#space quiz with answers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rafayelxsylusho · 4 months ago

Note

Hey love, your LADs fics are 🥵🔥🫠.

If you are accepting requests, could you pls write a College AU with the LADS men?

A study sesh leads to smut (can include love confession if not in established relationship).

Have a lovely day/night~ 💖

I hope I did it right. Enjoy!

College AU with the LADS men 🎓

Part 1: Zaynexreader

TW: SMUT

**Both reader and Zayne are Med students**

Zayne looks up from his textbook, his eyes meeting yours as you walk into his dorm room. His room is tidy, almost clinically so, really different from your own chaotic space down the hall. Zayne has always been the organized one, the responsible one, while you...well, you were something else.

"Your room is still a disaster zone, I take it?" he asks, arching an eyebrow. When you smile and nod, he laughs softly and shakes his head. "I don't know how you manage to live in such chaos."

Zayne's gaze drifts over your textbooks stacked in your arms, his eyes narrow slightly as he takes in your appearance, noting the dark circles under your eyes and the way you seem to be running on pure adrenaline. He sets his textbook aside and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"Tell me you got some sleep last night," he says, there is concern in his voice. "You look exhausted, y/n. I know this semester has been tough on you." he looks at you like a parent waiting for their child to confess to staying up too late. "And your test?" he asks when you don't immediately answer. "How did it go?" Zayne knows you had an important test this morning. He's been quietly supportive, offering to quiz you or just listening as you vented about the material leading up to it.

"I survived," you sigh, as you flop down on the bed across from Zayne's desk. "But I don't think I did as well as I needed to. I swear, every time I think I've got it, I realize there's a whole other layer to learn."

You groan, burying your face in one of his pillows for a moment before sitting back up to look at him "I don't know how you do it Zayne. Don't you ever just want to give up?"

He stands and walks over to his mini fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. "Here, drink this. You look dehydrated." Zayne gives you the bottle before sitting on the edge of his bed next to you. His brow furrows with concern as he watches you drink deeply from the water bottle, his eyes searching yours.

"Y/n, how many hours of sleep did you actually get last night?"

"Two," you say quietly. " Maybe a little more". His expression softens as he listens to you. He knew you were pushing yourself too hard, but hearing the confirmation of just how little sleep you'd gotten hits him like a punch to the gut.

"Lay down for a bit. I'll wake you up in two hours, and we can continue with your study session then." There's a gentle authority in his voice, Zayne's not going to let you talk your way out of this one. He knows you need the rest, and will make sure you get it.

As you hesitate, he reaches out to take the now empty water bottle from your hands, setting it aside on the nightstand. His fingers linger on yours for just a moment, a silent plea for you to listen to him.

"Please," he murmurs, his eyes holding yours. "You can't keep doing this. You need to take care of yourself if you want to make it through this program." His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing softly over the dark circle beneath your eye. It's a tender gesture, full of care and concern. He's not just your study partner and best friend, he's the one person who truly sees you, exhaustion and all.

"Fineeeee, whatever you say Dr Zayne"

He watches as you lay down on the bed, your head coming to rest on the pillow. He feels a bit of concern seeing you so drained, but also a sense of relief that he convinced you to get some much needed rest. Almost as soon as your head touches the pillow, your eyelids flutter shut and your breathing evens out.

You startle awake, your heart racing. You're not used to sleeping so deeply, especially not in the middle of the day. As you blink the sleep from your eyes, you become aware of a warm, solid presence next to you on the bed. Turning your head slowly, you find yourself face to face with Zayne, his body next to yours. He must have dozed off while you were sleeping, still clutching his textbook in his hands, now lying open and forgotten. Soft snores escape his slightly parted lips, a light frown etched between his eyebrows as if even in sleep, he's focused on the complex medical diagrams. He looks almost boyish in sleep, the hard lines of his face softening, a lock of dark hair falls across his forehead, and there's a vulnerability to his stillness that makes your heart clench. For a moment, you just watch him, taking in the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the long lashes casting shadows on his pale cheeks. Then, carefully, you reach out and pluck the textbook from him setting it aside. Zayne stirs slightly at the loss of the book, but doesn't wake. In sleep, his hand finds yours, as he settles closer to you. Your fingers intertwine instinctively, and you feel a rush of warmth spread through you at the contact.

You feel the heat of Zayne's breath ghosting over your face. Even in sleep, he seems drawn to you, his hand tightening around yours as if he's afraid you might disappear if he lets go. A soft blush rises to your cheeks at the intimacy of the moment, at the way Zayne's face is inches from your own. Your heart starts to race for a different reason now, a fluttering sensation that has nothing to do with the sudden awakening and everything to do with the man next to you.

You've shared countless study sessions, late night talks, and inside jokes with Zayne, but this...this feels different. More intimate. More charged with a tension you've never dared to acknowledge before. His eyelids flutter, and for a moment you think he might wake. You hold your breath, but he doesn't wake. Instead, he just sighs softly, his breath fanning over your lips. You know you should pull away, give him space, but you find yourself rooted to the spot. Captivated. Your free hand comes up to brush a lock of hair from Zayne's forehead, your fingertips lingering on the soft skin. He's so warm. So real. So...inviting.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry despite the water Zayne had given you earlier. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and you see Zayne's eyes flutter open at the movement. For a moment, you're frozen, caught in the hazel gaze that seems to see right through you. Then, slowly, Zayne's eyes focus on you. Confusion clouds them for a moment before a flicker of something else, something hotter, sparks in their depths. His grip on your hand tightens.

"You're awake," he murmurs, his voice husky from sleep. His gaze drops to your mouth, stays there for a long, charged moment. You feel your heart pounding against your ribs, your breath coming faster. The air between you feels thick, heavy with a tension you've never dared to put a name to before. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a sensual caress that sends a shiver up your spine. "How are you feeling?" he asks, but there's something else to his question, a double meaning that makes your cheeks flush hotter. And you know you should answer, should break this moment with a silly comment or a joke but you can't seem to find your voice. You're too busy drowning in the heat of Zayne's eyes too busy wanting...wanting more. Wanting to close the small distance between you and feel his lips on yours, wanting to tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him closer until there's no space left between your bodies.

But you don't. You can't. Because this is Zayne. Your best friend, the one person you trust above all others. The one person you can't afford to mess this up with, so instead of giving in to the temptation, you take a deep, shuddering breath and try to gather your composure. You wet your dry lips again, your voice a bit husky as you manage to choke out an answer.

"I...I feel better," you whisper, your eyes still locked with his. "Thank you for...for letting me sleep." It's a clumsy reply, but it's the best you can manage in this moment.

Zayne's eyes search yours for a moment, as if trying to find the true meaning behind your words. Then, slowly, he nods and starts to sit up, his hand sliding from yours and leaving you feeling suddenly cold. "I'm glad, you needed the rest." He glances at the clock on the wall and frowns slightly. "I'm afraid I may have let you sleep a little longer than we intended though."

He starts to gather up the scattered pages of his textbook, his movements a little stiff, a little self-conscious. It's clear that he's feeling the shift in the atmosphere as much as you are. "We should probably get back to studying," he says, not meeting your gaze as he stacks the pages neatly. "You've got that big test coming up, and you need to be ready." He says it lightly, but there's a tightness to his voice that wasn't there before. A tension that has nothing to do with the impending test.

You nod slowly, sitting up as well and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. You feel a little unsteady, a little off-balance. And it's not from the sudden awakening.

"Yeah," you agree softly. "You're right. I should get back to it."

You stand up, stretching slightly to work the kinks out of your muscles. As you do, you catch Zayne watching you from the corner of your eye, his gaze intense and unreadable. A shiver runs down your spine at the weight of it, and you quickly busy yourself with straightening out the rumpled blanket on the bed, avoiding his stare. "I'll just...I'll just go freshen up real quick" You say, hurrying towards the bathroom, needing to put some space between you, to collect your racing thoughts and calm the frantic pounding of your heart.

Once you are in the bathroom you splash water on your face, and take a few deep breaths, trying to will the blush from your cheeks. But no matter how much cold water you use, you can't seem to banish the memory of Zayne's sleep-roughened voice, the heat of his breath on your face, the way his hand felt curled around yours.

You shake your head sharply, pushing the thoughts away. You can't afford to think like that, not about Zayne. He's your rock, your constant, the one person you know you can always count on. You can't risk destroying that.

Squaring your shoulders, you take one last deep breath and step back out into the bedroom. Zayne is sitting on the bed, his textbooks spread out in front of him, his glasses perched on his nose as he scans the pages intently. For a moment, he looks like a picture of concentration, the very image of the dedicated medical student. As you approach, he glances up, and you see the flicker of something else in his eyes. Something warmer. Something that makes your heart stutter in your chest. "Is everything all right?" he asks softly, a note of genuine concern in his voice. He stands up, taking a step towards you, and you find yourself looking up at him, your breath catching in your throat.

"I...yes," you manage to say, your voice a little steadier than before. "Everything is fine.

"Good," he says, and there's a quiet satisfaction in his voice. He gestures to the bed, "It will be good for us to review the material together," Zayne continues, his voice warm and encouraging. "We can go over the key points and make sure you've got a solid grasp of everything before the test"

He steps closer to you, his hand coming to rest lightly on the small of your back as he guides you towards the bed. The touch is innocent, a gesture of friendship and support "Sit down," his breath stirring the hair at your temple. "Let's get to work."

Zayne watches as you chew thoughtfully on a grape, your eyes scanning the medical text. Hours have passed, and despite the late hour, you're both still engrossed in the material, determined to ensure you're fully prepared for the upcoming test. As Zayne sits in his chair, he flips to a new page in his textbook, his brow furrowed in concentration. When he glances up at you, ready to ask a question, he notices a small, glistening droplet of grape juice on your lower lip.

For a moment, he's distracted, his focus torn between the anatomical diagram on the page and the tempting sight before him. He clears his throat softly, trying to regain his train of thought.

"Y/n," he begins, his voice a little rougher than before. "What are the primary symptoms of acute kidney injury?"

As he waits for your response, Zayne finds himself leaning forward slightly, his gaze still fixed on your mouth. The drop of juice on your lip, threatening to drip down at any moment.

He swallows hard, his heart beating a little faster in his chest. He knows he should look away, should focus on the important task at hand. But he can't seem to tear his gaze away from the mesmerizing sight of you.

Finally, as if sensing his stare, you glance up from the textbook. Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, time seems to slow. Zayne's breath catches in his throat as he realizes he's been caught staring, his pulse jumping at the realization.

"The primary symptoms are...decreased urine output, blood in the urine, swelling in the legs or ankles, nausea, and fatigue." You begin, your voice clear and confident despite the late hour.

As you speak, he watches, as the grape juice slowly slides down the curve of your lip. It leaves a glistening trail in its wake, a path that draws his eye like a magnet.

"And then there's the secondary symptoms," you say, unaware of the effect you are having on him "Hematuria, azotemia, electrolyte imbalances..."

As you speak, he feels a sudden, overwhelming urge to close the distance between you, to lean in and catch that glistening drop of grape juice with his tongue.

When the thought hits him it leaves him momentarily breathless. In this moment, with the late hour and the intensity of your study session, he finds himself fighting with a desire he's long suppressed.

As you wrap up your explanation, Zayne quickly looks down at his textbook, needing a moment to collect himself. He clears his throat, trying to will away the sudden tightness in his pants and the heat rising in his cheeks.

"That's...that's correct, y/n," he manages to say, his voice a little rougher than intended. "You've got a solid grasp of the material. That's impressive."

You smile at Zayne's praise, feeling a surge of pride and accomplishment. The late-night study session had been intense, but seeing the approval in his eyes made it all worthwhile. As your smile widened, the droplet of grape juice that had been perched on the curve of your lower lip began its descent.

Zayne, already on edge and distracted by his sudden surge of desire, doesn't hesitate. Acting on pure instinct, he reaches out and across the short distance between you, his thumb outstretched. In a soft gesture, he brushes his thumb along your chin, catching the errant drop of juice before it can fall any further. The touch is brief but electric, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you can react, Zayne's thumb trails upwards, coming to rest gently on the plush, soft skin of your lower lip. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and in that moment, the air between you feels charged with a new energy. His gaze is intense, his eyes searching yours as his thumb lightly traces the curve of your lower lip. He's waiting for a reaction, for any sign that you feel it too this sudden, undeniable spark of attraction that's impossible to ignore.

His voice is a low murmur, almost a whisper, when he finally speaks. "You had a little... grape juice," he explains unnecessarily, his thumb still resting on your lip. "I just... I couldn't let it go to waste."

He feels his breath hitch in his throat as your small, pink tongue darts out and laps at the remnants of the grape juice on his thumb. The sensation of your wet, warm tongue against his skin sends a jolt of electricity straight through him, settling heavily in his lower abdomen.

"Now it won't," you say softly

As you hold his gaze, Zayne feels the last of his restraint slipping away. The walls he's built to keep his feelings locked away, crumble like sandcastles against a tide.

Slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away, Zayne leans in closer. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, his long fingers splaying gently against the warm, smooth skin. He tilts your chin up slightly, angling your face towards his.

"I've wanted to do this for so long, y/n," he confesses. The scent of his words is tinged with the faint aroma of the grapes you were eating, a heady and intoxicating combination. His eyes flick down to your lips, now glistening and parted slightly from your earlier actions.

"Tell me to stop," he whispers, his voice strained with tension. "Tell me you don't feel this too, and I'll stop. But god, I need to know if you want this as much as I do."

Your heart races as you feel Zayne's breath mingling with yours, his lips now centimeters away from your own. The heat of his skin, the intensity of his gaze, it's all so overwhelming and intoxicating.

"Don't stop," you breathe out, your voice barely above a whisper. It's all you manage to say before you close the final centimeter of space between you, your lips pressing softly against his. The moment your mouths meet, it's like a spark igniting a wildfire. Zayne's lips are soft and firm against your own, molding to the contours of your mouth as if he was made to fit there.

You hear a low groan escape from the back of his throat as you deepen the kiss. His fingers tighten slightly on your cheek, his thumb brushing over the apple of your cheekbone. You press closer, your hand coming up to tangle in the short, dark hair at the nape of his neck. Your fingers thread through the silky strands, anchoring him to you as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth moving against your own.

Zayne pulls back from the kiss just enough to hook his hands under your armpits. With a gentle but insistent pressure, he lifts you up and out of the bed, bringing your body flush against his own. As his lips claim yours again, his hands slide from your armpits down to your waist. He grips you firmly, his long fingers splaying across the small of your back as he pulls your curves snugly against the hard planes of his own body.

Still lost in the intensity of the kiss, he starts to walk you backwards, his body pressed against yours, until the soft give of a wall meets your back. He breaks the kiss just briefly as your back hits the wall, long enough to flash you a look that's equal parts hunger and desperation. His eyes are dark, the pupils blown wide with desire, and his chest heaves with each breath he takes.

"You drive me crazy," he rasps, his voice strained and rough with want. "If I take you to bed now, I won't be able to hold back. I'll lose control, and I don't want to rush this."

You close the distance once again and your teeth graze his bottom lip "Please Zayne" you whisper.

Unable to resist your urging, Zayne gives in to your demand. He leans into you, allowing you to tug his shirt upwards and expose the toned, muscular chest beneath. His abs are defined, each muscle group carved by years of dedicated discipline. As his shirt clears his head, Zayne captures your wrists in his hands, pinning them gently but firmly against the wall on either side of your head. He looms over you, his larger frame caging you in, his eyes roaming hungrily over your face and body.

"Please, what? Tell me what you want, y/n. I need to hear you say it."

His hips press against yours, the hard, thick length of him evident even through the fabric of his pants. He grinds slowly against you, letting you feel every inch of his desire. His hand releases one of your wrists to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip. His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the rough, desperate edge in his voice.

"Tell me," he demands, his gaze intense and unwavering. "Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you. I'll give you everything."

"Zayne," you breathe out, your voice trembling with desire. "I need you, all of you" You feel his hands grip the backs of your thighs, his long fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he hoists you up. He lifts you effortlessly, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he pins you against the wall with his hips. Once he feels your legs secure around him, Zayne's hands slide up, his palms skimming over your thighs and coming to rest on your hips. He squeezes gently, his fingers digging into your curves as he holds you in place. Sensing your movements, Zayne leans back just enough to allow you to remove your shirt. As the fabric falls away, revealing your bare skin and the delicate lace of your bra, his breath catches in his throat.

