#i feel like i shouldn't be watching this....

[animamii]

"y'know," Toji grunts, fingers digging into the plush of your hips, "You shouldn't wanna be with a guy like me." His lidded eyes are focused on the way your body is arched, ass tutted out on display for him as his hands slide to grip the jiggly flesh.

"Mmm? And why not?" Your neck cranes, your voice silky and sweet and you purr out moan after moan.

"Cause you're my son's age, sweetheart," he bites his lip as he watches his dick slip in and out so smoothly, the way it shines with your slickness, "I could be your—hah— father."

"Why be my father when you could be my daddy?" You giggle, glossy lips curling up into a seductive smirk as you push back against him, emphasizing every deep thrust. His breath hitches, fingers tightening possessively on your waist.

"You're a dangerous little thing, aren't you?" Toji growls, voice thick with lust, his pace never faltering. "Makin' me wanna ruin you even more." With that he drills deeper, pushing every single inch of his manhood as deep as he can into you.

Your giggle melts into a breathless moan as he pulls you closer, his chest pressing against your back. "Then do it," you whisper, long lashes fluttering. "Make me yours, Daddy." Toji really doesn't know how a pretty little thing like you got into his bed, but by god he was grateful for it.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest as he snaps his hips forward, sending waves of pleasure through your trembling body. "Fuck, sweetheart," he mutters. "You really don't know what you're askin' for."

"Oh, I think I do," your voice gets a little deeper, sultrier than your usual girlish tone. Fucking little minx, he thinks.

Toji lets out a deep chuckle, the sound rough and sinful as his fingers trail up your spine before gripping the back of your neck. "You're playin' a dangerous game, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement and something darker—something possessive. "But I gotta admit… I like watchin' you lose."

His hips roll forward, slow and deliberate, making you feel every inch of him dragging against your slick walls. The stretch, the heat—it’s too much and not enough all at once, and the way he holds you, like he owns you, only makes it worse.

You whimper, pushing back against him, needing more, needing him to stop teasing. "T-Toji…"

His grip on your neck tightens just enough to make your breath hitch. "What was that, baby?" he taunts, smirking as he leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Thought you liked actin' all grown up. Use your words."

Your body shudders, pleasure tingling down your spine. "Please," you gasp, barely coherent, "Please, Daddy—"

A sharp groan rips from his throat, and in a heartbeat, his restraint snaps. His fingers dig into your flesh as he drags you back onto his cock, setting a brutal pace that has your eyes rolling back. "Fuck—there’s my good girl," he grits out, jaw clenching as he watches your body take him so greedily. "Knew you’d beg for it eventually."

The filthy squelch of skin meeting skin fills the air, and Toji watches, mesmerized, as your body trembles beneath him. "So fuckin' pretty when you fall apart," he rasps, reaching down to press his rough fingers against your needy clit. "C’mon, sweetheart—lemme see you cum for Daddy."

[kitguts]

BUSINESS IS BUSINESS .

abuse of power / manipulation. noncon ? misogyny. masturbation. voyeurism. degrading.

you dont know why your boss decided to send you on this trip— sure, you were qualified and perfectly capable, but everyone knew not to go to the lanes alone.

and yet, you continue walking with your gaze adverted to your feet, making sure you had a good grip on your bag as you navigate through the ratty alleyways to the warehouse.

you had already been cat called and wolf whistled at, but you keep on your track and hope none of them decide to follow you on your journey.

luckily, you arrive at the large building before you can find out.

the two women are.. intimidating, to say the least. both of them were tall, muscular, stupidly rich and egotistical. you'd worked with these kinds of businesspeople before, so it wasn't anything new— mostly you got men that would flaunt and flirt until the deal was done.

you thought they would be a little different, considering they were also women. you should know by now not to assume in this work.

"pretty thing like you shouldn't be wondering around down here," the oldest woman, sevika, chuckles while smoking a cigar. neither of them had gotten up to greet you when you walked into the meeting room, they didn't really look up either.

at least the secretary was nice...

the meeting was... awkward— for you, anyway. the two barely payed attention, shared looks after you spoke which made you gradually more self conscious, there was no note taking or even a nod to signal you were being understood. at least the men pretended to listen.

"i think we've heard enough, pretty," abby sighs, leaning back in her chair. she looked a little softer than sevika, still with a similar build and height, but she wasn't. and yeah—pretty. you're sure you told them your name, but both decided to give you nicknames instead.

at this point, you're irritated and frustrated. you want to leave and go home... wait, you can't. you're stuck in a hotel until tomorrow. on the bright side, it couldn't get any worse.

"you drive an... okay bargain, i'll give you that." the blonde shrugs, once again, glancing over at sevika. they seem to communicate telepathically, probably having spent way too much time together while scheming and scamming customers and business partners. its a good bonding activity, apparently.

she sucks air through her teeth mockingly, folding her buff arms over her chest. "but... we're not convinced. you either need to work on your marketing skills, or whatever bullshit company you're slaving for just isn't as good as you think it is, sweetheart. sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

your shoulders drop. you had been informed that after the hiccup with the last meeting, you were on thin ice— this trip was your chance to prove you weren't 'completely useless.'

"maybe you're in the wrong profession," sevika adds, neither of them having any sympathy for how your faux, determined demeanour suddenly drops. "you'd probably make more stood on the corner in a short dress anyway."

low blow... you frown, eyebrows knitting together.

"she'd look prettier there too."

the two snicker, sevika shaking her head and taking another drag of her cigar before stumping it out on the ashtray. you feel insulted, defeated— speechless. you can't believe these two women had such a lack of empathy and morality to say these things, let alone to your face.

"don't frown, princess," abby chuckles, finally grabbing the folder you had gently slid across the table to them earlier, which they ignored. "the wind'll change and it'll stay that way."

you watch as she flicks through the binder, her face unimpressed. you're upset, not even caring what she thinks— actually, that's a lie. you have to if you want to keep your job and not.. well... end up on the corner in a short dress to pay rent— not to mention, majority of that money would go to your pimp. god... where would you even find a pimp?

you're stressing about it already.

sevika seems to catch on that you're upset and discouraged, knowing damn well that her words had weaselled into you and had already started picking through your self worth. her gray eyes don't soften, but they roll and glances over at abby as the younger woman smacks the binder shut and lets it slap on the table.

"let's make a deal, hm?" sevika starts, resting an arm on the table and taking a good look at you. "since we're feeling generous... you convince us, right here, right now, and it's settled."

you frown, shifting in your seat. "i already tried."

sevika clicks her tongue, "we don't wanna listen to you dick ride your company, and you're stupider than you look if you think we're gonna sit here and look through your pretty little folder to read the same shit in different fonts... so,"

she barely gives you any time to process the demeaning words before sliding the folder back across the desk to you, the plastic cover ramming into your boobs. "convince us, or get out."

you shake your head in confusion, awkwardly holding the folder and tapping your fingers against it. "h-how am i supposed to.. convince you?"

abby groans at your cluelessness, rubbing a hand over her face. "girls like you don't have a lot going for them, right?"

you almost nod in agreement at the tone she uses, your face scrunching together instead.

"right. but, you all have one thing people want. one thing that'll get you anywhere in the world."

you're still confused, her words making you think real hard about what you have and what you don't, and then starting to worry a little about— well if you don't know, then you don't have it. meaning you've got fuck all in this world apart from a folder, hopes and dreams, and a forced smile.

sevika scoffs, shaking her head. "your pussy, baby. that thing between your legs? you know what that is?"

your cheeks flush at both the realization and vulgarity, instinctively crossing your legs. "what?"

"come on, i'm sure you've flashed it to your boss once or twice. why else would you be here?" sevika huffs, her gaze wandering over your body.

"i'm—" this is terrible. you feel your face burning with both anger and fluster as your throat closes up with embarrassment, so much so that you have to swallow and force the words out. "i'm good at my job, that's why i'm here."

"you're good at sucking dick and wearing skirts," sevika continues, really digging into your ego and image. "if you want this deal, you'll prove how badly instead of being sat there acting like a prissy little girl."

her tone is a little more biting now, still laced with mockery but more demanding. you're frozen, but actually... considering. how bad do you want this deal? how much is really on the line? they're women anyway— absolute assholes, but female.

you don't realize your hands are shaking a little until you place the folder down, shifting a little further back on the couch. you hesitate, scratching your thighs before uncrossing your legs and spreading your knees a little.

"better. you're a natural, huh?" abby mocks, nodding slowly like you were a child riding a bike and she was an encouraging caretaker.

instead, you're reluctantly pulling your skirt up and avoiding eye contact as you reveal more of your skin.

sevika lets out a low whistle before clicking her fingers— and instead of an inexperienced child on a bike, you're now a disobeying dog. "we don't have all day here. not everyone is as irrelevant as you are, girl."

your stomach churns at the words, more and more being singed into your brain probably for years. you gnaw on your bottom lip as your hands slip under your skirt to reluctantly pull down your underwear, letting them stretch around your ankles.

abby lets out an appreciative hum as your panties drop, enjoying your discomfort as your hands move to grip the edge of the couch, widening your thighs and shamefully displaying your body to the two businesswomen.

"oh, how cute." sevika coos, her gaze landing on your cunt and taking it all in. she had to admit, it was one of the cutest she and abby had seen in their years.

abby nods in agreement, twirling her pen around her thick fingers casually. "don't be so shy, come on. you gonna give us a show?"

your breath hitches at the implication, your eyes finally flickering over to both women as they stare between your thighs. "you can't be serious?"

"if you want this, you'll do it."

you did want this, you had to want this. but the mere thought of touching yourself in front of two strangers as they watch was enough to make you consider how bad living on the streets could really be.

your nails dig into the couch before you release the creased material, your legs falling open a little wider and your hand slipping between them. you breathe shakily, pressing your fingers to your clit and rubbing in slow, deliberate circles.

you're not sure what the best way around this is— would it be better to try turn yourself on so this was easier? or would that just cause more mocking and degrading? either way, your eyes squeeze shut as you let out a whimper.

abby seems pleased enough, quietly writing your name down on a piece of paper. sevika's surprised she actually bothered to listen, but she was more focused on watching you play with yourself for their benefit.

"use spit, baby, get her nice and wet." the older woman gruffs out, her hips lifting a little as she gets comfier on her desk chair.

you do as you're told, for some reason, spit now coating and stringing between your fingers as you resume rubbing. unfortunately, the wetness helps more than you want it to.

your thighs tense around your hand, your lips parting in soft pants.

a smirk creeps onto sevika's face, looking over at abby. "works every time."

abby snorts, glancing over at her business partner and then back over at you as you continue to shakily pleasure yourself, your cunt glistening with spit and something a little stickier. "you're breaking records, sweetheart. getting wet already, huh?"

you tremble a little, your moans getting caught in your throat as you circle your clit, occasionally dipping down to tease yourself further. you hate this, though it doesn't look like it, you feel disgusting and dirty as your cunt leaks with arousal.

