention, not realizing that it's useless.

But if someone goes too far. For example, if someone decides to question their relationship or says something like "Anaxa's wife? I don't think he's worthy of just one woman...", she will act very decisively. And perhaps Anaxa will have to intervene before his wife sends someone to the hospital.

It's not about insecurity, but about territoriality. She doesn't doubt her husband, but if someone sticks his nose into her family too persistently, he gets a silent but very eloquent warning: "Go to hell."

And Anaxa? He rarely even notices these women. But he likes to see how his wife calmly puts them in their place. Sometimes he even smirks when she gives him another murderous look.

Once he asked her if she was jealous. She just shrugged: "Who could have you but me?" It was not a question, but a fact. And Anaxa agreed with this fact.

Phainon is charming, of course, but his wife is confident in his devotion. She doesn't waste her nerves on jealousy and simply chuckles when someone sighs for her husband.

But if someone goes too far... Admiration is one thing, and outright pestering is another. If some fan starts to behave too persistently, his wife will give her an icy look and calmly but firmly make it clear: "Try again - you'll regret it."

In public, she smiles, remains polite, but as soon as the fan goes too far, her smile becomes predatory: "Oh, you love my husband? How sweet. But, unfortunately, he's mine." She likes to watch Phainon's reaction when someone hits on him. He can play the role of a sweet and polite person, but she knows how much he gets offended by excessive attention, especially when he's married and has three kids.

She can approach Phainon, take his hand or even hug him when someone is staring at him too brazenly. Her look at this moment speaks for itself: "He's mine. Envy him silently." Sometimes he deliberately flirts a little (within the bounds of decency) to see how his wife will react. And when she looks at him with the expression "Are you serious?", he only smirks.

She understands perfectly well that he has his own army of fans, but in the end he always comes home only to her. She is not one of those who are jealous without reason, but if someone dares to seriously try to take her husband away, then the fan will very quickly understand that she has no chance.

In general, she does not worry about his popularity, but if someone is too brazenly pestering - her look says more than any words: "Step aside, girl, while I'm kind."

[inthelibrarybtw]

you want me to pretend? | five

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, college au, smau/irl, inaccurate school system talk

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 0.6k

authors note: we're back, literally. there will be more flashbacks in the future so stay tuned. Also I made a playlist with the songs up to this part.

04 | 05 | 06

Sophomore year - 2022

Statistics. You weren’t the biggest fan of the class, yet you took it every semester of your major. One positive thing this class brought you was Kelce. You and Kelce had met thanks to your moms when you were kids and had also gone to kindergarten together. You had moved houses, and when it was time for elementary school, you belonged to a new district, so you didn’t attend the same one as Kelce. But life brought the two of you back together last year in this very same class. As a freshman, you thought you wouldn’t know anyone, but there was the familiar face with whom you had shared so many memories. Kelce didn’t hesitate to talk to you, and it felt like no time had passed. 

This was supposed to be the second class, but the professor was sick last week, so there was no class. Even if this was the first class, he was already assigning a project. It was small, but it had to be done in groups of no fewer than three people, and those groups would remain for the rest of the semester. 

“You can work with us,” Kelce said. 

“Us who?” you asked, confused; he was alone. 

“He is late; he had an impromptu basketball meeting.” Just as on cue, the guy Kelce had been talking about walked into the class, excusing himself to the professor and standing in front of you. 

“You’re in my seat,” he said in a gentle tone. 

“Well, you weren’t here.” You gave him a little smile and added, 

“I think I can forgive you just because of that smile,” he smirked. 

“Just sit down, Rafe,” Kelce motioned to his friend, and you just stared at him. 

After the class ended, Kelce formally introduced the two of you and mentioned that he would create a group chat to talk when needed. You said goodbye to both and left for your next class.

“So, how long have you known her?” Rafe asked Kelce.

“Since when do you care how long I’ve known someone?”

“Since today,” he paused. “Now answer.” Kelce chuckled.

“Since we were kids; our moms are friends. You would’ve met her if she hadn’t moved away before we started elementary school.”

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”

“Why would I mention it before?… Wait! You liked her,” Kelce laughed as they walked out of class.

“Not to be that guy, but have you seen her? Why wouldn’t I like her?”

“Have some backbone, would you? You don’t even know her.”

“And that’s your fault! Why have you kept her hidden?” Kelce laughed out loud again.

“I haven’t kept her hidden.”

“Do you like her?”

“Calm down, would you? No, I don’t like her. She is pretty, but she’s not my type, and I’ve known her for so long I can’t see her that way.”

“I didn’t know you knew Rafe,” Sarah says as you both make your way inside the coffee shop.  

“I don’t; Kelce introduced us yesterday in statistics class, and now we are working together as a group.”  

“That’s nice. He’s pretty good with numbers.”  

“Good to know. I’m not a big fan,” you said, chuckling softly. “How do you know him?”  

“Oh, he is my cousin. We were born almost at the same time and grew up together,” Sarah smiled.  

“It’s like you are siblings.”  

“Oh, we definitely treat each other like siblings sometimes,” she laughs.  

You both continued talking and decided to order because the guys weren’t showing up, and Ruthie had told you that she was going to be late because she had forgotten to buy groceries. After you two had ordered, you sat and continued talking while scrolling through your phones.

taglist: @zyafics @maybankslover @niaunoffical @marleymarleymarleymarley @rafesbabygirlx @akobx @papercranesandinkstains @drewstarkeyspecs @winterivory @my-name-is-baby @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @drewrry @ursogorgeous13 @pr3tty-pink @lmaowhatt @reeseswirl @xoxosblogsblog @lili-swagalicious @ayy1234567 @rihannamars @congratsloserr @moonywhisp3rs @iamheretoread1234 @rafesdrew @bee-43 @pogueprincesa @cokewithcameron @landososcar @drewstarkeyslover @wintersoldierslover @rafecqmeronslove @defnotayonna if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :) follow and turn on notifications on @inthelibrarybtw-notifs to get updates on everything i write

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.

[222strawberries]

WHAT A WEIGHT PLATEAU REALLY IS

a weight plateau happens due to metabolic adaptation; where you have been in a calorie deficit or doing extreme diets for months without breaks and your weight isn't going anywhere. this is your body's way of protecting you or conserving energy.

a weight plateau is not rare and can happen at any time, especially once your body adapts to a certain intake. but, if you are truly in a calorie deficit, you will lose fat even if the scale shows that you're maintaining your weight.

metabolic adaptation is only a temporary response, if you follow the things down below, you'll most likely see a change and your metabolism will start to improve (with time) !!!

some things you should check if you suspect you might've hit a plateau:

✿ your water intake ❀ some people confuse a weight plateau with water retention. it is EXTREMELY important to note that water retention CAN cause the scale to maintain and can cause you to look "bulky" or "fat". make sure you're staying hydrated and drinking at least 2-4 bottles of water daily !!! i promise there will be a major difference.

✿ start tracking your calories for a few days (if you haven't been doing that already) ❀ this one is obvious. but sometimes we're prone to underestimating our meals or forgetting things we've eaten throughout the day. sometimes it's just out of plain embarrassment, where we're too ashamed to write it down. but it is super important to document everything you've eaten, especially if it's to see if you're truly in a plateau or if it's just miscalculations. if you're not into calorie counting, then portion control can be a good alternative.

✿ start exercising ❀ it doesn't have to be anything extreme, just moving your body might help. it doesn't matter if you get 4k steps or do a 10 minute video, all movement is good movement and might help break your plateau.

✿ while on the topic of exercise, make sure the exercises that you're doing aren't causing muscle gain. ❀ i have pcos and it doesn't help that due to my genetics, i tend to build muscle extremely easily as well. when i do exercises like cycling or leg pilates or any exercise in general that engages one point of muscles too much, they start to appear bulky after a few days and the scale ends up maintaining or going up. i've learned that just walking at a moderate pace is what works best for me and ever since i stopped cycling, the scale started dropping and i've gotten skinnier. with that being said, find out if your exercises are the reason for the scale maintaining, pay close attention to measurements and/or before and after photos, and check for symptoms of pcos if you suspect you have it!

✿ if none of these are the culprit, then it's definitely time for a metabolism/refeed day (or week... or month) ❀ eat somewhere close to your maintenance (TDEE) for a few days and then after some time you can start restricting again… that way your weight on the scale will start dropping.

❀ if you want to avoid these plateaus in the future, it's important to implement at least 1 or 2 metabolism days a week AND follow everything that i mentioned before !!

❀ it should be noted that you do not have to have metabolism days, sometimes they work and sometimes they don't. it honestly just depends on the person. like for me, i've stayed around the same calorie intake since december 2024. i was steadily losing weight until one day the scale kept maintaining in february 2025 despite doing my workouts and being in my deficit. it was only until i started upping my water intake is when the scale started dropping again. i barely had to do any refeed days. however, this isn't guaranteed to work for another person. it all just depends on how your body reacts so do whatever works best for your body ♡

[clearancecreedwatersurvival]

Hi, new to the WOT fandom here! What are the production issues from season 1 that you keep referring to? Thanks!

I'm so glad you're wotching!!!!!!

So when amazon commissioned the show, they originally slated the first season to be 10 episodes. After the team had written the entire season's scripts, Amazon pushed them to do rewrites on certain things and shortened the episode count to 8.

The first episode was supposed to be two episodes, probably ending episode 1 with the start of the trolloc attack and then episode 2 would be them choosing to leave the two rivers and emond's field (their hometown), and they had to shorten that to 1 episode, so the pacing in the first episode ends up really wacky and fast. I'm pretty sad about this because part of what makes the first book effective is the contrast between the sleepy pleasant small town life in emond's field and how that peace is destroyed when the plot intrudes. And I think the change made it harder for new fans to attach themselves to the main gang properly.

They also, after amazon's rewrite requests, changed Perrin's early plot significantly. Originally he was going to accidentally kill his blacksmith master, Master Luhan, and after the rewrites he was given a wife who isn't in the books who gets fridged immediately. I guess amazon thought people would only understand the emotional significance of killing a lover and not a mentor. I really didn't like that choice when I first watched it, but I do think now they're going to do something interesting with the aftermath of the dead wife stuff in Perrin's s3 arc.

The shortened episode count also impacts the pacing of the end of the first season, which also got crunched together a bit. The end of the season also had further problems because covid happened, and the last two episodes were interrupted and had to be filmed after a hiatus and with new covid protocols in place, so the characters can't touch during some key scenes at the end. They had to rewrite the scene where Nynaeve and Egwene almost burn out during the battle of Tarwin's Gap on the day of shooting, and I think the scene is less effective as a result.

Also, one of the main actors was unable to return after lockdowns for possibly covid related health reasons, Barney who played Mat, so that's why it was changed and edited so that he doesn't come into the Ways with them in episode 6, and they also had to rewrite the last two episodes to accomodate his absence and then recast Mat for s2.

As a result of all this, episode 1, 7, and 8 in season one are all a little rough around the edges and a lot of book fans, including me, didn't really like the first season when it was airing. I like it more now upon rewatch now that I can see all the stuff they did manage to set up really well for the long haul of the story, but the first season had a difficult reception when it aired, and I think a lot of people let that less than stellar first impression color their opinion of the show as a whole. Which is unfortunate, because almost all* television shows improve as seasons go on and the team behind the show gets into the groove with it, and this one definitely improves each season.

Season 2 was written with the knowledge that it would only be 8 episodes, and they didn't have any interruptions during filming, so it's significantly better in its pacing.

[kenpachissluut]

You know what? Fuck it. How about headcanons sfw and nsfw with poly! Toji and Naoya?

The strangest thing of all? They're really good husbands.

They were probably both forced to marry same girl because the Zenin clan wanted a new future heir more powerful than any other, but they ended up finding the love of their lives.

It was difficult at first, but while Toji admits he likes watching his wife get fucked by another big cock... Naoya will never admit that.

Maybe in this timeline, not only Toji will leave the clan, but Naoya will too, all for their sweet girl. :')

So that’s a request i absolutely loved to write. I hope i could fulfill your expectations but don’t be so hard on me, i never did a poly fanfic before🫣🩷

Headcanons Naoya & Toji Zenin (Poly Marriage) ꨄ︎

warning: smut fanfiction, explicit content and language, 18+mdni

Toji and Naoya had been forced to marry you both as the Zenin Clan wanted powerful new heirs. You are coming from a powerful clan aswell, that’s why they have choosen you. At first it was weird having two husbands at once, but they soon learned to love you endlessly just like you did, even though you never thought it would be possible to love two men.

