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bokunoheros · 3 months ago

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TAGS/WARNINGS: reader is gender neutral but afab (keigo does talk ab making you a mommy tho, and you refer to yourself as his girlfriend once), reader is a civilian, this is pre-war, reader and keigo are dating, no lube no protection (all night all day), baby trapping lowk????, idk he nonconsensually cums in you and then proposes (you accept tho), creampies, cockwarming, kinda lazy ending?? idgaf GENRE: smut SUMMARY: it’s the start of mating season and keigo had just saved a mother and her child at work today, so it’s only natural for him to come home with the overwhelming need to knock you up. WORD COUNT: 2.6K 🦊’s A/N: keigo they could Never make me hate you…. anyway hope yall enjoy this fr

not only was today the first day of his rut, meaning his last day of hero work until the spring was over, but he had also gone out of his way to save a mother and her crying child while off-duty. he’d been heading home after an eventful and tiring patrol when he ran into them being threatened by a petty mugger—nothing he couldn’t handle, especially after the day he’d had, but he can imagine having a gun pointed to your face must be scary to an untrained civilian. now, he was brimming over with emotions, barely keeping his cool as he walks through the threshold of your shared home, slamming the door loudly behind him, wings all puffed up and ruffled.

“keigo? honey, what’s wron—” you’re suddenly cut off by a small flurry of his feathers sweeping you off your feet and carrying you from the kitchen towards where he stood in the living room, in the process of stepping out of his boots and shrugging his jacket off. you’re immediately taken aback by his serious demeanor and you open your mouth to say something, except that no words come out. what should you say?

“how was your day..?” you ask tentatively after a brief moment of silence.

rather than verbally answering you, he lets out a long, drawn out sigh and shakes his head — a response you’re unfamiliar with. usually, he isn’t afraid to yap for at least fifteen minutes about how his day went, what happened, and sometimes even the people or fellow pros he talked to! so for him to remain silent…. well, it’s safe to say you’re starting to get worried.

had you done something wrong? was today exceptionally challenging? your heart rate increases as your anxious thoughts swirl around in your foggy mind, and you don’t know where to go from here.

keigo knew what to do, though; he knew exactly how to relieve this stress.

taking a step in your direction, he narrows his eyes, intense, predatory gaze locked onto yours, and suddenly, he’s leaning in for a kiss as he backs you up against the nearest wall.

the way he kisses you is controlled and barely put together, and you can tell he’s on edge, like he’s about to snap, so you say what you think he needs to hear.

“you can rough me up a bit, kei, i promise i won’t break.”

his eyes fly open at your words before narrowing as he nods before leaning back in with much more passion and any restraint right out the window. but he himself has said it before, he’s awful—he has no self-control; something that rang especially true when it came to you.

he’s spent whole evenings with his head buried between your thighs, eating you out until you’re crying and begging him to stop, saying it hurts, it hurts!, to which he always asks you for just one more. “one more” never meant one more, of course—keigo was greedy in this sense. he could never seem to get enough of you, always wanting more, more, more. if he could, he’d devour you whole, make you his entirely, and—that’s exactly what he was going to do tonight. he had been planning to propose for a while now, anyway. he had a ring and everything! he’d.. just been working up the courage to ask. so, then what better way than by deciding to knock you up on a whim.

well, …was it really a whim if he had fantasized about it before? the two of you had been dating since the summer of last year, meaning you haven’t seen him during his ruts yet, and, while he’s mentioned it briefly in the past, he didn’t actually expect to last this long with you so he never divulged the details of it—not because he wasn’t in love with you, but because he gave up on the dating scene because he’s always the one being dumped for being so. so. !!!! outwardly nonchalant about most things! or being married to his work, whatever they meant by that; he only worked so hard so he could have a future to relax in! no one ever seemed to understand that…. until he met you.

something just clicked between the two of you upon your first meeting—you were probably the most interesting person hawks had ever saved, be it your quirk, your personality and mannerisms, or even something as simple as a remark you had made in the five something minutes it took to save you; he found himself unable to get you out of his head for days afterwards, eventually causing him to seek you out to ask a bewildered you on a date—just one, he had originally said.

you said yes immediately for a multitude of reasons—he was fine as fuck, he’d literally saved your life the other day, not to mention he was witty, and spoke his mind, too—something keigo hadn’t been expecting. he knew all of the above things, and yet, found himself somewhat nervous as he handed you a bouquet of pale red carnations, red camellias, and baby’s breath. he’d stayed up all night researching flower language and symbolism, deciding on the perfect ones to give to you, as he knew it was rude to show up to somebody’s house empty-handed, and, also, because… he’d never really felt this way about anyone before. there was something so magnetic between the two of you….

but that’s enough reminiscing—he needs to be in the present moment, needs to focus on fucking you so good you go braindead on his dick, focus on cumming so deep in you, there’s no way you couldn’t not be pregnant with his child. keigo understood that having children as the number two pro hero would be no easy feat, but he thinks with you by his side, he can do anything.

sliding his tongue over the seam of your lips, one gloved hand comes up to squish your cheeks enough to force your lips to part for him and he easily slips the wet muscle into your mouth, taking his time sliding it along the insides of your cheeks, the grooves of your teeth, and the roof of your mouth, carefully exploring every inch and committing it to memory (as if he hadn’t already).

meanwhile, his other hand settles on your hip, massaging it lightly for a moment before his grip quickly tightens and he’s coaxing your tongue out of your mouth and into his as he begins to suck on it.

“mmh,” you hum pleasantly, starting to drool as you let keigo decide how to use you in order to relieve his stress.

“missed ya t’day, dove,” he murmurs against your lips before nipping at your tongue and you feel your heart flutter. what had gotten into him? you weren’t necessarily complaining, but you still felt a little worried about him if you were being totally honest.

keigo, sensing your unease, slowly pulls away from the kiss to ask if something was wrong, just for you to deflect the question back onto him.

“‘m fine, it was just a long day is all,” he tells you in earnest, leaving out the part about the beginning of his rut. “need’a feel you s’bad, though,” he breathes out, moving to kiss you again; tilting his head, he slots his lips back over yours, and it feels like he’s going to eat you alive. and, truthfully, he just might.

before you even realize what he’s doing, he’s picking you up, wrapping your legs around his narrow waist, and carrying you into the bedroom where he’s pinning you to the mattress, wings spread wide for you to admire as you look up at him. you’re sure his words held a bit of truth to them, but he was behaving a little oddly for reasons you couldn’t put together yet.

him being a horny little shit wasn’t the unusual bit, but rather, his upbeat demeanor was nowhere to be found—even if it was an act almost all the time, it still felt weird to see him so serious looking.

“kei…”

“shh, stop worrying, sweets,” he shushes you, leaning in for another hungry kiss. you oblige him of course, parting your lips and poking your tongue out to meet his as you close your eyes

his large wings create an almost dome around the two of you, shutting out the world, only leaving room for the two of you, and not another soul.

perhaps it would be best to sit back, relax, and let your boyfriend play with you… so that’s exactly what you do, settling fully onto the soft bed and wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him in closer—something that had him smirking against your soft lips.

it’s not long before you’re both naked, having grown too hot for the unnecessary layers separating your bare bodies, and soon, you suddenly have a pillow tucked under your hips, keeping them at an angle—something that confuses you.

“keigo?”

“just relax, dove.”

he leans in closer, bringing his lips to yours as his one hand grasps at your hip, blunt nails (that he has to trim daily, mind you, lest they grow into talons) digging into the tender flesh there while his other grabs at his leaky cock, tapping it against your clit a couple times before lining it up with your slit and slowly pushing in, doing his best to show restraint and not bottom out in one fluid motion. you both groan at the feeling, the stretch so deep you almost feel nauseous.

bringing two fingers down to your pulsing clit, he rubs semi-rough circles against the little bud, trying his hardest not to overwhelm you, but needing to hurry up and get you off so he can stuff you full of his cum.

“mmmh,” you moan quietly as he focuses on working you up to your first orgasm out of many for the long night he had planned for you.

it’s not long before you’re cumming with a cry and suddenly, keigo’s got his dick lined up with your slick little hole, easing himself in as he bites his bottom lip, trying not to whimper.

“fuuuck, you’re so tight, sweets,” he groans, rocking his hips into your, unkempt pubes brushing against your neatly trimmed ones.

your hands come up to wrap around his neck in an attempt to pull him closer, before you’re tugging at his wings, and you feel his dick twitch inside you.

“don’t,” is all he’s able to get out, burying his face in the crook of your neck, where he begins sucking and biting at the skin there.

“why not?” you grin like an idiot, already knowing the answer. you knew damn well just how sensitive keigo’s wings were—already having had this discussion when you first started having sex and you went to grab at them for the first time.

“don’t ask stupid questions when you know the answer, dove,” he warns.

you, ever the brat, decide to start stroking on his wings, and you feel his hips stutter and teeth sink into the column of your throat.

“nngh–!” you whine, tugging on the bright red feathers. keigo moans loudly at this, and quickly grabs the backs of your thighs to fold you in half and start fuckin’ pounding into you—his thrusts are fast and sloppy, and the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin turns you on even more, pussy drooling around his dick.

it doesn’t take long before keigo’s cumming deep inside you without warning, something that has your eyes flying open.

“k–keigo–! y– you just— you..!” the words aren’t there as panic begins to settle in. something you had both agreed on before you started fucking was that even if you did it raw, he had to pull out—kids were a big no for the both of you.

but here was your boyfriend, fucking you throughout his orgasm and working his way up to a second as he looks down at you with a gaze so intense, you feel small beneath him.

tugging at his wings again, you cry out his name as he fucks his cum into you, just for him to ignore your pathetic mewls and pleas.

“k– kei—!”

“gonna knock y’up so good—g’nna— fuck— g’nna make you a mommy—”

your face flushes deeply at his words—is this what had gotten into him? the urge to breed you? knock you up?

“f–fuck!” you pull at his wings, rolling your hips upwards as best you can as he desperately ruts into you. this triggers keigo’s second orgasm, his pelvis pressing flush against yours as he cums hard.

“nngh—! hnnmg—fuck,” keigo moans as his hips still while he spills another load deep within you. “shit— y’feel so fuckin’ good, baby—”

this continues for what seems like ever, but in reality is maybe fifteen minutes of your boyfriend fucking into you until he physically can’t cum anymore, until tears are running down his cheeks from how overstimulated he is, and he’s collapsing on top of you with a tired sigh.

“k–keigo— we— we can’t—” can’t what? “‘m gonna get pregnant— y’gotta let me get up,” you try to say, shoving at his chest; but it was no use, he was dead weight.

“good,” he says breathlessly, nuzzling his face into your neck.

“n–no! not good! i— we’re only dating! what would the media think if they found out the number two pro hero went and knocked his girlfriend up?!” your concern is genuine, but also stems from selfish reasons. you’re sure the reporters would hound you the moment they caught a whiff of something fishy, and—

“then marry me.” his words are so serious sounding that they immediately break you out of your own mind and your eyes go wide with shock and awe. had he seriously just. proposed?! while still being balls deep in you!?

“huh!?” you sound just as caught off guard as you look, and keigo cranes his neck up to look at you, expression the most serious you’d ever seen it. …okay, so he obviously wasn’t joking around, but, but–!

“you heard me. …i’d been meaning to get you a ring for a little while now, but couldn’t find one i thought you might like, so…..” his cheeks are flushed and face sweaty, hair sticking to his forehead as he gazes at you so tenderly, your heart can’t help but feel full.

“i— keigo, i…” he waits patiently as you fumble with your words. “yes,” finally falls from your lips, a grin tugging at the corners of them.

unable to say anything else, you cup his cheeks with both hands and press kisses all over his handsome face before you slot your lips over his and lean in slowly, almost teasingly.

keigo, ever impatient, leans in to close the gap, one large hand coming to cradle the back of your head as his hips twitch and he pushes further into you, causing the disgusting amount of cum stuffed in your cunt to form a creamy ring around the base of his cock, and drip down to your puckered asshole. after that, it doesn’t take much longer for keigo to fuck you both to sleep.

and that’s how you found yourself in the exact same position one year later, having put your first child to bed no less than an hour ago, with your now husband pinning you to your shared mattress, talking about how he wants a second kid—how beautiful you looked pregnant the first time, and how he’d love to see you like that again. so, he makes it happen. and then one more time after that.

return to KINKTOBER | PRO HERO M.LIST

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fatehbaz · 2 years ago

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Good question:

In the United States, many jails and prisons can and will charge you money for every single night that you spend imprisoned, for the entire duration of your incarceration, as if you were being billed for staying at a hotel. Even if you are incarcerated for years. Adding up to tens of thousands of dollars. What happens when you’re released?

In response to this:

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So.

You’re getting charged, like, ten dollars every time you even submit a request form to possibly be seen by a doctor or dentist.

You’re getting charged maybe five dollars for ten minutes on the phone.

Any time a friend or family tries to send you like five dollars so that you can buy some toothpaste or lotion, or maybe a snack from the commissary since you’re diabetic and the “meals” have left you malnourished, maybe half of that money gets taken as a “service fee” by the corporate contractor that the prison uses to manage your pre-paid debit card. So you’re already losing money every day just by being there.

What happens if you can’t pay?

In some places, after serving just a couple of years for drugs charges, almost 20 years after being released, the state can still hunt you down for over $80,000 that you “owe” as if it were a per-night room-and-board accommodations charge, like this recent highly-publicized case in Connecticut:

Excerpt:

Two decades after her release from prison, [TB] feels she is still being punished. When her mother died two years ago, the state of Connecticut put a lien on the Stamford home she and her siblings inherited. It said she owed $83,762 to cover the cost of her 2 1/2 year imprisonment for drug crimes. [...] “I’m about to be homeless,” said [TB], 58, who in March [2022] became the lead plaintiff in a lawsuit challenging the state law that charges prisoners $249 a day for the cost of their incarceration. [...] All but two states have so-called “pay-to-stay” laws that make prisoners pay for their time behind bars [...]. Critics say it’s an unfair second penalty that hinders rehabilitation by putting former inmates in debt for life. Efforts have been underway in some places to scale back or eliminate such policies. Two states — Illinois and New Hampshire — have repealed their laws since 2019. [...] Pay-to-stay laws were put into place in many areas during the tough-on-crime era of the 1980s and ’90s, said Brittany Friedman, an assistant professor of sociology at University of Southern California who is leading a study of the practice. [...] Connecticut used to collect prison debt by attaching an automatic lien to every inmate, claiming half of any financial windfall they might receive for up to 20 years after they are released from prison [...].

