#discussion of past suicide attempts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aggieslittlebunny · 23 days ago

Text

PLEASE TALK TO ME

MEN/MINORS DNI!!!

Pairing: University Student!Reader x Older!gf!Wanda

Summary: Reader’s life has always been hard, but as of late, it seems to be extremely harder for you. Your girlfriend, Wanda, is always ready to support you, but you push her away as your condition is getting worse and things escalate.

Trigger Warnings/Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, contain heavy/sensitive topic, mental illness, depressed reader, anxious reader, negative self-talk, self-harm, suicide attempt, suffering reader, reader have suspicion of being an ADHDer (but doesn’t get diagnosed). You have been warned, so don’t read this fic if there is a chance that you might get triggered, no matter how small the chance is. Please never hesitate to reach out to someone close to you or any professional help if you’re struggling mentally. You matter <3

Author Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any gramatical and spelling errors ^^

Word Count: 3.5k

Life has been hard for you lately, much harder than usual. You can’t exactly tell since when this has happened and the reasons behind it. Being a university student has always been a challenge. To be completely honest, despite getting A- for most of the courses you had, you always feel like you barely survived. Other students appear to be able to understand whatever topic the professors deliver right away. Besides that, it seems very easy for them to raise their hands and ask questions. Meanwhile, you? You can barely sit through three and a half hours of each lecture, let alone be focused throughout the whole thing. Being glued to the classroom chair for that long feels so horrible. Oftentimes, you think of excusing yourself to the restroom, but you are way too anxious to do that. All you can do is shift yourself in your seat every once in a while, but you can’t do that too much either because then people will notice how fidgety you are. You will attract unwanted attention.

Speaking of unwanted attention and being anxious, those are why it’s hard for you to ask questions during lectures. You don’t like having people’s eyes on you. You also keep asking yourself “what if my question is strange?” or “what if my question doesn’t make sense?” right after your brain makes a question, which gets you stuck in your head and prevents you from being an active student. That doesn’t mean you never ask questions. You pushed yourself to do that sometimes. You need to keep up with other students after all. But you truly despise it. You don’t like the feeling of your hands becoming clammy and how your heart beats very fast, making you breathe heavily.

Before you ask a question, you need to come up with one. That is also a problem for you since you believe that you have a short attention span. Your brain loves to wander, even when all you want to do is focus. You can pay attention to the professors’ voice and write down the important information you want to keep, but before you realize it, your train of thoughts are somewhere else and your hand has already stopped writing minutes ago. You have a lot of questions in your head, but you are afraid that they actually have been discussed and you just weren’t paying attention. You believe that you will look or sound ridiculous.

Your older girlfriend, Wanda, is aware of your struggles, but you haven't told her everything. You just let her know some bits without much detail. She is the most supportive girlfriend you have ever had. Well, she is your first girlfriend so that statement can’t be wrong. Seriously though, she is very supportive and sweet to you. You love her so much and will do anything to make her stay, even if that means hiding most of your problems and keeping your negative feelings bottled up.

You have been doing such a good job hiding how you feel in front of Wanda— and everyone. Thinking of people worried about you filled you with guilt, so you tend to just put on a happy or at least neutral look on your face. These past few weeks, your mask slowly cracks. Wanda started to notice the empty look in your eyes (no matter what expression you are making), the bag under your eyes, the forced cheerful tone escaping your lips, how you space out more frequently, how you seem to avoid people including her, and other behavior changes from you. Everytime she asks how you are doing, you will simply tell her that you’re fine, maybe a little tired. She knows you are not, but she doesn’t want to put pressure onto you and keep praying that you will open up soon. She keeps waiting and waiting. A couple of months passed and you seem to be getting worse. This makes her persuade you harder to tell her what is going on, but no matter how hard she tries, you never tell her the truth. You keep denying her that you are behaving really off and telling her that she is just overthinking.

“Sweetheart, you know that you can talk to me about anything at any time, right?” Wanda randomly blurts. Both of you are currently sitting on a bench in a park, eating ice cream while watching people minding their own business.

“Mmhm.” you replied shortly with a faint positive tone. You can feel her gaze pointed at you, but you decide to keep your eyes watching a little girl laughing with her parents as they play catch with their dog.

“I’m sorry to keep bringing this up. I can’t help but be worried about you, baby. The more time passes, the more I notice how you seem to not be doing well. You don’t need to pretend that you’re okay in front of me. I want you to rely on me. I might not be able to solve all of your problems, but I will always be with you. We can face this together if you let me. You’re not alone. Please tell me what is going on.” one of her hands reaches yours. You look at Wanda the moment she holds your hand.

“I’m alright, seriously. Maybe I'm just a little bit tired. The finals week is getting near and I need to be ready for that. I don’t want to fall behind. Thank you for caring about me, but can we not talk about this right now? Maybe we can talk about it later, just… not now.”

“Okay, baby. I understand. Do you want to grab some lunch after this?”

A day after that, you suddenly stopped meeting Wanda. Most calls from her are ignored by you. The ones you picked up never last longer than five minutes. You told her that you need to focus on your study, but Wanda doubts that. She knows from one of your friends that you have been skipping a bunch of lectures. She considered visiting you in your dorm, but you always refused whenever she asked for your permission. You gave her a hard no right away, every single time, no consideration. She tries to respect your decision, but it is getting harder each day for her, and unbeknownst to her, for you either. You are getting worse and it is actually out of her expectation and imagination.

Now it has been three weeks since you stopped meeting Wanda. She always waits for any message from you that appears to be sent to her less and less as the days pass. Today she hasn’t received any. She is beyond worried, but she also knows that you are having finals this week. The semester ends soon and she hopes she will be able to hang out with you again since you will have lots of free time for a month. She gave you some space since she thought that is what you need. She tries to act chill about it, but each buzz coming from her phone never fails to make her jolt. She will check her phone right away and gets disappointed when she doesn’t see your name (or ‘my baby’ since she set your contact as that) on her notifications.

She heard from you on Friday. It is almost midnight, but she can’t sleep unless she does her daily reading before bed. Therefore, there she is. She is sitting comfortably in her bed, her back against the headboard, and there is an open book in her hand. It was peaceful until her phone buzzed. When she takes a glance at her phone, she swiftly picks it up and opens a message from you. You sent her a link. That link leads her to a letter written by you. Her eyes scan each word carefully. You are thanking her for being a wonderful girlfriend. As Wanda keeps reading, she hopes that you are just giving her a sweet letter of appreciation. Deep inside, she fears that you are breaking up with her, but she tries not to judge quickly since it is a pretty lengthy letter and she barely reaches the quarter part of it.

“When you are reading this, I have done something stupid.”

Wanda freezes for a solid ten seconds. After that, she stands up and runs to her car. She forgets her car keys so she sprints back in to grab it and then she leaves her house with her car. She left her house unlocked and she is still wearing her pajamas, but those are none of her concern right now. Her head chanting your name as well as prayers that you are safe. As she drives, she continues reading your letter. Her eyes moved from her screen to the road repeatedly until she finished reading it. After that she completely focuses on the road and might have crossed the speed limit several times. She reached your dorm room in twenty minutes, thanks to one of your close friends that is still awake and messaged her the number of your room.

She expected that she would have to break the door open, but she was wrong. The door isn’t locked. She knows right away that it was left like that by you on purpose. You told her so many times that you always lock your door twice because you’re afraid of the possibility that a stranger can get into your room easily. The sound of her footsteps echoes in your room. Your room is dark, but there is light from the sideroad lamp slipping through your window. She saw the lump of your body covered with your favorite blanket in your bed and she approached you in a hurry. She cradles your face in her palms. She noticed your irregular breathing and that you are breathing through your mouth. She also quickly noticed that there is a kind of chemical smell coming out from your mouth. Her hand reached the phone in her pocket and she dialed the emergency number, asking for an ambulance. It will take around ten minutes for it to arrive.

Just when she is about to wake you up, she accidentally knocks over a mug on your bedside table. It is now on the ground and the liquid inside it seeps into the rug. At first she thought it was tea, but after a quick sniff into the air, she realized that it is not tea or at least not just tea. The smell is exactly the same as what is coming out from your mouth. She checked the water bottle that was sitting beside the mug. She remembers how you brought the bottle with you all the time. It has such a bold pink color and there is a picture of a rabbit saying ‘life is beautiful’ on it. She opens the bottle and at first glance it looks like it’s filled with normal water, but the somewhat gray look as well as the strong chemical scent said otherwise. Shortly after that, her eyes spot a little trash can near the bed. She noticed some tissues covered with blood as well as an empty bug spray can.

“Shit.” she thought.

“Baby? Baby, wake up. Please. Can you hear me?” Wanda tries to wake you up with panic in her voice. She pulls your blanket away to take a look at your arms and wrists. She found nothing. But a second later she saw some dried blood prints on your shorts, the left thigh part to be exact. After that, she taps your cheek and shakes your body firmly which elicits a groan from you.

“I’m sorry, Wanda. I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.” You replied faintly. It is clear that you are slipping in and out of consciousness.

“Shh, you will be okay. There is nothing to be sorry for; I’m not mad at you. I love you very much. Please don’t go back to sleep. Stay with me, sweetie. I’ll get you to the hospital. The ambulance is coming.”

The paramedic comes soon after that and you are brought to the hospital. The emergency room is very cold and quiet. Maybe not that quiet since you hear people’s voices, but everything is so faint and blurry to you. After you get treated, Wanda is allowed to see you. She sees you smiling a little and she smiles back as she walks closer towards you.

You start telling her what has been happening in your life. Wanda sits on the hospital bed that you occupied, holding your hand as she hears your story. You tell her that you always feel so different throughout your life. You always feel like you are always in a race to keep up with other people around you. It gets harder and harder, especially with the fact that you’re a student in a top university. You tell her that since you get into university, your life is way messier than before. Keeping up with other students almost feels impossible. You try and try and try, but it is never enough. You are never satisfied and you feel like you are the most stupid student compared to other students in the same year as you.

Your grades might say different things, but there are endless efforts to get those grades. You are a procrastinator, but it is not because you don’t want to do your responsibility. Most of the time, you just can’t. Your body and brain won’t function the way you want them to and you despise that part of yourself because that makes you feel lazy. But you also barely get any sleep to finish your assignments, prepare your part in group assignments, and sometimes you cover your friend’s part or any extra part. That caused you to sleep like three hours a day. Some days four, the other days two, and this rarely happens but you can go two or three days without sleep. You have been living with this terrible sleep schedule for three years now. All you want is to be like other students. You’re scared of falling behind. You know you will not survive by yourself so you want your classmates to be able to rely on you on group projects. You want as many classmates as possible to like you.

“I’m so tired, Wanda. I’m exhausted.” You sighed painfully.

You proceed to tell her how your head was slowly becoming evil to you. It’s never peaceful in your head. Different things are piling up inside it. They’re messy piles and your brain seems to insist on unpacking them all at the same time. You can feel the chaos within your body and mind. The chaos streaming in your blood makes you want to curl up and disappear. Then it’s getting worse. Your brain started telling you various negative things:

“No one likes you.”

“Your friends hate you. They talk about you behind your back”

“You’re a terrible person.”

You began to believe those things. Watching your friends surrounding a table in the cafeteria leads you to think that they were talking shitty stuff about you. Especially after a friend of yours noticed that you were crying in front of the class but said nothing. After that, you started to spend lots of time hiding in the restroom stall to cry, usually before class. You were terrified by people around you and your own brain. Then you seek out some help. You reached out to a counselor provided by your university. You confessed to her about the problems you have been having as of late, and talking helps, but not much. Your brain is still very mean to you. At some point you really want to know what is going on with you. You desperately want an explanation on why you feel so different compared to others since you were a little kid. You dived into the internet, researching stuff based on your struggles. You are very sure that you’re suffering from depression, maybe even anxiety. But you believe that there is something more. After weeks of researching, you have a suspicion that you might have ADHD. You read some books, watched lots of videos, and asked some of your online friends who are ADHDer.

“I can never be sure until I get a proper diagnosis and I can’t get a diagnosis from a counselor. But if my counselor can at least agree with my suspicion, I assume it will be easier for me to get actual diagnosis. Therefore I talked about it with her, my counselor. I didn’t explicitly say to her that I think I might have ADHD. Instead, I tell her my life experiences that relate to the symptoms. At one point she cut my story.”

“Aren’t you just lazy?” the words your counselor threw at you echo in your brain.

“Am I just lazy, Wanda? Please tell me it’s not true. I’m trying. I always try! Please believe me! I-”

Wanda instantly cups your face in her hands and rests her forehead against yours.

“Breathe, sweetie. Deep breath. I’m with you. You’re not lazy. Not at all. You have been trying your best. I know it, baby.”

“It’s so painful! It feels like she throws away my self-image I’ve been building all my life. The sleepless nights… The notes covering my dorm walls…” you take a sharp breath and continue, “Even as a kid, my parents pushed me so hard to study. In elementary school, they will make me study until midnight during test weeks. In middle school I fell behind, but managed to push myself so that I could get into a good highschool. I push myself all the time to keep up with everybody else. Maybe I also do it so my parents will keep loving me. To them, my grades define who I am. They expect so much from me. It hurts…” you cry at the last two words and Wanda embraces you in a warm hug.

“The day when my counselor said that, I walked back to my dorm room with tears streaming down my face. I sobbed as I walked, maybe some strangers saw me in that state, but I was in too much agony to care. I stopped seeking out help from anyone. I just want to know why I am the way I am. But I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t stand feeling so different than anyone else. I also throw that suspicion away. I can’t face it since then.” you pushed Wanda away gently to look at her face. You can see tenderness in her eyes. How can you be so lucky to have her?

“I guess that pushed me further to this point. I didn’t get any help. I pushed myself even harder. I carried way much more stuff than I can handle. Last week, I constantly had my nose bleeding. That keeps going for like five days. I hurt myself too several times. It’s like I’m literally sacrificing my blood, sweat, and tears to survive. Then my head started telling me harmful stuff and questioning my worth of living.”

“Why are you still trying?”

“Why are you here?”

“Why don’t you just kill yourself?”

“You should just kill yourself.”

“You should kill your family members too. They are in danger and you need to end their lives to save them.”

“I’m terrified, Wanda! I’m scared! I’m scared of myself so much. You have no idea. That’s why I ended up here. I thought this was the only way to fix this. I’m so sorry…”

“Baby…” a tear runs down Wanda’s cheek and she leaves a kiss on top of your head before speaking up again, “Thank you for telling me this, sweetheart. I know there is still so much left unsaid and I know you’re telling me as much as you can at this moment. Thank you for trusting me with this. I’m not mad at you. I’m not angry. I’m not disappointed. But may I know why you kept telling me that you’re fine on those days?”

“I’m afraid that I will become a burden and you will think that I’m too much and…”

“I will leave you?” you nod.

“I'm sorry, Wanda. I truly am sorry.”

“Stop that, baby. It’s fine now. You will get proper help after this and I will always support you. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s take it slow, yeah?” you nod once again and pull her into a tight hug.

“Thank you.”

Wanda’s hand begins to stroke your hair lovingly, “Please never hesitate to tell me anything in the future. You can stay at my place when your head is being very mean to you. In fact you can stay at my place anytime. I won’t mind seeing your little cute face every morning, I would love that. We can work on your sleep schedule together and maybe find a study method that suits you. I know it’s not easy and you’ve been struggling very hard by yourself, but you don’t have to do that anymore. You don’t have to be by yourself. You have me. I got you, sweetheart.”

“What did I do to deserve you, Wands?”

“You don’t need to do anything to be loved by me. I love you, more than you know.”

“I love you too. I love you to the moon and back.”

#bunnywrites.ᐟ #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda fanfic #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda x female reader #mommy wanda x fem!reader

612 notes · View notes

netherfeildren · 5 months ago

Text

FABLE OF THE DOG : 2. Sugar, Not so Sweet

Series Masterlist; Chapter: 1,

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Slowburn(ish); Original Characters; Alcohol Use; Allusions to Attempted Suicide; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Parental Neglect; Angst and Fluff; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Possessive Behavior; Brat Taming; Extremely Bossy Old Man; Past Teenage Crush; Yearning and Longing Galore; A Home is a Place but ALSO a Person!; Found Family

A/N: This is a deeply, deeply unserious chapter, and I make no apologies—I was taken away by whimsy!!!!

Apologies however, for the French people slander, I went on a truly heinous date with a oui oui baguette loser last month. I’m still working through my anger.

Word Count: 13.4K

Read on AO3

2. Sugar, Not so Sweet

They appear at the break of dawn, the young man and the boy.

“How many heads’ve you got total?”

Joel appraises him, the fresh-faced look, a boy just crossed over into the cusp of manhood—though he’s large and strong and earnest in the eyes. He’d be a good hire, if not for—

He glances over at the young boy sitting on the bunk’s couch, snickering quietly with Ellie as his brother tries to barter a place for the two of them.

“Near to thirty large about now. We’re fixin’ to breed, but we’re pushin’ our limitations.”

“So you need hands,” he says eagerly.

“We do,” Joel returns slowly, chewing on the mint he’d plucked from out front. His stomach is in knots, has been since—days and days and days ago, last night, and so much worse now. There’s a sick heat settled deep that he doesn’t know how he’ll scourge out and quick.

“Listen, I know it’s unconventional, but—”

“Where’s his parents?” He tips his chin at the boy, and Ellie peers slyly over her shoulder at him. He’ll get hell for this later, he knows, she knows.

“Our momma’s down south—by way of Odessa. She cowboys during the summer too, and—”

Joel sits up in his seat. “Texas?”

“Come on, Texas,” Tommy slinks behind him, sneaking an arm over his shoulder to thump Joel roughly on the chest. “Just say yes.” He lets out a gruff sound masking a cough, fucking Tommy, and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ellie rise from the sofa and leave the bunk quietly with a parting pat on the boy's head.

“You’re from Texas, too?” The young man asks brightly, that look of hope in his eyes that Joel’s about to quash.

“We’re from Austin,” Tommy says from the coffee pot, his mustache spreading wide over a shit-eating grin. “Southerners way up here, we gotta stay united amongst all these Yanks’,” his brother puts on the drawl heavy, and Joel rolls his eyes. Clown.

“Listen, Henry,” he says, trying to turn the conversation back to business. He looks at the boy again, the back of the small head bent and silent and something that could, perhaps, be thought of as guilt pulses through him, but to be honest, there’s so much of that moving about Joel’s system right about now, that it’s just one more drop of poison filling his cup. It doesn’t matter. He needs to do what’s right.

For who? He can’t very well tell yet.

“I’m sure you’re a hard worker, son, and I’d not hesitate to give you a place were we in different circumstances, but I just don’t see how this would work—”

Henry leans forward in his chair too, ready to plead his case, fight for his brother and the generously paying jobs the Kelly’s are famous for. There’s something about the boy newly turned man that reminds Joel of himself. Perhaps during that young and fragile youth of his twenties, when he’d been alone with a newborn baby, trying to figure out the whole world and himself.

“I know it’s unconventional, but he’s a good kid. He’s quiet and keeps to himself, and it’d only be for the summer, sir. We head back down for the start of the school year. It’s difficult, but it’s harder for my momma to get work with a kid than it is for me.” He trips over his words with the speed at which he’s spitting them at Joel, trying to convince him, and he knows that the fair thing would be to take them in. To give this man a chance the way Joel had been given one so many years ago, the mercy of safe harbor. But he’s got a finite amount of goodness in him now, he’s got to save it all for only one person. There’s none left for anyone else. And Joel doesn't want trouble, he’s got enough of that around here right about now. “He’s got his books and his summer worksheets, and he knows how to manage on his own while I work. I swear, he won’t be in any sort of way. You can—”

And then, amidst the young strangers' rambling plea, Joel's heart falls through his stomach. Here comes that trouble anyways.

“What’s going on here?” In that soft, lovely voice that haunted his dreams last night.

All the cowboys rise from their seats at the sound of your presence.

From over your shoulder, Joel sees Ellie’s face twisted in a grimace at him, the flash of her middle finger and then her tongue.

“Goddamnit, Ellie,” he growls low.

You look exhausted, eyes red rimmed and swollen—as if you’d been crying all night, and Joel’s tongue is a swollen, poisoned thing in his mouth—a husk of guilt is all he is. He swallows convulsively, trying to find his words, trying to not scream at the thought of being what’s made you cry, trying not to look down the length of you and failing. Silky sleep shorts end way too high up on the long length of those too pretty thighs, an oversized pullover with Yale emblazoned across the front, a little hole at the neck and a large dark stain marr the front of it. You’ve got on a too big robe, dark and plaid, draped over your shoulders with your hair all a mess. He can see Ellie’s trying to pull it into some semblance of a braid behind your back discreetly while you stare at him with those eyes that, and he’s being damn honest now, fucking terrify him. Those puffy, ridiculous tan boots women wear, the impractical ones that become a sogging mess in the snow or wet despite the fact he understands they’re supposed to be worn in winter, are on your feet, two mismatched socks peek out above the tops.

He’s pretty sure one of them has bombs with a capital ‘F’ in the tiny centers printed over it. The other, some sort of Easter bunny carrot print. Absolutely ridiculous, and he can’t help it, he notices it all.

And worst of all, in your grip is that World’s Best Dad mug you’d sent the old fucker for Christmas several years ago, a little holiday fuck you from his best daughter. It’d been one of the years he hadn’t let you come home for the winter break, forced you to spend the holiday alone at that boarding school of yours. The whole ranch had known and whispered about it, and he’d felt embarrassed and offended on your behalf, that they’d all gossiped about the girl you were behind your back when they should’ve respected you for the woman you’d become one day, the one that’d eventually pay all of their earnings.

And the jackass had the audacity to use the mug all the time afterwards. Joel was pretty sure it’d been his favorite.

“We were just wrapping up,” Joel says, clearing his throat, finally finding his voice. It’s almost physically painful to look at you directly in the eyes, and the heat of shame and regret claws its way up his throat at the hollow look he sees there. You’re so angry at him, and he deserves it.

“This is the new Kelly,” Ellie tells Henry, cutting him off, pressing you forward with her hands wrapped around your shoulders. Your shorts are way too short to be in here right now, and Joel feels something else, even hotter than shame, stirring inside him. “If you want work here, this is who you need to talk to. The big boss.”

“Miss Kelly,” Henry says reverently, pulling his cap off to press against his chest. “It’s a mighty fine honor gettin’ to meet you. I was just telling your foreman here,” he motions the cap towards Joel, and he feels like a bear who’s about to rip it out of his grip and stuff it down his throat. Fucking Ellie going and snitching on him. “How me and my brother Henry travel for the summer. I’ve got letters here, I’ve worked at the King before, and have a number your man can call if he needs more references. I’ve got lots of experience and—”

“What will you do with him?” Your gaze is on the little boy, has been the entire time. Joel steps forward and over the back of the couch he sees the kid, Sam, has a comic book in his lap he’s been reading this whole time, while adults who should have no bearing on his life decide what will and will not be for him. “While you work—”

Joel looks back at you, and he knows already what it’ll be.

Henry’s smile is wide and gleaming, putting on the charm. What he doesn’t see, what Joel does, is that bleak sadness in your gaze that he’d put there himself last night. He needs to speak with you, to explain, to make it right between the two of you.

“He’s good at entertaining himself. I promise he won’t be in the way or nothin’. He’s got books and summer work, and he’s learning to play the guitar. He won’t be in the way,” Henry says again.

“What about school?”

“We only travel during the summer. We’re back in Texas for the school year.” And at that, you finally look back at Joel, and his heart shoots from his belly to his throat, ready to be spit up at your feet.

You watch him for a long searing moment, and there's such sadness there. He doesn’t know what would have been better, what would have been the correct recourse, how to make that look go away. To give you what you want? To do what he thinks is right or what should be right? He’d never thought, never considered anything like this. It’s all too much too fast, and he feels suddenly lost and childlike in the face of you and all you stand for.

“They stay,” you say only for Joel.

Henry lets out a whoop of victory, rushing forward to thank you profusely, but Jesse, who’s standing by the door, blocks his rush forward with a hand to his chest before he can get too close to the new boss. You’re for protecting now, above all else, it’s the unspoken word they all suddenly understand keenly.

You stare solemnly at Joel for only a second longer, those sleep sloped doe eyes, before you’re turning without another word.

“He never did a very good job of hiding the way he treated you, sweetheart. I couldn’t ever respect a man like that.”

The cricket song is a symphony of sound around the two of you, and you’re suspended for a second, he sees it come on—a rose hued haze, and then blink-of-an-eye donning a look that spells nothing but disaster. He’s thrown off course by it for a single second, that girl fantasy glow, before you’re launching yourself at him, and then it’s nothing but a soft wet mouth, smoked fruit and fired oak, the slick of your tongue against his bottom lip as you kiss him.

You’re kissing him.

He’s a frozen solid husk, eyes wide open as he stares down at the look on your face—something like agony. The tiny frown between your eyebrows, concentration, and a single diamond tear caught in the web of your lashes, and he can’t help but notice the soft press of your breasts against his chest, you’re not wearing a bra, before he’s shoving you back by the shoulders, scrambling to get as far away from you as quickly as he can.

His back hits the railing before he can get far enough. “What the fuck are you doing?” He spits, but can’t help but lick his tongue along his bottom lip, tasting where you’ve just been.

His stomach is suddenly hot.

You swallow convulsively, bleary eyed look turning to hurt, pressing your palm to your belly, twisting your fingers in the fabric of your sweater there. “I don’t— I didn’t—” Your eyelashes flutter shut, closing the hurt, confused look away from him for one blessed second. You press your other palm to your forehead, gripping yourself as if you’re trying to hold your very skin together.

What do you think you’re doing? He enunciates each word like the lash of a whip, and then licks his lips again to soften those same blows for himself.

Something is about to go inexplicably wrong here. Something already has. A tragedy worse than the death of a father

“I just thought that—” You blink your eyes open and they’re wet, and he’s about to bark at you to not fucking cry or he’ll lose it completely, but he swallows it or loses the thought to madness. He feels incomprehensibly insane, inconceivably triggered.

This is like nothing he’d ever imagined, and it tilts him on his axis, skews his vision, headlights blinding you in a dead-on collision.

What are you doing—thinking?

“I— I watched you grow up. I watched you—” You take an anxious step towards him, some word on your lips he can’t even make out because his hearing has gone out, and now he’s all of a sudden deaf in both ears instead of just one. He hardens his voice further. He makes sure you understand. “This is fucking wrong, and you need to get away from me right now,” reversing his movements, taking a threatening step forward, stomping his heavy boot against the floorboards beneath so that you’re jumping, skittering backwards like a frightened little rabbit.

And Joel, the beast, crushing her beneath his foot.

You wrap both of your hands around the delicate column of your throat; he imagines you’re holding in your hurt sounds, and it makes him even angrier.

“Listen to me—” he starts again.

But you cut him off, shaking your head, the confused sleep-look being blinked away so that now it’s spitting fire that is awake and angry in your gaze. “But you didn’t,” you say. “You barely know me. We’re almost strangers.” A scoff, and then switching again to soft, to girl-like, to hurt: “And I’m all grown up now, Joel.”

“I don’t know what you reckon is happenin’ here between us. Or what you think— what you—” He looks away, can’t bear the sight of it, you, fuck, he spits, again, fuck. “If I gave you the wrong impression, I’m sorry, but—”

Then in a broken little voice grasping for straws, “But we were born on the same day,” and you say it like a question. Like it should mean more. Like, and he realizes it now, like it means the world.

He turns back to look at you, and he feels full of everything but mercy—too much regret. “And what? What do you think that means? That we’re connected—meant to be?” His voice sounds full of cruelty. “Don’t be delusional. It’s also the day my daughter died. D’you know that?”

A blink. “What?”

“She died on my thirty-fourth birthday.”

Again. “But… Wh—at?” Broken up word, and your chin does a little wobbling dance, jutting this way and that, and you have a dimple in your cheek that comes out when you’re happy, but also when you’re sad. When you’re about to cry. He sees it now, and starkly.

He’s ruining something sacred.

Joel steels himself. “Whatever it is you’ve made up in your mind about us, it’s a fantasy. Something not real that you need to let go of. Are you hearin’ me?”

“I— I think…” You won’t stop blinking, your hands look like they’re about to strangle you, and he steps forward as if to stop you or save you from yourself. “Why didn’t you ever say?”

But instead of saving, “Why would I? Why would I ever tell you that?” He does not want to hurt you, and yet he cannot help it, and Joel wonders if this is how your father felt every time he failed you—like a lesser man. “Wasn’t for you to know—it doesn’t mean the same thing to us.” That day. He makes himself clear: “Whatever child’s fantasy you’re still holding onto, you need to let it go.”

He rushes out of the bunk after you, a growled, you little shit, at Ellie as he passes her.

“Man, what’d you fuckin’ do?” She calls after him in that tone that tells him that of course she knows what’s happened. You two’ve never been able to keep a single thing from each other. Asshole! She shouts at his back as he catches up to your slowly retreating form. Your movements are sluggish, exhausted.

He calls your name and tries to moderate his tone from being as aggressive as he feels right now. “We gotta talk.” He follows after you, hot on your heels and then jumping back like a scared mut when you spin around on your ridiculous boot to face him.

“Speak.” It’s a high-handed tone, that one. One that says he’s the grunt here, and you the queen, that you’d both forgotten it last night, but the battlelines are clearly drawn now. There’ll be no more forgetting.

And it’s all his fault.

“You can’t—” His heart thumps and thumps and thumps like a pitiful thing. “You can’t undermine me in front of the boys like that. There’s a reason I was saying no.”

“Which is?”

“That the kid’ll be in the way.”

And you flinch and Joel prays for a gun to the back of the skull. Fucking Christ, but this is difficult.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he gruffs. “You know what I mean. This is hard work we do here. I don’t want the kid gettin’ hurt, I don’t want to be responsible for that. What goes on here is on me. The people who get hurt, it’s all on me, and I take that responsibility damn serious.”

You tilt your head at him in that queer, inspecting way of yours. The one he’d watched you pull like a weapon against your father so many times. He finds he hates it now, detests it, being wielded against himself. You ignore his words, “What was your arrangement here—with him? How did this work with the ranch?”

There has been that thought always, and obviously, of you as something higher, that symbol of the family or the safe haven this place has been for Joel. The not-respect he had for your father, but surely the understanding—you've always been all wrapped up in that. He's at times felt grateful for your existence, perhaps, in ways. That something as good, as better, as you could exist in the same world Joel exists in. Perhaps he’d admired you in ways, even as a young girl, for your goodness, your sincerity. But he finds now, at this look of disdain you’re wearing against him, that he hates the feeling of being less than you, of not being good enough to even stand in your presence.

He’s done wrong, marred it all in ugliness. He’s put himself in this position somehow, by hurting you, by confusing you, by wanting—

“I do what I need to, what the ranch needs. Whatever decision I need to make, I call it and it’s on me. Monthly reports to him and that was it. He understood that what happens out here is different to what can be told and sometimes you can’t plan for certain shit. He focused on the business, I focus on the ranch.”

By wanting what?

Bringing the mug to your lips, you take a long sip, humming. It’s all a taunt. Joel realizes, suddenly, and with painful clarity, that this has all been a grave miscalculation on his part.

As uncomfortable as it is for even him to admit, you are, and undeservedly, a person used to not being wanted, used to rejection. Joel understands this with the quick fire blink of an eye. And he has, in his shock, or— or… he doesn't know—instantaneous awakening—unintentionally alienated you, made an enemy.

I see, you murmur quietly coupled with a bitter cough of laughter that doesn’t sound anything like the sweet sound he’s used to hearing from you. Yes, a very bad mistake has been made indeed. “Well, you’re practically king here, aren’t you then? Quite the partnership the two of you had.” You smile wide, all bright teeth.

The coffee sloshes in the mug held in your unsteady hand, and he worries there’s something stronger in there too.

“Not at all. I’m just good at what I do.” He shoves fisted hands into his pockets, trying to keep patient. Trying not to throttle you, check your drink for himself.

“And is this how you’d like to continue going forward? I mind my own business, and you do as you please?”

He shakes his head slow, grinds the pulverized mint between his molars, “I want whatever you think’s best. You’re the Kelly now, after all.” You get a look on your face like you don’t like the sound of that at all, and he turns to spit the greens between his teeth, coughing roughly.

“Yeah, I’m sure of that,” you say with teeth bared, and then whipping your head away from him as if you can’t bear the sight of him a second longer. The coffee sloshes the other way, splashing against your wrist. He hopes it’s not burning you. “You know, you’ve got some fucking nerve, Joel. You—”

The robe—all of a sudden, saturated by the dark liquid, it grabs his attention. It’s in a plaid print, expensive looking, like something you’d see an older man wearing. A man’s robe? He cocks his head, “Whose robe is that?” Cutting your tirade short.

What? You spit, all sass, his stomach burns, turning to look back at him as if he’s gone idiotic, grown a second head. He feels a little bit like he’s in the process of doing so—wracked with growing pains. “It’s my ex-boyfriend’s. Can you focus, please? I’m trying to have a fight with you right now.” And you scrunch your nose too adorably for him to find anything besides endearing. Certainly not intimidating.

He grunts, displeased.

“I know you don’t want to hear it—”

“Then keep it to yourself.” You turn, continuing on your way up to the house, coffee flies with your spin, boyfriend’s robe whipping out in your wake as he follows like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.

A little desperately, like a dog, too. A begging for scraps imitation game he hadn’t intended to play but feels obligated to now, and by his own doing.

“But I want to say—about last night…”

You turn on your heel out of nowhere again, and he stumbles to not rush head first into you, to not touch you.

The look on your face is all heartbreak. “Do you remember—when I was away at school—and I fell off the horse? When I came home with that broken arm and couldn’t get back on and you helped me? Do you remember that, Joel? How you reminded me how I was supposed to do it—”

He coughs, uncomfortable, shifting like that same scared dog. “You remember these things different than I do.” The words feel cowardly spilling from his tongue, but he should be honest. Shouldn’t he?

This is what he should be doing, isn’t it?

“I remember that you were kind. That you cared. That’s what I remember.” Your eyes are glossed again, and now it’s Joel that has to look away.

“I didn’t care. It was my job to serve your father. To do as he’d want me to. It was a responsibility.”

It’s happening again. A tale like any other you’ve too often heard. You know he’s not lying, and yet everything he says feels precariously close to it.

“Why are you being like this?” And you ask it very practically, like you really want to know, like you’ve asked the same sort of question to the same sort of figure before, and so now you’re extremely well practiced, an expert even.

“You remember these things differently. Wrong—That’s not how I meant any of it—whatever you’re thinkin’. It was just a kindness.”

“No, but I— but you…” That’s the point, you want to say, a kindness, but the words stick. You look away again, colored in shame, can’t bear the sight of him. “Maybe you’re right,” you whisper with that very remembered kindness of your lonely childhood thrown back in your face now. “Maybe I do.”

“Listen to me—I’d like for things between us to be— I’m not… I don’t now what to fuckin’ say to you.”