Toji and Naoya love to fuck you both in one hole, completely stretching your poor hole out. While Naoya lays on his back with your back pressed on his chest, Toji fucks you from above. It did hurt at the beginning but you soon became accustomed to their fat cocks stretching your poor cunt out on daily basis.

Toji loves watching how Naoya pounds you in every fucking position roughly, while he sits nearby stroking his fat cock at the wonderful sight before him. Naoya would destroy your poor pussy, definitely wanting to show Toji how good he pleasures you, maybe even better than him. For Toji it’s just fucking hot to see you being fucked, while for Naoya it’s just a Competition to show his older cousin that his cock can fuck you better than Toji’s cock.

Toji and Naoya treat you both like a fucking Queen. They worship you and do everything for you. Buying you everything you want, doing everything you ask from them. No matter how perverse or expensive your request‘s are.

Toji and Naoya love to deepthroat you with their fat cocks while you are on your knees taking both their cock in your wet mouth. Deepthroating them like your life depends on them, you spit on their nasty cocks stroking them both and bringing them into ecstasy as soon their huge amount of cum spills everywhere in your mouth and on your face.

Naoya is so jealous when he has to attend meetings and he has to live with the thought how you are being rimmed by Toji. Toji would use that to his advantage, showing you that he is the one who fucks you better as he pounds you in every corner in the house while Naoya is away. He would purposely cum on the sheets a bit, so as soon Naoya comes home he would get out a reaction of him.

Toji and Naoya always fight over you, especially when you Guys want to have a date night out. They would always bicker about on where they want to bring you, while Naoya wants to have action like going to something like a rage room cause he can’t punch toji lol, Toji wants to treat you to a good romantic dinner. You would silently sit there giggling over their indecisive fight.

Toji and Naoya are both kinky as fuck. In this matter, they get along pretty well. They love doing bdsm with you, sometimes soft, sometimes rough. They both love to choke you and show their dominance over you. Sometimes they even love to humiliate you while you are being tied on the bed, tears streaming down your pretty face as they smirk on how desperate and needy you look for their throbbing cocks in your pussy.

Toji and Naoya even convinced you with good arguments to fuck your ass. Alternately switching their cocks in and out your poor holes. While Naoya is being more rougher with your ass, Toji always tries to manage to even make you cum while he fucks your ass. Naoya would be angry as fuck, thinking he can’t pleasure your ass properly. Your favorite position is while they both strong beefy arms hold you up in the air, naoya fucking your pussy while toji pounds your poor ass from behind, but the orgasm you get from it? Holy shit.

Toji and Naoya even would contemplate to leave their clan for you with you. They want to live a normal life with you, treating you like a Queen and making you the happiest woman you‘ll ever be. They would not care about how much of a fight the Clan would put on, they would go to Hell and back for you if they must.

Toji and Naoya obviously love to breed you every fucking day. Switching their cocks in your pussy making you squirt all over them, while each of them would fuck their cum into your womb coating your insides white, hoping they would make you soonly a beautiful mama.

kenpachissluut ꨄ︎

comments and reblogs appreciated ꨄ︎

[little-miss-apple]

Frustrated you rummage through your drawer. You have been looking for your favourite pair of panties everywhere. The laundry basket, the washing machine, the dryer...

This was the fourth pair of panties you had lost over the past two weeks. You started questioning your sanity after the last pair vanished because you definitely remembered throwing it in the laundry with the rest of your clothes.

You sit back, huffing in annoyance. How is this even possible? The other pieces of clothing you wore that day came out perfectly fine. You didn't pack much for this trip to Skyhaven so you'd soon run out of panties if they kept disappearing like this.

For a moment you debate if it could've ended up with Caleb's clean laundry, but the two of you didn't exactly wear the same type of undergarments. He would've noticed and returned them by now, right?

You mentally scold yourself as you slip into his room. You felt stupid for even trying but you were at your wits ends. So when you open his drawer and don't see your panties anywhere, you let out a dry laugh.

"I'm so stupid..." you whisper to yourself as you let yourself fall onto his bed. Your fingers trail over the fabric of his bedding. It still smells like him. He's away a lot these days, saying the fleet is busy.

You close your eyes and pull his pillow to your chest, wanting to feel and hold a semblance of him. The second you open your eyes they fall onto a familiar pattern.

"what the hell...."

Caleb returns home when it's almost midnight. The lights in his apartment are all turned off, so he assumes you went to bed early today. Panic sets off the second he peaks into your room and notices your empty bed.

He frantically calls out your name as he searches high and low, not stopping until he finds you sitting on his bed with dimmed lights and your limbs crossed.

"..you scared me pipsqueak," he says as his breathing regulates "what are you doing in here?"

"can't I be here?" you ask, voice sickingly sweet.

"ofcourse you can, you're always welcome in my room..."

"so, you're not hiding anything or something?"

"no...?" he says in a questioning tone "I usually keep classified documents in my office."

"Then what is this?" you say oh so innocently as you dangle your missing panties on your finger.

shit.

He instantly drops to your feet, still in his fleet uniform, his eyes look almost pleading as he looks up at you.

"I'm sorry, please... I don't know what came over me... I just- I thought I'd keep them for when you leave.. and I'll miss you... but they smelled so nice and like you-"

To be honest, apart from the fact that you were running out of underwear, you didn't really mind. If anything you thought it was kind of adorable in a sick and perverted way. But the way he looks at you, begging for forgiveness for giving into his perverted needs, it does something to you.

What was supposed to be some playful teasing suddenly intertwines with the need to almost punish him, keep him on his knees and make him beg for more.

"never knew you were such a disgusting pervert..." the words sound foreign when they leave your lips and if he was any closer, your speeding heartbeat would betray you.

His eyes grow wide for a moment before he stammers; "I am... I am a disgusting pervert.. you- you should punish me..."

Your heart is pounding harder by the second. You let out a shaky breath as you try to compose yourself.

"put your hands behind your back." you command and he oblidges.

Your foot finds its way to his shoulder and you notice the way his eyes flick to the edge of your skirt. You lean back and allow your foot to drag down his chest slowly, observing the way his breath hitches as you go lower.

"A highly respected colonel turning out to be a sick and deprived puppy for me..."

He nods feverishly.

"I'm your puppy, I'm your puppy.. I'll do whatever you want me to do- please-"

Your foot reaches the bottom of his abdomen and you gently apply pressure to his hard cock. He let's out a strangled groan.

"what did you do with them?"

"w-what?"

"with my panties... what did you do with them?" you apply some more pressure.

"I- I'd smell them... jerk off with them... imagine it was you.... 'cus- 'cus I'm your dirty puppy..."

"... take off my panties."

His dick twitches in his pants and you don't have to tell him twice. His hands eagerly lift your skirt and slip the lace white panties down your legs. His hands tremble as he notices how soaked they are.

"Can I eat you out? Please? please I'll be so good... please?" he begs you, puppy dog eyes almost burning into your soul. How could you ever deny him when he looks at you like that?

You nod, giving him the green light. You are instantly tackled as he grabs your thighs and pulls you to the edge of the bed like an eager puppy. His mouth immediately flies to you clit, sucking and licking it like a starved man.

Your hands fly to his hair, tugging it as you let out a surprised yelp. He hungrily laps your pussy, taking anything you're willing to give him.

"you taste so good..." he says, voiced muffled. He sounds like a drunk man, completely intoxicated by your juices. You can almost hear the way his eyes roll back in his head.

He puts his tongue flat against you, licking stripes from your opening to you clit, sucking the bundle of nervers when he comes near it. Your ankles lock behind his head as you desperately try to pull him impossibly closer.

You don't think you've ever came this hard before. The blissful release so strong that it leaves your whole world spinning as you arch your back of the bed and gasp for air. When you regain some strength, you look down, meeting his eyes that look oh so drunk on you, eyes hazy but still focused on you.

Shakily you sit up on the edge of the bed, forcing him to detach himself from your core. His lips are glossy with your juices as he looks up at you.

"did I do well?"

"yeah... so well..." you say, still breathless. "my good puppy..."

His eyes sparkle at your words of affirmation. He lunges towards you, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He starts to unbutton his uniform while the your lips are still connected.

"what are you doing?" you ask bewildered when you break away from him.

"you won't leave your puppy like this, right?" he says referring to the massive tent in his uniform pants. Before you can answer, your back is pushed against the bed and he's hovering over you, dog tags brushing over your collar bones.

"and we'll get you more underwear tomorrow, I promise..."

(( thank you @mcdepressed290 for the prompt! it's not very good but I actually really enjoyed writing a more subby caleb! my degradation skills definitely need some work though...))

[fearlesschimera]

Can I just start by saying WOW?🥹 Once again, what a roller coaster for my feelings, friend😭😭 I loved this chapter from beginning to end🥺♥️♥️

Roman terrorizing the poor nurses at the hospital is exactly what I was waiting for since the last chapter 😂😂 I was sure he would be a nightmare for whoever had the LUCKY pleasure of having him as a patient😂

I was worried that Solana might have some sort of regret for her actions, but I’m glad she doesn’t. I love this new side of her, especially the fact that she knows who she is—she knows her rightful place as the Tribal Chief's wife. It’s such a powerful thing, and I love that for her!

And something else I freaking loved was how much she resembled Roman in the way she took care of everything while he was recovering—she became him, in a way. The fact that she has a relationship with both Dwayne and Matteo, not just by extension, but on her own... and even has a secret handshake with them 😂

She handled business with the freaking cartel on her own, just like her husband would. She took care of her unborn twins, made sure her husband received the best possible care, came up with a plan so they could disappear for the moment... she is POWERFUL in her own Solana way, and that's so cool!♥️

But in all this mess, I don’t think she has taken the proper time to process everything that happened to her, because she was too focused on Roman, or Emma, Brandi, Rikishi, Jey, Samantha, escaping, staying alive... it’s too much. She’s used to pain, but it’s still too much!

And the same goes for Roman—he’s been through a lot, and for someone like him, it’s even more difficult because he tends to be more closed off, despite the improvements thanks to Solana and Lita as well!

And this separation is not what they need right now. In most cases, codependence isn’t good, but for them, it works—and that’s why this is going to be hell for both of them.

But why do I have the feeling that it’s going to be much worse for him? I think he’s going to miss Solana so much... too much. And this distance will unleash hell on earth—I’m sure of it!

The goodbye scene made me sob like a baby, it was heartbreaking💔 But I understand his decision; even if it’s painful, it’s the right thing. Still, I hope they’ll be together soon, friend 🥺😭

One last thing, but definitely not the least... I’m happy Jey is alive🥺 I can’t be fully mad at him🥺 I’m very sad about Nikki—she didn’t deserve to die for nothing.

I’m really curious to see what Roman is going to decide about him and what’s going to happen with poor Jimmy 🥺🥺

I’m so sorry for this VERY long comment, but I needed to say a few things, friend... as you can see 😂♥️

looking through your eyes + thirty seven

authors note: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

massive thank you to the lovely @proceduralpassion for assisting me with the medical logistics and jargon for this one! ❤️

warnings: angst

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

chapter song inspo: 'photograph' by ed sheeran

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

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 15k

Loving can heal Loving can mend your soul

-----

Roman doesn’t like hospitals. 

Never has. 

For obvious reasons.

But, what he hates more than most things, of all things, is being out of control.

Being out of the loop.

Not knowing what’s going on.

And Roman very much has little idea just what the hell is going on.

It takes him a few seconds—much too long—to orient himself to his environment. A room. A hospital room. Large window to the left of him, blinds partially open, allowing slivers of light to shine though, indicating it’s daytime. A TV anchored on the wall in front of him playing what looks like a soap opera of some sorts, though even with the low volume, he can tell it’s not in English.

It’s in Spanish. 

Turning to his head from left to right reveals two things, one of them being his body is sore as shit, his left shoulder in a sling, and the second being that he’s hooked up to machines, an IV in his right arm.

It’s that single movement that allows the memories to start trickling in.

Single notes of recollection.

Betrayal. 

Rescue.

Solana.

The last one is enough to force Roman to bypass his physical pain as he sits up with a newfound sense of urgency.

And anger.

Where the fuck is his wife?