Text by: Pat Eaton-Robb. “At $249 per day, prison stays leave ex-inmates deep in debt.” AP News / The Associated Press. 27 August 2022.

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Look at this:

To help her son, Cindy started depositing between $50 to $100 a week into Matthew’s account, money he could use to buy food from the prison commissary, such as packaged ramen noodles, cookies, or peanut butter and jelly to make sandwiches. Cindy said sending that money wasn’t necessarily an expense she could afford. “No one can,” she said. So far in the past month, she estimates she sent Matthew close to $300. But in reality, he only received half of that amount. The balance goes straight to the prison to pay off the $1,000 in “rent” that the prison charged Matthew for his prior incarceration. [...] A PA Post examination of six county budgets (Crawford, Dauphin, Lebanon, Lehigh, Venango and Indiana) showed that those counties’ prisons have collected more than $15 million from inmates — almost half is for daily room and board fees that are meant to cover at least a portion of the costs with housing and food. Prisoners who don’t work are still expected to pay. If they don’t, their bills are sent to collections agencies, which can report the debts to credit bureaus. [...] Between 2014 and 2017, the Indiana County Prison — which has an average inmate population of 87 people — collected nearly $3 million from its prisoners. In the past five years, Lebanon’s jail collected just over $2 million in housing and processing fees.

Text by: Joseph Darius Jaafari. “Paying rent to your jailers: Inmates are billed millions of dollars for their stays in Pa. prisons.” WHYY (PBS). 10 December 2019. Originally published at PA Post.

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Pay-to-stay, the practice of charging people to pay for their own jail or prison confinement, is being enforced unfairly by using criminal, civil and administrative law, according to a new Rutgers University-New Brunswick led study. The study [...] finds that charging pay-to-stay fees is triggered by criminal justice contact but possible due to the co-opting of civil and administrative institutions, like social service agencies and state treasuries that oversee benefits, which are outside the realm of criminal justice. “A person can be charged $20 to $80 a day for their incarceration,” said author Brittany Friedman, an assistant professor of sociology and a faculty affiliate of Rutgers' criminal justice program. “That per diem rate can lead to hundreds of thousands of dollars in fees when a person gets out of prison. To recoup fees, states use civil means such as lawsuits and wage garnishment against currently and formerly incarcerated people, and regularly use administrative means such as seizing employment pensions, tax refunds and public benefits to satisfy the debt.” [...] Civil penalties are enacted on family members if the defendant cannot pay and in states such as Florida, Nevada and Idaho can occur even after the original defendant is deceased. [...]

Text by: Megan Schumann. “States Unfairly Burdening Incarcerated People With “Pay-to-Stay” Fees.” Rutgers press release. 20 November 2020.

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So, to pay for your own imprisonment, states can:

-- hunt you down for decades (track you down 20 years later, charge you tens of thousands of dollars, and take your house away)

-- put a lien on your vehicle, house

-- garnish your paycheck/wages

-- seize your tax refund

-- send collections agencies after you

-- take your public assistance benefits

-- sue you in civil court

-- take money from your family even after you’re dead

#abolition

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the-oblivious-writer · 1 month ago

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A Loving Distraction

Wednesday Addams x Reader

One-shot

Summary: Wednesday attempts what’s meant to be a “study” session, but being the distraction you are, you had other plans in mind.

Warning(s): kissing, established relationship, and no pronouns

Notes: dedicated to @101rizzlrr - ask and I shall deliver

You stare at your phone, thumb hovering over the text you're about to send to Wednesday. The message reads: "Meet me in the library? Promise to actually study this time."

The memory of your last "study session" brings a smile to your face. You'd spent more time debating the merits of different torture methods throughout history than actually reviewing for finals. Not that you minded - Wednesday's passionate defense of the rack over the iron maiden had been oddly endearing.

Your phone buzzes with her reply: "Bold of you to imply I was the distraction last time. But fine. West wing, third floor. Don't be late."

Twenty minutes later, you're climbing the worn stone steps of Nevermore Academy's library. The afternoon light filters through the Gothic windows, casting long shadows across the floor. You spot Wednesday at her usual table, surrounded by a fortress of leather-bound books. She's wearing her signature black dress, white collar crisp and perfect despite the late hour.

"You're four minutes late," she says without looking up from her notes.

"I brought a peace offering." You place a steaming cup of black coffee - no sugar, no cream - next to her elbow. "And I was delayed by Principal Weems giving her weekly lecture about proper uniform length to some poor first year."

"Excuses." But she takes the coffee, and you catch the slight softening around her eyes that passes for a smile in Wednesday's world. "I assume you're here because you're still struggling with Advanced Poisons?"

You slide into the chair across from her, pulling out your own textbook. "Some of us didn't grow up taste-testing deadly nightshade."

"Your loss. Mother always said it builds character." She reaches for your notebook, scanning your latest attempts at categorizing toxic fungi. "Your classification system is almost painfully wrong. Look at this - you've put death caps under 'slow-acting.' They can kill within 48 hours."

"Not everyone shares your enthusiasm for mortality rates," you tease, leaning closer to see where she's marking corrections in precise red ink. Her hair smells faintly of rain and graveyard dirt - a scent you've come to associate with comfort, oddly enough.

"Clearly. Which is why you need my help." She pauses, dark eyes flickering to yours. "Though I suppose there are worse ways to spend an afternoon than ensuring you don't accidentally poison yourself with basic mushroom identification."

"Aw, you do care."

"Don't be ridiculous." But her knee bumps yours under the table, and stays there.

The next hour passes in a comfortable rhythm of studying and bickering. Wednesday corrects your work with cutting efficiency, while you try to distract her by suggesting increasingly outlandish uses for non-lethal poisons. ("Think about it - just enough to make the entire school board mildly nauseated during budget meetings.")

"Focus," she chides, but there's amusement lurking in her voice. "Unless you want to explain to your parents why you failed this semester."

"They'd understand. I'd just tell them I was distracted by my brilliant, beautiful girlfriend who happens to be a walking encyclopedia of death."

"Flattery will get you nowhere." She turns a page with deliberate precision. "And that's not even close to my most impressive quality."

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. "Oh? Do tell."

"I can name at least fifteen ways to incapacitate someone with items found in this library alone." Her eyes meet yours, challenging. "Would you like a demonstration?"

"Tempting, but I think the librarian is still mad about last time." You reach across the table, fingers brushing her wrist. "Besides, I can think of better uses for our time."

Wednesday arches an eyebrow. "Can you now?"

The tension shifts, electric and familiar. You stand slowly, walking around the table until you're beside her chair. She turns to face you, expression unreadable but for the slight catch in her breath when you lean down.

"Much better uses," you murmur, and then you're kissing her. Her lips are cool against yours, tasting of coffee and secrets. One of her hands finds its way to your collar, pulling you closer with that controlled intensity that is so uniquely Wednesday.

You break apart at the sound of footsteps approaching, though you don't go far. Wednesday's normally pale cheeks have the faintest hint of color, and you can't help feeling a bit smug about that.

"That was…" she starts.

"Distracting?" you offer with a grin.

"Entirely inappropriate for a study session." But she's fighting a smile now, the real kind that makes her look almost human. "We have an exam tomorrow."

"True." You brush a strand of dark hair from her face. "But I'd argue that was an excellent practical demonstration of biological responses to stimuli."

Wednesday rolls her eyes, but she's definitely smiling now. "Your scientific method needs work."

"Then I suppose we'll need more practice." You gesture to the towering shelves around you. "We have the whole library."

"You're impossible." She stands, gathering her books with precise movements. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To find somewhere more private for your… research." She gives you a look that makes your heart skip. "Unless you'd rather stay here and actually study?"

You grab your bag, already following her toward the stacks. "Lead the way."

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A/N: nice little one-shot before I post more angst

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x gn!reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday addams

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ceoofyearning · 8 months ago

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Say Yes to Heaven - Lucien

Pairing: Lucien × Reader

Summary: You find the bed empty upon waking up. Bundled in your blanket, you head out to find Lucien and demand that he warm you up.

Tags & Warnings: Fluff, suggestive but nothing explicit (if i miss anything, let me know)

Word Count: 1077

Links: Masterlist

Sunight creeps languidly through the heavy drapes, heralding the persistent call of the waking world. The day has come, and in minutes, the entire room is bathed in golden light. You’re forced to relinquish the last dregs of sleep clinging to you. You roll over expecting to find Lucien beside you, only to see that his side of the bed is empty. You run your palm over the sheets and find them still warm.

With one last stretch, you pull yourself out of the bed and onto your feet. You wrap the blanket tightly around your shoulders, not ready to give up their warm embrace just yet. The manor is deathly quiet as you pad through the hallways as if the rest of the world is as reluctant to wake too. The persistent chill of winter remains in the air, the tiles as cool as ice beneath your feet. The blanket trails on the floor behind you, and you can already imagine the legendary scolding Jurian would give you if he were to catch you. You imagine Vassa would only laugh at you, if she wasn't too busy being a bird.

Thankfully, no such altercations occur, and you find Lucien sitting in the library, busy reading what you assume are reports from Prythian. He’s lounging by the fire, clad only in his rumpled, unbuttoned tunic and plain trousers. His legs are carelessly spread, his cheek resting on his hand - the picture of relaxed nonchalance. Lucien wears finery like a fine suit of armor, his bravado like a sword secured at his hip, and it’s rare to see him so unguarded, so candid. When he spots you, all bundled up, by the door, a bemused expression makes its way across his face.

“You left,” you sniff indignantly.

His only response to your complaint is a smirk. So you pad deeper into the room until you're standing in between his legs. The smug look on his face only seems to grow at the increased proximity.

“Why?” He asks. “Did you miss me?” Lucien’s eyes trail down your body with deliberate slowness, stalling over your exposed thighs. His hand comes up to grasp the side of your hip, a movement made instinctually, naturally, as though his existence only makes sense when you’re there, with him.

You don’t deign to respond, but you let him pull you onto his lap. He wraps his arms around you, tucking you under his chin as he continues to read. You sink onto him, enjoying the heat that perpetually radiates off his body. He’s basically a sentient furnace, your love. Your hands trail beneath his shirt and he jolts the moment your cold hands make contact with his skin.

“Mother’s tits, you’re freezing.” He exclaims, wiggling in his seat.

“Because you left,” you retort, running your hands languidly over his back. Goosebumps rise in the wake of your touch. “This is your doing, miscreant.”

Lucien cackles but recovers. “Apologies, my lady,” Lucien says with exaggerated gravity, his hand over his chest. “I’m adequately chastised. I’ll be sure never to abandon you in bed again.”

“You better,” you threaten, trying to fight the smile from emerging on your lips. “Or else I’ll find someone else to warm my bed.”

Lucien stiffens, holding you tighter against him as if readying to fight off anyone who dares to draw near. With his hand on your chin, he lifts your head to meet his gaze.

“What was that?” He speaks, something dangerous lingering in the depths of his words.

You raise your brow in challenge. “I said, if you keep leaving me I’ll find-“

He shuts you up with his lips on yours, but it’s a soft fragile thing. His lips move against yours like the back and forth of a waltz. Lucien pulls you tighter into his embrace, enveloping you in the scent of sandalwood, cinnamon, and smoke. You melt against him and think that you could stay like this forever, as long as you’re with him. You want to lay here even as the world cracks and burns around you, until the both of you are covered in ivy, moss, and memory.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Lucien deepens the kiss. Your lips willingly part for him and he licks into your mouth, eager for a taste. His hands are molten against your skin, kneading the pliant flesh of your hips from where your nightgown has ridden up. You can feel his chest expand as he inhales your scent as if reminding himself that you’re with him, in this moment, and there you will remain until your body gives out from the force of loving him.

Eventually, the two of you have to break the kiss. Just there, his forehead on yours, breathing the other in. Idly, you tap your finger over the freckles on his chest, parsing them like constellations in the night sky. You wonder what prophecies you’d be able to divine in the shapes they take. You press a kiss on the freckle over his beating heart, and Lucien shudders beneath your touch.

You move to the wealth of freckles spread across his cheek, over his nose, then on his chin. Lucien pretends to be preoccupied with the reports, but it’s a losing battle. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, and you plant a soft, chaste kiss at the upturned corner. You kiss him like he’s an object of worship, and only your heart, your body, your whole being would be a worthy sacrifice.

“Is that the only thanks I get for being your sentient, walking furnace?” He teases, brow arched, but not unkindly. “Threats and a few kisses?” Beams of sunlight hit his face like a lattice of amber, accentuating his sharp features, and setting his russet eye ablaze. And it strikes you just how damn pretty he is, scars and all.

“I’d prefer it if my sentient furnace did not walk away at all,” you retort, raising your brow in turn.

“Ungrateful,” he teases, even as he begins to trail tender kisses over your neck. “You’re lucky I adore you, dearly.”

You huff, pretending his words haven’t set you aflame in a way only he can.

“I suppose,” you begin, tapping your finger over your chin. “I could be persuaded to thank you properly if you go back to bed with me.”

Lucien glances at the report and pretends to consider it for three whole seconds, before setting it down the table with finality. He smiles, as bright as the sun, beautiful, blinding, yours.

“Let's go then,” he says, as he easily carries you back to your room.

AN:

Hello! I’m new to this fandom & I’d love to hear your thoughts. 💙

i’ve been so obsessed with Lucien recently. I made art of him and I love how people kept mentioning his freckles so here is we are. + I hate the cold and had the thought that Lucien would be the perfect person to cuddle up to in winter.

849 notes · View notes

buryhny · 2 months ago

Text

One Night Stand ; 41

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; enemies to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

→ Jungkook x y/n

→ contains smut, fluff and angst

→ Chapter forty one ; wc | 9.5k

primarily on Wattpad

index ⇢ next chapter

Your mother is an angel; she's not just a mother. She's everything to you, and you're more than just her world—you're her entire universe. If there's a word or phrase better than that to express how much you mean to her,

she would use it. She's raised you in her own special way, where love, kindness, and security thrived in her care. She has a unique way of being strict, yet her warmth and kindness always shine through.