"y'know, we could do with a new office pet. she's already drooling and whimpering," sevika comments, blatantly making fun of you.

abby smiles, her eyes locked on the way your hips squirm a little. "mhm... and she obeys, knows her place."

you whine quietly, your stomach contracting as you slip your fingers inside, your free hand holding onto the couch as you fuck them slowly in and out.

sevika hums, watching your fingers disappear inside your cunt and come back out dribbling with slick, a soft squelch being drowned out by the casual chatter between the two women.

"and all it takes is a little bit of spit to shut her up," she comments, her thick thighs spreading a little as she watches you. "isn't that right, pretty?"

you look away, ashamed, but your blood runs too hot, your face is flushed and you're resisting the urge to spread yourself open wider. you know you can't look too eager— not only was it a tactic in business, it was also a strategy to not make yourself look even more like a whore while fingering yourself in front of two strange, big women.

the palm of your hand nudges repeatedly against your clit as your pussy salivates around your fingers, your left thigh falling open just a little more so you can get a better angle, which doesn't go unnoticed.

"hm. wettest and most eager," abby muses, tapping her foot occasionally. "women like you think with their slutty cunts first, not their empty little heads. you're just as bad as a man, honey."

surely that can't be true... you've accomplished a lot without the help of your vagina, for sure. i mean, you're boobs have helped heaps but that's not the point here.

you don't think you'll have any dignity left after this anyway, clenching and throbbing around your fingers as you bite back moans and try hold off your impending orgasm.

you don't get the deal in the end, but... it's not all bad. now you have a new job.

sawry this is so short and there's more dialogue than smut whoops

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[harbourslighthouse]

Jason Todd doesn't know how to love softly. He can't. It's just not in his nature. He died trying to save his mom, despite the fact that she gave him up. That's not a quiet act of love. That’s akin to screaming it.

I love you! I love you! I love you! I will die because of it!

And even when he comes back, he still loves loudly. It's just that love and hate are intertwined. He loves so much that it hurts, and he can't stand it. He loves Bruce and the life he had for such little time, that it hurts and he hates it. He loathes it because he shouldn't care, and yet he does. After everything that's happened, he hasn't forgotten it all.

And then there's you, and he doesn't know what to do. He loves you in a way that hurts, but it feels right.

You feel right.

So it all falls naturally into place. He loves you so much that his body is stumbling to keep up with his heart. You look his way, and you send his thoughts running a mile a minute.

He's not screaming, 'I love you!' over rooftops, but he might as well. He opens doors for you and stands on the right side of the road. He fixes that strange whine in your car and stays up all night with you when you have to study. When you come home after a night out, he's holding your hair back while you're bent over the toilet—not saying anything, but he's there, grounding you. When you kiss him, he grapples you closer to him like you might simply vanish. His eyes crease around the corners when he sees you in the kitchen, humming to yourself. He throws his head back with booming laughter because you bring it out of him.

And when he's out for patrol, he's thinking of you, and it's cost him a few times. He glances down at his watch, and he knows exactly what you're doing at 10 PM. He knows your routine just as intimately as the touch of your fingertips against his skin.

He doesn't buy you flowers, because those die, and chocolates are gone within a week. Maybe less.

So, Jason Todd loves loudly in that private sort of way where only you feel it in all of its intensity. But he loves so loudly that it echoes, and those who know him can see it.

Jason Todd loves loudly because it lasts, and it's heard.

You hear it.

[solxamber]

Hi there! For the valentines event can I request Ace with romantic implications with the song "30 Second Love Story" by PEGGY with inspired by these specific lyrics? "There are millions of people, and millions of lifetimes And maybe in one of them, I found my voice And I told you I liked you, and then came for coffee In five years we're married, a house and a family" I know you said you are getting a lot of Ace requests but the brain rot is real if you're getting Ace-fatigue you can go with Sebek instead!

"I spent my whole life in a moment with you" || Ace Trappola

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: 30 Second Love Story by PEGGY

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 890

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Pining, Confessions

Ace is in love with you.

Painfully, irreversibly, hopelessly in love with you.

It hits him in flashes, in moments so ordinary they shouldn't feel life-changing—but they do. Like when you pass him a drink without him asking, already knowing what he likes. Like when you shoot him a grin after winning a game against him, smug and shining. Like when you nudge him with your shoulder while walking side by side, laughing, your warmth so close yet so far.

It happens when you hold his hand casually, fingers laced without a second thought, as if you don’t notice the way his heart hammers against his ribs. It happens when you lean into him during a movie, your weight comfortable and trusting, completely unaware that his pulse is racing.

He thinks about a future where this is normal—not just fleeting touches and teasing words, but something real. Something that lasts.

Mornings where he wakes up to you tangled in his sheets, sunlight catching in your hair. Breakfasts where he sneaks up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as you make coffee, pressing his face into the crook of your neck just to hear you laugh.

Lazy afternoons spent wrapped in each other on the couch, sharing popcorn and complaints about a bad movie. Evenings where he watches you from across the dinner table and still thinks, Damn, I love you.

A life with you. A future where he’s yours, and you’re his.

He dreams about it more than he should, and every time, he tells himself to stop.

He can’t ruin this. You’re his best friend. If he messes up—if he confesses and you don’t feel the same—then what? He’d lose everything.

So he stays quiet, keeps it locked inside his chest, lets himself drown in his own longing.

Until the day he doesn’t.

It’s a golden afternoon, the kind where the sun paints everything in its soft warmth, and you’re sitting next to him, talking animatedly about something—Ace isn’t even sure what, because all he can focus on is you.

The way your eyes light up when you get excited. The way your hand moves, expressive and unguarded. The way your fingers are wrapped around his, absently squeezing like it’s second nature.

And that’s when it happens.

His heart stutters, skips a beat, and suddenly, everything makes sense.

Why is he waiting? Why is he so scared?

You are his best friend. The one who laughs at his stupid jokes. The one who sticks by him even when he’s being a pain in the ass. The one who makes life better just by existing in it.

How could he not love you?

And how could he keep pretending that he doesn’t?

Before he can think, before doubt can creep in, he moves.

His free hand reaches for your face, cupping your cheek gently. You blink at him, startled, lips parting—ready to ask something, maybe—but he doesn’t give you the chance.

He leans in and kisses you.

It’s soft at first, tentative, his breath catching as he waits for you to pull away. But you don’t. You freeze for only a second before melting into him, fingers tightening around his.

The moment you respond—when your lips move against his, when you kiss him back with just as much warmth—it feels like something inside him clicks into place.

He’s never believed in fate, but this—this feels damn close to it.

When he pulls back, his heart is pounding, his stomach twisting in nervous anticipation. But the way you look at him, stunned and breathless and smiling—it’s everything he needs.

You don’t say anything. You just squeeze his hand, as if to say, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

And that’s all he needs to know.

Ace wakes up to the weight of you in his arms.

Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the sheets, and he takes a moment to just—breathe. It's been five years, and he still can't believe this is real.

Your head is tucked beneath his chin, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. Your warmth is familiar now, expected, like it’s always meant to be there.

He shifts slightly, his fingers tracing absent patterns along your back, and you stir with a sleepy hum.

“Mm… Ace?” Your voice is drowsy, muffled against his chest.

“Morning,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You tilt your face up to look at him, eyes still heavy with sleep, and he thinks, I’ll never get tired of this.

Never get tired of the way your nose scrunches slightly when you wake up. Never get tired of how soft you are against him, how safe you make him feel. Never get tired of the matching rings on your fingers, the quiet proof of the promise you made to each other.

“Five more minutes,” you mumble, nuzzling into him.

Ace huffs a laugh. “You say that every morning."

“And yet, I still get five more minutes every time.”

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he pulls you closer, burying his face in your hair.

This is it.

The life he dreamed of—the one he was once too scared to reach for—is now his reality.

And as he kisses you awake, slow and sweet, he knows he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[harpyjack]

I'm going to be real with you right now. I also worked supervising children that age. The way you reacted to this makes me feel like you shouldn't be watching children that young unsupervised.

You are twenty two years old. You should be old enough to look at a picture and understand the difference between five boxes on a shelf five feet off the ground and an entire aisle, and I'm saying this because folks younger than you are hired to stock those some shelves.

You are an adult. You should be able to understand things like context. You see how other people move their children throughout a store. You know that nobody is taking their child down to this aisle and holding them up to look at these boxes.

We really need to stop coddling people your age in regards to children because it happened to my generation and we ended up with a bunch of emotionally frustrated adults who didn't know how to communicate their needs.

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Secret Diary

Pairing || Beefy!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary || After discovering your diary, Bucky discreetly uses its insights to plan the perfect dates, choose thoughtful gifts, and anticipate when you need support the most.

World Count || 2073

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, mild Angst — low-key invasion of privacy, mention of depression, no other warnings.

Authors Note || I thought it would be perfect to include my Bichon Havanese puppy Dolly into this fic heheh :) I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Beefy!Bucky Masterlist

Bucky knew he shouldn't. He knew that it was wrong, the guilt gnawing at his conscience every time he reached for the baby blue book. But you had carelessly left your diary on his bedside table again, its pages practically beckoning him. The temptation was too strong, and it almost seemed like you wanted him to have a peek inside your diary, so he did, his metal fingers carefully turning the delicate pages.

Although Bucky was a wonderful and the most caring boyfriend, always attentive to your needs and protective of your happiness, your diary had become his secret window into your heart. It had been a perfect way for him to discreetly use its insights to plan the most perfect date, choose thoughtful gifts that you wished for, and know when you needed his love and comfort the most. Every entry he read made him fall more deeply in love with you.

— — — —

Dear diary,

The most perfect date I could imagine is to have a quiet, beautiful evening with my love, Bucky. Just the two of us under the starry sky as we lay in peaceful silence, kissing and holding each other like we are the only ones on earth. I want to count the stars with him, share our dreams, and feel his warmth against the cool night air…

— — — —

"Oh, Bucky, this is perfect. I've always wanted to spend an evening with you under the stars," you whispered, your eyes sparkling with joy.

Bucky had insisted on taking you for an hour drive to get you out of the city, his mysterious smile growing wider with each mile. He had been very secretive of where he was taking you, but you figured it out once he pulled his truck to a stop on a secluded hill, far from the city's light pollution. The darkness consumed you, but when you looked up, the sky was ablaze with countless twinkling stars, creating a magical canopy above you.

"Anything for you, doll. I wanted to do something romantic and special for you," he said softly, his eyes reflecting the starlight as he gazed at you adoringly.

