#will even lie and say that he's THE BEST at it.
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dreamscapeee222 · 2 days ago
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You have poor eyesight
Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Viktor, Jayce, Mel
A/n: Really rushed with this lol but it should be fine. Bon appetit!
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Vi
Vi would tease you lightly, calling you "four-eyes" if you wear glasses or joking about how "the world looks better blurry anyway" if you don’t. But it’s always said with a grin that lets you know she loves you just the way you are.
If you struggle to see something, Vi would be the first to step in and help. She’d guide your hand to what you’re looking for or describe things in vivid detail, making it fun so you don’t feel self-conscious.
She loves holding your hand when you're navigating unfamiliar areas, making it feel less like a necessity and more like an excuse to stay close. “Stick with me, short-stack. I’ve got your back.”
On lazy days, she’d trace your face with her fingers while you lie together, her voice soft as she murmurs, “Doesn’t matter what you see—what matters is what I see, and that’s someone amazing.”
During tender moments, she’d lean down and say, “Guess it’s lucky for me you didn’t see someone better,” before kissing you deeply.
Caitlyn:
Caitlyn would be the most practical about it, immediately asking if you need updated glasses, a new prescription, or anything to help. She’d even offer to bring you to Piltover’s best optometrist.
If you ever feel embarrassed about squinting or losing your glasses, she’d cup your chin and kiss you softly, whispering, “You’re beautiful, no matter what you see.”
She’d make sure everything in your shared space is organized and accessible for you. If you have trouble finding something, Caitlyn would quietly place it in your hand with a soft, reassuring smile.
During late-night talks, she’d lean in and kiss you gently, her voice soothing as she says, “You’re all I see. Nothing else matters.”
Caitlyn would take pride in making sure you never feel limited. If there’s something you can’t do because of your eyesight, she’d offer a solution or alternative with a warm smile and unwavering support.
Jinx:
Jinx would definitely make a big, dramatic show of it. She’d wave her hands in front of your face, asking, “Can you see this? What about this?!” just to make you laugh.
When you’re struggling to spot something, she’d hop on your back and point things out like a pirate’s lookout, making it a game to cheer you up.
If you wear glasses, she’d insist on decorating them with stickers or doodles, saying, “Now you’ll be cool AND functional!” She’d giggle while planting a quick kiss on your lips.
She’d secretly learn what frustrates you most about your eyesight and try to fix it in her quirky, Jinx-like way. Can’t see far? She might rig a telescope gadget for you, proudly presenting it with a kiss on your hand.
On days when you’re down, Jinx would surprise you with a flurry of kisses, peppering them all over your face until you’re laughing and feeling loved again.
Ekko:
Ekko would always notice when you’re struggling to see something, immediately stepping in to help with an encouraging smile and a cheeky, “I got you, babe.”
If you bump into something or get flustered, he’d grin and say, “You’re cute when you’re clumsy,” before kissing you gently to soothe any embarrassment.
He’d tease you lightly about your poor eyesight but would always make it clear he finds it endearing, pulling you in for a kiss and saying, “You see just fine where it matters most—right here with me.”
Ekko would love playing little games to cheer you up, like making a guessing game out of blurry objects or using his time manipulation to "rewind" your stumbles into something graceful.
He’d keep his arm around you when you're out together, using it as both a guide and a silent way of keeping you close. “You’re safe with me,” he’d whisper, leaning in to kiss your temple.
Viktor:
Viktor would carefully modify things in your environment to make them easier for you, like adding soft lights or adjusting your work tools. “A small improvement,” he’d say, his voice full of quiet pride.
If you wear glasses, Viktor would always take care of them for you, cleaning or fixing them without a second thought. “Your vision matters to me,” he’d say, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.
He’d encourage you not to see your eyesight as a weakness, softly saying, “We all have limitations. But you overcome yours beautifully,” before kissing your forehead.
Viktor would love moments where you rely on him to guide you, using it as an excuse to hold your hand or pull you close.
He’d craft personalized solutions for any frustration you have, making sure you never feel like your eyesight limits your abilities or independence, always ending his gestures with a soft kiss of reassurance.
Jayce:
Jayce would constantly reassure you about your eyesight, saying, “If anything, it just makes me want to take care of you more,” before sweeping you into a warm hug and a kiss.
He’d invent practical yet adorable solutions, like a glasses case with your favorite design or a magnifying gadget you can wear around your neck for convenience.
If you ever bump into something or squint at something too long, Jayce would chuckle and ruffle your hair, saying, “You know you can just ask me for help, right?” before guiding you.
He’d love making you laugh when you’re frustrated about your vision, pulling you close and joking, “Good thing I’m here to be your eyes AND your muscles.”
During quiet moments, Jayce would hold your hands and kiss each one, looking into your eyes and saying, “You don’t need perfect sight to see how much I love you.”
Mel:
Mel would handle it with quiet grace, always ensuring you feel comfortable. She’d notice the things you struggle with and adjust without making a big deal out of it—like moving a book closer to you or pointing out details you might miss.