She truly is the best person you could ever have in your life, the best mother anyone could ask for. Her endless gossip might get on your nerves, but you tolerate it because she once patiently listened to all your teenage dramas in high school—now it's your turn to return the favor. You wouldn't call it a favor; you'll say it's a duty now, which at the end of the day, you like.

You wouldn't say that to her, though—she'll be over the moon about it. But it's not about all that right now, because she's standing in front of you, her eyes wide like saucers and lips slightly parted, struggling to speak but unable to, and the sight leaves you breathless. Because your grip on Jungkook's

hands has tightened so much, he's beginning to wonder if his bones might break. You want to greet her, hug her, but as you lift your foot to step forward, your mother speaks, "What the hell?!" Her voice rings out, loud and full of shock. Both of you flinch at the sudden outburst, and you instinctively take a step back, startled by her reaction. The tears pour down her face, you watch her, and burst out in tears too.

"M-mom—" "What the hell is this—" she murmurs and covers your mouth with her trembling palms. "I-I can expla—" "There's no need for explanation! I see it all!" She speaks, her tone laced with embarrassment over her daughter. You can't bring yourself to meet her eyes, shame washing over you for letting her down.

Yet deep inside, you know you love your child unconditionally—nothing will ever make you feel ashamed of that. This feeling only exists because of your mother's judgment, not your own heart. Her eyes move from your bump to the man beside you, her lips parting even more as the minutes pass. You want to hide from her and everyone else, from the world.

Jungkook beside you isn't doing anything at all, and that's because he's afraid of what would happen if he speaks. The situation isn't calling for him, so he'd rather keep quiet than make things worse. Your lips tremble as you try to hold back your sobs and tears; your mother can't collect herself, so she zones out as she tries to think about it. Jungkook shifts uneasily,

aware of how long the two of you have been lingering at the doorway, but he can't bring himself to say anything. Relief and anxiety churn inside him as your father appears, walking toward you both. "Who's at the door, darling?" he murmurs, his voice steady as he steps closer and pushes the door open wider. You freeze in place, your hand slipping from Jungkook's grasp without thinking.

Your father's gaze locks on you, his expression unreadable as he scans you, then shifts to the boy beside you. He says nothing. The silence is suffocating, heavy enough to make your heart race. A pit forms in your stomach as regret seeps in—you wish you hadn't come back home. Your sobs get uncontrollable, and your cries get loud and heavier than they were.

You've never cried this hard; the last time you did was when you found out about your pregnancy—never again. "D-dad—" You're gasping for air, crying so hard it feels like you might break. Jungkook's starting to panic, his worry mixing with anger. Why the hell are your parents just standing there, letting this happen at the doorway, when you're a total mess—and pregnant?

His jaw tightens, grabbing your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he turns to face you. "Hey... hey," he whispers, trying to pull you back from whatever's breaking you. His voice is soft but shaky, desperate to calm you down, because this isn't just crying—it's something deeper, and it's killing him to see you like this, and he can't take it anymore.

Your parents watch the scene unfold, their frowns deepening as they notice the stranger holding their daughter. "Y/N, shhh," Jungkook whispers, his voice soft but strained. He's desperate to calm you down, his worry growing with every shaky breath you take.

You're such a mess, and he's terrified this much crying might make you sick. You cling to his hand tightly, trying to steady yourself as you gather the courage to speak. But before you can, your father cuts in.

"Come inside," he orders, his tone sharp. Jungkook stiffens, startled by the sudden authority in his voice, and you flinch. You glance at your father as he pulls the door open wider and steps inside. That tone—it's so unlike him. He's never spoken to you like that before, and it only makes the tears flow harder.

If Jungkook had a choice, he wouldn't step inside. It's not about his pride—it's about you. Sure, you're their daughter, and he gets that they're shocked and struggling to process everything. But making you stand at the doorway for over twenty minutes, crying your heart out while nosy neighbors peek from behind curtains? That's where his patience runs out.

The sight of you breaking down like this, with no one stepping in to help, fuels nothing but anger in him. You deserve better—pregnant, vulnerable, and hurting—and the fact that they can't see that makes his chest tighten with frustration. He gets it—it's not an easy situation. This isn't some casual introduction of your boyfriend. You're pregnant, unmarried,

and with a man they know nothing about. Of course, it's hard for them to take in—it's overwhelming, even. But still. At the very least, they could take you inside first. Let him stay out; he doesn't care about that. What matters is you—giving you a seat, letting you breathe. Watching you cry like this, standing in full view for the world to see, feels unbearably wrong, and it only adds to the weight in his chest. Jungkook holds your arms as he helps you walk inside slowly.

He focuses on your feet and sobbing, all he wants is to make you sit down on a couch. That will ease him. Your father sits on his maroon armchair, which looked worn out, like it's been used for the past 15 years. You sit on the larger couch as Jungkook rubs his hand on your hair, looking at your face with a frown.

"Stay here, I'll take our luggage inside, mm?" he whispers to you, not wanting your parents to hear his voice. You tug at your nose and nod at his words, unsure of what else to do. He casts a brief glance at your mother, who glares at him as though he's unwelcome in her home. Without a word, he carries the luggage inside, setting it against the wall.

Yours, he moves closer to the stairs, a quiet act of care. His own, he leaves untouched, off to the side. It's clear he has no intention of staying the night—or perhaps he knows better, judging by the sharp chill of your parents' silent judgment. He walks back to stand beside you, not wanting to take a seat because it's obvious that no one wants him here.

Your mother sits in front of you. She doesn't speak a word as she tries to collect her thoughts first. Your father, on the other hand, does not seem very angry as your mother does; he looks disappointed. "Can you explain this to me?" your father speaks up as he communicates with his eyes, moving from your bump to the man beside you. You gulp, nodding.

You wipe off the tears that run down your cheek and pull your nose. "I w-will!" You sit up straighter, trying to claw back the confidence you'd built over the past few weeks—the same confidence that crumbled the second your mom opened the door. Jungkook looks like he wants to reach out, maybe grab your arm to let you know he's there, but he doesn't.

Not with the way your parents are glaring at him like he's the worst decision you've ever made. You take a moment, your eyes darting around as you try to gather your thoughts, piecing together words that refuse to come out as sentences. "I..." you start, your voice faltering, stammering under the weight of the truth. How do you explain something so unreal?

That the man standing beside you was once a stranger, someone you hooked up with, only to discover later he was your boss. That the pregnancy you never planned became a mistake you embraced wholeheartedly. And now, here you are—hopelessly in love with both him and the life you're creating together.

It would sound completely like you've taken it out from a film, but it's the raw truth, and you just can't seem to find a way to explain it to them. Jungkook sees the struggle; your parents see it too, and it only makes them fear for what they must hear next.

"So I..." This time, Jungkook doesn't wait; he places his palm on your shoulder so he can speak this out. He doesn't want to put the whole burden on you when he was an equal part of this.

"Please don't take it out on her. This... this whole thing was a mess, and if anyone's at fault, it's me. More than her," he says quietly, his voice steady despite the weight of your parents' piercing gazes. You stay silent, your words stuck in your throat.

The way he steps in, taking the blame for something that wasn't entirely his fault, twists something deep inside you. He's shouldering everything, trying to protect you, and it makes your heart ache in ways you can't put into words.

"No... don't do this, Jungkook," you murmur, and he looks down at you with a frown. You wipe your tears away, not wanting to cry anymore. You're determined to lay everything out for them, no matter how messy or awkward it gets. They deserve to know the full story—every detail, no sugarcoating, no covering things up.

You can't stand the idea of them hating Jungkook, and more than anything, you want them to accept the baby you created together. This little life means everything to you, and you need them to see that too.

"You don't have to take the blame on yourself," you say and pull his hand to sit beside you. You want him next to you and seated. He doesn't have to stand behind you like he doesn't belong here; he's yours and belongs wherever you are. He sits, with a fair distance between you two.

"This was all unplanned, and I promise you that it all began as a mistake," you start. You're aware of your parents' decency and how they don't interrupt. You're thankful that they are respectable and allow others to keep their opinions before they speak. They listen, and you know that they will hear you out no matter how messy and awkward this situation and story is. You look at Jungkook, who gazes at your bump with his eyebrows crossed together.

"We weren't together until a few months ago, and I know that everything is very upsetting and difficult to take in, but we both are taking our responsibility and... and we are trying to do as much as we can. I just want you and Dad to support me in this." You blurt it all out in one breath, squeezing your eyes shut as if bracing for the storm of their reactions. Jungkook shifts uncomfortably beside you, awkward under the spotlight that feels far too bright, his every instinct screaming at him to escape.

Your father lets out a heavy sigh, his gaze drifting away as he tries to process everything you've just dropped on him. Meanwhile, your mother sits stiffly, her anger still palpable, though she holds back from yelling. Her eyes, unblinking, fall to your bump, and something softens—though only slightly. She's clearly torn, her thoughts racing as she takes in the sight of you,

undeniably pregnant, and wonders how everything came to this. You look more beautiful than you ever have, but how can she admire you when you've so clearly hidden everything from her? She can't believe how her own daughter could have kept something so important, so life-changing, hidden for so long.

The realization hits her like a cold wave, and for a moment, she's at a loss for words. The hurt is there, buried beneath her frustration, but it's not just anger—it's disbelief. How could you have kept this from her? From both of them?

Your mother finally breaks the silence, her voice quieter than you expected, yet still sharp with emotion. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?" she asks, her eyes narrowing in both confusion and hurt. "This... this is a huge deal, and you've kept us in the dark all this time?" Jungkook, still awkward and tense beside you, looks like he wants to say something,

but he holds back. It's clear he doesn't know what to do, how to help, or how to ease the tension that's growing thicker with every passing second. You feel the weight of your mother's gaze, the expectation for answers. You want to explain, to tell her why you waited, but the words are stuck, caught between the truth and the fear of losing her approval.

"Why, Y/N?" Her voice trails as she asks you again. You hurt her so deeply that you can hear it. You want to cry all over again, but now's the time to talk and clear everything up.

"I... I was scared," you mumble under your breath, and you hear your father chuckle sarcastically, which makes Jungkook turn his head to him in confusion.

"Scared?" he repeats what you said. "I thought we raised you to tell us every. single. thing about your life. The silly, the happy, the worrying, the anger—and even the crazy things you've faced," your father says, his voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and hurt. His words slice through the tension in the room, a reminder of the trust and openness he believed you'd always share with both your parents.

Your mother's eyes are searching yours, waiting for some kind of explanation, some reassurance that this was just a mistake, a misstep on your part. But you know there's no easy way to make things right. You look down at your bump, feeling ashamed of hiding this big deal from your own parents.

Jungkook is taking notes on how each of your parents speaks. Your father speaks warmly, even if his words are limited and cold for the moment. He senses that he's still being delicate with it for you. He's also observed how your father is a quiet man who takes his time to give a reaction, in comparison to your mother, who has outbursts from time to time.

"We did not expect this from you, Y/N," your mother says as she looks at you with red eyes and trembling lips. It stings you in each layer of your skin and heart because you're well aware of this. You did not expect this from yourself either, and although you grew out of it with time, it resurfaces now that your mother says it.

"Enough, honey," your old man stops her from saying anything more, and Jungkook relaxes his tightened jaw when he hears it. He's glad that your dad spoke up because now's not the time to throw any more taunts. What's done has already been done, and putting you down is not going to magically make it all disappear.

"But—"

"They're tired. Let them rest. We can talk about this tomorrow," he says and stands up from his armchair. Jungkook does not know what to do, so he sits still.

"Have you both had dinner?" he asks, and you nod. You're not very hungry since you had your meal on the flight along with snacks that Jungkook got for you. The man beside you nods too, so your father hums.

"You can go to your bedroom, Y/N." You get on your feet with the help of Jungkook. You don't want to leave the room without completely solving everything, but you also can't take it anymore. You're in desperate need of rest, and you're not ready for a lengthy conversation yet.

Jungkook somehow feels something isn't right when he leads you to the stairs as you guide him up to your old bedroom. And he guessed it when your father says, "You can't stay with her," he announces, and you both stop in your tracks and look at him. You're frowning, and the guy next to you is biting his lower lip like he saw this coming.

"He can use the guest room, downstairs," your dad says, and Jungkook just nods. You don't say anything else. Honestly, with all the drama, you're just glad he gets to stay at your place, especially since your parents were so against him.

You lead him to your bedroom, and he helps you sit on your bed, removing the layers of coats that you put on. No words leave your lips, nor does Jungkook's, but surely the awkwardness floats in the air, and all you want to do right now is go back home and sleep in his arms. This doesn't feel like home, mostly because of the negativity that lies around. You hope it all clears when the day arrives. You pray for it, but right now, you both must accept this.

"Can you help me use the washroom?" you ask, and he stills at your question. He feels very aware of everything, like your parents are watching the two of you through the walls. You seem to figure it out and shake your head. "They might see us—"

"They won't... please..." you whisper, and he agrees. It's not that he does not want to help you, lord no. He'll do anything for you, but he's also developed a fear toward your parents with whatever happened a while ago. He helps to remove your socks and shoes, then leads you out of the room because your old bedroom does not have an attached washroom. He walks you and sees your father standing by the corridor, giving him a side-eye, which makes Jungkook gulp.

"I'll stay right here. Let me know when you're done," he says to you as he shuts the door and leans against it, not sparing a glance at the surrounding because he can see the old man by the corner of his eye.

You feel such relief after finally emptying your bladder. The tension from holding it in for so long is gone, leaving you feeling completely free.

"I'm done!" you yell as he nods and gives a tight smile when he meets your father's eyes. Jungkook walks you to your room and puts away all your coats. You both are quiet as he brings up your suitcase and places it on the couch so it's easier for you to reach your clothes. You notice how he looks irritated, his eyebrows creased, and his jaw tightened as he picks a pair of PJs for you to dress for the night.

You look at him curiously, wanting him to speak. You tilt your head and raise your eyebrows to signal him. He glances at you, then goes back to the clothes.

"Say something..." you whisper, and he sighs. You don't like his silence, and even though the matter is not solved yet, both your parents are mad at you, you don't want him to be angry at you either.

