#slamming my head into a wall /pos

[astronomical-bagel]

dont be normal bagle please i need you tk be true and hkenst abt your feelings eapecially the unorjtidoz ones. express yourseld. be weid dbe cringe be free

THANK YOU TACO IM UST. GOING THROUGH IT IN A /POS WAY RN???? I DONT KNOW WHY IM GOIGN SO INSANE AT THIS EXACT MOMENT I JUST SAW MY BLORBO AND WENT BKONKRS???? LIKE THERES NOTHIN SPECIA L GOING ON IN THE EPISDODE IM JSUT ?? AWRUGHAJDHFNFNGH ????

[i-write-sin-not-tragedy]

HI VEE I LOVE IT??? THANK YOU HOLY SHIT—

"What da fuck happened to you, Cloud? Ya fuck with the wrong overlord or somethin'? Eh I'm sure Charlie'll figure some bullshit out- here, in the meantime I'll keep ya safe, lightnin' bug. <3"

-----------

@i-write-sin-not-tragedy you made a mistake telling me you might like G/T, YOU HAVE ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD

[starheirxero]

I'm just so severely fucked up about the Solar and Nexus episode tbh. Like. aaughh vague hand motions,,.. The person you used to love is a ghost that trails just a few steps behind an unfamiliar body. They ripped away their name and face from their form to tell you that the black ichor that dripped from their wounds was the best feeling they'd ever experienced. The voice that used to wrap around you like a warm blanket now burns your skin and blames you for finding any comfort in its heat.

And it is too familiar. It blurs the lines between your neatly organized files of your own Moon and this Moon and you only know how to deal with a rabid, lost loved one in one way. You did it once before. You will force yourself to put another down.

[katie100katherine]

How I expected to walk away from reading Jekyll and Hyde: damn bro you really can't separate the base desire part from human existence, it'll fuck your shit up

How I'm actually walking away: THIS IS GENUINELY THE MOST TRAGIC DOOMED YAOI I'VE EVER READ

[asummersday]

getting compliments on my writing always makes me go

[hopefullyababe]

man ok i dont wanna jinx it but nothing has boosted my confidence like having a girlfriend has. like. dude literally if i pulled a bad bitch by being weird and nervous all the time i can do anything

[gender-dropout]

Cheekface and CAKE are Band-In-Laws to me

[philzokman]

OMG this is actually gorgeous thank u so much sami !!!!!!!!!

I MADE A BOOK BASED ON PHIL' HARDCORE WORLD :D

Some of my favorite pages:

[hurthermore]

I need rough sex (and praise kink reader) with human Alastor

»»------► 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚎 (18+)

Warnings: 𝚁𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚜𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚝, 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜

A/N: 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚕 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎; 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝙻𝙼𝙰𝙾 𝙴𝙽𝙹𝙾𝚈 𝙰𝙽𝚈𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙸 𝙶𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚂??

You weren't expecting this from Alastor when he had come home from work at the radio station, only to see you having a cup of coffee with the neighbour next door; the neighbour who just so happened to be a man.

It never registered in your mind as to why Alastor was so obsessive about keeping you purely to himself; but as he pummelled himself into your wet slick, you found yourself loving how much he wished to possess you.

Moaning screams of ecstasy that left your throat as your husband - Alastor, held your head into the pillows that laid against your bed with a weight that had you crying, he forced your spine to curve at such an angle whilst he repeatedly hammered his cock into you from behind; his speed and harshness reduced you into a dumbed down whore. “You’re my wife.” His words laced with pure venom as continued to fuck you with reckless abandon. “Mine.”

Letting out a gut wrenching scream as Alastor’s thick cock slammed against the opening of your cervix, you couldn’t prevent the drool that left the corner of your mouth as your eyes rolled back. “You’re so beautiful, darling. All fucked out just for me” Alastor groaned as he slapped your ass with his free hand; a hit so hard that you were certain it had the potential to break bones. You couldn’t help the scream that left your lips as the stinging sensation hit you like a ton of bricks, nor the way the spank had caused your cunt to excrete more lubricate for you husband to cover his phallic organ in.

Despite your incoherent moans of mumbled words, you asked him to slow down; asked him to give you some room to breathe. In response, he only increased his harsh thrusts, plummeting his pelvis into the fat of your cheeks with haste, causing your whole body to thrust up the bed to the point where his sex almost left the walls of your core, only to push you back onto his fat cock at such a rate you thought he was going to damage something.

Your sex felt like it was in the pits of a fire as Alastor continued to spank you, each as hard as the last as he fucked himself into you; your cunt squeezing his length from every hit with such tightness it had him almost spilling his cum into you.

Groaning loudly with gritted teeth, Alastor's grasp on your neck tightened ever so slightly before retracting, only to pierce the tips of his fingernails into your back, shallowly tearing your skin as he dragged his hand along your spine; causing you to scream in pain and pleasure as he caused little drops of blood to seep through the torn flesh.

Halting his movements, he stilled his cock inside you, giving you a moment to relax from his rough and relentless pace as he leaned over your form. Pressing his chest against your now slightly bloodied back, he gripped your jaw; forcing your head to tilt awkwardly before he shoved his tongue between your gaping lips. Despite how dumb Alastor was able to make you whenever he made love to you; or fucked you with a passion like no other, as he licked every part of the innards of your mouth, you bit your teeth into his sloppy tongue, causing him to buck into you with a pained groan; his eyes rolling back as you inflicted pain back onto him. And as the familiar taste of metallic salt began to cascade onto the buds of your tongue, you began to suck on his oral muscle, drinking up the blood that left his wound.

With a curse on the tip of his tongue, he retracted from your mouth before kissing your temple with intense pressure. Flushing from his soft gesture despite his rough assault, Alastor adjusted his posture, giving you another harsh thrust before leaning over your back once more, only to lick the wounds he had inflicted onto you, feasting on the blood he had caused to drip from your flesh. Moaning at the sensation, you pushed yourself back into him, trying to recreate the ministrations he had fucked you with. 

Gripping his fingers into your hips, he guided your cunt to drag along his cock at a slower rate than he had previously gone, but one that went so deep inside of you, you thought you could see stars.

Sighing a staggering moan into the damaged skin of your back, Alastor's hair tickled you as he lifted his head from your back, your blood smeared on his lips as he began to fuck into you harder and faster; matching his previous roughness as he snaked his fingers along your stomach before pressing his fingertips against your throbbing clit.

Crying out as your husband strummed your blooming bud with such mastery that he had learned over the years as he had attuned his knowledge of your body and what pleasured you, you could feel his sweat and drool drip onto your back as he continued to slam his sex rapidly into you. It felt too much, and like a tidal wave, you could only squeeze your thighs as they shook from the sheer amount of pleasure your loving husband was pouring into you as your cunt began orgasm over your husbands cock, squeezing down on him with such pressure that forced him to thrust into you one last time with such harshness it caused his own ejaculation to splatter the innards of your core.

Panting as Alastor remained inside you despite coming down from your highs, he wrapped his arms around your stomach before placing soft kisses along your back and into your neck before he nudged his sharp facial features into the crevice of your neck and shoulder.

“The next time you talk to another man, I’m going to carve my name into every part of your beautiful skin, darling.” His word mumbled into your skin before he removed himself off of you; his cum slowly exuded from your core before he laid back into the bed, pulling you into him as he wrapped his strong yet slim arms around you.

Laying your head into his chest, you could only think about his threat.

Why did it make your cunt throb in pleasure?

»»------► 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[pocoyo-yo]

'𝐈 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐲, 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐭'

SUMMARY: you guys heard me loud and clear so here's part two of '8ft blue dilf fucks you like he's young again'

WARNINGS: smut, size kink, avatar/na'vi!jake, dilf!jake, fem!bodied reader, omaticaya!reader, creampie, unprotected, breeding kink, praise, degradtion, manhandling, overstimulation, whole makeout session, mating press (pos.), missionary (pos.), pet names (baby, whore just a lil bit, ...babygirl)

PART ONE

your mind was nothing but fog at this point— you could hear your own heartbeat due to almost every other sound being muted.

your blurred eyes stared at the now slightly open entrance to the hut— jake had covered it after who knows how long.

you could see, just barely see, shadows of other na'vi scurrying quickly past the hut. you knew they heard you two— but your brain was too fucked out to care. it's not like jake gave a damn either— who was bold enough to tell the olo'eykan to keep it down when it came to pleasuring his mate?

"s'too much— s'too much, ma jake.."

you left a soft kiss on his arm— that was wrapped around you. the mucles flexed as he held you close him— you back pressed firmly against his chest.

"you pass out— then we're done," he grunted, hips snapping into your ass while he cock continued to numb your velvety walls. ".. just let me fuck my girl to sleep and I'll stop."

"the k— kids," you reminded him, mind only focused on his cock but your motherly ways still found a way to stay a float through it all. ".. what if—"

"— shh.. I'm giving you another one right now— the hell," jake groaned in fustration at the feeling of his cock slipping out of your folds. his grip on you loosened and you gasped as he laid you on your back— his body now nestled in between your open thighs. ".. what is this— the third time?"

you whimpered, "ma jake.."

he rubbed the tip of his cock over your cunt— it was glistening with your wetness and his cum. even as you laid before him— just a few seconds without his cock stuffing your hold dribbles of his cum from previous rounds rolled down your ass on onto the mat where you both slept.

"don't look at me like that," jake clicked his tongue at the sight of your puffy eyes that were filled with another round of tears, and your swollen lips that were stuck in a pout. "you tryin to make me feel bad? you asked for this— been doing so good too— takin' this dick with a smile. what happened, babygirl?"

he pushed himself back inside of you with ease and you whined— your mouth forming an 'o' shape.

"I dunno," you sniffled, legs shaking as the heat and pressure in between your thighs grew unbearable. "I dunno just please— please move.."

"now you want me to move? after making that sad face— what are you? an actor now," jake thrusted into you quickly— cock drilling into your gaping pussy like he hadn't been doing this for hours already. ".. I saw the way your hole was grasping at straws when I wasn't inside of you— so desperate for a good dickin' down.."

jake gripped your thighs and let your legs rest on his shoulders— almost folding you in half to reach even deeper (like it was possible at that point).

"ma j— jake," you sobbed— eyes hooded as you stared at his wet abdomen. it continously slammed into your sensitive clit— giving it the attention it was craving. ".. s'deep— you are so deep.."

"..fuck— give me one more," he bit down on his bottom lip— eyes only focused on your expression. "cum one more time f'me.. just one more and black out— then I'm done, yeah?"

you traced your finger tips down jakes chest while his brows furrowed. his tongue swiped over his lips— sweat dripped off of the tip of his flat nose.

his hips rolled against your skin— thigh muscles sore from all the positions he had you in. your golden eyes flickered back in your head— soft, broken moans floating from your throat as his cock fucked into that gummy spot in your walls.

".. r— right there!" you begged, nails sinking into his skin with a hiss.

"damn," he hissed, the fat tip slamming harder into your g-spot. "right there, baby?"

"yes.. yes.. oh great mother," you shivered as jakes rough hand traced over your belly— stopping to feel the slight buldge in your skin when he hit that certain spot. "please— ma jake, kiss me please.."

"kiss you," he scoffed. "what whore gets a kiss? fuck— well, the kinda kiss you're thinkin' of.."

you felt tears fall down your cheeks and you pouted, "but.."

he frowned and his hand left your stomach, now gripping your jaw, "but?"

"tsaheylu," you reminded him with a whimper. "we committed tsaheylu.."

jake glanced at your connected queue's before he looked back at you— your body jolting upward slightly with each snap of his hips. a long, shakey sigh left his lips as your deep emotions for a kiss coursed throughout every neuron in his brain.

"you want it that bad, huh?" he chuckled.

you nodded with a sniffles, "yes.. kiss me please.."

jake pressed his forehead against yours before his lips found your own. you clawed at his chest— moaning desperately into jakes mouth. his tongue swipped over your lips before venturing into your mouth, meeting your own. the kiss was so tender— after each drawback for a short breath of air jake kissed the corners of your mouth before diving back in. he was sort of shocked he went that long without genuinely kissing you— he didn't want to separate, only doing so, so that you could breathe.