"Fuck" he breathes out, his gaze hungry as it roams over your exposed flesh. Unable to resist, Zayne leans down and starts to place open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. His lips and tongue map out the delicate skin, tasting you, teasing you, as his hands slide up your sides. They come to rest just below the band of your bra, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and filled with promise, silently asking for your permission to continue.

You reach back, fingers unhooking the clasp of your bra. The lace falls away, baring you completely to his hungry gaze. He takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, your chest heaving with each breath, your nipples pebbled in the cool air of the room.

"Perfect," Zayne murmurs, his voice a low, appreciative rumble. "Absolutely perfect."

He lowers his head and draws one straining peak into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud, teasing it, before he suckles hard. His other hand kneads the soft weight of your other breast, rolling and plucking at the neglected nipple. Zayne's hips press harder against yours, the thick ridge of his arousal grinding against your core.

"Zayne," you gasp, your head falling back against the wall as pleasure courses through you. "Please, I need more." Your hands fist in his hair, anchoring him to you as he lavishes attention on your breasts. Your legs tighten around his waist, urging him closer, silently begging him to take you.

Zayne releases your breast with a wet pop, his lips moving to your other breast to give it the same treatment. He suckles and nips, his teeth grazing your skin, marking you. His mouth never leaves your breasts as he carries you towards the bed, his lips and tongue continuing their relentless assault on your sensitive flesh. He walks backwards and as the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, Zayne sits down, allowing you both to tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. He rolls you over, positioning you beneath him. Zayne's hands roam your body, caressing every curve and dip, as if committing your form to memory.

Still focused on your breasts, he kisses and licks, suckles and nips, until your back arches off the bed and your fingers tangle almost painfully in his hair. Your nipples are reddened and swollen, glistening with his saliva, and aching for more of his touch. Zayne pauses in his ministrations, glancing up at you with a playful smirk as he slowly unzips your skirt. As he removes it he takes in the sight of your blue panties adorned with a tiny snowman.

"I wasn't exactly planning on seducing you tonight," you admit with an embarrassed blush, biting your lower lip. "I didn't think we'd end up like this."

Zayne's eyes soften as he takes in the pretty blush coloring your cheeks and the swell of your breasts. He finds your embarrassment endearing, charming even. It's a rare sight, given how composed and put together you usually are.

Zayne shakes his head and smirks "I'm glad you didn't plan this," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Because if you had, you might not have chosen such...cute underwear"

He glances down at the snowman grinning up at him, then back to your blushing face, his smirk widening into a genuine, boyish grin. "Don't worry, sweetheart. They're perfect. Just like you, but let's get rid of them, shall we?" he whispers, his voice low and seductive "I want to see all of you."

Zayne takes his time peeling your panties down your legs, his fingers grazing your skin. As the fabric slips past your knees, he tosses them carelessly aside, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

When you instinctively close your legs, Zayne pauses, his hands resting on your thighs. "Open them for me, pretty girl," his voice filled with desire. His hands start to slowly push your thighs apart, his thumbs brushing over your inner thighs and sending sparks of pleasure racing through you, and when your legs part for him, his gaze drops to your exposed sex, his eyes darkening with hunger and need.

"Fuck, love," he breathes out, his voice strained. "You're so beautiful. I could look at you for hours." He leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh, making you shudder in anticipation. He inhales deeply, taking in your scent, before placing a soft, open mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. His lips and tongue work their way slowly up your inner thigh. He places kisses to your skin, occasionally grazing it with his teeth, sending jolts of pleasure and pain straight to your core. He takes his time, savoring your taste and scent, drawing out your anticipation and desperation. The closer he gets to your aching, empty sex, the more your hips squirm and cant upwards, seeking his touch.

"Zayne, please," you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, trying to urge him on. He nips at the sensitive skin where your thigh meets your sex, making you gasp and your hips jerk involuntarily. He places another kiss, higher this time, his lips brushing against your lower lips. At the same time, he pushes your thighs further apart, opening you up to him completely.

"Tell me what you want," he urges, his breath hot against your cunt. "Tell me how you want me to touch you."

"Please, I need your mouth on me. I need your tongue, your fingers, something."

Without warning, he dives in, his mouth latching onto your sex with a hunger that steals your breath away.He kisses and sucks, his lips moving against your sensitive flesh as he explores every inch of you. His tongue delves between your folds, stroking along your slit and dipping teasingly inside you.

"Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined," Zayne rumbles, his words muffled against your sex. He looks up at you, his eyes glinting as he holds your gaze. "I could feast on this sweet cunt for hours, my love."

He then seals his mouth over your clit, suckling hard as he slides two long fingers deep inside you. He pumps them slowly, curling and twisting, stroking that spot that makes you moan his name. Your back arches off the bed as you cry out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Suddenly he pauses, looking up at you with a playful glint in his eye. He smirks, his fingers still buried deep inside your throbbing sex. "How about we make this interesting, love? We can practice what you've learned today."

He starts to withdraw his fingers slowly, his thumb brushing over your clit and making you gasp. "Let's start with a simple one. What's the medical term for the heart?" He watches your face, his fingers poised at your entrance, waiting for your response.

"Fuck, it's c-cardio," you stutter out, your voice breathless and shaky with desire.

"Good girl," Zayne purrs, rewarding you with a slow lick along your slit. "What's the primary function of the kidneys?" His fingers dip back inside you, pumping shallowly, teasing you as he waits for your answer. Your hips twitch, trying to pull him deeper, but you force yourself to focus.

"F-filtration and secretion," you manage to say, your words coming out in a rush.

"That's right," Zayne murmurs, placing another lingering lick on your clit before suckling gently, rewarding your correct answer. "The liver's main function?"

"Nghh, m-metabolism and detoxification," you gasp, your head falling back as pleasure courses through you.

"Mmm, excellent. The brain's primary function?"

"I can't....Zayne please..." you pant, your fingers gripping the sheets as you fight the urge to grind yourself against Zayne's face. "I...its controlling and coordinating actions and..and ...activities,"

He wraps his lips around your clit and gently sucks it, his fingers pump faster, curling to stroke that special spot inside you with each thrust. You can feel your release building, your walls starting to flutter around his fingers.

"Lungs' primary function?" Zayne asks, his voice a low rumble against your sex.

"Res...respiration," you cry, your hips bucking up to meet his hand as your climax fast approaches.

"That's my clever girl," Zayne praises, sealing his mouth over your clit and sucking gently once again.

Zayne feels your walls fluttering and clenching around his fingers, knowing you are teetering on the brink of your climax. He looks up at you with intense eyes, his voice low and urgent.

"This is the most important question, my love. How many chambers does the heart have?"

His fingers pump faster, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside you with each thrust. His thumb rubs firm circles over your clit, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

"Four!" you scream, your voice breaking and cracking with the intensity of your impending climax. At your desperate scream of the correct answer, Zayne dives back in, his mouth latching onto your sex with renewed hunger. His tongue circles your clit exactly four times, each rotation perfectly measured and deliberate.

As he completes the fourth rotation, you finally shatter. Your body convulses as your orgasm crashes over you like, your sex clenching and fluttering wildly around his fingers.

Zayne groans, feeling your release gush over his tongue and fingers. He works you through it, his mouth and hands never stopping their assault, drawing out your pleasure until you collapse back onto the bed, boneless and spent.

Zayne crawls up your body, his eyes filled with satisfaction and pride. He cups your face, capturing your lips in a kiss that steals your breath away. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it only makes you feel more desired.

"Good girl," Zayne praises. "You did so well, my love. I'm so proud of you."

You try to sit up, but Zayne gently but firmly presses you back down onto the bed, his hands resting on your shoulders. He shakes his head, giving you a playful smirk as he tucks you in snugly under the covers, pulling them up to your chin.

"Where do you think you're going, love? You need to rest now," Zayne says softly, his voice filled with a tender warmth that makes your heart flutter. He brushes a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his fingers lingering to caress your cheek.

"You've had a long day. I want you to sleep now, sweetheart. Let your body recover and recharge." He settles in next to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pulling you close, spooning you from behind. He nuzzles into your neck, inhaling the scent of your hair as he holds you possessively, protectively.

His hand rests on your stomach, his thumb rubbing gentle circles, a comforting, lulling motion. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back and the soothing sound of his voice soon has you both drifting off into a peaceful sleep. Unaware that once you both become respected doctors in your respective fields, you find yourself transported back to this day every time someone mentions the four chambers of the heart.

It could be during a lecture, a patient consultation, or even a casual conversation with a colleague. The moment the words "four chambers" leave their lips, you're instantly transported back to that bedroom, with Zayne's head between your legs, his tongue circling your clit in perfect, deliberate rotations as you screamed out the answer that brought you to the most intense orgasm of your life.

You'll feel a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you'll have to bite back a smile, glancing over at Zayne to see if he was also transported to that moment. More often than not, you catch him looking at you with a knowing, smoldering gaze, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. You know he's thinking about the same thing.

#love and deepspace #lnds #lads smut #lads #lads x reader #lnds x reader #lads x you #lnds x you #love and deepspace reader #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #zayne smut #lads zayne #zayne x reader smut #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #zayne

407 notes · View notes

yua0ra · 5 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐟 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬, 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

WARNINGS: mattheo riddle x slytherin!fem!reader, friends to lovers, playful banter, kissing, SFW, not proofread, english is not my first language.

fluff ☏

SUMMARY: You’re trying to study in the library, but Mattheo is more focused on being charming and annoying in equal measure. After some teasing, and him claiming to be a “delicate flower,” he finally drops the act and confesses he likes you. Turns out, you like him too (shocking, right?). Cue a sweet, awkward kiss that makes all the banter worth it. And of course, Mattheo immediately uses this new relationship status as an excuse to distract you even more. Typical.

WC: 1.4K AN: Small drabble of sweet Matty confessing his feelings :)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

The library was quiet, save for the faint rustle of pages and the occasional thud of a book being shelved. You were hunched over your notes, quill in hand, trying to make sense of the convoluted explanation in your textbook. Across the table, Mattheo was reclining in his chair, twirling a quill between his fingers with a smirk that told you he was anything but focused.

“Are you planning to actually help, or are you just here to look pretty?” you asked, not bothering to glance up from your parchment.

“Looking pretty is a full-time job,” Mattheo quipped, his grin widening. “But if you insist, I could try to dumb it down for you.”

You shot him a glare, and he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Kidding! Don’t hex me, please. I’m fragile.”

“Fragile? You?” you snorted, shaking your head. “That’s rich coming from the guy who got into three duels last week and didn’t even flinch when he got hit by a Stunning Spell.”

“Exactly,” he said smugly. “It’s all a facade. Deep down, I’m a delicate flower.”

“A delicate flower who doesn’t know the difference between a bezoar and a bicorn horn,” you muttered under your breath, earning an offended gasp from him.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a wealth of useless knowledge,” Mattheo shot back, leaning forward on his elbows. “Go on, quiz me. I dare you.”

You arched a brow, deciding to humor him. “Fine. What’s the incantation for a Summoning Charm?”

“Accio,” he said instantly, looking pleased with himself.

“That one was so easy,” you replied, unimpressed.

“What’s the primary ingredient in Veritaserum?” He blinked, caught off guard, before squinting at you suspiciously. “That’s not a fair question. No one actually knows that.”

“Incorrect,” you said, smirking. “The answer is: someone who actually studies.”

Mattheo groaned, dropping his head onto the table dramatically. “You’re cruel. You know that, right?”

“I prefer ‘motivational,’” you said sweetly, turning back to your notes.

He lifted his head just enough to peer at you, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re smug.”

Your quill paused mid-stroke, heat creeping up your neck at his casual remark. “You’re so annoying,” you muttered, trying to ignore the way your heart was suddenly racing.

Mattheo chuckled, the sound low and warm. “And yet, here you are, willingly stuck with me. What does that say about you?”

“It says I’m regretting my life choices,” you shot back, but the faint smile on your lips betrayed you.

He leaned back again, studying you with a look that was softer than usual. “Nah, you’d miss me if I wasn’t here.” You rolled your eyes, refusing to admit he was right. “Keep telling yourself that, Riddle.”

“Don’t have to. I can see it in your face,” he teased, pointing at you.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” he said, his tone light but his eyes lingering on you for just a moment too long.

The playful energy shifted slightly, the banter fading as an unspoken tension filled the space between you.

Mattheo hesitated, then stood abruptly, walking around the table to stand beside you. “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand. You frowned, looking up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Stealing you away for a minute,” he replied with a crooked grin. “You need a break. You’re going to fry your brain with all that studying.”

Despite yourself, you took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “If this is another one of your dumb pranks—”

“It’s not,” he cut in, his voice softening. “Just trust me, okay?” He led you through the maze of bookshelves, finally stopping in a secluded corner where the world felt smaller and quieter.

He turned to face you, his hand still holding yours.

“You’re acting weird,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

“For once, I’m not,” he murmured, his gaze searching yours. “I just… there’s something I’ve been meaning to say.”

You blinked, your heart picking up speed at the shift in his tone.

“What is it?”

He hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. ‘It’s now or never Mattheo, come on now.’

“I like you,” he said finally, the words coming out in a rush.

“More than just as a friend. And if I don’t say it now, I feel like I never will.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words echoing in your mind. For a moment, you could only stare at him, the vulnerability in his eyes so unlike the confident, teasing Mattheo you knew.

“I…” you started, but your voice faltered.

His hand began to slip from yours, and the sight of him pulling away sparked something in you.

“No, wait,” you said quickly, your fingers tightening around his.

His eyes flicked back to yours, hope mingling with hesitation on his face.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “I like you too, Mattheo. I have for a while now. I just… I didn’t know how to say it.”

His eyes widened slightly, and for a second, you thought he might not believe you. But then his lips tugged into the softest smile you’d ever seen, one that reached his dark, expressive eyes.

“You’re serious?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded, a small, nervous laugh escaping you. “I mean, why else would I willingly put up with you? Let’s be honest, you’re a bit of a nightmare.”

He chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Fair point. But you’re not exactly subtle, you know.” Your cheeks flushed. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve caught you staring at me more times than I can count,” he teased, his smirk returning. “You’re terrible at hiding it.”

“I was not staring,” you protested, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” he said, stepping closer until the space between you was nearly nonexistent.

“But for what it’s worth, I’ve been staring at you too.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “Well, I guess we’re both terrible at hiding it then.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine. “Guess so.”

Mattheo hesitantly leans closer, his breath warm and gentle against your skin. His eyes search yours, soft with vulnerability, as he timidly nudges his nose against yours—a silent, tender plea for permission, waiting for your response.

Your heart flutters at the intimate gesture, his closeness sending a warmth through your chest.

Slowly, you tilt your head, answering his unspoken question without words. Mattheo’s lips hover just a whisper away from yours, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your mouth as if ensuring this is what you want. When your fingers brush against his, giving a reassuring squeeze, his hesitation melts away.

With a soft exhale, Mattheo closes the distance, capturing your lips in a kiss so tender it feels as if he’s afraid to break you. It’s gentle, unhurried, and filled with a quiet intensity that makes the world around you fade away.

The kiss deepens ever so slightly, each movement deliberate, as if Mattheo is savoring every second. His hand gently rises to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin with a touch so soft it sends shivers down your spine. Time seems to slow, the only thing grounding you being the warmth of his lips and the steady rhythm of his breaths mingling with yours.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours, his dark eyes searching your face for any sign of regret.

Instead, he’s met with your soft smile, and his lips twitch upward in response, a mixture of relief and joy playing across his expression.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Mattheo whispers, his voice barely audible, as though the moment is too fragile to disturb.

His vulnerability is palpable, and it tugs at your heart in ways you can’t quite describe.

“So,” he murmured, a playful grin tugging at his lips, “does this mean you’ll let me distract you from studying more often?” You rolled your eyes, laughing sweetly. “You were already doing that, Matty.”

“True,” he admitted, smirking. “But now I get to do it properly.” Shaking your head, you smiled, your chest warm with a happiness you hadn’t expected to feel that day. “Salazar boy, you just now how to get to me, huh?.” “And yet, you like me anyway,” he said, his grin widening. “Unfortunately,” you replied with mock exasperation, but the smile on your face gave you away. “Lucky me,” he said, pulling you closer.