"Jungkook... are you mad at me?" you mumble under your breath, and he breathes deeply as he drops his hand and looks down. He doesn't want to tell you that he's angry and scared.

"I'm not, darling."

"Then why a—"

"I want to see you downstairs, not in her bedroom," your mother says as she stands by your door with her arms crossed. Jungkook clenches his jaw as he places your clothes on the bed and stomps out of your room without sparing a glance. You feel a twinge in your heart; you didn't want him to leave just like that. He didn't even say good night. You look up at your mother, then sigh.

"Mom—"

"I don't want to hear anything from you," she says as she steps inside, coming to a stop in front of you. Her arms remain firmly crossed over her chest as she fixes you with a stern gaze. You avoid her eyes, your attention wandering around the room instead.

She studies your face intently, taking in the soft fullness of your cheeks and the radiant glow that seems new and unfamiliar. You look so beautiful—pregnancy suits you in a way she never expected. You notice her staring at you, which makes you feel uncomfortable, but you don't address it.

"We will talk tomorrow. Get some rest now," she speaks, and you hum as she leaves the room after placing a bottle of water on your desk.

You sigh when the door closes. You look around your room and notice how everything is just as it was when you left. Nothing has changed, except for you. You feel lonely here, unlike before. You used to enjoy your own company, but now things have changed. You enjoy his company, and you can't wait to go back home and spend the rest of your nights with him.

Jungkook, on the other hand, is offered the guest room. He hesitates to suggest staying at a hotel—not because he wouldn't, but because he refuses to leave you. From everything you've told him, he expected your parents to be loving and accepting,

even though the situation is life-changing. That was the only reason the idea of a hotel even crossed his mind. But now? No way. There's no chance he's leaving you alone, not when your parents are this furious.

Your father stands by the door as Jungkook looks around the room and blinks. It's very different from his; the room is warm, homely, and has a touch of family in it, unlike his luxurious, cold rooms. "All good?" your dad asks, and Jungkook turns to speak. "Yes, thank you." He places his suitcase on the single chair and waits for your father to leave, but he doesn't. Instead, he walks toward Jungkook, leaving him nervous.

"I don't know who you are, but... you don't seem to be someone who would hurt my daughter," your father begins. "Until everything is clear, I don't want to see you around her. It doesn't matter what's going on between you two." Jungkook feels like his jaw might shatter from how tightly he's clenching it, but he forces himself to nod in response. He remains rooted to the spot, his fists trembling at his sides, until your father finally walks out.

The moment the door closes, he lets out a muffled curse under his breath. "Fucking hell!" His frustration boils over, and he stomps his foot in anger. Everything is a mess, and knowing how uncertain it all is from this night makes Jungkook fear for the future.

Jungkook ; Did you take your meds?

You grab your phone when you see the screen light up. Turning carefully to the side, you read his texts and respond.

You ; Yes, I did.

Jungkook ; Good. Are you okay?

You pout at his words, mostly at how cold they sound through the screen. You know he's not in his best mood, and neither are you, but it's not making you feel better, especially when you need him the most at this moment.

You ; Are you mad at me?

Jungkook turns to his left side and sighs when he reads your texts. He doesn't want to sound angry, but can he control himself? Definitely not.

Jungkook : I'm not, baby. I just don't feel okay.

You ; Can you call me? I want to hear you.

Jungkook ; No, not today. I don't want us to fall into trouble right now.

You agree. Now is not the time to call when everything is still heated, so neither of you reaches out, even though you both badly want to. The night is cold, much colder in the empty room you share. This was your bedroom, a place you spent your childhood and teenage years, but none of those memories matter to you now. You've had both happy and sad times here, but you don't dwell on them.

Instead, you focus on the future because that's what matters most—a future where you share every living moment with the man you love and the child you carry. Your parents beside you, supporting your decisions and being part of your life-changing experiences. That's what you think and wish for.

So you turn onto your side, trying to fall asleep, though it doesn't come easy. After hours of counting sheep, you manage to drift off, but it takes every ounce of effort. Meanwhile, Jungkook stays awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering about the "what ifs" and how he's going to face your parents in the morning.

He mentally prepares himself for whatever is left to come and thinks about how he'll protect you from all their questions.

Your parents aren't sleeping soundly either. In the quiet of the room they share, they collect their thoughts together. Last night, they couldn't sleep in excitement at the thought of seeing their only daughter again, but tonight, they lie awake in disappointment and shock that their daughter knocked on their door with a stranger and a pregnant belly.

;

Morning rolls around, and you wake up to the smell of fried eggs and bacon and—a couple of very uncomfortable movements and kicks. "Bun... where are you?" you whine as you try to sit upright and get out of bed. One palm stays on your belly, and the other takes support of the bed. Sometimes, just trying to sit up feels like a whole mission.

After lying down for hours, dragging yourself out of bed can feel like such a chore—especially when the baby's in some weird position, and you can't even tell if it's a hand or a foot giving you that little kick. You try to understand what's what, and by the time you do, there's a movement again.

You're tired at this point, can't wait for the baby to pop out because this does not feel like months—it feels like years since you carried this child. "You're being a pain today, I swear," you mumble as you stand up and take your clothes for the day. You walk out of your room to get to the washroom and meet your father along the way.

"Morning," he says, and you give him a tight smile.

"Morning, Dad."

He helps you with the door, and somehow you feel like the mood may have shifted since last night. He doesn't seem too mad, and he's also giving you a soft smile. Your father has always been a kind-hearted man. He doesn't lose his temper easily and has the patience to handle things calmly. He cools down quickly, which helps him empathize more easily—unlike your mother, who takes a bit longer to let things go.

You love that about him; it's why you like to share most things with him. You used to when you were back in high school and college. Things shifted when you got messy and became a woman. You got closer to your mom, but that doesn't change that you've always been a daddy's girl. Maybe you don't tell him everything now like you used to, but inside your heart and mind,

you're closest to him. That's why he feels hurt more deeply than your mother, even though he rarely shows it. While your mother expresses her feelings through words and actions, he lets his pain show in his silence. If you could look at him more closely, you'd see it all in his eyes—whether it's happiness, sadness, or anger.

It's also one of the reasons why you love Jungkook. His eyes hold galaxies just the way your dad's do.

You shower and walk downstairs carefully, holding the railing while you take each step. You come to face your mother and Jungkook already at the dining table. He has a blank expression on his face as he looks at the food on the table.

"Morning..." you murmur, and he turns his head to look at you. A shine radiates from his features, like you turned on a bulb in him. Your mother glances at you and mutters the same as she seats herself on her chair. You can still see that she's not very happy yet. Jungkook helps you sit and pulls the chair for you.

"I cooked your peameal bacon and pancakes," she mentions as she puts some on your plate, freshly cooked and warm.

You smile and nod. "Thanks..." you mumble. You four share breakfast in silence; only the clinking and scraping of your forks and knives fill the place. You had about four pancakes, two eggs, and a very long drizzle of maple syrup. Your parents glance at each other when you eat so much, making Jungkook feel uncomfortable because they gaze at him too.

He was used to seeing you gobble your food down, but they weren't. You barely ate before, trying to look good and in shape, but now... they feel happy too, seeing you eating so carefree.

"Where are the dogs?" you ask, curiously looking around. Your dogs would usually lie around here somewhere. "They are at Aunt Susan's place. She wanted some company since... Uncle Dan passed away." Your eyes bulge at your mother's words. "What?!" She gulps and nods like it's been ages since that happened. "He passed away a while ago now."

You couldn't believe it because Uncle Dan was someone who played a major role during your childhood. And although he wasn't really there for you after you turned eleven, he was someone special, so it hit you that he passed away not so long ago.

"Well, it doesn't really matter. What matters now is you two," she mutters as she gets up from her chair, screeching it and collecting the empty plates while you nervously look over at Jungkook as he freezes with his fork hanging in the air, waiting to be inside his open mouth.

"Mom... can you hear me out, please—"

"What? You're gonna tell me about this boy you've come with? Who is he even? How old is he? Twenty? And what's on his arm?! He looks unholy—"

"Mom, stop!" you raise your voice at her to stop her from talking rubbish about the man who sits beside you.

Your mother now does her chores with a lot of sound, proving to you that she's angry. You deeply exhale as you try to calm yourself down and not explode at her.

"He's not twenty; he's not a boy. He's a man, he's got his job, and he has a name for himself. If you don't know who he is, you should look it up."

You continue to speak, even though Jungkook gives you the look. He doesn't want them to know that he's a renowned businessman and all that. He doesn't like the boasting about himself. Even though that's not your intention, it puts him in the spotlight, which makes him uncomfortable.

"And about his ta—" Jungkook places his palm on yours to stop you from dragging this, but you don't buy it. "His tattoos don't change anything about him. I like them, and that sums everything."

You mumble and eat up the last piece of pancake before getting up from the chair and washing your own dishes. Your father looks down at his food and doesn't know if he should be happy about how you stand for the man in front of him or angry at how you spoke to your mother.

"You need to stop talking to me like that, young lady!"

"Mom, what?" You chuckle and lean against the cabinet. "You don't want to hear me explain anything, but you also come up with assumptions? At least hear me out. I know you're mad and disappointed in me, but trust me, this was all unplanned. I... don't want to call it a mistake because I don't think it is one now. But... I promise you that none of this was in my plan or hands." You gently run your hand over your bump, smiling at how big it's gotten and how close your due date is.

Your mom slows her dishwashing, quietly listening to you talk. She's not mad at you about any of this—just hurt that you kept her in the dark all these months. You walk away from the kitchen to the backyard, feeling suffocated in the tension. Jungkook reaches for his plate, ready to wash it, but your mother gently takes it from his hands. He hesitates before speaking, his voice steady but full of sincerity.

"She's seven months pregnant, and... I know I'm still a stranger to you. I know you don't think I'm the right person for her, but I haven't left her side since the pregnancy. Even when we couldn't stand each other for months, I stayed. Things are different now. I really, really care about her. What she needs most is your support—that's what will help her feel better," he says as he backs away from the cabinet and walks to your dad. "Can I be with he—"

"No. I'll go."

Jungkook lets out a frustrated sigh as the conversation ends. Meanwhile, your father peeks outside and notices you sitting quietly on the step in the backyard. He walks over and settles beside you, his eyes fixed on the birds chirping on the electric fence. Neither of you speaks, and neither looks at the other.

You sit there together in heavy silence, your chest tight as you fight back tears. You never thought it would hurt this much, but everything feels overwhelming now. All you want is to go back home, curl up in the bed you share with Jungkook, and hold Bam close until the pain eases.

"Seven months, huh..." your dad murmurs. He smiles and looks up at the beautiful blue sky. "Boy? Or girl?"

"We didn't check the gender yet."

He nods, his smile only getting wider. "You know, when your mother was pregnant with you after three tries, we thought you'd be a boy. I was so sure of it! I got you blue clothes and basketball toys and spent bucks on all that, only for you to be born a girl." He chuckles as he recalls the old times.

"Were you disappointed?"

"Oh God, no. Never." He says with a gasp as his hand reaches to caress your face. "You're no less than a boy, if you ask me."

He chuckles, prompting you to roll your eyes, though a smile sneaks onto your face. Your father gazes at you with pure affection. He loves you deeply, enough to give you the entire world if he could. So, you made a mistake—what of it? At least you had the courage to own up to it, embrace it, and cherish it. He tells you that in his own words, and you feel much heavier than before. Because your father is so kindly accepting you, it fills your heart with love for him, even if the disappointment and agony inside you grow too.

"Look at you. He takes good care of you, I can see."

You blush at this and nod your head. Your father pulls you closer to him and caresses your arm.

"He does..." you whisper. Jungkook is everything you could have hoped for in this phase of your life. Even though he was part of this unexpected situation, he stayed—and that alone speaks volumes. Through all the ups and downs you've faced together, he never once walked away.

"He's the CEO of Jeon Industries, right?" You nod with furrowed eyebrows.

'So Dad googled him...' you think.

"How did all this... happen?" he asks, curiously.

And you explained it to him, leaving out all the explicit details. Your father didn't judge you or give you any looks. In fact, he listened with open ears and arms. Your smile faded while you explained the very beginning of the horrific news, but as you came closer to the incidents that took place recently,

your father noticed how your smile grew and how excited you were. Like you're living in the moment when you talk about Bam and how you both fought and how he made up for it. Your father noticed little details, like how you say Jungkook's name and your eyes sparkle. All that sums up to one question that he had in his mind.

"So, you love him?"

You paused at this. Your eyes blink a couple of times as you look around, trying to find a way to answer this sudden question. This makes him burst into laughter, resulting in your frown. "What, Papa??" you ask, your frown deepening.

"You love him, Y/N... oh, you love him," he says and gets on his feet, walking into the house, leaving you confused.

;

You've never felt so lonely in your home before. Your mom would entertain you, or you would be busy with a presentation to submit in a few days. Now you look at random objects and think of random thoughts with nothing to do. Your father didn't share everything you told him with your mother. He wanted you to tell her yourself. But he did ask her to be gentle with you and not lash out, even if she's more sad than angry right now.

Jungkook wants to be with you, sit next to you, but he can't. He doesn't want to disrespect your parents, so he settles inside his room, texting you or checking on his emails. He hates it here, but he won't tell you. You ask your mother if you could help her cook lunch, and she said she didn't want your help, which made you upset. You've got nothing to do, and it eats you up that you're just zoning out when you could be doing something useful.

"Mom, please, let me help with something," you plead, leaving her no choice but to hand you the chopping board.

You give her the side eye while you chop the vegetables for meat pie. You don't make an attempt to talk to her, but neither of you can handle the silence anymore, so she asks you, "How many months are you?"

"Seven..." She nods while she stirs the broth.

"Do you plan to deliver here or in Korea?"

The question stings a little, a reminder of how your parents haven't been as involved in your pregnancy as they would have liked. You don't want to answer and risk making her feel even sadder. Your silence speaks volumes, though, and she senses your hesitation.

"It's okay," she says softly, her voice understanding. "Just say you want to deliver in Korea."

She walks over to you and places her hand on your shoulder. "You don't have to think too much." She smiles, making you feel lighter instantly. "I'll take these." She takes the cutting board and gets back to work. You see Jungkook peeking at you from his room. He gives you a thumbs up, and you give him a flying kiss.