"you're so pretty, baby," he mumbled, breathing harshly through his nose. "so damn perfect.."

you asked to be used— to be treated as a play-thing and you both were enjoying the hell out of it, shit— jake was still fucking you like a slut while kissing you like he hadn't kissed you in years, but he could only go so long without a bit of praise for you.

I mean, back when you both were young, he wasn't an asshole when you two had sex— just very, very rough.

"ma jake.. fuck— jake.." you hiccuped on whines, pulling back for air.

"you're already doing that, pretty thing." jake teased— hooded eyes only staring at your wet lips.

tears clung to your lashes as you murmured, "you— you are pretty.. ma jake, you are so pretty.."

"don't steal my compliments," he rolled his eyes before he kissed your jaw. "also I'm not pretty— I fucked you that dumb..?"

he pulled back, hovering over you while you tried form a sentence, honestly, just anything slightly coherent.

"you are pretty," you repeated— hands shakily grazing jakes stomach. you traced your thumb over his two beauty marks and glanced up at him. "these are pretty.."

jake clicked his tongue, "don't say shit like that," he snuck his hand in betwen your thigh and rubbed dramatic circles on your clit with his thumb. "and give me that look.."

you gasped, your tongue on the verge of loling out of your mouth. jake's deep blue cheeks were flushed darker— a slight gulp leaving him as your deadly doe eyes grew wide.

"I can feel you clampin' down on me, babygirl," he groaned— cock twitching in the warmth and tightness of your walls. "fuck— you're tight.. you gonna cum?"

his dick poked at your belly more and more, and it was a sight. you knew he was deep but actually seeing the tip of his cock make your belly buldge made you somewhat embarassed.

"jake— 'can't do it!" you cried out.

"answer the question.." he grunted.

your toes curled— your dazed gaze meeting jakes as the knot in your stomach grew painfully tight. your breaths were uneven and your ears perked up at the lewd nouses that came from below— each wet slap and airy thrust.

you whimpered, "y— yes! m'gonna cum— yes!"

jakes let his hand slide to your belly, and he lifted his hips, heavy balls now slapping against your clit everytime he sunk back inside you.

"give me one more, babygirl," he rested his forehead against yours once again as he pressed down on your stomach (the spot where he would hit). "and I'll.. give you one more.."

your thighs pressed against your breasts and that did it for you. the pressure was too much to the point where you couldn't speak— cumming was all you could think about.

a broken sob escaped your throat— your entire body shook (legs shaking the most), the intensity of your orgasm made your eyes roll back in your head.

jake moaned, "holy fuck, baby—"

you creamed around his cock and jake could only get a few more thrusts in before your overstimulation became too much for him to handle. his jaw hung agape while a mixture of curse words and whimpers filled the air.

you panted heavily while his cum stuffed you full for the however many time.

you whined as jake lifted himself up and let your weak legs fall to his sides. he held your hand and kissed each of your knuckles gently.

"I'm right here," he huffed. "..fuck, you did so good, babygirl— I love you so much," jake could see you were barely clinging onto consiousness and he chuckled, "I'll clean you up— rest for me.."

you shivered as he pulled out his softened cock and separated your queues, giving your forehead a gentle kiss before your heavy eyelids fluttered shut.

"and there she goes.." he sighed.

jake resisted the urge to just collaspe beside you and take you in his arms— the kids would be returning home soon (it was almost Eclipse).

he wiped you down the best he could and tried not to wake you while he dressed you up again. he put your loincloth on first— not wanting all his hardwork to just spill out like that. he then threw a thin blanket over you— even though na'vi didn't use them he didn't want the kids seeing you covered in his kiss marks and bruises until they faded a little.

jake then fixed himself up, jumping a bit as three rowdy kids (not even in double digits) stormed into the hut like they owned the place. all of them calling for you— of course.

"mama guess what!"

"mama I didn't do it—"

"mama m'hungry!"

"shh," jake placed his finger over his lips and nodded towards your sleeping frame. "mama's asleep.. she's— she's not feeling well, so," he stroked his daughters bangs and suggested in a soft tone. "how about you go eat dinner with grandma and stay for a little bit. tell her daddy sent you, alright..?"

the three children blinked slowly before they gave jake a quick nod and left just as quickly as they busted in.

"it's fine.." jake sighed and laid down next to you, pulling you in close.

your head rested against his chest as he stroked your hair while he stared up at the ceiling with hooded eyes.

"..four will be fine."

- so I just hit 500+ followers.. wtf you guys??? like ion even know what to say— thank you so much!! think of this as a potential 500 follower special since I usually disappear off of the face of the planet for like three weeks -

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + sixteen

authors note: healing is not linear. regression, sadly, is a part of the process. and ultimately, if someone wants to hurt themselves, they will find a way to do so.

*this chapter contains extremely triggering content. please ensure to read all content/trigger warnings to make an informed decision regarding your mental state and ability to consume the following work of fiction. your mental wellbeing is forever and always more important than any story.*

cw/tw: heavy angst, violence, torture, ptsd episode, victim blaming, reference to childhood sexual assault, thoughts and urges of self-harm, suicide attempt

gentle reminder that you can call or text the free, confidential 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 anytime, 24/7.

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

masterlist

words: 8k

“I–I just want to see him. Please—”

It’s got to be the third or even fourth time she’s tried to ask, pleading with her husband’s Wise Man to let her see her husband.

It was hard enough to get Solo to agree to take her to where Roman is, a medical clinic that’s clearly only open to tend to him and any other Bloodline member injured in the shootout. That’s evident by the lack of anyone present outside of an impressive number of Bloodline security. 

An uninjured Bayley and Naomi met her at the house shortly after she arrived with Solo, and while she was pleased to see they were okay, to hear that Jimmy and Jey also made it out uninjured, the man she cares about the most is ironically the man she seems incapable of checking on.

She can’t find a way to settle her anxiety, continuing to play the scene of him shot, outside of her head. 

That’s why she needs to see him. 

She has to see him.

Paul sighs, and there’s irritation evident both in his tone and facial expression. “Solana, I don’t think—hey!”

Fuck it.

He’s silenced by Solana rushing past him, nearly knocking him over in the process. Eyes wide with shock, he stammers, looking just as bewildered as the security guards around him. “Well, don’t just stand there, stop her!”

The men rush to run after her, Solana well aware of the fact that the likelihood of her outrunning them is slim to none. 

Doesn't mean she can’t try. 

It’s a silly thought though because of course security would be up and down every hall of the clinic, sets of hardened eyes falling on her, ready to attack when they realize who she is. It changes the dynamic a bit. Expressions still stoic and lethal but also confused.

Solana freezes only for a bit as she forces out her request, a poorly delivered demand, really to the guards that line the hall that she suspects house the room Roman is being treated in. 

“I need to see my husband.” No one says anything, two of them sharing an expression as Solana decides to try her luck again, knowing that they wouldn’t actually shoot her, trying to sprint past them.

She’s unlucky this time though because one of the guards catches her, restraining her. This makes her tense up almost immediately, fear rising up yet again for the thousandth time tonight. 

“Let go of me!” Solana tries to wiggle her way out of the iron grasp, eager and almost needing to get these strange male hands off of her, such a stark contrast to the comfort and safety she feels when it’s Roman who has his hands on her. “I need to see Roman! Please!” 

The man holding her and probably pulling her away from the direction of Roman’s room says nothing, just continues to ignore her demands to be released.

“Man, what the hell you doing!”

Solana’s head snaps to the side as she lays eyes on an enraged Jimmy who stalks over, his mere presence and tone causing the man to release her. Solana gasps a bit as Jimmy grabs the man by his collar and slams him against the wall. “Don’t you ever put your fucking hands on her again! You lucky it’s me here and not Roman cause he’d already have a bullet in your head for touching his wife!”

Jimmy looks around, shouting, “that goes to all of ya’ll asses!” He points to Solana. “She asks for Roman, you take her to fucking Roman, alright?”

Bowed heads of shame and a sudden focus on the laminate flooring of the clinic, Solana is relieved when Jimmy walks over, voice calmer, motioning her to follow him. “Come on, Soso.”

Solana wants to ask Jimmy if he’s okay, inquire about Jey, make sure that they’re okay. Bayley and Naomi already told her as such, but they don’t know that. It’s just what’s most polite and appropriate, but all she can think about is Roman and laying eyes on him.

She needs to see him.

And as awful as it may sound, she cares more about making sure her husband is okay before anyone else.

Caught up in her thoughts, she misses when Jimmy knocks on a door in a rhythmic pattern, followed by Jey cracking the door open.

Jimmy sucks his teeth. “Man, open the door. It’s Soso.”

Solana, however, has no desire to wait any longer and finds herself, pushing on the door, forcing Jey to stumble back. “Damn, girl!”

She’s not listening though, uninterested in apologizing because she’s focused on something else. 

Focused on someone else. 

An older man with blonde hair pulled back, dressed way too casually to be a medical professional seems to be finishing up bandaging her husband who stands only feet away, shirtless, revealing the shoulder tourniquet that conceals the wound. The place where he was hurt.

Where he was shot.

Emotion renews, and a new set of tears reload as she finds herself moving over to him, pressing her body into his, doing her best to avoid touching his left shoulder. Her eyes shut, tears spilling over when she feels Roman’s hand on the small of her back.

“Get out.” It’s directed to the twins and who Solana would guess is the doctor who treated his wound, that last thing being what causes her to pull away, to look over at the stranger.

“No. You—you have to help him—”

The man chuckles and removes the blue latex gloves from his hands. “Lil lady, that’s a job only the big Man Himself can handle.” She frowns a bit as the man with striking blue eyes and an almost country accent explains, “He’ll be fine. Bullet went straight through. Didn't hit any bones, artery, or organs. If he takes it easy for a couple weeks, he'll be good as new. That’s assuming, however, he actually follows the doctor’s orders for once.”

It’s that last sentence that makes Solana wonder if this is the same doctor who diagnosed Roman with high blood pressure and medicated him for it. It makes sense. 

But, it’s when they’re alone that the waterworks seem to really come out, Solana unable to hold it in any longer. “I’m sorry—this—this is all my fault.” She cries, Roman gently cradling her face as she shakes her head. “You–you got hurt because of m-me-.”

Roman looks thoroughly confused, asking, “what are you talking about?”

There’s such a heaviness in her stomach and on her chest. She doesn’t want to do this. God, she really doesn’t want to. But, it’s her not doing this in the first place that landed them where they are. 

“Roman…..” She closes her eyes. This is so much harder than she thought it would be, and she never thought it would be easy per se, but she also didn’t think it would be this damn painful. “My—my father. He…he wanted our marriage to happen so—so that I—” It’s like knives splitting and slicing the back of her throat as she forces out, “he wanted me to kill you.”

If Roman has a strong or visceral reaction to her dark confession, he doesn’t show it. His expression remains unreadable, maybe a bit of concern, but that was present the minute he laid eyes on her. 

“And he said that if I didn’t do it, then he–he would kill me, and that’s w–why you got hurt tonight, because—because of me, because I didn’t say anything.” A fresh set of tears generate as she desperately tries to help him and make him believe her as she explains, “but, I—I was never going to—I could never—I’d rather die than do anything to h–hurt you.”

And it’s the truth. 

She would have rather him let the bullet hit her than him. 

It’s not fair he had to pay for her actions. Or lack, in this case. 

“Solana.” He cuts her off, gentle, voice much calmer than she anticipated in response to such a confession. “I already knew.”

And just like that, she’s back to not breathing again, rendered nearly incapable of speech as she stammers out a response, “w–what?”

Roman sighs deeply, thumb caressing the apple of her cheek. “I always knew your father was up to something. I’m far from stupid. He was too eager and pushy to make the marriage happen. It was obvious he had ulterior motives.” His eyes squint a bit, as he asks her, “why you think one of the first things I did when we got married was cut off contact between the two of you, huh? Whatever he was planning, I wasn’t gonna let him use you to do it.”

Roman’s words together make a logical, sensical sentence, but it’s the processing of it that she struggles with. Roman knew. He knew all along that her father was planning something. 

And yet he said nothing.

He has no reaction. 

He continues, admitting, “I didn’t know specifically what he had planned, but it doesn’t really make a difference. Murder. Coup d'etat. He wasn't the first, and he won’t be the last.” It’s the casual way he says it that Solana feels so conflicted about, so stunned how he can be so calm about constant threats against his life, against his empire. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot, and it probably won’t be the last time.”