And for once, you couldn’t argue with him

#⋆. 𐙚 ˚ yua0ra’s works #mattheo riddle drabble #mattheo riddle oneshot #mattheo x you #slytherin #slytherin boys #harry potter #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #wizarding world #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle

563 notes · View notes

kikuquizguru-eng · 1 year ago

Video

🌌🔍 Unlock the Mysteries of the Universe: Space Trivia #Quiz 🚀🌠 11-01-03

#youtube #space factsquestion and answers about spacespace questions and answersquiz about planetsspace triviatrivia about space space quizspace quiz

0 notes

justliketoreadsowhat · 5 months ago

Text

Appreciate You

⚘ 𝐣𝐮𝐣𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⚘ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 if you squint

➤ 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐔𝐒𝐂’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝.

“𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧“ JuJu slumped down in her seat, distraught at the events from her final exam this morning.

“Well did you at least answer the bonus question?” You peered into her frustration in hopes to lighten the mood.

“Nah, those two extra 2 points wasn’t gonna help me do any better”

You sighed at her lack of confidence against herself . She wasn’t the most expressive person in the world but she was definitely straight forward when it came down to her dissatisfaction.

“Don’t worry about it too much Ju, whatever happens you’re still gonna pass the class”

Her eyes glanced over your expression, searching for a blink of hope in such a chaotic semester. You had been tutoring JuJu in accounting since early August, the class was by far one of hardest courses you’ve ever taken, yet you managed to pass with a 90% despite all the tears and weekly crash outs.

Juju on the other hand with her busy schedule couldn’t fathom the class, after her first failed attempt on a quiz, she quickly found her way to you.

“And then what happens after that?”

“What do you mean what happens? You get to your freshman year on a high note and never have to worry about the class ever again”

“M’not talking about the class, I mean between me and you” she stated, her leg slightly bouncing in rhythm as her nerves began to rattle throughout her mind.

A familiar flutter in your stomach that you’ve been ignoring since the day you’ve met her began all over again with her words. You’ve always found JuJu to be attractive but you wouldn’t make a move.

Some days you’d be so certain that she had feelings for you, the way she effortlessly made you feel like you were the only girl in the room. Other days felt like she’d rather be anywhere else than with you. It was hard to read her at times, her laidback persona made it nearly impossible to decipher her intentions.

“I don’t think you wanna spend another semester here with me in this cramped study room” peering over at the way her long legs cramped under the table. “You don’t even look like you wanna be here half the time”

Her eyes narrowed, dropping low beneath her lashes. “I do like being here with you, I jus hate the way you always have to pick up my shit whenever I fail at something”

Your butterflies soon diminished seeing her so disappointed within herself. It was hard enough having a lot of pressure weighing in on her, constantly having the spotlight being put on her as each game day rolled around, The stress she carried began to become unbearable.

“You’re not a failure” inching your body closer to her. “Everything you’re experiencing is a learning process on how to be better and it’s my job to help you do that”

A lingering silence fell throughout the small space as your words left in the air.

“Let me take you out on a date” she blurted, breaking the hush. “I wanna show my appreciation for you and everything you’ve done for me this year” slightly straightening her posture as her soft eyes searching for yours.

The soft thud of your heart began to fill your chest. You couldn’t help but smile at her evident sincerity. “Well since you asked me so nicely…” you trailed off bashfully, the sound of Juju smacking her lips as she sunk back down in the seat.

“Let me do my part for once. You’ve done more than enough for me ma” she stated confidently.

“Mm.. okay” you pondered around the thought of how serious she was, against your better judgement tOnly if you let me have me have the aux”

“Absolutely not” her tone reached an octave you never knew existed, brows furrowed in disbelief.

“Y’know for someone who wants to show their appreciation, you’re off to a terrible start”

A sly grin appeared on JuJu’s face “Imma make it up to you, just be ready in the next hour” she stated, standing to her full height.

Becoming distracted by her lengthy figure you couldn’t think of a comeback to her remark, accepting your fate. “Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry about it, jus bring your pretty ass and I’ll handle the rest”

⚘ 𝐬𝐮𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 & 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 iykyk. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐬, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 ! ღ

#juju watkins #juju watkins x reader #wlw post #wbb #usc women’s basketball

306 notes · View notes

trippinsorrows · 29 days ago

Text

dreamland: little do you know

authors note: this is part three of the ’can you stand the rain’ mini series within dreamland. make sure you’ve read ’the rough patch’ and 'faded' before reading this one.

warnings: angst (including discussion and mention of disease)

words: 13k

song inspo/rec listening: little do you know by alex and sierra

Lina isn’t having a good day.

Not really.

It’s not horrible, but it’s not great, either.

Almost burning herself with her flat iron, completely forgetting about that quiz in Geometry that she’s certain she probably flunked, on top of a shitty soccer practice, she’s just ready for the day to be over so that she can try again tomorrow.

Never mind the fact that she’s had more….not so great days than she’d like to admit.

Some really bad days, even.

But, fresh out of the shower, ready and eager to call it a day by getting in bed and sleeping her problems—not really—away, seems like the best plan. Unfortunately, it’s a plan that won’t come to fruition. It doesn’t come to fruition because the minute Lina opens the door to her bedroom, not only is the light already on, but her space is occupied.

Her siblings. All of them sans Aroha who was put to bed by their mom almost an hour ago.

Leya sits on her twin sister's bed, legs crossed, chewing down on her bottom lip. A clear indication of anxiety. Aria is right next to her in the same position, looking even more worried than her big sister. Koa sits at the chair at her desk, Kai on her fluffy bean bag. Normally, she’d tell him to get off, but the bothered expression on his face, Koa’s as well, has her biting back her comment.

Tama stands, leaning against the wall near the doors of her balcony, arms crossed, gaze mostly downward, eyes lifting up to hers only for a minute. Lina frowns. Of all her brothers and sisters, Tama is the only one who doesn’t look nervous or anxious or even frightened.

He looks pissed off.

Lina waits to close, and lock, the door behind her before stepping into the room, gaze suspicious. “What’s going on?”

Tama is the first to answer. “We need to talk.”

Lina scoffs. “Clearly.” She also crosses her arms, expression softening as she looks at her twin. “What’s going on, sissy?

Except, it’s not her womb mate who answers. It’s instead a clearly shaken Samaria. “Mom and dad aren’t sleeping in the same room anymore.”

“Wh–what?” Lina has to break a small smile. It has to be the craziest thing she’s heard all day, and she’s not afraid to express as such. “That’s ridiculous.”

Aria shakes her head. “I saw it.” Shifting on the bed, she starts to explain. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” Just that portion makes Lina’s smile drop. She’s never known her little sister to not be able to sleep, but something tells Lina she knows exactly why. Not that she’ll admit it. Not aloud, at least. “So, I got up around 1 to get some Melatonin out of the kitchen, and when I was coming up the steps, I saw daddy go in one of the guest bedrooms.”

Lina stills. “What?”

Leya’s frown deepens. “I know.”

Again, another unimaginable thing, prompting Lina to shake her head. “He was probably getting something.”

“I waited, Lina,” comes Samaria’s small voice, her shoulders dropping. “I waited for 15 minutes on the stairs to see if he would come out.” Her voice goes quiet, frown deepening like her sister beside her. “He didn’t.”

Lina has never really been the child with nothing to say. In fact, most would argue that she has too much to say. No sign of a filter anywhere. Her father’s daughter in every sense and way. But, in that moment, she’s truly speechless. Koa is the one to voice exactly what she’s thinking.

“That’s never happened before.” He looks around the room. “This has never happened before.”

“It’s getting worse,” Kai adds, making eye contact with Lina. “First it was the ignoring each other, then the fighting, and now they’re not even sleeping in the same room?” He shakes his head, jaw clenching. “Something’s going on with them.”

“I think we know what’s going on.” Tama breaks his silence, voice just as tight as the expression on his face. “Dad did something.”

At that, Lina breaks her silence. “What?”

Tama kicks his foot off the wall, arms still crossed. “It’s obvious, Lina, and you know it.” His eyes flash with something before hardening once more. “I think he che—”

“Don’t you say that,” Leya’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and threatening almost. It draws all sets of eyes on her. “Dad would never cheat on mom.”

“Then, why is all this happening?” He demands, anger clearly masking the same fear and confusion the rest of them are experiencing. “And, if he’s not the one who did something, then why isn’t he in their bedroom and mom the one in the guest room? She put him out.”

“That’s not even like dad,” Koa speaks up, looking at his twin. “He loves mom.”

“He loves all of us,” Lina corrects, demanding the attention and floor once more. “And, he would never hurt her or us like that.” Lina’s second statement is directed to her younger brother, her best friend in a lot of ways, different from her connection with Leya but still deep. However, in that moment, they couldn’t be on two different pages. She sees it though. Sees that the anger is just a cover-up for what he’s really feeling. They’re similar like that. Emotions sometimes being harder for them to open up about, but right now, in this moment, she doesn’t have the luxury of letting those feelings flow.

Her siblings need her.

It’s time to be the big sister.

“Look guys, Tama is right that something is definitely going on, but it’s not that. It’s….something they’re not telling us, and it’s probably because it’s none of our business.” Which, Lina can wholly understand, she may only be almost 15, but she’s smart enough to know there are some things husbands and wives keep between themselves, and this has to be one of them. “But, what we do know is how busy they’ve been these past few months. Ripping and running, taking care of us.” She frowns a bit. “They barely have time for themselves.” Or each other. “We’ve gotta….we’ve gotta help them.” She has the focus of all her siblings, something sustains as she sets her plan in motion. “We are going to help them.”

Samaria is the one to ask, voice still low, concern still abundant. “But, how?”

Kai voices agreement, shrugging and reminding, “we’re just kids.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re helpless,” is her calm counter, Lina’s brain calculating and planning in real time as she shares her plans. “We can help them, and we will by easing their stress. Not making things hard for him.” She starts with Koa and Kai. “No more hacking.” Then Aria, “I know you like to talk about and do your plays for them, but for right now, if you have something to share, share it with one of us. And no asking daddy for anything. Mommy, neither.” Then, Leya, her gaze softening. “Sissy, if your anxiety gets bad, talk to me. If it happens at school, text me. I’ll help you.” Finally, Tama. Lina takes a deep breath. “You and I can’t crash out like we do. If someone pisses us off, we just have to brush shit off or something. Work it out in the gym.” A look around the room, a general statement. “We can’t make things harder for them, you guys. They can’t…they can’t handle it right now.”

Lina won’t admit it, but a part of her is scared what will happen if they don’t make these changes.

What it could mean for the family as a whole.

Koa speaks up, suggesting, “we could maybe pick up some chores, too.”

Leya nods, clearly agreeing. “Take over laundry.”

“We can also alternate cleaning the kitchen, maybe even cooking,” Samaria adds, the rest of them clearly in agreement.

“Exactly. We do as much as we can so they can do as little as possible.” It feels like a good, solid plan, one that clearly has the cosign of them all, Tama included, who offers a small nod of agreement.

Lina is ready to also suggest they try to handle dinner more days than not when a small knock on her door is followed by it opening. Her expression softens.

“Roro, what are you doing up?”

Aroha answers in the softest voice, rubbing at her eyes. “I had a bad dream.” A frown followed up with an almost emotional, “and, mommy and daddy didn’t answer the door when I knocked.”

Lina stills. Was it because mom didn’t want Aroha seeing that daddy wasn’t sleeping in the room with her? Is she in the bathroom, maybe? Slept through the knocking? Lina has no idea, she just watches as Leya opens her arm for Roro who shuffles over to the bed, climbing into Leya’s lap as she holds her and kisses the top of her head.

Sighing, Lina closes the door and waits for Leya to calm down their little sister before sitting on the edge of her bed. “Aroha…” Roro’s eyes fall on her, waiting and expecting. “I know…I know you like to wear your costumes to school, but you gotta wear your uniform every day for a little while.” Remembering something else, she adds, “and you gotta make sure to put all your toys away when you’re done playing, okay?”

Before Aroha can ask an understandable question of why, Leya is already five steps ahead. “We’re all trying to help mommy and daddy a little more, and make things easier for them, so they don’t get so stressed.” She cranes her head to look at her while asking. “Does that make sense?”

Somewhat to Lina’s surprise, Aroha nods slowly, following up with a question of her own. Quiet. Soft. Hopeful. “And then they’ll be happy again?”

It’s such an innocent but valid question. One Leya, nor Lina, or any of the Reigns’ children, have the answer to, because they all have similar, scarier questions.

Can their parents be happy again?

As her siblings spill out, all in agreement with the plan, Leya holding Aroha who will sleep with her tonight, Lina extends her arm to stop Tama as he’s the last to leave.

She looks at him. “Hey.” Lina moves to close the door, standing and leaning against it. “Don’t do that.”

Tama gives it away without even saying a word, eyes diverted to the corner of her room, the bookshelf that houses countless trophies. Similar to the ones in his room. “Do what?”

“That thing we do,” she sighs. “Where we have a shit ton of feelings and hold it all in.” A pause. “Or, take it out on people.”

He cracks the smallest smile, and in that moment, he reminds her a lot of the man he’s holding that anger towards.

“What you’re thinking, Tamasa….” Her little brother returns his gaze to her, smile wiped and replaced with that same expression. “He didn’t do it. Daddy would never cheat on mom.” Words already said but also words that need to be repeated. “You’ve seen how he is with her. He’s not like that with anyone except her. He loves her.”

A heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I know. I know. It’s just…” He shakes his head, running his hands through his long hair. “I just don't know what else to think. Whatever it is has to be bad for her to put him out the room, Lina.”

“I agree.” Because, she does. Catalina can’t and won’t deny that. “But, it’s not that, and it will never be that, because I know daddy, and so do you. He’s not that kinda guy.” Lina sighs, pulling from historical receipts. “The way you treat mommy. How protective you are of her and how much you love her. Where do you think you got that from?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. Doesn’t need one. “Daddy. You got it from daddy. Since you were little, he’s always shown and talked with you about how women should be treated. So, why would he do the opposite?”

She’s met with silence, expected and appreciated, because she knows, like herself, when Tama is quiet, it’s because he’s thinking. Reflecting. Processing.

Just like daddy.

“You’re right.” A sigh of defeat, the anger from earlier almost entirely melted away. “He wouldn’t do that.”

Lina sighs. “Exactly.” She reaches out her hand, lightly squeezing his shoulder. “We’re gonna get through this….alright?”

A small nod, their gazes locked, the smallest wry smile falling on his face. “Thanks, Lina.” She smiles back. “Who knew you had a heart somewhere in there?”

“Shut up, dumbass.” She rolls her eyes, the two sharing laughter as she offers, “hey, you wanna join me for my workout tomorrow after school?”

His eyes light up, the answer and obvious one. “Hell yeah.” The older Tama gets, the more she’s found they bask and revel in their shared love of sports and fitness, the reunification of the “terror non-twins” as their Uncle Dwayne used to call them.

They share a fist bump before he leaves, allowing Lina the silence to process it all. The conversation. The reassurance and hope she hopes she successfully fed her siblings. Hope that she can only pray doesn’t turn out to be fruitless.

—-----

It’s a sickening sense of deja vu. A level of dread Solana never in a million years thought she’d have to experience. A type of hurt and pain that feels more physical than anything yet weighs down her mental unlike anything else. It’s knives to the chest, slashing and stabbing, slowly, gradually, carving out deeper and deeper, finding new layers to mar. To scar.

To burn.

To say Solana has been doing well would be a lie. A bold faced lie. She was already struggling, more than she realized, but this….this….this has been something entirely different. Something that's had her reaching for her PRN pills she hasn’t taken in God knows how long. A necessity given the two panic attacks she’s had since that.

It’s just too much. All of it. Solana has always done her best to remain as “strong” as possible, largely for her children, her entire world. But, she’s only human, and a woman, a woman who finds herself facing a type of betrayal she would have bet her life could and would never happen.

She was wrong.

So so wrong.

The first few days are the hardest though. Even harder than trying to pretend like everything was okay for the sake of her children. A facade.