With thick, cozy blankets and soft pillows laid down in his truck bed, you cuddled into his side as you watched the beautiful night sky, talking about everything and nothing. His strong arms held you close, the metal one gleaming under the starlight, as you nuzzled your face into his navy blue Henley, his unique aroma that was distinctly Bucky enveloping you. You stole sweet kisses from one another here and there, whispering sweet nothings into the quiet night, the cool breeze carrying your words of love into the darkness.

"Thank you, Bucky, for this. It's everything I've ever wanted—you and the night sky. It's like you read my mind," you murmured, snuggling closer to his warmth.

"I love you, my beautiful doll," he murmured, pinching your chin gently with his flesh hand and placing an achingly sweet kiss to your lips that made your heart soar, the stars above witnessing your perfect moment.

"I love you too, my love," you breathed against his lips, feeling like the luckiest person in the world.

— — — —

Dear diary,

I've been wanting a sweet little companion to have for when Bucky is away on missions. Either a fluffy little kitten or a cute and playful puppy. I'm not sure if Bucky is ready for another pet after his precious cat Alpine that he had in the 40's, but I hope I can warm him up to getting another pet. I need my furry little friend to cuddle with during those long, lonely nights when he's gone...

— — — —

"Hi, doll. I got you something," he announced, coming into the living room with a mischievous smile playing on his lips, his blue eyes twinkling with excitement. That was suspicious…

"What is it?" You asked, getting up from the sofa where you had been reading. He was holding something behind his broad back, and a peculiar noise made you furrow your eyebrows in curiosity.

"Close your eyes and hold your hand out."

"No, Bucky, I don't like this," you pouted, your bottom lip jutting out as you thought he was going to prank you with something gross or scary. "Please don't scare me."

"I promise I won't scare you or put anything gross in your hands. Trust me." The mischievous smile transformed into a genuine one, his features softening as he looked at you with those blue eyes that always made your heart melt.

Taking a deep breath and doing as he told, you closed your eyes and put your hands in front of you. Your heart raced with anticipation as he placed something warm, fluffy, and wiggling in your grasp. A soft, high-pitched bark sounded from it, making you gasp in surprise. Opening your eyes, you found yourself holding the cutest little puppy, with big brown eyes and the fluffiest fur you had ever seen, looking up at you adorably.

"Bucky! She's so cute," you said in absolute delight, pressing a gentle kiss to the puppy's soft head. She wagged her tiny tail enthusiastically as she licked your face with her warm little tongue, making you giggle uncontrollably. "But why?"

"I thought it was time to introduce a pet into our life," he explained, his flesh hand reaching out to stroke the puppy's ear. "I think we are both ready for it, and I want you to have company to keep you happy when I'm out on missions.”

"You’re the best!" You gave him a sweet and appreciative peck on his lips, your heart overflowing with love for this thoughtful man. The puppy wooed between you, clearly wanting some love and attention as well. Bucky gave her a gentle scratch behind her ear, causing her tail to wag even more frantically.

"What should we name her?" He asked, watching with adoring eyes as you cuddled the puppy close to your chest.

"I think Dolly suits her, don't you think?" You suggested, looking at the puppy's sweet face as she tried to nibble playfully on your finger.

"I think that's perfect. Now I have my perfect doll and my little Dolly to love and protect," he said softly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you both close, pressing a kiss to your temple as the puppy snuggled contentedly between you.

— — — —

Dear diary,

I haven't been feeling my best these last couple of days. My depression has worsened a little and I've been feeling empty, like there is a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. I know it won't last forever because I've always had my ups and downs, but it's never fun going through these dark periods. I luckily have Bucky by my side so that I won't go through this alone. He always seems to know exactly what I need, even when I can't find the words to ask for help…

— — — —

"Hey, doll," Bucky announced softly as he walked into the bedroom, his footsteps careful and measured. "How are you feeling today?"

You were curled up in your shared bed, hugging his pillow tightly to yourself, nose buried deep into the material. The scent of him provided a slight comfort in your dark mood. The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room.

"Not so good…" your voice was barely above a whisper, thick with unshed tears.

The mattress dipped with his weight as he laid behind you, wrapping his protective arms around you and pulling you into him. Your frame rested against the curve of his body, making yourself small as he comforted you. His metal arm was cool against your skin, while his flesh arm provided warmth. His face nuzzled in the back of your neck, lips ghosting over your skin, his breath warm and steady.

"I'm sorry you haven't been feeling well, doll. I know there are no magical words to make you feel better but just know that I'm always here for you. Through the good days and the bad, you'll never have to face them alone."

A small smile came across your face, his comforting words a light in your darkness. You put your arms on top of his to be even closer to him, your fingers intertwining with his metal ones, the plates shifting slightly under your touch.

"Having you by my side is making me feel a little better, Bucky. Thank you for always being by my side, for understanding without me having to explain."

You laid in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being your synchronized breathing and the distant city noise. Bucky hummed a gentle tune—an old song from the 40’s that always seemed to soothe you—while never having his hold on you falter. His thumb traced small, comforting circles on your arm.

"If you want to a little later, I’ve brought your favorite snacks. Those chocolate cookies you love so much and some hot chamomile tea, and I thought we could watch our comfort show. We could also build a pillow fort like we did last time."

"I think I would like that. A little later maybe," you replied, feeling the heaviness in your chest lighten just a bit at his thoughtfulness.

"Of course, doll. Take your time. Everything in your own tempo. I'll be right here holding you for as long as you need."

— — — —

Dear diary,

I'm starting to get a little suspicious of Bucky. It's like he knows my every thought. Could the serum possibly have made him a mind reader? Is he hiding something from me? The way he plans everything so perfectly, it's almost uncanny. I need to do some investigating...

— — — —

"Hi, doll. I have a gift for you," Bucky announced, his metal arm hidden behind his back as he stepped into the room with an unusually nervous energy about him.

"A diary?" you questioned, taking the book from his hands. The cover was soft, reminding you of your own. "What is this, Bucky?"

"Just open it," he encouraged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, a slight blush creeping up his neck.

You furrowed your eyebrows in suspicion as you eyed him with curious eyes, noting how he couldn't quite meet your gaze. Opening the book with careful fingers, you saw Bucky had written something on the first page in his distinctive, slightly old-fashioned handwriting.

— — — —

Dear doll,

I think you need to find a better spot for your "secret" diary. I don't think my bedside table is the best hiding place. Though I must admit, your entries have made me fall even more in love with you,

Sincerely, Your Bucky

— — — —

You let out a dramatic gasp and pushed his shoulder in utter shock, your eyes wide with realization. "OMG, Bucky! You have been reading my diary this whole time? All those perfect dates and thoughtful gifts..."

"I'm so sorry baby, please don't be mad." He wrapped his strong arms around you, and you let him, melting into his embrace as he gave you his best puppy-dog pout—the one he knew you could never resist. You weren't actually really that mad at him because, if you were being honest, you kind of wanted him to find your "secret" diary. It actually all made sense now—the starlit evening, the puppy, the way he always knew when you needed comfort. He wasn't a mind reader after all, he had just been reading your diary.

A playful sigh escaped you as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers playing with his hair. "I'm not mad. I kind of wanted you to read it. Why else would I leave it on your bedside table?"

"I won't read it anymore if you don't want me too, doll," he promised, his blue eyes sincere as they met yours.

"No, I don't mind. We have no secrets between each other. But don't be mad the next time you're reading my diary and you see that I've called you an adorable idiot in it," you teased, booping his nose with your finger.

"I won't," he chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "Because I'm your adorable idiot.”

"Yes you are, and I love you so much," you expressed, giving him a sweet peck on his lips.

"And I love you, doll," he mumbled against your lips, pulling you closer and hugging you tightly. "Every single thought in that diary just makes me love you more."

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people! I would really appreciate it 🖤

Follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

[rationalnerd62]

Seeing some of the tags I got on the CR timeline post, I think I loved C3 for the exact same reasons some folks disliked it or struggled with it.

I liked the overarching arc. Don't get me wrong, mini-arcs like with VM and M9 are perfectly fine, but there's something narratively satisfying to me about BH following this consistent thread all along the campaign. This group started with a few questions (Who attacked Keyleth? Why? What is the meaning of those dreams? Where are Fearne's parents?) and uncovered a whole conspiracy that then revealed itself to the entire world. It reminds me of reading those Fantasy series where the characters hear about the upcoming battle in book 1 and finally get to it in book 14. I can't wait to rewatch and see the foreshadowing and hints that brought this group to this point.

I liked the constant discussions about the Gods. Listen, as a gay person raised in a Catholic family, boy I've had my dealings and issues with religion. But I find it nice to be able to put our own world aside and watch this fantasy world ask questions that would be very controversial in ours. What we know of the Gods of Exandria has fundamentally changed from the first episode of C3 to the last. We went through both ExU Calamity and Downfall during that time. Those Gods have changed from being so removed and above mortals, mystical entities incomprehensible to anyone who dared trying, to beings with a past before Exandria, a family they're willing to protect at all costs no matter how hurtful their siblings are to the mortals, aliens with flaws and faults and failings, full of nuances and grayness in a world that put half of them in a box of "Good" and the other half in a box of "Evil". And as those Gods have been humanised in front of our eyes, it brought the question of whether their power over mortals is still justified and relevant. And now Exandria is about to change, and I find it exciting. IMO, it gives even more of a reason to keep exploring Exandria in the future of Critical Role than if the status quo was maintained. It's hard to do something new in a world that doesn't evolve with the story.

And while I understand people would have loved more time with Bell's Hells (I would have loved that too!), I also kinda loved how rushed and short in time they've been feeling since they've heard of the solstice. They've had a ticking clock ringing in their ears for a while now. People make different decisions when they don't think they have the time to get some sleep on it. Would have Ashton tried to absorb the shard if the group didn't have to leave for Ruidus the exact next day? Would have Orym taken a sword that maybe shouldn't be his if they didn't have to leave for Aeor the next day? Would have Imogen absorbed Predathos if watching Downfall hadn't made them realise that the Gods will break the Divine Gate to keep the secret of Predathos hidden?

IMO, we still got plenty of very interesting character moments despite the limited amount of time those characters spent together. They've been through some shit together, and the friendships they made through the shared trauma will stick with them for years. Because yes, they are friends (except for Braius, that one is on a tightrope lol). But they've proven over and over again what they're willing to do for their tight crew of broken people.

Boy I am so very fond of them. Saying goodbye will be hard 🥹.

[winged-void]

a lifetime of wanting to be the smartest and favoritest of everyone I talked to has given me the intense instinct to always say the "right answer", which in contexts where there is no right answer makes me instead just say whatever the other person expects or wants to hear. I used to categorize this as me being a compulsive liar but I have come to understand it's more specific than that. giving someone the "wrong" answer feels like dying. it feels like dying when I watch someone else do it. no you shouldn't have said that you should have said what they wanted and expected from you. idiot. has an anxiety attack.