“Don’t say that.” She whispers. The trauma and shock of seeing him shot was bad enough, and seeing he appears okay is relieving, but the thought of it happening again feels almost unbearable.

“Solana, you know what I am and what I do. But, it’s like I told you before, I have a tendency to not die, which pisses people off.” His delivery towards the end manages to make her smile. It’s small and sad, but a smile nonetheless. “There it is….” His thumb brushes away some of her tears. “Don’t cry, baby. You know I don’t like seeing you upset.”

She noticed. The same way she doesn’t like to see him hurt. For him to be anything other than okay. 

Roman’s eyes shift into something softer as he asks, “why didn’t you tell me?” It’s a question born from curiosity versus the accusatory nature she would expect from someone who was just told their wife was sent to kill them. 

It’s a bit of a difficult one to answer too. “I was—I was scared. At the beginning of our marriage, I—I was scared what you would do to me if—if I told you.” 

There’s an almost pained look that flashes across his face as he vows, “Solana, you know I would never—”

“I know. I know that now.” She stresses, gently cutting him off. There’s not a doubt in her mind that Roman would never do anything to intentionally hurt her. “But, I—I didn’t then. And….I think I just—I didn’t want to think about it, because things were going good and—and I hadn’t seen him in so long, but I was wrong—and I should have said something sooner—”

“It doesn’t matter.” He’s the one to cut her off this time, shaking his head. “But Solana, your father has crossed a line this time. He tried to kill you.” Roman’s eyes are blazing with with the flame of anger and fury, a desire for vengeance clearly dancing at the forefront of his mind. “I know I told you I wouldn’t kill him until you told me—”

“I don’t care,” she affirms, voice darkening into something also angry. “He—he tried to take you from me. I don’t—I don’t care what happens to him anymore. Him or Wes.” 

Because while she doesn’t know the status of her brother and his recovery, Wes was just as involved with the evil plan, so what went down tonight had to have some influence from him in one way or another. It makes him just as guilty. 

Roman nods and kisses her temple. He then calls out, “Jey.” It’s loud enough for his cousin to hear, opening the door and asking, “what’s up?”

Roman doesn’t hesitate. “Get me Miller. Just Xavier.” Solana must look curious as he explains, “your brother isn’t well enough yet. I want him back to health, so I can prolong his torture.” It paints a picture of a brutal, gruesome ending, but she can’t find it in her to be repulsed. Whatever hope she had for her brother is clearly long gone, if it was ever there.

“You got it.” Jey nods and closes the door as Solana places her hand on Roman’s forearm, drawing his attention down to her. 

“I—I want to talk to him before—-” She swallows, asking, “please?”

Roman nods. “Of course.” She’s thankful for his agreement but not entirely surprised. He breaks away from her, countenance shifts into something stoic and determined. 

“This ends tonight.” 

________

Solana’s introduction to the place where her husband has probably taken and ended more lives than she’d like to admit is definitely a one and done thing. The atmosphere alone is so dark and depressing that if not for her hand in his and him walking closely alongside her, she might even find herself a bit scared.

But his presence along with her determination to get in her final words to her father manage to carry her over. 

She’s also both surprised and relieved when she sees Bayley and Naomi also present. She’s unable to ask them about their presence because Roman is already explaining, “I know you don’t want to be home alone tonight, and I’m not making it back anytime soon.”

She nods, not needing to know why. The edge in his voice is all the telling she needs.

Solana’s stomach drops a bit when she’s taken to her father, strapped to a chair, hands and wrists tied. His face is bruised up, cut, and bleeding. Her eyes must give away her curiosity, Jimmy answering, “he fell.” 

Jey suddenly punches him in the side of his head. “Ain’t that what you said when you and your boy was beating on your own fucking daughter?”

Solana swallows. Yes. That’s often what he said to cover up the result of their abuse.

Solana drops her hand and steps a bit closer to him, Roman not once moving or ripping his eyes away from them. It’s virtually impossible for Xavier to do anything to her, but she understands her husband is not willing to take any risks, regardless. 

She ignores the weapons and items around her, no doubt intended for unspeakable acts of violence and torture. She just focuses on the man before her, taking in the fact that this is the last time she’ll ever stare into his dark eyes and have to look at his evil face. 

“All—all I ever wanted….was for you to love me.” She hates the emotion that chunks up the back of her throat, making it a bit harder for her to speak. “But you never did, and you never will, and—and that’s okay.” She recalls one of the many powerful, profound quotes from her book, reciting it boldly and confidently. “Your inability to love me is not a reflection on my ability to be loved.” She’d like to say she witnesses some type of emotional reaction in her father at her powerful statement, but there’s nothing there.

There never was. 

Stepping back, she takes one final look at him, accepting this is the end of this road. The end of all the hurt and pain he’s ever caused her. After tonight, it’s all over. “Goodbye, Dad.” 

Solana is back by Roman, taking her hand in his as Xavier’s small, dark laughter draws her attention back to him. 

“Didn’t you ever wonder how they bypassed the security system? Both times?”

Solana’s brows are furrowed, confusion dancing in her eyes. Before she can say anything, Roman barks a rough order to the twins, “gag him!” 

One glance at him, and she sees something unfamiliar, something that looks strangely close to nervousness. 

To fear. 

“No,” she finds herself calling out, stopping Jey who was halfway close to doing just that, bandana in his right hand. “What—what are you talking about?”

“Solana, he’s just trying to fuck with your head.” She hears Roman, feels his slight tug on her sleeve as he tries to pull her away, but she also detects something else.

Avoidance. 

Roman is intentionally trying to divert her away from this conversation, topic, whatever it is.

Xavier chuckles cruelly, coughing up a bit of blood. “I warned that bitch. I told her what would happen if she tried to take Wesley away from me.” 

Now…now he has Solana’s full attention. 

She steps toward him, asking again, “what are you t–talking about?”

“Solana, please—”

But, she continues to ignore Roman and instead focuses on whatever it is her father is about to drop on her, something she feels is about to change everything. 

Xavier’s bloody smile is cruel and taunting as he reveals, “I was the one who ordered the hit on your mother.” And before she can even sit on that, another bomb is dropped. “And you.”

Solana staggers back, jerking away from Roman as he reaches to touch her. Her mouth is dropped, her heartbeat erratic. She all of a sudden feels dizzy, but it doesn’t stop her from asking again, “what—what did you just say?”

“Shut him up, Jey!”

“No!” Solana shouts both at her husband and his cousin. “I want to know!”

“Your mother was planning to take you and Wesley away from me, and truth be told, if she left Wesley and just took you, I probably wouldn’t have given a fuck. But no, she wanted both of her children. She was a problem, so I got rid of her.” Each word that leaves his mouth has Solana wanting to sink further and further into the ground. “The hit was for both of you, but of course, you fucking survived.” The venom in his voice and hatred in his eyes is almost palpable, further deepening the pain of this betrayal. “I refused to pay them the full amount since they botched the job and didn’t kill you, but that still left the balance for your mother….the balance you paid for me.” And with the most vile smile of all, he adds on coarsely, “who’d have thought a kid’s virginity would sell so high?”

And it’s that statement. That cruel, vindictive statement that breaks her.

Hand to her stomach, Solana almost collapses to the floor but Roman is behind her, catching her fall. 

Now that she can focus on him, on anything other than the millions thoughts racing through her mind. Random facts and statements finally coming together, painting a horrific, grim picture.

The failure of the security system both times.

The failed pin entry of her mom’s shaking hands and two years later, Solana’s shaking hand, as they desperately tried to enter the panic room, only for it to flash a red rejection notice.

It was him the whole time.

He killed her mother. He was the one responsible for her rape.

All of it. 

Emotions erupt to the surface as Solana tries to break from Roman’s embrace and lunge for her father.

“I hate you!” She screams, unable to think and see beyond her pain. “I fucking hate you!” She can’t stop trying to break Roman’s solid grip on her. She wants to hit him. Wants to stab him. Burn him. Anything and everything that can make him feel just a fraction of her agony. “How could you do that to me!” She cries, wanting, needing an answer. Needing to know why. “I was a child!” She’s never felt something so heavy, so painful. “I was your child!” 

As her physical resolve breaks, more diminishes than anything, Solana feels Roman trying to guide her away.

But it’s a mistake, it’s a mistake because she uses that slice of an opening to break away from him and snatch one of the guns on a table, pointing it at her father’s head. But then, she’s not. She’s not because Roman is suddenly standing between her and her target.

Her resolve falters for a bit, as she shouts at him, “move!”

Jimmy’s furious voice calls out. “Man, let her do it, Roman!”

Roman’s gaze is fiery as he silences his cousin with a shout. “Shut up!” But just as quickly as he was enraged, his expression softens almost inhumanly quickly as he pleads, “Solana, listen to me—”

She’s not trying to hear it though. She can’t hear it. “He killed my mother! My mother!”

“I know,” his expression softens into something solemn and sympathetic. “But you don’t want to do this—“

She snaps, her fingers on the gun tightening, her grip firm and focused. “He needs to die!”

“And he will, I promise you that. Slowly. Gradually. In the agonizing way that he deserves, but that can only happen if you let me do this for you—”

Solana cries, shoulders dropping but her aim still intact. “He let them rape me.” Her body trembles, a combination of her heartache and inconsolable rage. “He took her from me! She was my mother!”

If not for the severity and all around heightened tensions, Solana would notice the heartbreaking and furious expressions of the twins, Bayely, and Naomi who now know the exact horror she has experienced. The reason for her disposition. The source of her trauma.

Roman, however, remains focused on de-escalating the situation. “I know, baby, but you’re not a killer, Solana, and I’m not about to let you become one.” If she was thinking straight, capable of thinking clearly in this moment, she’d know he’s only protecting her. Only trying to save her from the thing she told him not even a week ago she could never forgive herself for. Taking someone’s life. “Once you do this, there’s no turning back.”

Solana’s eyes shut as another round of tears makes its way to the surface, heavier and harder to manage with the gun in her hand.

Roman notices this and takes a tentative step forward. “Please, Solana.” His tone is almost desperate, borderline begging. “Give me the gun.”

Eyes still closed and with a weakness she hasn’t felt in years, Solana relents, loosening her grip, allowing Roman to take the gun that he quickly hands to Jey. He moves to catch her as she falls into his chest, sobbing again. Roman cradles her head and kisses the top of her hair while Jimmy and Jey move to jump Xavier, taking that opportunity to get blows in on the old man, both careful to avoid any that could be lethal.

It’s obvious this son of a bitch is in line for a world of suffering that will extend far past tonight.

“Oh, we finna take our time killing you, motherfucker.” 

Everything sounds a bit distant. The sound of the twins yelling obscenities at the demon she called a father. Roman trying to comfort her, to settle her. It’s all too much. Too overwhelming. The crying settles into something sullen and solemn, silent tears streaming down her face as she murmurs against him, “I want to go home.”

The emotion is there, but her presence and awareness of everything is diminishing. Solana knows what’s coming, has experienced this state of separation, of dissociating. 

She needs to get away.

Roman says something she can’t make out, and before she realizes it, there’s another set of arms around her. Bayley. Naomi is chatting with Roman, the only thing she’s able to make out, 

‘Don’t leave her alone.’

Alone.

She’s not sure she’s ever felt that as strongly as she does at this moment.

________

It’s all such a blur.

Such a separate thing. Emotions separate from her. Emotions that are dark, heavy, confusing, overwhelming. Fleeting. There’s an oscillation of all the feelings. Tears that accompany heartache. Sobbing that accompanies grief. Nothing that arrives with nothing. 

It’s a brutal, miserable experience of feeling the weight of the world but also the emptiness of the void.

It’s obvious that Naomi and Bayley don’t know how to help her, don’t know how to comfort her, just continue to sit with her, letting her cry when she needs to and scream when she has to. Even Dulce sits by her side, whimpering every so often and licking her.

It’s appreciated. So appreciated. 

But….it’s not enough.

Losing her mother was heartbreaking. Losing her in the way she did, so violently and graphically was torture.

Being held down and gang raped by two grown men at twelve years old nearly killed her. They nearly killed her.