;

The day slips by quietly. You stroll through the neighborhood with your father and Jungkook, though he couldn't walk beside you like he wanted to—he had to follow behind, which annoyed him, but he went along with it anyway. Jungkook had not been feeling very well; he can't stand how he has to stand meters away from you when you're just around.

He wants to hug you, kiss you, and tell you how he feels, but he can't. You know that too. You see his frustration, and you feel the same. All you want to do is sleep in his arms, and you can't wait to go back home.

To your home.

You didn't talk much to your mother, but your dad did. He shared a few things with her, and it seemed to help her understand everything. Tomorrow, you'd be leaving, and she was trying to come to terms with it all, hoping to send you off on a positive note. She'd been watching you and your bump whenever you were busy reading a book, and she couldn't help but feel so soft at the sight of you and her grandchild.

She wanted to ask you about everything, buy baby clothes, pack up, and be ready to fly to Korea when you deliver. She wanted to do so much, and for that, she must talk to you.

;

Lunch was quiet, and so was dinner. But when your mother approached the dining table with a bowl of warm apple cinnamon rolls, you swear you almost teared up on the spot.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," she says with tears in her eyes, and you shake your head, pulling the chair so she can sit in front of you. Your father signals Jungkook that they shouldn't be here, so the men get up from their seats and walk to the backyard together.

"Mom, don't be sorry! I totally get why you reacted like that—anyone would've!"

"But I should've checked on you first," she says, tears still falling. It hurts to see her cry. "Hey, Mom..." you wipe away her tears and give her hand a gentle squeeze. "Let me tell you about the crazy journey I've been on!" She nods quickly, letting out a little laugh, and you watch her, curious about what she'll say.

You shared with her how you and Jungkook were complete opposites and how everything between you was such a chaotic mess. You really thought it would never work out. But somehow, it did. As you recounted all the wild moments, your mom couldn't help but laugh along with you, even though she still had her doubts about Jungkook.

He wasn't the man she had envisioned for you—she'd dreamed of someone entirely different. Jungkook, being the exact opposite, made it hard for her to warm up to him. She didn't understand what you saw in him. Even by looks, he didn't seem all that good in her opinion, and with those tats that she hated, it made it more difficult to like him.

While you and your mother had a chat about the past few months, Jungkook and your dad had strolled out into the backyard. Jungkook felt awkward, like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin in the oppressive silence, especially with your dad shooting him subtle glances every few minutes. He wanted to have a conversation but knew Jungkook was nervous and uncomfortable. He wanted to break the ice, to talk to the boy and know him better, to know you better.

Finally, your dad broke the tension.

"So, Jungkook... tell me about yourself. Your family? What you do?" Clearing his throat, Jungkook straightened up, trying his hardest to sound professional—he was too nervous to speak naturally.

"I'm the CEO of Jeon Industries... I, uh... don't really have a family."

His voice trailed off as he avoided eye contact, glancing around the yard as if it might offer an escape. He tried not to sound affected, but deep down, the lack of a family stung more in moments like this. Being with your tight-knit family made him feel out of place—ashamed, even—though he'd never admit it. He didn't know how to speak to your dad. The pressure of speaking *to* a father—something he'd never done before—scared him.

"I like to think Y/N as my only family..." he mumbled under his breath, not wanting your dad to hear him, but he did, and he smiled. He liked that, a lot.

"You don't have to be nervous, son."

Jungkook froze mid-step when he heard the word *son*. It hit him like a wave, a word he'd never had the chance to claim as his own. The sound of it lingered in the air, sinking deep into his chest and settling in a place he didn't know was empty. For a fleeting moment, he wished he could hear it again, over and over, like a melody meant just for him.

Your dad might've understood more than he let on because his eyes smiled warmly at Jungkook, even if his lips didn't fully follow. It was the kind of look that said he knew—he knew Jungkook hadn't heard words like that before and silently wished he could offer them more.

"Can I call you son?" he asked softly.

Jungkook stopped in his tracks, his round doe eyes speaking louder than any words ever could.

"Can I—"

"Y-yes, yes... please," Jungkook whispered, his voice trembling as a genuine smile spread across his face. He didn't realize how much he needed it until he heard it.

Your dad opened his arms, his voice gentle but firm. "Come here."

Jungkook stepped forward, his hesitance fading as he accepted the embrace. It wasn't just a hug—it was a moment that stitched together a part of his heart he didn't know was broken. Jungkook hadn't felt a male presence in his life for as long as he could remember—no father, no father figure to guide or comfort him.

But this hug, this simple embrace, seemed to mend something deep within him. It was as if all the tangled emotions he'd buried over the years unraveled in an instant, leaving behind a quiet, unexpected sense of peace. It completed him in ways he didn't know he needed, filling a void he'd long ignored. And in that moment, all he wanted was to know what it meant to truly have a father—and to be one himself.

You four sit together for dinner, and things have never been better. None of you are sulking, and there's no feeling of anger. All that's left is peace and happiness.

Your dad strikes up a conversation with Jungkook about business, their tones shifting between casual and analytical, while your mom focuses entirely on you, piling more food onto your plate every chance she gets. She barely spares a glance at Jungkook, her disapproval lingering quietly, even as her husband seems to admire the man sitting beside you.

Despite your dad's growing fondness for Jungkook, your mom remains unconvinced, her gestures more protective than welcoming, as though silently questioning if this man is truly the right one for her child.

You feel Jungkook holding your thigh and bump every chance he gets under the table. Since he's barely made any contact with you, he craves it so much more, and he can't wait to get back home and make love to you, skin on skin, with no one to stop or fear.

After dinner, your mom gently suggested you head to bed early and even asked if she could join you. Her question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, unsure how to respond.

Your dad, always observant, noticed the fleeting glance you exchanged with Jungkook—and how Jungkook immediately choked on his water, scrambling to cover it up by suddenly fixating on the slightly crooked frames hanging on the wall.

Clearing his throat, your dad chuckled softly, pretending not to notice Jungkook's awkwardness. "Guess I'll fix those tomorrow," he said, his tone light, though his knowing glance at your mom betrayed his thoughts.

"I can help you with that, Mr. Lee..." Jungkook began, but your dad quickly cut him off. "Oh, shut it. Don't call me that," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Call me Dad." Your mother whipped her head around at the words, her expression a mix of confusion and surprise, as if she was silently asking, *What on earth is going on?*

You couldn't help but glance between Jungkook and your dad, wondering when exactly their bond had formed. Jungkook, though clearly anxious, couldn't help the small warmth that spread through him at the thought of calling him 'dad.' Are you sure?" he asked hesitantly. "Of course! Come on," your dad said, his voice full of reassurance.

Jungkook bit his lower lip, trying to suppress the smile that was threatening to spread across his face. You couldn't stop yourself from giggling at the sight of their unexpected camaraderie, even though your mom's quiet frustration was evident in the way she folded her arms, unsure what to make of it all.

;

"mmmm you look like you're having a boy..." your mother says with a smile beaming through her face as she hands you the pills and a glass of water, examining your belly while you lay on the bed. "Really? I wouldn't mind either way," you say and gulp down the vitamins. "Oh, I'm so excited for you! We can go out tomorrow if you wish... since you'll be leaving at night."

You nodded and handed back the glass, wiping off your lips. "Good night, Y/N. Call me if you need anything..." "Good night, Mom." She walked out of the room and closed the door behind her. You immediately grabbed your phone and texted him.

You ; Pstttttt wake uppppppp

Jungkook ; I never slept, darling

You ; Come out in... 10 mins

Jungkook; Why???

You ; I want to see you

Jungkook ; You saw me the whole dayyyy

You ; I want to touch you

Jungkook ; Don't talk unholy, Y/N!

You giggled at the reference to your mom that Jungkook typed.

You ; plssssssss

Jungkook ; If we get caught, Y/N, it would be bad

You ; They're probably asleep, we won't get caught, trust meeeeeeeeee

Jungkook ; Your parents strictly told me to stay away from you

You ; Either you meet me down, or I'm coming into your room, and we fuck

Jungkook ; What the fuckk!

You ; You heard me, and I'm hungry anyway.

Jungkook ; Stubborn.

You waited patiently, tapping your phone and looking around the room, finding the old posters of The Beatles so fascinating, like you're seeing them for the first time ever. You even put a timer on your phone because you're not waiting any longer than 10 minutes; it already feels like an hour. As soon as the timer says 1 second left, you get on your feet.

"Baby, you need to stop kicking me right now. I'm not in the mood for this pain. But I'm so in the mood for your father!!!!" You giggle and open your room door, peeking out to see if your parents are around. Then you tiptoe down the stairs very carefully because you don't want to roll down the stairs.

"Oh my god, Y/N, give me your hand!" he whispers as he comes up the stairs and slowly takes you down.

"Jungkook!!!!" you jump and hug him. You miss him so much, you would rip his clothes right this moment at how excited you are.

"Baby, I miss you." "I miss you so much moreeeee." "No, I do!" "Nope, it's me." You both fight as you stay in each other's embrace. You miss his warmth and just the feeling of him so much.

"I wanna fuck so badly." "Shhhhh, behave, Y/N." He covers your mouth, looking around just in case your parents hear you. "I don't want to behave," you whisper, your lips grazing his ear, a hint of mischief lacing your words. He closes his eyes at the feeling of your lips. He doesn't want you to behave either,

but he can't; you both must be cautious. You're not alone here. "Being on your best behavior gets you nothing. So why not be bad instead?"** Jungkook's jaw tightens, his dark eyes narrowing as he tilts his head to face you.

"You think being bad will get you what you want?" You smirk, leaning in closer. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like it better when you try to fix me." A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, but his expression remains firm. "Oh, I'll teach you how to behave when we get home."

"Yes, please, Mr. Jeon..." He arches a brow, his tone dropping an octave as he counters, "Being on your best behavior has its benefits, darling." "Then teach me, sir..." "Don't test me, Y/N. We're not home," he warns, his dark eyes flashing with intensity. You can't help but chuckle at how quickly he reacts, you intentionally edge him. "I'm hungry! Make me something..."

"This isn't my kitchen..." he protests, glancing around nervously. "I know, but do something," you reply, gesturing at the ingredients scattered on the counter. "Your mom will kill me if she sees this mess." "I'm giving you full permission to mess up my mom's kitchen. So just do it. Make me something," you insist with a playful pout.

He rolls his eyes but relents, pulling open the fridge in search of something quick and easy. After rummaging through its contents, he grabs crackers, peanut butter, and jelly—something simple that won't create too much chaos. As he starts preparing, you interrupt with a soft plea.

"Wait—come here. Help me sit on the counter, please.!" "Y/N..." he sighs, but there's no real annoyance in his voice, just mild exasperation mixed with affection. He steps closer and gently lifts you, his hands steady as he sets you down on the cool countertop. You smile at him, swinging your legs slightly.

"Much better. Now I can supervise properly." "Supervise? All you're doing is sitting there and watching me," he teases, smearing peanut butter onto a cracker with deliberate care. "Exactly. I'm an excellent supervisor. And also—"You pause, poking his arm to grab his attention. "I like being close to you."

For a moment, his movements falter, and he glances up at you with an unreadable expression. Then he shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You're so annoying." "Yeah, but you love it," you quip, making him chuckle as he resumes his task. Minutes later, he holds up a cracker sandwich triumphantly. "Here. Gourmet dining at its finest."

You giggle, taking the makeshift snack from his hand. "Who needs a five-star chef when I have you?" "Yeah, yeah," he mutters, turning away, but you catch the faint blush creeping up his neck and red ears, popping a cracker into his mouth as you pull his arm to make him get closer to you. "Stay close..." you whisper as you deeply exhale in his warmth. You miss him so much, you can't wait to be around him every second.

"I want to go home." You mumble while licking the peanut butter off your finger. "But you are home..." he says with a frown. "Home is where you are, Jungkook, where we both are together." This makes his heart skip a beat, but he doesn't show it. "Yeah?" he asks, and you nod with an eyebrow raise. "Getting quite good with your words, huh?" "I've always been good with my words and actions."

"That, I know," he says with a smirk, scooping a dollop of peanut butter and playfully smearing it on your nose. "Heyyy!" you protest through laughter, retaliating by dabbing a bit on his nose too.

"Shhh..." he whispers, his chuckles melting into the quiet warmth of the moment. He cups your jaw gently, his thumb brushing your cheek as he leans in, resting his forehead against yours. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, eyes locked, the soft hum of affection filling the air. Neither of you notices the figures watching from just beyond the doorway.

"They really do love each other, honey," your dad says softly, his voice filled with quiet pride as he glances at his wife and wraps an arm around her shoulders. She smiles, her eyes glistening with emotion.

"I know... I know," she whispers.

next chapter ⇢

#bts #btswritersclub #one night stand #bts fanfic #jungkook #theagstd #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut

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trippinsorrows · 2 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + twenty six

authors note: this chapter almost entirely covers grief. be prepared.

cw/tw: angst (discussion of grief and loss)

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

chapter suggested listening: "i hope you dance" by gladys knight, "lift me up" by rihanna, and "dancing in the sky" by dani and izzy.

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 9k

Solana still vividly remembers the moment she was told her mother was dead. Not the moment where Nina died, where she took her last breath. No, that devastating memory is forever attached and molded to Solana’s recollection, something to never escape her, despite her best efforts to dump it into the sea of the forgotten.

No, the moment she was told is something different, somehow colder and heavier.

She can still recall the sound of beeping machines, blurry, amorphous figures melting into something less abstract and more corporeal. The smell of nothing, sterilization that was quickly permeated by the overwhelming scent of her father’s cologne.

For some reason, that was more prominent and noticeable than the tube down her throat, preventing her from clearly speaking. It didn’t stop her from trying though. Because even with her barely cognizant state, with the fact that she wasn’t still fully aware of where she was and what occurred, her focus was on one person.

Her mother.

That was the intended word, Solana’s muffled moans and groans, fighting against the tube. The pain that shot through her little body while trying to move it wasn’t enough to stop her from asking.

Mommy

It’s something that’s always sat with her. Influenced her in many ways.