A call button is a waste of fucking time, and he has no intentions on using it. He has to find her himself. Roman is gathering and quickly brainstorming a way to unplug all these annoying fucking things hooked up to him when he hears footsteps. Head snapping, he’s met with a smiling young woman, dressed in scrubs.

“You’re awake,” she greets, her accent thick and Central American sounding. “How do you—”

“Where’s my wife?”

Straight to the point. Harsh.

She falters with a response. “Sir, I—”

“Answer the fucking question,” Roman sneers, because he doesn’t have time for the shit. He needs to know where Solana is, and he needs to know now. 

“Mr. Reigns, please just calm down—” 

“WHERE IS SHE!”

The woman jumps back, calling out something in Spanish. Roman ignores her, ready to rip the anchors off that prevent him from seeing the one and only person he wants to see right now. The person he needs to see. 

However, as a number of other nurses, medical professionals fill the room, Roman finds himself escalating from angry to furious. They’re trying to restrain him.

Him.

Male nurses, or security, not that it makes a fucking difference, have the audacity to try to hold him down.

Even with his limited strength, it doesn’t take much for the incensed Tribal Chief to shove them away. To get them the fuck off and away from him.

Someone shouts something in Spanish, Roman catching a needle out the corner of his eye. He’s fully prepared to knock it away, recognizing it’s most likely a sedative of some sorts. 

But, he doesn’t have to. 

“Hey!”

A voice he could pick out in even the largest, most boisterous crowd.

Solana

She shoves her way past the group, barking something in Spanish that forces them all to disperse like she’d splashed them with something scalding and burning. And maybe she had with whatever she said.

She switches back to English, informing with a sense of irritation, “he’s looking for me.”

Always.

But, just as quickly as she was scowling, her gaze shifts to something else entirely. Warm, comforting, and loving.

“I’m right here,” she murmurs, coming and sitting on the side of his bed. Roman’s eyes shut naturally the minute she reaches to cup his face, fingers gently pushing back some of his hair. “I’m here, mi amor. It’s okay.”

Solana says something else in Spanish that causes the staff to leave, the door closing of the door signifying the unwanted parties have all departed.

It’s just them.

“Sol….”

“I’m okay, Roman,” she says it again, somehow, someway already knowing it’s what he needs. Part of what he needs. But, the partial adjective is only temporarily applicable as she brings his hand to her stomach. He opens his eyes. “We’re okay.”

There’s something immensely healing about those two words. Something heavily and highly relieving. A tightness in Roman’s chest he didn’t realize he was experiencing instantly diminished. 

“I had to get stitches in the back of my head, and my pressure was a little high, but it’s stabilized now, and that was expected given…..” She trails off, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine. The girls are fine.” A small, sad smile on her face. “Their heartbeats still nice and strong.”

More relieving, comforting information as Roman allows himself to take in his wife’s appearance. She’s wearing a white flowy dress, sleeveless, cleavage slightly on display. Her hair is pulled up and back with a clip, highlighting her face that’s bare of makeup. The scar across her left eye has never been something he’s ever really paid much attention to, never taken away from her ethereal beauty, but the bruise and slight cuts on her face do. They remind him of just what happened.

“Solana—”

“Not right now,” she dismisses. Solana continues to push back his hair, fingers traveling and massaging his scalp. “Your recovery is what matters most right now. We can….we can discuss other things later.”

It doesn’t necessarily align with what they’d previously agreed on as a couple. Not pushing off needed and required conversations, though Roman can understand why, in this particular instance, she’s preferring to wait.

This conversation is much bigger than anything they ever had. 

The sound of the TV serving as background noise returns to audible territory, as Roman also considers the way Solana spoke in Spanish to the medical staff she forced out. 

The way majority of them seemed to speak Spanish.

Curious, he asks, “where am I?”

She answers in Spanish. He only makes out a single word that sounded a lot like ‘hospital.’ “Mexico.” Roman doesn't have much of a reaction to that. He’d started to put two and two together. Just needed her to confirm as such. “After they….” She trails off, eventually clearing her throat. “Roman….”

He studies her, sensing there’s something she’s not saying. “What?”

Solana drops her hand to his, pressing her lips together before taking a deep breath. “Everyone thinks we’re dead.”

And, the surprises just keep on coming. "What?"

She sighs, clearly ready and willing to explain what's objectively a wild ass response when another voice interrupts.

“It’s part of the plan." Roman looks past Solana to see none other than his older cousin, Dwayne. And he's not alone. Matteo stands beside him, both dressed almost casually with slack pants and short sleeved shirts. Minimal cuts on their faces but nothing outside the norm.

Dwayne smirks, as the two men walk into the room. “Not even up for a good ten minutes, and you’re already causing a scene.”

Roman chuckles, seeing the small smile on his wife's face. "You know I don't like being kept out of the loop."

"Maybe you shouldn't have slept so long." Matteo's voice is both serious and teasing, a playful gleam in his eyes as he easily melts back into business mode. "To the world, you bled out on the operating table, dying from injuries sustained during the rescue mission."

"And Solana," Dwayne takes over, the faintest hint of regret in his voice. Performative. "—passed away due to injuries sustained from her torture while in captivity."

Chilling words that create a grisly mental image. Roman has to push that scary alternative from his mind. The alternative to how this all could have turned out.

"Once they got you stable enough, we transferred you here to avoid detection of the truth," Matteo explains, motioning to Solana. "That part was actually Solana's idea."

Roman looks over at his wife, partially surprised, though he shouldn't be. He knows Solana can be insecure at times about not having an education beyond high school, but that doesn't mean shit, because she's easily one of the smartest people he's ever met.

"Yeah?"

She nods, looking back over at the other two men. "After they told me about the….help from…from the Cartel, I just figured…" She trails off, changing the subject a little bit. "We can talk about that later. You need to focus on recovering." She brings her hand to his forehead, as if checking his temperature. "How are you feeling?" She doesn't wait for a response, easily shifting back into caretaker mode. "You need to let the doctor examine—"

"I'm fine, Sol." Roman dismisses, prompting a snort from Dwayne's melon head ass.

"Says the man laid up in a hospital bed."

Solana rolls her eyes. A playful thing. She then gently points out, "it's only been two days."

At that, Roman stills. He's been out for two whole days?

His surprise must be visible, prompting Solana to share in a quiet voice. "You lost a lot of blood, Ro."

"And you had to have surgery to remove the bullet," Matteo shares. "And a laparotomy for where you were stabbed."

Roman makes a quiet sound. That explains the discomfort in his abdomen and why his shoulder is fucking throbbing and in this goddamn sling. The last time he had to have a bullet surgically removed, he was almost twenty years younger.

Thus, he'd forgotten how annoying the aftermath portion is.

Solana suddenly moves to stand up from the bed, Roman unable to miss the way her dress falls against her stomach, showcasing her bump. It might be whatever meds he's on, but he can almost swear it looks more pronounced than he remembers.

"I know you guys need to talk, and I have somewhere to be anyway."

At that, the attention is refocused from her baby bump to what she just said. "Somewhere to be?" Roman sits up a bit in bed, gritting from the sharp pain that shoots through his body.

"Careful," Solana cautions, moving back to his side. One hand is on his forearm, the other back on his forehead, as if checking for his temperature again. "You have stitches."

"Where are you going?"

Solana sighs and answers his question while also not answering his question. "I'm not leaving the hospital. Just….going to the chapel."

The chapel? Roman is even more confused than he was before, though confusion is easily outweighed by concern. There's a certain something that fills his chest at the thought of her leaving again, at being out of his watchful eye.

Like, he's scared for her to leave his side.

And in some ways….he just might be.

"Solana, what's going on?"

She continues to look unsure of how to respond, and he's not exactly sure why, because he all he wants is the truth.

"Domingo Lopez has…..requested a meeting."

At that, Roman closes his eyes.

This….this is why he can't be out of commission for too long. Cause, it's always something.

"Why the fuck didn't ya'll say anything sooner?" He tries to shift again, forcing Solana's hand back down to her side. "What time—"

"Roman," Matteo interrupts, arms crossed, expression even. "It wasn't for you."

Roman frowns. "What?" This shit keeps getting weirder, or either these meds are fucking with his mental. "Then wh—"

"Me," Solana supplies, forcing her husband's gaze on her. "He wants to meet with me. Him and his wife."

"By yourself?" Roman can't even focus on the shock of that plot twist. He's too stuck on the fact this wife is about to meet with one of the dangerous men in this side of the modern world. Alone. "Hell n—"

"Ro," she interrupts, sighing before attempting to explain. "From what I hear….this man is on our side. He helped us. He helped you." Roman has nothing to say to that, because there's nothing to say. Solana is right. That's not surprising though. She usually is. "He means us no harm. If that were the case, he wouldn't still be helping us."

Dwayne offers an explanation for the question Roman doesn't even get a chance to ask. "There's no one on this floor but you, brotha'. And Lopez must have men patrolling the floor, hospital, and hell, probably up the street and round the corner, too."

Roman would love to find a reason to find argument and protest, to point out a flaw in said explanation but none can really be found. Dwayne's information adds another tally to Solana's growing reasons why there's no objectively good reason why she can't attend this meeting on her own.

No danger appears to be present.

But, Roman also believed before that no danger was present, and look where it got him.

"I'll be fine, Roman," she reminds, leaning over and kissing his forehead. "I promise."

She steps back and cups his cheek at the same time a knock on the door pulls Roman from the moment, forces his defenses to go back up. Except, they're only slightly lowered when he sees it's a woman.

Dressed almost casually, it's clear she's not a nurse or anyone on the medical staff at the hospital. That's confirmed merely by the fact that there's a gun on her hip, secured in a holster. However, that also immediately raises his defenses.

Especially when he sees she's looking directly at Solana. She says something in Spanish, short and brief.

Solana nods, replying in the same language, prompting the nameless woman to nod, hands behind her, standing at attention almost.

"That's Stephanie," Solana offers, already knowing her husband continues to be full of question. "She's been….assigned to me while you've been recovering."

It's easy enough for the Tribal Chief to read behind the lines. A personal guard. This Stephanie person has been assigned as Solana's personal guard.

From the Gulf Cartel.

"I won't be long," Solana reiterates once more, gently squeezing his hand before walking away. It's not missed upon Roman how his wife shares some sort of secret handshake type shit with both Dwayne and Matteo as she departs, the later saying something to her in Spanish that has her giggling.

What the….fuck?

Just how long has he been out?

---------

Solana wasn't nervous when she was informed Domingo Lopez and his wife wanted to meet and talk with her.

She wasn't nervous, because it was hard to be nervous about meeting the man who, in a lot of ways, saved her life.

Saved Roman's life.

Because in the two days that have passed since the daunting rescue mission, she's learned a lot. Learned how the leader of the biggest and oldest crime syndicate in Mexico happens to be the father of the sweet little girl she befriended all those months ago.

Aurora. Aurora Lopez happens to be the daughter of Domingo Lopez, a man who, she's also learned, seems to think very highly of her. Believed he owed her a debt for her act of kindness towards his little girl.

A small, insignificant thing that may have saved everything Solana has worked so hard to build.

His assistance. The men. The manpower. The protection. It's all so overwhelming and unexpected, so to deny him a simple meeting seemed wrong almost.

Because, the way she sees it, Solana now owes him a debt she's not sure can ever be repaid.

Dwayne and Matteo had been wise to request medevacs, two in particular, wisely anticipating serious to grave injuries. And that's exactly what Roman had experienced. She tries not to think too much about the way the doctor essentially confirmed if not for the air ambulance transporting him to the ICU in the time that they did, he would have bled out, as he'd been stabbed right where a large artery sits.

Roman would have died.

And, that's something she can't think about.

But, she can think about the man who allowed those preparations to be a reality.

And that man is Domingo Lopez.

Solana walks into the chapel, partially surprised to see them already there and waiting. A man and woman. One she recognizes from a prior meeting. The other doesn't really need an introduction.

Elena stands, a warm smile on her face. "Solana." Solana is partially taken back when the woman initiates a hug, but it doesn't take long for her to reciprocate it. "I'm so happy you're okay."

Solana closes her eyes.

So is she.

Elena pulls back, only to look down. She gasps quietly, looking back up. "You're pregnant?"

Solana nods with a small smile. "I am."

Apprehension crosses her face. "Is he or she…."