But, there’s something about finding out that her father, her biological father, was responsible for those two things that’s almost impossible to believe.

She knew her father was cruel.

She just didn’t know just how cruel until this very evening. 

Escape.

Her mother was trying to escape, trying to make a better life for herself and her children. And he killed her for it.

Tried to kill Solana too, and when that didn’t work, he traded her virginity in exchange for payment. 

Flashes. Glimpses. Images. 

They’ve been hitting her nonstop since the truth came out. Playing in her mind like some kind of sick horror film. It’s torture. It’s painful. It’s unbearable.

It’s too much. 

She places her hands on the bathroom counter, having finished using the bathroom after waking up yet again from night terrors.

Her eyes shut.

Solana is tired.

So so tired. Tired of the pain. Of the lies. Of the betrayal. Everything hurts. Everything feels so heavy. She tries to escape in sleep, but the memories haunt her and suddenly, she’s reliving it all, but now with the horrific knowledge that the first man who should have ever loved and protected her was responsible for her biggest traumas.

And it’s impossible to escape those flashes, those thoughts and flashbacks becoming more frequent and intrusive by the minute. She’s suffocating.

Drowning in her own head.

Drowning in her own body. 

Solana’s eyes open and fall over to the shower where her razor would have been available if not for her earlier strength and ability to hand it and the brand new box of them over to Bayley and Naomi.

Just an hour or two ago, she was able to do that much. Able to resist that temptation and not break years of sobriety.

But, now…. now she can’t. 

She doesn’t even want to.

That would only provide a temporary escape.

She’s just….just so tired.

She wants….needs something longer.

Something more permanent. 

Unable to escape the mental anguish, Solana leans down and digs through a toiletries bag from the trip she hasn’t unpacked. 

And she pulls out the bottle of sleeping pills. 

Roman’s request from months ago returns, smacking into her. 

“Any of those thoughts come back, you tell me. I don’t care if you have to paint it on the fucking wall. I want to know.” His intense expression is set right on her, needing to make sure she understands what he’s asking of her. “Understand?”

Her eyes water.

Roman….

Even with his lack of being honest with her, of somehow knowing but not telling her the truth, there’s never been a person that she’s loved more than him. Not since her mom.

It’s why she can’t call him. Can’t continue to burden him with having to deal with all her shit.

All she’s done since entering his life is make shit difficult. She’s done it with him. Bayley. Naomi. Jimmy. Jey. 

All of them.

They’ve had to adjust so much just for her, and for what? For her to end up right back where she started?

She can’t….she can’t do that to them again.

She can’t do that to Roman again.

She loves him too much for that, loves him too much to continue to hurt him.

She just….she just needs to remove herself from the equation.

Needs to remove herself from all of their lives. 

Forever. 

Shaking hands twist off the cap as she dumps a handful of pills into her trembling palm.

There’s the briefest second of a delay, a moment where she reconsiders, where she wonders if she’s making the right decision. But another flashback hits her, the feeling of the knife slicing through her mother’s lifeless body and entering Solana ripping her away from that reconsideration.

Another thought of Roman and her friends having to help her yet again.

Save her again.

She can’t do it anymore. She doesn’t want to do it anymore.

There is no saving her anymore.

This is the only way. 

And she swallows, using the water bottle on the counter to force the excessive amount of pills down her throat. A brief glance at her reflection brings on another set of silent tears. Broken. Empty. There’s nothing left for her to do, no reason for her to exist anymore.

Not even bothering to put the pills away, Solana walks out of the bathroom and into the dark bedroom where Bayley is the first to ask, still sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, dedicated to staying awake for her ‘shift’, completely unaware of this being the last time they’ll interact. “Do you need something?”

Solana shakes her head and climbs back onto the bed. Grabbing her phone, ignoring the tears that blur her vision, she types out a simple text to the one person she’ll miss the most. 

She’ll miss them all, but none more than him.

Solana: I’m sorry. 

Sent and delivered, she locks her phone, placing it on the nightstand, closing her eyes. 

Solana just wants to go to sleep.

And this time…..not wake up.

________

Rage. 

Fury.

Wrath.

And any word synonymous to anger, yet none of them adequately describe what’s coursing all throughout Roman’s body. Years. It’s been years since he’s felt this much anger, held so much of it that he has a hard time thinking and feeling.

He’s incapable of escaping the sound of Solana’s sobbing, the way she literally fell apart in front of him, breaking before him.

And it’s all because of the son of a bitch currently underneath him on the receiving end of  devastating blow after blow of Roman’s brass knuckled fists. How long he’s been hitting the old man is beyond him. Not long enough.

It’ll never be long enough.

Never painful enough. 

Not for what he’s done.

A hand on his uninjured shoulder temporarily pulls him away from his newfound life mission to make this piece of shit feel every type of pain imaginable before he takes his last breath. 

Roman’s roar bounces off the walls. “What!”

Jey looks unfazed by Roman’s irate tone and instead advises, “he’s unconscious, Uce. Let up or you gon kill him.”

That’s the fucking goal.

But not yet. Death is too sweet for Xavier to receive at this point.

Huffing and suddenly aware of all the energy expended as well as the blood splattered all over his clothes and face, Roman tosses the knuckles to the side and issues an order to Jey even while walking, refusing to acknowledge any appreciation for his warning, “let me know when Jimmy has them.”

Them.

Them being the two men who have no idea what kind of horror awaits them. Men whose names were tortured out of Xavier pretty easily by Roman.

Rapists.

Solana’s rapists. 

Reaching the locker room  in the back, Roman easily strips himself naked and steps in the shower, allowing the water to rain down his body, red mixing with clear and disappearing down the drain. Hands against the shower wall, he shuts his eyes.

He can’t escape the sound of Solana’s wails. He’s never heard or seen her so upset. Never wanted to. It’s the exact reason he settled on not telling her the truth, because he knew this would happen.

Knew this would destroy her.

It’s just the extent of the destruction that worries him.

Just how far back this has set her that has him feeling something he hasn’t felt in years but has now experienced twice tonight. Once when he saw the hand raised and gun lifted in Solana’s direction and now her breakdown.

Fear.

It has him scared.

And Roman doesn't know what to do with that emotion, doesn’t know how to handle it outside of beating the shit out of and torturing her father and rapists. But even that only does so much.

It doesn’t do enough, because she’s hurting, more than she probably ever has, and he can’t do shit about it.

Because making the fuckers who hurt her suffer doesn’t do shit for the pain she’s experiencing now.

And he hates that shit. Hates that she’s hurting and he can’t help her, take away that pain from her.

With all the frustration in his body, Roman slams his fist into the shower wall, forcing himself to calm down just enough to get cleaned up.

He uses a fresh set of clothes in the lockers to redress himself, redoing his bandages and using a towel to dry off his hair as best as possible. 

But, it’s when Jey comes and seems to interfere with Roman starting his next round of torture, a thought of starting to skin the old man sounding more than desirable, that his frustration multiplies.

“Not now.”

Roman continues to walk when he feels Jey forcefully grab his arm, forcing him to turn around. Roman looks at his hand and then back at Jey. “Have you lost—”

“Roman.” 

But, it’s the tone that stops the Head of the Table from issuing out his threat. In all the years he’s known Jey, he’s never heard his cousin use such a heavy, spooked tone.

“What?” There’s hesitation, and that only pisses Roman off. “What!”

Jey swallows, answering with an almost pained countenance. “Solana’s at the hospital.” Jey’s frown, sadness seeped and imbued into his usual gregarious voice. “She tried to kill herself, Roman.”

________

Three.

There’s now been three separate occurrences in a single day that have caused Roman to experience the emotion most unfamiliar to him.

Fear.

And this third time, it’s the strongest it’s ever been as he marches into the hospital floor where he was informed she was.

“Where is she!”

And when his gaze lands on a clearly disturbed and crying Naomi and Bayley, the anger only grows as he moves over to them. “What the fuck happened!” Roman doesn’t give them time to respond, too consumed with his anger that’s truly a mask hiding his fear. “Why weren’t you watching her! I fucking told you to watch her!”

Bayley is the first to shoot up from her chair, eyes watery but scowl intact. “We were! She—”

But, he’s not trying to hear shit what she has to say. Not when they’ve failed him in the worst way possible. “Obviously you fucking weren’t because we’re standing in a goddamn hosptal–”

Jimmy, who Roman had completely forgotten came along with him, Jey as well, does his best to diffuse the situation, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Roman, you need to calm—”

But the Head of the Table is too far gone, harshly shrugging off his cousin’s innocent attempt at calming him down. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Roman removes himself from their presence, not even wanting to see these useless bitches as he calls out once again. “Where is she!”

It’s only then he sees a blonde woman walk out from the back, dressed in a white coat, clipboard in hand. She looks irritated which only pisses him off because how the fuck do you work at a fucking hospital and look annoyed. But, when she sees him, or maybe sees how irate he is, her gaze softens. 

She steps in his direction as Roman also steps toward her, putting some distance between himself and the group. “Mr. Reigns, can—”

“Where is my wife?” It’s the same question he will keep asking until it no longer needs to be asked because he’s taken to her.

The woman, doctor, probably, frowns, motioning to the back. “Can we talk in private?”

Roman pinches the bridge of his nose, doing his best not to violate his code of never putting his hands on a woman. But, this bitch is really fucking pushing it. 

He just wants to see Solana.

He needs to see her. 

“You’ve got three fucking seconds to take me—”

She scoffs, relenting and “Fine, we’ll do it here. Your wife is in recovery. We were able to successfully pump her stomach, but we had to sedate her because she was inconsolable upon waking up. I suspect she’s in the midst of some sort of psychotic episode.”

There’s so much in that sentence to process. Roman doesn’t even know where to begin to dissect it, so he starts with the part that pisses him off the most. “She tried to overdose on pills and your solution was to put more fucking medicine in her?”

The doctor, however, seems to show no sign of backing down. “My patient needed to be stabilized, so I stabilized her.” Her voice softens a bit as she adds, not necessarily as something to throw in his face but rather an important note he shouldn’t ignore. “If you had seen how upset she was, you would have understood.”

Roman, however, can’t think about that. Can’t think about how upset and terrified Solana must have been. Somehow a level calmer, he expresses once again, “I want to see her.”

“I understand, but—”

Right away, Roman knows his brief respite from level 10 rage is about to be broken by whatever she’s about to say. “What?”

She takes a deep breath, informing, “I’m putting her on a 5250 hold.”

Roman looks from side to side. “What the fuck does that mean?”

There’s no sign of hesitation as she explains, “it means I’m keeping her here in the hospital for two weeks on a legally mandated psychiatric hold.”

Yeah….he was absolutely right. 

Level fucking 10. 

“Like hell you are!” Roman is seeing red. Who in the flying fuck does this bitch think she is to say Solana is staying in the hospital? “She’s coming home with me. Tonight. The minute she fucking wakes up.”

And that’s a fact.

“How much do you know about Solana’s psychiatric history?” A lot, and that’s why he knows she doesn’t need to stay here in this forbidding, sterile place. She needs to be home with him so he can take care of her. “This is her second suicide attempt. Now, I don’t know what the hell happened to trigger this psychotic break, but your wife is severely and actively suicidal.” She lowers her voice, softly and almost sympathetically sharing with him so only he can hear. “She was inconsolable because she was upset we saved her life. She was upset she was still alive.”

That’s it.

The thing that makes Roman’s anger crumble almost entirely. 

He wanted to believe it was a mistake, an accident of some sort. Didn’t want to believe that she truly intended to take her life tonight.

But this woman has no reason to lie, and beyond that, he’s innately adept at deciphering when someone is lying and when they’re being truthful. 

She’s not lying. 

Solana wanted to die.

Solana wanted to actually die.

And he doesn’t know what to do with that information. 

At all. 

The crack in his harsh exterior must be evident, because the doctor continues to try to convince him what he now knows probably is the right thing to do. “You can get her to sign an AMA and take her home, but I guarantee you that she’ll end up right back in this hospital for another attempt…..and the next time might be too late.”

He can’t.

Roman can’t lose her. He can’t even let himself think about what he would do if he lost her.

Especially if it was because of her own actions. 

She continues, desperate, “let us get her stabilized. On a medication regimen. As I said, this presents as a brief psychotic episode, which we can help her manage and treat but only if you let us keep her here to monitor her.” 