She’d gift you stylish, luxurious glasses or accessories, always making sure they feel like a part of your personality rather than a necessity.
When you’re squinting at something, Mel would smirk and lean in close, her breath brushing your skin as she whispers, “Need a closer look?” before kissing you sweetly.
If you ever feel frustrated, she’d sit beside you, gently holding your hand and saying, “Let me share my vision with you. Together, we can see the world clearly.”
Mel would use your eyesight as an excuse for more intimate moments—holding your face in her hands, guiding your gaze to hers, and kissing you softly to remind you that you’re loved.
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Requests may be sent through the ask box. SFW only.
@self-aes request: Good day. I want to write a headcanon about a reader with poor eyesight/wearing glasses. How characters from arcane will interact with him. I want to see Vi, Caitlin, Jinx, Ekko, Victor, Jace, Mel. Sorry if you see any mistakes (English is not my preferred language, I checked with a translator)
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munsonsmixtapes · 3 days ago
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hii i love your writing soo much your so talented!! could you write eddie and reader fake dating (their both best friends btw) and their doing this because it was eddie’s idea to make chrissy jealous but secretly the reader is in love with eddie and when eddie finally gets with chrissy the reader distance her self from eddie and eddie realizes that chrissy’s not what he expected and at the end eddie and reader gets together it’s a bit long sorryyy thank youuu🫶🫶🫶🫶
cw: hurt/comfort
You won't lie, you've been crushing on Eddie since long before you even became friends. So when he suggests that the two of you fake date, you jump at the chance, because if you can't actually date him at least, you'll know what it's like.
He's doing it to get Chrissy's attention and you can't even be mad at him because Chrissy is sweet and pretty and you unfortunately totally understand the appeal. And the worse part of it all, you think, is that they would actually look so cute together.
You always see them giggling in the hall and you don't even know why Eddie needs you. You wish he would leave you out of it, but you agree because he's your best friend and you're madly in love with him. You'll do anything for him and you're surprised that he doesn't ever use that to advantage. That man has you wrapped around his finger and he's so totally oblivious to it.
The whole thing is pathetic, actually. Because after the whole arrangement is over, Eddie will hopefully have a girlfriend, but what do you get? The satisfactory of a job well done? That doesn't exactly seem fair to you, but you suppose it's what you deserve for being a coward and not telling Eddie how felt when you had a chance.
"Act like you love me. She's coming," Eddie commands, pulling you out of your thoughts. Little does he know that you're not acting.
He grabs hold of your waist and pulls you closer to him, whispering compliments to you as he plays with your hair. And you hate how much you're eating it up because absolutely none of it real. You think he should be an actor because the way he's speaking sounds so genuine that you almost believed him at first.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Chrissy approaching the two of you, her signature bright smile on her face and Eddie's totally going to blow the whole thing because of how obvious he is. The way he looks at her as if she's hung the moon is borderline pathetic.
"Hey guys," she greets and you turn to her, not even having to fake your smile because you actually genuinely like Chrissy. She's nothing but a sweetheart and she's one of the few girls at school that you would consider one of your friends.
"Hey," you smile back.
"I'm having a party tomorrow night and I was wondering if you guys wanted to come," she says and you have to be the one to reply since Eddie seems to be hypnotized by the girl.
"We'll be there," you tell her and her smile brightens.
"Perfect," she nods and then heads down the hallway. As soon as she's out of earshot, you turn to Eddie, smacking him on the shoulder.
"Ow," he winces, turning to glare at you. "What was that for?"
"Could you be any more obvious? I swore I could see you drooling."
"I wasn't drooling," his eyes narrow even more.
"Well you might as well have been. Come over tonight because clearly we have a lot to practice." Eddie rolls his eyes but agrees, especially because he always ends up at your house almost every night anyway.
You pace back and forth in your room, feeling nervous to see Eddie for the first time in your life. You can't believe you actually suggested that you practice. You don't exactly know what you meant but that, but all you cant think about now is roleplaying being a couple and that makes you anxious for some reason.
The door to your room opens and there Eddie is, looking like he walked straight out of your dreams and you honestly can't seem to pull your eyes from him. You hope that he doesn't notice, but also know Eddie's always so caught up in his own head that he doesn't notice little things like that.
"So," he sighs as he sits down on your bed and you hate how you're imagining yourself straddling his laps, kissing him stupid, only stopping so you both can catch your breath before going in for more. You know it won't happen, but a girl can dream.
You sit next to him and even though you've sat this close more times than you can count, your heart is suddenly pounding in your chest and you really hope that Eddie can't hear it.
"What did you want to practice?" He asks and you wonder when his face got so close to yours. You can see every single detail on his face, those damn Bambi eyes and his pretty lashes that he can bat and get you to do anything he asks. His pretty, pink lips that you so desperately want to kiss. His hair that you're itching to run your fingers through.
"Let's roleplay," you reply, thinking on the spot since you didn't actually plan anything out and were just pulling things out of your ass.
"Roleplay?" He asks then a smirk plays on his lips. "Kinky, I like it," he winks and you feel your face flush. He always knows what to say to embarrass you and you hate it.