[notmorbid]

mouth.

dialogue prompts from mouth: stories by puloma ghosh.

you've been alone a long time.

____ is always watching you.

you're so lucky. you can be anything.

there is no forever.

it's beautiful, the way you fall.

people weren't always afraid of me.

if i disappeared, would anybody bother to search for me?

we have to accept the logic of the world we were given, and learn to live in it.

you don't smell like anyone else.

pleasure is another form of taking.

i don't live anywhere.

i want to die here.

i did something i shouldn't have last night.

will you tell me something, before you go?

i don't think ____ is coming home.

everything and nothing can look the same.

i have no idea what to do with you.

ghosts are just memories.

i should have been kinder to you.

why are you asking me such american questions?

this house is bad luck.

i thought it was just a story.

it's good to stay careful.

i keep seeing ____ everywhere.

it's been a long time since you've been home.

this place gives me a bad feeling.

don't be afraid. you know me.

you don't have to miss me. i'll stay with you.

everything you try to hold is sharp.

do something. make it stop.

you shouldn't be walking around.

kids like you worry me.

i keep forgetting things.

hurry home. it's getting dark.

i thought we were happy.

don't you ever want to go somewhere else?

loving has many configurations.

what will you do when you run out of _____?

i can drive you wherever you need.

i've tried my best to be like you, but i'm not.

we're happy, right?

what have you done to me?

everyone feels uneasy around a person they can never truly know.

of course it's not true, but isn't it fun?

the best lies are half-truths.

you're not the first person to ask.

i don't have time for your bullshit today.

i've run out of people who take me seriously.

i don't know if 'love' is even the right word.

i thought you'd be stupid enough to come.

be careful with words that aren't yours.

i have the book, if you want to read it.

i don't 'have' to do anything.

don't hate me for this.

i don't do this with anyone.

i'm more comfortable on my own.

you're allowed to be happy.

none of this is real, to begin with.

i didn't even know there was an underground party scene in _____.

i'm too tired and broke to fall in love.

there's nothing worse than being scared alone.

why did you come looking for me?

it's not the same for you, is it?

i can wait until morning to hate myself for this.

you're not human. i don't know what you are.

i don't exist. i can do whatever i want.

i thought you'd tell me everything, eventually.

there's nothing to tell. nothing you'd want to know.

is there a difference between fear and worship?

you brought me to life.

karaoke is when we're most human.

you can't choose the things you'll remember. the important things will find you.

____ doesn't know about you.

what are you afraid of?

you have to be afraid to live.

i'm sorry i never said goodbye.

this house is too big for us.

our planet is really strange.

you heard, then.

things were always fun with you.

good or bad doesn't matter anymore.

you've hardly looked at me all day.

can't you act like you want to be my mother? just for today?

are you listening? have you ever heard me?

you were never mine.

[moon-ttokki-x]

Your fic about safe is so amazing I'm inlove with it?? Could you do a similar one but with daddy issues like you're dating Han or Chris (idm which you pick) and you sometimes worry he'll leave you + Ur own issues, tw? Bipolar and depression? Whatever makes you comfortable to do at least

aha thank you so much ! i just titled this one 'depressed reader' but all of the main details are in the descriptions below >< also i couldn't decide between writing chan or han so i just kind of wrote both lol . . . hopefully this one brings you some comfort too, anon <3

hold me - bang chan x depressed!reader

pairing: bang chan x depressed!reader

summary: watching chan with one of his members makes everything you've felt lately rise to the surface.

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort at the end, depression, hinting to bipolar disorder, heavy descriptions of relationship issues (i made it sort of vague so it applies to a lot of scenarios), descriptions of ed, deprecating and negative thoughts, breakdowns, attachment issues, chan is the sweetest most understanding person in the whole world, jisung is mentioned multiple times in this fic

a/n: sending love to all my readers ! you are all soso appreciated <3. divider from @ianrkives

You hesitantly open the door to the studio after knocking twice. When there's no reply, you quickly step inside and blink. The room is pretty much dark, the only source of light coming from a dim standing lamp in the corner.

Chan is seated at his desk, hunched over the soundboard, with a pair of headphones clasping either side of his head. You can barely see him in the dark, only his face, hands, and the column of his throat visible out of the baggy black clothes he always likes to wear.

He doesn't look up as you enter and then quietly shut the door, too focused on the wavy, lilting lines and sequences of the song production software in front of him. You sigh softly and walk up to him, coming from the side so you don't startle him. Placing your bag down on the small table before the sofa, you place a couple of hesitant fingers on the arm of his chair.

"Channie?" You say quietly.

He's still squinting at the screen, somehow so focused he doesn't even see you right next to him. Or maybe it's the light from the screen; when you stare at a device for so long in the dark, it gets difficult to see anything else.

But he suddenly seems to sense your movement, and he must have realised it was you, because he wraps an arm around your waist and gently pulls you closer.

"Hi, baby," he murmurs, not taking his eyes off the screen. His gaze is focused and almost intense as he scrutinizes every soundbar and beat of the music. You bite your lip.

You begin to worry a little then; have you disturbed him from his work? Maybe you shouldn't have come, or at least sent him a text telling him you were coming to the company studio. Maybe he would be more comfortable if you just left him alone.

Before your thoughts can descend on your head like a static black cloud, Chan finally slips off his headphones, leaning back in his chair with a heavy exhale. His arm is still around your waist and so he tugs you with him a little bit, eyes roaming over your face as he stretches.

"Sorry," he says, sighing contentedly as his back pops a little. "Got so caught up, didn't realise I'd be here so late."

"It's okay," you say quietly. "I figured."

Chan catches the hint of sadness creeping into your tone and he pulls you onto his lap, coiling strong arms around your torso. His unruly, ruffled curls tickle the naps of your neck and you squirm, letting out an involuntary giggle. Though the sound is happy, it immediately fills you with a creeping feeling of disgust, and you reproachfully close your mouth.

Chan doesn't seem to notice; he seems rather content to just keep you on his lap. He's absentmindedly singing something, and you stand up off of his lap suddenly, brushing yourself off. For some unknown reason, you begin to feel a bit embarrassed, like you used to feel around Chan when you didn't know him too well.

The man in question sits up a little straighter in his chair, smiling at you. "How was your day, baby?"

"Good," you say a little curtly. You're not sure where the tone is coming from, and you shove the feeling down before you can say something in a way you'd regret.

Chan hums thoughtfully and pokes you lightly in the stomach. "Just good, hmm? Usually I'd get a lot more than that... are you okay?"

"Yes," you say quietly, even though you feel anything but. You're grateful for the darkness then, because it means Chan can't see the tears beginning to prickly hotly at the corners of your eyes. You keep your voice strong and fight the urge to sniffle so as not to alert him. "Just had a long day. You?"

Saying those sentences almost makes you break.

Chan can never know what it's like; how it feels to be brushed off and ignored and attacked by someone who is supposed to love you. To feel like you don't really matter, or that your thoughts and ideas and dreams are just that; useless, empty words inside your head. And to be constantly reminded of how little your worth is, to the point where you're not sure what love is, or what it looks like.

Chan will never understand; he had a completely normal childhood, with a completely normal family and upbringing, and he's normal. Normal in the way that he has people to turn to, people who love and support him, and he's normal in the way that he doesn't scrutinize his own actions every single second of every single day.

And he will never know what it's like to be struggling with something to the point where it all just builds up inside your head like a messy pile of bricks. Where it all weighs down heavy on your mood and sends clouds of dust into the air, distorting and warping your emotions.

So far you've been able to control your mood swings around him; you'd succeeded in making Chan think that you're a person who likes to sleep a lot. In reality you just lie down and keep your eyes and mouth shut so you don't end up acting hypomanic or have outbursts at him. At least it's working; you would much rather keep it all inside than bare the most vulnerable parts of yourself to someone who might decide to turn away and leave you because of it.

You've learnt that keeping those thoughts and emotions inside is better, because then at least people stay. For some time, anyway. Lately you've been feeling like you're biding your time, waiting until the day where Chan finds out everything and decides to do what's best for himself.

When he decides to leave you.

"...And then Han decided he was going to try and do his makeup himself all of a sudden, and of course it was a whole mess. I had to clean sparkly highlighter out of his mouth. I mean, how does that even happen?"

You blink. Chan has been talking this whole time while you've been zoned out of your mind, pitifully burying yourself in your struggles. You climb out of the pit but for a moment and nod along, though he still can't see you because of the dark. You hope that he's just been talking about Han the whole time and not anything else, because if you missed something, Chan will definitely know something's wrong. You inwardly curse yourself for making a habit out of replying to every event and topic that comes out of Chan's mouth.

"Does he not know you guys have perfectly good stylists for that?" You murmur, carding a hand through his fluffy hair.

He sighs exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. "Apparently not."

You feel the slightest hint of mirth warming your heart as you notice the tips of Chan's rough, calloused fingers covered in the faintest hint of sparkles. But it quickly disappears, replaced by a cold, dead numbness that seems to encapsulate your whole being. Like icy water.

"Anyways," Chan stretches again, standing up. "How come you're here and not at home?"

Slightly taken aback at the blunt statement, you stutter a little. Chan's eyes go wide and he shakes his hands frantically in front of himself. "N-not like that! I'm glad you're here, it's just that it's really late and I thought you would be asleep by now..."

You blink at him, and then at the clock. He has a point; the white LEDs on the display read 1:43 am. Normally you'd be passed out in bed at this time.

"Couldn't sleep," you say. "I missed you."

And it's true. You did miss him. But suddenly you're looking straight through Chan to someone else and saying that last sentence to him instead. You clench your fists.

"Aww," Chan whines cutely, pulling you into a hug. "My baby. I missed you too. This new song track is killing me."

You pull back from the hug and kiss him on the cheek, partly because kissing Chan makes him go all red, and if you let him hug you any longer, you'll probably break down.

Chan does go red and you poke him lightly in the side, teasing gently. He chuckles and jerks away as you walk to the low table and pick up a bag. "I brought food."

"Oh, you're the best," Chan dives for the bag and eagerly digs through, clumsily kissing your cheek as he pulls the lid off one of the takeout containers. He sits down on the couch before pulling out a pair of chopsticks from the bag and heaping a mouthful of the food. He groans loudly. "This is so good."

"Tastes better after work, doesn't it?" You sit down next to him and lean back, looking at the ceiling. You cross your arms over your stomach to keep it quiet.

Chan nods eagerly and holds out his chopsticks. "Say ahh, Y/n."

You shake your head ruefully but Chan insists, moving closer. Relenting, you open your mouth and feel the warmth of the food against your tongue. It tastes so good, and for a second, you think about asking for more, but you realise that Chan needs it more. After all, he's been working all night.