“Honey—” Dina calls from the porch, your father’s assistant, now yours by inheritance, you suppose. “We gotta go soon—gotta get you ready.”

“I have things to do with Dina. I don’t have time for you—for this. Do what you want, run it how you like,” the ranch, “But the kid stays. That’s final.”

You won’t look at him again, you decide. You’ll learn to want a new thing. You’ll learn to love a new thing.

If you had it in you, you’d laugh in his face.

Have you been in love with him? Probably not in any way that could’ve been called mature, it was the girl-fantasy of a neglected child latching on to a man who’d always seemed nothing but steady and kind.

So you’ll learn to grow up now, no choice left in the matter, let the fantasy go.

Despite your desire for debauchery and the three days of bad behavior you’d promised yourself, you’ve got shit to do.

An hour after your ridiculous non-conversation with the ridiculous man, you and Dina are stepping back out into the summer sunshine when your phone rings with a call from another ridiculous man for what promises to surely be another even more ridiculous conversation.

Jacopo.

You’d met through the friend of a friend at the party of someone or another in Monaco. Come from an Italian mother and a French father, you should’ve known he was going to be an arrogant asshole from the get go, but he’d been beautiful and momentarily distracting—things you knew you didn’t really want but told yourself would suffice. Really, all he was, was boring, the same as everyone else, wanting something from you without having to truly return anything in full.

Jacopo the jockey—sounds like a goddamn cartoon.

You liked to call him Jack, like he were the same sort of plebeian he saw all Americans as, and which he absolutely loathed with the sort of passion only an uppity French man could possess.

In the distance, you can see Joel, Frank and Bill propped up against the corral watching as Jesse runs Ellie atop a gorgeous chestnut Quarter. Sometimes she likes to compete, when she can get Joel to stop complaining about it for a second.

Dina makes her way towards them, “Tell them we’ll take the Ghibli,” you call after her to which she throws a thumbs up. At the sound of your voice he peers over his shoulder, finding your eyes immediately, catching there—fish on a burning hook. And then turns full around, leaning back to rest his elbows on the iron grate as you take French boys call, settling in to watch you.

“Hi, Jack, sweetie. How’s it hangin’?”

“I do not know what this means.”

Bore. “What do you want, Jacopo? I’m busy.”

“My love, we must speak. I have heard of your father. You should have call me, I will come to be with you now. Tell me where you are.”

“Why the hell would I want you to come be with me? We broke up. Remember?”

Joel watches you as the French idiot prattles on about how he loves you and how you need him and how the two of you belong together, blah blah. Odious man, you don’t know how you ever let him inside of you.

Across the lawn, he isn’t looking away, and his gaze burns where it touches. You feel—humiliated, hurt, rejected, so angry it’s a physical ache.

Not surprised.

Perhaps in some way, his rejection was what you’d wanted, had been looking for. Perhaps, it was your subconscious search for the easy way out. Because, and really, what else had you thought would happen when you’d thrown yourself at him half drunk? That he’d suddenly stop seeing you as the child he’d known you for always, take you as a woman, want you, fuck you right there on your newly dead father’s front deck?

Ridiculous.

You can’t even think about the birthday—about her. It’s a snipped lifeline, a crushed tether.

“Cherie, I must tell you I am feeling very neglected now by you. You don’t call. You do not love me no longer, or what is the problem?” More nonsense and really, this fuckin’ guy needs a boot in his ass pronto.

And the one still watching you—something even worse. He’s got his mangy brown cowboy hat pulled low over his brow, the one for the ranch, not the lovely dark one for escorting orphans to the funerals of dead fathers, and his jaw works the mint leaves you know he’s got between his teeth, slow and steady. You should hiss at him. Instead, your tummy smolders with heat and butterflies.

Stop looking at me, you horrible man, you want to shout.

Humming and hawing at the annoying voice coming through the phone, you smooth your palm over the silk of your dress. You’d wanted to look nice today, your first Kelly meeting. You wanted to look better than you feel, which is like shit, quite frankly.

There are tiny green paisleys patterned over the deep blue of the dress, a shock of dark red maroon for the cashmere knit of the cardigan tied over your shoulders, and a little silken kerchief wrapped around your throat, something from your mother’s things you’d gone through last night after Joel had ordered you to bed with your tail tucked between your legs and tears in your throat.

Twenty four years later, and your father still had all her things preserved in their bedroom as if she’d only stepped out for the afternoon. A veritable mausoleum right there in your house-not-home.

You’d never even stood a chance.

He watches you begin to pace across the deck, but the look on your face tells him you aren’t quite listening to whatever it is the person on the phone’s saying to you.

The gold and silver bangles that slide around your fine boned wrists jingle a song of temptation. Siren song, bird song, death march, something he’d follow with blind eyes, recognize deaf. And heavy gold and jeweled rings along your fingers that shine almost as bright as the spilled silk of your hair. Swathed in shades of jewel, you’re all woman, done up and ready to go out and devastate.

He doesn’t know how any man could ever look at you and not want you.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be the same from here on out.

“Who’s she talkin’ to?” He asks Dina, tipping his chin over at you. He can hear you raising your voice, something about you fucking French moron, and he doesn’t like the hunch he’s got about who it is.

“Boyfriend,” Dina says while she watches Ellie work the horse with hearts in her eyes.

“Thought he was an ex.”

She peers up at him suspiciously at that, a queer little smile tipping the corners of her mouth upwards. “Well maybe now that he knows how much she’s worth he’ll be coming back, huh?”

Joel swears all these fuckin’ women are conspiring against him, trying to send him to an early grave. “He steps foot on this ranch, and I’ll shoot him in the goddamn ass.”

She laughs, throwing her head back which inevitably draws Ellie’s attention. “You are literally so dramatic.”

“What’s he bein’ dramatic about now?” Ellie calls from behind, trotting up to the corral edge.

“Ohhh, nothin’. Just Joel being Joel. Right, old man?” Dina bumps her hip against his and he grunts, refusing to be goaded. He’s not being dramatic, it’s his responsibility to take care of you now, to watch over you.

That’s all.

“I’m never dramatic,” he tells them very seriously.

On the porch, the spat reaches a crescendo and they all turn to watch the show.

Why don’t you shove the whole Eiffel Tower up your ass, you fucking dipshit. And don’t you ever call me again!

“Little girl’s got a mouth on her,” Bill murmurs.

Ellie lets out a long whistle. Deserved, Dina adds. On the porch, you let out a strangled little screech, stomping the high heel of your boot as if you’ve got half a mind to throw a fit.

Joel feels hypnotized, speared through the gut.

He wants to know what the ex-boyfriend said. What his name is. Where he’s from and who he is and what he does and how he is and every single thing about him and how it was between the two of you.

He is suddenly desperate to know everything there is to know about you in a way that makes his throat feel swollen with guilt. In a way he didn’t ever think he’d want from you.

All the things you keep close, all the small intimacies that make you this person you are now, that’s what he wants.

You stomp down the steps, making your way towards them, eyes directly on his, and you’re too fucking beautiful for his own good, watching you feels like a sin.

Makes him feel in danger, like prey.

“All men should die,” you yell over.

See.

“I agree,” Dina says cheerfully.

“You know you can have a baby with the junk in your bones from another woman now,” Ellie adds helpfully.

“The junk in your bones?” Joel says.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Yeah, like really we don’t even need you for shit anymore.”

“They should all be put in a hole in the ground in the middle of Nebraska and only be let out when a girl wants to bone.”

“To bone—Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Ellie.”

“I love that idea,” you say, finally coming to stand right before Joel. He swallows hard, stays silent—feels like the cat’s finally caught his tongue.

“Why Nebraska?” Franks asks, puzzled.

He’s got to stop looking at you, he’s got to get away from the sight of your eyes, feels like the colors of you seem to pulse brighter, and he feels it all like a touch against his skin. He turns to look at Ellie over his shoulder and with a huge, shit-eating grin she says, “Cause who the fuck knows where fuckin’ Nebraska is, huh?” Her eyes flash to you and then quickly back to Joel, winking, cheeky, knowing. He feels the noose tighten.

They’re definitely conspiring against him.

The three of you cackle—at his expense.

“Where’re you two headed?” Bill asks with a frown when the three little hyenas settle.

“She’s got a meeting in Jackson,” Dina tells him. “First part’ll be quick—she’s just gotta kick some pushy jackass to the curb and tell him we’re not leasing mineral rights to him no matter how hard he begs or how much money he throws at us. Then…” she trails off, throwing you a worried glance, but your eyes are on the far off mountains now, and Joel watches a shaky swallow pass through your throat.

“Then we’ve got the will reading,” you say.

A sharp ache starts up behind Joel’s left eye, all the easygoing laughter of a few moments ago sucked away with a few words and a single reminder. That you’re not the girl you used to be, laughing and playing with Ellie, that your father is dead, that you have a world of responsibility to face now.

“You shouldn’t have to go all the way into town. They should be comin’ to you here.”

“I want to get out—see his office.”

“S’only been a few days, honey,” Frank says gently. “You should take it easy.”

“Thanks, Frank,” you reach out to squeeze his arm, flush of emotion across the bridge of your nose. “I’m okay, promise.”

Joel takes you in, in full. You’ve got something shimmery swept across the highs of your cheekbones and glossy lips, the fine grain of your skin—pristine like you're made of sugar and everything good in the world. The silky wisps of baby hair at your temples that look softer than anything he’s probably ever touched in his whole life. And you’re so beautiful it almost hurts the eye to look at you, beautiful in a way that makes men cower at the sight, like you’d be the strongest thing in the whole world. But he sees all the rest too. The delicate curves of your shoulders, the fine swoop of your collarbone and the quick-fire beat of your pulse beneath the fragile skin of your throat. There’s fear all around you in a way, a desperate sort of sadness.

He wishes there was more he could do for you, that he could bear the burden of all this entirely in your stead, that he could be all you need and want him to be without having to sacrifice his soul to give it to you.

Your eyes flash back to his, and he worries for a second that you can read his mind.

Behind you, Jesse pulls up with the sleek black of your father’s favorite car. Of course you’d choose this for today, bets you’ll find a way to turn it into a pretzel before the days end.

“Take Jesse with you,” he says low at your back as you turn for the car.

You look over your shoulder at him and his spine throbs. “No.”

Following you around the front of the car, he pulls the door open for you. “You’re not moving around alone anymore. He’s going. Jesse—” he whistles, “You’re going into town with Miss Kelly.”

“Yezzir,” he smiles with the sunny easiness only he possesses.

“Excuse me,” you turn to frown up at him, stomping your foot again, and you’re a little bit of a brat, he’s realizing. “There’s no room in the car for him. He can’t come.”

“He’ll take a truck,” he says, leaving no room for discussion, but then gentles his voice again, “Things are gonna be different now. You’re the Kelly, you can’t go on all gung ho about your new reality. You need taking care of. Can you not fight me on this, please?”

“What I need—”

“Is to be protected.”

You give a delicate little huff through your nose that he finds to be just about the cutest damn thing he’s ever seen in his whole life. “Then it’ll be my choice how and who.”

“It’s easier if you just do as I say.” Grasping, grasping, praying for patience.

“You overbearing d—”

“You’ll be okay meeting this jackoff? Don’t need me to come with you?”

You glower at him.

“I’m bein’ serious with you. I know you’re capable,” he puts his hands out, palms up in a conceding gesture, “But this is new, and there’s no shame in asking for support.”

At that, you get a confused little pinch between your brows, softest rose shaped mouth he’s ever seen—felt—all pursed up, and he thinks it’s wrong now, trying to be sweet to you after last night, looking at you this way and seeing the things he’s seeing. He should stay away, go away forever, find a hole in the ground in the middle of nowhere to bury himself in like you’d said, but he worries now, and quite desperately really, that he won’t ever be able to leave your side again after all this.

“I have Dina.”

“I know, but—”

“Can you please just… not. I think— I think it’s better if we just steer clear of each other. If I need something,” you look away now, hazy look from last night back in your gaze again, like you’re remembering, like you’re wanting something else he’s not willing, not capable of giving, “I’ll ask for it. Otherwise you can focus on what’s important to you.”

Gut punch.

He soldiers on, can’t help it.

“You feelin’ alright?”

Your eyes flit back to him for a fleeting second and there’s honesty in your gaze now, maybe something extremely vulnerable too, and then shuttering again, looking away again. He’d demand your gaze if he had the right, insist you tell him everything there is to know with just your eyes if you were his.

But really, he’s got no right to ask anything.

So instead, “Tell me what’s wrong,” he begs, praying you don’t say him.

What’s wrong? A laugh and—nothing. Like your father isn’t dead, like he hadn’t hurt you as he had last night, like you’re looking for answers etched into the mountains or the sky. You bring your thumb to your right temple and his own aches in response, digging there for some unseen pain to be gouged out. “Tired—was having bad dreams.” Your voice sounds full of air, and you’ve got a huge emerald on your ring finger, an even larger turquoise stone beside it, other hand is covered in a row of opals—you’re a treasure of a girl, all the way inside and out, and it’s like he’s staring at a work of art, knowing that if he were to touch, it’d all be ruined. Your voice full of air floats in his bad ear and booms out the good one full of forlorn want.

It feels like you’re the only two people left in the whole of Wyoming, standing here together under the sweet sun, maybe the whole world, and he’s ridden in guilt, wants to tell you he’s sorry again, beg or something, and thinks that God should give you the chance to rewind time when you’ve made someone feel this bad without meaning to.

You whisper at the Tetons, and he’s all but forgotten, “I feel a little bit like I’m the real nightmare.”

“You couldn’t ever be, sweetheart,” he tells you and means it with his whole heart.

It’s all agony swimming in your eyes, and if you don’t stop him, he’s going to take you into his arms right here in front of everyone. You need more than protecting, it’s clear, you need caring for, you need loving—the sort of something he can tell you’ve never had in your whole life.

“Ready to go, honey?” Dina calls from the other side of the car, her canoodling with Ellie finally come to a pause.

You’re snapped out of your reverie, looking down at your feet, impractical boots again, these ones sexy and tall and not for his admiring, blinking away the wash of heat that’s bloomed across the bridge of your freckled little nose.

“Did she eat?” He asks Dina over your head.

“Ehhhhh, but I brought a smoothie,” she pulls out a thermos from her large bag and smiles all beaming and large.

“A smoothie ain’t food. Get something else in town.”

“You're so prepared,” Ellie sighs dreamily beside her.

“You’re annoying me,” you grouch at him, tossing your bag into the backseat, sliding into the luxuriously leathered interior as he shuts the door gently behind you, bending down to brace his palms against the open window.

“Drive careful. Call me if you need anything.”

“You’re kinda a helicopter mom. You know that, Joel?” Dina tells him with that sweet smile of hers.

“Do not entertain his nonsense,” you snap.

“She’s just grumpy because Vogue France posted a piece on her and the funeral—the heiress to watch, they’ve called her.”

“I don’t know who they think I am—Kendall fucking Roy? This isn’t HBO, it’s my goddamn life.”

“It’s fine, drink your smoothie, here,” Dina soothes.

“I don’t got a clue what any of that means,” Joel says. “And do up your belt,” frowning at you and pulling away just in time when you speed off with half the admonishment still on his tongue

The bar is loud and sweaty and crowded enough there’s room for your spite, which he knows, is all this night out is.

The day had gone from terrible to horrible to heinous, and he’s officially reached his limit now. You’d returned from your late morning in Jackson toting a gray cloud that’d settled over the entire ranch and everyone in it. All work had come to a slow and grinding halt, the mood morose, knowing that the lady of the manor was grieving and angry.

And then a few hours into the evening, you, Ellie, and Dina had spun into the bunk, already giggling on drinks he was certain were too sugary and way too strong to end in anything good. Looking to rile up the boys into heading back to Jackson and finding a bar to terrorize.

And so here he now finds himself, stepping through the door of The Mushroom, ridiculous name for a bar if anyone asked him, eyes searching for the gleam of your hair, that tiny fucking outfit you’d draped yourself in. You were hunting for trouble, to aggravate him, trying to hurt him with your, you’re not invited, Joel—no one wants you to come.

Angry, angry as a spitting fire.

He’d felt like shit about himself and your upset for a second, and then had thought: Well, are you going to cowboy up, Joel? Or just lay here and bleed?

Now, there’s something sick in him that wants more of it, to take everything you’ve got to give, to see how far you can go, to push you just a little bit further too.

A masochist, is what he reckons he might actually be.

He finds Ellie’s bent head whispering into Dina’s ear, giggling and dragging her fingertips up the other girls bare arm, and he feels a thump of fondness for the two—happier than he can say that they’ve finally worked it all out after months of their will-they-won’t-they struggle.

Making his way over to them, he catches Frank in the distance, dancing to the countryfied Abba cover of Chiquitita the local band’s currently playing while Bill stands nearby, serious and menacing, keeping anyone from getting too close to his partner.

No sign of you, and the backs of his knees itch and burn.

“Where is she?” He demands when he reaches Ellie at their place against the bar.

“Oh, dude. She’s gonna be soooo pissed.”

“Where, Ellie?”

Get you anything to drink, sugar? The bartender calls and Joel shakes her away, panic thumping in his gut the longer he doesn’t have eyes on you.

Dina knocks her head towards the end of the L-shaped bar, closest to the throng of dancing patrons, and there in the last seat and partially obscured by someone’s shoulder and ridiculously feathered hat, you sit.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Can you please just leave her alone. She needs to blow some steam off.”

“Yeah, Joel, we’re watching her,” Dina adds, always the peacekeeper.

Or blow someone, Ellie adds in a snicker, and he gives her a death glare. “You need to quit the asshole act,” she tells him, purposefully thunking her beer hard enough on the bartop that some of it sloshes over the lip of the bottle onto his hand braced against the edge.

Real mature.

“Changed my mind,” he tells the bartender when she heads back their way, “Shot of Jameson.”

Beside him, Jesse appears, beer in hand as he leans against the bar to watch you also. “That might just be the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my whole life, honest to God,” he sighs wistfully.

Joel sees red—this is just too much. “Quit fuckin’ lookin’ at her,” he snaps.

Ellie snickers knowingly, and Frank and Bill join the group, picking up on the topic of conversation.

“That little girl can drink a grown man under the goddamn table,” Bill says.

“And looks good as hell doing it too—”

“Eyes off, you little shit,” Joel sends a threatening glance at Jesse again.

Ellie ignores them both. “He’s a finance bro or some shit—from New York—here to play cowboy dress up with the group he’s with. Nothing I can’t handle, and you need to cool it and leave or have a drink and let her have fun.”

“She’s vulnerable right now, Ellie—”

“Yeah, you would know.”

Joel’s turn to do the ignoring, “And she needs someone to watch her back.”

“I’m fuckin’ watching it, man. You’re so annoying, and I’ll have you know that—” The fucker’s got a thick lock of your long hair trapped between his probably manicured fucking fingers, smoothing it between his thumb and index and then looping it around and around, drawing you in closer.

Joel’s about to start howling.

You’ve done something to him, knocked something askew inside him, and he needs you to set it back to rights. Let him out of this saw trap he’s been caught in.

The man says something that has you throwing your head back in an overly eager laugh, loud and melodic in the most hypnotizing sort of way, meant to draw the eye or seduce or send his gut to twisting and aching.

Ellie’s saying something about how you need to have fun, how you need to find yourself, and all Joel can think is that he can be the one to give you that, to help you do all that while still making sure you’re alright, taken care of.

Over the wannabe cowboy’s shoulder, he sees your eyes land on him, and you give him one of those serenely beautiful smiles he knows means he’s about to lose his fucking mind and cause a scene.

A provocation of a smile is what it is.

You cross one long leg over the other, a flash of hot pink his eyes can’t help but flash to beneath the obscene hem of your skirt and lean in to whisper something, glossy lips right at his ear, and a tick starts up below Joel’s left eye. The fuckwit pulls you in closer, and you tip into him, hand on his shoulder—your eyes never leave Joel’s, and then you’re pulling him off the barstool and leading him into the throng of dancing people. He’s desperate to know what the back of your hot pink underwear looks like—string of lace wedged between the cleft of your ass, or silk wrapping around the full cheek like a perfect present? The man pulls you into himself, spinning you around, and you’re made up of blues and purples and pinks, shimmering like something that shouldn’t exist here amongst all the rest of them. Slinky little top made of silk like water and sparkles, your cheeks, flushed with drink or heat, but he’ll tell himself it’s because of him, because you’re still angry at him, thinking of him, and it soothes the tempest that’s brewing in his gut.

He spins you towards himself, the man Joel’s about to beat senseless, shooting the Jameson without really tasting anything but the insane jealousy souring to irrational fury on his tongue, it pulses in his throat once, twice, and the fucker tugs you into himself again by a handful of your ass in that too short skirt and sticks his tongue in your mouth. Joel slams the glass on the bartop, not seeing red anymore, something like dark spots now, he’s so fucking pissed off.

Ellie yelps his name, her and Jesse scrambling after him, but they’re too late and he’s there already, pulling you away, and gently because he might be feeling a little bit like a demon right now, but he knows what you are and how to handle you no matter what—and slams his fist into the fuckers nose, the satisfying crunch of broken bone and a pathetic cry sounds as he hits the sticky bar floor. The people around peer over in nothing more than mild curiosity, this is a cowboy bar after all.

He watches the man for a second, making sure he stays down, and then turns to look at you and isn’t at all surprised when he finds that look of victory on your face.

“Ready to go?” Voice all sweet innocence.

You’re going to kill him.

Spinning around on the toe of your boot, the hem of your little skirt flutters with your movements and he catches a flash of cheek, mystery of your panties still unsolved.

“You’re a real dumbass, you know that?” Ellie snarks as they pass the group of them.

He chooses to ignore that observation. “Don’t stay out too late. And let Bill drive back.”

Following you out into the night, he tries to take control of himself, to lie away the heat he feels sitting heavy in his stomach.

He wishes he had a mint leaf to pulverize between his molars, he wishes he could pull you over his knee and spank your ass for being such a bad girl. And looming behind you, he knows you’re not even a little bit intimidated by his size as you dance and prance across the parking lot towards his truck.

“I know you’re ticked off because of last night and today, but you can’t lash out just because you’re angry with me.”

All he gets in response is that head-thrown-back wind chime laughter—the real one, which is something.

“You need to stop misbehaving,” he breathes down your neck.

“Hmm, I don’t think I will,” you singsong.

“Are you drunk?” Refusing to be distracted, he’s going to stand strictly on business, he promises himself.

You spin around again—always catching him off guard and pissing him off—hooking yourself on his shirtfront, pulling yourself into him like you’re trying to dance some fucked up dance he doesn’t know the steps to.

“Not at all.”

“You need to not be touching me right now,” he warns, the threads of his control dangerously close to snapping, walking you backwards without putting his hands on you. Chest to chest, he feels like he could breathe fire if he really set his mind to it.

“Yes, sir,” you say sweetly, dragging your palms down his chest and belly before letting him go, skipping ahead of him, humming an off-key rendition of whatever kitschy, poor excuse for a country song they’d been playing at the end in there.

The even poorer excuse for a skirt bounces along the curve of your ass, driving him fucking mad—he’s goig to have a heart attack, he’s middle aged, he can’t handle this shit anymore—you.

Stop that, he growls.

“God, you don’t like anything—you’re no fun,” you pout.

Coming to the truck, he yanks the door open for you. “Get in the damn truck.” And he makes sure to turn away and not ogle your ass as you hop in, his palm hovering in the vicinity of your elbow if you need him.

The prospect of an hour and a half of the dark drive and the scent of your musky sweet perfume and sweat soaked skin has his heart pounding. When he pulls his door open, you’re turned in your seat expectantly waiting for him, folded knees up on the seat and pink triangle right there to taunt him.

“Sit right—put on your seatbelt.”

“You’re so bossy.” An exaggerated sigh and your voice is so fucking sassy, a tiny bit of a needy whine threaded through it, he feels his patience snap.

Grabbing hold of your damp cheeks he squeezes hard enough to force your full mouth into a pout and giving your head a little shake he says, “And you need managing, little girl. Put your fucking belt on, or I’ll put it on for you.”

Eyes all pupil and gone blurry, you lick your lips and he can smell the sweet fruit scent of your breath. He groans, pushing you back—mistake, mistake, putting his hands on you at all—and peels out of the parking lot, and he is not hard in his jeans for you.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask after several moments of forced silence.

“No.”

“Not even for last night?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Why not?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it either.”

“Well, now I’ve changed my mind.”

Jesus, he mutters. “There’s nothing to discuss—already told you what I think and how it’s going to be and that’s final. You need to let it go, you hear me?”

You give a little groaning screech through your clenched teeth, turning away from him, still not wearing your goddamn seatbelt, never doing as he says.

Toeing your boots off roughly, the little skirt hitches high enough on your thighs he catches a glimpse of the smooth glowing skin of your hip, eyes trying to watch the road and your thighs at the same time.

“You’re horrible,” you say through a grimace, but your voice cracks a little bit at the end, and you’ve still got your face turned away so that he can’t tell if he’s made you cry or not now.

“Are you cryin’?” He demands.

“No,” you sniffle, wiping your cheek on a lifted shoulder

“Yes you are, liar.” Fuck—fuck, fuck.

“Well you’re bein’ mean,” you whine, finally turning to look at him again, and you’re all rose glow, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy, lips red as a cherry.

No man should be tested like this. It’s wrong—unnatural.

He tries to gentle his voice and steady the pounding of his heart, pressing down on the gas, wishing the road would disappear from beneath the tires of the truck and that he could have you home and away from him already. “Not bein’ mean, sweetheart. Just—just…” He sighs, “Goddamnit, just don’t how how to handle you,” he curses, losing the grasp on his gentleness.

“See—you are angry with me!” A tear slips down your cheek, and Joel’s mouth waters.

His heart kicks up another notch, hypnotized, “You make me fuckin’ crazy—is that what you wanna hear?”

“Yes.” You turn full in the seat to face him, bent knees against the center console block his view of the apex of your thighs. Fucking Christ.

“Sit right. You’re flashing your bits,” he tries and fails to focus on the road.

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause I want you to see them, stupid.”

Jesus. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Only one High Noon.”

“The hell is that? And quit lookin’ at me like that.”

“Like what?” Your knees shift against each other, and he’s gripping the steering wheel so tight he feels like he could rip it out of the dash.

“You fuckin’ know like what.”

“Well if you hadn’t been such a cock block earlier, I’d be looking at someone else like this right now.”

And the teasing is too much. The bare legs and the tiny skirt and the hair and the lips and the sound of your voice, the kiss last night replaying in his mind over and over and over again like some lovesick taunt, the look of hurt he’d put on your face and the idea of you bare and slick, taking some other man that isn’t him. It’s too much.

He jerks the truck roughly onto the road shoulder and into the grass, wheels spinning and gravel flying. Joel—you squeal, being jostled in your seat so that all he can see are soft thighs and pretty tits bouncing in his peripheral. He puts the truck in park, ripping his seat belt off, reaching over to tug you roughly forward by the nape, his fingers twisting in your hair in a hold he knows is too hard for something so delicate, his other hand grips below the bend of one knee squeezing hard.

“If you think I’m gonna let you spread your legs for anyone fucking else—” he growls.

“Anyone else?” You laugh in his face, eyes spinning with something a little maniacal.

He thought he’d been worried for his soul, that taking you would be the undoing of everything he’d tried so hard to mend back together after Sarah. And really, he had tried so hard—to be good, to be better, to atone for all he’d not done before her, all he’d done after her. He’d tried to make himself into something that was respectful of her memory and the second chance Kelly had given him.

But right here, and again because anytime he looks at you, is within a mile of your vicinity, it feels like you’re the only two people on the whole goddamn planet, he doesn’t think he really gives a fuck for being good or atoning or souls at all. Not even a little bit.

He follows your lead from last night and kisses you, is sure to take your tongue this time. Forcing his thumb and forefinger between the line of your molars, he presses down hard enough to hurt the baby soft skin, spreading your jaw open wide so that he can lick into your mouth deep and wet. He wants to scare you, cow you, intimidate you into behaving with this hunger that seems to swallow him whole—remind you that he’s let you have your fun thus far, but the both of you know who’s playing games and who’s not.

You let out a shocked little gasp onto his tongue, fingers twisting in the fabric over his shoulder, and he tightens his grip under your knee, tugging you just that little bit further forward, and when he pulls back to look at you, spit slick, swollen mouth and wide eyes, tits about to spill out of your top, you push his face away roughly, dragging your nails down the skin of his cheek with a tiny snarling growl.

Spoiled little brat.

“Don’t be fuckin’ childish,” he snarls back, and pulls you roughly over the console and into his lap.

“I can’t stand you,” you pant, settling above him, coming in to kiss him again, and he can’t deny it anymore. He’s hard as fuck for you.

You moan into his mouth, high and throaty at the same time, girlish little sigh at the end that has him gripping your hip tightly, trying to stop himself from thrusting up against you.

“Can you taste him?” You lick his tongue. “He kinda looked like you, didn’t he? That’s why I chose him.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He’s going to stop this now, at any moment. He’s going to push you away and tell you this is wrong and that the two of you can’t do this.

Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your tits high against his chest and grinding your lace covered little cunt against his cock.

He groans into your mouth, pushed straight over the edge and free falling, cupping your ass to lift you off of himself a little bit, he just needs a second, before he takes a breath and presses you back down harder, rolling your hips against his lap. Little animal sounds, an ah, ah, ah and an oh, coupled with his mewled name. Cupping the soft of your ass in the palms of his hands, his calluses scrape against silken skin, and you fit him as if he’d dreamt you up just for himself; perfectly lush curves he can squeeze as hard as he wants because you’re not getting away from him now that he’s caught you in his snare. He drags his fingertips up the roundness of your asscheeks, and the mystery’s solved, it’s a thong. Catching the lace between his fingers he pulls the flimsy string upwards and tight against your pussy, a pained moan when he pulls even harder, making sure the fabric digs against your skin.

He knows if he cups you there you’ll be wet for him, for him, no one else but him. Knows he could bend you face first over the console, pull the soaked lace aside and suck on your wet little clit, make you come in his mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans.

Joel, Joel, Joel, you hum in a dream voice.

He can feel two little dimples at the low of your back, imagines what they’d look like with his thumbs gripped there as your ass takes his cock.

He can’t say it enough—he feels fucking insane.

“Touch me,” you beg, sliding and pressing against him, long hair like water slipping all over and against him too.

Oh my God, he whisper moans when you spread your knees as wide as the seat allows, rocking your hips in short little hitches against the ridge of his cockhead. He knows your little clit is right there, cunt a knot of indescribable heat against him, and you pull your mouth away from his, letting your head fall back, hair a tangled curtain. He drags his nails back down your ass hard enough he hopes he’s leaving marks, leaning forward to lick along the salt tracks of your tears, watching you use him.

“Do not fucking come,” he orders. He can’t—he can’t watch you do it and not be inside you when it happens, and the two of you absolutely cannot take this that far.

He pulls your hips up again, forcing your movements still and you huff at him, whining.

“We gotta stop.”

Noooo. “No, Joel. Please,” you cry, trying to pull yourself towards him—your mouth is so swollen—trying to escape his hold and get what you want for yourself.

Grasping at the last vestiges of his sanity, “Fuck— No. No more.” He lifts you off his lap and back into your seat, sitting back to press himself against the door and adjusting the throbbing erection in his jeans, so hard it’s making him a little nauseous. If he doesn’t stop, he’s going to stuff his cock inside of you right here and now. He tucks the thick head up under his waistband, trying to find any sort of momentary relief.

There isn’t enough oxygen in this truck. He needs air, space, to taste you.

“Fine,” prim little nose in the air. You stretch one leg out across the console to dangle over his groin and let the other drop to the cab floor. “That’s fine—I’ll just take care of it myself then,” you tease provocatively, fingertips dragging up the inside of your thigh.

He shoots forward to stop your movement, gripping your wrist in a vice—baby bird bones beneath his fist, and you moan at his touch like the little wanton he’s coming to realize you are, writhing in your seat. “Don’t you fucking dare. I swear to God I’ll put you over my knee.”

“Jokes on you, I’d like that shit,” you sass back, ripping your wrist out of his hold, little socked foot kicking towards his face. He catches it, holding it in his grip and squeezing. “And I don’t really care if you’re not mad at me because I’m mad at you.”

“I know you are, sweetheart,” and the mood changes, smolders into something more serious, more honest.

“Why didn’t you go today? The lawyer asked you to—” You’d wanted to find him as soon as you’d gotten home earlier, demand he give you an explanation. Cowardice had won over that desire, and going out to find a drink and a replacement man had seemed the easier alternative.

“Wasn’t my place.” Spreading his thighs wider in his seat to accommodate himself, he presses his hips forward, and you can make out the heft of his cock beneath his jeans—your belly twists all full of heat and bubbles.

“Did you know he was leaving you something?”

He laughs a bitter bark of a laugh. “No—never thought—” the words die in his throat and he stares out the window, lost to the memory of your father. “No, I didn’t think he was leaving me anything before I got the call.”

“It’ll make a good nest egg.”

“Don’t want it.”

He won’t turn to look at you now, and you know that this conversation in the aftermath of touching you shames him.

“You’re taking it. You don’t have a choice.” His eyes flash fire at you and then flit away. “He had all your banking information, it’s probably already there.”

Fucking Christ, he spits the murmured curse, bracing his elbow against the curve of the steering wheel, cupping his palm over his mouth as if to keep his anger and frustration in. The bulge of his bicep beneath his dark hoodie distracts you for a moment.

You’d spent enough time watching him over the years that you’d learned all the things you knew he tried to hide in plain sight. That gentleness, that patience, that heart—that he is an inconceivably good and honest man. Things that are ultimately impossible to hide.

Your eyes flash to the temple where a gristle of scar tissues is slashed across his skin. The meaning behind a scar like that, coupled with his bad ear and his green eyed photograph—it’s hard to hide. People can always tell when you’ve tried to kill yourself, you know.

Which all goes to say—and you’re quite certain of this—that yes, the two of you are strangers, in ways, but in others, or in your own way, you know this man. You understand his nature. You know he wouldn’t have ever wanted it—that he does not want it and never will. He isn’t the sort of man who’d ever look a million dollars in the eye and feel moved by them.

His humanity means more to him than his life, you’d heard Tommy say about him once to your father when you’d been an eavesdropping little girl. You hadn’t understood at the time, but now you do.

The dark pullover and jeans, incongruously boyish, the scuffed boots—he’s so himself and so fucking hot and you want him so, so badly, and looking at him sitting here now, gorgeous, hair mused by your fingers, and your slick smeared across his jeans—you look down at your own twisted fingers in your lap, a little ashamed now too—and you can’t fathom why or how he’d ever look at you and feel moved by the likes of you either.

You’re ashamed that you’re even angry at him for it at all, resentful of this gift your father has given him when really it is not only resentment, maybe not even truly that at all. More so, it’s a complicated mixing pot of feelings that these two men seem to have always been twisted up into knots together inside of you. Resentful, not because you don’t want him to have it. You want him to have everything he deserves or could ever think to want and more, but perhaps, because this was the final nail in the coffin scrap of proof that your father had cared about him in a very real way that you’d never experienced—in a way that was entirely Oswald Kelly’s own choice and not because of dead mothers or obligation or legacy.