"Shut up," you shove his shoulder. "You know that's not what I mean."
"Relax, babe. I'm not kink shaming if that's what you're thinking."
"Can you be serious for once in your life?"
"Sorry, sorry," he apologizes as his face softens. "I was just trying to lighten the mood since you seem so tense. What's got you so worked up?"
You, you want to tell him. You're so close to laying it all out on the table and tell him the truth. That thinking about him being with Chrissy is breaking your heart and that you're the one he should be with. But you know you have no right to tell him who he should or shouldn't date, so you stay quiet.
Eddie can see that you're staring at his lips and he just smiles at you, finally catching onto why you invited him over. He's surprised he didn't see it sooner. He kind of feels like an idiot for not catching on as quickly as he should have.
"I see what this is about," he smirks knowingly and he can't help but chuckle when he sees your eyes bug out.
"You do?" You ask with a gulp and he doesn't know why you're so nervous. It's just a kiss and nothing else.
"Of course." He's laughing now and you want the floor to swallow you whole. "You think we should practice kissing."
That's not at all what you had in mind, but there's no way you can tell him he was wrong. And you're also not going to miss an opportunity to kiss him.
"And I agree," he nods, leaning even closer, this closest he's ever been to you that doesn't include cuddling.
He slowly reaches up to cup your cheek, gently rubbing along it with his thumb as his eyes bore into yours. Your heart pounds in your chest as you lean closer to him. your eyes fluttering closed as you do so.
"Tell if I do something you don't like," he says softly and you almost shiver as you feel his breath fan across your lips. All you can do is nod and you feel him keep your head steady as he cradles your head in his hands.
Eddie's lips capture yours and your hands rest on his thighs, scooting closer to him as your brain short circuits. You can't believe that this is happening, and the thing is, you don't even care if it's not real. You're just so caught up in him that it doesn't even matter.
He pulls away before you're ready and you can't help but stare down at his kiss bitten lips, deciding that you could do that for hours and never get bored of how his hands and mouth are so gentle with you.
But you want him to be a little more rough. You want him to stick his tongue into your mouth, to nip at your bottom lip, to give you a hickey that's damn near impossible to cover up with make up.
Eddie wants to stop there before he gets carried away, but he can see how hungry you are for more. You look like you want to devour him and who's he to tell you no?
"I think we should practice a little more," he says and you're nodding enthusiastically.
"I agree," you continue to nod and Eddie smiles as he leans in again, more rough this time and he can't help but notice how your fingers are digging into his skin through his jeans.
His hands move to your neck and his thumbs rest on your jaw, tilting your head back as he licks into your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours and in one swift motion, he moves you so that you're straddling his waist. Your hands are in his hair and if it goes any farther, you'll be at the point of no return.
Eddie's hand move down to your waist and slowly travel up your shirt, but they stop, resting on the small of your back, deciding not to go any higher even though he really wants to. He has to remind himself that it's just kissing and nothing more.
You both pull away when you're out of breath and in that moment, Eddie's not thinking about Chrissy at all. He's thinking about you and how pretty and sweet you are. And how he wants to spend the rest of the night right there, kissing you until the early hours of the morning then cuddling in your bed, fully intending on staying there for the rest of the day watching cartoons and kissing even more because now he's addicted to the feeling of your lips on his.
"I could do that for hours," he tells you, his pupils blown. His hands are out from under your shirt and they're rubbing up and down your back so gently.
He has to know what he's doing to you, right? How he's hurting you because you think you've been so obvious about your feelings for him and now it feels like he's toying with you. But you know Eddie would never do that and it's clear that he has no idea how much you're in love with him because he's oblivious to everything in that department.
He’s looking at you like you look at him and Eddie doesn’t know what he’s feeling but it’s odd. He thinks he’s starting to see you as more than a friend, which was honestly a long time coming. He thinks he’s always been in love with you but was too scared to admit it to himself because one, you’re his best friend, and also because he’s not used to people reciprocating his feelings so he doesn’t think there’s a point in telling you the truth. 
He wants to run, but he stays and you let him wear a t-shirt that he’s left there and the two of you go to bed wrapped up in each other’s arms, talking about everything and nothing until you eventually fall asleep, the two of you knowing that your friendship is never going to be the same. 
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“How do I look?” You ask as you emerge from the bathroom. You’re wearing a black party dress and as soon as Eddie sees you, he swears that he’s died and gone to heaven. But if he’s being honest, he doesn’t even want to go to the party anymore. He just wants to stay there and maybe kiss you some more. Okay, definitely kiss you some more. But you seem so excited so he’s going to go just for you.
“You look-” he cuts himself, trying to come up with what adjective he wants to use. “Fucking amazing,” he decides on as he takes you by the hands, pulling you to him as he presses a kiss to your lips. 
“Eddie,” you say as you pull away. “There’s no one around so you don’t have to pretend.”