Roman tilts his head back, eyes closed as he scratches his beard. There’s an unfamiliar weight in his chest and stomach at the thought of having to leave this hospital tonight without Solana. But this isn’t about what he wants, it’s about what’s best for Solana. 

It’s about what she needs, and he’ll do whatever he has to do to make sure she gets the help she needs. 

“Jey.” His cousin steps up, previously keeping a respectful distance. “Get with security. I don’t want a son of a bitch that’s not Bloodline or Bloodline vetted to step foot on this floor while she’s here.”

Jey nods. “You got it.” 

Roman overhears footsteps followed by the woman speaking again, “Thank you.” She takes another deep breath and informs, “Now, it’s standard practice that we not allow visitors the first couple days—“

And just like that, the anger has returned, even more intense now that he knows Solana isn’t getting released tonight. Or anytime soon. “I don’t give a fuck about your standard practice—”

Bayley’s voice suddenly enters the conversation, Roman aware that the remaining group has stepped forward, obviously wanting to be aware of the plan and what happens now. “Roman, can you please just let Dr. Stratus do her fucking job? This isn’t about—”

Bayley, however, chose the wrong time to fuck with him. Because any filter he ever acquired because of Solana certainly won’t be used until she’s back home, with him, where she belongs.  “Like you were supposed to? Solana wouldn’t be here if you were watching her like I fucking told you to! This is your fault!”

There’s a small, minute part of him that feels bad when he sees the devastation on Bayley’s face, but it’s short lived, vastly overpowered by his tremendous anger. 

And fear.

Bayley is quick with the response though, ready and willing to aim just as low as he is. “Fuck you, Roman! You don’t get to blame this on us! You should have fucking told her! You had no right to keep the truth from her! She’s here because of you!”

The dark irony in her accusation is that It’s nothing he doesn’t already know.

Nothing he doesn’t already hate himself for.

Bayley is absolutely right.

This absolutely is on him. 

His attempts to save her only damned her. 

“Stop it! Both of ya’ll! This don’t do shit to help, and Solana wouldn’t want ya’ll fighting!” Jimmy suddenly jumps in, moving between the two highly emotional people, even if both are only expressing it as anger. He turns to his cousin first, as Naomi tries to pull Bayley away, also working to de-escalate an already tense situation. “Look, Uce, I know you want to see her, but—”

“I’m not leaving without seeing her.” Roman’s gaze is on his cousin but it’s directed toward the doctor who either takes some type of mercy on him or recognizes that Roman will literally kill everyone who gets in his way if she doesn’t give in to his demand, because she’s switching her tune.

“A couple of minutes,” she relents. “But only you.” 

Roman doesn’t care about the rest of them anyway. They can see her whenever they fucking see her. 

He’s the one who needs to see her. 

But, it’s in seeing her that a part of him wishes he didn’t. Because this isn’t right. She shouldn’t be laid up like this, unconscious, pale, such a sad expression on her sleeping face.

He hasn’t seen her like this since that first night he overheard and woke her up from her nightmare.

A nightmare. 

He’d give anything for that to be the case again. 

“I can’t lose you, Solana.” It's the first thing to leave his mouth, a plea and prayer. There’s nothing but vulnerability in his voice, and he doesn’t give a fuck. He’ll be as vulnerable as he needs to be for her. He’ll do anything for her. “I need you. I told you that, but I don’t think you understand how badly I need you.”

If there was any doubt before, it’s completely destroyed now. He doesn’t know how honest or comfortable he could be outside of these four walls, if it wasn’t just the two of them, but right now, with nothing but her steady breathing and rhythmic beating of the machines she’s plugged up to, he’ll pour his heart out.

“You can’t leave me, alright?” Roman’s hand moves to her forehead, thumb caressing her skin that feels too cold, doesn’t feel like her. “I don’t care what it takes, what you need, what I have to fucking do, but I need you to get better, and I’ll do anything to help you.” 

And he will. It’s why despite how much he hates this notion of having to leave her, the almost anxiety he has at having to leave tonight without her in his arms, he’ll do it. He’ll do it because he just wants her to be happy.

She deserves that, and he’ll do whatever it takes to get it to her. 

His voice is thick with emotion. “I just need you to stay with me, baby, okay?” Not being able to see her pretty brown eyes, the curl of her full lips as she smiles, his favorite fucking thing in the world, it’s torture.

He never wants to see her like this again. 

He can’t. 

He won’t.

Roman kisses her forehead and forces himself to walk out of the hospital room, one of the hardest departures he’s ever had to do. Dr. Stratus is waiting outside the door, and just like that, the infamous stoic, unreadable expression is back.

With Solana, he’s just Roman.

But for everyone else, he’s the Tribal Chief. 

There is no other option. 

“No men on her care team. Women only.” If she’s going to be here, he’s going to make sure she

has everything she needs. “I want daily updates. Anything happens or changes with her status at all, I want to know. You understand me?”

Dr. Stratus must have also read the section in Solana’s medical records that alludes to her sexual trauma, because she doesn’t object. “Understood.” She swallows, bringing the medical chart to her chest. “You know…I head an inpatient women’s psychiatric clinic about an hour out. It’s not uncommon for patients like your wife to transition there following dis—”

“You can keep her on your two week hold, but she’s coming home with me as soon as that’s up. Try and get in my way, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

She’s wise to not push, smart to not try to stop him from leaving, because as far as Roman is concerned, there’s nothing and no one he’ll stop short from torturing, killing, and maiming if they try to get in his way of being with Solana.

He can’t live without her.

He loves her too much to live without her.

[golden--goofball]

YIPPPEE OFC BESTIE

I’m so glad to hear you like Pearl (my interpretation of Pyrare’s wife) <333 /vpos

[just saw your reblog and I felt compelled to say something because it cheered me up :3]

YIPPEE ofc i like her she's SO FUCKIN CUTE

i'm glad it made you happy to see i like her :3

the mama

[leggerefiore]

Wanted to request a funny one.. s/o slams their hand against the wall and flirts aggressively with them (AKA Kabedon pose), 😏😏😏😏😏😏 which would be even funnier if their partner is ridiculously taller/more dominant than they are. Pokemen are wondering why their smol partner is so feisty all of a sudden.

Can I request this with nanu, giovanni, larry and cyrus?

cw: some suggestive flirting, short reader

characters: Nanu, Giovanni, Cyrus, Larry

🐈‍⬛️Nanu❤️‍🩹

🌑 The Kahuna was zoned out as he leaned against the wall of the Po Town police station. His mind was so thoroughly out of it that he hardly paid any mind to when you approached him. It was around noon by that time, so maybe you were going to ask him for a lunch date. Before he could even find the energy to ask the question, however, you had suddenly slammed your hand on the wall next to his head while looking up at him. He cocked up a brow. What was this? Were you mad at him? He could not recall anything that he had done that could have attracted your ire. You spoke soon enough. “Why don't you let me break your hip, old man?” The question paired with the tone in which you spoke �� some odd attempt at seductive masculine and domineering. Just what had gotten into you?

🌑 Nanu was not the tallest man, but you were still under his height, trying to intimidate him and flirt with him. He deadpanned at your words, opting to debate what this was. Break his hip? Well, he cannot say that you had not tried to, but usually, you were the one begging him to ruin you. He ticked his tongue and gave you a dark look. “Well,” his lazy manner of speaking held something under it, “Why don't you try?” Your composure fell right through at that as you had to look away from him laughing. He rolled his eyes. A change-up here and there was not so bad, he assumed.

🚀Giovanni🐈

🟥 The Rocket Boss had been leaning against a wall. His mind was debating how to handle a current nuisance who was trying so desperately to ruin his plans. Grunts had proven uniformly useless, but he did not exactly want to expend the precious time of his executives of a child. Your presence had been noted when you entered his office. He may have been lost in thought, but he was always aware of his surroundings. This only made the next actions you took all the more strange. You walked up to him and slammed your hand next to his head while looking up at him. He was “trapped” between you in the wall. His brow cocked up at you. What was this? Betrayal? Likely not. “Something on your mind?” you asked in a forced overly masculine tone, “Is it me?” Giovanni's expression was unamused.

🟥 He stood over you. Not by much, but by enough that he still had to look down at you. Something in his mind recognises this as a form of flirting. What from, he would rather not force himself to recall. Instead, he just let out a sigh. “Are you the one interrupting my plans again?” His voice was deep and authoritative, “If so…” He quickly reversed the situation, pinning to the wall, his hand next to your head. His signature smirk was on his lips as his eyes were lidded. “Then you are.” You swallowed, clearly having not expected this. Giovanni let you go soon enough, having had his fun alongside you having your own. He then assigned you to go handle the child sabotaging his current project.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ The Galactic Boss had been distracted by emails on his tablet. His fingers typed out replies as frustration ate at his mind. How incompetent could they be? So lost was he in his frustration that he missed you creeping into the living room. You saw an opportunity in the distracted man. Trapping him, you slammed your hand against the wall next to his head as you pushed him against it. Cyrus put down his tablet to stare at you strangely. What in the world were you doing? His face remained stoic, but his eyes clearly held confusion. “… You got somewhere to be after this?” you asked him, attempting a husky and flirty tone. The blue-haired man's eyes then narrowed.

☄️ He looked down at you – the man was self-admittedly tall. Nearly everyone he met had to look up at him, and you were no exception. Your behaviour was odd and unsettling to him. What were you attempting to do here? Dominate him? Why? He had literally just been sending emails. Everything about the current situation was simply incomprehensible to him. “… I'm not returning back to the office tonight,” he gave a serious reply and stood over you, breaking out of the “pin” you had him in. Shaking his head, he finally allowed him a single question. “What are you doing, beloved?” it came out alongside a sigh. You burst into laughter and embraced him. He never got an answer. This situation haunts him for a while.

💼Larry🏢

🍙 The salaryman had gone into one of his moods. He stood outside the Treasure Eatery with his mind elsewhere. People passed him by and shot concerned looks at him as he stood unmoving and staring at the sky with a distant expression. This provided ample time for you to trap the middle-aged man against the exterior of the building, hand slamming down beside his head. That forced Larry back to reality, who stared at you in bewilderment. What was this? He blinked a few times, feeling similarly to when Geeta had apparently decided to voice her displeasure with him. You smirked at him. “Want to go to my place after this?” you asked him in a husky tone. Larry tilted his head like his Staraptor would. Your place… Your shared apartment? He was confused beyond words.

🍙 He looked down at you, having a bit of height on you. His face returned to its usual tired expression. What had gotten into you? Pinning him to the wall of a restaurant and asking him if he wanted to go to your place… Flirting? Why were you flirting with him? You two were already in a relationship… “Does that imply that I was not going to be allowed back in?” he questioned. You pulled away, unable to keep up the act any more. You burst into uncontrollable laughter, as Larry remained bewildered. He was now a bit concerned that you would lock him out, but that was soothed when you clung to him. Rika is later asked about this situation. She, too, burst out in laughter.

[ask-steven-stevenson]

I have come to offer you less depressing songs I associate with this. Orchard of characters.

AHEM

Tunnel Vision -Egg (LiminalSpace)

Ghost of Chicago- Noah Floersch (L. LiminalSpace again)

Over The Moon -Penelope Scott (Guess.)

One Day You’ll Die (I Do Not Like This) -Milk in the Microwave (Steven)

Something New -Sushi Soucy (Jake/Steven)

Have fun :3

-Keymod

[[BUT EVEN WITH MY PATIENCE WHEN I THINK ABOUT YOU. I TO SLAM YOUR HEAD THROUGH A BRICK WALL AND CRUSH YOU WITH MY SHOE 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

I HAVENT HEARD MOST OF THSES AND THE FIRST KYRICS TO THE FIRST SONG. AUH.. FALS TO ME KNEES SOBBING /hsrs

KEYMOD. WHY…/sillt

Chat.. chat KEY . KEY MOD.. /pos

These r all fuckinf greay oh my go../vvvpos/gen

[em-writes-stuff]

presumed dead

day 23 of @febuwhump

supervillain, hero, villain, and medic

1887 words

warnings: captivity, cursing, stress positions, implied past torture/abuse

~

Supervillain leans against the wall, arms crossed in front of her chest. She rolls her eyes and kicks off the wall, walking toward Hero. 