It’s also something that helps her understand a fraction of what Roman is going through right now, the feelings he might be experiencing. Everyone is different. She knows this. But, she also knows the feeling of loss. Of feeling alone.

And she swore to him he would never be alone.

Fetu is gone, yes. But, he’ll always have her.

It's what she keeps in mind as she and Jimmy arrive at Fetu's place and move to enter.

Solana had a feeling she would be walking into a difficult scene, but she hadn’t the slightest clue the severity of said difficulty.

“Oh my God….”

It’s bedlam.

Chaos and destruction all around her from the minute she and Jimmy open the front door and walk in. Furniture turned upside down, shattered shards of glass littering the floor all over, dents and scuffs on the wall, indicating objects being thrown.

Solana even spots a few holes she can tell weren’t caused by objects.

They were caused by fists.

But while Jimmy stands beside her, face not hiding his shock and slight horror at what lies before them, Solana’s similar expression stems from a different space.

It stems from how devastated her husband must be right now to cause such destruction.

“I’ve gotta find him,” Solana says, swallowing and moving to maneuver past the glass when a cautious but firm hand grabs her arm.

“Solana, let me find him.”

She doesn’t need an explanation as to why this is being proposed. The answer is written in red lettered concern all over his face.

She shakes her head. “No.”

Jimmy sighs, dropping his hand to gesture to the wreckage around them. “Solana….look at what he did.” She has. Hard not to. “He’s clearly not in a good place right now.”

“Would you be?” She challenges. “Put yourself in his shoes, Jimmy. In my shoes.” Voice breaking, she discloses. “You don’t know what it’s like to unexpectedly lose the one person who meant the world to you….and to not be able to say goodbye.” Solana sniffles, forcing out a shaky breath. “I know what he’s feeling right now, which is how I know what he needs, and it’s not you.”

Jimmy is silent. A small part of her understands and appreciates his concern, but he has to understand her side of things too.

Roman may be his cousin, lifelong friend, borderline brother.

But, Roman is her husband. Her person. Her better half.

Her soulmate.

“I’ll be fine,” she reassures, reaching for his hand. “What I need you to do is find Ava.” She motions to the destroyed room. "We don’t know if she was part of this as well.” Because despite only one meeting, Solana can tell that Ava has a strong personality just like Roman. Loved Fetu just as much as Roman.

She has to be just as distraught.

Jimmy counters, “let me try to clean some of this up first.”

“No.” Solana shakes her head. “I can handle that.” Because cleaning up after men following outbursts is something, sadly, she has plenty of experience with. Countless times her father and brother would destroy rooms and force her to clean up their mess. So, certainly, she can do the same for a man whose actions are fueled not by rage.

But pain.

Loss.

Grief.

Especially when that man is her husband.

“Solana—”

“And I—I want you to leave after that.” His eyes double in size, prompting her to explain. “Roman…..he’s gonna need some time. I don’t….I don’t think he’s going to want to be around anyone, even you.” Maybe even me. “I want to give him what he needs.”

“Solana—”

“I’ll be fine, Jimmy.” There’s not an ounce of her that believes she won’t. “I just need you to find Ava. Help her. And get back home, because I need you to keep Dulce for us.” She swallows, adding in a small voice. “He’s gonna need a couple days.”

More than that. Much more. But for now, it’ll have to do.

Jimmy still looks unconvinced.

But, he eventually agrees, leaving to find Ava who had sent a vague text saying she needed air.

Nothing more.

It's how both Jimmy and herself suspect she's gone for a walk in the surrounding woods.

And as soon as he's gone, Solana is on the move, instantly going up the stairs.

Each step taken feels like there’s a ton of bricks attached, weighing her down, pulling her back and trying to keep her from exactly where she needs to be. It’s all mental and emotional, but it’s not enough to keep her from pressing forward.

She passes Fetu’s room without sparing a glance, both for her own mental sake and knowing that’s the last place he’d probably be. His room would seem the most logical place to start to look, but she also knows that when one is deep in the throes of grief, there is no place for logic.

So, she goes through each room, bypassing the bathrooms and Ava’s bedroom. Again, another place she just can’t picture him being.

It eventually leaves her with two options: the last guest room and his room. Given the cracked door for the latter, that’s the route she chooses.

Solana’s heart is slamming repeatedly against her chest, her eyes watering prematurely at what she knows will be a heavy ass sight. But still, she powers through those emotions, bypasses her own personal sentiments and focuses on him.

A gentle knock followed up with, “Roman?” Nothing. She’s not surprised, but she at least would like him to know it’s her about to enter and not someone else. Something tells her his reaction would be different—very different—if anyone else was trying to “disturb” him right now.

Solana gently turns the knob, partially unsurprised to also find the room in a slight state of disarray. Not nearly as bad as the living room and entrance but still indicative of turmoil.

A lamp lays shattered near the door to the bathroom, a picture knocked off the wall, the TV also down on the floor. Nothing major beyond that, but even if so, it wouldn’t capture much—or any—of her focus. No, that’s because it’s already spoken for.

“Roman….”

She sees him. Slumped on the floor, one long leg outstretched, other leg up, extend arm resting on his knee. Closing the door behind her, she rushes over to him, again unsurprised by how he doesn’t even bother looking in her direction.

Instantly, those watery eyes are upgraded to silent tears streaming down her face. “Ro…..” Carefully leaning down beside him, she finds herself reaching to push back some of his hair that’s not neatly tucked into his everyday bun but instead wild, hanging, unruly.

A perfect representation of what he must be feeling.

She shakes her head, “I’m so so—”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

There’s not a part of her that’s taken back by his words: hollow, empty, stoic. If anything, it’s expected.

She expected this kind of reaction to her presence.

Shaking her head, Solana keeps her voice leveled. “I’m exactly where I should be.” Her gaze travels to his hand, a small gasp leaving at the blusied, lacerated, bloody state of his knuckles. “Roman—”

“I want to be alone.”

Another emotionless statement, forcing her to look back at him. He looks shattered, but in a way that makes sense for him. No red, teary, puffy eyes. No. Just an empty look that hides an abundance of emotions.

Solana makes sure not to stutter, stammer, or anything of the sort as she calmly replies, “I’m not leaving you alone.”

He closes his eyes, his jaw ticking, a sign of growing anger. It doesn’t deter her. “Solana, I want to be alone.”

“Roman—”

“I said leave!”

Silence

There’s a burst of silence that washes over the room following his outburst: loud, frigid, pained.

It’s been some time since he’s raised his voice with her, and the last time, her reaction was typical for where she was at that point. Scared, frightened, terrified even.

None of that could even remotely describe what she’s feeling right now.

Solana has no reaction to his outburst. No flinching, no cowering, no wincing. Nothing.

“No, you don’t.” A closed, sullen smile as she moves a lock of his hair back out of his face. “You just don’t want to feel what you’re feeling. You’re angry and hurt and sad and confused and so many things you probably don’t even understand, because….because that’s what grief is.”

He says nothing, offers not outward reaction to her words.

“I’m gonna say this one time and one time only.” She’s never been more sure about something in her life. “You can yell at me, you can scream at me, you can throw shit in my presence, you can even flip over every piece of furniture in this house, but I am not leaving. You may want to be alone, but you don’t need to be alone.” Pushing back more of his hair, it’s not missed on her the way he clenches his jaw. Not from anger. Something else. Something vulnerable. “I’m gonna clean and wrap up your hand, then I’m going to clean up downstairs and cook. I won’t talk to you unless you initiate it, and I won’t force you to interact with me. You can ignore me all you want, but as long as you’re here, I’m here.” Her voice cracks as she stresses, “I’m not leaving you.”

Roman continues to remain silent following her heartfelt explanation, but it doesn’t bother her. None of what he’s done, what he’s said or not said bothers her, because right now, whatever he’s feeling is valid.

“I’ll be right back,” she murmurs. Solana walks over to the bathroom and pulls out the first aid kit from the cabinet, returning to her husband who hasn’t moved. Silently, she works to disinfect and tend to his injuries. It’s not horrifically bad, but it’s not good, either. She’s unsure if Roman flexes his fingers to show nothing is fractured, but regardless, it’s appreciated and checks off a box without her needing to ask any questions.

Once finished, she informs, “I’m gonna go start cleaning up. Afterwards, I’ll fix you something to eat. I’ll have your plate on the table and text you when it’s ready. I’ll eat elsewhere.”

Roman continues to offer no sign that he’s listening to a word she’s saying. Still, it does nothing to deter her. Kissing his forehead, she returns the first aid kit to where she found it and walks out the room, leaving the door slightly cracked.

Solana walks back downstairs and stops midway to survey the damage around her. A lot is ruined beyond repair, but her focus is less on what was broken and more on ridding the place of the hazards. Starting with the broken glass.

Remembering where the cleaning supplies are kept, Solana carefully maneuvers her way across the floor and grabs the broom and dust pan. Wordlessly, she moves to clear the floor, dumping the shards into the nearest trash can. For extra protection, she vacuums the floor twice to suck up any remaining pieces.

Following that, she goes to put back unbroken items where they belong. Pillows back on the sofa. A sofa that she had to tip over. Books back on the shelf. Pictures that once belonged in now broken picture frames on the coffee table. And the items of irreparable damage dumped in both the kitchen bin as well as the big bin out back.

It’s about half an hour of work, significantly less time than most people would need, but this isn’t Solana’s first rodeo.

She’s seen this movie before.

Is very familiar with how it plays out.

She’s about to start on the food when the sound of a door opening pulls her from searching the fridge to see what she can put together.

Turning and walking towards the front door, Solana is already moving towards a despondent Ava, pulling her into a comforting hug.

Ava sniffles into her shoulder, Solana’s eyes closing as she feels Jimmy’s sad gaze on them.

“I’m so sorry,” Solana whispers, holding her tighter. This is such a devastating loss on all fronts, and while he heart breaks for Roman not being able to see Fetu before she passed, Ava was the one who probably sat with her as she took her last breath.

Solana also knows how equally devastating that can be as well.

“Thank you for being here,” Ava murmurs, eventually pulling back and wiping her eyes. “And for….cleaning up.” She lazily gestures to the room that’s still not together but much better than it was.

Solana nods, taking Ava’s hand. “I was going to cook. Why don’t you—”

“Thank you, but—” Ava offers a small smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “I can’t—I can’t stay here.” Her lips press together as she shrugs with one shoulder. “Too many memories.” Solana also understands that. Understands it well. “I have an apartment out in town. I’m gonna—I’m gonna go stay there for a couple days, at least until–until the funeral.”

Funeral……

Solana doesn’t want to think about that.

“Of course,” she nods. “But, if you need anything—”

“I know.” Another smile. One that more so meets the eyes. Comes from a place of gratitude. She then gestures up the stairs. “But, he’s going to need you more.”

————

It’s difficult.

For many different reasons. Solana trying to process her own grief while wanting to support and be there for Roman, while he works through his own. And while Solana logically knows that Roman icing her out, to some extent, should be expected, it doesn’t make it any easier.

Doesn’t hurt her any less to know he’s hurting but won’t let her help him.

But, she also knows she made that an option for him, and she doesn’t regret it. Nothing could stop her from being exactly where she is, even if Roman hasn’t said a word to her since her arrival almost three days prior.

Occasional glances and head nods, but nothing verbal. That also hurts, but she doesn’t take it personally. Knows that he’s just weighed down by everything that’s happened.

She just continues to do what she can, prepare his meals that he eats alone, handles cleaning and laundry as he seems to spend the bulk of his days in the home gym or outside on ruins. A lot of avoidance behavior. But, she’s starting to see that’s maybe just how Roman copes.

He doesn’t. He just avoids shit until it “goes away.”

But this….this isn’t something to avoid, something that will go away.

He’s going to have to confront his emotions sooner or later.

Solana shifts on the bed in the guest room. The room where she’s been sleeping, already knowing that if Roman can’t even bring himself to interact with her, the likelihood of him wanting them to sleep in the same bed is slim to none.

Another thing that’s hard.

She’s just gotten so used to sleeping in his arms, but that’s a thought that’s much too self-focused. Her needs matter, but so do his, and right now, he’s not able to provide her that.

And that’s okay, because he’s not okay.

She just wishes she could do something to help that.

Her phone lighting up with Dr. Stratus smiling face is a nice distraction. “Solana.”

“Hi, doc,” she greets, shifting on the bed. “Thank you for—for making time for this.”

“It sounded important,” her psychiatrist's grin shifts into more of a frown. “And judging by how sad you look right now, I bet it is.” She directly asks, “what’s going on?”

So much. Too much to even fully unpack. “Roman’s…..had a loss in his family recently, and it’s….it’s hit us all pretty hard.” Him, arguably, the most, but also, her meeting and connecting with someone as much as she did with Fetu only to lose her so quickly…..it’s rough.

To say the least.

Dr. Stratus frowns. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” Solana already knows the question before it’s asked. “You know I have to ask. Are you experiencing any type of ideation?”

“No.” An easy answer. “Not at all. Just….heavy emotions.” Extremely. “Part of that though…..is probably because I’m pregnant.”

A gasp. “Solana.” Again, Dr. Stratus is smiling, still not as deep as her initial grin. But filled with excitement. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Solana sniffles, wiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just—” She’s unable to catch the tear that spills down her cheek. “I still haven’t told Roman, and—and now that this has happened, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to tell him.”

Because that’s the other noxious thing about all of this. How wonderful, life-changing news has been tabled by horrible, also life-changing news.

In no universe can Solana understand and come to terms with how telling Roman about her pregnancy is appropriate. How is he to celebrate life when he’s just lost it?

It’s just all so terribly cruel.

Solana clears her throat. “I went to Roman’s doctor to do the test for me, and it came back positive, but he’s also certain that we’re having twins.”

“Oh, wow,” Dr. Stratus sighs, sympathy written all over her face. “Solana, I can’t imagine how difficult and confusing this must be for you right now.”

Solana whispers, “very.”

“Have you….have you spoken to Gail about this?”

She shakes her head. “No, because…..because it feels wrong—it is wrong—to keep telling people when my own husband doesn’t even know.”

Because it does. Because in a perfect world, she would have come up with a sweet and sentimental manner in which to break said news to him. Instead, she’s having to hide it from everyone around her—including him—sans the medical professionals she needs to know for various medical reasons.