“Who says I’m pretending?” He smiles, pulling you in for another kiss before he lets go of you so you can finish getting ready. He doesn’t even know if he’s interested in Chrissy anymore, but he’s trying to convince himself that he is because it’s easier that way. If the two of you were to get together and then break up, he doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost you. You’re the most important person in his life and he wants you to stay in it forever. 
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So the two of you show up to the party hand in hand, making sure to be all flirty around Chrissy. You still don’t know why you’re doing this. Why couldn't he just ask her out instead of talking you into this elaborate scheme? It’s not only unfair to Chrissy, it’s also unfair to you. It doesn’t even seem to be working as she flirts with Jason over by the punch table. 
Everything shifts, though, when Chrissy announces that it’s time to play “Spin the Bottle”. Your stomach churns as Eddie pulls you over, forcing you to sit right next to him even if it means that he probably won’t get to kiss you. He wants to keep you by his side the entire night, not wanting to let you out of his sight. 
You feel so sick as the game starts and it’s Eddie’s turn to spin the bottle. You almost don’t want to watch, but you can’t draw attention to yourself so you watch the bottle spin round and round. It seems that the universe has a sick sense of humor because it lands on Chrissy. Of fucking course. Eddie crawls over to her and you can see them whispering about something, smiling at each other before they both go in for a kiss. 
You don’t stay and watch, physically unable to as you rise to your feet, hurrying to the bathroom because there’s no way you can be there anymore. You tried to be happy for Eddie, you really did. And you hate yourself for feeling so hurt and betrayed because all of it was fake and Eddie still has no idea that you’re in love with him. 
So you lock the door and sink to the floor, leaning against the tub as you bring your knees to your chest, crying into them, thankful that the loud music is drowning out your sobs. There’s a knock on the door before whoever is on the other side wiggles the door knob. God, could this night get any worse? 
“It’s occupied,” you say through sobs but your ears perk up at the familiar voice. 
“Baby, it’s me. Can you open up?” It’s Eddie. Why’s he at the door? You figured he’d be making out with Chrissy somewhere. You ignore him, not wanting him to see you like that and bury your face back into your knees, more sobs raking through you. 
“Honey?” He asks, his voice nothing but soft as he knocks on the door lightly. You get on your knees to unlock the door then turn away, not wanting him to see how horrible you probably look. But he gets on his knees in front of you anyway, his smile falling as he sees the mascara tears dried on your cheeks. “Oh, baby,” is all he says, so much sympathy in his voice as he reaches up and wipes away makeup from your face.”What’s with the tears, hm?” He asks, his thumbs rubbing back and forth across your cheeks. 
“It’s nothing. It’s…stupid.”
“If you’re upset about it, then it’s not stupid.” 
Eddie being so nice to you is making it really hard to be mad at him. You want to, but you can’t. And you know that you have no real right to be mad at him anyway. He has every right to be with Chrissy and you just have to be okay with that.
“Why are you even here? You got Chrissy so why aren’t you with her? That was the whole point of this whole thing, right?”
“It was,” he nods. “But last night made me realize something.”
“Yeah? And what’s that?”
“It made me realize that you’re the only one I want to kiss.” 
You freeze as soon as the words leave his mouth. There’s no way you heard that right. Your mind is just playing tricks on you. It has to be. 
“But-” you try to argue, but you just end up furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. 
“I know it doesn’t make sense,” he chuckles. “But I think I’ve always been in love with you and I was just so scared of losing you that I didn’t want to pursue it. What you saw was Chrissy and I just playing the game.”
“Then what did you say to her before? I saw you whispering.”
“She told me not to screw things up with you. Someone told her about you and I fake dating in order to get her attention and she said that she was flattered. And that was when I realized that I didn’t want her anymore. All I could think about was you. And she’s with Jason now so it’s not like it matters anyway.”
This all feels like a surreal dream, but you can feel Eddie’s hands on your cheeks so there’s no way that it can be. It’s real. It’s what you’ve been wanting for so long and now you have it. All you have to do is tell him you feel the same way and that will be that. 
“Because I love you, y/n. I want you and only you. I’m…I’m yours if you’ll have me.”
“You love me?” You ask, your mind still not grasping what’s going on. 
“More than you’ll ever know, baby,” he says as he goes in for a kiss, pulling you into his lap as his arms wrap around you so tight as he doesn’t plan on letting you go. You’re his now and you will continue to be until you take your last breaths. And that’s exactly how you want it.
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ktsumu · 2 days ago
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18+ NSFT MDNI. POLY MATSUHANA. ALCOHOL.
“What do you mean you don’t like making out?”
Makki looks at you like you’ve betrayed him, on his side of the couch with his half-full beer can in hand. “That’s the best part!”
You shrug. “Dunno. Just never been with the right person, I guess.”
“That’s some bullshit. Guys don’t even know how to kiss a girl right? We used to hunt, you know—“
“Makki sucks at it, too,” Issei chimes, leaning against the other end of the couch with his own can half-empty. He nurses it in one hand, lazily plays with a curl in the other. “Can’t say shit.”
���What the fuck? I’m such a good kisser,”
“You—“
“Wait, why do you know how good or bad he is?” you ask, turning towards Issei on your left.