“It’s good he left it for you,” you say gently and mean it.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes, looks away, from under the cover of his palm says, “S’not fair to you.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with me. This is about you and you deserving this, and I’m glad he gave you your due. He should’ve left more.”

His eyes flutter shut, sighing deeply and shakes his head. “You’ve made me into something I’m not. You need to see that.”

“You’re not some sort of cautionary tale, Joel.”

“You don’t know a thing about it,” voice like he could he angry but is being very careful to remain not. “You don’t know the things I’ve done, the reasons why I came here. You should look at me and see nothin’ worthwhile.”

“My father saw something,” you argue. “You let my father see that something. And I do too, no matter what you say, no matter what you do or how hard you push me away; I’m used to it, and you won’t change my mind.”

He gives you a look like you’re hurting him, like your truths hurt him. “We’re goin’ home. This is enough,” he gruffs, pulling the truck into drive again and peeling out of the grassy knoll.

Fight dying in your throat, you feel suddenly exhausted, shivering coldly, belly an ember of unsated lust, your orgasm is tight and wet between your legs and you don’t want to argue or impose yourself on him anymore. You don’t want to feel like you’re imposing yourself now when he’d never made you feel like that before.

The night is a pitch dark blur falling away behind your glazed over eyes, and huddling into yourself against the door, you hide your face away in your shoulder, belly swooping with nausea.

“You drive too fast, I’m dizzy,” you mumble, and he immediately slows, foot easing off the gas.

“You gonna puke?”

“Yes, all over your face.”

“I’m serious, darlin’. Need me to stop?”

“No. I just want to be home,” said in as small a voice as you can manage, hoping he won’t catch your words, and soon he’s turning off into the long drive to the house.

When he pulls to a stop, you scramble to grab your boots before he can say anything else, but he’s unnaturally quick for such a large man, out the door and around the nose of the truck, pulling your own door open before you can even get a single boot on. He pulls them from your grasp, and then tugs you bodily out of your seat, slinging you over his shoulder as if you were some sack of nuisance prone potatoes. You screech, flailing, trying to knee him in the gut, but he bands a strong arm across the backs of your thighs, pinning you in obedient place. “Quit.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” You howl, hitting him repeatedly on the ass, trying to wriggle and make his life as difficult as you possibly can.

This man has absolutely no consideration or respect or sense of personal space!

Technically, neither do you—but that’s neither here nor there.

You scream like a hyena, shrill and long and he pinches your ass hard, right at the inner crease of your thigh and ass cheek, too close to your still wet pussy for comfort. “I said quit.”

“Everything alright out here?” You hear Jesse’s voice call from the direction of the bunk, they must’ve beat you two here while you’d been trying to seduce Joel into making you come.

The snap of Joel’s fingers and then, “Mind your own fucking business.”

“You are so rude.”

He bumps you on his shoulder, jostling you on the soft of your belly and making your cunt go even tighter. You hate him. “Quiet, you.”

Letting himself in the dark of your house, he makes his way up the stairs while you hang quietly upside down now, a little astounded, a lot turned on by how strong he is, lugging you all the way upstairs without even a change in his breathing.

But as soon as he steps foot into your bedroom, now set to rights from yesterday’s disaster, you feel the change come on him. The shift and deepening of his breaths, the expanse of his ribs going wide and winglike as he sucks in a big gulp of air. You press your palm flat to the center of his back, feeling the whistle of his breath go in and out of him until he’s slipping you off his shoulder to bounce gently backwards onto your soft bed.

He stands above you for a quiet moment, and you take in the broad shape of him backlit by the moonlight of your open drapes. He’s huge and imposing cast in this darkness, something out of a dream.

Literally—out of your own teenage fantasy dreams.

Has anyone in all the world ever wanted someone as badly as you want him?

You can feel the press of his left knee against the inside of your right one, and you wish he’d put it between your thighs, join you on the bed.

“Can I ask you something?” You reach your fingers out and he tangles his hand with yours and it’s a small victory.

“Yeah.”

“Would you come to my funeral?”

His fingers jolt— “What?”

“If I died.”

“Don’t say shit like that.”

“Tell me that you would—” You tug him forward and he lets himself come, bending over your prone form, braced on one arm and still holding onto your fingers with the other. “—That I wouldn't be alone even there.”

“You’re not alone.”

“Would you?”

“Makes me angry when you say shit like this—as if you don’t believe I’m going to take care of you.”

“Please tell me, Joel. Promise me—” and you reach up to gently touch the scar across his temple.

He goes frozen and understanding. “I’d come,” and you know it costs him something to give in to such an imagining and it makes you all the more grateful for it.

Fingers sliding back into the curls at his temple, silver speckled, you know, you pull him further towards you until he’s close enough to press a softly hot kiss to his mouth. The two of you hold there for a moment, another, another, you can feel the wash of his heavy breathing through his nose, the flutter of his long lashes tangling with yours—you hope he’s searching for you in the dark—and you lift your knee up onto the bed, bending to open yourself to him.

He pulls back, hand shooting to your jaw to grip you tightly in place, breath ragged, animal being hunted.

You smile.

“Not gonna fuck you,” he says low.

“Why not?” It’s what you want, you deserve to have what you want. He squeezes your face once, presses another hard, too quick kiss to your mouth and then flips you over onto your belly, turning your skirt up over your ass to expose you. He tugs once on the string of your thong, drawing his finger along the lace wedged between your ass cheeks and then pulls his hand away for a moment before he’s spanking you hard and quick.

Owwww, you whine, hitching your rump towards him, wanting more despite the sting. He bends his head and bites you even harder at the inner corner of your asscheek, teeth digging hard and long enough to leave a mark. You whine again, high and mewling, trying to escape his meanness and he smacks you again on the other cheek.

“Go to bed, little girl. I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

And he’s leaving you, broad shouldered form slipping out your bedroom door and leaving you aching and angry to scream into your pillow.

You’re pretty sure you hear his deep laugh before the slam of the door sounds below, and you’re slipping your greedy fingers into the ruined wet of your panties, petting away the ache he’s left.

The late May night is cool, despite the daytime heat, and Ellie shivers in her Carhartt, watching as Joel slips out the back kitchen door of the big house.

“The hell is going on with those two?” Jesse says beside her, pulling long on his beer. The litter of yellow cans around them speaks to his mullish whining that he’d not been able to pull tonight. Sometimes he annoys her, but in that sort of endearing little brother way that makes her want to kick his ass and protect him at the same time.

“Nothin’, they’re fine—just gotta fuck it out.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Naw—just smarter than you, man.”

“They like each other?”

“God, Jesse, you wouldn’t see an obvious thing if it were a tipsy bison barrelin’ towards you full speed in the middle of the day.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he says a little pathetically. Moping men—Ellie really can’t be assed to deal with them all.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to understand. I do—I see all, I know all. You mere mortals wouldn’t understand.”

“S’kinda weird, no? Them two—him bein’ so much older, her bein’…well, you know— her.”

“Nope. Makes perfect sense—they need each other, you see.”

He shrugs, I guess—“You’re fuckin’ weird, too. You know that?”

She takes a swig of her beer now also, hoping the two idiots she loves most in the world, after Dina of course, figure each other out before the whole ranch has to suffer for it too.

“Wrong again, Jesse. Wrong again.”

Chapter 3; Little Freak

Netherfeildren’s Masterlist

Updates Blog

#fable of the dog fic #vic fic #joel miller x FMC #joel miller #joel miller smut #the last of us au #joel miller fanfiction

342 notes · View notes

trippinsorrows · 1 month ago

Text

looking through your eyes + twenty

authors note: consider this a part one. splitting it into two because way too much would be happening in one chapter if i stuffed it.

cw/tw: angst, some fluff, characters discussing mental health, brief discussion of past suicide attempt

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

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 5k

“Look, daddy!”

Though the call was directed to Roman, Solana can’t help but also look up, ensuring she keeps her hands on her wiggly baby boy. He’s at the point in his development where he wants to explore anything and everything, and the last thing she wants is her son getting into something while they’re on their trip.

Roman’s gaze, however, is solely focused on the twins who are a few feet away looking over at him with the biggest, proudest smile on their faces. They’ve each created two pretty impressive yet different sandcastles, one finished, the other still a bit of a work in progress.

It’s interesting to both parents that right off the bat they know who made what. The twin who has taken after Solana and her artistic abilities having a castle that’s a bit more intricate, neater and most likely to survive longer.

“They’re nice,” Roman compliments, a small smile on his face. “Can I take a picture?”

His question makes all the sense in the world. If there’s one thing Roman is going to do when it comes to his family, it’s snap a picture. Solana doesn’t even know just how much footage he has of their family. She just knows that it’s a lot. That’s for certain. His collection starts as far back as her first pregnancy with the twins to where they are today, spending some time in Isla Mujeres for a brief, family vacation.

Not that Solana has any complaints. She loves that all of these moments have been captured either via photography or videography. Keepsakes that withstand all of time.

However, their girls are clearly opposed to unfinished projects being captured on camera. “Daddy, no. We gotta finish first!”

Roman chuckles, unsurprised that the twin most like him is the one to protest. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

They don’t respond, but he’s certain that they heard him.

He and Solana redirect their attention to their son who’s sitting between Solana’s open legs, grabbing and banging one of his toys against the towel underneath them. It’s accompanied with his babbling, no doubt his way of expressing his desire to be freed.

Solana giggles, looking over at Roman with a tiny smirk. “The older he gets, the more I see of you in him.”

It’s true. Not even in just looks. All of the kids look like Roman to her, but especially their baby. His father’s looks, his father’s size, and even his short temper too.

Roman, however, wears a grim expression.“ Hopefully not too much.”

The delivery. The almost frown on his face. The quietness. All of it causes the smile on her face to dip a bit, Solana instantly knowing what’s happening. What he’s not saying.

“Here.” Lifting up her chunky nine-month-old and handing him over to Roman, Solana’s previous joy returns just a little at seeing the natural smile fall on father and son’s face, the younger making his happiness at being held by his favorite parent obvious in the babbling that grows louder.

Shaking her head, Solana reaches for her phone in her Louis Vuitton beach tote. “You better not tell them I showed you this. They don’t want you to know until it’s done.” Solana warns, swiping until she lands on the desired photo. Scooting closer to him, she reaches him her phone. “Look.”

Roman easily switches their son’s position so he’s sitting on his thigh, one strong forearm wrapped around him, securing him to his chiseled body. He takes the phone, and when his eyes land on the photo, Solana starts explaining. “They’re working on a project in school on who they look up to the most. Their hero.” Roman’s shocked gaze falls back on his gently smiling wife. “They both chose you.” Solana watches Roman closely. The brief flash of emotion in his eyes. The way he smiles. All of the nonverbals that point to him being moved by this. “Why do you think that is, Ro?”

She doesn’t wait for him to respond. “Because they love you. Because you are their hero. Because you’re the best dad they could have ever asked for.” Some of Solana’s words of encouragement are ripped directly from the brief paper that accompanies the drawing of the girls and Roman they’ve created for the project. The drawing that he’s looking at now on her phone.

“You’re amazing with them. You’re amazing with him.” She chews down on her lip, eyes twinkling with excitement. “And you’re gonna be just as amazing with the next.”

Roman’s gaze snaps over to her, eyes filled with shock and curiosity. “Are you…..”

Nodding with a big smile on her face, she lightly teases, “you always did say you could never say no to me.”

Roman scoffs, clearly in a slight state of disbelief. To all of it. “How far along are you?”

Solana brings her hand to her belly, answering proudly, “almost eight weeks.”

A small smile falls on his face, and right away, Solana knows. Knows that he’s just as happy and as thrilled as she is. This is just his subtle way of expressing it. “You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted more kids, huh?”

Rolling her pretty eyes, she uses her other hand to playfully flick his shoulder. “You weren’t exactly opposed to the process.”

“Never that.” Shaking her head, she reaches over to tickle her baby’s belly, allowing their soon to be second youngest to play with her finger as the announcement continues to settle in with Roman. “Damn, we’re really having another baby?”

She shrugs, voice so nonchalant as she hints at something else. “Or two…..”

“Christ, Sol.” She giggles at the way his eyes widen ever so slightly. “Are you serious?” Roman sitting up more and adjusting their son so he doesn’t fall over progresses her giggles to full on laughter. “Solana, is it really twins again?”

Calming down, she offers in a still amused voice, “I can show you the sonogram when we get back to the house.”

“Holy—” His reaction is really something she wishes she caught on camera. “How?”

Shaking her head, she throws back at him with a small smirk, “you’re the one who always said you’re good at a lot of things. I guess we should add making twins to the list.”

While there’s humor in her voice, Solana is more than certain Roman doesn’t find comedy in the repeat. He’s happy, yes, but most definitely still astounded. “Another set of twins….” Shaking his head, he starts off with an almost sympathetic voice. “Baby, I love you. You know I do. But, I’m getting a vasectomy after this.” Solana rolls her eyes, though a part of her wonders how serious he’s being. “Sol, we’re about to have five damn kids. That’s enough. You’re not about to have me out here, fifty-years-old, with a newborn.”

Taking her son from him who starts hitting at her chest, a sign he is ready for a nap, Solana offers a compromise. “We’ll discuss it more later.”

“Yeah, alright.” His fake irritated tone shifts to something else as he nods to the girls who are still laughing and giggling with each other while finishing up their sandcastles. “When you want to tell them?”

It’s a good question she thought of the minute the doctor confirmed her pregnancy. “When we get back home. Let them have this.” While the twins now love their baby brother just as much as they love each other, their initial reaction to the pregnancy was not….the easiest. And Solana doesn’t even want to think about how they might respond to finding out they’re no longer going to be the only twins in the house.

She’d prefer to push off whatever that looks like for later. Just wants to enjoy the now.

“Mommy.”

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

“You’re gonna protect us, right?”

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

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

He’s gone.

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

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

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

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

With a loud, violent gasp, Solana shoots up from the bed. Breathing erratic, forehead covered in a light sheen of sweat, heart practically beating out of her chest.

It takes a couple of seconds for her to completely come to. She has no idea where that came from. She’s been having dreams over the past couple weeks of a future with Roman, an almost storyline that plays out and typically lulls and keeps her asleep.

But, not tonight.

Tonight, she can’t figure out just what the hell that dream means. If it means anything. A part of her wonders if it has to do with Roman’s text from Friday night and the fact that she hasn’t heard from him since then. Not a text. Not a call. Not a FaceTime.

It’s been almost three days.

A part of her is worried, but another part of her knows it’s because he’s working. The last thing he probably has time for is to entertain her. And even more, she told him not to worry about her. That she’d be okay. And, she is. She’s just worried about him.

As per usual.

Leaning over, she hits the lamp switch on her bed and grabs her phone, hoping to find a text or notification from him. But, when she presses the side button, all she sees is her lock screen. A photo of them taken on her birthday. She’s sitting on his lap, arms around his neck, the happiest of smiles on her face as she looks directly at the camera, while he’s simply staring at her with such adoration and care.

It makes her heart heavy. An emptiness she’s felt more profoundly in the past few days.

As much as Solana wants to text him, she won’t. She won’t because she knows that he’ll only think something is wrong and might even try to inconvenience himself by coming back home when he really doesn’t have to. He’ll make it about her when all she wants is to see about him.

Placing her phone back on the nightstand, she swaps it out for her journal, flipping to a blank page. Solana uses the pen attached and starts writing in a way she hasn’t done in some time.

Too long.

Dear Mom,

I can’t remember the last time I wrote to you, and I’m so sorry for that. A lot has happened. Some things I know you’d be proud of me for. Others, not so much.

I know the truth now, mama. I know that you’re gone because he wanted you gone. Wanted us gone. And to be honest with you, a part of me feels bad. He only did it because you were trying to escape with me and Wes. Because I always asked you why we couldn’t just run away. Not knowing if my constant asking was a part of why you did it will always haunt me. And if so, I’m sorry, mama. I’m so so sorry.

But, there’s something I need to tell you. A lot, actually. But, I’ll space it out for different letters. The most important thing though is that I’m in love. I never ever thought it could and would happen for me, but it did, and while the past few weeks have been rough, what hasn’t changed is my love.

I love Roman. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me since I lost you. He’s kind and patient and takes such good care of me. And……

I finally had my first time, and he made it so special. He is special to me.

I love him more than anything.

I wish you could have met him. I think you would have eventually grown to like him. He can be….a little rough around the edges, but it’s okay, because he’s mine.

My Ro.

—-------

This isn’t how Solana expected to spend her Sunday. Didn’t see it playing out like this, but one thing she’s been learning in therapy is the power of control. At the end of the day, she can control three things: what she thinks, how she feels, and what she does. Even when she doesn’t feel like it. Even when it seems impossible.

And that’s why she makes the call to do something she still doesn’t feel 100% ready for while acknowledging that 100% isn’t exactly a realistic, attainable option anyway.

‘Do it scared’

That’s what Gail always says, and that’s what she’s doing.

She’s doing it scared.

“Solana.”

Looking up from her lap, the first thing she lands on is the bouquet of flowers that partially obscure an expected, loud colorful look from Naomi. Bayley is holding the large teddy bear that holds a box of chocolates with several greeting cards slipped within the attached ribbon.

The warmest smile sets on Solana’s face.

Untangling her legs from where she sits on the sofa in the visitors area, she walks over to them, the two women seemingly looking confused on how to respond, what to say or even do.

So, Solana takes the lead. Carefully taking first the flowers and then the teddy bear, she places them both down on the coffee table and opens her arms for a group hug.

Neither woman seems to protest. In fact, they both move to accept the kind gesture with so much force that Solana loses her balance for a second. But, it’s when she gathers herself, she fully relishes in the innocent embrace.

Her eyes naturally shut at being so warmly greeted with two people who started out as strangers but have easily turned into family.

“It’s so good to see you,” Naomi murmurs against her, holding her just as tight as she’s holding them.

Bayley follows with an emotional, “we’ve been so worried about you.”

Solana sniffles, the tears pooling as she pulls back and looks between the two of them. “I’m so sorry I did that to you guys. I—I didn’t—”

“Solana, we’re sorry, we didn’t do enough to let you know how loved you are and how much you mean to us—” Naomi also gets choked up, shaking her head and fanning her face. “Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have worn this glitter eyeshadow.”

Solana laughs and wipes her eyes. Bayley shakes her head and takes Solana’s hand. “We’re here for you, Solana. Always.”

Nodding, she leads them both to sit on the sofa with her, again going back to her initial statement. “I know….I know you guys probably feel like I don’t need to say this, but I do want to say how sorry I am for….for putting you through that.” She knows what she’s been through on her end as being the person to survive the attempt, but there’s also another trauma that’s created for the people unlucky enough to witness that.

And those people are Naomi and Bayley. Solana doesn’t even want to think about how terrifying that must have been for them.

Naomi, however, is the one to speak first. “You know how this life is. We see a lot. We’ve seen a lot, but that…..that was rough.”

Bayley nods, swallowing. “And not being able to see and speak to you….and Roman wasn’t the most helpful.”

That’s not surprising, though a bit discouraging. Solana knows he blames them. Feels like they failed to watch her, and while it’s on her list to talk to him about it, to try to get him to eventually let it go, to forgive them, that’s not the priority right now.

They are.

She shakes her head, explaining, “I wanted….wanted to make sure I was in a better place before you guys spoke to me again. Before….before you saw me again.”

Because the last time they saw her, she was unconscious, being wheeled out on a stretcher after almost ODing. The least Solana could do was spare them any additional unnecessary trauma.

“Are…..are you better?” Naomi is the one to ask, trepidation laced in her voice. “I mean, I know you’re here, but—”

“I am,” Solana answers in a strong voice. “I’m here, but I just….I wanted to extend my treatment because I didn't feel ready to come home just yet, but everyday I’m here, I feel myself getting stronger. I’m….I’m going to be so much better.”

Bayley reaches a comforting hand on Solana’s knee. “You even look better, Solana.” Her smile is watery as she again affirms, “we’re just happy you’re okay.”

Me too.

Solana sniffles and wipes her eyes. She then directs her attention to the gifts. “What is all of this?”

Naomi makes a sound, a squeal almost. “You know we couldn’t come see our sis empty handed.” She then rolls her eyes, pulling out two of the cards attached to the box of candy. “Jimmy and Jey asked us to give you these. They’re mad we ain’t bring them with us.”

At that, Solana’s smile drops. “They’re not with Roman?”

Naomi is visibly confused. “What do you mean?”

Solana, also confused, shifts in her seat. “Roman text me Friday night that he had to go out of town for a work situation. I guess….I thought he’d take them with him.” Knowing that Roman doesn’t have his two right hand men with him makes Solana a bit more nervous about not hearing from him, and it must show.

“Hey.” Bayley offers a reassuring smile. “This is your husband we’re talking about. Roman’s got whatever it is. If he didn’t, he would have taken the twins with him. I’m sure of it.”

“I agree,” Naomi nods, also flashing a comforting smile. “Don’t worry, okay?”

Much easier said than done, but for the sake of not wanting to sulk or spiral, Solana makes herself focus on the conversation at hand. Taking the envelopes, she opens the first one.

It’s from Jey.

Sis,

Been praying for you and shit. Hope you doing alright, and we can’t wait till you get home. Big Dog been mean as hell with you gone. Please come save us.

Just messing with ya…..kind of.

Love you,

Jey

YEET!

His card makes her smile, laugh, and cry all in the same breath. Sniffling, she puts it back in the envelope and goes to open the next one from Jimmy, only for her, Bayley, and Naomi to jump as music starts to play.

It’s a musical card.

I'm a survivor

I'm not gon' give up

I'm not gon' stop

I'm gon' work harder

I'm a survivor

I'm gonna make it

I will survive

Keep on survivin'

Solana slaps the card closed as no one says a thing. Both Bayley and Naomi have their hands over their mouths in complete and utter shock, Bayley being the first to speak as she slaps Naomi on the arm.

“Why would you let him get that!”

“Girl, I didn't know! His ass always ordering shit off Amazon. I thought it was a regular card!” She turns toward Solana, eyes extremely apologetic. “Solana, I am so—”

But before she can finish, Solana literally falls back against the sofa, hand also over her mouth to hold back the abundance of laughter coursing through her body. It takes everything in her to manage to speak through her fit of giggles, “you guys, it’s okay. It’s….it’s actually pretty funny.”

Because it is. It’s so Jimmy. And she knows he means no harm, that he’s probably one of the funniest, sweetest men she’s ever come across.

Even if he does seem to be able to not read the room from time to time.

Blotting the tears away from crying so hard, Solana opens the card again and starts to read, ignoring the music that’s playing.

Lil sis,

Really been missing you. Roman been miserable without you too. Ole grumpy ass even meaner than usual. He ain’t even let us come over not one time! You gotta come get your man, sis.

Naw, but in all seriousness, I miss your lil ass and really been sending you all the positive thoughts and prayers. Can’t wait till you come home.

PS) What’s the first meal back gon be?

Love,

Jimmy

Finishing the both hilarious and heartfelt message, Solana is happy to see Bayley and Naomi also displaying slightly amused expressions. Giggling, she closes the card again, silencing the music. “I told you it was kind of funny.”

“I’m still going to talk to his slow ass.”

“I told you he’s challenged.”

Solana shakes her head, reaching for their hands, squeezing gently. “I really have missed you guys.” And that’s such the goddamn truth. Despite her reservations and feeling not ready to see them, she’s so happy she pushed past all of that.

In some sort of way, she feels like she needed this. Needed to see and speak to them again.

Needed to be around her sisters.

—-----------

Later that evening, as Solana is sitting in her room, working on a sketch she’s been playing around with since her birthday trip, her phone rings.

She halfheartedly switches her attention to the phone, expecting maybe Bayley or Naomi. But, that’s not who it is.

It’s almost embarrassing to Solana how quickly she drops her pencil and snatches her phone, pressing the green button with unnecessary pressure. “Hello?”

Her voice is clearly as excited as she feels, because he chuckles, “hey.”

Her eyes shut, an instant relief washing over her. “Roman…..” She can’t explain how good it feels to hear his voice, to be able to talk to him. “Are you okay?” Her tone easily switches to concerned as she remembers it’s been almost three days since she last spoke to him. “Are you safe?”

“I’m fine, Sol.” She’d feel infinitely better if he was standing in front of her saying those comforting words, but he’s not, so she just has to take his word for it. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she answers without much thought, because it’s the truth. But, she also knows he needs more than that. “Bayley and Naomi came to visit me this afternoon.”

There’s a pause on the other end. A response she more or less expected. “How was it?”

Solana leans back against the headrest. “It was…..it was nice. Needed. I—I missed them.”

She can practically picture the way he turns his head and strokes his beard, as he forces out a, “if that’s what you want.”

Solana sighs. “Roman, I—I know you still blame them.”

“And, I always will.” She swallows, hating the determination in his voice. Like nothing she says will change his mind. “You can’t fault me for that.”

She can, and she can’t. She has no right to dictate how Roman feels about what happened. That’s not in her circle of control. She just wishes he didn’t have such misplaced and displaced anger. Bayley and Naomi did everything they could. They had no idea about her past struggles with suicide. That she’d attempted before, and even if they had, Solana has realized through some heavy discussions and processing in therapy that even if they tried to intervene, she still would have found a way.

She would have found some type of way to try to kill herself that night.

But, she doesn’t want to drop that on Roman, not when she knows he’s already had a lot on his mind the past few days.

“How are you feeling?” She decides to change subjects, not wanting them to spend too much time on something that’s clearly going to take a while. “You sound less….distracted.” It’s the best word that she can come up with, Solana just now recognizing that while he still sounds like he’s carrying a heavy load, it’s a load that’s maybe gotten a little lighter.

“Yeah.” His answer is awkward, distant almost. “Been….been trying to clear my head.”

She doesn’t know what exact that means or how it works when he’s in the midst of working, but if it’s helped in some weird sort of way, and it sounds like it has, she won’t push or question it. She wants desperately to ask him about who he took with him, if he ran into any trouble, if he’s scratched up at all. Essentially, all the questions to make sure he’s not physically hurt, but she also doesn't want to bombard him. Doesn’t want to do anything to take away from the almost softness of this moment.

“Good,” she finally responds, wondering where the next thing out of her mouth comes from, because it’s certainly something she didn’t plan or anticipate. “Roman, when you—when you come visit again, can we—can we try—I mean—the doors don’t lock, but—” She hates all the stammering and stuttering, but it’s so hard to ask this when she can’t see his expression, see if he’s looking disinterested or annoyed or anything. It’s definitely something that would be better served discussed in person, and she’s annoyed that she even brought it up like this. “You know what, never mind, just—”

“Solana,” his deep voice cuts in with a chuckle that knocks her anxiety down a level or two. “Yes, if you want to.”

“I do.” There’s an almost desperation to her quick reply. A bit of embarrassment fills her and reddens her cheeks as she explains, “I know last time, I—well, you know, but this time, I’m—I’m good.”

And she knows this because in the past few days especially she’s found herself thinking about him, wanting him, almost needing him in that way. So much so that just this evening the longing was so prominent that her hand wound its way between her legs, fulfilling something Roman had once tasked her with.

But, she most definitely cannot tell him that over the phone.

Or ever.

“As long as you’re good, Sol.” The sincerity in his voice makes her smile, Solana wishing deeply she could be snuggled against his strong, protective chest right now. “You know that’s never something I’ll turn you down for. Ever”

Giggling, her voice softens as she turns to lay on her side. “Tell me something.”

“Like?”

She shrugs and remembers that he can’t see her. “Anything. I—” With an almost tenderness, she admits, “I missed the sound of your voice.”

It’s almost embarrassing to admit as such, especially as it’s barely been three days since they last spoke, but it’s just how she feels.

And Solana feels a bit better about her vulnerable admission when he shares in an equally low voice. “I miss you.”

There’s something about his tone. About his delivery. She knows he’s not referring to this work trip. He’s referring to her overall hospitalizations.

To all of it.

“I’ll be home in a month,” she whispers. It feels like so much longer though. For him, just as much as her, she’d bet. But, it’s all she’s got. “And then I’m not going anywhere ever again.” It’s an oath to both him and herself. “I promise.”

“Good.” It sounds like there’s more he wants to say, so much more. But, he doesn’t. And while she wonders why. Again, she doesn’t push it. Doesn’t push him. Just enjoys finally being able to speak to him, to hear his voice and know that he’s okay.

Solana stays on the phone for a good almost hour when exhaustion betrays her in the form of an escapee yawn. Roman chuckles on the other end. “It’s late. You should get some rest.”

“I’m fine,” she responds. “When will you be back here?”

“I head back tomorrow morning.” She wants to ask just where he is but decides against it. “Still want me to visit next weekend?”

“Of course.” That feels like a no brainer. “I always want to see you.” She exhales and shifts in the bed, feeling the sleep that she’s now realizing she was pushing back just to speak to him. “Maybe I will try to get some rest.” She has an early morning individual therapy session with Gail tomorrow, and they’re supposed to do some more trauma work, so she really should try to get a good night's rest.

“Good.” He genuinely sounds pleased at that. “I’ll text you when I make it back to the house.”

“Good,” she repeats with a small smile. “Goodnight, Roman.”

He seems to hesitate on the other end, an almost uncharacteristic emotion in his tone that she can’t really identify. “Night, Solana.”

Her stomach flutters with all the butterflies that are typical whenever she’s around, with or even speaking to this man who has changed her life in so many ways. Grabbing the phone, Solana taps the end button and places her phone on the nightstand, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace and comfort.

She moves to put away her sketchbook when a sound makes her jump a little. Looking to her left, she realizes she somehow didn’t hang up the phone and that the call is still going. Chuckling to herself, as well as the surprise that Roman also somehow missed that too, she reaches to actually and effectively end the call.

But, her stomach drops when she hears a voice. A voice that doesn’t belong to Roman.

“Was that your wife?” It’s a woman. That much is obvious, and while her tone is neither friendly nor cruel, it makes no difference because Solana is far too focused on the next thing that comes out of her mouth. “Where does she think you are anyway?”

Crushing.

Debilitating. Suffocating. Inconceivable. The words barely touch the surface of what Solana is feeling in this moment. Feelings that are only intensified by Roman’s response.

With a quiet chuckle, he answers, almost bitterly, “working.”

The woman on the other end makes a sound that’s similar yet different from a scoff. “Don’t you think it’s time to tell her the truth? You really want to keep lyin—”

Enough.

Solana has heard enough. Reaching for the phone, she jabs her finger against the red end button and tosses it back on the bed. It’s only then she realizes that her hand is trembling, that her entire body is shaking, her breathing is uneven, and her eyes are watering.

Feeling what’s about to happen, she places her hand over her heart and closes her eyes, trying to find the safest place in her body. The anchor within her, the place that can settle or at least manage her anxiety enough so she doesn’t end up having a panic attack. It’s a longshot, but it works. Solana eventually calms down enough to where that tightness in her chest is no longer present.

But, that’s only the panic being pushed away. The hurt, oh the hurt is still there. Blaring, raging, burning pain that’s more excruciating than anything she’s felt in a long time.

He lied.

Roman lied to her.

He’s not working.

He’s with another woman.

He’s cheating on her.

And reading in between the lines, it’s not the first time, he’s been cheating on her. Been lying to her.

Solana’s head is racing, revisiting every moment and interaction with him.

Roman had told her from the beginning. Told her that he could and would never care about her. That she’d be nothing more than a business transaction, but she….she thought that things had changed. That they’d changed.

That he’d changed.

Clearly, that’s not the case, and maybe, just maybe, she should have believed him the first time around.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

195 notes · View notes

incognitopolls · 10 months ago

Text

Content warning: discussion of suicide.

–

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

#polls #incognito polls #anonymous #tumblr polls #tumblr users #questions #polls about brains #polls about people #suicide cw #suicide mention #tw suicide #death #submitted nov 12

501 notes · View notes

trans-axolotl · 7 months ago

Text

content note: discussion of suicide.

this next monday will be the six year anniversary of losing one of my friends to suicide.

when he died, my high school barely mentioned his death, even though for other students who died by things like car crashes or illness, there were so many public expressions of grief. they believed that having any memorials for a student who died by suicide would encourage other people to die the same way. in their rush to erase the circumstances of his death, they erased the memory of his life.

there are so many things i am angry at that high school about in terms of how they treated mental health (mandatory reporting and collaborating with cops, their refusal to recognize the ways in which that system led to peer-to-peer crisis support, their refusal to recognize the ways that trying to keep each other alive through trial and error was scary and exhausting, carceral disciplinary policies, etc etc etc). but i think one of the things i am still angriest about is the way they enforced shame around his death. it felt like they were retroactively blaming him for the constellation of circumstances that made suicide an option in his life. it felt like they were blaming those of us who missed him and cared about him and wanted to grieve him. it made those of us still there who were actively suicidal feel even more scared about the reaction if we did reach out for help from one of those mythical safe adults.

as an adult now involved in psych abolition/mad liberation work, it makes me so fucking mad to see the ways in which he was discarded by people in authority positions. and the older i get, the more options i have found in my life for making sense of the world and finding healing and community and support which were never available to him because he died when he was 16 and the only things offered to him were a carceral psychiatric system that blamed him for his own fucking death. it feels so incredibly unfair.

i miss him and i think i always will; i can't remember his laugh or the sound of his voice or his favorite color any more and that aches. this grief is so heavy and it feels harder in a new way each year, when i become older than he will ever be. sometimes meeting new comrades or seeing new anticarceral suicide support models hurts because i wish so fucking bad that we had that back then. i remember how close we came to losing even more people that year and i know it is simple fucking luck that i'm still here when he's not.

i remember another letter (never sent) that i wrote to a friend while they were in an ICU bed after a suicide attempt when i didn't know if they would live or not. i have spent so much time in the past 10 years begging for anything to keep me and my friends alive, but even in that letter i knew that there is so much fucking violence that is hidden beneath psychiatric logics of cure and safety that promise a "solution" to suicide. I knew that institutionalization, coercion, and shame would not have helped build a life more liveable for him or **** or any of the people i've loved and lost since.

there needs to be more fucking options for care and support that aren't so incredibly cruel to suicidal people. i know so many people doing incredible work in alternatives, peer respite, a million different frameworks for healing and liberation. but it makes me so mad every day i have to live in a world where there are still people restrained, locked up in psych wards, having all autonomy and personhood taken away from them. knowing there are dozens of people every day getting blamed for their deaths the same way he was blamed for his.

i miss him. i cared so fucking much for him. and he died by suicide, and all of those things are true. he has been dead for 6 years and he lived before that and the people who loved him want to remember all of him; our celebrations of his life should not require hiding the way that he died.

Image description: [1000 origami cranes in all different colors and patterns that are tied together in strings of 25]

(these were the 1000 cranes we made to give to his parents, in memorial and recognition of how much he meant to us.)