"They're okay," Solana answers. "Twins."

Elena gasps again, taking Solana's hand and gently squeezing it. "Congratulations."

Naturally, Solana's free hand falls to her baby bump. "Thank you."

It's a strange, somewhat unfamiliar thing. Not even a full three days ago, Solana's prayer was that she could manage to keep her pregnancy a secret from all until Roman could rescue her or she could escape.

Now, she finds herself sharing it with a woman she's only met once before and a man who she's only meeting for the first time but one she owes so much to.

Life is so strange sometimes.

Domingo stands up, coming to stand beside his wife. He offers his hand. "Solana, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Solana swallows, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. Nevertheless, she powers through, accepting his handshake. "I—I don't know what to say." Because, she really doesn't. "Thank you seems too….too insignificant."

It does. Though any other similar word also feels not strong enough for the depth of her gratitude.

He, however, protests. "That's unnecessary."

She shakes her head, lightly protesting. "You helped save my family's life….that's far from unnecessary."

Domingo says nothing, just motions for her to sit down on the first set of pews directly in front of the alter. Solana takes the one on the right, while Domingo and Elena sit on the pew opposite her.

"I take it your recovery continues to go well." It's a statement that's more so conveyed as a question.

"Yes," Solana answers, pushing back some of her hair. "Thankfully, I—I didn't have many injuries." A blessing, truly, because what scared Solana the most as she received medical treatment was the moment the transducer was placed on her stomach to check on them.

To check on her babies.

True fear has never been experienced like in the moments where it was silent, the strange almost beeping sounds she always heard at her check-up appointments non-existent.

Easily, one of the scariest moments of her life.

And, then she heard it.

The first heartbeat. Not even a full minute later, the second heartbeat.

Just as strong as every other time.

That was the first time Solana broke down. That she sobbed, overcome with all the emotions. Filled to the brim with the feels that accompanied her kidnapping, holding Roman and begging him to cling to life, not knowing if he could, and finally, knowing that she'd been successful.

She's protected her girls.

She'd saved them.

A few crying sessions have happened since, lingering feelings following an undeniably traumatic event but nothing major. Nothing that has her feeling on the edge, and Lord knows she's felt as such before.

"And, I hear that husband of yours is also awake."

A great sense of pride and relief fills her at that. "He is." She doesn't offer anything more, not knowing just how much Roman would like disclosed about his personal recovery.

"That's good," Domingo nods, taking a noticeable pause. "I suppose…I suppose you're wondering why I've asked to meet with you." He gestures between himself and his wife. "Why we have asked to meet with you."

Solana does her best to remain visibly undeterred by him sharing that previously unknown piece of information. She didn't know Elena also wanted to meet with her.

"Yes." That's all she says. All she offers. All she knows how to say.

Elena takes over. "Aurora, our daughter, as I told you before, she really does like you and….and she talks to you." There's an undeniable sadness in her eyes. "More…more than she talks to us."

"The journal you gave her helps a lot. Helps out a tremendous amount," Domingo shares. "She….she will bring it to us and let us read it sometimes if she wants us to know something."

Elena looks down, playing with her fingers. "That….that's how we found out about….her struggles."

Solana frowns. "Struggles?" She recalls her abuela mentioning Aurora's parents argued a lot and that impacted her, as it would any child, but Solana has the sense that's not what Elena is referring to.

Elena continues, her voice softer than it's been the entire conversation. "Aurora was….she was having thoughts about wanting to hurt herself."

Solana's stomach drops. "What?"

Of all the struggles that could be happening, that was certainly the last on her list.

"She thought….she thought if she was dead, Elena and I would be happier. That we….we wouldn't argue as much." Domingo continues, hurt evident in his brown eyes. "Ever since then, we've been really good about not arguing in front of her, spending more time with her, and making sure she knows how much we love her."

It's a heartbreaking thing to hear. While Solana is pleased to hear Aurora's parents are taking her suicidal ideation seriously, it also devastates her to see another little girl go through the same thing she did.

Crushing.

"We have found her a therapist, and she seems to like her well enough," Elena supplies, her voice filled with a small hint of hopefulness. "But, Aurora really seems to trust and open up with you." She looks at her husband before focusing back on Solana. "We….we want her to have someone she can talk to, even if it's not us."

And just like that, without it even being asked directly, Solana knows why they requested this meeting. Why they wanted to speak to her. What they're asking of her.

Domingo must see it too. "We don't expect you to share anything with us," he clarifies. "It wouldn't be fair to put you in that position or make Aurora feel like you're reporting back to us." He pauses for a second. "We just want her to have support and be able to confide in the safe right people."

"A mentor," Elena finally provides the word Solana was thinking. They want her to mentor Aurora. "And, I know it won't be conventional, because you live in America, and we live here, but she has a phone and—and an iPad, and we've even discussed visiting America at one point, so maybe…."

She trails off as Domingo motions to Solana's stomach. "I recognize you and Roman will be busy preparing for the birth of your children, but if you would consider—"

"I want to ask you something."

Domingo gives her a pointed look. In some ways, he reminds her of Roman. Offering and showing just what he wants her to know. Nothing more. A smart business tactic, that, just like her husband, has taken him far.

Obviously.

"Not….not to cut you off, because I deeply appreciate you sharing this with me, but I also….I also have something to ask of you."

The timing feels so off, Solana thought about possible ways to bring it up, how to go about it and whatnot. The certainly feels like not the best way, but it's also, for whatever reason, feels like the right time to say it.

Like a gut feeling.

She just prays her gut isn't wrong.

He finally asks, clearly wanting to ensure accurate, proper understanding. "So, if I say yes to whatever this request is, you'll help Aurora?"

"No," Solana answers immediately. "I'll help her no matter what your answer is."

A floored look from both husband and wife. It prompts her to elaborate.

"Because that's who I am." Solana answers in a small yet powerful voice. One hand on her stomach, she continues, speaking from the heart. "I helped Aurora before because I wanted to. Because I saw a lot of myself in her. And sadly…." Solana shares her inner wrists where faded but visible scars remain. "She's a lot more like me than I realized."

Truth be told, the minute they started to disclose some of Aurora's struggles, Solana was devising ways to help the little girl. Before she even knew that's exactly what her parents were wanting.

So, regardless of what the response is to her request, Solana's answer remains the same.

Yes.

Solana brings her hands back to her lap, reorienting to the conversation as Elena responds in a soft voice. "I understand." She swallows, asking on behalf of her husband. "What is your request?"

A deep breath is taken as Solana straightens her posture, falling into that assertive, professional space. "I plan to open up a domestic violence shelter back home. A place….a refuge for women and children seeking sanctuary from dangerous situations." Solana's gaze drops as done her tone just an octave. "My….mother was killed trying to get us out of that situation, and I…." She swallows. "It's an important cause to me, and I—I have to do it. For her, and for all the other women and children out there that I used to be."

With no objection or question posed, Solana transitions to the portion that specifically regards the couple across from her. "My mother was Mexican. Isla Mujeres was her home. My abuela still lives there." Hand to her belly, a small smile on her face, she shares, "I intend for my girls to have roots there as well, which is why I want to also build a shelter there."

Solana shifts in her seat, offering additional information. "Roman has pledged Bloodline support and financial backing for the one I want to build back home." Naive or not, Solana, despite what has happened, has very little concern that the empire her husband has built up and led over the years won't back out. That the kinks this attempted coup created won't be ironed out by the time she's ready to officially start this project. "But, the one here…."

Another deep breath followed by the plot point. "I don't need financial support, but the shelter will need protection."

Recognition dawns in Domingo's eyes. "You want the Gulf Cartel to provide that protection."

Not a hint of stuttering or stammering. "Yes."

Solana worked hard over her proposal, over how she planned to present her very big ask of this man. Perhaps too big of an ask considering everything he's already done. Already provided. For a brief second, she wonders if she's gone too far. If she's overstepped.

It creates a newfound sense of anxiety.

She opens her mouth, unsure of just how, but planning to backtrack slightly. Or, maybe to just let him know that focusing on her pregnancy is the priority, along with getting enrolled in school, and the building of her and Roman's house.

To tell him that an answer isn't necessarily needed right now.

But, she doesn't get the chance.

"Alright."

She stills. "Alright?"

Domingo lifts his chin. "You build your shelter, and the Gulf Cartel will provide you any backing, protection and financial, that you require."

Solana scoffs in disbelief. Her hands go over her mouth as she works to hold back the tears. To remain as professional and collected as possible. For something that came to her out of nowhere, for her to propose it to such a man, such a couple, and for it to be received and accepted? It's….more than she could have imagined and hoped for.

Solana nods and takes a deep breath. "Thank you." For it all. "Thank you so much."

Elena offers a warm smile and nod while Domingo only looks at her, eventually making a sound and sharing. "I like you, Solana." He shifts in his seat. "You tell The Tribal Chief to focus on a speedy recovery and not to worry too much about that meeting we intend to have. It'll all be formalities anyway." Solana works hard to maintain a neutral expression, though she's filled with some questions regarding his words. He chuckles, studying her with what almost looks like admiration. "Reigns has got one hell of a woman standing beside him."

---------

A couple days later following that meeting with Domingo and Lopez, Solana finds herself in another one of sorts. But, with family this time. And, in a cleared out hospital cafeteria versus the chapel.

Afia's smile is broad and genuine. Her hand on Solana's stomach moving around freely with a sense of awe. "I told you the bump would just appear one day and just keep growing and growing."

Truer words have never been spoken.

Solana continues to find herself filled with amazement every day she wakes up and notices just the slightest of changes with her bump. The way each morning seems to greet her with something new. Before, it was just slightly noticeable, but as the days past, she finds that deepening and increasing. The swell and roundness increasing.

It fills her with such joy.

"I still can't believe you're actually pregnant," Bayley chimes, a look of disbelief on her face as she also reaches over to feel on Solana's baby bump.

"I'm sorry I kept it from you," Solana finds herself apologizing. Having Bayley find out the way she did, feeling Solana's bump as they embraced tightly while being reunited at the hospital back home couldn't be farther away from how she wanted to break the news to her.

To everyone.

"We just….it was a safety thing, but we also had a scare—"

"Solana," Bayley interrupts. "It's okay. I understand."

Solana studies her expression, waiting and watching for any indication otherwise. She finds none.

It's so deeply appreciated.

All of it.

"I—" Solana finds herself struggling to verbalize what she hasn't necessarily had the time or mental space to express. To share. "It means….I don't think I can ever thank you both enough for what you did."

Because while Solana's head has been so many different places since everything went down, and she's felt like, knows that she hasn't had time to really process everything, one thing that cannot be denied is how these women showed up.

So many people did, and Solana fully intends to have everyone over at the house as a sort of celebration when the dust settles, but until then, all she can do is verbally express her undying gratitude.

"You both risked your lives…" Solana trails off, the emotion building. What occurred was more than enough to evoke strong emotions, but the added layer of pregnancy hormones have most definitely made Solana just a bit more sensitive to a lot of things lately. Especially this. "And, I don't know how to thank you."

"You don't have to," is Afia's soft dismissal. "You're my family, Solana, and I know that must be a sensitive subject given what occurred, but my definition of family equates loyalty."

"Exactly," Bayley agrees, reaching to take Solana's hand in hers. "There was no way in hell we weren't going to help get you back."

Solana swallows. It's so overwhelming in the best sort of way. To know so many people came together, came to help Roman, to help her. To save her. Not even taking a second to consider it. Consider the dangers.

It's baffling and almost unreal how in under a year she's gone from feeling and being alone to having a mountain of support behind her.

A family.

But, as moving as the thought is, something else comes to mind. Something Solana has thought about since their arrival in Mexico City.

Naomi and Jimmy.

From what she's heard from both of the women across from her, as well as Dwayne and Matteo, they weren't involved. Had no idea what was being planned until the attack at the library.

Innocent.

They're innocent.

But, as much as Solana would like to say that grants her a tremendous amount of comfort, it doesn't. There's some solace to be found, but it's outweighed by the concern and anxiety. The unknown of what happens now.

Because, while they had nothing to do with what happened, they, more Jimmy than anything, are so close to it. It was Jimmy's immediate family that tried to kill her.

Tried to kill Roman.

Her chest tightens ever so slightly.

They haven't had much time to talk about it, what with Solana wanting her husband to focus on his physical recovery, but she's so lost as to what that especially is going to look like.