His head hangs low to his chest, if not for the rope tied around his stomach, he would be slumped over. His legs and arms are bound to the chair, keeping him from moving. 

Supervillain grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls his head back, forcing him to look up at her. His eyes open and he yelps in pain. 

“What the hell?” He shouts, trying to free himself from his bindings. Supervillain pulls down harder on his hair, pulling his attention to her. He stills and smiles, “Oh, it’s just you.” 

She lets go of his hair and takes a step back. “You know why you’re here.” 

“Oh, I thought you’d gotten over him!” Hero says, slouching forward slightly. “Tell me it’s not about Villain.” 

“You need to pay for what you did to him,” she says, anger dripping like venom from her voice. 

Hero chuckles and looks at her, his head tilted. “Don’t you mean what I’ve been doing to him?” 

Supervillain’s face falls, she takes a step back and shakes her head. “What are you talking about?” 

“Oh my god, you didn’t know.” Hero says. “How could you have known? I mean, I told you I was going to kill him. I told you I had killed him. I even sent you a fucking finger in the mail. But I thought somehow you knew.” 

He laughs and runs his tongue along his teeth. Supervillain shakes her head, “You-” she exhales sharply. “What? You didn’t-” 

Hero cuts her off, throwing his head back laughing. “I didn’t kill him!” he extends his neck as far as it goes and whispers. “He’s been with me the whole fucking time. And boy, can he scream.” 

Supervillain sniffs and swallows the sobs swelling in her throat. “Where is he?” 

“There’s an abandoned building…just off the highway about a mile and a half from here,” Hero says with a smile. “If you hurry, you might make it before…well, you’ll see.” 

Supervillain runs out of the room, slamming the door behind her. She looks at the map tacked up on the wall and finds the building Hero was talking about. 

She runs to the kitchen and grabs the first-aid kit out from under the sink and runs outside. She dials a number on her phone as she turns the key in her car. 

“Hello?” the voice on the other end says. 

“Medic?” she asks, voice shaking. She pulls out of the driveway and turns onto the highway. 

“Supervillain?” 

“I need you. Um…Villain needs you.” 

There’s a moment of silence and Medic shuffles around, sending static through the line. “Villain’s dead, Supervillain. Remember?” 

She shakes her head, “No, he’s not. I thought- I thought he was but…just. Please meet me at my place. Please. I- this is important to me.” 

She waits, silently begging them to say something. 

Medic takes a deep breath, exhaling heavily. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“Please hurry.” she begs, hanging up and stepping out of her car. 

The warehouse stands in front of her, boarded up. She runs around to the back of the building and peels a board off from the siding. She ducks inside and bites her bottom lip. 

The air is musty with a tinge of iron floating around. Light filters in through holes in the roof, illuminating the dust in the air. A gas mask sits on a table, mostly clear of dust. 

It catches Supervillain’s eye and she walks up to it, covering her mouth with the collar of her shirt. Behind the table, there are dozens of pictures tacked up on the wall. 

They’re all of Villain in different positions, each more painful looking than the last. 

In each picture, his body is contorted, ropes tied around his legs and arms, holding them in impossible positions. Bile rises in her throat. 

She holds a fist to her mouth and swallows thickly, turning from the pictures. 

In one corner of the building, she sees a lumpy mattress. She hurries over to it and sees Villain’s hair poking out from under a blanket. It’s longer, matted, and caked in blood and dirt, but it’s Villain’s hair. 

She looks up and blinks, trying to fight the tears threatening to run down her cheeks. 

A whimper pulls her attention and she drops to her knees. “Villain?” 

She takes the blanket off of him and gasps. 

His right leg is tied to itself, calf flush with his hamstring. His left foot is tied to his right thigh and his knee is secured against his chest with a bow, making it so that he’s lying with his back curled. His right arm is locked under the bend in his right leg, wrist tied to a rope around his neck. His left arm is tucked under his back, knuckles against his spine. 

“Villain, it’s me, it’s Supervillain. I’m gonna get you untied.” 

“No,” he shakes his head weakly and points at something with his right hand. “Loo…”

She searches for what he’s pointing at and freezes when she sees it. 

A bag of sand is spilling onto the ground, slowly loosening a rope tied to another bag, significantly lighter than the emptying bag. If the smaller bag falls onto the pressure plate underneath it, it’ll trigger a gun trained on Villain. 

Supervillain stands up and grabs the rope right above the small bag of sand. She cuts the rope with her dagger and sets it on the ground. She turns the gun away from Villain and goes back over to him. 

“Ok, I took care of it, let’s get you out of here, yeah?” she nods to herself and falls to her knees, unsure of where to start. 

Villain makes a pained sound, “Left arm. Start…with my left.” 

She nods and gently coaxes his arm out from under him. The blood rushes back into his arm, turning it pink. Villain mutters and sucks air in through his teeth. 

“What next?” she asks. 

“Other arm,” he says, gasping. 

She cuts the rope connecting his arm to the rope around his neck and sets it on the mattress at his side. She works her dagger blade under the rope around his neck and starts to saw away at it, forcing herself to ignore the bruises along his neck and collarbones. She unties the bow keeping his knee against his chest. 

He falls back, head hitting a thinner spot in the mattress. He moans in pain and turns his head away from Supervillain. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I should’ve-”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts. “Just get me out of here.” 

She cuts the rope keeping his foot flat against his right thigh and his leg flops onto the mattress, blood flooding to the areas that the rope was. 

Finally, she cuts the rope binding his right leg together. Villain breathes sharply and shakes his head, trying to keep the leg from moving. 

“What are you doing?” 

All he can manage is, “Hurts.” 

“We have to go, Villain. Sidekick has to know Hero’s missing by now." She pulls him up and he tries to stand next to her, but collapses. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, tears welling in his eyes. “I- I can’t stand.” 

She shakes her head and loops an arm around his waist. “Totally fine, I’ll help you.” 

He whimpers and tries to stand up, but as soon as he puts weight on his foot, he falls again. 

“Ok,” Supervillain says, thinking. “I’ll just carry you.” 

He nods and she puts an arm at the middle of his back and the back of his knees. She lifts him and carries him to where she came in at. 

She looks at the hole she made, then at Villain, and back at the hole. “Any ideas?” 

Villain nods and squeezes his eyes shut. “Put me down…” he exhales shakily and opens his eyes. “Then go through, and drag me out.” 

“Right.” Supervillain says. She nods once and…does nothing. 

“Supervillain.” Villain says. “Hurry please.” 

“Right.” she says again. 

This time, she squats and puts Villain on the ground close to the exit. She ducks through the hole and reaches for Villain’s hands. He flinches and pulls his hands away from her. 

“Sorry.” He rushes. He puts his hands back where they were and lets her grab his wrists. 

She drags him through the hole and picks him back up, holding him close against her. He curls against her, face buried against her shirt. 

“Ok,” she says, stopping. “I’m going to put you in the backseat and drive home. Alright?” 

All he can manage is a nod. 

On the ride back to Supervillain’s house, Villain slowly stretches his arms and legs, letting the muscles get used to moving again. His eyes stay closed, the bright light of the sun unfamiliar to him after the months he’d spent in the warehouse. 

The familiar bumps in Supervillain’s driveway alert him that they’re almost done driving and he sits up slowly. Supervillain opens his car door and holds her hand out to him. He takes it and she pulls him out of the car, looping her arm around his waist to keep him upright. Medic’s car is in the driveway, door open. 

They jump up from their spot on the porch and rush over to Villain’s side. They fuss over him, checking him over for any serious wounds before pulling away. 

Supervillain unlocks the door and pushes inside, forgetting about her guest. 

Hero cranes his neck to look at who’s at the door. He smiles when he hears three sets of shoes. 

“Aren’t you going to check on me?” He asks, voice booming through the house. “I assume you haven’t forgotten about me.” 

Villain freezes, recognizing the voice instantly. His entire body tenses and he shakes his head. “No.” he stumbles back and his back hits the door. “No, what-what’s he doing here?” 

Supervillain urges him forward, “You don’t have to worry about him, he’s tied up in the hallway. Just…get to the couch so Medic can look over you and I’ll deal with him.” 

She drags him to the couch and sits him down, “I’ll be right back.” 

Villain breathes rapidly, barely keeping upright. “Don’t- don’t let him…”

“I won’t. I promise.” Supervillain interrupts. She disappears into the hallway. 

Medic kneels in front of Villain, unzipping their go-bag on the floor next to them. 

“Hey,” they say, tapping his knee. “Deep breaths. Calm down, you need to trust Supervillain.” 

Villain inhales shakily and nods, he exhales and pulls his legs to his chest. Medic does a quick once-over of him and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. 

“You’re going to be alright, but it’ll take time. Your muscles are…” 

“I’ve been tied up for five months, I’ve known they’re atrophied. As long as I’ll get better.” he says, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. 

They nod, “You’ll have to work hard, and may never get back how you were before, but you’ll be alright.” 

Villain sniffles and tears fall down his cheeks. He wipes them away with the blanket and curls more into himself. Medic zips their bag back up and sits next to him, arm slung over his shoulders. 

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜꜱ [5]

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes x Reader

series masterlist || series playlist || chapter song

Summary: Drowning in women and designer drugs, Bucky Barnes of Valkyrie’s Revenge is in a race to rock bottom. Fed up, his bandmates give him an ultimatum—straighten up, or fuck off. In a last, desperate bid to maintain his place, he agrees to return to the one place he swore he’d never set foot again—home.

Warnings: Angst, Drug Addiction, Depression, Suicidal ideation, Mental Health issues, Toxicity, Recreational Drug use, Hard drug use, PTSD, Dealing with trauma, Slow Burn, Fluff, MINORS DNI, [More to be added]

A/N: whew. this chapter… i tried to warn you guys, i really did. buckle up!! as always, i recommend you listen to the chapter song while reading, or alternatively, listen to the fic playlist! thank you so much for reading! divider by @firefly-graphics​

series playlist || chapter song

This work is entirely unbeta’d, and unedited. Though I don’t own any of Marvel’s characters, this work and the plot contained inside are entirely mine. I do not consent for this work to be posted anywhere else by anyone but me. Enjoy 😘

It’s Iris’ shaking that wakes you, her little hands jerking your shoulder back and forth as you blearily open your eyes to the almost total darkness. 

 “Mommy, mommy there’s somebody at the door,” she says, her voice nervous. You sit up, rubbing at your eyes. It takes you a moment to process what she’s said, and you listen for a few seconds, but hear only the quiet sounds of the house settling, dripping faucets, branches scratching against the plastic siding. 

 “Wha?” You shake your head. “No, baby, it’s bedtime, nobody comes around this late—” You’re interrupted by a fierce round of knocks—some of them so loud, you’re fairly certain the person responsible is kicking your door. It only takes a moment for you to go from sleepy to high-alert, your eyes flicking between your daughter and your bedroom door. 

 “See?” She whimpers, clamoring onto the bed and clutching at you. You detangle yourself from your anxious daughter, and reach under the bed for the baseball bat you keep there—just in case. Even though your heart is pounding, you know you can’t show her how scared you are—Iris is only as calm as you are. 

 “Kiddo, you’re going to stay right here in mommy’s room, okay? I’m going to go downstairs and see who’s at the door.” You softly close the door behind you, jumping as the doorbell rings just before the knocks resume. With sweaty hands, you grip the worn handle of your father’s bat, and edge down the stairs towards the door. You hear a loud crack, like wood splintering outside the door, and then—your name?

 “Open the do-hic-ooor,” Bucky moans, and through the thick frosted glass you see him rest his forehead against the little window at the top of the door. You fumble with the chain, the bat clattering as it hits the floor. You turn the handle, and Bucky practically falls inside. He stumbles over the threshold, and you scramble to catch him so that he doesn’t clip his head on the end table. He rests heavily on you, his head lolling. 

 “Bucky?!” You hiss his name. “What—what are you doing?” He attempts to stand up, straightening his jacket as he shoves his hands into his pockets. You resist the urge to slam the door as he shoulders past you—you don’t need Iris more riled up than she already is. “Are you fucking crazy?”