#personal #suicide tw #suicide mention tw #psych abuse tw #psych ward tw #ok to reblog if u want #psych abolition #mad liberation #psych survivor #it's a lot of grief hours over here and will be for a while all week i think #lots of grief so many ways this year for so many people #but this week. his memory . my grief for him #is hitting especially hard. i think partially because of all the transitions in my life. i'm graduating college. he will never become an ad #adult.#i think i might ask my roommates if they will go do something to remember him with me. maybe making origami cranes and sending them off in #the river. or writing things down and burning them #idk. grief is hard #six years in grief is different. but hard

293 notes · View notes

wangxianficfinder · 1 month ago

Text

In the mood for...

Sep 28th

~*~

1. hello itmf request for madam lan (twin jades mom) fics where she lives and meets wwx as lwj's partner. ive read sami's fics with her alive, and i just got to read more. canon or modern era is fine. thank you for your hard work as always!

Every Mother’s Son by Chrononautical (T, 11k, WangXian, Madam Lán Lives, Madam Lán Deserves Better, Madam Lán Leaves Cloud Recesses, Madam Lan rescues women from abusive husbands in feudal Japan and honestly that’s so valid of her, mentions of rape/non-con between Madam Lan & Qingheng-Jun)

💖 Do you want to hear by allollipoppins, dameauxgentianes (T, 12k, WangXian, time travel fix-it, canon divergence, not everyone dies au, epistolary, Madam Lan lives, minor character death, dark LWJ, Lan WWX, bad parents JFM & YZY, good uncle LQR, no sunshot campaign)

🧡 All will be well when the day is done by abCEE (T, 76k, WangXIan, Canon Divergence, Fix It, Not Jiang Family Friendly, JFM & YZY Bashing, Fix it for our main characters, Time Travel, Butterfly Effect, Madam Lan Lives, No Sunshot Campaign, Artistic License, Unreliable Narrator, JC Bashing, non-yunmeng WWX, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Good Uncle LQR, OOC, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, WWX gets the love and care that he deserves from the very beginning, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiangs, verbal and physical (c/o Zidian) abuse from YZY)

no step had trodden black by Stratisphyre (T, 32k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, JYL/JZX, canon divergence, madam lan lives, past rape, golden core reveal, hurt/Comfort, referenced to attempted suicide & suicidal thoughts, canon-typical violence)

pale shadows of forgotten names by Chrononautical (T, 56k, wangxian, Madam Lán Lives, Madam Lán Deserves Better, Good Sibling LXC, Badass LXC, He gets there in the end it just takes a while, Not particularly JGY friendly, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Canon-Typical Behavior, Unresolved Sexual Tension, the universal fear of growing up to become one of your parents, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives AU, Except WN but he’s very polite, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Imprisonment, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, not between wangxian, Drunk LWJ, to lighten the mood, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Traumatized WWX, though he will not admit it, Taking time to heal, canon-typical communication skills)

~*~

2. ITMF: A fic where JWY is a protective sibling. A fic where you cant help but picture him as a cat that hissed to LWJ and JZX with his siblings behind him. It doesnt have to be the focus of the story. Thanks

What If..... Jiang Cheng Understood? by ToxicAngel13 (M, 66k, WIP, WangXian, Ribbons, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, WangXian Get Married in the Cold Springs Cave, Protective JC, Confused WWX, Angry LWJ, Fix-It of Sorts, Good Uncle LQR, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV LQR, YZY Bashing, POV JFM, Not JFM Friendly, Hurt/Comfort, Protective NHS)

Trust in my Word by TheObsoleteOne (E, 40k, WIP, WangXian, XiYao, ChengSang, A/B/O Dynamics, Protectiveness, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Omega WWX, Alpha LXC, Alpha LWJ, Good Sibling JC, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Soulmates, Protective LWJ, Precious WWX)

~*~

3. Hi! I’m looking for fics that diverge from canon at the Xuanwu of Slaughter cave, I would love something where they’re not so sick but they’re trapped with each other or where they get together at that point! @alienspectator

Five Things That Didn't Happen in Xuanwu Cave series by Deastar (E, 26k, WangXian, Xuanwu of Slaughter Cave, Fluff Marriage Proposa,l or perhaps more accurately discussion of marriage proposal, Rule 63, Gender Changes, Female WangXian, very soft despite the setting, Kissing, Non-Oblivious LWJ and WWX, Class Issues, Cuddling, Hurt/Comfort, Huddling For Warmth, LWJ is on the Asexuality Spectrum, what if the famed horny clench was actually solely a toppy clench, Service Top LWJ, cute tentative D/s dynamics, like the baby fawn stumbling around on its wobbly little legs version of D/s dynamics, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Dirty Talk, Omega LWJ, Omega WWX)

~*~

4. Hello, could you please recommend the fics where lan zhan has a huge inner critic and can't cope with expectations of him and the contradictions of others to the rules he was raised with.

Like people acting , dumb, rude, hypocrite and he judges

And if Wei Ying is ok with him being judgemental and helps him

Thank you!

Vandalize by The_Gourmet_Gamer (E, 66k, WangXian, Modern, Vampire, Hurt/Comfort, Forbidden Love, Religious Guilt, Homophobia, Anxiety, Eventual Happy Ending, Blood Kink, First Time, First Kiss, Smut, Consensual Non-Consent)

~*~

5. Hi! i’m looking for fics where jiang cheng loses his golden core but wei wuxian decides to not give up his own for him.

This could be time travel fic or fic where wwx decides he has more to live for and couldn’t ruin his future. I’m not necessarily looking for jc bashing but i wouldn’t mind it either! thank you for all your help 🫶

Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WWX & WN & WQ, JC & WWX, wangxian, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, Canon Divergence, Angst, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Not JC Friendly, Dark, BAMF WWX, mentions of abuse, Not Everyone Dies au, XY doesn’t have a happy ending) Time traveller WQ stops the operation & talks WWX out of doing it

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WWX & WQ, WWX & WN, wangxian, WWX & JYL, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Eventual WangXian, No Golden Core Transfer, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Canon-Typical Violence, Not JC Friendly, What if WWX saw the first siege of the burial mounds and said Nope to the war, OCs, OC point-of-view for one chapter for plot reasons) Time traveller WWX decides to leave the cultivation world behind right after the fall of Lotus Pier, so when JC inevitably loses his core, WWX isn't around to fix it

Half of my soul by Asphodel_Meadow (T, 8k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, No Golden Core Transfer, Fix-It, 5+1 Things, kinda soul bond but with their golden cores, POV Outsider, POV Alternating)

violent delights by justdoityoufucker (orphan_account) (T, 4k, WWX & WQ & WN, WangXian, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Transfer, No Golden Core Transfer, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Found Family, Canon JC Characteristics)

~*~

6. Greetings and thanks for all you do! I seem to have read a lot of fics lately that are not JC or JYL friendly. It's gotten me down and I'd vowed to skip those for awhile. Today I read a fic that wasn't tagged as such, so it caught me unawares. 😥 I still read it bc I found the main plot enjoyable. But now I'm definitely ready for some recent fics that are happy endings for all the Yunmeng siblings. 🙏

The most dangerous thing is to love by KatAnni (E, 113k, WangXian, Golden Core Reveal, Fix-It, Everybody Lives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Hurt!WWX, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Multiple, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Panic Attacks, PTSD, Golden Core Transfer, Golden Core Transfer Fix-it, Medical Procedures, Fainting, Major Character Injury, Blood and Injury, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Asexual JC, homophobia doesn’t exist here, Marriage Proposal, Marriage, Wedding Night, Whump)

Tether by WithBroomBefore (T, 40k, WangXian, SangLi, WWX’s passive suicidality, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, WWX Lives, JYL Lives, Golden Core Reveal, Minor Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV JYL, Grief/Mourning, Sunshot Campaign, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, LWJ makes friends, Fix-It, Happy Ending) these aren't really recent but The most dangerous thing is to love and Tether otherwise fit the request.

~*~

7. Hihi 🫶 itmf for scary yllz Wei wuxian, just anything with wwx being insanely powerful and spooky!

No jc bashing or a/b/o please

💖 Echo, Murmur, Dream, Here by bluerainmist (M, 51k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Universe Alteration, the yiling patriarch survives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catharsis, Slow Burn, Drama, Getting Together, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Melancholy, Love, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Love Confessions, Eventual Smut, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Switching, Grief/Mourning, fucking while pining, Implied/Referenced Torture, Self-Harm, golden core transfer, Playing fast and loose with worldbuilding, Battle Scenes, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, implied / Referenced suicide attempt, Sect Leader WWX, YLLZ WWX, Yílíng Wèi Sect) link in #8

Old Foreshadows by protos_metazu_ison (M, 15k, WangXian, YLLZ WWX, BAMF WWX, War, Universe Alteration, Sunshot Campaign, Rated For Violence, Timeline What Timeline, Mojo’s post)

the field meets the wood by astronicht (T, 7k, WangXian, BAMF WWX, slight whump, Ritualistic Self Harm, Canon Era, Tang Dynasty style, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, salt economics, Post-Canon, [podfic] the field meets the wood by jellyfishfire, [Podfic] the field meets the wood by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

transmuter by WithLoweredVoices (Not rated, 113k, wangxian, Modern with Magic, Magical Realism, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending) if the requester doesn't mind modern magical realism: transmuter

~*~

8. ITMF: where after wwx dies like in canon or give up yin tiger tally and vanishing with wen remnant, the jin start showing their color. I want them to remember wwx warning that said the jin wants to replace the wen. I want that when i read the fic give the feel that wwx says "i told you so" Or "you chose the wrong person to put your trust to". Thanks!

~*~

9. Helloooo~

I'm really in the mood for Wei Wuxian embracing the GusuLan sect and having his very own forehead ribbon! Do you beautiful people know of some? @lostandmessedup

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious)

We Meet at the Thousandth Step by Admiranda, Rynne (T, 316k, WangXian, CSSR/WCZ, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, CSSR & WCZ Live, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Different First Meeting, Night Hunts, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Plot, Romance, Drama, Fluff, Strangers to married, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Everyone Lives, Developing Relationship, Minor Violence, Case Fic, Mystery, Flirting, WWX’s Canon-Typical Flower Flirting, Arson, There Was Only One Bed, Getting Together, First Kiss, Meeting the Parents, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, WWX Is a Good Big Brother, New Relationship Bliss, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Blood and Injury, Yiling siblings, Married WangXian, Honeymoon, Wangxian’s Baby Fever)

🔒 The Straightest Path by meyari (T, 30k, WangXian, NieLan, MingLi, ChengSang, war and death, Grief/Mourning, Politics, plotting for neuroatypicals, Autistic LWJ, WWX Has ADHD, Non-Canon Relationship, No Yīn Iron, Sect Leader LWJ) which has Wei Ying marrying into the Lans after the burning of Cloud Recesses but I honestly don't remember if getting his own forehead ribbon is featured in this story.

~*~

10. Would love to see people's favourite fics featuring switch dynamics and/or bottomji. Bonus points for subji (does not need to coincide with bottomji). @linderel

Respectable, Decent, and Quiet by Theotrix (E, 5k, WangXian, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, repressed lwj, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Loud Sex, Emotional release)

this bed of love by YaYa (Terabyte_my_ass) (E, 4k, WangXian, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Rimming, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Tender Sex, its so fucking tender and soft, super sensitive LWJ, Blink and you miss it humiliation kink, and a little bit of praise kink, First Time Bottoming, Bottom LWJ, POV LWJ, Coming Untouched)

A Narrow Bridge by FrameofMind, Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (E, 700k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Getting Together, First Time, Pining while fucking, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Angst with a Happy Ending, CQL Verse, almost everybody lives/almost nobody dies, epistolary-ish, canon-ish side pairings, radishes) Been a while since I read it, but IIRC this longfic has bottom!LWJ

Requester might also be interested to know there's a Bottomji event due to start posting stuff in a few days

Howling by MimiSpearmint (E, 40k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mortal Instruments Fusion, Horror, Eldritch, Domestic Fluff, Single Parent WWX, Witchcraft, Getting Together, shifter!lwj, yllz!wwx, Intercrural Sex, Hand Jobs, Angst with a Happy Ending, Switch WangXian, a bit of a degradation kink, anti-STI sex talismans, Anal Sex, Oral Sex)

best laid plans by ilip13 (E, 20k, WangXian, Modern AU, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Also some angst for our suffering hero, Developing Relationship, Porn with Feelings, An Ode to Switching, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Unreliable Narrator)

pretty things by ablinka (E, 7k, WangXian, Modern, Established Relationship, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Submissive LWJ, Trans Male Character, Trans LWJ, Trans WWX, Bondage, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Vaginal Sex, Strap-Ons, tdick penetration, dysphoria plays a significant role in the fic but does not actually occur, [slaps roof of pwp] this bad boy can fit so much fucking gender in it)

all of ScarlettStorm's fic but especially 花束 | bouquet by ScarlettStorm (E, 7k, WangXian, PWP, Rope Bondage, Flower Arrangement, tender kink, A Nice Afternoon ™, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dom WWX, Sub LWJ)

~*~

11. ITMF: I read many tgcfxmdzs fic where hualian is wwx (or any character in mdzs) parents/guardian/teacher, is there a fic that are opposite of that? Like WWX is Hua Cheng teacher or something? Thanks

~*~

12. hello! for the next itmf I was wondering if you could rec fics where jc and lsz start developing an uncle-nephew relationship. no modern aus please

Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not rated, 46k, WangXian, Junior Quartet Centric, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics)

~*~

13. Hi!!! This is for itmf. Is there any fic where

A) the Yiling town people protect Wei Wuxian

B) the civilians realise that cultivation world is the villain and protect Wei Wuxian and the Wen Remnant.

Thank you in advance❤️ @chibiizzy

~*~

14. hello and thank you for the work you do! i was wondering for the next itmf if you have recs of post-canon lxc and wwx developing a brotherly bond. it would be nice if lxc apologized to wwx for what he said at guanyin too

Preparing the Soil by Rynne (T, 26k, WangXian, LQR & LWJ, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Family Issues, Family Conflict, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Chinese Holidays, Chinese New Year, Birthdays, Good Kid LSZ, Meta Arguments, POV LWJ, Protective LWJ, Married WangXian, LWJ’s Birthday, LSZ’s Birthday, Soft WangXian, LWJ Has to Talk a Lot, Gusu Lan Sect Rules, Gusu Lan Sect, Letting Go of Resentment, The WWX Rule, Good Sibling LXC, Improving Uncle LQR, Grappling with the Lans’ Part in the Siege, learning to be better, Music, LWJ is a Composer, LWJ Is Good at Communicating Actually, Not JC Friendly)

one of our own by glitteringmoonlight (G, 7k, WangXian, Post-Canon, POV Outsider, 5+1 Things)

Of poisons and forgiveness by Anonymous (G, 1k, LXC & WWX, POV LXC, WWX deserves to be taken care of, WWX Needs a Hug, Hurt WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Poisoning, Poison, Talking, Apologies, Post-Canon, WWX is a Lan, by Marriage, LXC considers joining WWX protection squad tbh, WWX appreciation)

~*~

15. Hiii , looking for fics where wwx did s*x (sex) work(or something like that) to earn money for the burial mounds settlement, and lwj caught him / learned about it.. thx!

🔒 Tender by Deastar (E, 20k, WangXian, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Sex Work, (not between the main characters), love in the time of income inequality, Canon Divergence, Hopeful Ending, Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon)

~*~

16. Hello, itmf WY being calm, serious in his communication with LZ during cr period. Like his laughing and being brash is a disguise most of the time, but the way he approaches LZ is sincere.

Thank you 🙏

~*~

17. Thank you for all the work you do!

For an I'm In The Mood For: I'm in the mood to read:

A. Wangxian fic where the emphasis is on their relationship developing, any sex is fade-to-black or implied/way off "screen" and/or

B. Fic featuring asexual Wei Ying or Lan Zhan or both.

I'm just super tired of fics that are 90% PWP. (Can't believe it, but I am, lol).

17A)

through a window softly by impossibletruths (T, 14k, WangXian, Modern, College/University, Neighbors, Music, They Play Music Together But They’ve Never Met, It’s very romantic, Graduate School, WWX Is Doing Music Education and LWJ Is Doing Composition, Music As Love Language, Just A Whole Lot Of Classical Music In General, Podfic Available, Spanish Translation Available, Russian Translation Available)

fish & wild geese by impossibletruths (T, 21k, WangXian, Modern AU, Farm/Ranch, Poetry, Grief/Mourning, Cooking, Catharsis, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Hunger as a Metaphor for Grief, Farming as a Metaphor for Healing, Overzealous Use Of Imagery, Mentioned Madam Lán)

🔒 The Promises We Make by Mayarenerose (G, 34k, WangXian, LSZ & LWJ, LXC & LWJ, LWJ & WN, LWJ & JC, Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst, Everybody Lives, Canon Divergence, Gratuitous Bed Sharing)

And Yet Here You Are by cosmicmilktea (T, 10k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Cloud Recesses, settling down, Separation Anxiety, Teacher WWX, very light angst, Chief Cultivator LWJ)

17B)

Picture Perfect by manaika (M, 22k, WangXian, Modern AU, Past Relationship(s), Widower WWX, Grief/Mourning, Getting Together, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Stepfather WWX, LSZ is a Wèi, Single Parent WWX, Aromantic Relationship, Platonic Life Partners, it’s all in the past and only mentioned/discussed when relevant, Sex-Favorable Asexual WWX, RomanceHurt/Comfort, Past Character Death, Food Intake Related Medical Issue (not what you think) )

🔒 The Bunnysitter: a Post-it Romance by theLoyalRoyalGuard (G, 9k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff, really it’s just soft and fluffy, with a tiny bit of angst for seasoning, Asexual LWJ, autistic LWJ, adhd WWX, I mean he’s basically the ADHD poster child, cellist LWJ, Hacker WWX for justice, background 3zun, [Podfic] The Bunnysitter: a Post-it Romance by Cathalinareads (Cathalinaheart) )

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

119 notes · View notes

samwhump · 8 months ago

Text

a (very inexhaustive, wincest-heavy) sam whump reclist

@transfemmesam asked me for Sam whump recs a few days ago, and I've had other requests in the same vein before (I can't imagine why.../s) so I thought I would throw this together, since these authors deserve all of the love and support for their contributions to our li'l fandom corner.

like I mentioned in the title, this is not at all a comprehensive list; I have at least ~200 more fics in my to-read queue that could thematically fit here, but alas, I have stupid shit like a job and a body and a dog to take care of, so. I'm always happy to get recs along these lines, so if you notice anything important missing, hit me UP. (and don't take any omissions as any specific commentary by me -- it's likely I just haven't had the chance to read it yet, haha.)

disclaimers:

some (most, honestly) of these contain potentially triggering and dark content, including but not limited to rape/noncon, torture, and suicidal attempts & ideation. I have tried to note content warnings where applicable, and most of the works are hosted on ao3, so the tags should have most of the information you need to make an informed decision. that being said, tread with caution. all of the summaries provided are from the original author, with warnings added after by me.

the list is in alphabetical order and separated into wincest and gen categories. a lot of the gen is also focused on the sam & dean relationship, because...I am what I am. and what I am a sucker for these two dipshits. there is also a brief section at the end with a few fics that don't fit into either category.

gen

All That Goes Unspoken by amnesiawife:

A case forces Sam to confront something long kept buried. (Set nebulously in season 12.)

CW: discussions of past rape/noncon, victim blaming

Beneath the Trees 'verse by Lise (5 works total, starting with Beneath the Trees, Where Nobody Sees):

Sam doesn't go to Stanford. Everything goes downhill from there.

CW: suicidal ideation

a boy is a cage by ad_castra:

After expelling Gadreel from Sam's body, Dean thinks they're in the clear. If only they were that lucky. // S9 fic wherein Gadreel's grace causes some adverse side-effects in Sam's mind.

CW: past referenced rape/noncon, body horror

body of proof by Askance (doomcountry):

There are things Sam hasn't told his brother. They're all in the envelope laid on Dean's pillow.

CW: heavy discussion of past rape/noncon

break these bones 'til they're better by redskyatmorning:

After Sam’s torture at the hands of the British Men of Letters, the latest in a long string of violations, he is rescued by Dean and Mary – and forced to ponder his broken relationship with his own body. Months later, when Sam is resurrected and tormented by Lucifer yet again, Dean confronts Mary and Sam gets his revenge against the devil.

catching my death (staring out an open window) by ad_castra:

Sam gazes at the window, catches the faint pink hue tinting the sky. It’s so realistic - he could breathe in the fresh air if he were really here. ----- They got Sam out. Sometimes, just knowing that isn't enough.

CW: implied past rape/noncon

Death of Convenience by WilsonTheMoose:

It should have been easy. Wendigos are no joke but daylight slows them. The weather's been unpredictable though and perfect, idyllic hunts don't exactly stay that way where they're concerned. Or Sam has one card to play and never stops to think that Dean would care if he killed himself.

CW: suicidal ideation, references to suicide

Echoes of Hell by The_Nightbreaker:

It wasn't real. He wasn't in Hell anymore. That's what he tried to tell himself over and over. But two centuries of torture don't disappear in a day. Sam struggles with visions of Hell, fighting to maintain his grip on reality. Dean hates that he can't protect his brother from what isn't real—but curse him if he doesn't try. When the boys stumble on a case with ties to the Devil himself, will they be able to pull themselves together in time to stop the sacrifices? Or will the echoes of Hell finally overtake them? Aka, season 7, but the plot is Hell trauma, not leviathans.

CW: suicidal ideation

Evening Shadows by withthekeyisking:

Sam is hallucinating the monster who tortured him for nearly two centuries, Dean feels like he's failing his brother, and a diner waitress bears witness.

CW: past rape/noncon

Everything Dies Given Time by Lise:

AU from 5.03. Sam discovers something wrong with himself, and learns to live with it. Only a lot less functional.

CW: suicide/temporary character death

The Freedom to Be Loud by jribbing:

It hadn’t occurred to Dean that maybe Sam remembered so much about that little nowhere town because something memorable had happened there.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

golgotha by redskyatmorning:

There’s a vacancy on the throne of hell, and Sam is desperate enough to save Dean from Michael’s possession to give into the abyssal depths of his own darkness.

Head Space by ameliacareful:

A witch curses Sam leaving him blind, deaf, and bedridden. Left with only the inside of his own head and the occasional touch, Sam begins to unravel.

CW: suicidal ideation

Hiraeth by inkandpaperqwerty:

(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past "Dean... I made a really big mistake." For a second, Dean actually thought things were going okay. He was out of Hell, Sam agreed to stop drinking demon blood, they had just wrapped up a successful hunt... for once, everything was okay. And then it wasn't. "I overdosed." Not at all.

CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation

if i could leave (i would've already left) by serendipity0930:

“I have a mission from God for you,” the Angel whispers to the man. “It is time for you to do what you were born to.” The man’s face twists into a smile, delighted over being chosen by Him, a purpose from God digging into his heart, carving out a place to fester. “Hunt.” ... 05x03 AU where Zachariah is even more determined to keep the brothers apart and hunters are all too willing to take Lucifer's True Vessel off the board for good

CW: referenced suicide

It's A River (But Not In Egypt) by Lise:

He's still a liar. Maybe always has been.

CW: toxic Sam/Lucifer dynamics

Kindred Instruments by PinBitch:

They’re in a tug of war and Sam is the rope. He doesn’t need to be alive for that. OR Sam dies in detox, being flung against the walls of a metal box will do that to you. Dean and Ruby pick up the pieces.

CW: temporary main character death, permanent supporting character death

lazarus trick by katsidhe:

Sam's alive, so everything is gonna be okay. 13.22 coda.

Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence by Lise:

Sam's back. He's in one piece. That's the problem.

CW: self-harm

love is like ghosts by redskyatmorning:

I’m poison, Dean had said instead of I’m sorry. Well, Sam wants to say, what does that make me? What the hell does that make me? (A look into Sam's mind in the aftermath of the Gadreel possession.)

The Other Brother by RadioFriday:

Sam and Adam are pulled from the cage at the same time. Sam is not right, and Adam, stuck as his caretaker, is not pleased.

Oxygen by inkandpaperqwerty:

“Cas! Cas, please! Please, answer me! Cas!” Castiel ignores Dean for several minutes, but then Dean gives him an opening that might help him complete his mission. So, he goes to investigate, and what he finds is a very bloody, nearly dead Sam. Dean tells him where the injuries came from, and Castiel quickly becomes confused. It doesn't make sense, but Dean tries to explain it to him, and slowly... Castiel begins to understand.

CW: suicide attempt

Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc by AmberSock:

Sam waits, kneeling, for his execution. What if Dean hadn't missed?

CW: temporary character death

Safety In Distance by GalaxyThreads and SpiritClusters:

The Mark of Cain is a brand of violence. Sam was an idiot to think that he'd be exempt from it, just because he and Dean are siblings.

sometimes a kind of singing by adi_rotynd:

Sam gets cursed. They're dealing with it. Jack can see souls. That one they're not dealing with quite as well.

CW: past referenced rape/noncon

Soul Windows by GalaxyThreads and Spirit Clusters:

A few months after his birth, Jack learns how to see souls. Then he comes to a realization about the Winchester brothers, Sam in particular, and it's not a pleasant one. (gen)

Starry Night by keepcalmsmile:

Sam attempts suicide-by-monster. Dean tries to help. It sort of works...until it doesn't.

CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation

such fragile, broken things by The_Bookkeeper:

Sam wishes that Dean would just get it over with already.

The Tale of Sir Galahad by keepcalmsmile:

Sam once said he could never be clean like Sir Galahad. Dean assumed he was just talking about the demon blood. Turns out, Sam was talking about something else too. WARNING: Extended discussions of the aftermath of rape and childhood sexual abuse (but NO description of the actual events). Happy(ish) ending, but potentially very triggering.

CW: past rape/noncon, mentioned CSA

They Hammered in His Teeth by jribbing:

Sam has a secret.

CW: suicidal ideation

today's troubles (are history tomorrow) by a_good_soldier:

"It's not really something I know how to share," Sam had said. In which Dean figures he ought to help Sam out a bit.

Touch and Go by themegalosaurus:

Tag to 9.19 (Alex Annie Alexis Ann) in which Dean realises why, exactly, Sam is so angry about what happened with Gadreel.

trust fall by ad_castra:

“I’m nothing like you,” Sam hisses. Nevermind relating to the anguish of going it alone. Nevermind that he knows what it is to be strapped down and forcibly cleansed against his will. Sam wonders if these trials are purifying Crowley as well.

Words Like Glass by broken_cinders:

Dean never figured the cage wouldn't leave a mark. He was prepared for memories, flashbacks, and nightmares. He wasn't expecting the words Sam brought back with him or the way they made him seem just a breath beyond Dean's reach.

Wound and Unwound by fascra:

Sam stops eating spring of his freshman year.

CW: eating disorder

wincest (dean/sam)

Brittle by thecapn:

Sam Winchester has an eating disorder.

CW: eating disorder

Don't You Cry No More by sixtysevenlmpala (schittyfic):

The first time Sam gets badly hurt on a hunt, he doesn’t cry. Dean does.

Fall On Your Knees by dollylux:

Sam doesn't quite make it home on the last day of school before winter break.

The Fall Will Probably Kill You by killabeez:

Set between 7.04 and the aftermath of 7.07. Dean is not as okay as he'd like you to think. Neither is Sam.

CW: self-harm

Feels so good to feel again by Trojie:

The pain keeps Lucifer at bay, at least to start with.

Follow In Your Form by withthekeyisking:

Sam is hallucinating Lucifer in the wake of Cas bringing his Hell Wall crashing down. To make matters worse, it seems like this has his dormant powers flaring back to life.

Last Temptation by merle_p:

Sam is running a fever again, the kind of fever no Ibuprofen or cold compress will bring down, the kind of fever that is eating him up alive, eviscerating him from the inside. He is too hot and too cold and too pale, delirious and shaking, resonating with whatever divine energy the trials are subjecting him to, and Dean is not sure how much longer he can stand to see him be in this state. Because Sam is quite possibly dying, and there is nothing Dean can do to stop it. Because Sam is dying, and he just. Won’t. Shut. Up.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

leeches by Anonymous:

Sam discovers a spell to make everybody forget him. He’s convinced it’s for the best. Pre-Stanford.

CW: attempted kidnapping/torture

Make Thick My Blood by themegalosaurus:

“You’re going to kill me, Dean,” Sam says, eventually. And all Dean can say is, “I think I am.” A season 10 AU, set after 10x14 ('The Executioner's Song'). Cas finds a solution that might cure the Mark of Cain; but if they're going to go through with it, Sam has a terrible price to pay.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

Prophecy of an Abomination by ashitanoyuki:

Sam is kidnapped by fanatically religious hunters and crucified. Coming back from this won't be easy. Canon-divergent from midway through season 2.

Recall by De_Nugis:

Sam's having a hard time telling what's real and what isn't, especially when it comes to some voicemails from Dean.

The Room Upstairs by brokenlittleboy:

Sam comes back from hell, but he’s inside-out and all wrong, and Dean can’t fix him.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

Ruin You (and its companion fic Worth) by Mumble_Bee:

Cole fucks Sam with Demon!Dean watching from a devil's trap, snarling that anyone would dare touch what was his. “I told you I don’t care what you do to his face or his blood or his fucking nose,” Dean growled, “but you put your dick anywhere near him and I will end you.” “Better hurry up then, Dean, because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

CW: explicit rape/noncon

Snowed In by HelloStarlingFics:

When working a case, Sam and Dean get stuck out in a shack in the woods when the snow comes in hard and fast. Trouble is, Sam’s hated the cold ever since the Cage. Time for Dean to step up and look after him.

Wake by minchout:

Gadreel has had Sam for four years, and Dean, lost in guilt and obsessed with finding a way to get his brother back, has isolated himself in a cabin in the Missouri Ozarks with nothing but the woods, a stray dog, some chickens, and all the books the Men of Letters had to offer to keep him company. Then Sam shows up one day without his passenger, and Dean learns quickly that it doesn't matter that Sam is with him again - there is still a lot of work to be done before they can find their way back to each other.

Wanting to Forget by morganaDW (morgana07):

1-shot. S1 fic. After getting Sam freed from the Benders Dean thinks all he has to cope with is some bruises and cuts. He learns quickly just how wrong he is when Sam wakes up with a nightmare, reliving his brief but bad captivity in every detail. Sam just wants to forget & Dean has to try to get him to let him help. Will one night of cruelty and pain ruin what’s been formed between them?

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

when I wake up I'm afraid, somebody else might take my place by quake_quiver:

Sam doesn’t remember the last time he cried for Dean like he did that night. And now it’s been…two weeks. Maybe more. Sam is tired, and in pain, and starting to doubt that Dean’s going to show up. He’s weak and shaking from a combination of constant pain and hunger. Sam longs for Dean. Dean would make it better. Dean would fix it.

CW: rape/noncon, body horror

Wire Inside Me by merle_p:

There are a lot of things Sam hates about his current condition, to the point where he sometimes feels for the gun under his pillow at night, blindly toys with the safety, imagines pressing the muzzle into the underside of his chin and pulling the trigger just to make it stop. But there’s nothing he hates as much as the shadows he sees in Dean’s eyes whenever his brother is looking at him these days. It’s not an expression he remembers ever seeing before, but Sam thinks it’s probably something like revulsion. Horror. Disgust. What else could it be.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon, body horror, forced pregnancy

Worth (and its companion fic Ruin You) by Mumble_Bee:

Episode 10x01 "Black" where Dean is a human, and very, very, pissed off to hear someone has hands on his brother. “It’s nothing personal,” Cole whispered into Sam's ear, too quietly for Dean to hear, “but I need to kill your brother, and I need him off his game when he gets here. I don’t wanna hurt you, kid, but I’m going to, anyway. I’m going to hurt you a lot."

CW: explicit rape/noncon

you'll never see us again by according2thelore:

Then finally, his eyes trail over to Dean. His pupils are pin-point thin, and his hair is straggling in his face so Dean can’t see most of what expression lies there. Sam usually wakes up from nightmares in one of three attitudes: confusion, fear, or calm. A scary, sense-prickling calm that Dean hates more than anything else. Resignation, almost. Or: Sam suffers from nightmares and touch starvation post-Cage. They do their best to deal.

other Sam/Lucifer noncon

Cage Fight (No Way To Do This Right) by Dyed_Red:

Sam’s visit to the cage is already going awry, but Dean’s one-man rescue ends up skidding it sideways into territory neither him or Sam are ready for. (Gratuitous episode scene re-write. If Cas hadn’t come till after, if he hadn’t been there yet when Dean ran down to the 'parole' cage after hearing Sam scream - how bad could it have got for the brothers before he made it?)

CW: graphic rape/noncon

Into Being by withthekeyisking:

When Sam wakes up in the cave on Apocalypse World after having been killed by vamps, it's not just to find Lucifer there with him. It's to find him in him.

CW: graphic rape/noncon, necrophilia, forced pregnancy

Reggie/Tim/Sam noncon

a pointless resistance for you by withthekeyisking:

Sam doesn't know how long he's been with Tim and Reggie by the time Dean shows up and tries to take him out of there. Long enough that's he's already lost one baby and is pregnant with the next. Long enough that this life is starting to feel like all he knows.

CW: graphic rape/noncon, forced pregnancy & miscarriage, victim blaming

screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing by withthekeyisking:

Sam has done his best to move past what Tim and Reggie did to him, pretending it never happened at all. But running into them again makes that very difficult—especially when Dean gets involved.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

Waste 'Em All by withthekeyisking:

When Tim and Reggie try to force the demon blood down Sam's throat, he spits it back out. He has no interest in being turned into their own personal attack dog. They don't...take it well.

CW: explicit rape/noncon

#sam winchester #sam whump #supernatural #supernatural fic rec #wincest

268 notes · View notes

starleska · 11 days ago

Text

a darker theory about why the Contestant went on the Finding Frankie show

tw for discussions of suicidality, attempted suicide and mental health user @mana-is-lost figured out that the Contestant went through an extraordinary amount of Frankie's Fruit Flakes in order to get on the Finding Frankie show...which raises a lot of interesting questions and ideas.

the first is that the Contestant appears to be a long-time fan of the show - Mana also noticed that they have a sticker of Frankie on their VHS tape. a few people have speculated that the Contestant wanted to get on the show just for the money, but in order to go through that many boxes of cereal, they would've had to spend thousands of dollars. more importantly, they are constantly buying the family size cereal (presumably the only kind in which the tapes are available), although there is no evidence they have a family...they live in a small apartment and are on the verge of bankruptcy.