He’s tried to speak with her. Several times. And, not just the forced conversation they manage in front of the kids but attempts to pull her to the side in those rare moments of privacy between the two. She shuns him every time. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk to him, because she does. Some part of her, at least. It’s that she can’t. She can’t, because Solana knows all she’ll do is just breakdown and cry. Not that she hasn’t done that already. It feels like all she’s done since then.

A brave face during the day only to sob profusely on the floor of their once shared bathroom, sitting against the locked door, legs pulled up to her chest as she cries into her thighs.

A privacy allotted due to her kicking Roman out of their bedroom. Their separation might not be able to come right away, but that doesn’t mean she can’t do what she can to keep as much distance between them as she can for the time being.

Because despite his protests, a separation is what’s desperately needed since that.

A horrible, awful suspicion confirmed that’s wrecked her entire world.

She tried her best to push the thoughts away. He would never do that to me. A hill she would have died on at one point, but a hill that she started to gradually descend at his changing behavior over the past few weeks to months. She figured it was work stuff, as that’s usually what causes Roman to shut down more or lean more on the irritated side. Not that he ever showed that side of her. He didn’t. He’d instead slip into a space of quiet, allowing her to comfort him. Rubbing his scalp as he laid on top of her. Shirtless, laying on the bed, as she sat on his back, giving him a massage. Sometimes just laying and sitting with him in silence.

But, none of that happened. It hadn’t happened, because instead of welcoming her, he’d pushed her away. A distance between them she felt, saw widening but tried to make excuses for. The touch was less. The sex was non-existent.

Tears burn her eyes as she recalls the few times she tried to initiate the latter, only for him to reject her, albeit kindly.

“Not tonight, baby. I’m tired.”

An understandable excuse, usually. But, not for her husband. Roman never turned down any opportunity to be intimate with her. Ever.

But, he had, and now….now, she’s certain she knows why.

Solana sniffles and wipes at her eyes, continuing to overthink and drown in her thoughts.

Revisiting and analyzing every interaction with him over the past few weeks, from the most minute of details that seemed irrelevant at times to the more overt ones, not even involving him.

The way she’d casually spoke to Matteo during one of his trips to the house to see the kids and bring over his own. How she’d mentioned Roman seemed more tense than usual. Insinuating concern. The way his brother simply dismissed those concerns, kindly and in a Matteo sort of manner, hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’m sure he’s fine.” His eyes held a kindness and something else she now wonders was something else. “You know how Roman is.”

No. No, she doesn’t. Because Roman, her Roman, would never do something like this.

Would never do this to her.

And, then the overthinking continued. Did Matteo know? Was he simply covering for his little brother? She’d always heard that when men cheat, it’s not uncommon for their closest male friends to know, and who was closer to Roman than this brother?

Dwayne, as well, but she has no evidence to support that.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t stop the spiraling from continuing.

Worsening as Solana resulted to looking her up on Instagram. A public profile that boasted a variety of pictures, many of her smiling and posing, showing off an impressive body that anyone would envy. Including a mother of seven whose shape has changed over the years from age and multiple childbirths.

Celeste’s face is stunning, her waist tiny, hips and ass thick.

Just his type.

That only dug up another layer of anxiety. Tapped into long buried—or, so she thought—insecurities that once marred the very early days of her marriage.

Solana comparing herself to other women. The type of women Roman once entertained. Maybe the type of women he still wants to entertain. Because, while Solana has definitely put on a little weight over the years from age and children, it seems her husband only gets better with age. At 54, he’s in arguably the best shape of his life. Any woman would want him. They’ve always fawned at his feet, and he’s always paid them no mind.

But, Celeste….something made her different.

A sickening thought crossed Solana’s mind as she recalled another age-old saying.

“If he’s not getting it from you, he’s getting it from somewhere.”

Celeste

He’s been getting it from Celeste.

It brings her to the toilet, emptying the little food she’d had that day. Her appetite was all but gone the past few days, another indication of a pending depressive episode.

The only thing that keeps her going is her kids, though it pains her to have to put on such an act in front of them. A necessity though, as Solana knows the pending separation between herself and Roman will be hard enough on them. And, she hates that. Hates that they’re even in this situation. Hating that that’s what most likely will happen once they figure….whatever out.

She hates it all.

Every single bit of it.

—-------

It’s hard to say who notices it first.

Roman or Solana. Maybe both, to some extent. Regardless as to who took notice first is less important as to the thing itself.

Neither parent would ever describe any of their children as bad. Far from it. They can just be….a lot, at times. All the time. But, that’s a given with most things, because at the end of the day, they’re just kids.

Because, one promise they’d made to each other, even before Lina and Leya were born was that they’d do anything and everything they could to make sure the kids had a childhood. That they got to be kids. That they got the experience Roman and Solana never truly had.

And for the most part, they’d like to think they’ve been successful with that. There’s not much the parents wouldn’t do for their babies, bending over backwards sometimes to ensure that happy and stress free, as much as possible, childhood.

That’s why they took notice to the changes. Some subtle. Some more overt. Solana found herself not having to remind the kids of certain things like chores and homework. Roman didn’t have to repeat himself. Not once.

School mornings a thing of ease. Aroha coming down the steps already in her uniform, her hair also done, courtesy of Leya. Solana finding several of her kids in the kitchen sometimes before she could get there to start preparing dinner, either there to help her or already on the brink of finishing said dinner.

Evenings were also a thing of ease. Roman didn’t have to spend two hours getting them all in their rooms and down for bed. It now took under an hour.

The Littles even in the midst of some type of peace treaty, no arguing occurring between them.

No protest. No pushback. It felt like the Twilight zone. It felt off, because something was off.

Very much so.

Walking down the steps from her shower, Solana was fully prepared to clean the kitchen. Only to find it all done, all of her seven children boasting proud smiles, but none more than the youngest.

Aroha rushed over with all the excitement. “Look, mommy and daddy!” She points back to the kitchen. "We leaned it for you."

It's the acknowledgment of her husband that makes Solana realize Roman was nearby, clearly having just come from his office. A brief glance. Nothing more. She doesn’t maintain their eye contact. Not at all.

Clearing her throat, Solana braves a smile, walking deeper into the kitchen. “It looks so nice.” It really does. She can tell it was a collaborative effort, as it’s been for the past few days since the start of her kids off behavior. “But, you guys don’t have to keep cleaning the kitchen for me. I want you to focus on your homework—”

“I don’t get homework,” Aroha announces, still with the biggest smile on her face. “So, I can do lots of cleaning!”

His deep voice sounds from behind. A chuckle. “You’re a kid, baby girl. You don’t need to be doing lots of cleaning.” A pause. “None of you do.”

Solana catches it, and she’s certain Roman does, too, the flick of something that appears in almost all of the kids’ expressions. Subtle but visible, with the exception of one, the youngest and most open with her often big feelings.

Aroha’s eyes light up with excitement, as she asks with a big smile on her face. “Does that mean you guys are happy now?”

Leya gasps, the first to try to do damage control. “Roro.”

Solana frowns, too focused on her youngest, recognizing there’s clearly something behind that. Walking over and crouching down, Solana asks, “what do you mean, baby?”

Tama steps forward, nervousness visible. "It's nothing, mama."

Solana says nothing, knowing that the answer she's looking for won't come from him. Or the rest of them.

It'll come from Aroha.

And with the truest innocence of a young child, she shares with all of the excitement. “We’ve been really good so you and daddy can be happy again.”

Solana has to hold back her tears.

Them.

The kids have been doing all of this, bending over backwards, just to try to make them happy.

Damn.

Thankfully, Roman takes over, gently ordering the rest of them, on the same page as his wife, even without verbal communication. “Kids, come sit down.”

Solana takes Aroha’s hand, guiding her to sit right next to her on the sofa, as the rest of the kids find various seats in their spacious living room. Roman sits in the love chair.

Solana would be lying if she said the lack of him next to her, where he always sits when they need to discuss something with their children, isn’t felt. Necessary. But, still….difficult.

Swallowing, being mindful of her tone and volume, she takes the lead, “you guys…your dad and I….” She stops herself, refusing to let herself cry. Not in front of her babies who have clearly been more impacted by all of this than she initially realized. “We’re going through something right now.”

“And, it has nothing to do with any of you,” Roman adds before anyone can say anything, warm eyes surveying the room. “It’s…it’s between us.”

“We know,” Lina says in a quiet voice, looking between Leya and Tama. “That’s why…we’ve been trying to help out more.”

Leya nods. “We can do whatever you guys need. You just…you have to tell us.”

"And you only have to tell us once," Samaria interjects. "We promise."

The sweetest, kindest, most heartbreaking thing that Solana has heard in some time. A sentiment clearly shared by her husband, given the brief, shared glance between them.

Roman handles the next portion, voice equally firm as it is caring. “The only thing we need you all to do is be kids.”

That’s all they’ve ever wanted. Was for their children to be children, and to know that hasn’t been happening, maybe even longer than the past few days, is a tough pill to swallow.

But, the clarification seems to only whip the premature smile off Aroha’s face. “So…so we didn’t make you happy again?”

“Oh baby,” Solana pulls her youngest into her arms, holding her and kissing the top of her head. “As long as mommy has you all, I’ll always be happy.”

Even if happiness seems like a hard emotion to acquire these past few days, it’s still felt every time she looks at her children. Though in this moment, she’s filled with regret. Regret that her issues with her husband have bled over into her children, filling them with obvious worry that no child should have to experience.

She hates it.

Hates it all.

“Your dad…” Solana allows her gaze to fall on Roman, once more the two of them engaging in unspoken conversation. He gives a subtle nod, encouraging her to continue. “Your dad and I are gonna go away for a couple days. Probably a week.”

As expected, a bombardment of questions.

“Why?”

“When will you be back?”

“Can we come with you?”

“Is it because of us?”

It’s that last comment that has Roman beating Solana in the metaphorical race to immediately shoot that down. The last thing they want is any of the kids thinking what’s happening is somehow their fault.

“Not at all. None of you have done anything wrong.” His voice is firm and final, as he makes eye contact with each and every one of them. “Mom and I just need some time to talk and figure out things, and we need to do it away from you all, so you don’t continue to worry and stress.”

Words similar to what she’d texted him not even an hour ago, recognizing that they couldn't go on the way that they were.

Solana: i know we need to talk, but that’s not going to happen with the kids around. i talked with bayley and rhea, they’re gonna come stay with them for a week while we go away and try to figure all this out.

Roman: Where do you want to go?

Solana: fetu’s place…

Roman: Okay.

Naturally, both Bayley and Rhea were filled with questions, some she answered, most she didn’t. Truth be told, Solana hasn’t really talked much with anyone regarding what’s been going on within her marriage. She hasn’t wanted to. For a variety of reasons, most of which being the only person she really wanted to speak with was shutting her out.

And, now it seems the roles have reversed.

But, like she said in her text to him, this can’t continue, and it’s not going to get addressed so long as they have the kids to worry about and be mindful of. They both need to get away.

Figure out how this separation is going to work, because Solana doesn’t know a lot of things, but what she does know is that some time apart is clearly what they need.

Whether he wants it or not, and she knows he doesn’t, but perhaps seeing the impact their marital problems have been having on the kids will hopefully help him see her side of things.

Even if just seeing just that impact on said kids just from their issues has her wondering if the separation will do more harm than it will good.

—-------

The drive up to Fetu’s place is eerily similar to the first time she was taken to meet Roman’s late aunt, following an even more eerily similar incident. A misunderstanding, that time.

This time…not so much.

Solana keeps her earbuds plugged in, body angled away from where he sits in the drivers seat. Eyes closed almost the entire time, sleep calls her name, but the discomfort of not being awake and conscious while in such close proximity to him is too much. Theres’s an unease that accompanies this closeted space, like being around him is too much. And, it is. Several times she has to fight back tears from spilling over.

It all hurts so much, and the first few days at the cabin are rough.

He tries to get her to talk, to open up, to actually discuss things.

“Solana…we came here to talk.”

“Please just talk to me. Please.”

“Yell, scream, something, Sol. I need something.”

It goes in one ear and out the other. Pleads met with continued silence. He’s not wrong. She knows he’s not. If not for them, then for the kids, they have to make use of this rare alone time.

She won’t let it go to waste. She can’t. But, it’s utterly difficult to bring herself to it. She can’t even think of it without crying, and she knows he sees it. The way she quickly wipes at her eyes whenever he enters the room she’s in. The same way she sees that flash of hurt that appears in his eyes every time he witnesses the brunt of his betrayal.

The hurt he’s caused.

After multiple failed attempts to initiate conversation, he doesn’t say much to her, and she doesn’t say anything to him. There’s continued attempts, similar to how it was back at the manor, but they’re not home, and she doesn’t have to fake shit for the sake of her babies.

She ignores him. Ignores him the same way he’s ignored her the past few weeks, bordering on months. It’s petty, she knows this, but on top of the mountain of hurt he’s caused her to experience is anger. Anger at him. Anger at herself. Anger at her. Just a tremendous amount, and while she’s never considered herself to be a vindictive person, there’s a small part of Solana that finds joy in knowing she’s not the only one suffering.

Roman’s distress is palpable. She can see and even feel his hurt, but it’s difficult for her to care, even with her selfless ways, when it’s a situation he put himself in.

Put them in.

And, she’s not stupid, she knows that not only did she initiate this sort of “getaway,” but that they only have a number of remaining days to sit down and discuss things. That her children are expecting their parents to return back home the way they’re used to seeing them.

If only she was convinced that’ll be the case.

But, she’s not. Truth is that Solana isn’t sure just how she and Roman get back to where they were.

Or, if they even still can.

She’s sitting out back on the patio, drawing, on the bench where she first sat so many years ago, enjoying the sounds of nature. Embracing the solitude.

While it exists.

Solana doesn’t bother to spare Roman a glance when she hears the backdoor open, nor does she care to lift or redirect her focus from the sketch at hand.

Not that it makes a difference.

“I know you don’t want to speak with me right now,” he starts, and she’d be lying if it didn’t do something to her. Something strange. Something that has her heart feeling heavy all over again. “And, I'll respect that, Solana. But, I just….I need you to look at something for me.”

The pressure applied to the paper intensifies just a bit more at that last part. She doesn’t want to do anything for him.

A far cry from the woman who’s told him countless times over the years just the opposite.

How things can change.

Solana remains focused on her drawing—not really—as he places something beside her, something that has enough weight for her to feel the shift from the padding underneath her. Sparing a glance to the side, not to him, she sees it’s his laptop. A laptop bearing a variety of stickers, most courtesy of their children over the years always wanting to make it look “cool.”

Decorations he never saw to it to remove or even correct them on, because he just enjoyed their wanting to always be involved with him. In any sort of capacity.

It chips away just a bit at some of anger, because she cannot and will not deny what an amazing father he’s always been. The best. She’s always been so in awe of how he is with the kids. The same way she was in awe with how good he’s always been with and to her.

Again, what a switch.

Solana stares at it for a moment, as he clears his throat, voice strained. “Please.”

Another chip. Roman has never been a man to wear his heart on his sleeve or to be openly emotive. Except for with her and the kids, but it started with her. She’s always been the one he’s most open with, so it’s impossible for her to ignore the fact that he’s clearly just as much a mess as she is. Holding it together. Barely.

It…it tugs at her. She’s upset with him, but she doesn’t hate him.

She could never hate him.

Still unable, or maybe unwilling to look at him, Solana simply offers a small nod. Okay.

She doesn’t need to be looking at him to know that has to mean a lot to him. The smallest but more important of wins.

“Thank you.”

Still no acknowledgement. She’s not there yet.

It’s not until he walks back into the house, and Solana hears the sound of the door shutting that she sets aside her pen and sketchbook. Trades it in for the MacBook Pro, settling it in her lap and opening it, partially surprised to see it's no longer password protected.

But, it’s something she can’t think too much about because of what’s on the screen. It’s a video that’s paused, ready to be played. CTV footage. Footage of her.

Of Celeste.

Solana is just about ready to pitch the laptop off the porch, suddenly filled with anger. What the hell is Roman trying to do? It feels like salt on an open would. It feels cruel, and while she knows good and well that Roman is more than capable of that, it’s never been directed towards her.

She closes her eyes, forcing herself to take a deep breath. While Roman’s behavior and conduct has been….awful, to say the least, he has to have a purpose for wanting her to see this. A purpose that can’t be to make things worse. It has to be for a reason that’s intended to help. How, she’s not sure, but she also knows that at this point, what does she stand to lose?