Besides, if you ask for more of his food, he might think you're being greedy and look at you that certain way that someone else does.

In disgust.

You know in your heart that Chan would never do these sorts of things, but the doubt nags consistently at your consciousness, tugging your mood one way and then your emotions the next. The constant change between feelings is almost giving you whiplash and you exhale, closing your eyes and leaning back into the couch.

"Baby?"

"Mm," you say without opening your eyes.

"Is everything okay?" You hear him setting down his chopsticks, feel the tiny thud through the table as he sets the already-empty container down gently. Your heart drops to your stomach.

Keep it together. He doesn't know anything.

You sigh and sit up, your heartstrings twinging. "Just a lot to think about lately. Why?"

Chan nods, leaning back into the couch next to you. "It's just that you've been really quiet lately. I was wondering if something was going on..."

He ends his reply on a sort of question, like he's expecting you to open up to him about everything at once. You almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of it. How could he possibly expect you to do something like that? And so easily too...

You inwardly scoff. Nice try. You're not getting anything out of me, Chan. Better you don't know anyway. I know you'll change your mind about me.

But your heart takes control of your mouth, and maybe it's the constant sense of longing you seem to have around Chan, but you want to open up to him. Tell him everything, about your terrible past and terrible experiences, and all you are because of it. And a sudden, lingering sense of hope makes you believe that even after you tell him all of it, he'll stay.

Even if it's just for a moment.

"I, um.. I just had an argument with someone," you say vaguely. And it's not entirely the truth. But it's not exactly a lie either. The words shouted at you earlier flash through your mind, white and hot and painful. Like a fresh cut, a harsh, swift slice too deep and sudden to process. Where, for a moment, there's nothing, until the blood starts filling the white gap and then spilling over, like a gruesome parody of tears.

Chan turns to face you on the couch. "Argument? About what?"

You shift a little uncomfortably. Now you have to tell him. "About- just whatever."

"It's not whatever, Y/n," he says firmly. "Not if it's making you this upset."

And maybe it's the sudden realisation that Chan is so normal, with his normal family and mind and life that you feel a raging pang of jealousy fill you up from your toes to your head. You huff and turn away.

"It's nothing," you grit your teeth, fighting not to spit venom.

Stop it, Y/n. It's not his fault.

Chan blinks in surprise at your slightly harsh response but doesn't push you any further. You don't look at him, but you hear him sigh and get up to toss the empty takeout container in the trash. Your heart sinks and you wait for him to turn around and chide you for being so rude and stubborn. After all, he was just trying to help.

But he doesn't. He sits back down on the couch, and looks up at the ceiling, so that you two are lying next to each other in the exact same position. He doesn't talk, either.

You both sit in deafening silence.

You're grateful when the door opens with a haphazard bang and Han walks in, clad in an oversized grey hoodie and sweats. He's clutching a notebook in his hands, glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose. You know the story Chan told earlier was true because you can see smears of sparkly highlighter high on his cheekbones. He doesn't seem to be aware of the time, nor the dark state of the room, or the fact that you're so tense your shoulders feel like concrete.

You're grateful for the interruption until he walks over to Chan and promptly sits in his lap. Han murmurs a few lyrics to him, who seems unfazed by the sudden action, and questions about what he thinks could be changed with the song words. Chan replies quietly and his gaze flicks to you in the dimness of the room, but you just shrug, saying you don't mind.

But sitting there, watching Han sit so quietly and comfortably in Chan's lap makes your heart pang for some reason. He wasn't afraid, didn't ask if it was okay, just sat right down and made himself comfortable. Because you know for a fact Chan lets him do this.

And maybe it's the way Chan strokes an absentminded finger down Han's shoulder, or the way he speaks so softly, or the way it's so reminiscent of someone taking care of their child, but you find your eyes brimming with hot tears by the time Han gets up and leaves.

Chan turns to you, about to say something about the lyrics of the new track, but he stops short. A look of worry comes over his expression.

He scoots closer, placing a warm hand on your arm. "Baby? Are you okay?"

All you can do is shake your head, your eyes scrunching up as you fall into his arms. Chan holds you close, one hand cradling your head against his chest like you're the most precious thing in the whole world. Little do you know, to him, you are.

You sob. The reality of everything comes crashes down on you and all you can do is wail and hiccup into Chan's warm, solid chest. You expect him to push you away by the time the tears have soaked through his shirt, but he doesn't. He holds you close and rocks you gently, shushing you and cooing as he wipes hot, sticky streaks off your cheekbones.

You can't help but cry harder. Your eyes almost sting from how hard you've scrunched them up, and your hands ball in the back of Chan's hoodie like it's a lifeline. And it is. You feel that if you let go, you might fall and never return.

"I'm here," you hear Chan whispering through the mess. "I'm here."

Again and again he says it, and every time he does, your tears flow a little slower, and he keeps saying it until your breakdown has reduced itself to a fit of hiccups and messy sniffles. Still he doesn't push you away, or snap at you to get over it, or that your tears mean nothing. He just sits and holds you.

When you finally look up, Chan is smiling gently, reassuringly, though a little sadly. He sees the look in your eyes and knows you don't want to talk about it, so he sits and rocks you softly on his lap. You squeeze your eyes shut and heave in a rocky breath.

Please just keep holding me, you beg him silently. Just for a while.

And he does. And he doesn't let go, not even when you whimper into his shoulder and soak the juncture of his neck with your misery. He kisses the salty wetness away and strokes the pads of his fingers across your face, where the skin is red and sticky.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I'm sorry," you cry. "I can't get it all out of my head, and- it's too much, and I can't-"

"Shh, baby. I've got you, okay? Just breathe for me."

You heave in a few breaths and continue clinging to him. He feels so warm and safe. All you want is to be surrounded by him, to breathe him in, have him tell you that he loves you.

He must have read your mind, because he leans close to your ear and whispers firmly.

"I'm not leaving you, yeah? I'm gonna stay right here, hold you til you're better. You mean the world to me, hmm? Do you know that?"

You shake your head sadly.

"Now you do. I'm not going anywhere," he says with such conviction that you almost begin to believe it. He wraps his arms closer around you and kisses your forehead, whispering fiercely.

"I promise."

a/n: masterlist

[miwiheroes]

We analyse the rinkomania, pizza place, dessert but not so much the blyer scenes in the California house before the heart to the heart scenes. Maybe I haven’t come across any posts yet.

But did you spot any Blyer scenes or have any analysis surrounding those scenes?

Sorry for asking so many questions. All these years of being in fandom (more than 20 years) but finally get a slow burn and sweet queer couple where it might be really endgame and the feelings are all love and care from the very start.

Hi it's okay I love the questions :)

I'm not totally sure what scenes you mean, is it the one at the breakfast table?

Because I guess I have a little analysis on this scene <3 Thanks sosososooo much for bringing it up because I just watched it and I literally died because of how subtly sweet it is on Will's part, which makes it more painful when Mike walks away.

Basically, this scene is supposed to show the level of understanding and care Will has for Mike's feelings. Even after their fight. So when Mike ignores the feelings and walks away, it's all the more painful because it's like Mike has no idea what's right in front of him -- a guy that truly understands him. Therefore, the audience is supposed to root for Will's happiness and Mike seeing that Will loves him.

ALSO THEIR CLOTHES MATCH BUT IM NOT GETTING INTO THAT

So we start the scene with Will staring at Mike while Mike worries about his fight with El. This is to establish Will's POV in this scene. When Will notices that Mike is looking at the plate and the door to El's room, the directors decide to give a separate shot of Will's longing/upset look just to really drive home how much he cares about Mike's reaction and how he's feeling.

To the viewer, it should be pretty obvious by now that Will has feelings for Mike.

Jonathan then suggests that they see a movie and Will, instead of deciding for himself and thinking about what he wants, he looks to Mike.

In this small space of time, Will notices how upset Mike is. He knows that he's not in the mood to see a movie. He also knows that Mike won't say anything. So he makes a suggestion to Jonathan that's not for his sake, no, it's for Mike's. Even if it means making himself sadder, Will is ready to allow Mike to stay at home and probably heal his relationship with El.

What's so lovely about this is that Will doesn't embarrass Mike by throwing him under the bus. He doesn't go: "Mike's feeling upset so we should stay home", he knows Mike well enough to know that Mike doesn't like that, so he just makes a general suggestion.

Jonathan's annoyance at them moping is integral to the scene because it shows how much Will gets Mike's feelings. Jonathan doesn't understand Mike but Will does.

Will then defends Mike and says "It's just..." then looks at him, deciding what to say. In rhetoric, he's saying "It's just... Mike is upset and we shouldn't go", but again, Will understands Mike enough to not only know that he's sad, but also to know he wouldn't want to be thrown under the bus ofc. So he comes up with another excuse.

A super cute and painful thing about this is that Will could easily take all the credit for letting Mike stay at home like he clearly wants. Will could take the credit for understanding him. Instead, he just pretends that the movie is going to suck. Showing how selfless he is. Showing that all he wants is for Mike to be okay, no matter what, even if it makes himself sadder, even if he doesn't reap the reward.

So after all of Will's gentle understanding of Mike's moods and his needs, the audience wants a reward for Will's good deed. Instead, Mike walks away, completely oblivious to Will's act of understanding and love.

The camera lingers on Will for ages, showing that the scene is not about Mike missing El. The audience is not intended to be happy about Mike leaving the table to see El. They are supposed to be frustrated that Mike doesn't see how much Will cares about him. They are supposed to see how good Will is for Mike, and the writer's intention here is to build chemistry between them on Will's end.

oh my god this may just be the most painful scene now im so sorry

[nilla03]

𝑇𝑅𝑂𝑃𝐼𝐶𝐴𝐿 𝐵𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑆

𝑃𝑙𝑜𝑡： 𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑦𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠： 𝑛𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖 ， 𝑒𝑡𝑐

The heat was thick and golden, the kind that kissed your skin and made the ocean shimmer like crushed sapphires. Toji had chosen this place-a secluded, luxury resort on a private island, far from the noise of the world. The kind of place where the only thing you had to worry about was whether you wanted your cocktail frozen or on the rocks.

And right now, you weren't worried about a damn thing.

You lay stretched across a plush lounge chair on the resort's private beach, the sheer white curtains of your cabana billowing with the breeze. Toji had insisted on renting one, saying he “ wanted you comfortable-and out of the sun for too long. Wouldn't want you burnin' up, baby. “ His voice was still gruff in your ears.

Your pink bikini was barely holding on, the tiny strings digging into your hips as you sipped on a strawberry daiquiri, your glossy lips wrapping around the straw. Toji, sitting beside you, was nursing a whiskey-ice swirling in the glass as he leaned back, muscles on full display, sweat glistening on his tanned skin.