Mana also noticed that the Contestant has a Finding Frankie sticker on the side of their VHS tape, establishing that they are likely a long-term fan. it may well be that we've gotten things backwards. is it possible that the Contestant was not on the verge of bankruptcy due to normal life circumstances, but lost a lot of their money trying to get on the show, finding the golden ticket video tapes?

we know that the Contestant is down on their luck and living in a squalid environment. however, take note of everything about this setup. the trash hasn't been taken out. items are scattered and free-floating to convey disarray, and recalled through a hazy fog, as if the Contestant hasn't been in the best frame of mind. most tellingly, the oven is open and there's a carton of some kind of liquid behind the stovetop. i believe this liquid, based on the shape of the container, is either gasoline or bleach. consider this. what if the Contestant wants to die?

i believe that the Contestant has been suicidal for a while, and has been psyching themselves up to try and kill themselves: the remnants of which we see scattered around their apartment. in the midst of a mental health crisis, they've lapsed back into a longtime fixation of theirs: Finding Frankie, which until recently was nothing more than a feel-good parkour show. however, over the past year ratings have declined and more troublesome things about the show have been reported, including rumours about injury and even death. the Contestant, rather than being horrified and no longer idolising the show, sees this as a way out. if people really are being killed in the Parkour Palace, there's no way they'd survive...and the agency is removed from them to perform the act themselves, which they have been unable to do. i think this is where the true horror lies for the Contestant in the final scene with Frankie. it isn't that they will have to go through the terror of surviving against the odds over and over again as the star of the show. it's that they have been denied the one thing they came on the show for: death.

#jesus...this one was a rough one to write but once the pieces were pointed out i couldn't stop thinking about the implications #there could be perfectly innocent explanations for everything i've mentioned above...but the more i think about it. the more likely it seem #interested in folks' perspective on this one #tw suicide #tw suicidality #tw mental health #finding frankie spoilers #finding frankie #the contestant #real frankie #the other one #the other #the other frnakie #frankie #starleskatalks #long post

74 notes · View notes

demodraws0606 · 2 months ago

Text

An character analysis POV as to how Hu could be the culprit (and a little bit of Nico stuff as well)

tw/ mentions of suicide

So I've seen certain Eden!Culprit truthers just not really believing that Hu could be the culprit because of her behavior during the class trial. However her committing murder against Arei and Ace makes a lot more sense than Eden does by a longshot (especially with Eden having no accomplices atp).

But I also understand why people are confused by Hu's behavior if she could possibly be the culprit. There's a lot of things that don't seem to make sense on the surface that I also accepted however digging further, you can find a version of Hu that honestly fits really well as the culprit of this chapter.

I will also throw in analysis of Nico's behavior because a lot of their behavior during this class trial is strange if Hu really is the culprit but again I think I can explain why this happened.

I also want to preface this by saying that I do think Hu is going to be a heavily flawed character but I don't think she's malicious in any way shape or form. If I find any Hu hate after she's revealed to be the culprit, I will actually fight your ass and that's a promise.

Her outburst against David :

I honestly was also in the camp of not really understanding Hu being the culprit, doesn't this go against her outburst against David ?

Well, here's the thing, I think her outburst was 100 pourcent genuine, I just think Hu is both being a hypocrite in a way but mostly she's hiding her true feelings behind her wording.

Let's take what she says in her outburst :

There's a funny thing about her wording, especially at the beginning :

"You have no right to decide wether I, whether any of us..."

I think what Hu is trying to say is being hidden by her saying "we" and "us". In my opinion, she's probably mad at David for wanting to toy with her life, not even to escape himself but simply to commit mass suicide. Which we know Hu has a very complicated history with suicide due to her secret.

I do think her anger is both a mix of projecting onto David her present (and past self) and also her genuine desire to want to continue living.

She would be mad, she's trying so hard to live and here is David who both planned to let her die not even to survive himself but simply because he gave up. Interesting to note how she interprets David's desire to stop the killing game as "Because this killing game requires us to live, you think you should just reject that notion and kill us all". She doesn't mention him wanting to end the killing game, she mentions David rejecting the notion of living itself.

If Hu was a past suicidal person who now has committed herself to continue living, of course she would be insulted by David's action, it spits in her face and reminds her of a past self that simply rejected the idea of living.

A desire to live that's shown through this outburst and also in her secret quote.

Again switching the pronouns Hu is using here with "I" really gives a new perspective that I think makes a lot of sense with her being the culprit.

"It is not and never will be your desicion as to what happens with MY life"

Because Hu wants to live now, she's no longer her past self, she won't try and throw her life away anymore.

The murder of Arei and attempted murder of Ace :

I want to discuss both the victims and method of murder here because I think it works very well with Hu. It's not really a character analysis thing as much but I didn't want to make a seperate post for it.

Hu clearly does/did not have high opinions of either Ace or Arei, like at all. They were both people that Hu reprimended heavily.

Especially with the secret motive happening, it's very possible that Hu's possible choice of culprit was done with the notion of "who deserves to be killed". Her first pick being Ace makes a lot of sense

I'm making her sound villainous when I say this but I do think it was her mindset at the time, Ace's horrible behavior towards Nico possibly being what led to her to feel allowed to take his life. However when Ace survived, she decided she was simply to deep into it and decided to go with the second best choice in her mind, Arei.

I want to also point out the method of murder...hanging

Clearly the culprit had a lot of knowledge about hanging, with it being their main method of murder. Which would make sense with Hu's past, using her past attempts as knowledge for her to take someone else's life which I find very ironic and in a way morbidly narratively compelling.

What was the motive ? :

I think Hu simply just wanted to live, it had nothing to do with the motives (and I honestly think the motives will actually not ever be involved in the murders bc it seems like they're setting it up to be a recurring trend).

I think Hu was thinking about murdering to get out ever since she was put in this killing game. However the only reason why she has never done so is because she was way too attached to her classmates.

From her secret quote, to her outburst against David, to her secret motive. All of it hints at this strong desire to want to live.

However she couldn't bear to kill anyone in this cast until chapter 2 happened.

Ace and Arei both are probably the least likable characters in chapter 2's daily life, I don't mean that in the fandom sense but I mean that in the eyes of the cast itself. Especially Ace who truly ends up falling to horrible harmful patterns out of self preservation.

We know how toxic the cast became in chapter 2 and I think that's what led to Hu feeling more comfortable killing someone. She no longer felt as guilty when she saw Ace (and Arei but mostly Ace) acting this way. This allowed her to commit murder. When it failed, she simply ended up chosing the second person on her list that she saw as nothing more than a horrible bully.

After all who would miss Ace and Arei, they're both horrible horrible people right ? Who would cry for someone who isn't a good person.

It was a murder both driven by Hu's strong desire of survival and also her view of her fellow classmates.

Nico's behavior :

Before I get more into Hu's mindset, I want to take a little detour to why is Nico being so difficult ?

I know I've made theories about Nico being an accomplice, but looking back I don't think they actually knew Hu did it. Even if they're not telling the truth about Ace's attempted murder and Hu's false allibi.

But then why ? Why would Nico ever do this, don't they know they're potentially putting everyone's lives at risk

Well it wouldn't be the first time a character in DRDT's cast is difficult to the point of risking people's lives (i'm fucking look at you WHIT.). However I think there are both actually decent reasons as to why Nico wouldn't tell the truth alongside his issues with being non-confrontational.

First, I don't think Nico ever expected the murder of Ace to be important to the case. I think they lied because everyone else made it extremely obvious what their thoughts truly were and Nico probably thought that trying to argue against them simply would just make them look more guilty or not do anything at all.

Again I would like to pull Nico's secret quote for evidence here. Because again I think it just fits with everything here.

For the alibi thing, I think Nico genuinely didn't contest it because they probably believe Hu only did that to protect them from getting blamed. Again anything that would make Nico not get yelled at or suspected probably is something they would hold onto. They still have no reason to think Hu really did it, so again with their issues with being non-confrontational I think it would make sense for them not to contest it.

I think Nico's arc is heavily tied with Hu, and vice verca. There's an empahsis on how Nico is struggling to make their true feelings truly known because everyone talks about them and the one person who thinks they are there to protect them actually are just as bad if not worse in ignoring them.

Nico wasn't ready to come out, they were instantly labelled an attempted murderer and the one person who is here to defend them is someone who constantly interrupts them. The entirety of chapter 2 has just been them being objectified and not really giving them a voice.

Which I think comes back to a part of Hu that I think is related to the murder.

Hu's relationship with Nico and Eden :

Isn't that interesting how Hu has established relationships with both Nico and Eden, meanwhile Ace and Arei both have bullied Eden/Nico.

I don't think this is a coincidence and I think it matches Hu's misguided attempts at protecting people.

Hu wants to be useful, she desperately wants to be the strong protector of the group. However there are very clear signs here intentions aren't very glamorous.

In a fucked up way, it's very possible that she sees the murder of Ace and Arei as her helping Eden and Nico. Two people she clearly wants to protect (at least for Nico it's obvious).

However Hu's actions clearly did not help them, in fact, what she did ended up backfiring on the both of them.

Nico ends up being framed as a murderer

Eden lost a potential friend

Not only that but she had to have manipulated both Nico and Eden, to accomplish her murder. It's a flimsey self excuse for Hu to keep up her belief that she's a protector.

Obviously I don't think this was her main motivation, I've talked about it before but it's yet again something that would make it more easy for Hu to swallow the idea of being a murderer.

Is Hu evil ? :

No ! What the fuck did you think this post was for !

See I don't think Hu being the culprit suddenly makes her this horrible manipulative person. Despite the dread I feel with the likelyhood of Hu getting dragged to the ground if she's the culprit, I don't think she's remotely close to characters like...Celeste for exemple.

She's a person who was desperate to live who let herself murder by making up excuses, that she was doing this for the greater good somehow that it wasn't just a selfish desire of survival.

It makes sense for a chapter all about morality right ? Justifying a horrible action by justifying that well...these people she murdered weren't really good people were they ? Plus she ended up killing Eden and Nico's bullies right ? And I mean the killing game will only really end when two people are still alive right ? So maybe she's not a bad person. Maybe she deserves to live.

But people don't to be deserve murdered (99 pourcent of the time, i'm talking about DRDT's moral here) , not even horrible people. You don't know these people, if they could change, and you don't know what consequences you bring upon others by enacting justice like this.

And in a chapter about morality wouldn't it be interesting to tackle the morality of someone who would want to live no matter what. Is it fair to call Hu a bad person because she simply didn't want to die ? Somehow her attempts at killing herself in the past is wrong but letting herself be killed in a place like this is the moral thing to do ?

Is the fact that she killed people who she perceived as bad make this whole thing better. Did these people's lives matter less than her, someone who has been trying to actually be nice to others and help them ?

Or is her attempt of being a good respectable motherly figure only just a facade to feed her ego, a person who once didn't think they deserved now hanging to every possible reason to continue fighting to stay alive ? No matter what, no matter what happens, she needs to continue living.

"A pig never hopes to grow up into a human, because it knows that a metamorphisis like that is impossible"

#drdt #danganronpa despair time #hu jing #hu drdt #nico hakobyan #nico drdt #eden tobisa #eden drdt #i want no one dissing my girl if she's revealed as the culprit #like ngl i love her being the culprit because it just makes her so interesting and morally gray #i love complicated morally gray women you go girl #it's so funny that me making this post has made Hu rise up in my list of favs considerably #this has made me look at her character in a new interesting light

80 notes · View notes

frenchonionsoop · 8 months ago

Note

How did Oda leave such a strong impression on Dazai?

OOHH ok i have a lot of thoughts on this topic so bear with me, this is gonna be a long one My interpretation is the first thing Dazai latched onto about Oda was his honesty.

Oda is a very straightforward person, he rarely ever if at all has an ulterior motive and it totally blindsides Dazai. He can't manipulate Oda because he'll take what he says too literally, he can't predict him - not because Oda is good at hiding his thoughts, he just naturally has the most unreadable resting poker face imaginable - and no matter what he does nothing seems to phase Oda (keyword "seems", it often does he just doesn't show it) , and it intrigues Dazai.

As seen with Chuuya we know Dazai gets hooked on people who surprise and/or impress him, so I can absolutely understand how he saw the enigma that is Oda and said "you're my friend now we're having soft tacos later <3".

I could go on for hours about the various times Oda has bamboozled Dazai and how each effected him profoundly in so many different ways, but that's a discussion for another time. I don't think just these factors would realistically warrant Dazai's drastic change in world outlook and spur on his sudden redemption arc, so what did?

I believe it was his complete lack of judgement. Despite Dazai's constant suicide attempts and harsh view of the world not once did Oda outwardly judge him for it, which is in some ways a blessing and in some ways a curse. Oda never viewed himself as qualified enough to call Dazai out, which in hindsight might've done harm as there were times were Dazai needed someone to call him out, but unbeknownst to Oda that lack of judgement gave Dazai room to breathe.

He saw right past the silly facade and the darker side to Dazai, he saw a "sobbing child abandoned in the darkness of a world far emptier than the one we're seeing", and he saw a friend.

And this is exactly why Oda's last words hit Dazai so hard. Odasaku, who never speaks up for himself, Odasaku, who's so genuine he'd believe a murderer if they simply said "I didn't do it", Odasaku, who is now telling Dazai life might just be little better if he decides to help rather than hurt.

Bleeding out on the floor of a mansion, in a desperate attempt to make up for all the times he didn't confront Dazai Oda has to find some way to get through to him and fast. His harsh words to Dazai on how he'll never find that happiness he so desperately craves are so jarring they snap him out of his panic, suddenly he's blindsided all over again, and that vulnerable state gives Oda's next words the chance to reach deeper - "be on the side that saves people."

In order to truly get through to him, Oda needed to level with Dazai, the only way to do that in such little time was to repeat back to him his own internal mantra of "never filling that hole that is his loneliness". It's clear his words are false, especially the line "nothing beyond your own expectations will happen" as Dazai's entire speech to Fyodor in the prison is about his belief in the unpredictable nature of human beings.

But regardless, that slap in the face of hearing his own self-destructive thoughts voiced aloud after going his entire life without ever considering anybody else could understand them heightened Dazai's faith in Oda's promise of a life that's "a bit more wonderful."

What makes me adore Oda and Dazai's friendship so much is how grounded and natural it feels. Oda isn't some perfect saviour who always knows exactly what to say, far from it, he was a 23 year old PM grunt with 5 kids and a love for spicy curry, but that's all he needed to be.

Sorry this is so ramble-y and long winded if you couldn't tell already Oda's my favourite character so I have a lot to say about him 😭 Thank you so much for the ask!!!

#there are a thousand other points id love to make here but i didnt want it getting any longer than it already is lmao #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd analysis #bsd dazai #bsd odasaku #the dark era #dazai osamu #oda sakunosuke #ask

168 notes · View notes

reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

Text

"When Ghana’s parliament voted to decriminalise suicide and attempted suicide in March, Prof Joseph Osafo felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

Osafo, head of psychology at the University of Ghana, had been engaged in a near 20-year battle to abolish the law – brought in by the British – which stated that anyone who attempts suicide should face imprisonment or a fine.

“It was a very good feeling. I felt like a certain burden had been removed. I was extremely elated,” he remembers. “Then the next morning, I realised we had a lot of work to do.”

Four countries decriminalised suicide in just the past year

Ghana is one of four countries to have decriminalised suicide in the past year – Malaysia, Guyana and Pakistan are the others. More could soon follow, which campaigners say is a sign of greater awareness and understanding of mental health. Kenya and Uganda have filed petitions to overturn laws and members of the UN group of Small Island Developing States have committed to decriminalise. Discussions are also being held in Nigeria and Bangladesh.

“There seems to be a domino effect taking place,” says Muhammad Ali Hasnain, a barrister from United for Global Mental Health, a group calling for decriminalisation. “As one country decriminalises suicide, others start to follow suit.”

“It is quite unusual,” adds Sarah Kline, the organisation’s chief executive. “It’s a huge sign of progress and an important step forward for the populations most at risk, as well as the countries as a whole.” ...

A large number of laws were introduced by the British during colonial rule. Suicide was decriminalised in England, Wales and Northern Ireland in the 1960s – it was never criminalised in Scotland...

The results of these punishments can be “devastating” and present “a huge barrier” to addressing the problem, says Natalie Drew, a technical officer with the mental health policy and service development team at the World Health Organization. Health experts and advocates argue that suicide should be treated as a public health issue rather than a crime.

Criminalising suicide denies people the right to access health services and discriminates against them because of something they’re experiencing, Drew adds. Research shows that in countries where suicide has been decriminalised, people can seek help for mental health and rates tend to then decline.

Next Steps

In September, the WHO is due to release a guide on decriminalising suicide for policymakers, with explanations of how countries have managed it...

“[Ghana’s decision] should have an impact on the work ongoing in other countries, especially in the Africa region,” says Osafo. Within the past couple of months, he has set up a mental health working group with representatives from about 20 African countries, and one of the biggest issues on the agenda is decriminalisation of suicide, he says. “Nigeria is active, Cameroon is active … Kenya has joined and is doing fantastic work. We have Uganda. People have been asking us how we did it.”

Since suicide was decriminalised in Malaysia last month, Anita Abu Bakar, founder and president of the Mental Illness Awareness and Support Association (Miasa), has already seen things change. Crisis response teams and helplines are expanding, and money from the mental health budget is being given to organisations who work in the community. “This is the shift we’re so happy to see,” she says. “It was such an archaic law.”

She adds: “I’m a person with lived experience. What does decriminalisation mean to people like me? We feel supported, we feel this conversation can go to a different level. Obviously decriminalisation is not the only way to prevent suicide, but it’s a big one. I’m happy for this progressive move – better late than never. I’m excited to see what happens next, not just for Malaysia but for the rest of us.”"

-via The Guardian, July 20, 2023

#cw suicide #cw sui mention #ghana #malaysia #guyana #pakistan #nigeria #kenya #uganda #cameroon #mental health #mental illness #healthcare access #decriminalization #england #colonialism #good news #cw sui attempt #suicide

398 notes · View notes

trippinsorrows · 2 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + seventeen

authors note: this chapter covers the aftermath of solana's attempt in the previous chapter. please heed to content warnings in order to make an informed decision regarding reading this chapter.

i'm going to handle solana's experience in the hospital as realistically as i can, but there are creative liberties taken as well. and don't come for me for the ending either. :/

cw/tw: angst, discussion and coverage of the aftermath of a suicide attempt, mental health discussions.

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

masterlist

words: 15k

Roman has a long to-do list. He always does and always will. But, this is by far one of the last things he wants to do.

He’s going on 24 hours of no sleep, which isn’t the first time he’s done as such, but it’s the first time he’s done as such and actually felt the impact of the sleep deprivation. And truth be told, deep down he knows the exhaustion that he feels is more mental than anything.

It’s the result of the toll that finding out Solana tried to kill herself has taken on him.

Is taking on him.

But, he can’t deal with that shit right now. He can’t deal with it because he’s got his Wise Man, Rikishi, Solo, Jimmy and Jey all sitting around him, wearing various levels of confused expressions. Which only irritates Roman more because Rikishi and Paul are the only ones who should be confused. The twins have been with him dealing with all of the shit the past 24 hours.

Solo too.

Rikishi is the first to speak, studying Roman. The Tribal Chief is more than sure he noticed the grimace on Roman’s face as he went to roll his shoulders, remembering yet again of the wound that probably won’t heal as quickly as predicted given the fact he’s done the complete opposite of ‘taking it easy.’

“You gonna tell us what happened or—”

“There was an assassination attempt on Solana’s life last night.” Roman’s sentence is matter-of-fact and to the point, nevermind the fact that his right hand forms into a fist at just saying as such.

Rikishi and Paul share shocked expressions, Roman’s older cousin being the one to ask, “is she—”

“Bullet hit me instead. Didn’t lodge. I’ll be fine.” Roman only adds that last part because of the horrified look on Paul’s face, already knowing his Wise Man will bombard him with questions about his injury. “Xavier Miller and his boy were behind the attempt. I’m handling them now.”

“But sir, why would Miller want his own daughter dead?”

Roman closes his eyes and rolls his neck, working to settle his rising temper. He hates talking about this shit. It only spikes his eagerness to get his hands on Miller and rip him apart limb by limb. “Because she didn’t go along with his plan.”

Rikishi speaks up again. “Plan?”

Roman’s jaw clenches. “He wanted her to kill me.”

The rest of the men look equally shocked, Paul gasping loudly, asking, “she’s a traitor?”

If looks could kill, Paul would be six feet under. Roman has to mentally restrain from acting out on his suddenly murderous urges. “She’s my wife.”

Rikishi, however, seemingly tosses his longtime friend a lifeline, trying to reason with his younger cousin. “Uce, that doesn’t mean she can’t be both—”

“What I’m hearing….” Solo surprises the men around the table as he sits forward. “—is that she can’t be trusted.”

Roman isn’t sure just how much of his anger and rage at the accusations being slung against Solana is showing, his Solana, but it must be enough for the twins, of all people, to try and de-escalate.

“Come on now, this is Soso we talking about.” Jimmy is the first to kick off peacemaking. He looks at his father, “pops, you was there when we first met her. She was nervous as shit. Ain’t nothing about that girl dangerous.”

Jey chimes in, handling Solo. “And you of all people should definitely know that’s not Solana. She would never hurt nobody, let alone kill nobody.”

Solo, however, simply scoffs. “Like she ain’t hurt her brother?”

“What was she supposed to do? Let him beat her?” Jimmy is the one to snap, shouting back with a suck of his teeth, “man, that bitch deserved it!”

Rikishi jumps in, defending his younger son. “I think what Solo is trying to say is that it proves she is, in fact, capable of hurting someone if she wanted to.”

“Why would she want to hurt Roman? That don’t even make no—”

“Enough!” Roman’s fist slams down on the table. “The next person to say one more negative thing about my wife is getting a bullet in their fucking skull.” There’s a blanket of silence, all of the men knowing that Roman would absolutely carry through on this threat. A promise, really.

Roman swallows, both from anger and something else he can’t pinpoint. “Solana tried to kill herself last night. What in the fuck about that presents a danger?” He doesn’t care enough to observe the reactions of that news. Doesn’t give a fuck. “The only person she’s a danger to is herself.”

Paul is the brave soul, or perhaps just stupidly and naively asking, “is she—okay?”

“I said tried, didn’t I?” Roman snaps, forcing the pudgy man to recoil back in his seat. Roman clenches his jaw yet again, directing his statement to the next older man. “Rikishi.” He runs a hand over his face. “Meet with the Elders. Tell them about the assassination attempt. That it was Miller. Nothing about the plan. And leave it at that.”

Rikishi removes his glasses, sitting up at the table. “Roman, the Elders should know—”

“The Elders know what I want them to know, and I want them to know that someone tried to kill my wife, and I’m handling it. That’s it.” Incapable of dealing with any more of this shit, Roman stands up from the chair, turning his back on the rest of his family. “Wise Man, let’s go.”

The obese man also shoots up from the chair, nearly tripping over his feet as he wordlessly follows Roman out of the room.

Left alone is just Rikishi and his sons, the patriarch asking, “she tried to kill herself?”

Jimmy and Jey wear similar frowns, recalling the horrific truth they learned about their ‘Soso’ just hours prior. Jimmy shuts his eyes, unable to push away the memory of a hysterical Naomi throwing herself into his chest at the memory of finding Solana unconscious.

“It’s….it’s a long story,” Jey answers in a low voice, wanting to be respectful. Aware or not, Solana’s story is hers to tell and hers only.

Truthfully, he’s slightly surprised Roman even disclosed that part of the past 24 hours.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of the story that Roman left out,” Solo suddenly finds his voice again, sharing directly to his father and brothers. “Like the fact that Roman took that bullet for her.”

“What?” Riksihi asks, shock stamped all over his voice.

“I was right there. I saw the whole thing. He pushed her out the way.”

Jimmy shrugs. “He protected his wife. What’s wrong with that? We all would have done the same.”

Jey nods in agreement. Rikishi looks torn.

Solo continues, pointing out. “But, Roman ain’t like us. He’s the Tribal Chief. He needs to act like it.”

“Careful, son,” Rikishi cautions, seemingly breaking from his conflicted state. “Your Uce sits at the head of the table for a reason. His ways may be unorthodox at times, but his reign won’t be questioned. We won’t disrespect him.”

Solo scoffs. “But you’ll disrespect the other Elders by lying for him?”

Jey jumps in, chiding, “man, what’s up with you tonight?”

Solo scoffs, pointing to himself. “Me? I’m not the one whose judgment is clouded. We all know if this was one of us and the roles were reversed with our wives, Roman would want them executed. He’s not thinking straight.” Solo looks around the room, noticing there’s a brief second of silence. “Ya’ll see it too. I’m just the only one who’s willing to say it. Roman is losing focus—”

“That’s enough, Solo.” Rikishi raises his voice, firmer, that of a father. “You’re out of line, son.”

Solo looks around the room, halfway waiting for his older brothers to jump to his defense, to agree with what they have to know is the truth. But, when that doesn’t happen, he also shoots up from the table, rocking it in the process, leaving the room without another word.

Once gone, Jimmy motions with his thumb. “Man, he is tripping.” He shakes his head, asking his father, “you want us to talk to him?”

“No.” Rikishi answers almost immediately, sighing heavily, running his hand over his face. “I’ll do it….you all just….watch Roman.” He stands up, as Jey mutters something about having the hard job. “And sons….this conversation doesn’t leave this room, understood?” Jimmy and Jey look slightly confused and taken back, Rikishi explaining, “I know you’re both closer with Roman. But, he’s just your cousin. Solo is your brother. He’s definitely tripping, but he’s still your family too, and there’s nothing more important than brotherhood, alright?”

________

Roman awakens with a heavy sigh that’s followed by his eyes closing.

His sleep has been shit the past few days, and it’s been solely because his bed is cold and empty on the other side. Because he’s sleeping alone, something he once cherished but now can barely tolerate. He didn’t realize just how much he enjoyed Solana’s soft body pressed up against him, the satisfaction he felt waking up to her every morning.

Now, he just awakens to silence or the sound of Dulce whimpering or barking.

Dulce’s whimpers on the side of the bed remind him of the fact that she’s still sleeping in his room. In their room. On Solana’s side.

Her empty side.

Moving the blankets off, Roman swings his big body over the side of the bed and walks over to motion for her to follow him. “Come on.”

He knows she has to empty her bladder, but he’s grateful for a reason to leave the space that reeks of Solana, a constant reminder of her absence.

It’s….an experience, to say the least.

Picking her up, he carries her down the steps, through the house, and out the back sliding door by the kitchen. Roman places her in the grass, letting her do her business as he goes to sit down on the edge of one of the chaise lounge.

He closes his eyes.

Love.

Suck a weird fucking thing. Something he’s never really understood.

Or felt.

Not….not in this aspect at least.

He’s always been confounded by the emotion that makes people act so outside of their character, clouds their judgment, and seizes their brain in crippling ways. He never saw the appeal in it. Never wanted it.

And then came Solana.

If someone had told him four months ago that he’d not only be married to a woman he actually cares about let alone would end up loving, he’d probably knock them flat on their ass. Harshly criticize their stupidity at the very least.

Falling in love with Solana was never the plan. He never wanted this for himself. He just needed to marry to create an official heir. And that was it. She would do her thing, taking care of the kid and whatnot. And he would still do him, continuing his life of commitment free sexual relations with whoever was his flavor of the week. Or day.

And yet all of that, just the thought of it, sours his expression.

He doesn’t want anyone other than Solana. Doesn’t desire to be intimate with anyone other than her. It’s her he wants to wake up to every morning, her he wants to make happy. He just wants her. Nobody else.

Because he loves her.

And it’s a shocking, life changing realization he finally stumbled into while sitting at her hospital bed. An epiphany he’s certain was heavily transitioned from subconscious to conscious given the events that transpired that night.

She almost died, was almost shot, and there’s not a fucking part of him would do anything differently. He’d take that bullet and any other bullet for her anytime.

Because he loves her.

He stood between her and her piece of shit father, not thinking twice about it, only knowing that decision would forever negatively change her life. Thinking how he promised her he would never let her end up in that position.

Because he loves her.

And he sat at her hospital bed, holding her hand, pouring his heart out to her because the second those infamous words left Jey’s mouth, his world nearly collapsed. He couldn’t think straight as he rushed to the hospital, uncaring and uninterested in anything except being with her, holding her, catering to her. Whatever she needed. He just needs her to be okay.

Because he loves her.

Roman’s head tilts back, the weight of all this lying on his chest.

He can’t deny it. Can’t deny he loves her. Not to himself, at least. He just doesn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

There’s…..there’s no room for love in his life. No place for it. Love is weakness, and Roman has never and can never be weak. He’s the Tribal Chief. The Head of the Table. The leader of the Bloodline and Cosa Nostra. There is no space for weakness.

Or love.

And yet….it’s there.

It’s there for her.

Dulce walking over to the chaise lounge that Roman realizes is usually the one she sits on when she’s writing brings him back to the sadness that creeps in at her absence. Dulce must feel the same as she lays down, ears also down, whimpering.

Roman beckons her over, watching as she slowly walks over to his feet, ears still down as he picks her up and places her on his lap. It’s something not even a week ago he would probably do. But, that was then, and this is now.

And now, he almost feels a sense of duty to Solana’s puppy.

Because it’s this same puppy, he’s learned, that barked nonstop at Bayley and Naomi, running over to Solana and starting to cry, effectively alerting them that something was wrong.

Very wrong.

With an uncharacteristic level of emotion, Roman gently strokes the top of her head. “You saved her life….” For his own mental sanity, Roman chooses not to think about what the alternative could have been. What his reality would be if this small, five pound animal didn’t have such a close, protective bond to her human. “Thank you.”

Dulce whimpers in response, laying her body on his lap, staring at the empty pool chair.

Roman sighs, eyes shutting again.

The emotion is undeniable as he acknowledges in a soft voice. “I miss her too..”

This shit is much harder than he realized.

________

Roman: How are you doing?

Solana glances at her lock screen at hearing the familiar, personalized notification sound. The sound she set specifically for texts from her husband. Her smile is already set on her face but settles into something deeper as another message slides in.

Roman: Do you need me to come home?

Placing the pencil down on the nearest surface, she swaps out her task at hand for a brief break to respond to the question she anticipated would be proposed at some point in the day.

Just not this soon, perhaps.

Solana wipes one hand on her shorts, the other unlocking her phone to open his thread. Preparing to reply, her gaze shifts over to her sweet baby boy, sleeping peacefully in his infant pillow. Low, relaxing music plays from her Alexa on the nightstand, lulling and keeping him in his slumber. Similarly, Dulce lays peacefully in her bed on Solana’s side of the bed, curled into a little ball.

The smile somehow grows deeper.

Solana: I’m okay. You don’t need to come home, really.

Solana quickly snaps a photo of the baby and includes it with her next message.

Solana: We’re good. :)

Solana brings her finger to gently caress her son’s cheek. He has such a calm disposition about him. Even at 6 weeks. She can just see he’s taken on more of her demeanor than his dad’s. Granted, she also noticed the same thing about her oldest twin, only for her to gradually be morphing into the female version of her father.

Roman hearting the photo captures her attention once again followed by his reply, which seems to be the result of long distance mind reading.

Roman: He’s been a lot easier than the girls were. But, time will tell.

Roman: Where are they?

She giggles, imagining his elongated sigh as he considers what could be in store for them once their son starts to get bigger and older. Can move around and get into things with his sisters. It’s more likely than not bound to happen.

Solana: In their playrooms. They’ve been surprisingly quiet too….for now. Lol

Solana knows her girls well enough to know silence with them, mostly when they’re together, isn’t usually long lived. The quieter of the two is very much like Solana, able to stay and keep to herself just fine without making much or any noise. Her sister, however, older by 6 minutes exactly, is not.

She is rambunctious and loud and loves to be moving. And when they’re together, that adventurous nature rubs off on Solana’s twin, usually resulting in them getting into something. More often than not.

Roman: I talked to them last night. Reminded them it's important they listen and help you out.

This is something she already knew, having overheard as he put them to bed while she catered to their newborn. He’s done that a lot since the birth of their son. Really taken over as much as he can with helping the girls, when it’s something he can do. And if he can’t do it, like them wanting to do art with her or bake something, usually the youngest vs the oldest, he’s on baby duty.

Whether he realizes it or not, he truly is great at being a dad. Though something tells her, always has, that even three kids deep, he struggles with that insecurity at not being good at it.

Not being good enough.

Roman: I still think it was too early for me to come back to work and leave you alone with everything.

And there it is. What Solana already knew he was thinking but is happy to see him finally admit. Roman’s been working from home the past six weeks, since the birth of their son. And while she’s appreciated having him home, helping her out with managing their growing family, it was time for him to return back to the ‘office.’

She knows he worries about her, worries about her feeling overwhelmed, but she’s been good the past few years with being open with him. That hasn’t and won’t change.

Solana: You were going to have to go back eventually, Ro. I’m okay, really. The girls really don’t cause me any issues. And he’s easy.

Solana: Outside of when he’s groping and squeezing the mess out of my breast. 😅

Breastfeeding has never been much of an issue for Solana. And, while it was definitely a bit of a challenge breastfeeding twins, there was never a pressing enough problem for her to not consider doing the same for her third child.

Granted, unlike the girls who, at most, felt around her breast while getting their fill, her son is more handsy. His little palms often slapping, squeezing and even scratching with his nails she makes sure to try to keep cut low.

She chuckles, thinking about how this could very much be another small sign she’s in store for yet another energetic child. It lines up though. Even when he’s sleepy, little scowl on his face, she sees Roman. In all of the children, really. But with him, the way his little lips dip and light eyebrows cave into a look of unmistakable disapproval, usually when she takes too long to pick him up or feed him, that’s all Roman.

Roman: Smart kid.

She giggles, sending out a reply that’s a result of years of growing more comfortable with teetering the lines of risque topics and innuendos.

Solana: Your kid, clearly. 😅

Roman: Damn straight.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she keeps the conversation going with another risky text.

Solana: Just two more weeks until I’m….cleared.

Over the years, and as she’s continued to heal, Solana has found herself with a sexual appetite that’s nowhere near her husband’s nor most women her age, but it’s there. Coming and going. Ebbing and flowing. And lately, it’s been on the flowing side.

Roman: We should wait longer.

Roman: I’m not taking any risks.

She sighs at his reply that’s not entirely unsurprising. He absolutely would want to go past the recommended 8 weeks that she was told by her doctor that they would need to wait to resume intimacy. An extended period of time than the usual 6 weeks due to the second degree tear she sustained while birthing her third child. A thing that can happen during childbirth and wasn’t anything too serious, but something she knows her husband sees as just that.

Thus him wanting to not ‘take any risks.’

Solana: I understand.

Understanding is different from agreeing, but she won’t push him on it.

Solana: Besides, don’t want to risk another baby.

Solana: Just yet anyway….

Having this conversation over text probably isn’t the way to go, but she has no doubt he’ll talk with her about it more in person when he comes home tonight, after all three kids are down for bed.

That doesn’t mean they can’t start it now, at least, though.

Roman: Seriously? You really want another baby?

Roman: He isn’t even a year yet.

Roman: You forget I’m 10 years older than you. I’m getting too old for all these kids, Solana.