Over your head, he and Makki share a grin.
“Actually? Forget I asked.”
“Don’t be green, friends kiss all the time.”
“Yeah, sure.”
You slide your back down the couch, crossing your arms over your chest as you focus back on the movie playing on the TV. Your cheeks feel hot.
You’re aware of their legs craned out to rest on the coffee table, a set on either side of you. You’re watching them out of your line of view, but when Makki’s head cranes back over the couch to look at the man to your left, you lose track of them.
They’re bickering, you can tell. Issei keeps breathing out little laughs and Makki’s making obscene hand gestures, shaking the cushions when he tries to reach behind you and smack him.
It’s the fifth time the couch jerks that you groan, pushing yourself back upright to break them up.
“Can you not?” you groan. “I’m trying to finish the movie?”
“I’ll stop when he admits I’m not a shit kisser.”
“Too much tongue, babe.”
“I was drunk!”
You swallow. “You’re probably both good kissers, okay? Settle it at that.”
They quiet after that.
The room gets quiet, save for the wind coming through the window and the movie playing still. There’s a steady picking on fraying cushion behind you, no doubt from Makki’s antsy hand.
“You think we’re both good?” Issei prods.
“Sure. Whatever floats your guys’ boats.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“How would I know, Issei?”
The three of you— you’re close enough friends by now that silence is rarely awkward, but you’re not dumb. You know what hole you just dug.
Dig your grave and lie in it, or whatever.
“You wanna find out, then?” he asks, maybe a little quieter if you’re paying close attention.
Makki is hot against your other side, leaning ahead to see the both of you as good as he can. You slink back a little into the sofa— you’re in deep literally and metaphorically.
Issei slips his hand up your leg, watching your lips part the second he sets his eyes on yours. It stays on the backside, coming back up to skip over your ass, resting on your back.
His other hand is hot on the side of your face, tilting your chin up so you’re almost touching him.
“Can I show you something?”
You huff a quick breath, and nod even quicker.
Issei takes you whole, it doesn’t feel like just a kiss. It’s not just lips, even though it starts that way— it’s a graze of his teeth against your jaw before he steals your breath away that makes you slump down the couch, an exchange of power that gives your all to him.
He’s languid and slow, tongue taunting yours and his hand dauntingly large on your side. Makki’s slips beneath his and then under your sweater, nails scratching beneath your navel as they span over your skin.
You forget to breathe. He tastes like espresso and a good time. You lose track of whose hands are which. You don’t know anyone but them. You forget any other lips who have ever tasted yours.
When you reach up into his hair, knotting your knuckles in his curls, Makki takes the back of your neck and pulls you back. You’re looking at Issei, but he doesn’t look mad.
He’s smiling. You blink. You’re looking at Makki, now, and he’s smiling too.
“My turn?” He says it like a question. He might be saying it like he’s begging.
Makki moves so he’s just about on top of you, coming from above when you lean your head back to see him from below. He’s quicker than Issei, hard against your teeth and against your thigh, dizzying in how he pushes and pulls, rutting against you like he’s always wanted this.
Issei tugs your leg over his, smoothing his hand up the inside of it, skipping over where you’re too sheepish to say you want it.
It rests on your stomach, fingertips dipping beneath your waistband as Makki groans so low it vibrates in your throat. They’re playing give and take with you, back and forth like magnets, closing in and giving you space again like a corset.
Issei’s hand cups your chest and Makki’s rests on your throat. You’re being swallowed whole, and all you want them to do is spit you up and do it all over again.
Then, the storm breaks, and when you come to, they’re starry-eyed and staring at you.
“What?” you gasp.
You turn your head back and forth, looking between them like you’re checking your blind spots. You still think somethings gonna come out of nowhere and hit you; bring you back to reality.
“Nothing,” Issei shrugs. But, he leans back. “Do you wanna stay overnight? Save you a drive in the dark.”
They surround you. They encapsulate you differently, like smoke and water. You’re hot and all too aware of the things you’d say yes to.
Makki’s fingers burn against your shoulder, dragging the collar of your top down your collarbone as you nod.
Issei grins, cheshire and warm. “Mm, good.”
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crescenthistory · 2 days ago
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Can you do like, an animagus!reader x regulus were reader is like, kinda sick and ill and all the time she sneezes, she turns into her animagus form????? I BEG YOUUU It would be so perfect. I love your writing and only do if you are comfortable with it. THANK YOUUU (english is not my first lenguage, so sorry about the mistekess)
this was a lovely sweetheart idea, thank you<3 big hugs!
Words: 1.8k
Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, common cold, reader is a bit miserable, whipped!regulus, bsf!remus who feels somewhat guilty
Note: this is of course the same cat!animagus!reader that we have followed for a while
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"For all the possible cons I went over before deciding to become an animagus," you drawled haughtily. "This was not something I thought to fear."