She hits play.

The footage begins, showing Celeste sitting at her desk, admiring her nails only to abruptly shift in her seat at the entrance of a man.

Roman.

He’s just stepped out of his office, expression hardened, walking past the desk right as Celeste stands up. “Mr. Reigns.” She clears her throat, adjusting that short ass dress of hers. “Can I—”

“Leave me alone.”

Abrupt. Curt. Mean.

Solana would be lying if she tried to deny a flurry of humor flutters within at the way Celeste’s smile quickly collapses into a frown. Embarrassed. She looks embarrassed.

The clip transitions to the same setting. Celeste at her desk, alternating between typing and scrolling on her phone when instead of seeing Roman exit his office, he's instead seen arriving. Flanked by Dwayne and Matteo.

She stands up, flashing that flirty smile. “Gentlemen.”

Dwayne, unsurprisingly, returns the charm, removing the sunglasses from the top of his head. “I like that dress, sweet thing.” Solana rolls her eyes. Even at his big age, Dwayne continues to be the biggest flirt. But, it’s the reaction of her husband that Solana is focused on.

Because there is no reaction.

Roman actually rolls his eyes, Matteo chuckling as once again Celeste tries and fails to capture the attention of the Tribal Chief.

“Mr. Reigns, your meeting got pushed back—”

“I know.” Another clipped response as he doesn’t even look her way, and the three men head into his office space, the sound of Roman mumbling something that sounds a lot like “...annoying” before the door is shut, once again leaving Celeste standing there looking stupid.

And, that’s exactly how the rest of the footage goes. Celeste clearly trying to capture Roman’s attention, and him straight up ignoring, dismissing, or being straight up rude to her in the process.

Solana watches the montage once, and then twice, searching for any and all cues of anything she could have missed. The only thing being the way Celeste transitioned about halfway through from calling Roman “Mr. Reigns” to just calling him Roman.

On the third watch is when she stops it not even halfway through. She slowly closes the laptop, mind racing, running, and and everywhere.

She understands it now. Understands why he wanted her to watch. Beyond that. He wanted her to see for herself the dynamic, the “relationship” that existed between him and Celeste. A “relationship” that, based upon what she’s seen, was simply Celeste trying for her life to snag his attention but failing every time.

It’s…confusing.

Solana is confused, because she knows what she just saw in the videos. But, she also knows what she saw that day. It doesn’t make any sense. How did it go from Roman barely acknowledging that girl’s existence to her being in his lap, straddling him?

Something different stirs within Solana. Something that has her no longer feeling like putting as much distance between herself and her husband. That desire is still there, but it doesn’t outweigh the other thing.

That sudden desire for answers and clarification.

She’s ready to talk.

—-----

“I watched the video.” It’s the first thing she says to him when she walks in the living room. He’s on the sofa, glasses on, iPad in hand. She stands before him, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, gaze even, voice steady. “All of it.”

He says nothing, his eyes never leaving hers as she walks over to sit on the sofa next to him. Not next to him. No, that feels….it feels too soon.

“Every minute,” she whispers, tightening the blanket as he hit the sleep button on the tablet, setting it on the coffee table. Solana shifts her focus to the rug that she can still recall Lina and Leya crawling all over the first time they took them here. The apple juice Tama spilled and waste, as he was too excited for the show he was watching on TV.

Memories.

So many memories.

“Okay.” He sounds unsure, and that’s almost unnerving for her. Solana has never known her husband to be unsure of anything in his life. “What do you—”

“How did you not see it, Roman?” A whispered question. One she’s had since watching the footage. “How…how could you not tell what she was doing? What she wanted?” She shakes her head, emotion rising. “I told you to be careful. I warned you about her, and you didn’t listen.”

Because in the half hour that passed between Solana sitting on the bench and finally deciding to speak with her husband, more thoughts crossed her mind. Like what happened during those times where Celeste entered his office, a place where there were no cameras? Did something happen? It had to have, based on what Solana saw that day.

Then, there’s the fact that she told him. Warned him to be careful. Expressed her discomfort with that girl, and he’d done nothing. A far cry from the man who's always moved heaven and earth for her and their kids. That Roman would have fired Celeste the minute Solana expressed her concerns, which looking back, deep down, Solana realizes that’s what she wanted him to do.

But, he didn’t.

And, she can’t figure out why.

Roman keeps his voice low. “I know.” The quietest acknowledgement. No denial. No justification. Just validation. “Solana, I didn’t…my goal wasn’t to ignore you.”

At that, she scoffs. “That’s all you’ve done, Roman, is ignore me.” She shakes her head, finding her voice after days of overthinking and repressing. “I told you that I didn’t trust her, and you ignored me. I’ve tried to talk with you and—” She stops herself, emotions flooding along with countless previously silenced thoughts. “I’ve felt so lonely lately, Roman.” Beyond lately. For almost two months, Solana has felt this, felt this void in the wake of his distance. “Even when you’re here, you’re somewhere else. Physically present. Mentally elsewhere.” Her voice cracks, anger diminishing with each word that leaves her mouth. “You’ve shut me out.”

He looks at her, voice soft. “Baby—”

She closes her eyes. “I’ve always felt so close to you, but these past two months, I just….” She shakes her head, looking down, playing with her hands, finally voicing what she’s been too scared to say aloud. Afraid it would make it the truth. “I’ve felt like I’ve lost you.” A heartbreaking thing to admit to the man she once thought she couldn’t live without. Still does, in some ways. Solana lifts her head, eyes still closed, as she takes a deep breath. “So, when I opened that door and saw you with her—”

“Solana, nothing happened—”

“I started to blame myself.”

He pauses. “What?”

She opens her eyes, taking him in, taking in this man who’s held her heart for the better part of her life. Who she’s always considered her better half. Who saved her life so many years ago.

The man she loves.

“I—” It’s such a difficult thing to share, to disclose, all of the many anxieties and concerns and thoughts she’s had since and about this whole thing. But, she knows it needs to come out, and if not now, then when? “I started—I started comparing myself to her.”

“Baby—”

“She’s young, and–and she’s beautiful, skinnier than me, and—” Solana blows out a shaky breath. “And, then I started thinking about what kind of wife I’ve been. If I was attentive enough, if I—I forced all this on you.” She gestures around them, shrugging helplessly. “If…having all these children is something I–I pressured you into, and I unintentionally pushed you in her arms–”

“Solana.”

She gasps, eyes shooting open at the feel of his hands on her face. He’s no longer sitting on the sofa but instead on his knees in front of her, cradling her face, eyes burning into her with all the sincerity and honesty. “Solana, I love you. There’s no woman on this fucking earth I could ever want besides you, and don’t you ever fucking say that you pressured me into anything.” He swallows, clearly also feeling all the emotions that flow through her entire body. “I love our kids. The family we have, the family you’ve given me, means more to me than you could ever know.”

Looking at him, really looking at him, for the first time in days, since it all happened…Solana believes him. Believes he’s telling the truth. Similar sentiments he’s expressed to her over the years at various points, but something she needed to hear once more from him.

Needed that reassurance.

But, as helpful as it is, as much as it means to her, it still doesn’t answer one important ass question that she manages to ask him.

“So, how did we get here, Roman?”

Here. At Fetu’s place. At this place in their marriage. At this place in life.

But, instead of continuing to display a necessary vulnerability with her, Solana sees it. Sees the way he’s starting to shut down. “I don’t…” That’s all he can get out, because just like that, the brief spark of hope fades, stomped out by reemerging isolation. He’s separating himself again, and she can’t take it anymore. Solana stands up to leave, unable and unwilling to put up with any more rejection. Because that’s what he’s made her feel lately.

Rejected.

Roman is fast though, standing with her, his body practically pressed against hers, hands on her hips, holding her, keeping her from leaving. Her eyes momentarily flutter. Having him this close to her, the woodsy scent of his cologne invading her senses the same way he invades her private space.

It’s so hard. She’s missed him so much.

Solana manages to lift her eyes to meet his, his gaze pleading an unspoken request.

Please.

Torn and so lost, she ignores the screaming in her head to walk away and leave him be. Doesn’t allow it to dictate her behavior as she instead sits back down on the same sofa. He does the same, next to her.

But, Solana scoots to the other end, placing some distance between them. Something that makes him wince almost but doesn’t prevent him from talking. Something that’s confusing to her as well. How can she both want and not want him at the same time? A cruel, wicked dichotomy indeed.

Roman clears his throat, voice still low. “I don’t want to make this about me.”

An easy thing to respond to. Probably the easiest thing in any of this. “But, it is about you, Roman.” Is her calm counter as she shifts, angling her body toward him, one leg up on the sofa, the other on the ground. “It’s about you. It’s about me. It’s about us. It all ties in together.”

He nods, clearly sitting on her words. His elbows are on his thighs, hands clasped together between slightly spread legs. He’s focused on the same rug that she’d previously used to reflect on the life they’ve worked so hard to build for themselves.

“Do you remember when I took Aroha to that birthday party back in January?” He suddenly asks, forcing her to think back hard. Their kids do so many things, it’s hard to keep up at times. “You couldn’t take her because—”

“I had to work,” Solana finishes for him. She remembers now. “Yes, what…what about it?”

Solana sees the way his jaw flexes, indicating he’s struggling to express himself.

“I was the oldest person at that damn fucking party, and it…it got me thinking…” He trails off, clearly deep and heavy in thought. “I’m 54 years-old, Solana. I’ll be 55 in less than three months.”

She continues to study his side profile, struggling to follow just where he’s going. “Okay…” This is nothing new, nothing that comes as a surprise to her, and he knows this, so why they’re even discussing it is truly confusing her.

“Aroha is five. Five years old.” Solana shifts on the sofa once more, moving to her knees, frown deepening with every pained statement that leaves his mouth. Now…now, she’s starting to understand. “By the time she’s 18 and just graduating high school, I’ll be almost fucking 70 years old.”

Her chest tightens. “Roman…”

He continues, visibly deep in the throes of his distressing concerns regarding the fragility of life. “All I’ve been able to fucking think about is time, all I can think about is time. Time I have left. Time I might not get with her, with them—”

She shakes her head. “Don’t say that—”

“With you.”

Solana grows quiet. She knew something was going on with Roman, just knew it, but she could have never guessed it was this. Nor could she have anticipated how deeply it’s been bothering him. Tormenting him, it almost feels like.

He sits back against the sofa, still not looking at her but continuing to pour out months worth of worries in a matter of minutes. “I spent years being stupid, wasting my time with women who meant nothing to me, whose names I didn’t even know half the damn time, and now that I have you, I have the kids, I have to deal with the consequences of that. The fact that I might not be able to experience so many things because I was too busy being a fucking whore....” He swallows. "I fucking hate it."

She winces at the bitterness that seeps through his deep voice. Bitterness and blame directed inward. A sort of anger that feels almost unfair. It’s all unfair, but the fact that he feels so deeply about this, feels as if he’s to blame for the timeline of their story being the way it is feels wrong to her.

Has her sympathizing for him. Such a stark contrast for everything she’s felt the past few days, longer even, but what she feels, nonetheless. There’s no thought that goes into when she moves closer to him on the sofa, what has her gently cupping his face when he finally looks at her, or has her asking with all the love, “Roman….why….why didn’t you say anything to me?”

Years. For years, they’ve been each other’s biggest support system. Biggest confidants. Safe spaces. So, to know he’s been suffering in silence with what almost sounds like some sort of midlife crisis hurts her. It hurts her a lot. She might have been (is still?) upset with him, hurt especially, but she’d never wish this kind of pain on him.

Walking around everyday wondering and worrying about mortality and time he won’t get to have with their children.

With her.

He closes his eyes, carefully choosing his words.

“Because, you don’t get it, Sol. you’re 10 years younger than me. That makes a difference. It makes a big difference.” He stops, opening his eyes, tone shifting into something softer than the almost edge that took over with his initial answer to her question. “You don’t…you don’t have to worry about these things like I do, and I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

“Roman….” Her voice dips, filled with all of the emotions. “All I’ve done is worry about you.”

About him. About them. His silence may have seemed like protection, but it was really just ammunition. Fuel that drove and sustained the separation between them, maintained the distance and disconnection.

“Solana…” He trails off, and a shaky breath tumbles out of her mouth when he moves his hands to her waist, holding her. “The reason…the only reason I haven’t touched you is because I keep thinking about what if you get pregnant again? Is that just going to be another child of mine that I don't get to experience as much with because of my age?” An unexpected admission but one that answers another of her insecurities with this whole situation. She’d been so scared he hadn’t made love to her because he didn’t want to. Because his attraction to her was no longer there.

She couldn't have been more wrong.

“Roman…” It’s a bit of a difficult task. She doesn’t want to invalidate his feelings, but she also doesn’t want him to continue to torment himself over something that he can’t control. “We can’t control time. The same way you couldn’t control when we met. But, I believe we met exactly when we were supposed. Our children have been born exactly when they were supposed to.” She does. With everything in her. “The same way I believe and know that we’re both going to see them all grow up and be happy and have families of their own someday. All the way from Lina to Aroha.” The faintest hint of a smile, the first she’s had in days, appears on her face. “Well…my money would be on Leya starting that family first, since we both know how Lina is.”

His small chuckle means a lot to her. Same with the way his grip on her waist tightens ever so slightly. “You’re not gonna miss any of it, Ro…” She lifts a hand to gently stroke his beard. “I promise….”

Because Solana cannot and will not accept a future where this all doesn't end exactly as she predicted. They will only close their eyes after seeing the family they created build and create their own future.

“Thank you.” Comes his strained voice. She manages a small smile. He tugs her even closer, their foreheads pressed together.

Solana’s chest is fluttering, a different, both foreign and familiar emotion simmering within, hastening to a boiling point. “Roman…”

An unspoken but known continuation of addressing her insecurities. “It’s not and never will be because I don’t want you,” he vows. I’ve always wanted you, and I always will. I only want you, Solana.”

His mouth hovers over hers, Solana moving her hands to his shoulders. “Ro…”

One locked gaze, and seconds later, his lips are on hers. It’s all feeling and sensation. No thoughts. Just feeling. She doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to worry, doesn’t want any of the things that have been weighing her down. Weighing them both down.

It’s not perfect. It’s not fixed. It’s not even necessarily alright, but right now, she doesn’t care about any of that. This isn’t about that. This is about connection. It’s about togetherness. It’s about being one.

Clothes are shed and bodies repositioned, their mouths only separated in moments of necessity, desire a powerful, blinding emotion consuming both of them.

Synchronized moans at the entrance of him inside of her, Solana’s hands clutching and clawing at his back at the familiar stretch and initial burn. She whines, legs tightening around his hips, craving him. All of him. Every single inch. His body melting and molding into hers. She can’t get close enough, feel close enough. It’s just not enough.

Tears blur her vision, a vulnerable, breathy, “I’ve missed you,” escaping her mouth.

He looks at her, one hand cupping her face, “I know, baby.” Solana whines into his mouth, his hips pressing into hers, driving his dick deeper inside of her, feeding and correcting her every neglected need. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes shut, as he moves his full lips over her eyelids, kissing her tears away. “I’m sorry.”

Solana gasps once more, her head craned back, as he angles his hips upward, finding her spot almost instantly. Her nails dig into his back as his mouth continues to travel her face, placing the softest of kisses that accompany the dutiful thrusts, the melding of their bodies. The becoming of one.

“I’m sorry,” a prayer on his mouth that he can’t seem to cease, remittance and remittance it feels he believes there is no cutoff point for. A level of contrition that penetrates her soul.

Solana clutches him, body to body, chest to chest. One and one. He drives into her with all the dedication and repentance coursing through his big body. And, she takes it all, every bit of it. She’s never been been able to get enough of him, of this, and after so long of going without, she just wants to be and not think.

Just wants to enjoy and savor in this moment.

In the love.

It’s not like most of the time when they make love. He doesn’t turn her over or initiate different positions. Doesn’t prolong it for the rest of the night. They stay like that, face to face, gazes locked almost the entire time, a level of intimacy reserved only for that of the deepest of lovers. Of two who decided long ago that there was no them without one another. A perfect union.