It’s true they just welcomed their baby boy not even two months ago. And Roman is aging. He’s older, the gray in his beard spreading by the day, but he’s still just as active and fit into his forties as he was when they met years prior. Thus, he’s exaggerating.

Solana: No, you’re not.

Solana: And that wasn’t a no…..

His reply comes in a bit quicker than she was anticipating.

Roman: It wasn’t.

She smiles. Solana has learned her husband well over the years. Knows him well enough to know that if there wasn’t a part of him also interested in maybe having another child, he would be clear about his standpoint. He would express his disagreement.

So his comment would suggest he’s not team no. That he’s open, and his following texts confirm as such.

Roman: But, this would be it. Four is more than enough.

She smiles, knowing that this definitely will still be discussed in person tonight but happy that he’s unwilling to deny himself. Solana’s love for him has only deepened since seeing him step into the role of fatherhood.

She just wishes she could get him to see how good he is at this. The girls wouldn’t adore him as much as they do if he was bad at it, per se.

But, he’s not.

If only he could see it.

Solana: Unless we get another set of twins….😅

Roman: Jesus Christ

Solana giggles, imagining the look he must have on his face. Probably similar to when they found out about the girls. She wasn’t entirely surprised given how strongly twins run on his side of the family.

But, he most certainly was.

A quiet knock pulls her from the conversation as she lays her eyes on the twins who are waiting by the door with hesitant expressions. She waves them over, placing her finger over her mouth to remind them to be quiet to avoid waking up the still sleeping baby.

They tip toe over to her, moving to her side of the bed, leaning over and looking at him. The oldest is the one to ask, whispering, “why does he sleep so much, mama?”

Solana chuckles. “That’s what babies do. They need a lot of sleep to grow big and strong.”

The quieter of the two of them deviates from her usual silence to predict, “he’s gonna be big and strong like papa.”

The oldest, however, doesn’t hesitate to reiterate. “I’m still gonna be the tribal chief though.”

Solana has such a torn reaction she does well at hiding. As much as she loves how much her technically first born admires Roman and wants to be just like him, she also has no idea just what it is that Roman really does. The true weight that comes with wearing the Ula Fala.

Or the fact that by his family’s laws and traditions, their son is the true heir to the Bloodline. Granted, she also suspects it’s those same laws and traditions Roman will fight tooth and nail to change should their daughter, even after knowing the truth about the Bloodline, still want to pursue taking his place when the time comes for him to step down.

Roman would do anything to give her just as much a chance to the keys to the kingdom as her brother.

But, that’s so far down the line, and Solana doesn’t like thinking about it too much. She just wants to enjoy her children as they are now, innocent and oblivious.

Ms. Quiet stays on her talking streak, asking quietly, “can we still go to aunt Bayley’s house today?”

Solana nods. She briefly forgot about that, but it’s still very much doable. “Of course.”

The girls gasp and look at each other, Solana already knowing another request is about to follow. Roman’s little twin ends up being the one to ask, “mama, can we go see papa at his office before?”

She shouldn’t be surprised. One of their favorite things to do is stop by and see Roman while he’s at work. Something she hasn’t done in some time, not since the birth of her son and even then, it had been a few months.

Solana starts to text and ask him if he’s busy, but one look at the happiness on the girls’ faces at being able to see their dad, and she knows she doesn’t need to.

She knows there’s no way on God’s green earth that he would turn them away, even if he stopped or canceled a meeting just to interact with them.

That’s just the kind of father he is.

His kids come first.

With excitement bubbling in her stomach at seeing her husband, Solana takes a glance at her son, smile growing as he stirs, clearly just as ready to see daddy.

She then looks back at her just excited girls, sharing, “time to go see papa.”

“Time to get up.”

Solana has to blink a couple of times to reorient herself, almost entirely due to the shocking nature of her dream. A dream she’s now had every night since being admitted to the hospital, glimpses, and what feels like peeks, into the future.

Her future.

But, at the same time, it’s a distant thing that seems unattainable and unrealistic given where she is now. On a legally mandated psychiatric hold after attempting to die by suicide.

“You up, sweetie?”

Solana nods and sits up in the bed, accepting the water and pills in the small medicine bowl. She doesn’t hesitate to swallow all three, offering a small smile to the nurse who’s been assigned to her, making sure she takes her medication as prescribed.

The nurse, Carol, she thinks, reminds, “breakfast starts in twenty.”

Solana nods, pushing back some of her hair, waiting for the older woman to leave before she lays back down on the bed.

She shuts her eyes.

The past few days have been…..an experience. An emotional ride unlike any she’s been on in years. The last time she can recall struggling and feeling as heavy as she was was when she woke up from her coma and had it confirmed that her mother was dead. Something she knew but held onto the invisible string of hope that Nina somehow survived.

Even though Solana still recalls the moment she heard and saw her mother take her last breath.

It’s a weight that’s lessened tremendously over the past couple of days, since she woke up yet a second time, less irrational, not as hysterical. Part of her reaction was most definitely due to still feeling suicidal, still believing that being dead would be better for everyone. But her reaction was exacerbated by the fact that two male nurses moved to restrain her as she tried to move from the hospital bed. Having male hands on her like that was triggering and made her emotions that much more difficult to manage in an already tense situation.

But the second time she awoke, Solana saw nothing but women. Truth be told, she’s only had women on her care team since being admitted. It’s made such a big difference.

All of it has.

Being in this space, so separated from the outside world. It’s been both difficult and welcomed. A nice escape from a recently draining reality but also a heavy separation that she’s brought up a couple times now in her individual therapy sessions with her therapist, Gail.

That is the difficulty in being separated from Roman. It’s a dichotomy. As much as she wants to see and talk to him, she wants to hide and avoid him. She wants to explain yet also never have to discuss it again. An avoidance behavior that is typical for survivors of suicide attempts, another thing she’s learned in therapy thus far.

But more than anything, Solana just wants to talk to him. She remembers from when she was admitted as a teen following her first attempt that communication is typically cut off from the outside. She just didn’t realize it would be the same protocol as an adult.

Something intended to avoid patients from being re-triggered. She gets that, but it doesn't make her miss him any less.

This is the first time they’ve been separated from one another since before the wedding, and it’s not a fun experience.

But yet….

It’s not a horrible experience either.

No one wants to be in the hospital. And no one definitely wants to be in the hospital on a legal hold because they’ve been deemed a danger to themselves and thus needs 24/7 supervision.

That part sucks, but what hasn’t sucked for Solana is being able to be as honest and vulnerable as she needs to be. To cry and fully acknowledge the extent of her feelings, to be as raw as she’s been in her therapy sessions thus far with Gail. The woman whose kind smile, non-judgemental and self-disclosure of also being violated has created such a safe space for her.

Solana knew, knows, that she can talk to Roman. That he’s made it clear there’s nothing she can’t discuss with him. But, there’s something about speaking to another woman, someone who’s also sadly been through something similar that’s….that’s healing, almost.

Knowing Carol will be back for another reminder about breakfast, Solana pulls from her thoughts and leaves her bed to start her day.

Everything in the hospital is planned, time cut out for everything from meds, breakfast, group therapy, individual therapy and more. There’s only so much time in the day that’s reserved as ‘free time,’ though being hospitalized doesn’t present a ton of options for one to choose from during said ‘free time.’

However, Solana has always been able to occupy herself and keep herself busy, and this is no different.

Later that day, she’s in one of the common areas, utilizing her free time with one of her favorite coping mechanisms. One she’s recently revisited and brought back to lean on. Pencil in hand, Solana uses the sketchbook she was given by Gail. No particular drawing in mind, it’s not missed on her how the bare bones outline of the face she’s drawing has very similar features to that of her husband.

“Hey.”

Solana lifts her head from the page, landing on two women who she’s seen in passing and up close in her group therapy. Both are brunette with similar heights yet different builds. The shorter one looks like she keeps herself in the gym, slender muscles visible even with the hospital provided clothing they all wear. The other is a few inches taller and curvier, her breast stretched against the material. The shorter one is the one who spoke. One looks amenable, the other does not. The one who spoke is, unfortunately, not the one with the friendly expression.

Solana swallows, gaze somewhat traveling as she sees one of the orderlies already watching the interaction. Closely. He’s a big man whose size looks disproportionate to the job he holds here, and she’s noticed him watching her a couple of times. Yet, it’s never been a predatory gaze. Almost…..protective.

“Solana, right?” She nods as the two women plop on the other sofa adjacent to the one Solana sits on. “I’m AJ, and this is Candice.” She gestures to the other woman with her thumb, the brunette waving and smiling almost giddily. Before Solana can say anything else, AJ is leaned over, asking in a low voice. “You’re Roman’s wife, right?”

Solana tenses. For some reason, that rubs her the wrong way, sends an unfamiliar chill up her spine. Something in her tells her to lie, but it’s no use in denying the obvious. “Yes.”

AJ snorts and sits back, arm lazily lounged up on the top of the sofa. “Well, I was gonna ask you how’d you end up here, but I guess that’s an obvious answer.” AJ laughs darkly, making her comment to Candice but directing it towards Solana. “I’d try to off myself too if I had to be married to that son of a bitch.”

Clearly, Solana has not been in a good place recently, hence her current situation. Her emotions have been all over the place. That’s why she chalks up her next actions to the fact that she’s still coming down from her relapse.

Closing up the sketchpad, Solana sits up and doesn't stutter as she states clearly and concisely to AJ, “you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, so why don’t you just shut up and leave me alone?”

Candice's shock matches that of Solana’s, but the former doesn’t back down. Doesn’t suddenly regret her statement. Maybe it’s adrenaline. Maybe it’s the fact that Solana feels the anger stirring inside her at even the insinuation that Roman could ever be the cause of her trying to end her life.

When he’s the one that saved it.

AJ, however, doesn’t look shocked. She looks pissed off.

And then she’s smiling.

“Oh, sweetie, you have no idea who you’re messing with.” AJ starts to stand up, Candice following suit though she looks more confused and dumbfounded than anything. Like she’s there but not here. “Your psychopath husband isn’t here to save you—”

“You lay one hand on her, and I’ll snap your fucking neck like a twig.”

Three sets of eyes land on the figure who’s way too big for them to have not heard his footsteps, but that’s exactly what’s happened. The orderly who Solana has noticed watching her since her admission is standing almost protectively beside where she still sits on the sofa. His gaze and voice are hard as steel, focused on AJ and Candice. “I suggest you leave. Now. And stay the hell away from her.”

Solana looks between this man who, for some reason, is defending her and AJ, who still looks more amused than anything. She scoffs. “Of course.” Frowning, Solana is still stuck on the fact that this orderly who’s working in a psychiatric wing for women who’ve tried to kill themselves just threatened to kill another woman when AJ simply turns to walk away, Candice hot on her heel.

And as soon as they're out of the vicinity, the man steps back, as if wanting to grant Solana space. He then exclaims, further deepening her shock, “you’ll be safe here, Mrs. Reigns. You have my word.”

Mrs. Reigns…..

Solana is suddenly taken back to her birthday trip, the way she was addressed by the pilots, the chef, and anyone else that Roman hired to assist them on their vacation. And that’s when it hits her.

“Bloodline…..” It makes so much sense. Why he’s always seemed to be around when she’s not in her room, the way he’s watched her almost nonstop since she arrived, the way he intervened just now. “You’re Bloodline.”

“Dave.” He offers a small, respectful smile that’s all the answer she needs. “But everyone calls me by my last name, Bautista.”

________

“Hey.”

It’s interesting how a simple word can bring on such a reaction.

Just yesterday, the same word was said to her and followed up with a not terrible but strange interaction.

She can only pray this time around is different.

Solana takes a second to pause and shut her eyes before she looks up from her inner arm where she works on the assignment given in her first group therapy session.

Her eyes land on three women, all familiar faces because they’re all in her group. However, she’s never directly spoken to them prior to now.

Solana swallows and offers a small smile. “Hi….”

Solana studies all of them, different in skintones, builds, hair colors and even facial expressions. The one who spoke first pushes her raven hair over shoulder and clears her throat, asking, “is it—is it true that your husband had the orderlies and security replaced with Bloodline members?”

The question takes her back, Solana unsure of how to respond, not because she doesn’t know the answer. She does. Baustista indirectly confirming that he was sent by her husband to watch over her has made Solana realize that it’s not just him who she catches watching her whenever she’s not in her room. It’s other men as well. Big, strong, much too in shape for a job like this.

The only logical thing that makes sense to her is that Roman is, once again, looking out for her. As he always does.

“That’s pretty fucking cool. If so.” Another one comments, her brunette pulled to the side of her neck as she sits down on the sofa opposite Solana. “It was even better seeing AJ put in her place.”

Solana swallows, quite unsure just how to respond to that. “I—I don’t want to cause any problems.”

The first woman scoffs, also sitting down next to the other lady. “You might not, but AJ does. I honestly don’t know why they don’t put her in the other wing with Victoria.”

“The other wing?”

The third woman breaks her silence, explaining, her voice quiet and typical for her equally unassuming demeanor. “There’s two psychiatric wings here. The one we’re in and another for more….severe cases.”

“I.e. the really crazy bitches.”

“Melina!” The woman with brunette hair shakes her head, smiling a little as she formally introduces everyone. “I’m Mickey. This is Melina, and that’s Cameron, but we call her Cam.”

For some reasons, the names fit all of them, Solana moving to the side as Cam gestures to the space next to her and takes an almost apprehensive seat.

“Solana—”

“Oh, everyone knows who you are, girl.” Mickey snickers, leaning back into the sofa and crossing her legs over one another. “You might just be my new favorite person.”

Solana frowns, completely lost at this seemingly random title. “I don’t—-I don’t understand.”

“AJ thinks she runs shit around here. Her and that dumbass friend of hers, Candice Michelle.” Melina explains, shaking her head. “AJ definitely should be in the other ward with Victoria. She’s the psychiatrist that runs it. Doesn’t put up with shit. Almost polar opposite of Dr. Stratus.”

Solana doesn’t know much beyond what’s being said, but something tells her she’s most definitely in the better of two places. Even if just getting to have Dr. Stratus manages her meds. She really likes her.

However, this conversation brings up a very valid question that Solana doesn’t exactly know how to word very well but finds it in her to ask. “So you all….you’ve been here before?”

It’s obvious, given the fact that they’re all so familiar with each other and dynamics. Same with this AJ and Candice person, but Solana doesn’t want to assume.

There’s a silence that falls over the women, and Solana instantly feels bad, feels silly for not recognizing how invasive that question is. However, before she can apologize, Cam is the one to speak up.

Shrugging, her smile is tight and undeniably sad as she says so simply, “demons are hard to kill.”

And just like that, Solana has never related to something more.

Feeling overcome with an almost duty to share, her eyes drop to her arms, the intricate outlines of butterflies camouflaging the scars that will never fully go away. “I get that……I really do.”

Looking up, Solana feels the set of understanding gazes on her, instantly knowing without any of them needing to share specifics that they just get it. They understand the specific and tragic ways one can end up in a place like this, oftentimes due to demons beyond their slaughtering capabilities.

Mickey clears her throat, gesturing to Solana’s arm. “You’re really good.”

She glances down at her still unfinished art, a small smile falling on her face. “Thank you.” An idea crosses her mind as she notices each of them attempted to follow through on the assignment as well but clearly struggled. “I can—I can help, if you want?”

Cam gasps, obviously excited by the idea of it. “Really?”

Solana’s smile grows as she explains, “I—I love art.”

Mickey squeals almost and pulls out a black sharpie from her bra, shrugging with a playful smile.

“We were kinda hoping you said that.”

________

“You’re quiet today.” Gail’s assessment continues as she asks in a gentle voice, “are you nervous?”

Nervous is an understatement. Solana fidgets on the sofa, running her hands down her sweats. “I—I haven’t seen or spoken to him since….you know.”

Gail presses her lips together, nodding. “You don’t know what to expect.”

Solana nods, eyes starting to water. “I don’t—I don’t want him to be upset with me.”

It’s officially been a week since Solana has been admitted into the psychiatric ward. An interesting experience, to say the least. She’s made enemies, made ‘friends’, worked through and started to process with a professional so much of her trauma, and more. And while her longing for seeing and speaking to her husband has only continued to grow by the day. The day finally being here where she’s allowed a visitor, where he will come to see her this evening feels almost….it feels too soon.

She’s just so nervous, unsure of what that reunion is going to look like.

Gail sees the thoughts brewing in her client’s head as she asks in an attempt to redirect, “are you responsible for his emotions?”

“No, but….but I—” When she struggles to get out a coherent response, Gail presents a thought provoking question.

“Solana, based upon what you know about Roman, what’s more likely? That he’ll be upset with you or that he’ll just be happy that you’re alive?”

It’s such a good question, one that has the emotion bubbling in the back of her throat, emotion she shows as silent tears begin to fall. “I—I want him to be happy, but…..”

“You’re still struggling with feeling like a burden to him….” It’s an assessment by her therapist that is wholly correct, but one Solana can’t verbally comment on, only offering her agreement with a silent head nod. “Do you remember the exercise we did a couple of sessions ago about faulty thinking? About the ways your trauma influences your thinking.”

Solana reflects back on that session, so heavy yet so helpful. It provided her such insight on just how deeply her experiences have painted her view of so much. Of everything, really. Including how she so lowly views herself sometimes.

“I want you to think about that and compare it to the thoughts that you’re having now……where are they coming from?”

Solana closes her eyes and blows out a breath. “My…my fear.”

“And if your fear was a living, breathing entity sitting opposite beside you right now, how would you combat it? Think about the cognitive challenging we discussed.”

Keeping her eyes shut, Solana travels back to that session, utilizing the skills and tips and knowledge she’s learned since her admission.

She takes an ‘efficient breath’, as Gail calls them. “I’d tell my fear that….that you don’t get to control me anymore.”

Gail smiles softly, gently encouraging the young woman to continue. “What else?”

Silent tears continue to fall, but Solana’s voice remains firm and unwavering. “And that….that Roman cares about me and just wants me to be okay and….and get better.”

Gail hasn’t felt so proud and pleased with a client’s response to the empty chair exercise in quite a while. “Exactly.” She sits back in her own chair, jotting down some notes. “Can I ask what you’re feeling right now?”

Solana finally opens her eyes and wipes at her eyes, scoffing quietly. “A…a little better, actually.” She motions to her chest. “It doesn’t….it doesn’t feel as heavy.”

“Good.” Gail makes note of this and starts to ask a follow up processing question when Solana’s soft voice beats her to it.

“Can…..can I talk about something with you?”

Gail’s grin is warm and welcoming as she offers genuine assurance. “Solana, there’s nothing we can’t discuss here.” She’s pleased to see Solana’s smile grow at this reassurance. “What would you like to talk about?”

Feeling on the spot all of a sudden, despite being the one who initiated the conversation, Solana does her best to manage and push through her anxiety. “I—I’ve been….I’ve been having dreams since I got here.”

Gail is mindful of her expression as she asks in a soft voice, “dreams or…..”

Sensing what she’s asking, Solana quickly shakes her head. “No. Not those. Not nightmares. They….they really are dreams. Good dreams, I—I think.”

Studying her, Gail assesses. “You seem unsure.”

Deciding to bite the bullet, Solana shares in a low voice, “they’re dreams of me in the future…..as….as a mother.”

Gail nods. “I see.” She makes note of one of Solana’s nonverbals. “You’re smiling right now.”

Sniffling, Solana continues to share and exhibit so much vulnerability, most of which is solely because of how safe and non-judged Gail has made her feel. “In the dreams, we have three kids. Twin girls and a baby boy.” She wipes at her nose and swallows deeply. “I—I want to be a mom someday, but I don’t….I don’t want to be a bad mom.”

If these dreams have shown her anything, it’s that she wants more than anything to be a positive influence in her future child, or children's, lives. She doesn’t want to cause them even a fraction of the parental trauma she’s experienced.

And deep down, Solana knows that she’s absolutely nothing like her father.

But, she knows she’s very much been deeply impacted by her fathers’ abuse. By all of her trauma. And the last thing she wants is for any of that to negatively influence her children.

“Solana, what makes you think you could ever be a bad mother?” She shrugs, shutting down a bit. Gail sighs lowly, offering words of affirmation and support. “You are not a bad person. You are not a broken person. Not a damaged person. Just a person who’s been dealt some not so great cards, but you’re here, working on these things. Working on becoming a healthier version of yourself.” Gail chuckles, pointing out, “that doesn’t sound like a bad future mother to me.”

Really sitting on the words of encouragement and doing her best to not let the self-doubt creep in, Solana asks in a voice barely above a whisper, “do you….do you really think I could be a good mother?”

Gail’s response is almost immediate, not a thought to be had as she answers honestly, “Solana, I think you could be a damn good mother.”

Solana laughs, emotion seeping in as she nods, utterly grateful for such kind words. “Thank….thank you. That….that means a lot to me.”

“Of course.” Gail would like to process this more, maybe get into some additional trauma work, but there’s another important thing on her agenda for this session. “Solana, as you know, your hold will be up exactly one week from now, meaning you’ll be officially discharged and allowed to return home.”

Solana eyes lighten up at that, an expected reaction as Gail gently slides into a deeper conversation pertaining to her release. “But, there’s something I would like to speak to you about.”

________

Roman doesn’t think twice as he walks into the room that’s suspiciously quiet to be located in a hospital, decorated just as one would expect a therapist’s office to look. He only briefly takes a look around before plopping his big body down on the sofa.

He didn’t even pay any attention to the fact that Gail was attempting to extend an olive branch, offering a handshake that he so rudely ignored, clearly ready to get this over with.

She keeps her togetherness, offering a verbal introduction. “Thank you for com—”

“This has to do with Solana, right?”

Gail makes a face, pressing her lips together as she chuckles quietly. “Of course.”

“Then get to it.” Roman is quick with the demands, asking, “how is she doing?”

Gail offers a tight smile. “I’m Gail Kim, the therapist on staff who’s been handling Solana’s individual therapy sessions.”

“Did I ask you who you were?” His stare is cold and uninterested. “I asked you how she’s doing.”

Sighing, Gail refers to the tablet on her lap, opening up the notes she’s happy that she prepared ahead of time. This is going exactly as she predicted it would. “Your wife is no longer endorsing suicidal ideation which means she’s denying any thoughts and plans to take her life, which is significant progress considering it’s only been a week—”

There’s a hint of hopefulness in both his expression and voice as he asks, “so, she’s ready to come home?”

Gail hesitates. “Not exactly.”

The previous hopefulness melts into something cold and harsh. Roman is visibly and understandably irritated. “You just said she’s not suicidal anymore.”

“Yes, but it’s not that simple. Solana is….she’s an interesting case. Her trauma history is significant. Though she seems to be on the way to stabilization, there’s still a lot of work that needs to be done. She needs continued professional help.”

“Isn’t that why she’s here with you?” His tone is cruel and condescending. “If you’re too fucking incompetent to help her, let me take her home, so I can.”

Gail bites the inside of her cheek. If this was anyone else, she would set them straight on the importance of mutual respect. But, this isn’t just anyone. This is Roman Reigns, and she’s well aware of the fact that one wrong statement or sign of disrespect could very well end her life, so she does her best to remain calm and professional. And she tries an alternative approach.

“You know, one of the exercises she did in an individual session asks about what safe spaces she has, sources of support and whatnot. And you know what she put down for almost every answer?” Gail gives a small, closed mouth smile. “You.” Well trained in reading nonverbals, she picks up on the brief giveaway sign of emotion that flashes in Roman’s eyes at this. “She put down that you are her number one reason for wanting to live.”

There’s a good minute of silence before Roman asks in an uncharacteristically low voice. “So why did she do it?”

Gail's smile shifts into a solemn frown. “I’ll leave that discussion to the two of you. She’s expressed wanting to talk with you about that directly.”

“I’m asking you.”

Gail leans back in her chair and goes a different route. “It’s okay to be upset with her. To be angry at her. To be angry at and blame yourself.” Gail catches just a glimpse of surprise in his eyes at the last part. “To actually feel your feelings.”

Roman, however, is uninterested in any of this. Offended even. “Why the hell would I be angry at her?”

“Why wouldn’t you be? She tried to leave you. That’s essentially what suicide is. Escapism. It provides the patient with the peace they’re looking for but leaves the loved ones left behind with a world of questions and emotions.” She explains, mindful of her tone and voice. “Two truths can exist in the same universe. You can be happy she wasn’t successful and still angry at her for trying in the first place.”

Roman is quiet for a good two minutes, Gail wondering if she should transition to another topic when he breaks said silence in that same low voice.

“I don’t understand why she didn’t call me. I told her to tell me if…..if those thoughts ever returned.”

“But she didn’t…..” Gail’s voice softens as she adds, almost empathetically. “I think you’ll find talking with her will give you some of the answers you’re looking for. But, they truly should come from her.”

Roman won’t push. He wants to, but won’t. If this is something Solana wants to discuss with him herself, he’ll respect that. So long as it’s not triggering to her, which it seems, surprisingly, it’s not.

Gail clears her throat and transitions to the next section. “Dr. Stratus started her on a medication regimen of Sertraline, 50mg and Wellbutrin, 100mg, once a day in the morning as well as Hydroxyzine, PRN, which means as needed. The Sertraline and Wellbutrin are antidepressants, and Hydroxyzine can be taken when she starts to feel overwhelmed or triggered. So far, she’s responding well, though it typically takes 4 to 6 weeks for patients to truly notice the full benefits.”

Roman nods, as Gina or whatever her name is, continues to explain what’s otherwise obvious.

“We’ve been administering her medication and given how she attempted to take her life, Dr. Stratus and I strongly advise that you or someone else take over that administration upon her discharge—”

“Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to allow her to have unmonitored access to pills again?” Roman doesn’t even try, not that he was before, to hide his frustration and irritation. She’s acting like he’s stupid. His degrees may be in business, but one doesn’t need to have a degree in behavioral health to know thatyou don’t give a formerly suicidal person free access to the same method they used to take their life.

Gail, however, decides to not feed into it. “You know, anger is sometimes just anger. Just people mad as hell. But sometimes….sometimes it’s what we call a blanket emotion, meaning there are other feelings hiding beneath it, being presented as anger.”

Roma sits forward. “Just what the hell are you trying to insinuate?”

“Nothing at all, Mr. Reigns.” A small smile falls on her face, and that only pisses him off even more. Is this bitch trying to patronize him or something? “But, you should know that we offer support for spouses and loved ones like yourself who are supporting—”

“The only thing I need for you to do is to help my wife, so I can get her the hell out of this place and home where she belongs.”

Gail takes a deep breath.

It was worth a try.

“I want to show you something.” She stands up from her chair, moving to her desk as she pulls out a key to unlock the drawer. “Solana signed a full release authorizing us to share all details regarding her care with you. But, there are some things she’s explicitly expressed you not being okay with knowing and seeing. This is not one of them. And I think you would find it interesting….”

If not for the fact that the therapist already made it clear that safety concerns and suicidality are exceptions to confidentiality, Roman would be concerned, wondering just what exactly Solana doesn’t want him to know.

But something tells him she’s perhaps opened up in therapy about specifics regarding her trauma more than she has with him, and if that’s the case, his only hope is that this woman knows what she’s doing and doesn’t trigger Solana further.

She walks back over, handing him a set of sheets. Roman takes them, immediately noticing the handwriting.

Solana’s handwriting.

He gets to reading the bolded question that each has answers of varying length.

Who is your safe person? What makes this person safe?

My husband. He’s the first man in my life to not hurt me. The first man I’ve ever trusted.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you trust this person with 1 being none and 10 being absolute trust?

How does this person make you feel safe?

He’s patient with me and listens to me and makes me feel beautiful.

How does this person serve as a member of your support system?

He listens to me and always checks on me.

How long have you experienced thoughts/urges/practices of self-harming behavior including suicidal ideation and/or attempts?

The first time I felt like I didn't want to be alive anymore was when I was ten. I woke up from my coma and realized my mother was dead. I just wanted to be with her. But it’s my brother constantly telling me I should kill myself after my mom’s murder that made me seriously think about doing it.

He would tell me that it should have been me who died, and I should just kill myself because no one wanted me.

And I started to believe him.

It’s been on and off since then.

Has there been a point in time where you have not had these thoughts/urges?

Yes. For the past four months.

If you answered yes to the previous question, what caused or contributed to the cessation of these thoughts/urges?

I met my husband. I had real friends for the first time. I found myself having a real family for the first time in a long time.

I was happy.

Prior to this gap, when was the last time you experienced any of these thoughts? What triggered them?

The day of my wedding. This was before I got to know my husband. I was scared he was going to beat me like my dad and brother.

What happened to re-trigger you? If uncomfortable sharing, list the emotions you felt during this episode.

Sadness. Anger. Confusion.

Do you remember what thoughts you were experiencing before the suicidal and self-harming ideation returned? What were they?

I couldn’t stop thinking about my rape and my mother’s murder. It was like I was reliving them over and over again, and I couldn’t get the memories and flashbacks to stop. It felt like all my progress was reversed, and I’d have to start over, and I didn’t want to put my husband and family through that, as they’re the reason I even started to heal.

I just didn’t want to be in pain anymore, and I thought everyone would be happier if I was dead. I didn’t want to be a burden to my husband.

Looking back and reflecting on your thoughts, have they changed? And if so, how?

I don’t want to die. I still don’t feel as good as I was feeling before I found out the truth, but I’m not thinking or wanting to kill myself anymore. I still have a lot of things I want to do. I’m not ready to be done here. Just want to get better.

Do you wish you would have done something different? What could you have done differently?

Yes.

Called my husband.

Can you identify at least one reason your life is worth living?

Roman

Roman has oscillated through so many different emotions reading through this worksheet from beginning to end. Anger seems like the dominant emotion, his jaw clenching as he learns how close to the paternal tree Solana’s bitch brother remained..

He’s not much better than Xavier.

If not worse.

And Roman is determined to find even more, additional ways to make that fucker suffer the way he made Solana suffer for so many years.

He’s also livid and something else unknown that on a day that should have been special for her, she was considering taking her own life.

And he hates himself for putting her in that position in the first place. He was the one who wanted to speed everything up, not even considering how traumatic that process could have been for her.

But he especially doesn’t know how to feel reading just how highly Solana views and feels about him. She hasn’t been very quiet regarding how much she cares about him, but reading her words, her writing, her honesty, it makes him aware of just how much she cares.

“You mean a lot to her. And her healing and progress moving forward will require your support.” Gail cuts in, voice calm and almost soothing. “One of the things I ask clients all the time is who their support system is and is there anything else they need from this person or persons….she couldn’t tell me a single thing she needs from you that you don’t already give her.” Roman says nothing, not even offering a nonverbal gesture or movement for her to analyze. Thus, Gail continues, reviewing her notes of topics she wanted to touch on with him prior to his seeing Solana in a few hours. “Now, I will say, Solana does exhibit strong codependent tendencies. Specifically with you. She’s extremely attached to you, and while that should probably be addressed at some point, her stabilization is the priority.”

Roman doesn’t pay much, or any, mind to that last part. He doesn’t care what this woman says. Whatever Solana needs, she’ll get.

Especially if what she wants is him.

Cause he wants her just as much.

________

Roman doesn’t get nervous.

Ever.

But, he’s certain what he’s feeling in his fucking stomach is some level of nerves.

And he hates that shit.

Cause why the fuck is he at his grown age feeling anxious about seeing his wife? Perhaps it’s the fact that it’ll be the first time in a week that he’s actually laid eyes on her, seeing her not lying unconscious in a hospital bed. That he’ll be able to have her big brown eyes focused on him. Hear the sound of her voice, so soft and light.

He shuts his eyes.

Fucking nerves.

He decides to pull out his phone as a distraction while security escorts her to him in the visitors section, remembering a text from Paul that he should probably respond to. Not that he wants to, but it’s better standing here feeling fucking stupid and—

“Roman…”

He wasn’t sure just sure how he would respond or react or even feel seeing her for the first time in a week, but Solana is barely able to get his name out of his mouth when Roman snaps his head up from the phone in his hand to the direction of which the voice came.

It happens a bit too fast for him to even process. The rise and easy falter of her smile, the gloss of her eyes, the tiny scoff of disbelief that leaves her mouth before she’s running toward him. Roman wastes not a single fucking second to pick her up the minute she throws her body against him. And just like that, almost every trace of irritation, of vexation, of anger melts away.

Roman’s eyes shut as he holds her close against him, noticing how tightly she’s holding him back.

Her voice cracks followed by a sniffle as she murmurs against his shoulder. “I’ve missed you….”

For a brief second, he’s angry again. Angry because has she been asking for him? And if so, why was he not informed? Stratus has been texting him frequent general updates. That she’s been consistently opening up in individual therapy, not as open in group sessions, often writes and draws during their designated free time, etc.

But nothing about her asking for him.

He makes a mental note to ask Stratus about that shit, but not now. Now, his focus is entirely focused on the woman in his arms.

“I missed you too.” Saying he missed her feels like an understatement. Roman has been fucking miserable without her around, but what good would it serve her to share as such? So, he keeps it simple but still accurate.

He ignores the small part of him that dislikes when she finally pulls away, but that dissatisfaction is easily shoved to the side when he sees her eyes watering. “I’m so sorry. I—I didn't mean. I just—”

Roman’s focus is now solely honed in on stopping her from crying. He can’t see her upset. Not after what happened. He moves his hands to her face, gently cupping her cheeks and brushing away her tears. “Let’s talk, okay?”

She nods, stepping back, forcing his hands to drop but easily sliding her hand into one of his as she leads them in the direction from where she came. Roman won’t lie. He’s not paying attention to much in passing. Just her. It’s like there’s a blurred lens on them, distorting everything around them except his wife.

And he has zero issues with this.

He has zero issues until they’re walking past a group of three women who seem to notice that Solana is crying and stop her, the one who almost looks like she could be Hispanic asks Solana, “are you alright?”

Who the fuck is this? Roman would most definitely ask as such as well as tell her to stay out of their damn business if not for the fact that Solana answers almost reassuringly.

“Yes, of course.”

To make matters worse, this irritating ass stranger has the audacity to almost send a suspicious damn near glare his way. Just who the fuck does she think she is?

The woman on her right suddenly asks, her quiet voice strangely reminding him of Solana. Right off the bat, he can see they have similar demeanors. “You’re still joining us for breakfast, right?”

Solana answers right away, shaking her head. “Of course.”

Joining for breakfast? What the fuck is this? A psychiatric ward or summer camp?

The women all seem to give Solana that ‘call us if you need anything’ nod before finally leaving him alone with his wife. Roman has to keep his sigh to himself.

Only Solana would make ‘friends’ at a damn hospital.

She finally leads him into what he would guess is her ‘room.’ He’s instantly not impressed and annoyed because he directly instructed Stratus to make sure she had the best this place has to offer.

This clearly ain’t it. He adds it to his list of complaints to bring up to the psychiatrist. He’s also annoyed by the ‘sheet’ that serves at the door, irritated that they won’t have total privacy. But, he understands. It’s a psychiatric ward. Not the Four Seasons.