Regulus camouflaged his laughter with a soft cooing sound, petting your hair from where you were laid on his chest in your dorm room. The position could not be comfortable for you, you were practically laying on your back, with your head angled to the side to be on top of him, but it was how it had to be right now. That was to account for two things: your difficulty breathing through your cold, and the fact that you at any point could shift into your cat form, Whiskers.
"To be fair, I don't think this would be warned about in any literature." Regulus defended your past self's decision.
"You can be damn sure it wasn't." Your words would be more menacing if it wasn't for the high-pitched croak in your voice.
You had been sick before, many a time actually, including after becoming an animagus three years ago. Yet, this bout of seasonal cold for you seemed to be more sneeze-heavy than ever before, and you developed an awful side-effect to it.
For whatever reason, each time you sneezed, your startled body took it as a signal to shift you into your animagus form. Effectively draining your already limited energy and annoying you to no end. You hated it. Regulus put on his best frown in solidarity -- but would be lying if he said he didn't find the ordeal somewhat endearing. Even more so when you huffed yourself hoarse from irritation.
Considering that your illegal animagus status was not something you should be advertising, you and Regulus huddled into your dorm together to ride it out. Which, he noted, probably was good for you anyway, so that you could get better faster.
You had not appreciated it when he pointed it out to you.
"Just a bit more, amour, and then you'll be back to normal," Regulus said, hoping his tone was reassuring despite the slight laugh behind it.
"Easy for you to say," you grumbled, but, to his great pleasure, you burrowed your nose further into his chest.
“Just because I am able to see the humour in this situation already does not mean your ailment is not wounding me.” He was aware he was laying it on a bit thick, even more so when he kissed the crown of your head, but it might just be needed. Before you could have a chance to quip back and irritate your sore throat further, he asked, “Do you want anything, hm? More tea or healing potion?”
You seemed to think about it longer than usual, and he was unsure whether it was due to your feverish sluggishness, or a reluctance to answer. When you concluded with a weak, “No, I don’t think so, lovely,” followed by a rough cough, he decided on the latter.
“You shouldn’t lie to your carer, love,” he chided gently.
You tilted your head upwards so that he could see you were narrowing your eyes at him. Even your glare had lost its bite when your eyes were this foggy. “Y’re not my carer, Reggie. Don’t be dramatic.”
“Sorry, amour, you know it’s a genetic condition.” He preened at the sound of your weak laughter and then immediately switched up when he saw your subsequent frown. “Are you sure you don’t want any more tea? Honey?”
“No need to call me honey,” you tried to joke. He was momentarily ashamed of you, and waited for you to answer his actual question. “I do want more tea,” you eventually relented. “But I don’t want you to get it for me.”
His heart took on a softness he had not known it capable of prior to you, one that still somewhat unsettled him. “I want to help you,” he murmured into your hair.
“That’s not it. I just… I don’t want you to go.” Even as you said it, you hugged him closer.
He tilted his head at you in confusion. “I won’t be long.”
“That’s not it,” you whined into him. “I don’t like turning into,” – cough break – “, I don’t like turning without warning like that. Don’t wanna do it alone.”
Regulus thought he might break his ribs from how violently his heart doubled in size. “Oh, lovely girl.” He pressed one, two, three kisses to your head. “We’ll find a work around, okay?”
Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his wand from your bedside table and quietly accio’d some pen and paper to hover in the air before him. It took little to no effort for him to get the pen to write a short message on the piece of paper and have it be folded over into a small faux aeroplane, but the way you looked at him in awe, one would have thought he completed some impressive curse break. 
“Are you not a witch?” he asked, small tug on the corner of his lips as he watched the aeroplane fly out through the crack in the door. "Is this impressive to you?"
“Rude.” You didn’t need him to explain his jab at your fascination with his magic. “You know I love watching you.”
He just hummed into you, pulling you closer by the waist. “I’ve alerted Remus; I know he gets your tea right every time.”
You opened your mouth to speak, likely to coo at Regulus for growing soft, but then you stopped halfway through. The tension in your shoulders alerted him to what was about to happen and the sigh he breathed could almost be classified as a snort. Enough for you to throw him one last glare while in the middle of the ah-ah-ah part of your sneeze before finally atchoo your way through it.
Regulus imagined a plop sound as the girl laying half on top of him within a second shrunk and grew white-and-grey fur, landing comfortably in the middle of his chest. Whiskers made a soft hissing sound at no one in particular before letting your head drop with a sad thump.
“Oh my sweet girl,” Regulus murmured as he brought one hand up to rest on your middle as a form of weighted blanket – you said it helped last time – and the other to scratch lovingly at your head.
You did not bother turning back to your human form, instead letting the sneeze cycle decide which form you remain in to save on some energy. Regulus had a theory that you heal quicker as a cat anyway, so he figured it didn’t hurt to leave you to it.
The biggest downside of being Whiskers with your cold is that purring hurt your scratchy throat even further – an instinct that was hard to fight as a feline, especially when Regulus gave you scratches in all the right places (he would know). Perhaps he should be kind and leave you be.
You both knew that wouldn’t happen.