And, when they’re done, when both reach their shared climax, they don’t move. There’s a shift to allow Solana to lay on top of him, her ear to his chest, as he uses her blanket to partially cover them. But, outside of minimal adjustments, no movement. Just gentle caresses of Roman’s finger down the small of her back, Solana’s hands moving across Roman’s chest and abs. Light, loving touches between two lovers.

She’s not sure how long they stay like that. Hours, most likely. Long enough for her to fall asleep and wake up to find him still stroking her back. Solana opens her eyes but doesn’t look up at him, just focuses on the faint outline of the sofa on the other side of the room.

“What happened before I got there, Roman?”

A question entered into the silence, posed to him, an answer she both needs and doesn’t want.

Knowing what she now knows, Solana leans more on the side of nothing horrible happening between them, but Celeste ending up in Roman’s lap is still a story that needs to be told.

Whether she wants to hear it or not.

She feels him sigh loudly before moving into the explanation she’s been dreading since that fateful, awful day.

“They found something when I went in for my mammogram.”

Words that play on repeat in his head. Loud. Quiet. Fast. Slow. Countless variations with a sole impact. Devastation. For a lot of reasons. For the fact that she hadn’t even told him until that point. For the fact that she’s clearly been sitting on this alone until that point. For the fact that this could mean something completely fine or completely life changing. There’s no in between. No wiggle room.

And, he fucking hates it.

Weeks, months, he’s been so in his head, so focused on his own mortality, playing out different hypothetical outcomes. Thinking about life when it’s no longer a thing. When his is no longer a thing.

Not once did it ever cross his mind that she could be dealing or struggling with the same thing.

Roman knows he’s fucked up. He’s not stupid. He recognizes now, at least, how his refusing to open up about his fear of death, growing old, and not being able to see his children grow up and pursue whatever routes they choose in life. He realizes holding in all of this has inadvertently caused problems within his marriage.

That him being too stubborn to be honest with Solana, instead avoiding her and distancing himself from the very person he should have been leaning on, has hurt her.

While she’s already been hurting and dealing with a terrible possibility.

Roman leans back in his chair, focusing on nothing but that damn statement. It’s a complete 180. He couldn’t give two shits about himself at this point. All he can think about is Solana, think about how he should have pushed harder for them to actually talk last night. He understands her being upset with him, she has every right to be. He’d done this. Was 100% to blame. But, that situation is different.

This is her health.

Her life, and nothing means more to him than that.

It’s why he’s had that nagging, burdensome, weight sitting on his chest. For years, his biggest fear has been something happening to his family, to his children, to his wife. Hence why he’s always been so protective of all of them. Worked tirelessly to keep them from any and all danger.

But….this….this is a fight he doesn’t know he would even handle. Doesn’t want to think about having to handle it, because even after all these years, years of hard work in therapy, the thought of something happening to Solana still scares him shitless.

Especially something he can’t protect her from.

“Roman?” There’s a knock at the door. Celine, or whatever her name is. He still hasn’t bothered to learn it. And won’t. He doesn’t even bother to look her way, knowing she most likely has the stock report he’d asked her to get him when he came in this morning. “I have—”

“Leave it on my desk.” A simple command. Not as rude. No, Roman doesn’t really have it in him right now to be that asshole that could drive even a nun to swear. Too much on his plate.

His heart is too heavy for that.

The faint sound of footsteps, her saying something he couldn’t give two shits about. Again, in one ear and out the other. He can’t stop thinking about Solana. About everything that’s happened the past couple months. How they’d gotten to this strange, almost foreign place.

He’s never felt so distant from her, and it’s the worst feeling in the world.

Was. Because one minute, Roman is sitting in his chair, legs spread, forearms rested on the arms of the smooth leather, gaze focused on the intricate design of the carpet in his office, and the next, a complete invasion.

Cecilia is on his lap, legs spread, the scent of her cheap ass perfume borderline nauseating. But, the feeling of nausea is minimal compared to the rage that instantly fills him, that has Roman seconds away from doing something out of character.

Because his first immediate instinct is to snap her neck. To kill her for this shit. And, that’s not like him, a sick and borderline sadistic creature when he has to be, he’s always drawn a line in the sand when it comes to women.

Even more so after being with Solana and learning/seeing the impact of her abuse and trauma. After having daughters himself. He’s never seen himself as a man capable of hurting a woman, not physically, at least.

But, this bitch is trying it.

It takes everything in him to not snap, his hands squeezing the arms of the chair so hard that his knuckles are practically white. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The bitch has the nerve to smile, to fucking smile, batting her eyelashes like it’s supposed to do something for him. “You seem….upset.” Her eyes dip to his mouth, Roman completely and utterly revolted as she licks her bottom lip. “Let me help you with that, daddy...”

And the minute she lifts her hand, clearly aiming to touch his crotch is the second he loses all sense of self-control.

Roman doesn’t give two shits if she hits her head and dies on the spot, using all his strength to shove her off and away from him. His face is completely distorted into the deepest scowl, and he’s burning with desire to grab his gun and just off her right then and there.

But, something else.

Something else captures his focus, steals the focus of both of them.

Solana.

“I wasn’t even fucking paying attention to her. I was in my fucking head, and I should have…” Roman trails off, finishing his recalling of what she now is starting to realize, eerily similar to the last time, was an honest to God misunderstanding. “I should have noticed the minute she got that close to me.”

Solana doesn’t necessarily disagree.

“I believe you,” she whispers, feeling him look down at her. Feeling both his relief and surprise at her acknowledgement. “But…” Solana sits up, using the blanket to cover her chest as she looks down at him. “Roman, that only happened because you didn’t listen to me.”

Two truths can exist in the same universe. Roman has been dealing with a lot, which has clouded his judgment, among other things. But, that doesn’t necessarily excuse the fact that his lack of honesty with her carved out a path that led Celeste do what she did. He didn’t set that boundary soon enough, and she wasted no time in exploiting and crossing that.

Solana can both be upset and empathize with her husband. Maybe more than she’d like to admit.

“You’re right,” he agrees, unsurprising to her. Roman lifts his hand to cup her face, repeating for what has to be the hundredth time in the past few hours. “I’m sorry.”

She knows he is.

But, she also knows sometimes….sometimes that’s just not enough.

“Roman…” Solana licks her lips, that feeling of dread filling her all over again. A reluctance that has her just wanting to lay back down against him and succumb to the escape of sleep. But, that solves nothing, and they have no shortage of things that need just that—solving. “I–I think….” A deep breath. “I knew he was attracted to me.” Even in the dark of the room lit only by a small lamp on the side table near the other sofa, she can see it. See his surprise. “I think….I think I liked the attention.”

A stunning, horrible admission but her truth, nonetheless. Because if this situation has caused her to do anything, it’s reflect. Not only on what happened with Roman and Celeste. But, what happened between her and Robert.

The brief conversations. The smiles. The compliments. The flirting. She never reciprocated, never did anything to make him think she felt the same. But, she also never did anything to shut it down, either.

“I think, on some level, I liked….I liked how it made me feel,” she continues, hating the pitting at the bottom of her stomach. “Good. Wanted. All….all things I wasn’t feeling from you.” She swallows, shaking her head. “And, it’s not because I like him. I don’t. I don’t want him. I don’t like him. I love you.” Full, unabridged honesty. “But, the fact that it even got that far, in both of our situations, is a problem.” She gestures between them. “We have a problem.”

Because in all of the years they’ve been together, Solana has never once had that happen with another man. Never enjoyed any time of non-innocent interest from anyone not her husband, and she doesn’t want that to happen again.

It can’t.

“You’re right.” Solana can hear the faintest hint of anger and irritation in his voice, and instantly, she knows why. Knows that it’s directed not at herself, but the doctor she works for. Or, used to work for, because she also has no doubt in mind after he recovers from his injuries sustained in a “random mugging,” he’ll mysteriously be transferred to another hospital out of state.

Way out of state.

“What do you want us to do?” A gentler tone, an honest inquiry. “Just tell me, and I’ll do it.” Roman sits up, moving his hand to her back, pulling her against him. “I’ll do anything to make this right.”

Desperate. He sounds desperate.

Solana thinks about it, palm resting over his chest. “I think we should go to marriage counseling.” An expected suggestion and what feels like the best move at this point. “Just…just to continue to work things out.”

Because as helpful, and maybe even healing, these conversations have been, Solana recognizes they still need more. Recognizes there’s still something within her she needs to work through.

Forgiveness. She needs to find a way to fully forgive him, something that she’ll tackle with Gail, but also something they need to tackle together, as a couple.

“Okay.” He agrees, rubbing small circles at the base of her back. “Let’s do it.” Truth be told, Solana didn’t have much doubt in her that he would agree to it. They’ve both done individual therapy for years now, and she knows he sees the benefit. She also knows he means it when he says he’ll do anything to make their marriage work.

She believes him.

“Solana…” A shift, a change even in his facial expression. “We need to talk about—”

And just like that, she’s shaking her head. She knows exactly what he’s about to say. “Not…not right now.”

His frown deepens. “Sweetheart—”

“I know we do, and we will.” Because avoiding things is how they got into this situation, but the fact that just the thought of talking about that right now has her chest tightening, skin warming, tells Solana that she just can’t handle it right now. “Just…not right now…please?”

His disagreement is visible, but he nods quietly, offering no protest as she goes to lay them back down, inching closer to him, holding onto him and closing her eyes.

They still have things to work through. A lot to figure out.

The potential C word conversation to have and handle right now, but in this moment, she doesn’t want to think about any of that.

Right now, she just wants to enjoy her husband.

—--------

The adjustment to being back home goes smoother than Solana anticipated. She’s not sure what exactly she was expecting, but what she received is not something she will complain about. Overt enjoyment from her children at their parents being home, the big, warm hug from her youngest who commented with the biggest smile on her face, looking at both herself and Roman.

“You’re happy again.”

Right there, in that moment, Aroha couldn’t have been more right.

Solana can’t say that she feels all the way better in the days following their return home. She definitely feels better than she was feeling before they left. Felt even more relieved when she and Roman sat the kids down and reassured him that they were working things out and were not planning to separate or divorce.

A sense of relief that helps her as well.

It’s a strange thing, how she went from seriously contemplating asking Roman to leave the house for a while to looking up marriage counselors for them, welcoming him back in their bedroom, him sleeping next to her. Him attending the follow up testing with her.

That….that has been at the forefront of her mind. Test being done two days prior, Solana knows she’s in the window for a callback and her results to be uploaded to MyChart.

She does her best to keep herself busy, mostly with the foundation, as going back to work at the hospital feels….too soon. She just needs some time away from that.

But, in the meantime, catching up on things around the house, handling foundation business, gradually re-entering herself back into her friend and family group have been the focus. The best things for her to focus on.

She's in the middle of gathering the laundry from her kids bedrooms, chuckling when she finds Coco lounging on the bed in Aroha’s room.

“Hey, girl,” she greets, petting the dog’s head when music fills the room. Familiar. Her ringtone.

Solana is quick to grab her phone out of her back pocket but slow when she sees the familiar number light up her screen.

The number of her doctor’s office.

A nervous glance at Coco who remains oblivious to what this could mean. Solana’s eyes shut.

Here goes nothing.

Sitting on the edge of her baby daughter’s bed, Solana sends a quiet prayer to the man upstairs and hits the green button.

“Hello?”

—--------

Roman was in the middle of a meeting when he noticed his phone light up. A phone that had always sat on the table, screen up, regardless of what he was doing.

It was something he’d drifted away from over the past two months due to his internal struggles but something he has no intentions on changing ever again.

But, it’s when he sees it, that the meeting comes to a premature ending. For him, at least. He leaves Dwayne and Matteo to handle the rest of it, because he has something more important to tend to.

Much more important.

The drive from Bloodline Headquarters to the Reigns Manor feels like it takes longer than it ever has before. The driver too slow, too many cars on the road, too much interference keeping him from his destination.

From her.

The minute they pull up, Roman is out of the SUV, jogging into the house, calling her name, searching, looking for her in all of her most frequented locations. The kitchen. The laundry room. Her art room. But, where he finds her is unexpected.

Roman stands outside of Solana’s walk-in closet, paused by the sight before him. She’s sitting on the floor, surrounded by the clear containers containing years worth of family photos, many of them spread across the carpet, almost entirely obstructing a clear path for him to her.

Her, his wife, who's in the middle of it all, smiling at whatever polaroid she has in hand.

“Solana…”

She looks up, and her smile deepens just a bit, but he sees it. Sees something in her eyes. Something unsettling and boiling over. Something building by the second.

“Do you remember this day?” She flips the photo, revealing a smiling photo of their oldest three kids when they were younger. “It was from one of their first Disney trips.” Solana chuckles, flipping it back over to continue admiring. “They were so happy…”

Though sensing something unsettling, Roman won’t invalidate her. He’s done more than enough of that to last a lifetime lately. “Lina and Tama kept wanting to talk to everyone…”

She giggles, shaking her head. “Meanwhile, Leya was too shy, which was why we kept having to initiate talking to the characters for her.”

A quick chuckle kept within. That’s one of those memories that will always stay with him. They all will.

Solana grabs another photo. “Oh my gosh, this was the boys’ first birthday party.” Again, she shares the photo with Roman who’s managed to make his way through the sea of memories, kneeling near her. “They were so irritated with us.” She hands him the photo of Koa and Kai, sure enough, scowling while being held by their parents, surrounded by people.

Another internal chuckle. His twin boys have always been just like him with their antisocial ways, even from a young age.

Clearly.

But, that’s not the focus at hand.

Something else is.

Something that had her text him while he was at work. Three simple words.

i need you.

“Look at Aria,” Solana awes, looking at a photo of Samaria at what Roman would guess was after one of her recitals. “She was so proud of herself that night…”

Attention on the polaroid is brief, as Roman’s frown deepens, sensing the slightest shift in Solana’s voice. “Baby…what’s going—”

“Roro….” He’s cut off by Solana grabbing another photo, this time of their youngest. A glance reveals it’s from only a few months ago. Christmas morning. Her smiling bright while holding up one of her gifts, a stuffed monkey dressed in a pink tutu. “She’s five…”

Roman looks back at his wife, seeing her smile gradually dimming with each stroke of her finger across Aroha’s face. “She’s…she’s only five.”

He swallows. “Solana—”

“You know I….I spent so many years not wanting to be alive.” Such a dark, sudden switch that has Roman taken back. Something that doesn’t happen often. If ever. “Tried to kill myself, even. Twice.” A bitter, humorless laugh, as she sniffles. “And then, it all changed.” She lifts her eyes to him. “I met you, and everything changed.” Emotion builds, her bottom lip trembling, the stammering returning. “We—we built this life together. This—this family. Our—our kids. My—my babies. Aroha is only—she’s only five, Roman.”

He sees it, sees the way her breathing is shifting, infrequent, difficult. A panic attack. She’s about to have a panic attack. “Baby, look at me. I need you to breathe,” he guides, placing his hands on her face, forcing her to look at him. “Breathe for me.”

The distant sound of the washing machine going off somehow snags her attention, Solana’s eyes widening, her mouth trembling. “That’s—that’s the laundry. I have—I have—to get it done.”

A gentle reassurance. “Don’t worry about that right now, baby.”

“No,” she objects, shaking her head, breaking away from him. “I have—I have to do it.”

He stands with her, blocking her, recognizing what’s happening and knowing the last thing she needs right now is to be concerned with that. “Sol, that’s—”

“I have to!” She shouts, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I have to get the laundry done before the kids get home from school, because I have to help Tama with his English homework, and—and Lina likes to recap her day with me.”

His chest tightens. “Sol—”

“And, and I like to ask Leya how her day was and make sure she’s not struggling with her OCD—”

“And, Koa and Kai love when I bake cookies when they get home. And, Roro—” Her voice cracks, the facade crumbling. “She loves to hug me and tell me she missed me as soon as she gets in the door.”

“Solana…”

“I—I have things to do, Roman. I have—I have so many things to still do. I don’t—” A crushing realization, cumbersome and devastating, overpowering whatever hold she had on her emotions. “I’m not ready to go yet.”

Words he’d never thought or wanted to hear from her. Not…not in this context. Never in this context.

A sound. A broken gasp. A strangled cry. Roman catches her the minute he sees her body about to collapse to the floor, is down on his knees, holding her as she wails into his chest.