Roman allows Solana to guide him over to her bed where she motions for him to sit down. He does as such, partially surprised when she climbs onto his lap, legs on either side. He doesn’t protest though, simply holds her by his hips as he shifts so that his back against the wall.

Solana, however, keeps her head down, her hands scrunching the bottom of his shirt as she seems to force out, “I don’t want to talk about this—”

That’s an easy thing, Roman quickly moving to remind her of her autonomy. “Then don’t—”

She cuts him off. “But, I need to.” She finally lifts her gaze, and my God, he’s missed staring into those pretty eyes, seeing her pretty face. “I can’t—I won’t avoid it.” She takes a deep breath, asking, “what do you want to know?”

He’s partially surprised by how direct she’s being, but in his defense, the last time he spoke to her directly, she was in such a different place. A much darker place.

That doesn’t seem to be the case anymore, but he knows looks can be deceiving, so he remains cautious. His voice is surprisingly gentle, as he answers, “I think you already know the answer to that, Sol.”

Her eyes shut again, and he can’t tell if it’s because of his use of his nickname for her or the emotionality of it all.

Both, probably.

She brings her gaze back on him, and he hates seeing the emotion building back up. Logically, he knows that there’s no way to have this kind of conversation and emotion not be present. Doesn’t mean he has to like it though. “I just….I couldn’t think straight that night, Roman. I just kept reliving every bad thing that’s happened to me but now with the knowledge that it was my own father that was responsible. And I just….I couldn't handle it.”

This is the part he can barely handle. The knowing of the role, a large role, he played in what landed her here. He feels like shit about it and prepares to take ownership when she continues.

“And I thought….I felt like….I felt like all the progress I had made was now gone and that I’d have to start over, and I just—-I couldn’t fathom going through all that again.” She swallows, tears starting to fall. “I felt like I would just be a burden to you and that….it would just be easier for you if I was dead.”

Gutted. Reading it was one thing, but hearing it is an entirely different experience. To know this is truly how she felt, the thought process that led to her making the decision she made. The most likely reason she didn’t call him.

Because she thought she was a burden.

It kills him.

She drops her head, and he moves his hands back to her face. “Solana, look at me.” When she continues to keep her head down, he repeats himself, voice still low and gentle. “Look at me.” She seems to hesitate but follows through, Roman hating how devastated she looks. “Nothing about my life would be easier without you in it. You are never a burden to me. You never have been, and you never will be. I want to help you. Listen to you. Whatever it is you need, I’ll do. I just need you to tell me.” This time, he’s the one swallowing back unfamiliar and uncomfortable emotions. “I just need you to not leave me, alright?” She seems slightly taken back by his honesty and vulnerability. Truthfully, so is he. It was one thing to be so honest with her while she was unconscious, but it’s another when she sits before him, aware and conscious and hanging onto every word. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about your father. I should have—”

“No. Please—please don’t.” She shakes her head, interrupting him with that same small voice. “I’m glad you didn’t.” The ‘shocked’ ball is back in his court as she explains, “I don’t….I don’t think I would have ever wanted to know the truth. It’s….it’s been too hard to have to deal with that.”

Clearly. He can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like for her. To be stuck with the knowledge that her own flesh and blood could be so cruel, so hateful, so evil as to do what Xavier has done to his own daughter.

“The therapy has….it’s helped.” He believes it. Roman has noticed the sheets of paper that have positive affirmations and what he would guess are coping skills taped to the wall opposite her bed. She cracks a small, sad smile. “It’s….it’s been good for me.”

He believes that, too. He can see that. There’s a stark difference in her appearance, even with her being emotional as she is with the conversation at hand. She doesn’t look as fractured as the last time he saw her.

She looks stronger. Happier, even. It makes his chest swell with yet another unfamiliar sentiment.

Love, perhaps?

Just thinking about it has Roman clearing his throat, needing to focus on something other than that right now. “Have they been treating you okay?” This has been pretty high up, if not the highest, thing on his priority list.

She nods, Roman noticing and grateful that her tears are starting to dry up. “Yes. I….how many Bloodline men do you have here?”

“Enough.” She doesn’t need to know the full extent of just how above and beyond he went to ensure no one on staff at this hospital could be questionable about their intentions towards her. “I’m always gonna look out for you, baby. Always.”

Her eyes shut, not from feeling overwhelmed but something else. Something that seems less heavy and more comforting.

Solana moves around on top of him, Roman somehow sensing what she’s trying to do, and he has zero hesitations.

He shifts his body, so he’s laying on her bed, his feet dangling off the edge of the bed, but it makes no difference to him as soon as she lays on top of him, her head cradled in his neck, her arms around him.’

“I’ve missed you.” Her arm laid against him, Roman reading to close his eyes when he catches onto something for the first time. He doesn’t know he missed it either, because it stands out. Roman gently takes her arm, turning it over.

On her inner forearm are a set of beautifully drawn butterflies of various sizes and colors, the largest being a dark blue color and the smaller one next to it, different shades of red and pinks. There are three much smaller butterflies under the two larger ones, two of them pink and the smallest also that same dark blue.

She looks up at him, offering a small smile. “It’s something they have us do in group therapy. They call it The Butterfly Project.” She shifts her body to show him her other forearm, revealing additional butterflies before she lays back down as she was. “You draw butterflies that represent the people in your life you care about and every time…you think of wanting to self-harm, you remember that you’re killing the butterflies. It’s like….like a reminder that people care about you.”

It’s an interesting concept, and judging by the emotion in her voice, a concept she resonates with deeply. Roman’s long index finger ghosts over the larger blue one as he asks, “who is this one for?”

Solana’s smile deepens. “You.” He’s grateful that she continues to explain so he doesn't have to think much about that sentiment very similar to love that comes up at that admission. “And this one,” she gestures to the pink and red one. “--is me. My future self.”

That doesn’t help the building emotion, so he again goes for distraction, motioning to the remaining three, asking, “and those?”

She swallows, something flashing in her eyes he can’t identify, answering gently, “I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

Her answer confuses him. He doesn’t know what to make of it, but he doesn’t want to push her either.

“How is Dulce?” She asks suddenly, the sadness in her voice returning.

Roman won’t tell her the way her puppy sometimes sits by the front door around the time she usually gets home from work or the way she whimpers at night every so often, clearly missing her owner. He’ll spare her that, offering only a morsel of the truth.

“The usual. Sleeping most of the day. You can tell she misses you.”

Solana frowns. “I miss her too.” She licks her lips, asking almost nervously, “how are Bay—”

Roman is quick to shut that down, a hint of harshness in his voice. “I don’t want to talk about them.”

Truth be told, he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to look or view them the same ever again. It may be a bit irrational and unfair, but it’s how he feels. And truthfully speaking, he’s got ten million other things on his mind and in his heart he’s trying to sort through.

“Roman…..” Solana sits up a bit, and he’s taken back for a second by how fucking beautiful she is. Even with the sadness in her eyes. “It wasn’t their fa—”

“Not now, Sol.” His tone takes on a gentler tone as he adds on, for good measure, “please. I just want to enjoy you.”

He knows she’ll bring it up again. She cares too much about the two women who Roman will never trust her with again to just let it go permanently. “Okay.” She lays herself back down on top of him, and Roman kisses the top of her head.

“How are you?”

He’s not quite sure why her question surprises him. But, the answer is an automatic, “fine.”

He’s far from fine, but she doesn't need to know that.

Again, Solana sits up, that frown almost deepening. “Are you sleeping?” She reaches over and caresses his beard. “You look tired. H–have you been taking your medicine?”

Roman is truly dumbfounded. She is the one who is currently a legally mandated patient in a psychiatric ward because she was actively suicidal only a week ago, and yet, she’s laying here worried about him.

Roman has to push back that love feeling that’s returning.

“I keep telling you not to worry about me,” he reminds, once again wanting and almost needing to stress to her that worrying about him should be the last thing on her plate.. “I just want you to focus on yourself.”

Her retort surprises him, bold and almost uncharacteristic of her. “And I keep telling you that I’m always going to worry about you.”

Roman chuckles, commenting, “you’re becoming more outspoken….”

She gives him a small smile. “I told you the therapy has been helping.”

Roman scoffs. She’s right. Maybe that Gemma woman does know what she’s doing.

“Do you need anything?”

Solana says nothing, just lays back down against him, her hand moving over his chest, resting on his heart. “Just you.” She must glance at the clock on the wall as she comments, “we only have 40 minutes left….”

He knows she’s referring to the one hour time block allotted for visitors. Something he absolutely couldn't give two shits about. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.“ He’d stay the whole night if that was what she wanted.

“Roman….” It’s funny how he already knows what she’s going to say. “The rules—”

His interruption is sharp, but it’s not aimed towards her. And she knows that. “I don’t give a fuck about rules when it comes to you.” She sighs into his chest, offering no protest, saying nothing else.

Conversation is intermittent over the next two or so hours, Solana eventually falling asleep on top of him. He doesn’t mind. As much as he enjoys talking to her, having her body on top of his is an easy, acceptable alternative.

He’s missed this. Missed being with and around her. Roman is just now realizing just how much he benefits from having her around. He’s been a complete nightmare for everyone around him outside of Dulce, even more temperamental than his usual default setting.

But the minute he laid eyes on her, saw her innocent smile, had her in his arms, everything suddenly felt so better.

That’s what she does for him. What she is for him.

Medicine.

An antidote. Something he never knew he was missing until he met her. It seems like it was almost impossible for him to not fall in love with her.

Love….

Thinking about it again brings a frown to his handsome face, forcing him to face a reality that’s so easy to escape when he’s with her.

Roman may love Solana, but….he can never act on it. Not really. Can never tell her he loves her. That makes it official. That confirms that he finally has something his enemies can use against him, a distraction, a weakness.

Loving her openly would make him vulnerable, would put her at risk, and he couldn’t do that. Not just for himself but most definitely not to her.

To be with her like this, open and vulnerable, behind closed doors is one thing. It’s an entirely different ballpark though to make that visible and public, even with just telling her.

Feeling her stir against him, Roman kisses the top of her head, tugging her closer.

He won’t deny that he loves her.

But, he can’t act on it either.

He’s just going to have to find someway to push that down, tuck it away for safekeeping.

It’s just better that way.

________

Roman stays for about two hours, Solana waking up and reluctantly expressing her okayness with him leaving. It’s not what she wants, definitely not what he wants, but it’s what’s necessary.

If even for the fact that Dulce can’t be left alone for too long.

Solana holds onto his arm as she walks him out, Bautista not too far behind to escort her back to her room.

But, it’s when he turns to tell her bye, Roman about to ask her when she wants him to come see her again (fuck visting days), she surprises him by reaching behind her back and pulling out a sealed envelope.

Brows furrowed, Roman is curious just how the hell he missed that when she presses it against his chest. “Promise me you won’t read it until you get home.”

Now he’s extremely confused. It’s been a while since Solana has written to thim. They’ve progressed way past that, and it does concern him a bit that she didn’t just talk to him about whatever lies between the lines of this letter.

But, he also knows she’s been working hard in therapy and even in being able to open up to him about what happened that night had to have been a lot for her, so he won’t push it and will respect it.

Accepting the letter, he simply says, “okay.”

She offers a close mouthed smile, a sign of appreciation and moves to hug him once more, mumbling something in Spanish against his chest that he can’t make out. When she pulls back, he doesn’t hesitate to cup her cheek, reiterating, “you need anything, you let me know, alright?” They’d already briefly discussed how she had picked up on the fact that he had his men stationed strategically all over this place, and any of them were able to get a message to him.

She nods, repeating to him, “okay.” Solana tugs on his shirt and leans up to kiss his cheek, murmuring against his ear, “bye, Roman.”

It seems saying goodbye is difficult for her just as much as it is for him, Roman unable to reciprocate it, only letting his gaze follow her retreating form until Bautista gives him a nod and closes the door behind them.

He stands there for a good minute or two before actually leaving.

Fuck. Leaving her seems to be getting harder and harder.

Roman is barely in the SUV, door not even shut when his long fingers are moving with all the determination to open up the envelope. He unfolds the piece of paper, unsurprised to find her neat handwriting.

Roman,

I need to ask you to do something for me, but I need you to please hear me out before you settle on an answer. And please know I wouldn’t be asking this of you if I didn’t believe it’s something I really need.

I’m so sorry for putting you through this. I never want to cause you any stress or create any problems for you.

I wasn’t in a good place, and this experience has made me realize there’s still a lot of parts of me that still need to heal. I still have a lot to work through.

That’s why I’m asking.

Gail mentioned a treatment facility she runs about an hour away. It’s a 6 week program for women coming out of the hospital like I will be.

Roman, I think I should go.

I don’t think I should come home just yet.

I don’t feel ready. I’m not having those thoughts or urges anymore, but there’s still things I think I need to work through. I don’t ever want to put you through something like this again. I don’t ever want to end up back here again, but the only way I can do that is by making sure I’m good before I leave.

And I don’t know if another week can do that.

I miss you. So much. It’s been hard being away from you and Dulce and everyone else. But, I feel like I have to do this. I need to do this.

For us.

But mostly for me.

I want to get better.

Please let me.

Te quiero mucho,

Solana

BTW, I’m saying ‘I love you very much’ in Spanish.

Because I do.

I love you, Ro.

And I don’t need you to say it back or feel the same. With what you’ve been through, I’d never expect or ask that of you.

I just need you. Your continued support. That’s all. That’s enough.

With all my love,

Solana

________

“I’m so sick of your bloody fuckin’ shit, Seth! It’s the same fuckin’ thing over and over again, and I’m done!”

The cadence, melody, and even tone of his wife’s rant serves as the perfect resources for Seth who is lazily sprawled out across their sofa, beer in one hand, the other hand moving as if conducting an orchestra.

And he is.

Because this has become a song and dance with his fiery tempered, Irish wife.

Seconds later, she’s practically stomping in the living room, their daughter in hand who is most definitely old enough to remember this little spat. He cackles to himself. How unfortunate.

However, Becky’s enraged gaze is focused on him, disgust plastered all over. “Were you even listenin’ to me?”

He makes a sound, unbothered eyes falling on her, that infamous smile growing. “Of course, dear.”

Becky, however, knows better. Has been with this man long enough to know better. And she’s done. “Ya know, I thought you were getting better, yeah? But then that bloke Breaker comes over here looking for you, and I—” Becky cuts herself off, refusing to start yelling with her daughter in her arms. Her accent is even thicker, as she shares while adjusting the bag on her other shoulder, “I’m gonna go stay with Charlotte til’ I can figure out just what I’m gonna do.”

What she’s not saying is that she’ll stay with her closest American friend until she can find the funds and resources to move back home.

She’s just done.

Seth, however, seems unconcerned by the fact that she’s leaving with their kid. “Okay, dear.” He snorts, falling into that all too familiar maniacal laugh. The one that typically accompanies the reckless and dangerous behavior that has her packed and ready to go. It was one thing when it was just the two of them, but with a child now, Becky has a responsibility to keep her daughter safe.

And there is nothing safe about her husband rekindling ties with the Nightmare Factory.

Not wanting him to see the pending tears, Becky kisses her daughter’s cheek and heads for the door, not allowing herself to hesitate as she rips it open only for her jaw to drop.

She scoffs. Unbelievable. With even more support for her decision to leave, Becky looks over her shoulder at her husband who climbs to his feet. “First the Nightmare Factory, and now the fuckin’ Bloodline?” She shakes her head. “Yeah, you dig your own fuckin’ grave, Seth.”

And with that, she moves past the figures, determined to not look back this time.

Meanwhile, a massive smile grows on Seth’s unshaven face, delight dancing in his dark eyes.

This is certainly proving to be such an eventful day.

He practically stumbles over but manages to stand firm as he takes a swig of his beer, burping loudly and then asking with all of the excitement, evil smile on his face.

“How can I help you?”

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

203 notes · View notes

professonalarttheclownfan · 1 year ago

Text

Hannibal Lecter-

Little Lamb

Hannibal x reader

- mentions of a suicide attempt & mental illness.

You had been a patient of Dr Lecter for about a month now, his first appointment being with you when you were still on the ward after a attempt to take your life. The man who you’d come to know as Dr Lecter was kind to you, his voice soothed your thoughts and you began to look forward to seeing the peculiar man each week. You tried for a little while to not let your mind wander to how attractive you found the older man, but then again it pushed other far more darker thoughts aside for awhile. And you indulged yourself into thoughts of the amber eyed gentleman.

————-

“I hope that you’ve been doing as we discussed in the last appointment”

His eyes flicked to yours and stayed there, he had an intimidating undertone to him, an intensity to his presence, which made you crave him more. Your skin prickled as if it was cold, shuffling in the seat to try and distract from the feeling of him staring at you.

“Yes, I’ve been trying to. The thoughts are as intrusive as ever. Although I’ve found a new vice that’s sort of helping. When I think about them the thoughts calm for a while. But they soon come back. And they come back with vengeance”

Your voice was quiet, as it had been all your life. Slightly above a whisper but not by much. Being softly spoken would often mean people would ignore your existence. But not Dr Lecter, he gave his full attention to you when you spoke. Although it’s his job, you’d like to think maybe, just maybe he enjoyed hearing your voice too.

“The intrusive thoughts are getting more and more graphic, it’s like my brain is willing me to become so disturbed I’m past being helped. A punishment for not being dead. I still wish it had worked.”

Your eyes never dared to meet his unwavering gaze, you knew he was looking at you, it made your skin burn in the best possible way but caused you feel even more insecure then you’d ever been. What he must think of you sat there covered in scars of your own making

———————

His eyes never left you as you sat in a rather large chair in his rather large office, the room oozed class & money. When ever you were in his presence his eyes found you and he couldn’t bring himself to rip them away. And anyways, he enjoyed watching you squirm under his gaze he could quickly tell the affect he had on you. Your appointments with him were something he looked forward to. He was drawn in by you he learned a lot about you during your appointments even making a conscious effort to ask about you outside of what the appointments were supposed to be about. Being under intensive treatment meant he got you for an hour 3 times a week to his delight. He couldn’t quite understand why a beauty like you wanted to be 6 foot under. He always thought people with such beauty also held a disgusting amount of vanity and self importance. But not you, he enjoyed your beauty, and he found himself not wanting to slice you open and eat your body piece by piece. And that scared him. He didn’t want to stay professional with you, he wanted to patch that dark little mind of yours and claim you as his.

“your thoughts are getting worse? what sort of things are these thoughts about? Don’t be afraid to tell me” He asked. Jotting down what ever notes he needed.

—————

“About hurting people, about hurting myself. Images, awful images. They’d flash into my head, just like before. But instead of them just being about me hurting myself they’re ones of me hurting others, before I’d never had that I’m scared I’ll give in” the welling of tears made room ripple and blur.

“I just want to get better. But that’s never going to happen. My only relief is thinking about someone I know I can never have. Someone who wouldn’t even look at me. They just see me as a sick patient and even then my brain punishes me for it. It hurts me but they make me feel safe, they’re the only person that listens to me”

Your tears ran, wet and warm down your face. Hannibal had never felt an ache in his heart when seeing someone cry. Usually someone’s cries meant nothing to him. Especially the ones of those he killed. But with you, he wanted to push you up against a wall and make you feel anything but sadness.

“Whom is it that you think about?” He asked with out thinking, he cursed at himself for being so abrupt when you were upset.

You dropped your head allowing your hair to fan infront of your face, you wanted to tell him, tell him about how you wanted him to make your skin blaze, how you wanted to feel his lips on every single part of your body, how you wanted him to take every waking and sleeping moment of your life and fill it with him.

“I’m afraid to say Dr Lecter I fear he may never want to see sight of me again”

Hannibal watched as you raised your head, tears streaked your face, your cheeks turned pink and your lips plump, and yet he still thought you looked beautiful. Broken yet beautiful.

He wanted to kiss you, so deeply as if he would engulf you whole and allow you to be safe.

“Why would you think that? you may be in a bad place, but you are person that holds a lot more then what you’re going through. I’ve learned a lot about you y/n your beauty is merely only the surface of you, you are intense yet so gentle. Your brain holds great torment, yet you have never laid a hand on another despite what your mind makes you think. The mere fact you acknowledge that hurt, the fact you wanted to take yourself away in fear of hurting others shows me more about you then you think. I apologise if you think this is inappropriate of me. Only a fool would never want to see sight of you again”

His face never changed, his eyes held the same undivided intense gaze. But he meant every word of what he said. Y/ns brain couldn’t comprehend a man who had everything was speaking so highly of someone who had nothing.

“Dr lec-“

“my little lamb call me Hannibal, I insist”

You body shook lightly,

“Hannibal, it’s you. It’s you that I think about. You fog my mind daily. And you make my thoughts go even if its for a little while, it’s worth it.”

Hannibal got up slowly, placing his glass on the small table beside him. You nerves through the roof as he hadn’t said anything. Had you misunderstood him? Was he simply being kind out of pity?

His hand reached for yours, large yet soft and well manicured. You accepted his hand and allowed him to pull you up.

“You fog my mind too little lamb”

He gently caressed your cheek, taking in the feeling of you finally being pressed against his body. He pressed his lips to yours, savouring how sweet you tasted, mint mixed with an undertone of the expensive wine he’d poured for you earlier. Your mind finally at ease, for the first time in a long time.

“Now, don’t ever take yourself away from me.”

#hannibal #hannibal imagine #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #imagine

244 notes · View notes

ofstoriesandstardust · 1 month ago

Text

part i. - the after (j.r.)

a/n: well folks, she's finally here. this is the very first part of my new top gun maverick x twisters crossover series, all of my life it's been heartbreak weather (series playlist here). i'm so very very excited to have this out but i'm also intimidated by all that's to come (aka what did i get myself into). please note that this series does discuss past self-harm/suicide attempts. please be a conscious reader; if that's something that will upset you, please don't read. other than that, i hope you enjoy! remember that comments and reblog keep me fed and watered. :)

summary: After El Reno, Javi starts to wonder where his place in the world is if not with StormPar. Despite Kate's insistence he ride out the rest of the season with the Wranglers, he can't shake the feeling that he's unwanted. Fueled by his own fear, he makes the executive decision to spend some time out in San Diego with his cousin Mickey. He knows he's running, but he doesn't realize he's running right home to you.

warnings: swearing, alcohol, first kiss, food mentions, addy lives but at the cost of her leg, past/references self harm and suicide attempts, other normal twisters warnings, past scott/javi

wc: 10.8k

“You sure you won’t stay?”

There’s Kate again, with that pleading look in her eye as she crosses her arms. The same one that she had given him when she asked him to stay before El Reno.

He almost had then too, but he remembered the way Tyler had looked at him on the front porch, the way he had followed Kate out there with such ease it had been like he’d always belonged. He feels it now too, when his eyes flicker over Kate’s shoulder to the Wranglers all scattered around Cathy’s porch as they pretend not to watch their conversation. It’s like they’ve always belonged there and it’s that knowledge that makes him shake his head.

This is Kate’s family. After all that she had lost, Kate deserved to have a family again. She belonged among them, what with the way they fit together like they had always been friends.

“I’m sorry Kate.” He rasps, feeling tears sting at his eyes.

“Javi, I- I can’t do this without you.”

And there it is, his own words reflected back at him.

He can’t understand why though. She didn’t need him, didn’t need him getting in their way. He was a liability. He was a screw-up and she didn’t need him sticking around in a place that was never his to start with.

“C’mon Kate, you know that ain’t true.” He says as he turns, opening the door of his Mike’s truck to throw his duffel bag in.

“Javi, I’m serious. I talked to Addy last night-”

“Don’t go there.” He says firmly, slamming the door shut harder than he intends to as Kate flinches. “Don’t bring Addy into this.”

His own guilt, his own fear. The memories of ignoring Addy’s phone calls for so long and the knowledge that she’d be so angry with him for starting this venture without her by his side.

Kate bites her lip. “Where will you go?”

He sticks his hands in his pockets, sighing. “I’m going to Mickey’s. He’s stationed out in San Diego right now; they’ve got an extra room in their house they’re letting me rent for the next bit while I figure out all this StormPar shit.” Kate’s eyes are red-rimmed, fingernails digging into her arms.

She’s holding herself back, he can tell. He can tell there’s so much she wants to say to him that she’s choosing to keep inside. He almost wishes she would say anything, lose her cool, yell at him, tell him what a stupid decision this is, tell him how angry she is at him for leaving, beg him to stay.

Be the same storm and force that he knows and loves her for being.

But she doesn’t say anything at all, just chewing on her lip.

Mike rolls down the window, shouting at him that they better get a move on if they want to make his flight. He waves him off, stepping closer to Kate as the window rolls back up. He sighs, before letting his hands fall onto her shoulders.

“Tell you what. Give me the next few months and the off season to get my shit together, get all my legal crap with StormPar solved. And at the start of the new year, we can revisit. See if doing this together is still what you want.”

It’s not quite a promise but he knows it would be worse to make her a promise he can’t keep.

Kate may not understand and he may not know how to tell her but he needs this.

He needs to take a step back. He needs a minute, a moment to breathe. He can’t go back to that place, that dark crawl space of a life he lived in after Jeb and Praveen died, after Addy lost her leg, after Kate disappeared to New York and they stopped speaking to each other, the one that squeezed him so tight it nearly squeezed the life from his lungs.

Kate nods before reaching up to give him a hug. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he returns the hug.

“I’m sorry Kate.” He breathes out. “Tell Addy hi for me, okay?”

He doesn’t know why he’s nervous as he follows Mickey into the warm beach house. It’s small, quaint, walls emanating years of love. He’s only been in San Diego a day and a half at this point, but Mickey was adamant he introduced him to his second family as soon as possible.

Mickey’s friends cheer at the sight of them and the grin Mickey returns to them is blinding. Mick slings an arm around his shoulder, jostling him as he introduces him to the team.

He’s known Reuben for years, ever since Mickey’s graduation from the Academy, and Natasha and Bradley have been friendly faces to him over the years, often stationed with Mickey.

Jake’s new but in a way, he’s got a striking resemblance to Tyler, the same ego and attitude to match. Javy ribs him about being name twins and he knows they’ll be good friends.

Pete, Mickey’s commander, is kind, soulful. His face is lined with years of love and he knows from the very first minute that he cares very deeply about his team in a way he had never experienced with any of his own commanding officers. Pete says he’s regretful his husband isn’t there but that he’ll be back from Florida next week and Tom has already insisted they come back for dinner.

He’s halfway through his first beer and a bowl of chips, talking to Pete about his work with StormPar and how the radars worked, when he meets you for the first time.

Pete chuckles at the sight of you, popping an M&M into his mouth. “Morning sleeping beauty.” Pete nudges him. “This is my daughter.” He introduces you and he waves hesitantly, waggling his fingers at you. You run a hand down your face, groaning. “You work today?”

“Opened and then Sally called off so I had to stay overtime. Came home and crashed.”

“Hey, do you ever put on pants?” Jake heckles from the couch. You take a minute to look down at your pajama shorts and Niall Horan sweatshirt before you turn on your heel, a look that could kill shot at the blond.

“This is my house!” You snap back before huffing, turning back around for the fridge.

“What’s the story?” He asks Mickey quietly as Pete excuses himself, setting off after you to inquire about your plans for the evening.

“She’s Mav’s daughter. She came into his life like, two years ago I think? She comes from a pretty nasty background which is why Mav lets her live here. I dunno, they’ve got a strained relationship and she’s… a handful.”

Javi takes a minute to study you. You can’t be more than two or three years younger than him, probably almost the same age as Addy. You’re talking to Pete in a subdued voice as you rub sleep from your eyes, a couple of piercings hanging off from your ears. You’ve got a couple tattoos, one on your leg of a ribbon that looks oddly alike to Lilly’s stick and poke style. You’re not hard on the eyes either, even in your sleepy state. You’ve got an easy smile and kind eyes, a laughter that sounds like honey as you chuckle at Pete.

“You’ll like her though. She’s kind of closed off, got a lot of stuff she doesn’t talk to us about. But she’s sweet and I think the two of you are about to bond over food here pretty quickly.” Mickey adds as you announce that you’re changing and departing for In-N-Out.

Javi snorts as the group shouts things at you, wrinkling your nose as they do. You wave a hand, shouting at them all to just text you as you trot back off towards your bedroom.

“Yeah, I know. She’s your dream girl but you might want to close your mouth, you’re drooling.”

He snaps his mouth shut as he looks at Mickey. He’s smirking, eyes full of mirth. “I’m not, uh-” He clears his throat which only makes Mickey grin grow.

“Uh huh. Go with her.” He says as you reappear from your bedroom, pants on this time.

“No, I couldn’t-”

Mickey shakes his head. “No, no this is good because I need someone to babysit you and it was always going to be her.”

“Who am I babysitting?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. Mickey jerks his head over to him and he feels his cheeks warm under your scrutiny.

“I’m not babysitting your grown adult cousin.”

Mickey shrugs. “Think of it like, showing him all the sights. You wanted to be a tour guide; you love playing tour guide. I just want you to show him a good time before he starts work next week.”

The innuendo in his voice is apparent and you groan at Mickey. “I will be doing none of that.”

Mickey shrugs, muttering something about your loss, which only makes his cheeks grow warmer as he mentally thinks of all the ways he could kill his cousin for trying to play matchmaker.

You sigh again, studying him for a minute before you roll your eyes. You wave an arm at him, already setting off towards the front door. “C’mon.” You call. Mickey slaps his shoulder as he skids off the barstool he’s sitting on, dutifully following after you. You turn sharply once at the door, and he swallows at your look.

“I don’t know your name.”

“Javi.” He says softly and he watches the way you say the name softly, relishing the way it sounds coming off your tongue.

“Well Javi, it’s nice to meet you. Officially now.” You offer a hand out to him and he shakes it. “Do they have In-N-Out in out there in Kansas?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

He clears his throat. “I’m from Florida, actually. Miami. And uh, no we don’t. I’ve never had it before.”

Your face lights up as you yank on the front door. “Well then Javi-from-Florida-Miami-not-Kansas, I’m about to make sure you get the full experience.”

The full experience ends up being you eagerly telling the cashier he’s never been before, insisting he get (and wear) the infamous hat. You giggle over the pictures you force him to pose for, firing them off to Mickey as you do. You play with the sticker packets, hunched over and hair falling over your shoulder and into your eyes in a repeated motion that makes Javi resist the urge to reach across the plastic table and sweep your hair from your eyes. When they call out for your food, you eagerly shoot up from your seat to get the food, waving him off as you bring it back to the table.

Through dinner, you tell him about working as a barista, how Sally is one more no call no show away from getting fired and all the other gossip about people who he knows nothing about.

He hates to admit it, but Mickey is right. He’s taken a real shine to you as you talk, a smile never leaving your face.

He could fall hard for you, he knows in his heart of hearts. And it scares him shitless. He knows what happened the last time he loved a girl that much and all that it cost him. He knows he doesn’t know if he can go there and make it out the other side with you.

Especially when, back at the house, Mickey mentions seeing Kate on Tyler’s latest stream and around the brownie spatula you’re licking you say Tyler Owens can eat shit.

Still, it doesn’t stop him from being equal parts intrigued and enchanted by you. You’re as kind as you are funny, and in many ways you mind him so much of the Tamers. You’ve got Kate’s brain, Addy’s carefree laugh, Praveen’s cautious nature, Jeb’s soulful kindness.

He spends the first week hanging out with you around your barista shifts, going out for drinks, introducing him to Chili’s. One morning the two of you go to the beach and another afternoon the two of you sightsee at SeaPort Village and visit the USS Midway. You take him to Old Town to eat the best Mexican food you claim he’ll ever have and while it’ll never be his mama’s or abuelita’s, it’s a damn close second. That Sunday before he starts work, you and Mickey drag him down to the zoo, and he buys you a panda pin he sneaks onto your fanny pack later that night on the SkyTram.

And then he keeps spending his free time with you. He visits you on your opening shifts, which earns you some teasing remarks from your co-workers. He ends up at your house without Mickey on more than one occasion, playing Pokémon and MarioKart on your switch. You guys drive down to the beach, playing him all your favorite albums. He shares his music with you on the days he drives you to work or picks you up after you close.

Know any good hangover spots?

He rolls over on his bed as he rubs a hand down his face, looking at the clock. It’s nearing two and through his hangover, he can’t remember if you were supposed to work today.

He doesn’t forget Addy calling him last night though. He’d been at the bar with Mickey and some of their crew. You’d invited him to go to the movies with you but he knew he was getting in too deep with you. He was going to hurt you if the two of you kept going at the rate you were and he couldn’t bear to watch it happen when you saw him for who he really was.

In hindsight, he should’ve just gone with you. He’s sure that being with you would’ve taken away the sting of declining Addy’s call, a sting he had instead soothed with alcohol.

His phone chimes and for a minute he hesitates, wondering if it’s Kate or Addy.

It’s nearing the anniversary.

It’s two weeks away and he had ignored any outreach, including asking him if he wanted to be in Oklahoma with them for the first time in five years.

It’s you though.

I think I do. Up for a burrito? I’ve got a spot I’ve been wanting to introduce you to. I can come pick you up.

An hour later, the two of you are in a neighborhood you don’t normally stray into as you point out familiar landmarks to him.

He knows you haven’t lived with Pete forever and it dawns on him that this side of town must have been where you grew up as you pull into the tiny parking lot, leading him into the shop crammed between the 7-11 and Chinese place you claim used to be a Russian bakery your parents swore was a front for the mafia.

You lean over to him as you stand in the cool hole-in-the-wall shop, saying how much you love the breakfast burritos here. You’re up in his space, arms nearly wrapping around his own.

You’ve been doing that a lot more lately. You invade his personal space, entirely comfortable with him. You’ll lean against him in crowded spaces, whisper mocking remarks in his ear when Jake gets too big for his britches. You hug when you see him and when he leaves, and he swears you would’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder last week if Javy and Mickey hadn’t come back to their house when they did.

He finds that he doesn’t entirely hate it. He likes it in a way, the way you’re so comfortable with him.

He follows your lead, getting the breakfast burrito, and as the two of you sit down in the back corner of the place, laughing over your dislike for hot sauce, you mention how you have fond memories of your Dad bringing you here after early morning hikes during your childhood or hard days in high school.

“Dad?” He questions softly. “Not Pete?”

You shrug. “My mom’s ex-husband. I guess not my Dad in blood but my Dad in the way that it mattered.”

“Do you guys still talk?”

You shake your head. “Nah, we had a pretty strained relationship starting sometime during college and when it came out that he wasn’t actually my Dad, he cut all contact.”

He blows out a breath, thinking of his own parents. His Dad has been gone since he was a toddler, couldn’t remember the dead beat even if he tried, but he couldn’t imagine not getting to talk to his mama.

“You still keep in touch with your Mom?”

You shake your head again. “Nah, my Mom and I had a pretty nasty falling out about two years back now. I was never meant to be nor did I ever plan on being in Pete’s life but I needed somewhere to stay and given the circumstances and the fact that I think Pete felt pretty guilty he hadn’t been in my life given how I grew up, he and Tom uh- couldn’t really say no.”