There were three soft raps to your dorm room, causing both of your heads to snap up towards it as Remus carefully stepped through it with a rueful smile. “Are we alive in here?” he asked teasingly, smile spreading once he saw your form curled up on Regulus. “Oh, hi Whiskers.”
“Still switching back and forth,” Regulus explained. A fairly obvious statement, but he had learned to never underestimate how much explanation your little friend group needs, though Lupin was the better of the bunch.
“I see that,” Remus cooed, reaching out to pet over your nose carefully with his index finger. “How are we planning on drinking this tea then, kitten?”
You pretended to bite at his finger, either for his comment or his use of the term kitten. Regulus would support you in it.
“She’ll be forced back into human form anytime now,” he began to explain, at the same time as you took a deep breath in and tensed. His eyes moved immediately from the Gryffindor boy to land on you. 
Remus had the wits to step backwards with the tea just before you let out another loud sneeze, distinctively feline-like. Just like that Regulus had his regular girlfriend back in his arms.
You immediately rolled off him to the side and groaned loudly and oh so hoarsely. “I hate everything.”
“Sorry ‘bout that lovely,” Remus said somewhat guilty as he came back to the bedside, sitting down beside you to hand you your tea, which you accepted shakily. 
You furrowed your brows at him. “What are you sorry for?” you said with poorly hidden accusation, having sniffed out Remus’ poor self image before he could explain himself. When he just shrugged you waved a trembling finger in his face. “No such apologies will be allowed around here, Mr. Blame Himself. I believe the phrase for my actions is that I fucked around and found out.”
Regulus was not proud when the snort he let out was almost identical to Remus’.
“Yeah, you’re a good friend, even if you’re not always the brightest,” Remus teased as he got up, easily dodging your weak swat.
You were about to reply when you suddenly thrust your tea cup into Regulus’ unexpecting arms, spilling some onto your sleeve in the process. Barely a second later, you sneezed yourself into a cat again.
This time your hiss was much more prominent and prompted a second sneeze that brought you right back to yourself, falling back onto the bed with a deep sigh.
“Feel better, both of you,” Remus said through a soft smile before stepping out and leaving you both to it.
“Oh, amour,” Regulus whispered before pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head. “Okay, drink this and then we’ll try something else.”
Too tired to give him any semblance of a sassy remark or even question his ideas, you quickly gulped down the tea, closing your eyes at the sensation. Regulus could not fight the urge to close the small distance and press a butterfly-light kiss to your eyelid.
He took the cup from you, empty apart from the slight tea dust on the bottom, sitting it on the bedside table. Wordlessly, he helped guide you into a lying position, head propped up by several pillows.
“This might help lessen the sneezes or better yet help you fall asleep,” he murmured as he arranged everything so it would be neatly ready. “If not, it will at the very least be nice.”
With a final peck to your lips and a sneaky smile, Regulus turned into his own animagus form, Shadow, and climbed carefully on top of your chest. There, he curled up so that he was perfectly positioned over the top of your chest, one paw laying protectively over your heart.
You sighed, absentmindedly scratching his head with the tips of your fingers. 
Regulus deemed his mission successful when your breaths started evening out. And, looking up at you and your pouty lips and perfect nose, he deemed that his life was quite nice as well.
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loveandleases · 2 days ago
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What about the cooking skills of the other ROs? And is Jade cooking for Chris now?
I'll answer Jade's first. She's never had to cook for herself so she sees no reason to start now. She can boil water, or make toast. But if you ask her to fry an egg, expect it to be full of egg shell and extremely runny. If Chris wants a home-cooked meal, then they would need to go to their parent's house which has a personal chef.
❤️Cam is an absolute disaster in the kitchen. He tries, he really does, but it always turns out bad. Either things get burnt or under cooked. His cookies will always be chunky and raw, and his toast will always be charred to the point you risk a tooth. I will say that Cam will show interest in attending a cooking class.
💙 G - A good cook, thanks to their halmeoni (grandmother). She was very adamant about G learning to cook so that they could support themself, or if they had a partner. They're very organized in the kitchen and don't like to be bothered when cooking. But they would make an exception for the right person. You can usually find Kimchi Jjiga in their fridge in the colder months.
💚 Kara - There's a joke that the Clarke family is cursed and can't cook. The same can be said for Kara. The difference between her and Cam when it comes to cooking is Kara thinks she's a good cook. Many of her exes thought it was best to lie to her about her cooking skills, and thus she is quite confident when it comes to cooking…it's just misplaced.
💛 M - They're a foodie, so they can cook well enough. Adequate enough they don't starve, but they don't have the time or patience for complex dishes. M is more often than not stressed about a deadline so you'll usually find them snacking more than eating a proper meal. They could easily make MC some tomato egg stir fry, just let them finish editing first.
💜 Isaac - They're a good cook. Even though Isaac is health conscious, they're weak for comfort food. Especially recipes their mom used to make them. It's their way of staying connected to her even though she's no longer alive. Isaac sets two days of the week to just do meal prep, their fridge is normally stocked with various dishes. So, if MC wants, expect Isaac to be more than ready to teach them a recipe or two.