His hand had been on you the entire time.

Fingertips ghosting over your thigh. Palm pressing against the small of your back. Now, his knuckles dragged slow, lazy circles on your knee as he watched the waves roll in.

"You comfy, princess?" His voice was low, smooth, thick like honey as he turned his head toward you, green eyes glinting beneath the shade of his sunglasses.

"Mhmm," you hummed, tipping your drink toward him. "Wanna try?"

He smirked, shaking his head. "Nah, too sweet for me." But still, he reached out, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, catching a bit of the sticky, strawberry-flavored gloss you'd just applied. He sucked the remnants off his finger with a quiet tch. "You, on the other hand, taste good."

Your face heated instantly, stomach flipping, but you rolled your eyes, trying to hide it.

"Toji," you hissed, swatting his arm.

"What?" His grin widened, dimples cutting into his rough features. "Not my fault you look good enough to eat."

The teasing didn't stop there. His hand started trailing higher, past your knee, along your inner thigh, just skimming the sensitive skin.

Your breath hitched, and you squeezed your legs together, making him chuckle.

"Shy now?" He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice thick with amusement. "You weren't so shy last night, beggin' for me in that penthouse suite-"

"Toji," you whined, pushing at his chest, cheeks burning.

He caught your wrist, pressing a kiss to the inside before placing it back on your lap.

"Relax, baby," he murmured, like he hadn't just flustered you into oblivion. His eyes flickered out toward the shoreline, then back to you.

"Feel like takin' a swim with me?"

You hesitated, glancing down at your bikini.

"What if the waves pull my top off?"

Toji smirked, pushing up from his chair and stretching his arms over his head. "Then I guess I'm fightin' the ocean today." He tossed his sunglasses onto the table, grabbing your hand and pulling you up effortlessly. "C'mon, princess. Wanna see my pretty wife all wet."

You gasped, swatting at his arm, but still, you let him lead you toward the water, the heat between you both far more intense than the tropical sun.

The sun had just begun its descent, casting warm amber streaks across the horizon by the time you and Toji returned to your suite. The swim had been eventful-his hands constantly finding your waist, pulling you under, brushing over places they shouldn't in broad daylight.

His teasing had only gotten worse when the waves made you cling to him, his cocky smirk burned into your memory.

Now, the two of you were rinsing off in the massive, open-concept shower, steam curling in the air as warm water cascaded over you.

Toji stood behind you, running his large hands over your shoulders, spreading coconut-scented body wash along your skin.

"Y'know, we could just stay in," he murmured, lips pressing against your damp shoulder.

"Order room service. I can think of a better way to spend the night."

You rolled your eyes, though your body betrayed you, melting under his touch. "Toji," you scolded softly.

Your breath hitched when his hands dipped lower, skimming over your stomach, his rough fingertips dragging over your soft skin. The heat between your legs stirred instantly, but you bit your lip, forcing yourself to ignore it.

"As tempting as that sounds, we are going to dinner." You reached for his wrist, stopping his hand before it could slip any lower. "Behave."

Toji groaned, lips pressing against your temple before he finally-reluctantly-pulled away.

"Fine, fine," he grumbled.

After finishing up, you slipped into the massive walk-in closet, wrapping yourself in a plush towel as you rummaged through your suitcase. You'd packed so many outfits for the honeymoon-silky dresses, strappy heels, delicate jewelry-all of it just for him.

You settled on a floral satin dress, the fabric hugging your curves, the low back dipping scandalously. It was feminine, flirty, perfect.

You slipped it on, adjusting the thin straps as you checked yourself in the mirror.

Toji, now in the bedroom, was fastening his watch, dressed in black linen slacks and a crisp, button-down that stretched slightly over his broad chest. He looked good. Tan skin, fresh haircut, the silver chain peeking from under his collar.

When you stepped out, his eyes dragged over you immediately, dark and slow, like he was savoring the sight. His tongue clicked against his teeth.

"Fuck, baby," he muttered, coming up behind you. His hands found your hips, squeezing possessively as he leaned down to whisper against your neck. "You tryna kill me tonight?"

A satisfied smile tugged at your lips. "Just wanted to look nice for my husband."

He exhaled through his nose, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your exposed shoulder "Yeah? You know what that does to me, huh?"

You shivered, gripping his forearm lightly.

"Toji, we're gonna be late-"

His grip tightened, his voice dropping. "Let me taste you real quick, baby. Just a little-"

You gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth, your face burning. "No!"

Toji groaned, chuckling against your palm before pulling back. "Fine, fine," he grumbled, reaching for your ankle strap heels. "But you're lucky I'm takin' you out instead of keepin' you in this room all night."

You watched as he crouched down, slipping the shoes onto your feet, his fingers grazing your legs purposefully. Your stomach flipped at the gesture-big, dangerous, deadly Toji Fushiguro, on his knees, putting your heels on like you were royalty.

He stood, adjusting your necklace before tilting your chin up with two fingers.

"You're perfect, baby," he murmured, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to your lips. "Now let's go before I change my mind."

And with that, his warm hand found the small of your back, leading you out the door, the night stretched before you like a promise.

The open-air restaurant was nothing short of breathtaking-dimly lit with lanterns swaying in the evening breeze, the sound of waves crashing in the distance. Toji had managed to get you a table on the terrace, tucked away just enough for privacy, but still in view of the ocean. The kind of spot that screamed romance, even if Toji himself wasn't the type to say it outright.

Not that he needed to. The way he took care of you-pulling out your chair, keeping a possessive hand on your thigh, ordering for you when you took too long deciding—said more than words ever could.

And right now? Right now, he was watching you with something dark in his gaze, you giggled over the rim of your cocktail glass.

"Baby, how many of those have you had?" He leaned back, draping an arm over the chair beside him, completely relaxed as he studied you.

You pouted, twirling the straw in your half-finished Mango Passion Kiss. "I dunno. Three?

Maybe four?"

Toji raised a brow. "That your way of sayin' five?"

You giggled again, the warmth in your cheeks from more than just the tropical air.

"Maaaybe."

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, but there was no real disapproval there

-just amusement. Because as much as he acted like he didn't have the patience for your antics, he lived for them.

Your legs crossed under the table, the slit of your dress shifting just enough to reveal more of your thigh. You noticed the way Toji's eyes flickered down for half a second, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that? do I look bad?!” You mumbled

His tongue swiped over his teeth, his smirk lazy, dangerous. "Nah, just thinkin'"

"About?"

"How fuckin' pretty my wife is." His voice was low, thick, laced with something that sent heat curling deep in your belly.

He reached for his glass, taking a slow sip of his whiskey before setting it down with a quiet clink. "And how she's been playin' with me all night."

Your pulse quickened, but you feigned innocence, fluttering your lashes. "Me? Playing?"

Toji chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His fingers toyed with the base of his glass, his smirk never faltering. "Mhm" His knee nudged against yours under the table. "That alcohol got you feelin' bold, huh, princess?"

"I was just enjoying my drink," you murmured, taking another slow sip, letting the sweet tropical flavors coat your tongue.

Toji exhaled sharply through his nose, tilting his head as he ran a hand over his jaw. "That so?"

Before you could answer, the waiter appeared with your dessert—a creamy coconut panna cotta, topped with fresh mango and passionfruit.

"Enjoy," the waiter said politely before walking away, leaving the two of you alone again.

Toji reached for his spoon first, scooping up a small bite before lifting it toward you. "Here, baby. Open up."

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned.

"What's wrong?" His lips curved into something smug. "You were real mouthy a minute ago, now you don't wanna take what I'm givin' you?"

Your face burned, but you parted your lips, letting him feed you. The creamy sweetness melted on your tongue, but it was the way Toji was watching you-his gaze locked onto your lips, his jaw tight-that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Good girl," he muttered, pulling the spoon away slowly.

Toji handled the bill without a second thought, slipping his black card to the waiter before you could even think about reaching for your purse. He barely even looked at the check— just signed it with a quick flick of his wrist, all while sipping the last of his whiskey.

"You didn't even check the total," you teased, watching him with hazy, love-drunk eyes.

He gave you a lazy smirk, standing up and adjusting his shirt. "What, you think l'd take my wife out and make her pay?" His large hand found the small of your back, guiding you toward the exit. "C'mon, princess. Time to get you back to our room before you get yourself in trouble."

But you were the one who had trouble in mind.

The second you stepped into the dimly lit hallway leading to the elevators, you tugged on his wrist, stopping him. Toji barely had time to react before you leaned up, pressing your body against his, hands splaying over his chest. "Toji," you whined softly, looking up at him through your lashes, lips all pouty.

The alcohol had left a buzz in your veins, making you feel warm, bold, needy.

His brow arched, lips tugging into something knowing. "What's that look for, baby?” You let out a breath, fingers gripping his shirt.

"Wanna kiss you."

Toji chuckled, shaking his head as he reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"We're in the middle of the hallway,” he let out a quiet laugh

"Don't care," you huffed, rising on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his jaw, then another, letting your lips linger against his skin. You felt the way his body tensed under your touch, the way his breath hitched just slightly.

His hands found your waist, gripping you firmly. "You really are feelin' bold tonight, huh?" His voice had dropped, thick and low.

You nodded

fingers toying with the open buttons of his shirt. "You looked so good tonight. Took care of me all night. Wanna take care of you."

Toji let out a sharp breath through his nose, jaw clenching. His grip on you tightened, fingers flexing against your hips like he was holding himself back.

The elevator dinged behind you.

Before you could react, Toji's arms slid under your legs and back, scooping you up effortlessly.

You gasped, arms looping around his neck as he carried you bridal style into the empty elevator, pressing the button for your floor with his knuckle.

"Toji—"

"You wanna act like a spoiled little thing, tryna climb me in the damn hallway?" He smirked, leaning down so his lips were right against your ear. "Fine, baby. I'll carry your needy ass all the way back."

The elevator ride felt endless. Each second stretched painfully slow as Toji held you in his arms, his grip firm like he dared you to squirm out of it. The dim glow of the elevator lights cast shadows over his sharp features, and the way his lips curled at the corners, that knowing smirk on his face—it made your stomach flip.

“You’re awful quiet now,” he murmured, adjusting you in his arms. His voice was smooth, teasing, thick with amusement. “That little attitude wear off already?”

You huffed, pressing your lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how much he was affecting you.

Toji chuckled, shaking his head.

The elevator dinged, and before you could react, Toji stepped out, carrying you through the quiet, dimly lit hallway. His steps were slow, purposeful, like he wanted to drag this out, like he wanted you to sit in the anticipation curling in your belly.

“You really didn’t have to carry me,” you muttered, burying your face against his neck, inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne—deep, musky, with a hint of something warm and rich.