He nods, taking another bite of his burrito as he contemplates asking the question that’s been burning in the back of his mind since that very first night he’d met you.

“Can I ask something else?” You hum, nodding. “That first night we met- you made a comment about Tyler Owens. You uh, you know him? Or is it just like a general dislike?”

You lick the tip of your thumb as some guacamole escapes your burrito. “In the short of it, I worked for the Wranglers last season.” You hum at his wide eyes. “Yeah, Tyler and I had a pretty big falling out after the last chase of the season. He made it very clear I wasn’t welcome back.” You say it with a shrug in a very that’s that way but based on the bitterness seeping through your tone, it isn’t just all that.

“So- how’d you even get a job with them?”

“I bought a house in Oklahoma and needed something to do-”

He cuts you off, holding his hands up in a timeout motion. “You bought a house in Oklahoma?”

You huff out a laugh. “I sort of- for lack of a better term, had a nervous breakdown my first semester of grad school when I had my falling out with my mom. I dropped out halfway through the term and moved in with Pete. I’ve always been shopping for real estate on the side, you know, just for shits and giggles. Always used to run around saying girls didn’t want husbands, they wanted to buy property. Anyways, I fell in love with this house out in Claremore and uh, turns out when I was born, Pete had set up this trust I was supposed to get once he died. I don’t think he ever expected to live this long, so it’s accumulated one helluva chunk of money and interest through the years. And he and I talked about it, and decided to use the money as the down payment. A friend of mine I met through storm chasing is staying there right now, cause she needed a place to stay and she offered to cover all the expenses. Utilities and whatnot.”

“You miss it? Oklahoma?”

You shake your hand in a so-so motion. “Anyways, I don't quite know how it all happened, Tyler needed someone to run their Tiktok and Instagram because Boone refuses to learn it and it’s a whole audience they’re missing out on. So Tyler brought me on to run the other social medias Boone didn’t want to.” He nods, buzzing with all the information he just got from you.

A house in Claremore?

You had storm chasing experience?

Would you ever go back?

“Okay, my turn. You got to ask stuff about me, so now I get to ask stuff about you.” He nods his head, resting his arm against the back of the chair next to him as he pops the last bite of burrito in his mouth. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes flicker over his bicep. “How in the hell did you go from Florida to storm chasing in Tornado Alley to San Diego?”

“I went to UF for undergrad and uh, decided hurricanes just weren’t cool enough to me. Wanted to study tornadoes and figured there was no better place than the heart of Tornado Alley herself, so I went to Muskogee and got my Masters. Then I joined the Army-” Your eyes grow wide. “And uh, after four years, my contract was up and I took my tech and started StormPar. But we had some pretty unethical investors and my business partner turned out to be- well, honestly he probably was the whole time, a real dick so I took my tech and told them to go to hell.” He giggles a little bit at your sour look. “What?”

“Man, I fucking hate tornados.”

“That’s the part you’re focused on?”

Are you free today?

I really don’t want to be alone and Mickey has to work.

You frown at the message.

Yeah. Everything okay?

Javi types back almost immediately.

No. Up for a drive?

You roll to a stop in the gravel parking lot, turning the key in the ignition as you eye Javi.

“Do you want me to go with you?” You ask quietly.

He nods. “Please?” He rasps out quietly. You nod, slipping out of the car. He waits for you at the front of the car and you hesitate for a moment, before making a rash decision to take Javi’s hand in your own. He intertwines his fingers with your own as if it’s second nature to him, slowly weaving your way through the graveyard in Encinitas.

Slowly, you reach a stop, Javi standing in front of a marble stone. You squeeze his hand. “Let’s sit.” You whisper and he follows your lead, sitting down next to you. You move to let his hand go but his grip only tightens.

“You wanna talk about it?”

He sniffs, taking his free hand to wipe his nose. “This was Praveen. He uh, he was one of my room mates in grad school.” You scoot closer to Javi, resting your chin in his shoulder.

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

“We were uh, we were storm chasing this time five years ago. For our thesis project. I was in charge of the data, I stayed with the van. The rest of my team- Kate, Jeb, Addy, Praveen, they went out to drop these barrels in the tornados path. Kate and Praveen and Addy were testing to see if they could get this- this polyacrylate into the air- the shit they use in diapers Addy always used to say, to tame the tornado. But it- it didn’t fucking work. It was an EF-5, the worst a tornado can offer and it killed Jeb and Praveen. I- I was in the van, watching our sensors rise 70,000 feet in the air and shouting into a radio nobody would answer. Afterwards, I uh- I drove around looking for any one of them, just- I knew it was probably impossible but I uh- I found Addy.” He takes a shaky breath. “She was alive, thank God, but uh, shit she lost her leg. She got hit by some debris while they were trying to hide in an underpass. I mean, thank God I did find her when I did, she probably wouldn’t have lived if I hadn’t but there was- so much blood.”

“What about Kate?” You ask softly.

“Kate- Kate lived but she was never- never the same person. Shit, I don’t blame her. One of her best friends dead, her boyfriend dead, another one of her best friends permanently disabled-” He breaks off, voice watery as he gives a shrug. “They were my room mates you know? We met on Craigslist of all places. We were three out-of-state- Jeb’s from Indiana, Praveen from here, out-of-state broke as fuck grad students needing somewhere to live. It could’ve ended so poorly but man I fucking loved those guys. They- they were-” He shakes his head. “We lived in this shithole apartment, the heat never worked, we had fucking roaches, a leaky kitchen sink pipe and the first time I went back to the apartment after it happened, all I could think about was how quiet our place was.”

Your heart sinks at the thought of him going back to a house filled with ghosts, probably still covered in the blood of his friends.

“Javi, I’m so sorry.” You say softly. “That sounds… unimaginable.”

“I miss ‘em so fucking much, you know? I’d give anything to have them back, even just for one more day.”

You rub a hand up and down Javi’s arm as you let his hand go, him reaching up to wipe away his tears.

“Shit, I’m such a bad friend, I should’ve brought like, fucking flowers or something.”

You hum. “Well, there’s a Trader Joe’s like ten minutes from here, we can go get some and come back. Or I can go and get some for you.”

“Can you go?” He croaks. “I would go but-” He gestures to himself. You bite back a snort, nodding as you understand what he means.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” He nods and you let his arm go after squeezing it, standing up before you turn back for the car.

Once inside, you let out a breath as you wrap your hands around the steering wheel.

It hurt your heart to see Javi so upset, to see him work through so much grief.

You’d come to know Javi so well and had found him to be such a bright person, so charming and funny, kind and understanding, and it hurt to hear all that he had gone through before he had come into your life.

The most you could do at this point was be here for him however he wanted you to be here for him and see him through this day. And that started with these damn flowers.

You stood in the AC of the Trader Joe’s for far too long, unsure of what Javi would want or what his friend Praveen would’ve liked. Eventually though, you make your way back to the gravesite, instantly wishing you had taken even longer.

“-fuck Praveen, it got so bad. Kate and Addy would’ve been so disappointed to see me like that, to know I tried to- I think. And you know, Mickey is the one who found me, wrist slit open, blood running down my arms and I-”

You softly gasp, fingers unconsciously tightening on the cellophane of the flowers as his words sink in for you.

And to your horror, Javi turns around.

Javi turns as you shift on your feet.

It’s with a sinking heart that he realizes you have a fearful look in your eye and he wonders painfully if you’re afraid of him.

You swallow, taking a step closer to him as you hand him the flowers. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to- I can go wait in the car.” You offer softly.

“Are you scared of me?” He asks softly. Your eyes go wide as you startle.

“Scared of you? No.” You say quickly, shaking your head. You sigh, falling to the ground next to him as you take his arm again. He sets the flowers on the ground, half-turning his body towards you. “No, I just- didn’t mean to overhear that. It sounded private. Like… you wouldn’t have said it if you had known I was there. You said it because you thought you were alone.”

He studies you for a minute and you let him. There’s nervousness in your eye, but more so, there’s no pity held there that people usually look at him with once they hear about what happened, about what he did. Instead, there’s something akin to understanding as you look at him. You sigh.

“Javi, you gotta know that you experienced a truly traumatic loss. And it- this doesn’t define you. Shit happens okay, and it- sometimes our brain is our own worst fucking enemy, it goes against everything we know, everything we hold dear to ourselves, and sometimes it convinces us of the worst fucking shit. Makes us do the worst fucking shit to others, to ourselves. But Javi,”

Your fingers slide over the shallow scar on his right arm and his breath hitches.

He was usually so good about covering it up, first with sleeves, jackets were his best friend during early season as he learned how to be around the StormPar team, and then switching out various watches. He’d gone to great lengths to even make sure Kate wouldn’t see.

And he’d gotten a bit careless being in San Diego, under the constant sun, none of Mickey’s friends having said a damn word, but he was always careful around you.

Never too fast, never too much, not wanting to lose you. Your friendship.

But in his grief he’d forgotten all about it.

And of course you’d clocked it.

The only person who’d ever seen it, really seen it, had been Scott, the unspeakable thing between them. He hadn’t even let his Mom or Mickey bring it up, too ashamed in the aftermath.

But the way you were touching him now, gentle and soothing, didn’t make the scar burn like it usually did.

It felt… better. Healing, somehow.

So he lets you keep touching it, thumb running gently up and down the length of it as you keep talking.

“This doesn’t define you. It’s a part of you, it will always be a part of you. It’s a huge part, but it’s not what makes you you.”

You swallow, looking down. “I don’t want this to come off as if I’m making it about me, because I’m not. I just want you to know that I understand. What it feels like to feel that way.” He gives you a short nod as he meets your shiny eyes and you look away, giving a wet chuckle. “I grew up in an abusive household. Mom was an alcoholic, Dad was just… an all around piece of shit. We grew up piss ass poor.” You say, shaking your head. “I really struggled. I couldn’t make friends in school growing up because other parents didn’t want their kids around my parents and when I got older, I was the weird girl with the home life no one else could relate to. Those who could relate to it weren’t… the best influences. And um, when I was 15, all the mental turmoil that had built up, sort of peaked. I came so close to… just ending all of it.” You don’t let him go, even as he reaches over to brush a stray tear from your face. “I didn’t… actually do anything. I didn’t have the courage to take that final step and when I woke up the next morning I was horrified. And embarrassed, I think. I never came that close to anything again but sometimes… the thoughts come back up.”

“How do you get past it?” He rasps.

You scuff the toe of your shoe into the grass. “I don’t know that I’d say I’m the example, my college therapist was pretty concerned I might do something for a while there and I probably should’ve been medicated but I- I don’t know. I have to remind myself that it does get better. That maybe I don’t always see it, but there are people who’d give a damn if something happened to me, that it wouldn’t be this sigh of relief to them that I think it would. And I try to give those past versions of myself grace because really she was doing the best with what she knew.” You give him a sad smile. “Have grace with yourself Javi. Past you was just doing the best he could.”

“I don’t want to pry, because it’s not my place.”

He gives you a non-committal hum as you unlock the car door.

The two of you had sat for hours in that graveyard as Javi recounted his favorite memories of Praveen, of their time, however short together, when Praveen’s older brother had shown up and in his surprise at seeing Javi, had invited him to dinner with his mother.

You’d initially offered to just drop Javi off at the restaurant, that you’d come back when he was done, but he looked so torn up about the thought of you leaving and Praveen’s brother had been so insistent that a friend of Javi’s was a friend of their families and should join them for dinner, that you ended up agreeing.

On the drive over is when Javi starts to clue you in more on the larger picture of the last five years, of the true fallout from the tornado.

Addy’s parents had never forgiven Kate, so much so that they had tried to get Addy to take a restraining order out against Kate. The courts had denied it, outright, and the judge had apparently exchanged such words over the stupidity of the order request with Addy’s lawyer, because Addy had been a legal adult, participating in the same university-sanctioned research that Kate had, accepted by the the same PhD program that Kate had, that Addy’s family hadn’t tried again.

Jeb’s parents had been so enraged with Kate that they refused to even tell her where Jeb was buried. Kate didn’t even get to go to the funeral, which was right around the time she stopped answering Javi’s calls and Javi stopped trying.

Praveen’s family had been the kindest in the aftermath.

Praveen’s Mom had found Javi’s on FaceBook six months after Praveen’s death, because she knew Javi’s birthday was coming up and wanted to send him a card. Praveen still had the date marked in his calendar in his childhood bedroom.

Their families had stayed in touch over the years, even if they hadn’t with anybody else’s, and Javi tells you he suspects it has little to do with any kind of effort Praveen’s mother had made.

Praveen’s mother, a kind woman named Delia, welcomes Javi to the table with open arms and a tight hug for you. She apologizes for the absence of Praveen’s sister, finishing her residency at John Hopkins in Maryland.

Throughout the dinner, it’s clear to you how in the aftermath, Praveen’s mother had found more forgiveness for Kate and what had happened then the others did.

Praveen’s Dad had died when he was in high school, a victim of a freak drive-by shooting. What should’ve been a hardship only made Praveen more encouraged to pursue his dreams, eventually landing an acceptance to UCLA with a full ride. But you can’t study tornados in Southern California, leading Praveen to Muskogee and the Tamers.

Praveen had loved what he was doing, every second of it, even when it had put him in harm’s way. He always spoke of how much he loved his friends, of this dream they were building. He spent every minute home with his mother wishing he was home in Oklahoma.

That’s how she had found peace and solace in the loss of her youngest son. Praveen had died doing what he loved with the people he loved. How could she ever be angry?

Javi squeezes your hand before breaking apart to round the front. “You were saying?”

You click your tongue. “Yeah. I guess, you don’t have to explain the how, I guess, but are you, are you doing better?”

You realize the question makes no sense as you ask it yet Javi understands as he waits for you to climb in, starting the car.

“What if I did want to talk about it? With you? The how, I mean.”

“If you want to, then I would listen.”

Javi takes a breath. “I‘ll spare you the details, but Mickey was the one who found me. Had to call 9-1-1 and since I had to- you know, spend a couple nights in the psych ward, they notified my CO and I was discharged.”

“So… leaving the Army was never really your choice then?”

He shakes his head. “No, but Scott had already been on his way out. His contract was up and he wanted to be gone. My only friend- my-” He stops himself and you can tell there’s more to the story. “My best friend, leaving the Army, sort of-”

“Played into all of it?”

“Yeah.” He breathes.

“But you are doing better now?”

He shifts in his seat. “It’ll never be that bad again, and I- uh I’m on some good medications, much as I hate to admit that. But days like this are just… hard. I don’t like being alone. And Mickey and my Mom and Scott are the only ones who know about what I did so it just- makes it harder I think. Not to talk about it, like it didn’t happen.” He takes a shaky breath. “Scott is actually the- the one who tipped my Mom off that something might be happening. I had- had texted him that I loved him and I was sorry. And when I stopped answering he called my Mom. She was out-of-state, out in Arizona for a funeral, and she called Mickey to come check on me since he had been on leave that week.” He swallows hard. “Scott loved me enough to the point of risking losing me, just so- just so I could live. As terrible as he turned out to be, I still miss that part of him.”

“I understand.” You say softly. “I had to call for a friend of mine during college. I was living out of state at the time, and she never forgave me. But she’s still here, and she got to graduate from college and get engaged to her high school sweetheart and she might be angry at me forever, but you love someone enough to be okay with losing them, just to see them live.”

The half hour drive back to San Diego is quiet, the stereo playing your music softly. You don’t see it, but Javi starts to build a playlist from your choices, reveling in the comforting nature of this moment right here.

Finally, you pull into his driveway of the house he shares with Mickey and Javy, tires crunching on the concrete. You watch him get out, bidding you a goodnight and walk towards the front door.

“Javi!” You call, barely remembering to turn the car off as you open the door. He turns as you jog up the driveway after him.

And before you can think too far into it, you hug him. He startles, but he wraps his arms around you and you sigh, fisting your hands in his jacket.

“I’m really glad you decided to stay and I’m really glad that I got to meet you. You- you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met, and I’m thankful you’re in my life. I’m sorry all that terrible shit happened to you, cause- cause you never deserved that. And I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

You let him go and his arms slowly follow, letting you move back as you look up at him. You can’t read the look on his face, so you clear your throat.

“Anyways, um, have a good night Javi.” You say quietly, giving him a small wave.

“Night.”

He’s in the house by the time you start the car again and you sighed to yourself.

Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Javi’s heart was with Kate and Addy and the research he left behind in Tornado Alley. And it was gonna hurt like hell when he left to finish what he started.

“So, you ever gonna ask her out on a date?”

He startles up, fumbling his phone as Pete gives him a cheshire grin.

“I’m- Um-” He stammers, eyes darting around the living room. Pete pats him on the back, before walking away, chuckling as he does.

“C’mon, you’re out with her, what, four, five nights of the week? At least? Not counting how many hours you spend over here. Just pull damn the trigger already Rivera.”

“We’re just- we’re just friends.” He says, feeling a flush creep up his neck the longer your Dad stares at him.

“You convince yourself with that lie?”

He licks his lips, not expecting to be called out so directly. “She’s better than what I deserve.” He admits shyly, the flush only crawling farther, starting to feel more like flames as Pete softens.

“You’re a good kid. I trust you with her.”

He runs a hand over his face. “I’ve got a lot of baggage.”

“So does she.” Pete heaves a sigh, crossing his arms. “We’ve all got something, kid. But that doesn’t mean you’re any less deserving. Only took Tom about twenty years and a couple of near death experiences to beat that into my skull.” Pete raps his knuckles against his head, eyes flickering to your bedroom door, where you’re changing out of your work clothes after showering. “I’m not blind and contrary to my daughter’s belief I don’t know her at all, I know her pretty well. She is half me, after all.” Pete swallows around the last little bit, defeat sinking into his stature at his acknowledgment at just how tense his relationship with you was. “I know how she looks at you. The same way Nick and Carole tell me I always looked at Tom.”

“How- how did you look at him?” He asks.

Pete smiles softly as they both hear the sound of your bedroom door open.

“Like he was home.”

He should nudge you, tell you the movie’s over, and excuse himself.

He should get out of your house, the early hour it’s nearing, knowing it’s closer to the time Pete wakes up for work in the morning than when he and Tom went to bed. Pete had put a lot of trust in him after all.

But you’re so comfortable with him, breathing slowly, and it’s the most peaceful he thinks he’s ever seen you.

For once, your brain isn’t going a million miles a minute, moving as fast at the planes Pete flies.

And he can’t deny that his own bone-deep exhaustion is hitting him, dragging him further into sleep alongside you. Can’t resist the peace that settles over him.

In the morning, he’ll wake to a text from Pete, an image of the two of you curled up together on the couch and a message that says: Here’s what I’d tell my pilots - don’t think, just do.

He’ll watch you from across the kitchen as you putter around, smiling softly at him, sheepish about falling asleep on his shoulder the night before.

He’ll tell you it’s the best night of sleep he’s gotten in years and you’ll laugh it off, chucking a chunk of avocado at him, but he knows it’s true.

It’s the first time he sleeps through the night without nightmares since the day his friends never came back.

There’s a murmuring from outside of your bedroom door and you peer over your phone to catch a few shadows moving before Javi suddenly stumbles into your doorframe.

He waves someone, Mickey probably, off as he realizes you’re already looking at him. He straightens up, shuffling to lean against the doorframe as he offers you a nervous smile. “This is uh, a nice… calendar.” He trails off awkwardly, playing with the edges of the paper hanging on your wall.

You snort, setting your phone down on your bed as you move to sit up. “Sure is.”

He clears his throat, gesturing awkwardly to your room. “Can I?”

You can’t help the grin that grows across your face. “Sure Javi.”

“Right, well-” His cheeks color as he shuts the door behind him. “Um, well, I was just hoping maybe we could uh- well uh-” He scratches the back of his head as your eyebrows raise. “Do you, uh, do you wanna go on a date with me?”

Your smile grows even wider as you nod, butterflies exploding in your stomach as he asks. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

His shoulders relax a little bit as his own smile transforms into a rather genuine one. “Yeah? Okay, um Friday?”

“I can do Friday.” You confirm.

“Okay, cool. That’s cool. I’ll pick you up at uh, say 7? Dinner?”

You nod again. “Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

Thunder breaks out, a lightning strike illuminating the sky as the two of you leave the restaurant in downtown San Diego.

You hum as the air turns, squeezing Javi’s hand. “You know, growing up I read this book where she used to count in between the thunder and the lightning and that would tell you how many miles away the storm was. I used to do it all the time until my Dad told me that it wasn’t real.”

He looks down at you, a fond smile as he walks towards his truck with you. A few raindrops begin to fall from the sky, wetting the asphalt beneath your feet. “My friend Addy does that. She used to at least.” He pauses for a minute then tilts his head. “You’d like Addy, actually. If she’s still anything like she was back then, you two would be bad for my blood pressure.”

You hum, pulling him closer. “I love rain. I remember when I used to sit out on my grandparents porch at their condo on the lake growing up and watch the storms. Or how my freshman year as an out-of-stater, I stood in my dorm’s parking lot in the rainstorm the first week while my whole floor watched me.”

He pauses near the car as the rain picks up, soft music from the restaurant following you guys into the parking lot. “Dance with me.” He says softly.

You let out a nervous laugh. “What?”

“Dance with me. Right now.” He says, already turning to take your other hand.

“Okay.” You say softly, letting his hand find the small of your back, as your hands clasp around his neck.

The movements are slow, Javi guiding you through a twirl. A laugh plays on your lips as he pulls you back close to his chest. He holds you there, something twinkling in his eyes as you look up at him.

“What?” You say through a laugh, feeling your cheeks warm as he gazes down at you. “Got dessert stuck on my face?”

He shakes his head. “No just, uh- you’re really pretty like this.”

A bashful grin tugs at your lips as you fight the urge to duck your head. “You too.”

He huffs out a laugh, both of his hands dropping to your waist. His teeth tug at his bottom lip, a movement you know he tracks you watching. “You’re really something, you know that?”

You step impossibly closer to him, tilting your head up at him. “Just shut up and kiss me already.”

“If the lady insists.” He murmurs, hands on your waist tightening as he leans down.

The kiss is searing, charged, as he tugs on your own bottom lip for permission. You tilt your head, giving him access.

The sky crackles to life above you once more and you pull away, probably sooner than Javi would’ve liked to stare at the sky in wonder.

“You’re something else, kid.”

“What are you doing?” You ask as Javi holds his hand out to you as you climb out of the front seat.

“What does it look like? I’m walking you to the front door.”

You hum, taking his hand as he shuts the door behind you. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“Well, I ain’t no Tyler Owens, but my mama did raise me to be a gentleman.”

“Mmm, flowers, opening my car door, walking me back at night, one would almost say you’re trying to land yourself a second date Mr. Rivera.”

“Well, you know…” He shrugs his shoulders and you can pick up the blush on his cheeks as you two step into the yellow glow of the porch light. “I wouldn’t be mad about it.”

“Yeah?” You ask smugly as you reach out to smooth out the collar of his shirt. “You feeling brave or should I?”

“Hey, you think Pete is still awake?” He asks suddenly and you frown.

“Probably not, why?”

He hums, sticking his right hand out over the Ring camera. “Just for good measure.” He says softly, as he tilts your head up with his left, pressing another soft kiss to your lips. It’s over too soon and you find yourself chasing his lips. He laughs at you as he lets his hand fall. “Easy there, only the first date.”

You sigh and roll your eyes, pouring slightly. “Fine then.”

“What about drinks on Tuesday? Do you close?” You shake your head and he grins again. “Tuesday it is. I’ll call you, okay?” He says softly, squeezing your hand and you nod, before you turn, pulling the door open.

You slip inside, immediately moving to tug off your boots, stumbling and swearing as Pete says “Have a good time?”

You catch yourself on the entryway table as you look up to where he’s standing on the stairs. “Jesus, you scared me. What are you doing up?”

He holds up his phone. “Got the notification that you were back.” You grunt, finally tugging one of your shoes off and start to work on the second. “So really, you have a good time?”

You look up at him as the second shoe is freed from your foot and you smile. “Yeah, a really good time.”

Pete smirks as you walk towards the staircase. “He give you a goodnight kiss? Couldn’t quite tell what with him covering the camera.”

You scowl at him. “I’m an adult, what would it matter? Am I not allowed to kiss people now?”

He hums. “Well, just that back in my day, you didn’t exactly kiss them on the first date.”

“No, you just fucked them in seedy bar bathrooms.” Tom says from the top of the stairs. Pete turns, coloring red at the callout from his partner. You snicker as Tom walks down the steps, coming to stand on the one behind his husband. “You have a good time, kid?” You nod. “Javi respectful? Keep his hands where they’re supposed to be?” You nod again, although it isn’t lost on you that this is the most care and interest Tom has shown in you since you’d gotten back from Oklahoma. “Good. You coming back to bed Pete or are you going to stand out here all night?”

Pete sighs. “Yeah, I’m coming. Night kiddo.” Pete presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before turning, squeezing Tom’s hand as they walk back up the steps. You wait to hear their bedroom door shut before you shuffle down the hall to your own bedroom, the guest room that still sort of emanated a guest bedroom, with maybe a few more posters on the wall.

You pull off your clothes and change, deciding against going through your nighttime routine in favor of crawling under the covers.

If you happened to squeal like a teenager as you relieve the night, well that’s between you and the moon.

“So.” Mickey asks and he turns, catching his cousin with his hands in his pockets. “You ever gonna tell her you’re in love with her?”

He sighs, picking up another rock from the sand, thumbing over the smooth surface before chucking it into the lake. “You’ve always read me too easily.”

Mickey walks the few paces to stand next to him. “Kate called you tonight.”

It’s not a question. It’s a fact. He hadn’t gotten to the phone in time, Mickey seeing Kate’s contact photo cross his screen. It’s still the same one it’s always been, a picture of them from welcome week during the first year of grad school, a goofy photo of her poured over their textbook. Praveen is next to her, shoulder barely in the photo but the memory of him leaning all the way out of view of the camera into Jeb as he ate dinner in Kate and Addy’s apartment still makes him laugh.

“She did.”

Behind them, he can hear you. It’s someone’s birthday, he can’t bother to remember who, and you had all trekked down to the bay for a chilly November bonfire. Across the rippling water, he can see the lights of SeaWorld reflecting back at him.

Him and Kate had been talking — finally. Kate wanted him to come back to Oklahoma and he couldn’t deny that he missed the rush of a storm, the buzz beneath his skin. The way helping those people of El Reno had, in time, begun to heal those open wounds in his soul.

Addy had been blowing up his phone, Lilly too. He was ashamed to admit that it had been the first time he’d let himself talk to Addy and even more ashamed to admit just how much he’d missed her. Dani had called him here and there, getting him all caught up on the life he had missed and Boone would shout over her shoulder into the receiver, inevitably wrestling the phone from her to tell Javi whatever it was that was passing through his brain.

Even Tyler had gotten in on all of it; if only to talk about what a partnership between Tyler’s resources, Kate’s brain, and his radars would look like.

“You’re going back to Oklahoma.” Again, not a question.

He gives a half-hearted shrug. “I might be.”

Mickey lets out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “You can’t be for real.” Mickey says incredulously, anger hinting underneath his words. “After everything.”

He scoffs. “Come on, Mick. You know, storm chasing is where my heart is. Same as how yours has always been with those planes.”

“No, it’s not.” Mickey says coldly. “And you know what, Javi? I didn’t just introduce you to her for the hell of it. I know just as well as you do what that girl means to you, even if you’re too much of a goddamn coward chickenshit to admit it to her. And I was the one who knew what she could be to you and I thought maybe she would be enough to-”

“To what, Mickey? This was never a forever.” He says honestly. Any idea Mickey got otherwise was on his cousin and his cousin alone.

Mickey huffs, turning to trek back up the sand.

And then, he hears it. He can’t hear what’s said exactly, but Bradley admonishes you for something and you go quiet.

And there it is again.

Ever since he’s met you and watched the way this crew interacted with you, he’s picked up on it, more and more. How little respect Bradley gives you. Really how little respect that whole team gave you. They had written you off.

Even Mickey, who you were the closest to, both in friendship and age, saw you as nothing more than a weird addition to the home he visited so much.

He didn’t see you for how kind you were, for how bright you were. How you drank so much creamer with your coffee Javi quite frankly thought it should be illegal. How you were funny and nothing was off-limits with you.

How you’d been so understanding the first time the two of you had remotely done anything physical and he had freaked out. How you had patiently listened as he panic-told you that he was into men and how he had dated Scott, a years-long rollercoaster that had only ended the day he left Scott behind in the mud outside of El Reno.

How you’d been so understanding when he explained that he hadn’t been with anyone since he and Scott had ended it, that the scars of that toxic relationship, however messy it had all been, were still there, not so easily forgettable. How you shared your own experiences, how you related to him, how good you were to him, how you loved him.

They didn’t care for you. They didn’t like you.

And not for the first time, it makes him wonder how you’d been with the Wranglers.

You’d confessed to the tipsy and ill-advised stick and poke Lilly had given you in a parking lot of a motel in Kansas, the Matilda bow on the back of your leg. You’d commented that you were always closest with Dani, the girl like the older sister you’d never had, and that Boone had cared for casual physical touch more than anyone else you’d ever met, something you didn’t realize you needed until he did it. You talked about how you missed Dexter’s stories the most, the man having lived and seen so much life.

It makes him hope someday he can get you and Addy in a room together, because he knows she’d love you. He wants to get you and Kate’s brains together, if only for his own amusement and entertainment. He wants you and Tyler to retell the stories from the season you’d spent with them, how Ty had been the one to teach you how to play the guitar.

He wanted you in Oklahoma with him. He wanted you in Oklahoma with him and his family.

For once in your life, you deserved for a village to care about you the way you cared about them.

Mickey’s staring at him expectantly and he licks his lips. “Kate-”

That was instantly the wrong choice as something dark twists in his cousin’s face. “Don’t bring that bitch up to me.” Mickey snarls.

“Look, I know you ain’t the biggest fan of her-”

“Understatement of the fucking century.” Mickey says through a humorless laugh. “And you know why, don’t you? Because maybe if that girl had cared about anybody but her damn self in the aftermath, I wouldn’t have had been the one to call the paramedics while my best friend sat in a pool of his own blood trying to kill himself.”

And that- wasn’t exactly fair.

Kate had closed herself off, gone to New York and never came home, but he’d subconsciously pushed her off after Addy and Kate had gotten discharged from the hospital.

Because he had believed they would be better off. Because he believed that they had needed each other more than they needed him. The only people in the whole world who would understand what Kate and Addy went through was Kate and Addy. All he had done was sit uselessly in a van.

It’s why he had dodged Addy all these years, despite her numerous and persistent efforts to get in touch with him.

“Maybe if Kate had been smarter, none of that shit would’ve ever happened at all and they’d still be here. You really think that girl will follow you back to Oklahoma? You think she’s going to go back to the Wranglers for you? She won’t and I don’t blame her. Not when you’re still clearly in love with Kate.”

By now, his heart is hammering in his chest, brain swimming as he fights to keep up, to process the insults as quickly as they come, as Mickey’s voice rises and he sees both you and Reuben turn at the sound of the commotion.

“Yeah, I was in love with Kate.” He admits softly. “But that- that ain’t what it is anymore. Ain’t what it’s been in a long time Mickey. And I’m not- not a fucking idiot. I know what I have is good. And maybe she’ll come back to Oklahoma and maybe she won’t. But I- I know that I love her. And it scares the fucking shit out of me okay, Mickey?”

Mickey’s face softens as he stumbles back through the cold sand, hand landing clumsily on his shoulder. “Javi, I-”

He shakes his head, nudging his hand off. “I think you’ve said enough.”

“So, things got pretty heated between you and Mickey tonight.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh, running a hand over his face as the two of you sit in the In-N-Out parking lot, red lights gleaming back inside the car.

You’d always been able to see right through him.

You feign nonchalance, taking a sip of your drink. “What was that all about?”

He swallows, hard. “I wouldn’t-” His voice comes out in a painful rasp and he swallows again. “I wouldn’t even know how to-”

His breath hitches as he thinks it over.

He- he really loves you, and he knows that. But he knows it’s selfish to ask you to sacrifice everything and go back to Oklahoma with him.

“It’s- I’m selfish, I think-” He swipes his palm over his eye, pressing hard to push back the sting of tears. “I don’t know.”

You frown, shifting to take out and reach his hand. Your thumb rubs gently over his knuckles as you look at him.

“Hey- you know I love you right?” Eyes wide, he raises his head to meet your concerned gaze. “Whatever it is, I’ll back you.”

“You-?”

You swallow, eyes glancing back out at the bustling restaurant.

“Yeah. I do. There’s no pressure to say it back if you aren’t in that place, I just-”

“No.” He says, swallowing. “No, I love you too.”

His grip on your hand becomes tighter, a small and yet pained smile on your face.

“Is this about Kate?”

He chokes on his own fear, letting go of your hand at the sound of her name leaving your mouth.

His arms meet his knees as he bends over in the cramped space, fingers coming up to tug at his curls.

He can hear you move again, hands slowly starting to rub circles on his back.

“Javi, hey.” You soothe. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

“But for how long?” He rasps out, squeezing his eyes shut. “How long until-” He cuts himself off, not wanting to picture how long it’ll be before you walk out the door.

Minutes?

Days, maybe?

Weeks, if he’s lucky.

How long will he get to keep you, before you see that nasty thing inside him? That thing that had made him blame Kate after Stillwater? That thing that had made him leave Scott defenseless in the mud?

He should end it now, before he can hurt you.

But he’s weak. He’s always been weak.

The scars on his wrist prove that.

“For as long as you want me here, okay? Javi, if this is about Kate and Oklahoma and- and finishing what you started, I want you to know I’m there with you.” You say softly, hands never leaving his body.

He steals a glance at you with a quick turn of his head but you’re faster, one of your hands darting out to keep his head from turning away from you again.

“Hey, is that what this is about?”

“I- I want to go back but I don’t want- I want you with me. But I know it’s selfish of me to ask that of you.”

You shake your head. “Hey, it’s not selfish. Remember I spent a season storm chasing?” You make a face, akin to as if you’ve just tasted something sour. “I may not really get the appeal, but I do get the Oklahoma charm. I didn’t buy a house out there for no reason.”

He swallows, realizing he’d forgotten all about that part.

Oklahoma had once been your home as much as it had once been his.

“If you want to go back to Oklahoma, then I’m right there with you. If you want to tell them all to fuck off and stay here in San Diego then I’d support you in that too. What I’m saying is, you don’t have to worry about me. Make the decision you know is best for you, and I’ll follow you wherever you want to go.”

He searches your face for any inkling of hesitation or untruth.

There is none.

Something in him must shift because the smile you give him now is real, genuine.

“I want it. I want to go back to Oklahoma, I- I need to. It’s-” He cuts himself off as he licks his lips, suddenly at a loss to explain how much this means to him, how much he needs to do this with those people.

“I’m all in, baby.”

#javi rivera #javi rivera x reader #javi rivera x female reader #twisters #twisters fic #all of my life it's been heartbreak weather

46 notes · View notes