Jimmy is innocent. So is Naomi, but how will her husband ever learn to separate them from what occurred? All that hurt. All that betrayal. The trauma.

Not to mention how the other side will feel.

Will Jimmy even want to continue a relationship with the people who are partially responsible for the death of his immediate family members?

How does that even work?

Will it work?

"I'm sorry you're in the middle of this," Solana finds herself apologizing directly to her cousin. "I….I hate that you are."

She truly does. Naomi and Bianca have been best friends for years. Since high school, and to suddenly be in a position where she's lying and keeping secrets from someone who's also like a sister. Solana hates it.

She really fucking hates it.

Bayley's flash with something akin to hurt. "It's not your fault, Solana."

"I know it isn't," she frowns. "But, I still…." She sighs, leaning back in the chair, hand to her belly. "I want to make things right….we have to."

What exactly that entails, Solana isn't sure. She just knows that there's one bumpy ass road ahead, not even including the massive hill that is Roman's to process and work through.

She knows this whole thing has fucked with him in so many ways. Reverted him back in others, and if there was any doubt about that, or just how much it's messed with him, it was squashed last night.

And the night before that.

The reason, reasons, that despite his protest, she's stayed overnight with him in the hospital.

He doesn't need to be alone. That much….that much she knows for certain.

"And, we will," Afia's confident assertion pulls Solana from dark and heavy thoughts. She reaches for both her and Bayley's hand, nodding with all the assurance. "Together."

----------

Leaving her meeting with Afia and Bayley to return to Roman's hospital room, Solana expects to be met with the usual. Medical staff passing by offering small smiles, an occasional verbal greeting, and armed guards who stand at attention at all times.

The usual.

What she doesn't except, however, is the sight that meets her. A few feet away from his room, a frown falls on Solana's face when she sees the nurse exiting said room with tears spilling down and a scowl on her face.

Also frowning, Solana jogs over to the woman, managing to catch her attention. "What's wrong?"

Solana speaks in Spanish, recognizing it's a bit easier for most.

The woman shakes her head. "'He fired me."

At that, Solana's jaw drops. "He what?"

She scoffs, apologizing, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Reigns, but your husband is…." She trails off, not finishing her sentence, instead offering. "I'll alert the charge nurse a new nurse needs to be assigned to him."

"Wait," Solana is unable to finish her sentence, the woman walking off. Blowing out a breath, Solana curses quietly to herself and marches into the room. "Roman, what did you do now?"

He's sitting in the hospital bed looking just as miserable and irritated as he looked when she left him a little over an hour ago. "She sucked. Kept fucking bothering me. I told her to get the fuck out."

She closes her eyes.

This man…

"I can't leave you alone for five minutes without you causing a scene. You're like a petulant child sometimes, I swear—" Solana stops herself mid rant in Spanish. One of many she's had to give this grown ass man during his not-even-that-long stint here. She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, switching back to English, voice almost coaxing. Like talking to a child. "Baby….she was doing her job." Because, she has no doubt that poor woman was just doing rounds. "That was the fourth nurse you've ran off in the past two days, Roman."

"They should hire better nurses then." Is his haughty argument, as he doubles down on his one star rating. "The care here sucks."

Solana tilts her head back, calling on the Lord for His continued patience. "Roman, Médica Sur is the best hospital in all of Mexico. It doesn't get better than this."

Truthfully. Honestly. The care team here, despite her husband's beliefs, have been nothing but stellar offering him only the best of treatment despite him 1000% not reciprocating it in any way.

Love him or not, Solana prays that when she finally finishes school and enters the nursing field, she never has a patient like her husband.

Ever.

Of course, her words go in one ear and out the other. "Then they should up their fucking standards."

Solana blows out a deep breath and says nothing. She loves her husband more than anything, but he can be impossible at times. Walking over, she checks his IV bag seeing that it's full. She sighs, "at least you let her change it out for you."

"She sucked at that, too. I don't want anymore fucking medication," he complains as Solana circles his bed and sits down on his right side. "I don't want to be here anymore."

"I know, Roman, but…" She takes his hand, bringing it to her mouth for a soft kiss. "Just a couple more days." Her gaze falls to his abdomen, curious about the scar that's surely left behind from his laparotomy. She then asks, partially wanting to change the subject, "have Dwayne and Matteo spoken with you about what happens when you're discharged?"

He answers almost quietly. "Yeah."

When he says nothing else, she fills the silence. "So…you know we'll be staying—"

"Yeah."

Nothing else is said, though something else is felt. Solana can't necessarily explain it, but feels like there's an unspoken thing her husband is not sharing. She knows that it was decided she and Roman would stay in Mexico to allow him to continue to recover, as well as continue to allow time to pass for people back home to show true colors as it pertained to the coup and "fall" of the Roman Empire.

Allow the traitors and those who do not need to remain with the Bloodline to be revealed and dealt with appropriately.

Something clearly discussed and he's aware of, but it feels like there's more. Something she's not aware of.

Something he's not telling her.

"Ro—"

"Solana," he cuts her off, and right away, she knows she's in for a difficult conversation. It's the way he's looking away, not focused on her, but his hand remaining locked with hers, his thumb moving over her knuckles. "I need to know what happened in there."

Her chest instantly tightens.

She knows exactly what he's referring to.

It's something she's dreaded from the moment he held her after saving her.

Solana licks her lips. "Roman, I don't think—"

"Sol." He finally looks at her, and one look at him is all Solana needs to fully understand he's not letting it go. "I need to know."

She questions that. Questions if it's truly need. But, regardless of her speculation, one thing they've been trying to do is be honest with each other. Because, nothing good came out of them keeping secrets.

Something she hopes he keeps in mind regarding whatever he's not telling her.

"We…." She closes her eyes, head down. "We were kept in a small room for the most part. Myself and Brandi. They….they kept Emma somewhere else."

Of all the things that Solana has wondered about since everything that went down, one of the things she made sure to inquire about was the safety of those on the right side. Especially Brandi and Emma.

And especially after learning of the explosion that claimed so many lives.

That has destroyed families forever.

A bittersweet thing given Brandi, Emma, and no one on Roman's side/team were among those lives lost, but to the other ones that were lost…

Solana swallows. "Rikishi…he came and talked to me. It was more him gloating and trying to make me feel small and insignificant. He said I was….stupid and uneducated and….other things." Solana shakes her head, a bitter scoff on the tip of her tongue. The same woman who he taunted and mocked cruelly was the same one who causes him to take his last breath. "After that…." It's a difficult task, to say the least. Solana wants to be honest with her husband, but she also knows just why he's asking her this.

"Roman, this wasn't your fault, ba—"

"Tell me."

Him ignoring her isn't entirely surprising. It does hurt a little bit though, for sure.

"Brock was there," she finally decides that ripping the band-aid off is the only way to go. There is no good way to explain this to him. Solana looks down, hating how soft her voice goes. "He—" She takes a deep breath. "He tried to rape me." Forcing herself to power through, Solana looks up, absolutely devastated by the crushed look on Roman's face. She can practically feel his guilt, and it's overwhelming. "So, I killed him."

A calm confession. No stammering. Not stuttering. Just a fact. "I killed him, and then I killed Samantha to protect myself and Emma—"

"Sol—"

"And, I killed Rikishi to protect you—"

"Solana—"

"And, I regret nothing."

At that, Roman stops, his shock and surprised plain and evident.

It's an understandable reaction. One that shocks even her just a little but not entirely. For reasons she's about to share with him.

She licks her lips, recalling a conversation from what feels like forever ago. "I know….I know I told you before that I didn't think that I could live with myself if I took someone's life, but I was wrong." So. So wrong. "Roman…" She moves closer to him on the bed, hand still over his. "I did what I had to do to survive. To protect myself and my family, and there was nothing wrong with that."

His voice is pained and low. "But, Solana, you shouldn't have—"

"I would do it all again if I had to."

A bit of a scary confession, maybe even something cold and unlike her. At least, to him. To her, she was being a wife and a mother. Being a woman whose recognized her power and capabilities.

"I didn't kill anyone who was innocent, who never hurt anybody, who were good people. All three of them were terrible people, and they got exactly what they deserved." A hint of anger appears in her eyes, recalling the way Rikishi taunted her husband as she snuck up on him. The horrific, evil things he said to Roman. It brings tears to her eyes. Not just what was said by him, but what was done. What's all been done. "You didn't deserve this…"

Roman looks away, his jaw clenched. "This isn't about me. This is about you and what they did to you—"

"No, it's not." An easy thing to dismiss and discredit. "They only came after me to hurt you, but they didn't hurt me, my love. I'm fine. The girls are fine. I—" She shakes her head, a sad scoff leaving her mouth. "I've been through a lot worse than this, Roman. I was already raped. I was already attacked and beaten. Almost killed. More than once. The only thing that was different this time was me." She reaches for his face, forcing him to look at her as she gently caresses his bearded cheek. "I'm not that 10 and 12 year-old little girl anymore. Not that same scared, traumatized woman you married." She swallows, asserting with all the authority and confidence that rushes through her veins. "My name is Solana Reigns, wife of the Tribal Chief. The Faletua. And, I'll do anything to protect my family. The people I love. Myself." Always. "And, that's exactly what I did."

Solana knows that while she truly believes what she's saying, feels firm in her beliefs and that she was in the right, there's bound to be some lingering trauma. Things that will stick and stay with her, needing to be worked out in therapy. The senseless murders of Sami and Bautista, for example. Losses she will start to grieve sooner rather than later, but right now, sitting in front of her husband, every word that left her mouth is 1000% true.

She doesn't regret her actions, and she'd damn sure do it all again if she had to. If anything, what currently bothers and concerns her more is the man sitting in front of her.

Roman was doing relatively well working on himself, working on opening up, and now she's terrified all of that progress has been undone by inconceivable betrayal. Not that she can blame him. Solana can't even begin to fathom the full extent of what that must be like for him, what it's done to him.

She's seen only a little, and none of it was pretty.

In the slightest.

Solana can only hope and pray that the damage isn't permanent.

--------

Just as projected by his medical team, and much to the happiness of said medical team—and Roman—he is discharged following a week of care. Truth be told, Solana would have felt a bit more comfortable with him staying a few extra days, but she's also not entirely sure just how much longer the staff would have put up with her husband given his behavior during his stay.

Love him to pieces, Solana can 100% acknowledge Roman has to be the worst patient in the history of patients. If not for her practically forcing him to abide with medical recommendations, she's certain he would have signed an AMA and left the hospital the same day he woke up.

That nickname she overheard used by most of his care team, "El diablo samoano," was definitely well earned and deserved.

She's almost certain she heard celebrations commencing as the elevators started to shut.

Roman is relatively quiet on the jet to Isla Mujeres, save his occasional complaints about certain things, namely still being in "this damn sling." The grumbles are subsided and minimized by Dulce who practically sleeps in his lap the entirety of the two hour trip.

And, he seems to offer no protest, Solana seeing how he uses his free hand to pet and caress their puppy for the same duration.

Something tells her he might have missed her just as much as she's obviously missed him.

The car ride is no different, though her forever perceptive husband, easily picks up on the fact that the ride from the airport to their home is taking a bit longer than usual.

He looks over at her, suspicious of the situation, never her. "Where are we going?"

She squeezes his hand, simply answering, "we're not staying at the main house."

Her wording triggers more questions. "Main house?"

"You'll see." She lifts their conjoined hands, kissing his. "Trust me, mi amor."

It feels like such a huge, strange thing to tell him, especially after what's occurred, but if there's anything she can find comfort in, it's knowing that if there is anyone left in this world that he actually does trust, it's her.

Always her, she prays.

Getting out of the SUV, doors opened by the Cartel escort, Solana holds Dulce under one arm. She looks over to see Roman rounding the vehicle, looking around at the property that is certainly not the one he purchased for her.

"Come on," she says, taking his hand, Dulce still calmly in her other arm.

"Solana…where are we?""

She doesn't respond, instead ignores the group of guards who remain near the car, some spacing out among the property. Property that Solana is eager to show and display to her curious, confused husband.

And, she does.

A nice, beautifully decorated, hacienda styled abode, settled comfortably in land that's at least a mile or two away from the nearest neighbor. A spacious amount of land and greenery, the back of the house a mere matter of steps away from the beach, similar to the home Roman purchased for them.