His fingers flexed against your thigh. “Nah, I did,” he murmured

Toji reached the door to your suite, somehow managing to swipe the key card without putting you down. The second the lock clicked, he nudged the door open with his foot and stepped inside, kicking it shut behind him.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains slightly parted to reveal the moonlit ocean stretching beyond the balcony. The bed—large, luxurious, pristine—stood waiting.

The room was quiet, save for the distant crash of waves outside the balcony and the slow, measured breaths he took as he stared down at you.

“You wanna act all needy in public ?” His voice was low. “Let’s see just how bad you want it.”

Before you could respond, Toji let go.

You let out a surprised gasp as your feet hit the floor, your body slightly off balance from the sudden shift. But before you could steady yourself, Toji took a step back, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with something hungry.

“On your hands and knees,” he murmured. “Crawl to me, baby.”

𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑢𝑝 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑛𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖！ <3

[bktempted]

You should really head home - the rational part of your brain knows this - but desperation makes us do strange things, and you really need to finish this paper before morning. The University library at midnight is a labyrinth of shadows, rows of books stretching endlessly like the ribs of some ancient beast. You're hunched over your laptop, its harsh glow the only island of light in this sea of darkness.

That's when you feel it again. That crawling sensation up your spine, like someone trailing their finger along each vertebra. You've felt it before, in your room at night, in the campus coffee shop - moments when the world feels slightly off kilter, as if reality has shifted two degrees to the left.

You turn, hoping it's nothing. Instead, you see him.

That boy from your study group. That boy with his soft sweaters and softer smile. That boy who always seems to have a spare charger when your laptop dies. He doesn't seem like just a boy now, as he stands in shadows that cling to him like loving tendrils, his familiar features transformed by the darkness into something beautiful and terrible.

"You shouldn't be here alone so late," he says, and his voice - his voice is different. Lower, richer, dripping with something that makes your chest tight. "It's dangerous for a girl like you."

You clutch your laptop closer, as if it could shield you from the intensity radiating from him. "I had work to do," you manage, hating how your voice trembles. "Plus, what's the worst that could happen?"

Your words hang in the air like a freshly struck match, one that he's going to snuff out. He takes a step closer, the air between you is thick, charged with unspoken intentions. The space shrinks until you're breathing the same air.

"Oh, sweetheart," he breathes, each syllable brushes against your skin like velvet wrapped around steel. "You're so naive. That's why I have to watch over you, make sure you don't get yourself hurt. The things that could happen to you…" His voice trails off, fingers reaching up to catch a strand of your hair, rolling it between his fingers, memorizing its texture. "You didn't give me a choice."

And suddenly, horrifyingly, you realize. All those moments when you felt watched. It wasn't just a feeling. It was him. "What do you want?" you whisper, though something deep in your bones already knows.

"More." He laughs - it's soft, almost tender, but entirely wrong. "I've learned everything about you," he breathes, he's even closer now. "And it's still not enough. It'll never be enough."

His fingers brush your cheek, and you can't tell if you're trembling from fear or something else entirely. The touch is gentle, reverent even, but there's possession in it - ownership in the way his thumb traces your lower lip, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Horror blooms in your chest, but it's tangled with something else, something that makes you hate yourself a little. Because despite everything, there's a part of you that recognizes this for what it is: devotion in its deepest, most absolute form.

The library seems to pulse around you, the shadows growing longer, hungrier. His eyes reflect nothing. They're black holes that need to consume everything you are.

"Don't be scared." he murmurs, as his other hand finds your waist, steady and sure. The heat of his palm bleeds through your clothes, marking you. "Let me show you." He starts to tug at your skirt. "Let me show you just how well I know you."

Your heart is pounding so hard it might burst, but you can't move. It's not fear rooting you to this spot - it's desire. You're disgusted with yourself, but the heat from his body spreads through your veins leaving you dizzy with need. The line between right and wrong blurs, it's irrelevant.

He offers you your final out, one last challenge, "Tell me to stop. Say the word and I'll let you go." You say nothing. He knows you wouldn't. He keeps going. Hands sliding under your shirt, fingers tracing the contours of your stomach, circling your naval, dipping lower. It's familiar, he knows what he's doing - he learned from you.

He guides you backwards, towards a secluded corner between the shelves. He turns you around, and bends you over, pressing your chest to the cool surface of a table. It's all happening so fast; you barely have time to process. His erection is hard against your ass. "I'm going to fuck you the way you've always wanted."

You nod, in stunned silence. He pushes your skirt up and your panties to the side, and then he's inside you, filling you in one smooth thrust. You cry out, overwhelmed by the sudden stretch, and the pleasure behind it.

Fuck. He's a perfect fit.

He sets a brutal pace, and the rational part of your brains screams at you to fight; to do something - anything - but it's drowned out by the overwhelming tide of sensation. By the dark thrill of being taken like this, used like this, by someone who knows you better than you know yourself.

He hits that spot inside you, that secret spot that only you know about, that you reach for with your favorite toys when you're in your room all alone, when no one's watching. "Yes," you gasp, the word torn from your throat. "Yes, yes, yes." A prayer. A plea. An admission of how much you want this, even if it terrifies you.

He leans over you then, his chest pressed against your back, "I told you." His voice is perforated by each thrust "Like you've always wanted." His words are invasive, and they only make you more desperate for him. Because he's right. God, he's so fucking right.

"It's time to cum. You want to cum, don't you?" You don't have a chance to answer because he's hitting that spot again, over and over, while his fingers work magic on your clit. It's too much. Too fucking much. You're cumming, you're shattering, you're breaking for him. The sounds you make are embarrassing, animalistic, but you can't control them. Moans, whines, broken sobs of pleasure all absorbed and recorded by the books that surround you. In that moment, you learned something new about yourself. Something only he could teach you.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + thirty three

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

cw/tw: fluff and angst

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

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 16k (diabolical)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman sighs. “Sol….”

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

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

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

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

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

“Since when do you talk to him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s different, Sol.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suicidal Solana.

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

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

A sniffle.

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

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

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

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

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

The fuck?

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

“You don’t care,” she cries into him.

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

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

This….this feels different.

It is different.

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

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

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

No. “Yes.” 

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

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

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

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

—------

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

Lita lifts a brow. “Crying?”

“Yes.”

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

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

“Did you?”

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

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

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

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

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

Lita chuckles. “Pretty much.”

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

“When is she due?”

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She'd bet her life on that.

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

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

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

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

“Better, how?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is excited.

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

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

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

“She’s three months, right?”

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

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

Roman scowls. “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about me?”

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

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

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

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

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

—-------

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

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

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

“Sol—”

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

“Solana—”

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

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

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

Since Fetu passed.

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

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

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

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

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

For safety reasons, he has to have a say.

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

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

Paloma.

She plans to tell Paloma who she really is.

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

Solana deserves that. 

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

A very different reason.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stronger in every way. A tremendous and beautiful growth. 

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

And even that seems not enough to adequately describe it. 

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

“Solana.”

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

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

Love. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her spirit is so pure. 

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

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

A fear of letting her down.

Of disappointing her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A disservice. Understandable, but a disservice, nonetheless. 

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

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

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

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

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

He won’t risk that again. 

He’s terrified to risk that again.

—---------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman: Fuck. 

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

Solana: 🙈🙈🙈

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

Roman: Not soon enough.

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

Roman: Can use them for….purposes.

Solana: Roman! 😭

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you were talking to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something much darker. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What’s going on with her?

—--------

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

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

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

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

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

Afia laughs a little. “Fair.”

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

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

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

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

Children. 

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

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

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

“Bayley…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except Naomi.

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

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

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

Something Solana is eager to hear.

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

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

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

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

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

Annoyed. 

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

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

Personal. 

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

She doesn’t like it at all. 

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

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

Afia: Can I offer a bit of advice?

Solana: yes. of course. 

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

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

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

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

—-------

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

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

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

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

This certainly does it, Roman thinks to himself.

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

His babies.

It’s one of his favorite photos. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell are ya’ll doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His biological nephews and niece. 

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

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

“This is nice!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoever the fuck that is.

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

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

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

“The get-together Solana planned.”

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

Roman: Solana….what did you do?

Solana: i take it they’ve started arriving 🤭

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

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

Roman: You did WHAT?

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

Roman: Solana…

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

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

Solana: 😑

Roman: What?

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

Roman: No.

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

Roman: Fine. An hour.

Solana: thank you, baby. 🥰

Roman: Whatever.

Solana: 😘❤️

—--------

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

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

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

Just not according to him.

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

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

So, she had to deescalate that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Roman, it was literally your family.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” A simple response and acknowledgment. 

More than enough. 

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

Always looking out for each other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She can’t wait to experience that for herself.

And with Roman, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Naomi, I didn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naomi is hurt behind it all. 

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

That. 

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

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

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

“According to who?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

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

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

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

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

Never again.

Never will she allow that to be the case.

Not even with someone she considers a sister. 

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

“You should leave.”

A pregnant pause. “What?”

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

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

She’s got enough on her plate. 

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

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

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

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

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

A pregnancy Naomi still doesn’t know about. 

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

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

And, that hurts.

It hurts like hell. 

—---------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hates that.

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

But, still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just not in this one. 

She’ll have to deal.

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

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

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

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

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

Because it’s exactly what she needed.

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

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

One thing at a time.

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

He sighs. “Sol…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—---------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he….”

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

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

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

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

Even if Paloma doesn’t know it just yet.

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

Long enough to raise a family. 

Or at the very least, a child. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Solana….”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Solana closes her eyes. It’s time.

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

Solana expects her to go for the envelope first.

She doesn’t.

She lifts up the polaroid first.

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

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

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

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

Like she’s doing so for the first time.

And, in many ways, she is.

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

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

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

Paloma deserves to know what happened. 

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

Paloma’s eyes shut. “Oh my God….”

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

Never to fully go away.

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

Love.

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

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

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

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

--------

translation:

nieta = granddaughter

[sheepispink]

Hesitancy ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི COD MASTERLIST

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Lt ghost x baker, civilian!reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི fluff, hurt/comfort, slight angst, reassurance

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Chapter 7 of Sweet as Sugar series

a/n: currently posting this half delirious at like 3 in the morning. #very confused and want to sleep but i cant. Its ok, enjoy chapter guys thanks u

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——————

A few slight problems had occurred whilst Simon was on deployment, the biggest one being that you had completely forgotten he even went.

For two days you waited patiently for him to arrive, starting to grow more and more upset until your father reminded you, saying he saw him off. You couldn't exactly be mad—he did warn you he’d be going—but it was just so incredibly boring when he couldn't even text you. So you waited; for the first week you managed to fend it off, the second was a little harder and by the third you were debating whether you should join the army. Cleaning up your shop just didn't feel right without him there with you; it was like missing a piece of your heart. You thought you were going crazy, you’ve never missed someone like this before—not that there was anyone to miss usually. But this, it was an unbearable ache in your chest, and you were starting to worry this was some kind of dangerous attachment.