“I understand.” Her voice is kind and calm, a constant. So very much appreciated. “But, you know, like myself, Gail is bound to confidentiality. As your therapist, she can help support you through this on the clinical side.”

“I know, but….but, I signed that paper allowing her to speak to Roman.” A full release of information. Solana knew what it was when she consented and still does now.

“That doesn’t matter,” she counters. “You can revoke it any time, or even if you want to discuss it and make it clear she’s not to share that with him, you can. You are her client. Not Roman. Her responsibility is to you.”

Solana sits on the helpful advice. She’d forgotten Gail had made that clear when explaining the ROI. That it wasn’t the end all, be all, allowing Roman to know anything and everything about her.

She might have to keep that in mind.

“So, I take it, you’ve only told me because of your medication, correct?” Solana nods. “Well, I wanna keep you with the Sertraline and Hydroxyzine. We could probably keep you on the Wellbutrin as well, but with a multiples pregnancy, I don’t want any take any risks.” She goes on to explain the plan, the way Solana is to taper off one medication to start another. Solana takes notes to avoid missing anything and makes sure to let the other woman know she probably won’t be home for a couple days. Thus, the switch won’t be immediate.

That’s another thing that alerts Solana to how low her husband must be feeling. He hasn’t realized or either maybe just feels too down to even be on top of her medication. She’s been giving it to herself, which is something she’d like to become a regular thing. But, Roman not being as strict about it is yet another telltale.

A strong indication of his continuing mental decline.

Another thing for her to worry about, and God is she worried.

————

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean

Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens

Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

Sniffling, Solana pauses the music, unable to listen to anymore.

Fetu’s smiling voice and cheery voice suddenly fill the room, returning to her along with a bittersweet memory.

“Such a beautiful song. One of my favorites,” she’d shared, guiding Solana through a traditional Samoan recipe. “You want to know my favorite line?”

Solana nodded, smiling as she continued to peel the potatoes. “Of course.”

She waited for Fetu to turn down the music before she recited the lines. “Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone. I hope you dance.” Solana watched the almost solemn look in her eyes before the older woman smiled warmly. “Life is such a precious thing. We all have such limited time here in the grand scheme of things. In the good and the bad, we must always dance and find something beautiful to look back at.”

Solana’s tears intensify, still remembering, feeling the exact emotion she felt in that moment. So profound and moving.

She’d give anything to have just one more type of interaction or conversation with Fetu again.

Even if…..

Even if just to tell her about the pregnancy.

That makes her cry harder.

It takes a good twenty minutes for Solana to gather herself, to feel ready enough to check on Roman, to see if he needs anything before she goes to bed.

Day five of his grieving has arrived, and he’s still not spoken to her. It still hurts, but it’s not a major concern.

What is a concern is everything else. His isolation. His helplessness. His sadness.

Solana knows better than anyone else what a depressive episode looks like, and the last thing she wants is to see him slip into one of those.

But, if he doesn’t stop shoving his feelings away, shutting down and dissociating…..that might be where he’s headed.

Solana bypasses knocking on his door as it’s partially ajar. She instead walks in only to find the balcony door also open, Roman, shirtless, sitting on the chair, staring at absolutely nothing.

She frowns.

It kills her to see him like this.

Walking over to him, she stands just close enough for him to hear. “Ro? I’m going to bed. Do—do you need anything?”

His response is as the rest have been. Nonverbal. He simply shakes his head no.

She’s grateful he can’t see the disappointment in her face. “Okay.” Dejected and deterred, Solana turns to leave and return to her room.

“I didn’t come see her enough.”

Solana stops dead in her tracks as his deep voice penetrates the silence. For a quick second, she doesn’t trust it. Doesn’t trust her own hearing, because Roman hasn’t said a word to her in days. And yet…..

She turns toward him, realizing that her hearing isn’t needing testing when it happens again. He speaks. “I should have—I should have listened to you.” Solana walks so that she’s standing in front of him, where she’s partially eclipsed his view of the dark forest and sky that’s littered with a blanket of stars. “I should have—” He closes his eyes, as Solana kneels down in front of him.

“Please don’t do that,” she begs, shaking her head, taking his hands in hers. His right hand has healed nicely following her tending to it at least once a day since he messed it up. “Please don’t blame yourself. She wouldn’t want that.”

Studying him, Solana is realizing this is the most expressive Roman has been in days. She could feel his grief before, but she can actually see it now. “She knew you loved her, Roman. And she loved you, too.”

“It wasn’t fucking enough though.” The anger is rising again, but it doesn’t deter or scare her, just makes her heart ache. Because she knows it’s just a cover-up for an abundance of sadness. “Never enough.” Her heart fractures even more as he says in a pained, tortured voice. “I wasn’t enough for her….to stay. Not—not her. Not my parents. My uncle. My siblings. None of them.”

And it’s really not until this moment Solana has truly known what it means to see the person you love the most break down before you.

This is a completely different side of her husband.

This is vulnerability.

“Ro…..” Fingers raking through some of his hair, she does her best to find any words that could provide him some type of comfort, all while knowing nothing can ever really take away his pain. “Baby, you are enough.” More than enough. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

He looks away, clearly distraught. “I couldn’t save her this time.” Her eyes shut. This is heartbreaking. “I didn’t…..I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

Solana’s chest aches. Tears brimming in her eyes, she stands up. “Come here.” She doesn’t even have to try to embrace him. Roman already has his arms around her, tugging her closer as he lays his head against her stomach.

It takes a second for it to register, for her to recognize there’s a slight tremble of his body against hers. For her to understand why his grip on her seems to tighten by the second. He’s holding her so tightly.

And, it’s when she hears it that it registers.

It’s when she hears the quiet sniffles that it hits her like a ton of bricks.

He’s crying.

Another brief second of shock that’s quickly washed away by her natural instinct to nurture and protect.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, holding him, kissing the top of his head. “Baby, I am so so sorry.”

For one thing and one thing only. His loss. What Fetu’s death has done to him, how it has impacted him so deeply. What’s she’s not sorry for is this long awaited breakdown of sorts. Roman has needed this. Needed it for so long. To finally breakdown and feel his feelings, and while she knows better than anyone how uncomfortable and overwhelming that can be, it’s also inevitable.

This was bound to happen.

She’s just grateful she can be here to support him through this.

The way she always will.

————

Roman’s breakdown proved to be the catalyst. The thing that helped progress him from this almost stoic state of dissociation to a state of feeling and being. He’s actually talked to and with her. More interaction that doesn’t feel forced, almost natural. What she’s used to. To some degree, because he’s still sad. Of course, he’s sad. Still grieving. All normal.

But, he’s no longer icing her out, and that’s all that matters to her.

So much so that he’s continued to accept her nurturance and affection. Welcomes it. Craves it, almost. The way he’s welcomed her back into the bedroom, sleeps at night practically on top of her, head on her chest as she rakes her fingers through his hair. The way he pulls her onto his lap as they eat. It’s all so subtle but also loud. The kind of love and support he’s clearly needing, and she gives it all to him.

Whatever he needs, she’ll do.

Solana presses a kiss to his temple and runs her fingers along his broad shoulders as he lays back, almost relaxed against her, the bubbles surrounding them covering the majority of their bodies, warm water infused with lavender and chamomile contributing to the serene atmosphere she was aiming for.

A goal that seems to be working based upon how at ease he feels against her, the leaking of the tension from his big body.

“I’m gonna drive tomorrow,” Solana informs. Because Roman’s emergence from his dark hole has also meant reintegration into reality and society. Over the past two days, she’s overheard him taking phone calls, some in English, some in Samoan. And from what she could make of these calls is that they were pertaining to funeral arrangements for Fetu.

Clearly, as the funeral is set to be held this upcoming Sunday.

She has such mixed feelings on that. On how hard that’s going to be for her husband.

But, one thing at a time.

“I can drive,” he answers, eyes still closed.

Sighing quietly, she angles her head so that she has a better view of his face. “I said I’m gonna drive.” At that, Roman opens his eyes, clearly taken back by her calm but firm push back. Frowning, she strokes his beard. “I want you to rest.”

Because, she does. Because he’s going to need it. Because in this space for the past week, he’s been able to just be. Be angry. Be hurt. Be sad. Be anything he needs to just be a human freaking being.

But, once they’re back home, all of that has to be turned off. He won’t have the space to be anything but the Tribal Chief and not a man just grieving a very important person.

So, she wants him to have as much time dwelling in this safe space as possible, and that includes being able to relax while she gets them back home.

“Besides, I haven't done it in so long, I need to make sure I still remember.” Being chauffeured quite literally everywhere has entirely deprived Solana of the need to have a car of her own but also to actually, well, drive.

Roman scoffs quietly. “That’s reassuring.”

Rolling her eyes, she flicks his shoulder and murmurs with a small smile, “shut up.”

He does, but it’s only in preparation for what comes next. “Thank you.”

She has a feeling what he’s referring to, but assumptions have rarely done society any good. “For?”

His reply is instant. “All of it.”

Comfort. It’s something she’s clearly been providing him but something he’s always provided her.

Solana moves her hands down his chest and across his shoulders, mouth against his temple. “I’d do anything for you…..” Because she would. Anything at all. “Anything you need, just tell me, I’ll do it.”

He’s done so much for her. Supported her through some of her darkest, lowest moments. The least she can do is return the favor.

Solana watches him sit up, never takes her eyes off him as he adjusts himself so he’s facing her, gently pulling her so she’s almost straddling him. The movement creating a ripple of waves that brushes against their conjoined bodies. Her wet hands move to his face as his move up her damp back.

“I just need you.” It could mean a lot of things, could refer to many of the things she’s done with and for him over the past week. But, that look in his eyes, the way his still solemn gaze drops to her chest, how his hands are moving to her hips, she knows exactly just how he needs her right now.

Solana reaches past him to turn the knob to start draining the tub before ghosting her lips over his, murmuring, “so take me.”

————

Being back in their home is an experience. A bit of a tease, really. Because while it’s nice to be in her house, with Dulce who seems to stay by Roman’s side, clearly sensing his grief, it’s also bittersweet.

Because it doesn’t change what’s happened. Doesn’t make the feelings of sadness go away.

Doesn’t stop Solana from thinking about the letter Fetu gave her, from trying to figure out if it’s the right time to give it to him.

A dilemma that haunts her in the days leading up to the funeral as she works to support and be there for her husband while also managing her own pregnancy symptoms that seem to pop up at the most inconvenient times.

It’s only by the grace of God that Roman hasn’t walked in on her hunched over the toilet, emptying her stomach from any and all food consumed. An irritating occurrence that seems to happen when she’s trying to cook.

She's definitely noticed an increased sensitivity to certain smells. Spices and seasoning that have always been staples in her cooking shelved due to her literally unable to tolerate the nausea that they cause her to experience just from the aroma alone.

Irritating, to say the least.

But, it’s the morning of the actual funeral that has her anxiety spiked, her concern at a naturally high baseline level. All things considered, she just has to focus on being there for Roman. Whatever that looks like.

Still, it’s heavy and sad and just gut-wrenching.

Just about ready, only needing to slide her sandals on after letting Dulce outside to relieve herself, Solana decides to check on Roman.

She finds him sitting on the edge of their bed. Like herself, he’s already dressed. A white, short sleeved button up shirt accompanied by a skirt-like wrap with tribal designs. A lavalava, according to Ava with leather sandals.

She’s certain he heard her walk in, but he remains sitting, head down, ula fala on the bed beside him. Gently closing the door behind her, Solana walks over, partially surprised by how he reaches for her. Hands on her hips, her eyes never leave him as he lifts his head, clearly taking in her outfit. There’s a moment of anxiety under his intense gaze.

It’s easily squashed, however, when he says in a low voice, “you look beautiful.”

His compliment is so appreciated, especially when she thinks about his ability to still balance his grief while also making her feel so special. “Thank you.”

Solana moves her hands to the back of his head as he holds onto her, resting his head against her stomach. “I don’t want to do this.” Her eyes shut. She knows he doesn’t. “But, I have to.”

And that’s the part that kills her. That so much of handling this falls on his shoulders, is his responsibility because of his title. It kills her because it deprives him of just being able to grieve.

“I know, baby,” she comforts, gently stroking the back of his neck. “But, you don’t have to do it alone.”

She feels it. The heavy sigh against her. A sign of a semblance of relief. She’ll take that. She’ll offer that in any way that she can.

Roman sits back up, Solana watching him stand before her. Reaching to his side, she’s careful in how she picks up the ula fala and holds it before him. “Can I…..”

He nods and dips his head, allowing her to place it upon him. Solana is mindful of the placement, remembering the exact place it’s always sat when she’s seen it on him. And when he straightens to his full height, she moves her hands to his chest and says, “I know that you have to be the Tribal Chief today, but when it’s all said and done, and everyone has left and it’s just you and me, all I want and need you to be is Roman….that’s it.”

Because Roman is a man grieving. Who needs to be able to freely feel his feelings.

Whether he wants to or not.

Solana nods and leans up to kiss his cheek before taking his hand in hers, reminding, “I’ve got you.”

He says nothing, only nods, but he doesn’t have to. She can see the appreciation—and love—in his gaze.

—-----

Solana has never actually attended a funeral before. By the time she woke up from her coma, Xavier already had her mother buried, depriving her of that formal goodbye.

So this is a first for her. Different. She quickly learns that death is something that is not necessarily seen as a bad thing in Samoan culture. Sad, yes, but the focus is on the celebration of life, which she started to figure based upon the white color scheme.

Given the nature of the situation, Solana is unsurprised by the small attendance. Roman’s preference, no doubt. Jimmy, Jey, and Rikishi are all expected guests, along with the preacher who officiates. However, it’s Paul and Dwayne who take her by surprise.

There’s a sense of gratitude, however, when they both hug Roman and offer their condolences. And she’s especially moved by the extended time taken with the hug from Dwayne, the way she can feel the empathy emanating from his tall frame.

She appreciates it deeply, and she knows that Roman does, too.

There are also a couple of other attendees that surprise her but not entirely, as they uphold what she would guess are Samoan traditions for funerals. Song and dance. Prayers.

It’s a beautiful send-off, one fitting for Roman’s eccentric aunt.