Guiding them to the back of the house, Solana places Dulce down so she can roam—and possibly pee—while she finally explains it all.

Roman looks at her, finally asking, "is this a Cartel safe house?"

A valid question, especially considering the droves of guards that have practically crowded the two of them from the moment they landed in Mexico.

"No." She shakes her head and takes a deep breath."It's my house."

Roman's eyes widen. "Yours?" She nods, pushing back some of her hair the wind seems hellbent on going everywhere but down, courtesy of the steady breeze. "Solana…what do you mean it's yours? You bought a house?" He looks around, still with that same confused, partially irritated scowl. "Just what the hell all happened while I was in that damn hospital?"

Solana giggles and takes his hand. "I didn't get a chance to tell you…" A trail off largely due to her being unwilling to revisit that memory. "Apparently….this land has been in my family for generations, but it was my abuelo who finally took the steps to build on it." Solana looks at the house, motioning with her free hand. "He built this. He built it with the intentions of passing it on to my….to my mother." Sadness fills her tone and her eyes, Solana's volume dropping a bit. "Obviously….that didn't happen, but abuela has kept it all these years and now…." Solana gives a one shoulder shrug, watery smile on her face. "It's mine."

She then corrects herself, "actually, it's ours." Solana then brings their conjoined hands to her stomach. "We can bring the girls here sometime." She watches as Roman focuses on the breathtaking sight of the waves slapping against the sand. "And the other kids…."

The faintest hint of a smile breaks on his face, and it means more to her than she can put into words.

It's the first time he's smiled, even if small, since everything happened.

Solana moves to press her body against his, hugging him, holding him, lingering just a bit. "Come on." She eventually pulls away, taking his hand and starting to guide him back towards the house, calling for Dulce to follow them.

The inside is just as beautiful as the outside. Warm, cultured themes reflected in not only the design of the home, the architectural base, but the furniture as well, as the home is already fully furnished. A wave of emotion revisits Solana, as she recalls the first time she stepped inside. A tremendous amount of grief and love coming over her and abuela, the two women holding and crying together over shared loss and grief but also the love that came with reunion.

This space may have been meant for her mother, but it was also intended to be passed down. And Solana fully intends to keep that promise, to keep this precious space in her family for generations to come.

Starting with the girls.

Security handled bringing in luggage, so Solana is unsurprised to find it waiting in the living room. Speaking in Spanish, she directs one of the men to move two of the heavier bags to the master bedroom.

Neither herself or her stubborn ass husband need to be lifting on anything heavier than necessary.

Not that he'd agree with her, anyway.

A little later, after reviewing a couple things with Stephanie, Solana finds Roman sitting out back in the patio area.

"Hey…."

It's a bit of a silly thing, the way she almost hovers, as if waiting for permission to join him on the bench. Still, a sense of satisfaction fills her when he motions for her to come closer.

She doesn't hesitate.

Solana is partially appreciative that it's his left arm in a sling, because that leaves his right side safe and open space for her to lean against him. Instantly, her eyes shut, her hand moving to his chest.

Sleeping alone most nights has been….difficult, to say the least, and she hadn't realized just how much she's missed being in his arms until now.

"Thank you, Solana."

Brows furrowed, she peers up at him, small smile on her face. "Roman, you don't have to th—"

"Yes, I do," he interrupts. There's a scarily perfect mixture of seriousness and vulnerability, both of which have her giving him her undivided attention. "I'm alive right now because of you."

She frowns. "Roman…."

"Lopez offered and allowed the help he did, has done all of this—" Roman gestures with his chin to the guards that patrol the premises. "—because of you. He didn't have to do shit. He still doesn't have to, but he does because of you. Because you have the biggest heart of anyone I've ever met, and you were nice to a random child. Someone you didn't know. And in doing that, you carved out the path for all of this to happen."

Her eyes water, as he continues to speak freely and honestly. "You came back— " He stops, voice tight and even. "You refused to leave me, even after I told you, told them to leave." Her fingers clutch at his shirt, her lips pressed together to keep her emotions in check. As best as possible, that is. "You killed him to protect me…"

"I'd do anything for you, Roman," she whispers. Solana doesn't want to take away from this moment nor does she want to push a man who, for all intents and purposes, has already been shoved over that damn edge given everything that's happened. However, what comes out of her mouth next come straight from the heart versus the mind. "But, I didn't do it all alone." She sees the way his jaw clenches, knows that he knows exactly what she's about to say next. "Matteo and Dwayne…."

She doesn't list the rest. Wants to specifically focus on those two for reasons that are obvious to both husband and wife.

Especially Matteo.

"I know." It's all he says. Initially. "I—I owe them my life. Same with you."

She shakes her head. "You don't owe us anything, Roman." Solana reaches up, gentle in how she grabs his chin and forces him to look at her. "They're your family. I'm your wife. We all protect each other. That's what real family does."

Such a kaleidoscope of emotions dance in his pretty irises. Acceptance, confusion, fear, and so many more. Solana knows better than most everything that went down will take time for him to process and work through, but if there's one thing she hopes he can take from it all, it's that while he's seemingly "lost" a lot of family, he's gained some as well.

Or, rather, it's time to lower the defenses and let in the family that have always been waiting patiently for him to just open the door.

Solana leans up and kisses his jaw, murmuring an I love you as she pulls her legs up under her and further leans into him. Roman's arm around her tightens, his hand moving to her stomach, resting peacefully over her belly.

It puts a small smile on her face.

A smile that deepens when Dulce's bark is followed by her coming out back, leaning up on the leg of the bench. Giggling, Solana reaches and places their fur baby on the bench with them, the puppy settling in her "doughnut" sleeping position.

Moving back to cuddling into Roman's side, Solana murmurs, "we're gonna be okay."

He doesn't say anything after that, but he doesn't need to.

She knows he feels the same.

----------

Normalcy.

It's not traditional, not what he's used to, but it's the closest sense of normalcy Roman has felt since everything went down.

It's what's gained and received from being out of the hospital and in an actual house. A home.

Their home.

And, it feels just like it. Roman awakes to the aroma of his wife's delicious cooking traveling from the kitchen into the master bedroom where Dulce sleeps on the edge of the bed most nights. Just like Solana, she seems to feel better when close to him.

Solana….

There's something indescribable and profuse that fills him every time he catches a glimpse of her smiling, watches her work meticulously and gently when changing out his bandages or handling some other medical need for his recovery. A joy he can't shake watching her carry the small clothing basket out back to hang up the clothes on the clothing line.

And, it's especially felt every time he sees her hand on her baby bump, something that's almost always on display given the light, long, flowy dresses she wears most of the time.

There's a freedom and relaxation about her in this space. This place where the world is so much smaller and life simpler.

Just them.

Roman has to catch himself at various points. Has to be mindful of it all, because he'd be lying if he didn't consider once or twice what it would be like if this was the norm.

If they never went back. Just stayed here. Content and happy.

But, then he's snatched back to reality, reminded of what chaos would ensue if he were to stay gone.

Because, based on what Matteo and Dwayne have told him, chaos is most definitely what's occurred back home.

With no one on his metaphorical throne, everyone believing him dead, bedlam has ensued among the Bloodline. Men vying for his throne, others refusing to move forward without Tribal Combat to elect a true victor.

The Cosa Nostra has already started the process of severing the decades long alliance between them and the Bloodline, his cousin Luca at the forefront of the movement.

Unsurprising.

Dwayne and Matteo didn't need to point out to him the possible involvement he had in said coup, tying together several dots, including the random missing shipment from months ago as well as the case to prove Roman unfit to lead.

It was all a front, a part of an elaborate plot that intended to see him dead.

Roman can't wait for that bastard, especially, to get exactly what's coming to him.

Along with everyone fucking else.

"Heyman and Rollins have been transferred from the burn unit to ICU."

Dwayne's announcement breaks the only Tribal Chief from his thoughts and the way he was focused instead on the scene before them. Out on the beach, chairs spread out, it's only Roman, Matteo, and Dwayne who sit and converse as the rest of the group, Solana, Paloma, Bayley, Afia, and her children, enjoy the sand and waves.

Enjoy the now.

The heartwarming sight is a contrast to the hatred that fills Roman at being reminded of two of the men still at large.

His former Wise Man and the fucking psychopath he once called friend decades prior.

"Good." Is all Roman needs to say. He's already discussed with the two men the plan to handle those fucking bastards, and them being stable enough to be moved from the burn unit to the ICU is just another way his master plan for revenge is coming together.

For most, at least.

Clearing his throat, Roman fixes his mouth. "And Jey?"

Dwayne hesitates before responding. "Released on yesterday." A noticeable pause. "His wife's funeral is scheduled for next week."

Roman says nothing in response. The same way he feels nothing at that last part. A small part of him wants to, feels like he should feel at least the smallest amount of empathy at that. From what Solana had told him, Nicki was only there because she'd been taken for collateral by Solo and Rikishi.

And, Dwayne allegedly heard an unconscious Jey was dragged out of the plant by some surviving Bloodline members. Nicki, however, was not.

She was killed in the explosion.

Same with Bron.

Roman definitely didn't care about the latter, but there's conflicted emotions toward the former.

Especially toward Jey.

And the conversation this morning with Solana didn't necessarily help.

It just confused him.

It confused him a lot.

Matteo's gaze is on his brother, as if reading Roman's mind. "Have you decided what you're going to do about him?"

Roman says nothing, as Mateo simply offers a nod of acceptance and acknowledgment.

"You'll figure it out," Dwayne encourages. Roman looks over to see him sitting forward in the beach chair that seems far too small for his big ass. "And whatever you decide, you know we'll back you."

"Always." Matteo confirms.

At that, Roman goes quiet again.

So much has happened. Too much, even for him. He's tried his best not to overthink some things, not to fall too deeply down too many holes. Both for his own sake but also for that of Solana.

He hates that she was present when that happened. Both times. He's worked so fucking hard to keep that shit away from her, but alas, the weight of it all was too much even for his strong ass defenses.

But, one thing he can't and won't deny is the way the two men beside him are largely part of the reason he's still alive. Like he told Solana, he owes them his life.

He just, for some reason, hasn't been able to express as such to them directly.

Especially Matteo.

Though Roman has a good feeling he knows why when it comes to that.

Still, he owes them at least an attempt.

"I—" Roman fucking hates that one sentence in, he's already stammering like a fucking idiot. "I haven't really….I haven't really had a chance to thank—"

"Ahhh," Dwayne cuts him off, forcing Roman to cut his eyes. He's trying to be fucking nice. "Save it for later. Once we've got all this shit sorted. You've got the time." He snorts, half joking, half serious. "Not even death itself wants to deal with your stubborn ass. We still have at least another 40 years of you terrorizing folks left."

Matteo chuckles quietly. "He's right. Though I'd say 50."

Roman rolls his eyes and drops the conversation. For now.

It's something that needs to be had, but maybe not right now.

"Now, if you boys excuse me, that dark angel over there is just begging for me to show her what a good time with the devil looks like." Dwayne stands and starts his way over to Stephanie, Solana's personal cartel guard. A bit of a bitch if you ask him, but the vicious, lethal look in her eyes is all that matters to him. She's effective.

Roman knows she's more than capable of protecting his wife. The most important thing.

With it now being just the two of them, Roman considers it. Considers taking the space and opportunity to talk with Matteo about that. The other thing.

But, it's as Matteo lands his gaze on his laughing, smiling sister-in-law who continues to play with and entertain his children, her nephews and nieces, it dawns on him. Just hits him out of nowhere. He continues to watch the domestic scene before him while stating, not asking, his younger brother. "You haven't told her yet, have you?"

Roman also shifts to watch the scene, focuses on his wife. His beautiful, happy, kind wife whose laughter is infectious, her smile alluring, and the way she keeps a hand on her baby bump enough to evoke all of the emotions in him.

He snaps a mental image. Commits it to memory. Stores it for a later recall date.

Because Lord fucking knows he's going to need it.

And, he says nothing.

Offers no response.

There's no need.

The silence is all the answer needed.

---------

Hours later, when everyone has left, and Dulce is fast asleep in her bed, Roman finds Solana putting away laundry.

She smiles when he walks into their bedroom, stopping and walking over to lean up and kiss his cheek. "You should be resting."

He chuckles. "Kind of getting tired of that, to be honest with you."