He has returned now, and has kindly texted you to confirm that thus unintentionally quelling the turmoil in your chest. What were you supposed to say though? That your thoughts have been filled with him since he left? You weren't exactly sure if he was even interested in you too— what if he only saw you as a friend? Men of his job were not exactly known for their affectionate sides, and you couldn't help but believe you’d be asking too much of him to be a person like that for you. Especially with the way your heart thumps, he probably thinks you're insane with your attachment— you’ll only drive him away at this rate.

On the other hand, Simon still hasn’t sent the message.

In fact, he’s staring at your texts right now as he lays back in his bed. It’s almost two am, another barrage of memories had shaken him from any traces of sleep he had attempted to get today, and almost as if instinct, he reached for his closest connection to you. This message seemed impossible to send though. Not because he didn’t want to, but for some reason he was slightly scared. He wanted to do this the right way, make sure this all went smoothly, and you didn't feel pressured in the slightest— hell he’d be caught off guard if he received that text. Though, now something else concerned him even more than that; it could end up ruining everything if he didn’t try to understand and fix the issue straight away.

You were acting weird, in a way that was really different. He didn't feel like he was allowed to interfere, to demand an answer for your shift in behaviour but in a way he owed it to you. If you weren't doing okay, he wanted to know; especially after your fathers words, he had to try to help. For the past two days you were far less chatty than usual, only giving him a few stray answers that don't really represent yourself like your responses usually do. In a way, you reflected the subject back onto him, like you’re afraid of talking about yourself even a smidgen. From excitable first texts, you now only responded to his, rather than bringing up your usual random thoughts. It reminds him of someone being restricted to speak, like they shouldn't speak. He’s all too familiar with that notion: keeping quiet since you know too much, afraid of an interrogation and the enemy destroying everything you didn't know you loved until you’re hanging by nothing but your efforts, watching your vision fade.

He blinks the gruesome image away, pushing himself up to a sitting position as he rubs the deadweight beneath his eyes with the roughness of his palm, groaning. Not everything was as serious as an interrogation and torture; he knew there was no way you could possibly be anxious like that, but still, the thought of you feeling uneasy around him was the worst thing to imagine. It was different, really different, to know someone outside the cruel reality he lived with. You had no idea the extent his enemies would go to, the people they’d exploit just for an ounce of power—how unforgiving the people in this world would be. And so, you were free. There you went, not bothering to think twice when someone had a photo of your face and unbothered when a customer whispers into their phone. Most importantly, you were so incredibly kind to anyone who came in, allowing them a little piece of your heart.

He wasn't jealous, no, Simon knew well the man he’d become when he put on the mask. In a way, he felt like he could talk to you more—you always had so many things to speak about. With the other soldiers here it was the typical topics; missions, intel, nightmares all the time, and whilst he wasn't bored by his comrades, he sure was far more interested in what you had to say. In a way, you were his little slice of life, telling him about the latest movies that came out, some crazy scandal or something as simple as a new crisp flavour you were fond of. When was the last time he cared about a band going on tour? Probably never, but he sure did now, searching for any tickets available for all your favourites. This was more than a breath of fresh air, nor a turn of a leaf—no you had peeked into his dreary life, with your wide grin and excitement, brightening his life enough for his heart to feel aches for different reasons.

His team’s lucky it’s Saturday, else he would’ve cancelled his last evening training to take the drive down to the little Welsh town he now only associated with you. It doesn't take him long to drag himself through his tasks for the day before eventually taking that drive down the winding road to where your bakery is. It’s right on the corner of the little plaza that’s been growing livelier as the cold starts to fade out again.

You’re wiping down the tables, almost closing time since you close early to pack up for Sunday. The bakery isn't open then, used for preparation for the week ahead even though your parents usually handle that. He pushes the door open, the bell jingling above the door as your sweet voice calls out to him as per usual. “Sorry, we’re closed right now—” You begin, before promptly lifting your head, eyes widened in surprise when you realise it’s him standing there and not a customer trying to get a last minute coffee.

”Oh—Simon..?”

Lord, he can't stand the way you visibly stiffen when you see him, trying to push out the thoughts running in his head to interrogate you, unable to grapple with the idea of having information not in his grasp. No, this needs to be taken carefully, but still— are those dark circles beneath your eyes?. So he was right,something is on your mind that needs to be let out.

“You need a break, don’t you?” He walks over to you, gently reaching for your sleeve and giving you plenty of time to back away if you so wish. “C’mon, we haven't talked in a while.” His voice is gruffer than it should be, and he can tell it catches you off guard as well, since you’re more accustomed to his calmer demeanour. It’s not Simon’s fault; he can’t help it when you’re clearly running your mind into the ground thinking too hard. “It’s not.. I—”

You try to argue but follow along without much reluctance, watching as he walks behind the counter to grab your coat, slipping it firmly over your shoulders before buttoning it up. Once he’s sure you’re warm, he leads you out, locks the bakery door with the keys he knows you keep in your left pocket, and continues to squeeze your wrist as he leads you towards a nearby restaurant. Wordlessly he seats you at a secluded table, before moving towards the counter. Your favourite soup is placed before you whilst he holds his usual black coffee, angling his chair towards you as he leans his elbows on the table. Every move of his is calculated, unintentionally too, attempting to make himself look all the more intimidating, so the victim gives in easily. “You’ve been acting strange recently, what’s wrong?” Just from his tone you can clearly tell he’s raising an eyebrow at you and you cannot help but crumble beneath his gaze, hands fidgeting awkwardly on the table as your eyes flicker between the soup and him.

“It’s really stupid… but i.. I had a bad dream.” That makes his curiosity peak, his chair scraping the tiles as he shifts a little bit more.

“A nightmare?” He probes, confused by your words and how it could affect your actions.

“Of a sort..” your fingers continue to intertwine together absentmindedly, nervous and slightly intimidated.

“I dreamt that you.. You got angry and shouted at me—” You begin, and he cuts you off, a pit of guilt sinking deeper into his gut as the words ring through his head.

He was stupid to think for a second that someone as messed up as he was could be anything of use to a sweet girl like you. He’d only ruin your life, make you hurt in ways you shouldn’t because if he was just normal, like everyone else, you wouldn't be terrified of that. “Hey, listen..”

You quickly cut him off, hands frantically waving in the air as you shake your head quickly. “Wait!” He hadn't let you finish your sentence and your squeak made him stop, letting you finish. “I was rude to you, in the dream. I snapped at you, and even when you tried to help I just grew worse.” You let out a long groan, hiding your face in your hands as you sit there and sniffle pitifully.

“You snapped at me? You could scream at me, I wouldn't care.” He says, confused and still convinced you’re afraid of him shouting and even potentially getting physical with you. He knows he doesn't look like a saint, especially since he allowed you small glimpses of his scarred face. Likewise, he just hopes it’d never come to this, for him to continue the cycle the men in his ancestry began.

“That's the problem.. I feel like I’m deceiving you— like I'm being so nice, and you think I'm that perfect person all the time. I can just get so irritable sometimes, and I won't explain why to you, and then I'll hurt you.”

His throat bobs softly as he swallows, starting to see that you have somehow stemmed from a similar branch of his. Although his was rougher, perhaps he was too stupid to think only he could experience guilt like this. A rose could have just as many thorns as a vine, it seems. His gloved hand gently tugs your chair closer to him, thankful for the fact practically no one is near your table. “It isn't fair on you— for me to act like that..” You mumble out, knowing it sounds silly compared to the things he probably deals with on the daily. But in reality, he had perhaps pressured you too much with his own glittery perception of you, unintentionally undermining your struggles.

“It was a dream for a reason, love; it won't come true.” He hums, gently pinching your cheek between his thumb and index, loving the way your lips purse so softly as you look up at him and he drops his hand again.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Well..” He starts, taking a sip of his coffee as he slings an arm loosely around the back of your chair and brushing your shoulders in turn. His eyes glancing off into the lights beyond the windows that decorate the trees with tiny sparkles. “You just warned me now, didn't you? So, now I know that you get a bit snappy when you’re overwhelmed and I can accommodate for that. You’re not some villain for that. It’s called communication, sweetheart.”

You blink up at him, probably expecting him to call you crazy for not being able to control yourself all the time like he did, and well everyone in your life.

“So, I can just tell you all my flaws.. And you won't mind? Even though I still get anxious crossing busy roads?” He chuckles at that, rubbing your shoulder with the palm of his hand and nodding, unbelieving that you thought he’d only turn you away.

“Yes, of course you can. I’ll even tell you one of my own. Military life can be a little unpredictable.. y'know? So I’m often shaken awake at two am and I have a feeling I might end up randomly texting you at that time..I don't expect you to wake up and reply, so don't even think about killin’ your sleep for me.” He chuckles as your lips part in surprise; then again, even he didn't expect he’d find solace in his nightmares just from your menial discussions. You’d laugh alongside him when he complained about the crappy rations, or even when he told you about something stupid he was thinking about. He tells you about some good movies he had watched, only because Soap forced him to, and you give him some recommendations of your own; though not before watching his that night, and giving your own opinions. It’d been a while since he’d even opened up with someone, and you made it feel okay.

“If it's on a weekend, I’ll wake up. It won't bother me, promise. If it’s not, I’ll reply first thing in the morning, okay?”

You’ll argue with him, but he still does really believe you’re the perfect person despite some stupid flaws you think you have. But of course, you seem to take them pretty seriously so he’ll do the same. It’s weird how you suddenly make him feel better about his own worries about himself too, the usual ache in his chest dissipating just a smidge. “Well how about you finish that soup before it gets cold, hm? I have a feeling there are a few more things you have on your mind and I think it’s about time someone helps you sort them out.”

—————-

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[amphibiahawks321]

[Y/N mixing dough with his hand in a bowl while holding onto the bowl, having flour almost all over his shirt]

M!Reader : .......

[Y/N let out a soft chuckle, as he is watching arlecchino trying to crack an egg open to a bowl with her hand]

M!Reader : having a difficult time there?

Arlecchino : Sighs... Unfortunately, This shouldn't be hard...

M!Reader : Weeeell when you have long nails like yours, I can see it would be tricky to crack an egg without turning it into a crime scene

Arlecchino : Tch... This is seriously where I struggle...?

[Y/N let out another chuckle and immediately grabs onto arlecchino's chin, leans forward and gives her a side kiss on the cheek, Making arlecchino feel a bit less frustrated]

M!Reader : Y’know, for someone who’s terrifyingly smart in battles, I didn’t expect eggs to be your ultimate weakness