 He staggers against the wall. “I n-needed t’see you.” His watery smile is barely even that, a slight upturn at the corners of his trembling mouth before he drags the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. “Wan’ to see you,” he repeats, slurring. 

 “Bucky it’s fucking two a.m.” You throw your hands up. “It’s fucking two a.m. and you are scaring my fucking kid!” You’re tempted to hit him, to slap some fucking sense into him because clearly he doesn’t have any right now. Your hand twitches at your side as you tamp the urge back down. 

 “My fucking kid,” he retorts, and you feel a portion of your righteous anger break off and crumble into guilt. “Isn’t s-she?” He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. He glares at you with lidded, red-rimmed eyes. You want to say no, you know you should, for the sake of your peace, your daughter’s peace, to uphold the promise you’d made to your parents, to yourself. 

 But you can’t. It won’t come. You’re floundering watching his face contort into some unnameable expression. You don’t know how he’s figured it out, how his addled brain has finally put the pieces together. 

 “I w-wanna see her.” He slurs, and tries to step around you. You block him, shoving him backwards. 

 “You’re high out of your fucking mind Bucky! I don’t even want you in my fucking house!” You shrill.  “Where’s Steve?” Bucky hunches his shoulders defensively. His glassy eyes roll as he tries to deny what you can plainly see. 

 “‘M’not high,” he mumbles. “I—” 

 “Bucky you can’t even speak!” You yell, and then wince, hoping Iris isn’t listening at the top of the stairs. “You show up here at the most ungodly fucking hour, demanding to see Iris— “ You cut yourself off, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Bucky you fucking terrified her, okay? You—I’m going to call Steve.”  Your exasperated words make him flinch. He tries to stop you as you reach for your phone, but his movements are heavy and slow. 

 “That lying piece of shit. Don’t—” He reaches for you, and you slap his hand away, your heart pounding. 

 “Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do in my house.” 

 “I’ll l-leave. If you call him.” He threatens, his voice hard. His pupils are dilated wide, his eyes wet, but you can tell he means it. You know you shouldn’t feel responsible for Bucky, not now, not ever again, but it doesn’t stop you from feeling it anyway. You scrub a frustrated hand over your face, tangling your fingers in your hair before you squeeze your eyes shut, regretting the decision before it even comes out of your mouth. 

 “Okay, fine,” you relent, holding your hands up. “No Steve. But you can’t see Iris like this.” Bucky looks rough. You know he’s been out partying, doing only God knows what—his eyes are red-rimmed and watery, his nose red and irritated. He looks like he’s going to argue with you, but after a moment snaps his mouth shut angrily.

 “Fine.”

 “You can sleep on the couch.” You say stiffly. “I’m going to go get you a blanket. Stay down here.” The words are curt, short as though you’ve bitten off their edges. He opens his mouth, and you’re not sure you want to hear what’s going to come out of it next, so you turn away, and march directly up the stairs. You wait at the top to hear the tell-tale creak of the first stair, but it doesn’t come. 

 For a few seconds, you pace on the landing, hands balled into fists and pressed against your closed eyes. Bucky is here. He knows. He knows. He knows. You can’t stop the endless refrain inside your own skull, panicked tears tightening your throat as you try to swallow against them. 

 Calm down. Iris can’t see you like this.

 You take slow, hiccoughing breaths, swallowing back the tears and anger until they’re gathered into a tight, hot ball in your chest. Forcing it down, you head for your bedroom. 

 Your door is cracked open, and Iris peers at you guiltily through the gap. You almost want to laugh as she jumps backwards, hopping nervously from foot to foot as you cross your arms. 

 “I thought you were supposed to be in bed,” you say, raising an eyebrow. Iris scuffs her foot guiltily against the floor. 

 “I, um, I heard Mr. Bucky,” she admits, and you have to stop yourself from smacking a frustrated palm against your forehead. “Why is he here, Mommy?” 

 You’ve never felt more like shit than in this moment—you can’t tell her. Not like this. 

 “He’s… he’s not feeling well, babes. He’s going to rest downstairs, on the couch.” 

 Iris looks at you excitedly. “So he’ll be here for breakfast?!”

 “No.” You say quickly, and her round eyes go glassy. “He has somewhere to be tomorrow morning, so he’ll be gone when we get up for school.” You’re not sure if you’re saying this for her benefit, or yours. “Into bed.” You say, patting the mattress. “You’re sleeping with me tonight.” 

 Bucky is standing in front of the fireplace in your living room. It doesn’t work, but the hearth serves as a display wall of sorts. Framed pictures of Iris, photos of you two together, your parents, your life. There’s a sort of sad bemusement on his face, like he can’t believe your life went on without him. That you had lived without him. You watch as he reaches forward to trace Iris’ face through the glass, and wonder if he’s looking for the parts of her that reflect him.

 You clear your throat and he turns, guiltily shoving his hands into his pockets. The silence is so heavy between you, you aren’t sure if you can carry it. Luckily for you, Bucky breaks it first. 

 “I dunno how I didn’t see it the first time,” he says with a sad, hoarse little laugh. “She looks just fuckin’ like me.” You’re not sure what you hate more. The fact that he said it, or the fact that it was true. “Kid’s wearing my goddamn face and it took me a month to notice it.” He turns like he’s going to grab a picture off of the shelf but misjudges the distance, and stumbles against the wall with a thud. 

 “Jesus, Buck!” You rush over to him to stop him falling. Grunting, you loop one of his arms over your shoulders. He goes with you easily, mumbling something you don’t understand as you half drag him towards the couch. “You need to lay the fuck down.” You growl, sloughing him onto the cushions. He lands with a soft “oof”, and begins kicking at his boots. 

 “Hold on—christ— I’ll help you.” You tug his boots off and toss them to the floor as he curls in on himself. 

 You’re not sure how a man his size can look so small, so fragile, but he does. The angry, bitter part of you wants to throw the blanket and pillow on the floor in a heap, but you don’t. You spread it out over his sleeping form and he mumbles, twitching. Carefully, you reach to tuck the pillow under his head, and pause as your fingers brush his cheek. You let them linger for a moment before pulling your hand back quickly, and cradling it against your chest. 

 You turn sharply and head back for the staircase. 

 “Goodnight. Jellybean.”

 His voice stops you in your tracks, the raspy word making your throat tight. 

 He won’t remember it in the morning.

 You go upstairs. 

 Iris is asleep in your bed when you open the door. Sleep finds her easily, and you’re glad for it. It means she feels safe, something you don’t want to jeopardize with the man sleeping it off on your couch downstairs. 

 You suppose you had been lucky, not having to see him like Steve did, strung out and barely coherent. If you can help it, Iris will be spared that sight forever. Fists clenched determinedly in the duvet, you stare at the ceiling, waiting for—you don’t know what you’re waiting for. The doorknob to jiggle, for sounds of destruction to arise from downstairs, the sound of his voice, for sleep—for anything. 

 And then, finally, you sleep. 

 🎤

This isn’t Steve’s house.

 Bucky stares up at the unfamiliar ceiling, counting the minutes until the memories begin to trickle back into his skull. He remembers scoring—easier now than it ever was, considering. Every bar-back knows a guy who knows a guy who can get him what he wants, all he has to do is ask. 

 And boy did he fucking ask.  

 He remembers the disembodied rolling bliss, remembers you, your disappointed face. Bucky groans, sitting up. The blanket falls to his lap, and he furrows his brows, picking up the edge. He knows what Kitty will say when he comes to meeting today. It’s a small town and word travels fast. Bucky knows he wasn’t exactly discreet. He’s used to it by now, the well of disgust and shame that begins to grow in his stomach the more he recalls. 

 It was inevitable, the demon whispers, and Bucky wonders fearfully if it’s right.

 I shouldn’t have come here, he thinks to himself as he looks around. His head is  still cottony with the pill-hangover, but he knows enough to know he’s an invader here. Why did he even come? The pitiful confrontation he’d forced had gone nowhere, ending with him passed out on your sofa. Bucky rubs his temples. 

 The whole house smells like caramel apple, your favorite candle. Bucky doesn’t know why he still knows that, but he does. It’s neat enough, but there are signs of life everywhere. Iris’ toys, your books. And in the corner, your guitar. It’s well taken care of, the used Sweetwater you’d managed to get your hands on. He remembered the day you’d found it, rescuing it from the attic of Kevin Harris’ grandmother’s place after she passed. 

 “Good, you’re up.” Your clipped voice sounds from the doorway. He looks up to see you, still in the oversized shirt you used for pajamas and leaned against the wall. You look tired, and Bucky knows it’s his fault. “How are you feeling?” 

 He laughs dryly. “Like an asshole.” He’s a wrecking ball. “Is, um. Is Iris…?”

 “She’s fine,” you say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before you fold your arms across your chest. “She didn’t see you.” He’s thankful for that, at least. “I called Steve. He’s on his way.” 

 Bucky grimaces. He doesn’t want to see Steve, not after—

 “Why did you tell Steve and not me?” He blurts,. “Why did you tell him about Iris?”

 “He guessed,” you say defensively. “And even if I had, that’s my business. You made your choices very clear, Bucky.” You glare at him from across the room. He doesn’t know what to say to that—you’re right. 

 “She’s my daughter.” 

 “Bucky. I couldn’t—last night? I… How could I let you meet her like that?” 

 The shame burns in his throat and he swallows tightly against it. 

 “I know. But I—” The sound of someone at the door makes the both of you jump. 

 “I’ll be right back,” you say, and disappear down the hall. Bucky stands, folding the blanket you’d given him and placing it neatly on the couch cushions. He hears your footsteps recede, and then the sound of the door lock unlatching. Your voice floats down the hall, quiet but audible. 

 “Oh—Andy.”

 And then a distinctly male voice. “I wanted to stop by, maybe help with drop-off today? I figured we could get breakfast together after.” 

 “I, um. You know what, Andy? Now is just really not a good time—”

 “Is that your bat? Did something happen last night?” He sounds concerned. “Is everything okay?”

 “Yes, yes everything’s fine, no—wait, Andy I said it’s not a good time—”

 Bucky backs away from the archway just as Andy rounds the corner. His shocked face contorts with anger as he whips his head around. 

 “What the hell is he doing here?”

 Bucky feels hot anger flare in his chest as he crosses his arms. “Could ask the same of you.” Andy takes a step forward before you grab his arm.

 “Would the two of you just fucking stop? Andy I said it’s not a good goddamn time!” Bucky watches you run a frustrated hand through your hair, tugging on it before letting go. He shouldn’t feel so territorial—you aren’t his. That doesn’t stop the sneer from curling his lip as he watches the other man reluctantly stand down. 

 “What is he doing here?” Andy asks again, and you purse your lips. 

 “Andrew Barber this is my house. I do not have to explain myself to you.” Andy looks positively murderous at that, but says nothing, crossing his arms as he levels a hard look at Bucky. “He crashed on my couch last night. Happy?”

 “No.” Andy replies without taking his eyes off of Bucky. “You should have called me.” There’s a possessiveness in his tone that makes Bucky’s hackles rise. He’s the one with history, it’s Andy who’s the newcomer. What right does he have, to look at Bucky like the interloper? He doesn’t like the way Andy positions himself between you, a hand on the curve of your hip over the t-shirt. It’s familiar in a way that makes Bucky want to bare his teeth in warning. 

 You let her go, the demon reminds him. You threw her away like trash. He is pleased, though, to see you shove Andy’s hand away as you place your hands on your hips stubbornly. 

 “I’m an adult, Andy, and I handled it.” You say, your hard glare daring him to challenge you. He doesn’t. “Besides. Bucky was just leaving.” You say it pointedly around Andy’s broad shoulders. 

 Bucky doesn’t want to leave now, especially not now that Andy is here, but there’s little room for him to argue, not when he sees Steve pull up in the pickup through the living room window. 

 “Yeah.” He mutters. “Just leaving.” He shoves his hands into his pockets as he heads for the door. You walk him out onto the porch, your arms still crossed over your chest. He looks past you to Andy, who smiles at him smugly. 

 “Try not to miss your meeting,” he says, and you whip your head around to glare at him, before closing the door behind you. 

 “Look, ignore Andy. He’s just—”

 “An asshole?” Bucky scoffs. “I didn’t think that was your type.” You scowl at him. 