She rolls her eyes, cupping his cheek. "Why am I not surprised?" Solana laughs quietly, turning away from him to finish folding and putting away the clothes.

Roman starts to leave her alone, starts to just wait until tomorrow. He doesn't want to ruin her night. She'd had such a nice day, and this will most definitely ruin it.

But, he also thinks about time.

3 days. They have three days left here, and the longer he waits, the less time he'll have to help her process and understand why this has to be the case. He only does her a disservice by delaying the inevitable.

It's time.

"Solana." She turns around to look at him. Fuck. "I—I need to talk to you about something."

But, it's a twist he could have never predicted. Never. “I already know.”

Roman doesn’t try to hide his shock. He doesn’t try to hide much from and with his wife, really. Not when he can help it, at least. “What?”

Solana walks back over, a small, sad smile playing on her face. “It's been almost two weeks. We couldn’t stay here forever, right?” She shrugs, reaching up and cupping his face. “It’s time to go home.”

Roman doesn’t say anything. Just thinks it. 

Fuck.

He knew this would be hard, but it might be harder than he was initially thinking. Solana turns and moves over to the dresser, continuing to fold the clothes, placing them in the open drawer. “When do we have to leave?” 

He says nothing, waiting for her to finish folding the item in hand. “Solana—”

“We have to come back though.” She interrupts, clearly wanting and needing to get her thought out as she pauses momentarily, proud smile setting on her face. A hand drops to her belly. “I like it here, and I think the girls will, too.”

“Solana—”

“I love the house you bought for us, too, but there’s something about this place…” She shakes her head, turning around to look at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” She leans back against the dresser, shirt folded over her arm. “When do we have to leave?”

Roman looks at her, suddenly unsure of just how to break this to her. But, then he sees it, sees the realization dawn, resulting in her smile dropping. Solana opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something, suddenly shaking her head and turning back around.

“It’ll—it’ll probably be good for us to get back home anyway.” 

He closes his eyes. “Solana.”

“Jumping back into the routine of it all, ya know?”

He watches her continue to fold clothes. Rapidly. Not as neat. A bit neurotic with it. 

Roman takes a careful step toward her. “Solana, I need you to lis—”

“Plus, Dulce is probably missing all her beds.” She laughs, but it’s anything but humorous. “You know how spoiled we have her.”

Proceeding with caution proves effective when Roman is close enough to his wife to touch her. Gently, he reaches for the back of Solana’s arm, slowly turning her around.

She continues to deflect, consumed by the allure of avoidance and aversion.

“And, we still have to go baby shopping—”

“Sol—”

“And set up the nurseries—”

Roman brings his hands to her face, watching how her eyes shut as she continues to try to avoid the inevitable. “Solana—”

“Because they’re gonna be here before we know it—”

“Solana—”

"Why?" She cuts him off once more, not to continue on her track of denial but to ask a question this time. Solana backs against the dresser, fingers tightly gripping the edges. "Why are you doing this?"

He swallows. "Sweetheart—"

"Why?" She asks again, voice more desperate. Eyes pleading with him for an answer he's not sure she'll be receptive to no matter how hard he works to help her understand.

"Things are unstable back home, Sol." He starts, Roman recalling the ten different mental scripts he created to handle this conversation, none of which seem good enough in the moment. But, it's all he has. "I need to figure out how deep the betrayal went, handle everyone involved who's still alive and make things right." She looks away, sniffling and releasing a shaky breath. "It doesn't make sense to take you from here, somewhere that's safe and stable. To take you out of a protected environment and bring you into that chaos."

"I'm not going into the chaos though," she argues, voice small, silent tears streaming down her face. "I'm going to be with you."

Roman looks away, hating the weight that's suddenly on his chest. He knew this conversation wouldn't be easy. Not at all. But, he just hadn't anticipated how deeply her reaction would impact him.

She's gutted.

"Solana…." Roman steps toward her, almost hesitantly, like doing so is a violation of some sort. When she offers no protest, doesn't move, just continues to look away, not meeting his eye, he moves his hands to her hips. "I don't want to do this."

"So, don't," she whispers.

Roman hates how she won't look at him, almost as much as he hates how pained his voice sounds. "I don't have a choice…"

Her eyes clench tight, her lips pressed together as she nods to herself. He's tempted to reach and force her gaze on him. It kills him to not be able to read her in this moment. Though the tension that he can feel under his touch is telling enough.

She's upset.

Rightfully so.

But, her almost icing him out is a different, hurtful experience.

He doesn't like it. At all.

"How—" She starts but stops, emotion getting the best of her. "How long?"

Roman also prepared for this portion of the conversation, but all the practice in the world, it seems, couldn't adequately ready him for this moment.

"I don't know."

He answers after a good minute of silence.

And, it's when that is shared that she finally looks at him, eyes wide and fiddled with indescribable hurt and confusion.

"What?"

Despite her contact on him, something he thought he wanted, it's suddenly terribly difficult for him to maintain that evened gaze. "I don't know how long it's going to take to settle everything—"

"So, not only can I not come home, you can't even tell me when I can go home?" She questions, inching away from him, forcing his hands down from her hips as she digs herself back into the dresser. Like being so close to him is a problem. "Roman….how is this supposed to work?" A fair, understandable question. She sniffles, wiping at her eyes. "What—the only way I can communicate and be with my husband is through texts and—and phone calls and—" She stops herself, and he fucking hates it, because he knows he's clearly given away the nail in the coffin. "What?" He says nothing, jaw clenched, prompting her to repeat herself. "What?"

Roman chews the inside of his mouth. "It's best if we go no contact while—" He's unable to finish, interrupted by the way she shakes her head, pushing him away, mumbling something he can't make out. "Solana—" He tries to reach for her, but once again, she shoves away his touch and attempts for comfort, walking out the room, leaving him alone.

"Fuck!" He shouts, landing a kick to the dresser that has the entirety of it shaking, slamming back against the wall behind it.

Ignoring the pain in his now sling-free shoulder, Roman paces the room, one hand on his hip, the other running over his face.

He wasn't lying when he told her he doesn't want to be away from his wife. The truth of the matter is that this shit tears him up just as much as it probably does her. There's a dull ache in his chest when he thinks about having to be without her, in any capacity for more than a couple hours.

But, he was also not lying when he said he doesn't have a choice.

Roman has combed through option after option, raked through all the fine details of potential outcomes, navigated the different, best ways to handle this shitshow of a situation. But, no matter how hard he's tried, how much he tried to rationalize with himself at different points, all roads lead the the decision he's made.

Solana has to stay here.

She can't come home.

Not yet.

Now when so much is in the air and traitors still roam free. Roman revealing himself as still being alive will have all eyes on him, and that includes individuals who would see this as the perfect opportunity to strike again. Believing him weak and potentially injured, the latter not entirely untrue, it'd be open season.

It will be open season, and it makes zero sense to drag Solana into that dangerous space with him.

Especially with her being pregnant.

He won't risk her life or that of his unborn daughters.

He can't.

So, like it or not, and no one likes it, the best thing to do is to keep her in Mexico where she'll be undoubtedly safe and under the witness protection of the Cartel.

It's the only way.

Roman allows her some time, waits until he goes to find her, eventually locating her on the beach. He harshly brushes away the security that lingers, wanting and needing the privacy this sort of matter requires.

She's standing and facing the ocean, arms crossed over her body, the setting sun reflecting and highlighting the dried tears on her face. Some. Some are dried. Some are new and continuing.

"This—" She starts, voice low, borderline whispered. "This shouldn't be happening right now." She swallows, eyes shut. "We should be home. Designing our new house. Getting ready for the babies." Solana turns to him, her voice cracking. "We should be shopping for their clothes, buying furniture for the nurseries." She stops, laughing bitterly, one hand over her mouth. "I—I should be trying to calm you down because you're getting frustrated because the instructions don't make any sense. We should—" She breaks down, crying into her hands, prompting him to move closer, pulling her against him.

“Please don’t do this,” she sobs into his chest. The earlier strong and admirable attempt to delay what cannot be avoided finally defeated by the cumbersome weight of emotionality and reality. “Please—I can’t—I can’t—”

“It's okay,” he comforts. Roman can sense the anxiety intensifying, could see the reddening of her face, and the instability of her breathing. “Just breathe, baby. Breathe for me.”

She does no such thing, instead looking up, her face the definition of distraught. “I—I don't want to be away from you again.”

A heartbreaking admission that he also feels. Roman doesn’t like this anymore than she does. 

“I don’t wanna be away from you either, Sol. I never do. You know that.” A vulnerable confession for her ears and her ears only. “But, baby, it’s not safe for you to come back—”

“What if I stay in the house?" She suggests, eyes wide and hopeful. It's scarily reminiscent to when he'd left before and she begged him to stay. Something, in hindsight, he should have agreed to. But, despite the anguish and desperation that fill her voice and eyes, Roman knows what the right answer is this time around.

Knows what he needs to do.

Even, if he doesn't want to.

"I won't leave. I promise." She adds, pulling on his shirt the same way her heartbreaking pleas pull at his heartstrings.

"Baby…." Roman moves his hands to cup her face, speaking clearly and firmly. "I want nothing more than to take you with me. For us to both go home together. That's what I want more than fucking anything." An honest confession. It almost makes his chest hurt to think of being without her for an undetermined amount of time. "But, that would be selfish of me. And, I can't and won't be selfish with you." One hand moves to her stomach. "Not when there's so much at stake."

Her eyes shut again, her bottom lip trembling. "Who's gonna look out for you? Who's gonna take care of you?" She sniffles, pointing out, "you're still not fully recovered."

She's right, as per usual, but his recovery plays no role in the decision that's already been made. "I'll be fine," he assures. Roman has been injured before and handled said recovery all on his own just fine. As much as he would love to have his wife assist in that process, it, again, would be a selfish thing.

She gasps, clearly still fighting to speak through her tears. "But—"

"I'll be okay, Solana," he repeats, reminding as his thumb brushes away her tears. "Dwayne and Matteo will be with me."

He's not sure if this comforts her as much as he would like it to, because while he knows she's concerned for his well-being, it's not just his physical safety she's concerned about.

She's concerned about his mental state as well.

"I'm gonna go back home, make everything right, and as soon as the smoke clears, I'll be back for you." A promise to herself and him. Whatever it takes to reunite them, he'll do. He'll do it as quickly yet efficiently as he can, because every fucking minute spent without her will be fuel for his endless fire. "And, I swear to you, we'll do everything you stated. The baby shopping. Decorating the nursery. Designing the house. All of it. I promise."

The sob breaks through as she once again leans her body into him, crying into his chest. Roman cradles the back of her head, whispering soothing words of comfort that do little to dull or diminish the shared ache of heartbreak felt between the two of them.

--------

The last few days spent together are rough, to say the least.

Both husband and wife do the best with the little time they have together, but the massive countdown that hangs and swings over them is a daunting thing that can't be ignored. Roman feels the sadness, borderline depression, in his wife just as much he can see it. The way her smile is dimmed, doesn't really meet the eye. Can tell when she holds and hugs him, it's done with a sense of yearning and memorization. Like she's trying to commit it all to memory when those memories are all she has.

He does the same.

Time spent with anyone other than each other is also greatly minimized to none. Occasional visits to the house from Dwayne, Matteo, Afia, Bayley, and Paloma that never last longer than an hour or two.

They also know.

Know that while Roman is set to fly back home in a couple days, Solana won't be on the jet with him, hence the privacy being allotted to the couple.

It's appreciated. More than they probably realize.

Solana never really left the house before he broke the news to her, part of her needing to lay low, and Roman only left for matters of business and rehab. Other than that, they're practically attached at the hip. In their own little world. Him. Her. And Dulce.

A family.

But, escapism from a grim reality is but a short term thing, and before either realizes it, the day has arrived.

It's time for Roman to leave.

Solana is on the quiet side all morning. Intentional, Roman is sure of that much. Her quietness is her attempt at keeping it together, keeping herself from falling apart and showing him just how devastating this is for her.

Not that he needs her to say it.

Again, it's more than felt.

Walking outside, Roman sees the fleet of SUV's lined up. Some waiting to escort him. Others just part of the heft security detail that will be watching and protecting Solana in his absence.

Protecting their unborn children.

Heavy footsteps lead him to where Bayley and Afia are talking among themselves, conversation silencing as he moves inches close enough for hearing distance.