“I don’t want to die.” A repeated plea for mercy and strength as her fingers grasp his shirt, her face buried into his chest, body almost trembling from the strength of her sobs. “I don’t want to die.”

Roman says nothing, just continues to hold and comfort her, wanting more than anything to have the right words to make her feel better, to take away her pain, but nonverbal comfort is the only thing he has to offer her in this moment. It’s the only thing he has to offer, because he finds himself also struggling. Struggling to keep his own composure, a necessity given how she’s breaking down before him.

Struggling to grasp what’s happened, because despite her not saying it, he knows exactly what’s happened.

There’s only one thing that could evoke this type of visceral, emotional response from his wife.

Her test results came back positive.

Solana has cancer.

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

177 notes · View notes

elliethefroggy · 11 months ago

Text

What if Eddie had been a little less oblivious and had invited to Buck to trivia-karaoke night.

They’re all three going to hang out at the karaoke bar, and at first Buck’s nervous because Tommy is super cool, but once the trivia quiz actually starts, all the nerves go away, and Buck’s sponge of a brain has a chance to shine.

He gets question after question right, barely having to consult the two others. Eddie’s probably used to this side of Buck, but Tommy gets to sit there, mesmerised because not only is Buck exceedingly attractive but he also has brains (does Tommy have a competency kink? Who’s to say).

By the end of the night, Tommy’s probably forgotten all about trying to answer the questions, too busy watching Buck’s eyes light up every time he knows an answer (and those eyes light up an awful lot). Overall, the night goes well, and Buck’s amazing brain probably wins them a pitcher of free beer or something.

Because that night went so well, all three of them start hanging out more and more. Maybe Tommy somewhat discreetly suggests to Eddie that they invite Buck along, just so he has the opportunity to stare in Buck’s eyes some more.

But Tommy doesn’t do anything at about his developing crush, at least not right away.

Firstly it’s because Tommy’s trying to figure out just what the deal is between Eddie and Buck. Are they dating? Are they the most healthy divorced couple of LA? BFFs? Platonic soulmates? Not-so-platonic soulmates?

Maybe it doesn’t take him that long to figure out that those two are not together, but then he still needs to make sure that there isn’t some unrequited or very-requited-but-they’re-both-oblivious crushing going on between Eddie and Buck.

My guess it takes him a while to finally decide that they’re some flavour of queerplatonic life partners (he decides on this after a lot of subtle and not so subtle questions; Christopher is probably his most helpful informant).

(Realistically, Tommy would have probably just straight up asked one of them if they were together because Tommy seems pretty good at communication, but that’s no fun for me.)

But then, once he’s figured out that Eddie and Buck are definitely not a thing, he still needs to figure out what exactly Buck’s sexuality is.

Because, sure Buck’s only ever dated women and is such an ‘ally’. But Buck spends way too long looking at other men’s asses. Tommy notices this because he’s probably caught Buck staring at the same asses Tommy himself was just looking at (remember the hanger scene when Tommy very blatantly checks out Buck’s ass).

So now Tommy’s having to figure out just what Buck’s sexuality is. Is Buck gay? Is he closeted? Is he as straight as he claims to be? Is he repressed? Also what’s with all the flirting (because of course Buck’s going to be unknowingly flirting with Tommy; Buck just can’t help himself).

Eventually, Tommy and Buck are going to have some one-on-one bonding time without Eddie.

Buck takes him up on those flying lessons which means Tommy gets trapped in a confined space with Buck on a regular basis, having to deal with his growing feelings towards what can only be a golden retriever in human form. Buck is kind and sincere and so so earnest, Tommy has no choice but to fall for him.

But Tommy still doesn’t know where Buck’s sexuality lies, and he’s getting to the point where’s pulling his hair out in frustration, trying to figure it out. Because no way can a heterosexual man stare at Tommy’s lips that often. There is no straight reason for that, right?

He then makes the mistake of also offering Buck Muay Thai lessons.

He doesn’t realise his mistake until they’re both sweaty and shirtless. Buck looks very good sweaty and shirtless. But it’s fine, Tommy manages to cope, he just avoids looking at the large expanse of wet skin right in front of him. He’s not distracted by all that skin. He’s fine.

(Luckily, Buck doesn’t know enough about Muay Thai to notice how badly Tommy is fighting.)

Somehow they both get tangled up and they fall to the ground (I don’t know shit about Muay Thai). Buck lands flat on his back and Tommy ends up on top of him. Tommy goes to get off Buck immediately because Tommy’s not exactly light, but then he makes another mistake: just as he places his hands on either side of Buck to push off the ground, he looks at Buck’s face

Buck’s cheeks are nice and red (because of exertion? Because of Tommy’s close proximity? Both?), Buck’s breathing heavily, his breaths getting faster and faster the longer Tommy stays where he is. Buck’s eyes are near black, his pupils leaving only the thinnest band of colour.

Buck’s staring at Tommy, and Tommy’s staring at Buck. Then Buck once again glances down at Tommy’s lips as Tommy is lying over him, their sweaty chests pressing against one another.

And Tommy cracks.

He throws himself off Buck, getting to his feet, and crosses over to the other side of the mat to put some distance between himself and Buck.

When he turns back to look at Buck, Buck is still lying on the ground, now leaning back on his forearms, looking up at Tommy. Which is a sight Tommy would love nothing more than to see again.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Tommy says, “but are you really straight?” Which is definitely not how Tommy wanted this conversation to start, but sue him, he’s having a breakdown. “Sorry,” he repeats, “It’s just there’s been a lot of flirting and a lot of starring at my various attributes,” he tries again, poorly, “Not that I’m complaining; I would love nothing more than to have you stare at my lips and flirt with me for as long as you want. But I need to know where we stand before I lose my mind trying to figure you out.”

And the thing is, Tommy’s not the only one who’s been struggling these past few weeks.

Buck’s been dealing with these weird feelings towards Tommy since day 1. At first he just figured it was because Tommy was so cool (which he is), and then he thought it was because he was jealous that Tommy was spending so much time with Eddie, thinking maybe Tommy was trying to steal his spot in the Diaz household. But is wasn’t either of those things. Buck’s been wracking his brain for weeks, trying to figure out just what he was feeling towards Tommy.

And here’s Tommy, all sweaty and shirtless, so much glistening skin on display, and Tommy’s offering Buck a possible answer to all these feelings he’s been unable to name.

And what Tommy’s implying makes some sense. Buck thinks over all the instances he’s hung out with Tommy, compares his behaviour to the times he’s had crushes on women, and thinks maybe Tommy’s onto something.

Buck, who is a big believer of the scientific method of experimentation, figures there’s an easy way to test Tommy’s theory.

Buck slowly gets up from the mat as his brain goes into hyper-drive, processing the fastest sexuality crisis known to humanity.

Maybe Buck flexes a bit as he gets up because Tommy’s watching him and he’s always liked attention.

By the time he straightens up, the sexuality crisis has been dealt with and he’s ready to act on these newly revealed feelings.

He likes Tommy’s theory a lot.

“I have been staring at your lips a lot, haven’t I?” He says, purposeful flirty.

(Once again they have both been (knowingly or not) starring at each other longingly for weeks, they are both shirtless and covered in sweat, and had their naked chests pressed up together just moments ago; neither of them are thinking very rationally.)

And Buck (flirty Buck who made picking woman up into an art-form) walks/stalks over to Tommy, leaving enough room for Tommy to back away if he wants to.

“Maybe you should do something about that?” Buck suggests, and very deliberately stares down at Tommy’s lips.

Tommy knows they should have a more thorough discussion about where both of them stand, but he’s only one man.

Tommy closes the gap between them, places two fingers underneath Buck’s chin, and slowly leans in to finally kiss Buck.

The kiss lasts no more than a moment, not nearly long enough for either of their tastes, but Tommy needs to be sure that Evan’s sure.

“So?” he asks simply, fingers still under Evan’s chin.

“Yeah, definitely not straight.” And Evan leans in to kiss Tommy again. Tommy does not mind at all.

(They then spend the rest of their Muay Thai lesson making out.)

#911 #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #buck x tommy #evan buck buckely #I need more canon divergence fics with these two #please someone write this for me #i don't have the time #someone write me a long-ass slow burn between these two #please #i'm not above begging

563 notes · View notes

journeytodrawiii · 2 months ago

Text

──────────────୨ৎ────────────────

I made a fun little quiz!! I hope that some of y'all see this and decide to take my little personality quiz. It's filled with art, fashion and a little dabble of poetry here and there. Mostly, it's a fun, safe, little space. I hope — at least some of — you enjoy this quiz!! <333

──────────────୨ৎ────────────────

#uquiz #quiz #personality quiz #are you bored?#look what i made #yippie #aesthetic #uquiz link

273 notes · View notes

tobiosbbyghorl · 3 months ago

Text

Only For You | psh

his pov her pov

I never expected to fall for you.

It started small, barely noticeable—stolen glances in the hallway, catching sight of you laughing with your friends, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were focused in class. At first, I convinced myself it was nothing. Just curiosity. Just boredom.

But then, I found myself looking for you in the crowd every morning.

You weren’t popular in the flashy, untouchable way, but people naturally gravitated toward you. Maybe it was your warm presence, or the way you always had something to smile about. It annoyed me at first. How could someone be so carefree? I, on the other hand, had a reputation to keep—top student, athlete, always composed.

And yet, I started craving your attention.

At first, I thought it was funny. I wasn’t the type to go out of my way for someone, but with you? I did things that felt out of character. I took the long way to class just to pass by your locker. I sat near you in the library, pretending to read while secretly stealing glances. I’d stand a little taller when I knew you were looking. It was ridiculous.

Then, one day, our worlds finally collided.

It happened after school. I was heading to basketball practice when I saw you struggling with your bag—one of the zippers had broken, and your books were slipping out. Without thinking, I walked over and helped you gather them.

“Thanks, Sunghoon,” you said, looking up at me with a grateful smile.

I froze. You knew my name?

I cleared my throat, acting like it was no big deal. “You should get a new bag.”

You laughed. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”

That was it. A simple moment. But for some reason, it replayed in my head all day.

After that, things changed.

We started talking—small conversations at first. Passing by each other in the hallways, exchanging a few words during break time. Then, somehow, we ended up exchanging numbers. It happened so naturally that I almost didn’t process it. One day, I just typed, Hey, it’s Sunghoon, and waited.

When you replied, my heart did something weird.

And so it began.

Our messages started simple.

Me: Did you finish the history homework? You: Barely. I almost fell asleep. Me: Not surprised. You looked like you were struggling in class. You: Rude. I was concentrating. Me: Sure.

Then they became a habit.

You: Morning! Did you eat? Me: Yeah. You? You: Not yet. I’m running late. Me: Figured.

Somehow, checking my phone became the best part of my day.

I didn’t expect to care so much. But every time I saw your name light up my screen, I felt something new—something dangerous. It was a slow realization, creeping up on me like the changing seasons. I started thinking about you when you weren’t around. I caught myself waiting for your texts, hoping for random messages just so I had an excuse to reply.

I was falling.

And it scared me.

Because for all the words we shared, I didn’t know where we stood.

Every day, something grew between us—something unspoken, fragile. It was in the way our conversations lingered, in the way your laughter echoed in my mind long after you were gone. But I didn’t know what you felt. Did you see me as just a friend? Did you even realize how much space you had taken in my heart?

One night, I found myself staring at our messages, my fingers hovering over my keyboard. My mind was a mess.

I wanted to say something—Tell me what I mean to you. But I typed something else instead.

Me: Don’t sleep too late. Get some rest.

A minute later, your reply came.

You: I will. You too, okay?

I sighed.

That wasn’t the answer I needed.

But for now, it would have to be enough.

The more we talked, the more I wanted to be around you.

It started with messages, then small conversations at school, and before I knew it, we were spending more time together outside of class.

At first, I made excuses.

“Library after school?” I asked one day, pretending it was just about homework. “I heard the teacher’s making the quiz harder than usual.”

You groaned. “Ugh, I hate history.”

I smirked. “Yeah, I know. That’s why you need my help.”

That was the first time we stayed behind after class, sitting across from each other at a quiet table in the library. You were supposed to be studying, but I caught you doodling in the margins of your notebook. I flicked your forehead with my finger.

“Focus,” I scolded, biting back a grin.

You pouted, rubbing your forehead. “You’re so mean.”

And for the first time in a long time, I laughed.

It didn’t stop there.

After that, we found more reasons to be together.

Sometimes it was “accidental” meet-ups—like when I conveniently showed up at the cafeteria line at the same time as you. Other times, it was intentional. You’d wait for me after practice, saying you had “nothing better to do,” even though I knew you could’ve gone home earlier.

“You really like basketball, huh?” you asked one evening, watching as I packed my gym bag.

I shrugged. “It’s alright.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t sound very passionate.”

I smirked. “I just don’t like admitting things.”

Your lips curled into a small smile. “Oh? So what else do you like but won’t admit?”

I froze.

You didn’t realize it, but that was the moment I almost confessed.

Instead, I rolled my eyes and said, “Food.”

You burst out laughing, and I knew I was doomed.

One Friday afternoon, I finally mustered up the courage to ask you to hang out outside of school.

“Busy this weekend?” I asked, keeping my voice casual.

You looked up from your phone, blinking. “Hmm? No, why?”

I shifted my weight, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “Thought we could grab something to eat. There’s this new cafe that opened downtown.”

For a moment, you just stared at me. My heart was racing.

Then, a smile slowly spread across your face. “Are you asking me on a date, Park Sunghoon?”

I coughed. “I— No, I mean—”

You giggled. “Relax, I’m kidding. I’d love to go.”

I exhaled, pretending I wasn’t relieved. “Good. Saturday at two.”

You saluted me playfully. “Yes, sir.”

And just like that, I had my first official date with you.

Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.

I arrived at the cafe early, which wasn’t like me at all. Usually, I was the one who showed up last, but today, I sat there, pretending to scroll through my phone while secretly checking the entrance every five seconds.

Then, finally, you walked in.

And I swear, everything else blurred for a second.

You weren’t dressed in your usual school uniform, and seeing you in casual clothes—hair slightly messier, expression bright—made something flip in my stomach.

“Hey,” you greeted, sliding into the seat across from me. “Did you wait long?”

I shook my head. “Just got here.” (Lie.)

We ordered drinks, and as we sat there, talking and laughing, I realized how easy it was to be with you. It wasn’t like the forced small talk I had with other people. With you, everything felt natural.

At one point, you reached over and wiped something off my cheek.

I stiffened.

“There was a crumb,” you said, grinning.

I cleared my throat, looking away. “Thanks.”

You giggled. “Are you blushing?”

“No.” (Another lie.)

The more time we spent together, the harder it became to ignore the truth—I wanted more. More than just friendship, more than just late-night messages and shared jokes.

I wanted you to be mine.

And so, a few weeks later, I decided to take the risk.

It happened after another one of our after-school hangouts.

We were walking home together, the sky turning shades of orange and pink. The air was cool, and every now and then, our hands would brush. I told myself it was an accident, but I didn’t move away.

“Hey,” I said, breaking the comfortable silence.

You looked up at me. “Yeah?”

My heart was beating way too fast.

I swallowed. “I like you.”

Your steps slowed. “What?”

I exhaled sharply. “I like you,” I repeated, my voice steadier this time. “I don’t know when it started, but I do. And I don’t want to just be your friend.”

You stared at me, eyes wide. I braced myself for rejection, for awkwardness, for anything that might tell me I just ruined everything.

But then—

You smiled.

And just like that, my world tilted.

“Took you long enough,” you teased.

I blinked. “Wait—”

You laughed, reaching for my hand and intertwining our fingers. “I like you too, Sunghoon.”

For the first time in forever, I was speechless.

And in that moment, I knew—everything was worth it.

#luvbytaerungz writes #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon scenarios #enhypenwriters #sunghoon x reader #sunghoonfluff #sunghoononeshot #sunghoonxreader #enhypenxreader #sunghoon fic #park sunghoon fluff #sunghoon enhypen #enha reactions #enha x reader #sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon park #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon imagines #park sunghoon

153 notes · View notes

annievrse · 1 year ago

Text

you know how to ball (i know aristotle)

sukuna x fem!reader —ᡣ𐭩 fic summary: college!au where sukuna is the star rugby player, and reader plays in college quiz bowls. w/c: 3k cw: inaccurate quiz bowl rep (i only play jeopardy on tv ok pls ignore the actual content and focus on the point of the fic ok ty), a lot of allusions to suggestive content, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as 'girl', and wears a skirt. a/n: i i i idk what u were expecting, but it should've been another taylor fic hehe

"Sukuna! Sir!" You turn your head toward the voice. The man beside you huffs deeply but turns anyway, apologising softly.