 “Well, if he’s an asshole then I’m two for two, so it’s definitely my type.” You retort sharply. “Bucky, look. Last night—”

 “I fucked up,” he says quickly. He doesn’t want to hear you say it. He doesn’t know why, but for some reason he knows that hearing you tell him he fucking relapsed again would make him hurt worse than the fucking DT’s. “I know I fucked up.” 

 “You did,” you say, and he winces. That stings, too. Maybe worse. “You had three weeks, Buck. Why’d you throw that away?” 

 His lip curls. “Finding out you have a kid six years into their life isn’t really awesome news.” He snaps back. “You, Steve, you both lied to me.” He can’t help the accusatory pitch his tone takes. He knows you take note of it too, your eyes narrowing to angry slits. 

 “Oh bull-fucking-shit, Bucky,” you say, tossing your hands up. “Call after call after call, none of my fucking letters answered.” You shake your head at him. “What was I supposed to do? You shut me out! I wasn’t going to fucking chase you forever!” 

 “What?” Bucky steps back, reeling. “What are you talking about? I never got one fucking call—”

 “I am not doing this with you.” You say, pinching the bridge of your nose as you turn back towards the front door. “I am not going to fucking stand here and argue with you about what I know I did. You don’t get to show up high at my fucking house and demand to be treated like you would have been father of the year if you’d known.” 

 “Maybe I fucking would have!” He spits, the old venom welling up temptingly under his tongue. He regrets the words before they’re even fully out of his mouth. “If you hadn’t tried to trap me—”

 The slap echoes in his ears before he feels the sting of it, raising his own hand to his face where you had hit him.

 “Get the fuck out of here.” You spit through gritted teeth. Your eyes are wet with unshed tears, and the angry shame in Bucky’s chest grows until angry tears are pricking at his eyes too. It isn’t for you, his anger. No, it’s for himself—because there’s no one Bucky hates more than the man he sees reflected in your glassy eyes. 

 “Don’t fucking come back until you’re sober, you understand me?” You shove a finger into his chest. “I would rather tell her you’re dead than let her see you like this.” 

 You don’t wait for him to answer, instead you yank open the door and shut it in his face, barricading him on the other side. He’s tempted to bang on the door, to kick and punch at it until you’re forced to come back out again because this isn’t fucking over, dammit—

 But he doesn’t. 

 Bucky searches for the half empty carton of cigarettes in his jacket pocket, sticking one between his lips as he gets unceremoniously into the passenger seat of Steve’s pickup. 

 “Rough night?” He asks as Bucky straps himself in, and grabs for the lighter in the cupholder. He doesn’t answer right away, lighting the cigarette and exhaling a few clouds of acrid smoke as Steve pulls out into traffic. 

 “Yeah,” he says, tapping the ash out of the open window. He watches the row of brick and mortar houses fade into the distance in the rearview mirror. “Rough.” 

 🎤

 “Iron Man at your service, this is Tony.” Tina had been rather reluctant to patch Bucky through to Tony’s personal line, but after a few choice words—some of them threats—she had done so. 

 “Tony.” 

 “Bucky! How are you? How’s it going in Milton?”

 “Meridian.”

 “Whatever.”

 “Fine,” he says, choosing purposefully not to mention his bender just the night before. “Listen, did you uh. Ever get any letters, phone calls, or anything from anybody back home in Meridian?”

 “Bucky you get so much fucking fan-mail we could fill an olympic swimming pool with it—not now, baby, I’m on the phone,” he hears Tony stage whisper to someone who giggles. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

 “When I first signed up. They’d be old.” 

 “Probably? I mean nothing of note. You know we sort through the mail and give you the important stuff. Anything from your personal contacts, you would have seen. Look is there a point to this? Because I’ve got to tell you, I’ve got some pressing business to attend to, if you catch my meaning.”

 Bucky rolls his eyes. Tony has never thought twice about sampling from the buffet of groupies that seemed to tail Valkyrie’s Revenge like lost puppies. 

 “I need to know if I got letters about a kid, Tony.”

 “What?”

 “A fucking kid Tony. I need to know if we were contacted—”

 “I told you,” he says quickly, his tone dismissive. “If they got sent, you’d have seen ‘em, kid. Why? Somebody springing a paternity suit on us?” He hears Tony hush more people, excusing himself quietly. The background noise coming through the receiver seems to fade until there’s only quiet breathing on the other end. 

 “No. I mean—I don’t know. I just…” He pauses. You’d seemed so certain, so sure of yourself when you claimed you’d tried to contact him. Call after call… all my letters unanswered. “I want to know.” 

 “Well I can’t help you, pal,” Tony replies. “We’d have told you if we got them.” 

 “Yeah. Sure.” Bucky swallows against the lump in his throat. 

 “Keep me posted. This is why we have lawyers.” 

 Bucky hangs up without another word, frustratedly tossing his phone to the bed. He’d refused to speak to Steve when he asked him where he went, why he’d been gone all night. It was easy enough to deflect with an argument, a skill Bucky had learned the very first time his bandmates had tried to take him to task for his behavior. No one wants a screaming match at ten in the morning. 

 He can’t deflect himself, though, can’t stop the thoughts going round and round in his skull like a carousel. Someone had lied to him, someone had kept Iris from him. 

 And if not you, then who?

 Steve’s quiet knock on his door makes Bucky’s head snap up, his eyes narrowing as his friend steps across the threshold. He’s still angry, and Steve knows it, holding his hands up placatingly. 

 “Look. I know you don’t want to talk to me right now. But I’m heading out, and I think you should come with me.”

 Bucky eyes him suspiciously. “If you’re trying to drop me off at a facility this is a shitty fucking way to start.” Steve shakes his head. 

 “Not a facility.” 

 “Then where?”

 “You’ll see.” Bucky watches his friend’s face for a tell—Steve always was a terrible liar. There doesn’t seem to be one though, not that Bucky can see. He gets up slowly, and follows Steve back down the stairs and out the front door. Steve gets into the driver’s seat, and waits patiently for Bucky to catch up before the truck engine roars to life. Bucky is glad that Steve doesn’t force conversation, doesn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless platitudes as he drives. 

 He doesn’t turn toward Meridian, instead taking the dirt road north of town, away from the meager downtown strip and up into the hills. It’s a gloomy day, overcast and gray, with the occasional drop of rain splattering against the windshield. The back-roads are both familiar and strange to him now, it’s been so long since he’s driven them. 

 Bucky remembers that—driving full speed around the treacherous corners with you standing up through the sunroof, your arms outstretched like you were trying to touch the sky. He’d believed you could then, in those moments, that your fingertips could touch the deep unending blue. 

 That blue is gone, though, as are the people you were—Bucky doesn’t know you anymore. 

 He’s surprised, when Steve pulls up to the old graveyard and doesn’t pass by, slowing to a stop outside the gates. 

 “What are you doing?” Bucky asks, panic gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. “Steve—”

 “How long’s it been, Buck? Five years? Six?” 

 “Fuck you,” Bucky snarls, lunging forward to try and grab the keys from Steve himself. “I don’t want—”

 “For once, Buck, I could not give a shit less about what you want.” Steve stuffs the keys into his pocket and gets out of the car. “Come on.” He doesn’t wait for Bucky, pulling open one of the wrought iron gates with both hands. It opens with a rough squeal. Bucky reluctantly unbuckles himself, sticking a nervous cigarette between his lips as he follows him down the muddy path. His hands are trembling and unsure as he lifts the lighter, but his feet know the way without his direction. 

 The graves are right next to each other, just like they are in Bucky’s nightmares. The grass is green over the top of them, different from the loose dirt that had been shoveled on top just before Bucky had lit out of Meridian. 

 Should have been me.

 “Why did you bring me here?” Bucky asks, his throat tight with tears he doesn’t want to shed. The cigarette burns at his lips, and he flicks the remains of it into the damp grass behind him. 

 “It’s the one place you’ve been avoiding. You promised you would come back.” 

 Bucky flinches. 

 It’s the first promise he ever broke, the one he’d made as he tossed in his handful of dirt like the preacher told him to. They’re in a better place, he’d said, patting Bucky sadly on the shoulder. A better place. Bucky was too old then to believe the lie—there was no better place. Just cold, wet earth and worms and nothing. He wonders if the demon was born that day, coming up out of the dirt while his mother and sister were lowered into it, because he’d known he was lying, even as he spoke the soft words to Becca’s tombstone—

 He would never come back. 

 But here you are, his self loathing whispers. Even a broken clock is right twice a day.

 “It should have been me,” he says softly, stepping forward to rest his palm against the cold stone. “We all know it should have been me.” 

 “I don’t think Becca would agree with you.”

 “Well it doesn’t matter what you think,” Bucky snarls over his shoulder. “She’s dead.” Steve runs a frustrated hand through his hair. 

 “Yeah, Buck. She’s dead. She’s dead because Fred Ackerson’s truck jumped the guardrail.” Bucky doesn’t know why hearing that from Steve enrages him, makes him want to pummel his best friend’s face into pulp right there in the dirt next to his sister. 

 “You don’t understand,” he says through gritted teeth, his hand a tight fist on the tombstone. “If I had—” Steve grabs his shoulders, shaking him. 

 “What? What would you have done? She died on impact.” There are tears in his eyes too. “How long are you going to punish yourself for this shit, Buck?”

 “I deserve—”

 “Iris is six.” Steve’s words cut through him like a blade. “Do you want to see her make it to seven? Eight? Or do you want to be down there in the dirt?” He asks, his voice hard. “Because you won’t. Fuck, Bucky, you keep this shit up, I don’t think you’re going to see Christmas.” 

 “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

 “Yeah, well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?” Steve says, releasing him. “It’s always been up to you.” He casts a forlorn look at Becca’s tombstone over Bucky’s shoulder, before he shakes his head. “Say… whatever you need to say. I’ll be waiting for you in the truck.” The silence closes in around him like fog, so loud that Bucky’s ears ring with it as he stares at the graves. He’d never said anything at the funerals, his tight lipped silence as loud as any of the moving eulogies given by those that had known them. 

 Bucky clears his throat. “Hey, Beccs.” He says in a hoarse, quiet voice. “B-been a while, huh?” The ground is muddy, but he sits down on it anyway, on the strip of grass between his mother and sister. “I, um. I don’t know what to say. That’s why I never said anything, it all seemed… stupid, I guess. Because you can’t hear me where you are, so… what does it matter, right?” 

 He’s tempted to give up and go back to the car, but Bucky swallows down the bitter urge, and keeps trying. 

 “But… if you could hear me, Beccs, I’m—I’m fuckin’ sorry.” His voice cracks. It feels like glass in his veins to say it, to finally admit it out loud to the air. “I am so fuckin’ sorry.” He hates to think about that night, about pulling mom and Beccs out of the twisted burning metal. The only way he can is with the pills, but there aren’t any this time; nothing to stop him from having to sit with his pain.

 And for the first time in a long time, Bucky does. He welcomes it back like an old friend—and for once, the demon is silent. 

 “I’m sorry I didn’t turn fast enough, didn’t see him coming,” he mumbles through steady tears. “I’d give anything for it to be me in there, not you.” The tears won’t stop now that they’ve started. “Y-you were going to be fucking—I dunno. A fucking astrophysicist, or something, Beccs. A goddamn force, and I, fuck. I don’t know what to be without you, sis. I… I don’t even want to be.” He admits the last part softly, to himself. He hasn’t thought it, really, not beyond wishing he could trade places with her. 

 If he was honest, Bucky wanted to die. That was the truth of it. That was why he didn’t bother to save money, why he did every drug he could until he was blacking out. He wanted oblivion—like mom. Like Becca. 

 That’s not what Beccs would want. The voice is softer, not acid like the one that usually follows every conscious thought. 

 She would want you to live.

 Bucky isn’t sure how long he sits there in the cold drizzle before he gets up, wiping at his face. His hair is slick from the rain, and he shakes the droplets off of his coat before he gets into the passenger seat of Steve’s truck. He’s waiting—just like he said he was. 

 He starts it wordlessly, and they’re halfway back to Meridian when he asks him. 

 “Did you say what you needed to say, Buck?”  Bucky follows the path of a particularly fat drop of rain down the window with his finger until it passes from view. 

 “Yeah. I think so.” 

next chapter

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