They don't say anything, and neither does he. Not at first.

"I—" Roman clears his throat, suddenly hating how fucking awkward he feels. This shit is hard. "I want to….I want to thank both of you." Only Bayley shows any sort of surprise. Afia just wears that same unreadable expression.

Damn assassins.

"For….for what you did."

It's really the first time he's had a good chance to express as such. Express appreciation for the role they played in rescuing Solana. The help they provided. A massive level of help.

"Well, holy shit," Bayley curses. She looks at Afia, gesturing with a thumb. "I didn't think he had it in him."

"Don't fucking push it," he snaps.

Bayley rolls her eyes. "And there it goes."

Afia chuckles quietly, bowing her head almost gracefully. "You're welcome, though we did nothing that true family wouldn't do."

Roman doesn't have anything to say to that. His definition of family is a muddy, confusing, borderline traumatic mess these days.

"She's right," Bayley agrees. "Like it or not, we are all family. Whether it be blood or marriage…" She trails off a bit, crossing her arms and smirking. "And when the girls get here, we're about to see a hell of a lot more of each other, because Aunt Bayley and Aunt Afia can't wait to spoil the princesses."

Roman is certain he shouldn't feel as mortified as he does. It's a good thing the girls will have people who love and care about them beyond just himself and Solana, but the idea of all those people.

Some level of his mixed reaction must show as Afia offers a bit of an out. She transitions, tone solemn. "We'll look out for her. She'll be safe."

He swallows, unwilling to comment on that. Bayley offers a nod of agreement. A part of him wants to also thank them for being willing to stay with Solana. For putting their lives on hold, in a sense, while he tries to put his back together.

But, he decides against it. He knows that they're not doing it out of obligation or even duty.

They're doing it out of love.

With a few more parting words, Roman turns to head back in the house only to be met with someone else.

Paloma.

Unlike the initial silence with himself and the other two women, there is none to be found with his wife's grandmother.

"It will be hard for her." She cuts straight to the point, a hint of sadness in her voice. "She's will miss you deeply, and your absence will be like a void no one else can fill." She pauses, and Roman wonders if it's because his lingering guilt at a decision he knows is right, albeit gut-wrenching, is weighing on him. "But, she will be okay. We're here for her. She's not alone."

Roman wishes her words hit deeper than they do. Appreciated. Truly. But, they don't seem to stand up against the tidal wave of regret he has in Solana even being in this situation.

Not of his own doing, but a situation he hates, nonetheless.

"Thank you."

It's all he knows how to say. What more is there to say to something like that?

Paloma chuckles and steps forward, lifting her hand to cup his face. She closes her eyes and says something in Spanish. He readies to ask for a translation when something catches his gaze above and behind her.

Solana stands in the front of the house, speaking with Dwayne and Matteo. His cousin reaches to pull Solana in a hug, nodding as she potentially says something to him. Pulling back, he places his fist over his chest, patting it twice and nodding.

An acknowledgment of some sort.

Then comes Matteo. That hug seems to linger a little longer, both communicating something unheard from where Roman stands, but there's an ease that comes with reading Solana's face. Something understood as she wipes her eyes after the hug breaks apart, and the two men turn to leave, Dwayne heading toward the SUV's and Matteo to Afia.

And then Solana is looking at him.

Roman swallows, seeing how she motions towards the house before turning on her heel, disappearing inside.

Paloma drops her hand from his face and motions behind her. "Go."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

He finds her standing a mere few feet away from the front door that he quietly closed behind him. She's leaning back against the wall, arms crossed looking upward, as if deep in thought.

She doesn’t say anything. Not at first. Just keeps her head tilted up towards the ceiling. And then after a good minute, she breaks that silence. Her voice is borderline stoic, a testament of her valiant attempts to keep it together. “Thanksgiving is in four days.”

Roman stills. He had no idea. In the midst of everything that’s occurred, the days have seemed to bleed and blend together. Not to mention he’s never been big on holidays. Hasn’t celebrated or really acknowledged them since he was a boy.

But, Solana….it's different for her.

Was supposed to be different for her this year, and she confirms as much.

“I was going to….to talk to you about hosting this year.” She whispers. Roman hates how he can hear the emotion she’d been trying so hard to suppress make its way to the surface. “I—I wanted it to be special.” He closes his eyes, gaze dropping to the floor, fist forming at his side.

Thanksgiving will be anything but.

“And Christmas….” She trials off, finally dropping her head, Roman meeting her shattered gaze. “I wanted….” A dangerous glint of hope appears in her eyes, foreshadowing a question that will only elicit further disappointment. “Will you….will you come back before….”

Roman fixes his jaw. The only thing he can give her in this moment is honesty. Even if it only digs that knife in deeper. “I don’t want to lie to you….”

Truth be told, Roman believes he can fix everything, that he can get everything stable again, before then. That he can have his wife back home with him before the year-end holiday she seemed so excited about. But, there’s also so many unknown variables that could hinder that, and he doesn’t want to mislead her.

Doesn’t want to get her hopes up for what could be nothing.

"Solana—"

"Christmas is only a few weeks away." Licking her lips, closing her eyes, she nods to herself. "I didn't even get a chance to finish making your gift." And with all resolve crumbling, there's a slight tremble of her body as the weight of it all topples her. "We….were supposed to be together for Christmas." She gasps, shaking her head, one hand to her stomach. "Like a family."

Two steps are all it takes for him to move in front of her. Wordlessly, Roman gathers her into his arms, feeling the way she clutches onto him, bawling into his chest.

"This isn't fair," she cries. "I hate this. I hate them for doing this to us."

"I know," he murmurs, kissing the top of her head. "I hate it, too." More than she could ever realize. "But, I'm going to make this right, Sol. I promise. And the second things are safe again, I'm coming back for you." He's said it several times now and will continue to say it for as long and as many times she needs him to. "Nothing and no one could ever keep me from you, Solana." His hand drops to her stomach, pressing against the swell of her baby bump. "From them."

She nods, as if trying to sear his words into her mind, body, and soul. "You'll be careful, r—right?"

He kisses her temple. "Always."

"And continue your r-rehab and do what the doctors t-tell you?"

For her. He will. It's the least he can do. "Yes, baby."

She grasps onto his wrist, eyes still closed, tears still falling. "And as soon as I can come home—"

"I'll be on the jet coming to get you." Another reiteration. Reassurance she's needing a lot of in this moment.

Solana nods once more, leaning up to wrap her arms around him, forcing them into a hug.

Roman closes his eyes and breathes her in. Takes in every detail, from minute to overt. The way her body fits perfectly against his. The press of her baby bump against his abs, the aroma of her gourmand perfume that allures him.

Just her.

"I love you, Solana." A whispered, vulnerable thing, because just as much as she's going to miss him….he'll miss her more. He swallows once again, that emotion building back up. "More than anything in this whole fucking world."

She chokes up a sob, voice cracking as she reciprocates his vow of love. "I love you too, mi amor. Siempre tu."

Words inked on her body and etched in his soul.

Roman isn't entirely sure who breaks away first. He just knows Dulce sitting and whimpering at their feet prompts him to pet her once more. He'd already told her goodbye earlier, another rather difficult task, but like her mother, another parting gesture is needed.

Standing back up, Roman cups Solana's cheek. She brings her hands to hold his wrist, the smallest, solemn smile on her face. And with the saddest voice he's probably heard in some time, if ever, she whispers the single damning word.

"Go."

The weight deepens, shifts on his chest, but it's a weight he has to ignore. Has to power through. And, he does. Roman places one last kiss against her forehead, lips lingering, the same way she squeezes his wrist one last time before dropping her hands.

Stepping back, he grants her and Dulce one last look, another task of necessary memorization, one final time.

And, then he's out the door, forcing himself to ignore the sound of her sob finally breaking through and the succumbing of the weight in his chest.

Heartbreak.

It's heartbreak.

------

Loving can hurt Loving can hurt sometimes

[bucktommyyendgame]

Back to the Drawing Board

Wasn't that something? Are Buck and Tommy endgame-shaped, or what? I obviously couldn't let that ending go soo...here is a little post ep ficlet.

SPOILERS FOR 8X11: Holy Mother of God

bucktommy - words: 800-ish - rating: gen - complete

It does feel good to get things unpacked, that's for sure. His talk with Maddie helped but he knows she was wrong about plenty of things.

And definitely about the need to be alone. He doesn't want to be alone. He knows exactly what--who--he wants.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, opens up a very familiar text chain.

Hey. Can we talk?

He watches and watches and watches.

And the bubbling starts.

He swears his heart is in his throat and he holds his breath. It feels like it takes forever but Tommy’s answer comes through.

I would like that. Free today?

Buck takes one long exhale in relief. Coffee shop in an hour?

I’ll be there.

Buck makes it in 45 minutes. He orders both their coffees, Tommy’s Iced Flat White with Almond Milk in one hand and finds a table. The feeling of deja vu is so eerie that he looks around to make sure he didn’t also accidentally pick the same table.

He texts Tommy to tell him where he is and waits.

It only takes Tommy about two more minutes before he’s walking up, an uncertain smile on his face. He still looks as sad as he did when he left the kitchen and Buck really really hates that he put that look there.

“Hey,” Tommy says as he sits down. Buck pushes the coffee toward him and he talks a sip, humming in approval.

“Hey,” Buck answers.

They sit in semi-uncomfortable silence for a moment or two before, at the exact same time, they both say, “I’m sorry.”

They each laugh a little before Tommy sobers. “Please let me start.

“Okay,” Buck says, feeling off-kilter.

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek, then says, “I never should have brought up Eddie. It was stupid. I never seriously thought I was in competition with him.”

Buck eyes him. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

Tommy sighs. “I-”

“No,” Buck insists. “Look, Eddie is my best friend. We’ve been through some really difficult things together. But I want you to know that there are no, absolutely none, romantic feelings there. When you said you wanted to try again...God, I thought I was getting exactly what I wanted.”

Tommy looks down, fidgeting with his cup. “Until I stuck my foot in it.”

“It was something that was clearly bothering you,” Buck points out. “Is...is that what you thought the entire time we were together?”

“No,” Tommy says. “No, I just...Look, Evan, I’ve never...I’ve never been the first. For anyone. You have this huge support network around you and I don’t.”

Tommy holds up a hand when Buck opens his mouth to say something.

“And I don’t say that to, garner sympathy, or something, I say it because when push comes to shove, I don’t have the family that you’ve found for yourself. I guess, maybe, I was unsure of my place in that,” Tommy explains. “I have friends, acquaintances, I’m not alone. I guess I just didn’t know how to fit into your life.”

“Okay,” Buck says slowly. “But what if I said that I wanted to do that? I want to work on us, I want you to fit into my life. I’m sorry Eddie cut off contact, I didn’t know that.”

Tommy shrugs, but Buck continues. “Maybe we just didn’t communicate enough in those first six months. I see that now. But, I want to figure this out. I want to be with you.”

Tommy purses his lips, takes a deep breath. “Yeah?”

Buck holds a hand across the table, palm up. Tommy barely hesitates, sliding his fingers through Buck’s lacing them together.

“Yeah,” Buck confirms. “That night...was everything I’ve been wanting for months, Tommy.”

This time, Tommy’s smile is sweet and soft. “Me too.”

“We slept on the box spring,” Buck says with a laugh, gratified when Tommy laughs too.

“I was a little desperate for you,” Tommy admits.

“I think you could tell I was the same with you,” Buck says wryly. Tommy laughs again.

“So,” Buck says with a deep breath. “What do you say? Can we try again?”

“I would really really love that,” Tommy says, squeezing his hand. “Starting now?”

Buck brings his hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. “Starting now.”

tag list part 1

@desert--moonchild, @blitzynatural, @multishippinghussy, @mmso-notlikethat, @esendoran

@sunnywithachanceofbi, @sleepywinchesters, @buck-up-buckley, @manifestingchaoticvibes, @corvid-cryptidd

@lbltpsmspenguin, @theotherbuckley, @cliophilyra, @actuallyitsellie, @thecarrott

@louvemeanyway, @misstommykinard, @the-omniscient-narrator, @comfortpilot, @a-mel0n

@hyperfocusthusly, @mayorjack, @weewookinard, @swagmaster9k, @dudedudeduda

@byunbuckjunmy, @adamkaradecc, @retromodgirl, @gaybonesforivy, @cull3nblaze