"Hey, man," Sukuna mumbles, shaking the hand of the Freshman student who's panting like he ran three miles (he probably did). "What's up?"

The kid eyes you up and down like he's never seen a woman before.

"Eyes up here, bro," Your boyfriend bites, giving him a fake smile. The kid nods quickly, gaze avoiding you at all costs.

"Uh–" He stutters. "Gojo was wondering when you were gonna show up to training."

Sukuna pokes his tongue into the inside of his cheek. "Tell the freak I'll be there after I walk my girl to her car, okay?"

The kid nods and turns, speed-walking in the direction of the field.

Sukuna rolls his eyes and wraps his arm around your head, bringing you into his chest. You giggle at the sudden affection and continue walking to the car park.

"Fucking kids."

"He’s eighteen, Kuna," You laugh, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"I had more decency when I was that age..."

Scoffing, you lean back. "You're joking, right?"

Sukuna raises an eyebrow as you descend the steps. "Watch it."

You snicker and pull away from him, digging around in your bag for your car keys. When you spot the miniature stuffed bunny keychain, you grab it.

You can feel Sukuna side-eying you when you unlock the car. "What?"

He points at the keychain. "Is that the little cat thing you begged me for?"

You don't answer, knowing he knows exactly what it is. "Jellycat."

"Huh?" Sukuna's face scrunches up in confusion.

"Jellycat is the brand. And, yes, it's the one you got me. Don't act stupid, idiot."

Sukuna smirks. "I'll buy you more of them if you keep talking to me like that."

Your jaw drops, and you laugh, slapping him on the bicep. "Fuck off."

But before you can open the car door, Sukuna spins you around by the shoulders and presses you into the side of the car, hands roaming under your hoodie.

"I'll see you tonight," He whispers, lips slanting over yours hotly.

"Mmhm," You hum, running your fingers through his hair. Pulling away, Sukuna continues to press sloppy kisses along your jaw. "Be good at practice. Don't spear tackle Gojo again."

Sukuna scoffs. "That was an accident."

Rolling your eyes, you press your hand to his hard chest. "Yeah, ok."

"Bye, baby," Sukuna's hands slide down to squeeze your ass, and you look at the campus entrance to ensure nobody's there.

"Bye, yourself."

He gives you one last slap on the ass, and then he's stalking away, glancing over his shoulder to check on you as you slam the car door closed and turn the engine on.

Entering Shoko's apartment, the smell of burnt toast hits you in the face. You toe your sneakers off at the door and walk toward the cacophony of voices.

"Sorry!" Choso exclaims in the kitchen, wafting the smoke away with his hands. "Not my fault your toaster is fucked."

Shoko gasps and hits him with a teatowel on the leg. She points at him. "Don't talk shit about my appliances when you ruined all of yours!"

You step into the space, drawing the eyes of the three in conversation, and Nanami and Utahime sitting at the dining table with textbooks scattered around them.

"Thank god you're here!" Shoko laughs, wrapping her arms around your neck.

"Studying going good?" You giggle, waving at the others.

Shoko glares at Choso over her shoulder. "It was."

Choso throws his hands up in defence, and Shoko turns back to you.

"How's Mr Rugby Player?" She grins.

You smile softly. "He's good."

"Being as annoying as ever, I suppose?" Nanami's voice calls, not looking up from where he scribbles down his notes.

Utahime scoffs, placing her pen down on the table. "Not as annoying as Gojo."

"Yeah, okay. Don't say his name; you'll summon him."

Rolling your eyes with a laugh, you walk into the dining room. You take your bag off your shoulder and put it on the table to remove your laptop. "What topics are we doing this weekend?"

Utahime points at the list of past regional questions. "I'm doing philosophy and fine arts, Nanami's math, and you're literature."

"Okay," you sit at the head of the table. "Choso, history?"

Nanami nods without looking up. "And Sho is doing science, like always."

"Sweet," You mumble before your phone buzzes.

baby 5:23 pm morning practice got cancelled 5:23 pm so coming to your nerd fest tmr

Despite his teasing, you feel the wings of butterflies flutter inside your stomach.

5:24 pm !!!!! 5:24 pm can't wait to see my himbo of a bf in a crowd of nerds!!!

You can almost see him rolling his eyes.

baby 5:25 pm call me that again and you'll be using crutches at your comp

"Quit texting," Shoko says, shuffling her flash cards. "We don't want a repeat of last time."

With your warm cheeks, you lock your phone and toss it into your bag. "Sorry."

"I'm not nervous," You mumble, checking the fit of your skirt in the mirror for the ninth time in ten minutes.

"Yeah, you're perfectly calm," Sukuna grumbles in his pillow. He lays half-naked under the duvet, his voice the only sign of life.

You glare at him through the mirror and glance at the clock on the wall—7:45 am.

You inhale sharply and duck into the closet to grab your bag. "I'm going."

Sukuna groans, shifting slightly under the blankets. "Kiss."

Despite his usually cold exterior, Sukuna is always soft around you—something you created.

Rounding the bed, you lean over to kiss his mouth, scratching his scalp with your fingers. A deep, raspy groan sounds from the back of his throat, and you have to pull away before he pulls you onto the bed.

"Starts at ten," You remind him, lips hovering over his forehead. "Be there at quarter to."

Sukuna hums, turning over. "Be the best."

"I'll try," You laugh, shoving your feet into your shoes. "Bye!"

"He's here," Nanami rolls his eyes, pointing toward the crowd. Your eyes widen, and you give your friend a side hug.

You weave your way to the hall entrance, small 'sorry's' and 'excuse me's' leaving your lips. And when you hear your name, you push yourself up on your tiptoes. A head of pink hair stands out against the rest, and you notice he's surrounded by two other giant guys, too.

"Hey," Sukuna mumbles in your hair when you run into him. You grin into his chest and look up at him.

"Hi."

"Baby," He says, voice louder as he pushes you back. "You gotta get up there."

"I know," You sigh, greeting Negi and Miguel with a wave.

"Good luck," Miguel smiles, and Negi laughs. "We'll be cheering you on."

"Thanks, guys," You nod, feeling Sukuna's hands smooth out the collar of your blouse.

Sukuna shakes his head, ignoring his teammates. "You're gonna do so good."

"I hope so," You sigh, hearing the warning bell before the start of the tournament.

"Love you," Sukuna grumbles, kissing your head. You pull away.

"Love you!" Laughing, you walk backwards toward the stage.

"Give the scientific name for Vitamin K1."

Shoko's thumb moves too fast for your eyes to see before she answers. "Phylloquinone."

"Correct." Multiple claps from the crowd make your stomach turn.

The score is 455–460, with the opposing university in front. You wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt, listening to Nanami answer a question.

"Solve this equation for x. 5x=0.2."

His answer is instant. "0.04."

"Right." The host nods, eyes trained on the cards in his hands.

You look to your left, seeing Choso's determined face despite his anxiety about public speaking. It makes you happy to see his confidence grow.

"Who wrote 'Hope is the Thing with Feathers'?"

A brunette answers. "Emily Dickinson."

Your head shoots up in shock. Shoko's hand finds yours under the table while you cringe at losing your question and points for your team.

"Yes!" The host swiftly moves on. "Cogito ergo sum means, "I think. Therefore, I am." By creating this statement, what did Descartes argue?"

Utahime tilts her head as if the answer is the easiest of the day. "That the mind and body are separate entities, with the mind being the essential nature of a person."

"Correct."

You inhale deeply, trying your best to ignore the score. Instead, you squint into the stage light to spot your boyfriend. To no avail, you wipe your eyebrow.

"Believed the rational mind repressed the power of the imagination, weighing it down with taboos; which art movement channelled the unconscious to unlock the power of the imagination?"

"Surrealism," A blonde boy on the other table answered.

"Right. When did the three major shogunates (Kamakura, Ashikaga, Tokugawa) lead Japan?"

Choso nearly falls off his chair when he presses his buzzer. "1192 until 1868."

"Yes," The host re-shuffles his cards and places them on the podium before him. "Last question."

475–475.

"Name the novel: Raskolnikov kills Alyona Ivanovna (a pawnbroker), believing the good he does with her money outweighs the evil of murder."

And before you can press your buzzer, the other university's buzzer sounds first. Your heart drops, and your entire body goes hot with disappointment.

"The Brothers Karamazov, by Dostoyevsky."

"Incorrect."

Your thumb presses the button before your mind can catch up.

"You have ten seconds to answer."

"Crime and Punishment, by Dostoyevsky,” You spit out confidently.

"Ladies and gentlemen," The host grins, turning away from you and to the crowd. "Your 2024 Collegiate Quiz Bowl Champions."

And then the score changes. 475-480.

Cheers from the crowd and your teammates make you jump up. "Holy shit."

"We won!" Shoko yells, circling her arms around your shoulders and jumping. You jostle around as she does so, your face breaking out into a smile, and then a laugh slips from your lips.

Utahime crashes into your back. "Ah!"

You, Shoko, and Utahime hug each other, opening your arms for the boys to join.

And though the room is noisy, the loudest cheers come from the pink-haired man at the back of the room, his two teammates lifting him in celebration.

“Baby, what the fuck!” You hear your boyfriend yell. People around him give him dirty looks, but Sukuna pays them no mind. You, however, feel heat creep down your neck at the unwanted attention.

“Kuna,” You giggle, waving your hand down as a way of saying ‘lower the volume’. You meet him in the foyer of the concert hall.

“I can’t!” He laughs, almost howling. “You’re so incredible. I’m so proud of you.”

The praise makes your cheeks flame, and when Sukuna grabs your face to kiss you, he smirks. But he doesn’t comment. Instead, he places the sloppiest kiss on your lips, and you squeal at the feeling, laughing into his mouth.

Sukuna leans back, brushing hair out of your face. “My smart cookie.”

You roll your eyes and grab his hand. “Let’s go. You need to get ready.”

You pull on jeans and a long-sleeve shirt as Sukuna scarfs down rice and chicken in the kitchen. Sukuna’s rugby game is at 5pm, leaving you 2 hours to get ready and drive him to the field. You’re meeting Shoko there – she wants to see Gojo & Geto play.

Fixing your hair, Sukuna walks into the bathroom.

Whistling, he stands behind you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. "My girl is so fine."

You purse your lips and shake your head, tying the last bow in your hair.

"My girl..." Sukuna bends down to kiss your neck. "Has such a sexy brain."

You snicker and push him off. "Go get dressed, freak."

Sukuna imitates you softly, pulls away and then gets his rugby kit on with a pout.

The popcorn box is hot in your lap as you dive your hand into the matcha-flavoured kernels once again. You and Shoko sit huddled in the stand, clad in blue scarves. You opted for Sukuna’s training jersey over your long-sleeved top without his knowledge, making Shoko tease you relentlessly.

“But you’re you, and he’s him.”

You nod to her rant, ignoring her, staring straight at your snack as you pick the next piece to eat.

“There they are,” Shoko draws you from your daze as she points out Gojo running out of the dressing rooms below. The bright blue uniforms are hard to miss, especially against the green grass. You fidget with your necklace as you watch the rest of the team empty out of the dressing rooms, Sukuna being the last one to exit.

The sight of him in his tight jersey has you verbally reacting. “Holy fuck.”

“Settle down, girl,” Shoko laughs. “Not like it’s your first time.”

You giggle, making note of how big his arms are. Sukuna shakes said large arms and rolls his head in a circle before leaning forward, his hands clutching the hem of his jersey. He glances over at Miguel, who plays in the halves and nods once at him.

After kick-off, in favour of the other team, Sukuna runs forward, tackling the fullback of the other team who caught the ball. The ball slips out of the guy’s arms, and Geto swipes it from the grass. He sprints up the field, dodging and weaving in and out of players, and makes the final steps towards the in-goal.

Shoko shakes your arm as Geto dives onto the grass, the ball dragging along as he scores, and then you’re both jumping up and down in celebration. Your cheers are so loud they travel to the field, and Sukuna looks up toward you. He smirks, accepting a bro-hug from Geto, who praises his tackle.

The game goes on like this until half-time, with the other team scoring twice. Sukuna is exhausted as he walks off the field, his jersey clinging to his body with sweat. He peeks at where you were sitting only a few minutes prior and sees you gone. He draws his eyebrows together and runs his hand through his hair.

His teammates funnel around him towards the dressing room, but Sukuna stands looking for you.

“Kuna!” You and Shoko are waving from the bottom of the stands, giant smiles on your faces. Your boyfriend shakes his head, laughs briefly, and jogs over to the two of you.

“You’re doing so good!” You exclaim, reaching forward to wrap your arms around his waist. His free arm circles your shoulders, and he nods at Shoko.

“Good job this morning,” He comments.

Shoko furrows her eyebrows and scoffs at the out of character compliment. “Seriously? Thanks?”

Laughing, you pull away from Sukuna and take in the sight before you, wishing you could capture this moment with your eyes. His face is flush, and his hair is sticking in every direction, the pink darkened to a burgundy. Your mind wanders to a situation far different and more sensual than the one you’re in currently, and you feel your cheeks warm up.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Sukuna whispers, noticing the jersey you're wearing. His pearly white teeth gleam at you, and then he jogs away. Your eyes follow him, gaze trailing down his body until you stop at his ass. He looks so damn good in those rugby shorts.

“Quit objectifying him,” Shoko teases, poking your warm cheek. "We're better than that."

You slap her hand away, eyes watering from the cold air. “Shut the fuck up.”

The second half starts and goes by quicker than the first one. Sukuna finishes the game, scoring three tries in the 40-minute half. They win 42-12.

“Kuna, I don’t think you understand how good you are,” You ramble on the way back to the car after Sukuna showered and got into sweats. His fingers are laced with yours, and he doesn’t care when you swing them around. "A hattrick? C'mon!"

“Oh, save the praise for the bedroom, please,” Shoko pleads, a disgusted look on her face. “And everything else, god!”

Sukuna has an insult on the tip of his tongue, but you pinch his stomach, eyes narrowing at him. “No.”

He huffs and mumbles something intelligible.

“Oh, there’s Gojo and Geto,” Shoko sighs in relief, seeing her best friends lingering around Gojo's BMW. “Bye!”

“See you!”

“Thank you, lord.”

You whack his large bicep and shake your head. “You’re horrible.”

“You’re horrible,” Sukuna replies. “Wearing my jersey and expecting me not to get hard.”

You gape at his outright vulgar statement. “Ok, your speaking privileges have been revoked.”

Sukuna scoffs. “My–”

You reach up and slap your hand over his mouth. “Shhhh.”

And when you get in the car, Sukuna can’t keep his hands to himself. His large hand covers almost the entirety of your thigh, and you have to calm yourself down to drive.

“I feel so high school every time I look at you…”

The streetlights go by in a blur, and the radio plays softly as you two go over everything that happened today.

“I don’t know how you people know questions like that,” Sukuna complains. “How are you that smart?”

You shrug, flicking the indicator down. “Just like how you play rugby.”

“They’re completely different.”

“Well,” You tilt your head. “If I tried to play rugby—” Sukuna’s laugh cuts you off. “You think I could tackle like that? Know one-word plays?”

“I mean, you would look so sexy in those shorts.”

“Not the point,” You glance at him, eyes softening at how he’s staring at you.

“You know how to ball, I know Aristotle.”

“The point is,” You swallow, feeling the callouses on his hands rub your skin. “I’ve got my thing, and you’ve got yours. We’re both good at what we do. There’s no comparing.”

“You know what you wanted, and boy, you got her.”

“I’m just so proud of you, you know that?” Sukuna whispers, his voice barely audible over the song. You nod, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“I’m proud of you, too, Kuna. I’m gonna be a WAG forever.”

As you pull into the apartment complex's driveway, the echoes of Sukuna’s deep laughs and your giggles can be heard in the dead of night.

“I’m sinking, our fingers entwined, cheeks pink in the twinkling lights.”

975 notes · View notes