And almost the entire time, Solana remains by his side. Holding his hand or his arm, and if not in physical proximity, she always finds him, watching him. He is her number one concern.

All things considered, he holds himself together well, but that’s highly due to the mask he’s wearing. The strong resilience he’s displaying in terms of not giving away the true extent of his hurt. But, Solana feels it. Feels it deeply when it’s just the two of them standing in front of Fetu’s casket, the others already departed and readying to leave. She’s about to do the same, leave him to have some semblance of privacy, only for him to tighten his hand that’s tightly clasped with hers.

“Stay.”

A single, simple word. But, enough.

Solana nods, moving to hold onto his arm, standing quietly but supportively beside him.

As she always will.

It’s after that, unfortunately, that things go downhill.

Solana partially expected the twins to come over following the funeral. Ava as well. All three, however, expressed their desire to give Roman his space. And, it’s appreciated, because Solana also believes that to be the best.

For right now.

However, that sentiment is not shared by Dwayne, Paul, and Rikishi. And truly, the first of the three is no issue. He doesn’t ride in the limo, opting to drive himself back to the house.

But, it’s during that ride, for the first time since learning of Fetu’s passing, Solana feels anger.

Not even as part of the grieving process. No, she feels anger towards the two men who sit across from herself and Roman. She feels anger toward them because they haven’t even driven off yet when they’re throwing a bunch of work questions and situations at her husband.

Her husband who may look present, but she knows him well enough to know he’s not.

And given how long these two men have known Roman, she would have thought they could see the same.

Maybe they don’t.

Or, maybe they do and just don’t care. Either one pisses her off. Makes it hard for her to hold her tongue.

Shipments. Orders. Contracts. All logical things someone in Roman’s state shouldn’t be dealing with.

But, it’s exactly what they’re throwing at him.

Even as they arrive at the house, Dwayne taking a call out back, Paul and Rikishi barely have Roman sat down at their dining room table when they’re back at it.

“Orton wants to speak with you regarding re-negotiating the RKO proposal.”

“Stocks are looking good, but we need to start thinking about next quarter.”

“The Cartel are still interested in meeting. You need to make that happen ASAP.”

A bunch of irrelevant shit. Solana partially wants to stay outside with Dulce to avoid having to overhear it, but it’s impossible to not want to be present. To not feel the need to be present.

Just what more do they plan to throw at Roman?

Her husband is responding, being responsive, but she can see it, hear it. The difficulty he’s having.

And it has her nearly bursting at the seams, trying to focus on moving around the kitchen, early preparation for dinner, but it’s hard.

She’s given a chance though when Roman clears his throat and says something about changing before he stands up from the chair and starts to walk away.

Just like that, Solana knows this is her opportunity, her chance, and she has to take it.

Because, she’s disgusted.

It’s only when she’s certain that Roman is upstairs, fully out of hearing distance that she finds herself asking, “what is wrong with you two?”

Both men look at her with partially startled, mostly confused, expressions. Rikishi is the first to speak. “What?”

Solana scoffs and points toward the steps. “He just buried his aunt. Her body isn’t even cold in the ground, and you’re asking him about work?” She continues, throwing out almost angrily, “does he look like he needs to be working right now?”

There’s a bit of a standstill. Paul looks flustered, his cheeks turning red like a child being scolded by a parent. Rikishi, however, wears an almost blank expression. “You are not Samoan, therefore you do not understand our ways. We do not mourn like you do. We celebrate life.”

“Yeah, well he’s not in place to celeb—”

“Roman is the Tribal Chief. What he needs is irrelevant when it comes to the Bloodline.” Rikishi’s interruption—and his words—have her taken back. “He understands what his duty is.”

“His duty…..” It’s potentially a build up of things, sadness and grief, manifesting as anger. Regardless, it’s growing with each word that leaves this man’s mouth. “Has he not given enough? He does everything he’s supposed to do for the Bloodline—”

“Except provide an heir,” Rikishi’s voice is as icy as the cold look in his eyes. “Or would that be you failing at the one job you have?”

Paul’s eyes widen as looks at the man beside him. “Rikishi—”

It takes so much, so much for Solana to not shut him up, to not tell him that she’s pregnant, hoping that he spreads it to any and all who’ve given Roman a hard time about not having a child.

Because fuck them.

The chubby man lifts up his hand as he stands from his seat, rounding the corner of the table. “You are not Bloodline, so I’m not surprised you don’t know your place—”

“My place–” There’s not a single ounce of her wanting or willing to back down in this moment. “–is beside my husband.”

“Do not forget, girl, who put you in that position.” There’s an almost hint of disgust in the way the word ‘girl’ leaves his mouth. “You were nothing before him. Nothing but a punching bag for that pathetic father and brother—”

Solana has never considered herself a violent person, especially not someone who responds with violence. But, it’s almost instinct. Because one minute her hand is at her side, the next it’s colliding with Rikishi’s cheek, with an intensity that sends his head to the side.

And she doesn’t regret it one bit.

Finally aware of what’s just happened, Solana can only process the anger in his fat face and the way he lifts his hand toward her. Except instead of cowering, she prepares to block it.

But, she doesn’t have to.

Because someone else does.

Solana gasps quietly at Dwayne who stands beside, almost in front of her, protectively, holding Rikishi’s arm in an iron grip.

“I don’t think you want to do that,” he says with the perfect balance of lightness and seriousness. “Unless you want me to lay your candy ass out for breaking Bloodlines rules for putting your hands on a woman.”

Rikishi hisses and snatches his arm away. “She put her hands on me. I am an Elder.”

“I don’t give a damn who you are. You will not disrespect me in my house,” Solana swears. Never again will she allow any man to harm her, physically or verbally.

And that’s a promise.

Dwayne shrugs. “Sounds fair to me.” He then smiles, but there’s no trace of humor. “And like you said, she’s not one of us, so she doesn’t know our ways.”

Solana is surprised at that. How long has he been listening?

Paul suddenly steps forward, looking like he’s about to have a damn panic attack. “Clearly, there’s been some—”

“Get out.”

Solana’s interruption earns a variety of expressions ranging from surprisement, amusement and indignation.

Paul stutters. “I’m s-s-”

“I want you both out of my house.” There’s no stuttering on her end. “Now.”

While Paul looks confused between his friend and Dwayne, the latter chuckles, expressing, “I believe the wife of the Tribal Chief has made herself clear.” And just like that the smirk drops into a straight line as he orders, “leave.”

Paul doesn’t need to be told twice, the obese man hurriedly grabbing his papers with trembling hands. It’s Rikishi, however, whose gaze is now focused on her with borderline amusement.

He holds her stare, and she doesn’t dare look away. He will not intimidate her.

Paul is mumbling and murmuring to the other man about needing to leave, something about coming back later, but again, he’s silenced by Rikishi.

“Well played, girl. Well played.”

Rikishi turns to walk away when Solana finds herself stepping past Dwayne. “My name is Solana. Solana Reigns. The wife of your Tribal Chief, Roman Reigns, and you will address me as such.”

Paul looks like he’s seen a ghost, like he’s seconds away from pissing himself. Rikishi just stares with a cold smile, one that doesn’t prevent or scare her from continuing.

“And if you ever raise your hand to me again.” she steps forward, invading his personal space the same way he invaded hers. “Just know that I don’t need my husband to kick your ass.” There’s an almost snarl to her lip as she vows, “I can do it myself.”

Because she can. Because if she can put her brother, someone who terrorized and literally tortured her for years in the ICU, she can certainly do it to the rotund man before her.

He doesn’t say anything else, just turns on his heel and leaves out with Paul, but Solana knows better. Recognizes that look. Has seen it before. Knows what it means.

This isn’t over.

And yet, there’s not a part of her that’s nervous, that feels scared or even upset with herself at how she responded.

Because she’s spent years being hurt and disrespected by men. No more.

Not for herself but also for the children growing in her stomach. Children that she strongly believes to be girls. Solana would soon rather die than have anyone treat her daughters the way she’s been treated.

And she knows Roman would and will feel the same.

So, it starts now. The demanding of respect that she’s always deserved.

Regardless of who her husband is.

Dwayne steps forward, gentle hand on her shoulder. “You alright?” Before she can answer, he informs, “I’ll make sure Roman knows about—”

“No,” she interrupts and shakes her head. “I mean, I’m okay, but I don’t want you telling him. He…..he has enough on his plate.” And the last thing she wants is anything else being added to it.

Dwayne frowns. “I don’t disagree with you, but as the faletua—”

Now she’s the one frowning. “The what?”

“Faletua,” he says it slower, offering and explanation. “It means the wife of the Tribal Chief.”

Solana is temporarily taken back by that. She never knew there was a direct word for who she is to Roman. For what she is to the Bloodline.

It’s…..surprising, to say the least.

“Speaking to you the way he did was unacceptable, but going to hit you?” He shakes his head. “Thought he would have learned that shit don’t fly with us by now.”

Curious, Solana crosses her arms and finds herself asking, “what do you mean?”

Dwayne seems a bit reluctant at first, eventually lowering his voice and offering an explanation. “Look, I’m 13 years older than Roman and Rikishi’s twins, so they were too young or not even born to have been around Rikishi when he was a piece of fucking work. Hothead. Impulsive. Used to beat on his wife. Always felt like he should have been the Tribal Chief. Nakoa, Roman’s dad, eventually had to give him an ultimatum: he get some help and straighten the fuck out or he and his entire family would be ex-communicated from the Bloodline.”

Solana hears the word coming out of this man’s mouth, but it’s difficult for her to process said words. Everything seems so…..unbelievable, like it can’t be true. Like the biological father of Jimmy and Jey, who have become like brothers to her, could be the sons of someone so…..vile.

Someone abusive.

Dwayne continues, “he’d calmed down a lot by the time Roman and the twins were born, so they don’t really know much about it. How bad it was, at least.” He then adds over a dark chuckle, “that’s where Jey gets his temper from. His old man.”

Solana has a lot to think on, but she also has many questions, too. Obviously, Rikishi’s behavior hasn’t been a problem for some time. Yes, there was today’s incident, but Solana thinks she knows her husband well enough to know he wouldn’t put up with any bullshit.

So perhaps today was just a one-off? Fetu was his relative as well, so there’s a good chance his grief is presenting as irritation similar to how Roman’s presented as anger.

And yet…..

There’s this small, nagging part of her that doesn’t believe that. Believes that there’s more at play than what meets the eye.

Is starting to wonder if she now knows who Fetu was talking about when she said she told her brother, Nakoa, not to trust him.

Shaking her head, Solana redirects her focus to the conversation at hand. “Thank you.” Because she’s grateful for this man that she doesn’t know very well but believes to be a good person. Someone who’s good for her husband. “I—I’ll talk to Roman about what happened.” And she will……just sans some details.

He doesn’t need to know everything.

It’ll only put more stress on him, and he doesn’t need that.

Dwayne seems unconvinced, but he doesn’t argue. “If that’s what you prefer.”

“It is,” she answers. Switching gears a bit, Solana lowers her voice, sharing, “and thank you for being here…..for him.”

It’s not missed upon her the sad countenance that appears on his handsome face. “Gotta be honest with you, when I got the call, I was shocked. If I had known she was still……” Dwayne sighs and runs his hand over his face. “I understand why he kept it a secret. She….she meant a lot to him.”

More than you could ever know. “I know,” Solana whispers. The realization that Roman should have been back by now causes her to clear her throat. “I should probably go check on him.”

Dwayne nods. “I should probably get going anyway.”

Solana goes to protest, not wanting him to feel uninvited. “Oh no, you don’t—”

“You were right to tell them to leave,” he interrupts, gesturing to the steps. “He does need time.”

Solana says nothing, though feels immensely grateful to have someone who also recognizes that Roman is just a human being who just needs to feel and grieve instead of this machine that can just keep moving like clockwork.

Solana again thanks him for attending and his overall support before seeing him out the door and moving up the steps to check on her husband.

“Ro?” Opening the door to their bedroom, she's partially surprised to find Roman still sitting on the edge of the bed, clothes unchanged outside of the ula fala that lays on the dresser.

He turns to her as she closes the door behind her and walks over to him. “I just….I need a minute.”

Moving in between his legs, she informs, “it’s okay. They’re gone now.”

At that, he looks at her with a confused expression. “What do you mean?”

“Dwayne left on his own, but I made Paul and Rikishi leave.” And before he can say anything, she’s explaining, “I understand there’s things you need to get done, get caught up on, but the Bloodline can survive another day without you taking charge.” She sighs and cups his face, reminding him, “today was a lot for you. The least you can do is take the rest of it to just….be.”

She’s partially expecting him to push back, maybe even some irritation for her “speaking” on his behalf only for him to ask, “how did they take it?”

Shit. She wants to lie, feels like it would be an easy short term thing and maybe it would. But, the fact that she’s already keeping this pregnancy from him is more than enough secrecy for her.

“Paul seemed more scared than anything. Rikishi….he didn’t like it, but Dwayne backed me, so it was fine.”

A flash of anger appears in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter if he likes it or not. If you say something, he needs to fucking do it.” And this is what she wanted to avoid. Him getting upset when he doesn’t need to. “I’ll handle it.”

Solana shakes her head. “That’s not important right now.” Because it really isn’t. Especially since she’s already handled it. “Why don’t you change? Lay down. I’ll fix you something to eat. If I start now, I can have it ready by—”

She’s stopped by Roman reaching her for her, his hands on her waist as he says so quietly, “stay with me.”

It’s such a quiet, little thing, but it’s something he’s wanting.

Something he’s needing. Thus, the answer is obvious.

Solana nods and reaches for the middle of her skirt, hiking it up enough so that she can climb on top of his lap. Roman moves them back on the bed as she lays on top of him, snuggling herself into his chest as he wraps his arms around her, holding her.

“Thank you,” he says after kissing the top of her head. The vulnerability in his voice is aligned what she’s seen and heard in him off and on all week. “I don’t…..I don’t know if I could have handled with this without you.”

His words cause chills to sprout up her spine. Another thing she can relate to. The loss of her mother was something she once thought she would never recover from, largely because she had to deal with it alone.

But, Roman isn’t alone.

And, he never will be again.

Holding him a bit tighter, she promises, voice clear and firm, “you’re gonna be okay, Roman."

And, he is.

She’s going to make sure of it.

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