🖤 Ardent - Amazing cook, the best of the Ro's honestly. His parents own a taverna in Greece. Ardent was expected to help out when he was growing up, either with cooking or serving customers. So, he knows his way around a kitchen. He enjoys cooking for people in general, something about the control he can have in the kitchen while also ensuring people eat well. His baklava is 🔥.
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d1xonss · 13 hours ago
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Hi there! I was wondering if i could get some straight Daryl Dixon smut where fem!reader is asking him to choke her for the first time? If not it’s totally okay! love your writing! <3
Something New
✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader
✧ Era : Season 2
✧ Pronouns : she/her
✧ Genre : ⚠️ Smut (18+)
✧ Word Count : 1.6k
AN ~ Oooh I don’t think I’ve ever done any kind of smut like this before, but I’m happy to try! And let’s preface this first before anything else; no I don’t think Daryl would realistically feel comfortable choking someone. He strikes me as the type of man that doesn’t want to harm you in any way during something so intimate, even if you asked for it. However, I think early seasons Daryl would definitely be a little rougher during sex which is why I planned for the season 2 era. But the moral of the story is this is just for fun, and I tried to keep it as accurate as possible.
Hope you enjoy! xoxox
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It had been a rough couple of days. Between getting stranded on the highway, losing Sophia, and Carl getting shot, it was safe to say that the group had seen better days. The recent events had taken a toll on all of you, the stress beginning to build up to the point of no return. And it was no surprise to you seeing Daryl was the one who was taking it the hardest. 
He was constantly tense and rigid, a permanent scowl on his face while nothing seemed to be going the way it was supposed to. Though luckily for him, you knew just the way to relieve some of that…tension.
Your gasps and moans could be heard by no one near as Daryl had taken it upon himself to move your shared tent far away from the others to get some distance. At first you were weary of the idea, but now you thought it just might’ve been the best one he’s ever had. Considering the filthy sounds he was pulling from you, it would be mortifying to face the others the following morning.
The small tent was pitch black, the only thing you were able to see were the soft outlines of the different shapes around you, along with feeling Daryl’s hot pants on the back of your neck as he continuously pounded into you. The sound of your wetness with every thrust filled the small space, almost suffocating as the sleeping bag beneath you was providing little to no comfort from the harsh ground beneath you. But with your legs tangled together and the feel of his dick hitting your hilt over and over again, the feel of tiny rocks below was far from your mind.
“Oh, fuck.” you whimpered, desperately grabbing and gripping at his arms that were wrapped around you as his pace was rough and determined. Your pussy was throbbing, the feel of his hips slapping against your ass was growing more urgent as you felt your wetness begin to run down your leg.
He grunted from behind you, feeling your walls clench around him, “That’s right, fuckin take it.” he growled into your ear, the next thing you felt were his teeth teasingly biting the shell.
You threw your head back in ecstasy, your toes curling all while trying to patch his pace with your own movements. But let’s face it, you were growing tired. And he had more stamina than the two of you combined. He could’ve kept this up all night if he wanted to just to torture you a bit more than he already was, having slowed down multiple times right when he felt you were about to come.
His large, rough hands then moved from your hips up to your breasts, giving them a generous squeeze before teasing your nipples just enough to get you to squirm even more. Gently pinching and pulling them to hear more of those delicious sounds. You cried out almost in agony with how much he was teasing you, the feeling both pleasurable and miserable. But Daryl couldn’t lie, he loved it. Hearing you like this, so aching and hungry for him drove him absolutely crazy.
Your bodies were sheen in a thin layer of sweat, the desire and lust growing even thicker with every plunge of his hips or bites at your skin. You wanted to feel him everywhere. Which is why your hand impulsively reached for his, tugging it toward your throat in a sex drunk kind of state. Though Daryl however quickly snapped out of it when his mind processed your actions, his movements stopping completely which only caused you to whine a bit in protest as you thought he only did it to tease you again. But what you couldn’t see was his expression was quite serious. Never in a million years had he even considered what you had silently asked him to do.
“What the hell are ya doin?” he asked, his tone rough with desire yet still somehow soft when it came to speaking to you.
His words brought you out of your daze, your eyes widening a little at what you had unconsciously done in a fit of impatience and longing. You had never outright admitted that you had a kind of kink, a fantasy perhaps of him wrapping his strong hands around your throat. But now that your secret was basically exposed, you felt extremely embarrassed, silently thankful that the tent was dark enough to where you couldn’t see his face. Although you could sense the tension resurfacing, the tension you so desperately tried to take away from him, was suddenly back within an instant.
“Sorry…” you huffed quietly as you tried to catch your breath, “Heat of the moment.”
Daryl was silent for what seemed like ages, leaving you thinking you had ruined the entire moment as you didn’t have a clue at what was going on in his head. But surprisingly enough, it wasn't what you had anticipated.
The idea of choking, spanking, or any kind of harmful thing really had never before crossed his mind despite how rough he could be at times. He never wished to intentionally hurt you, especially after the trust you had built up over the weeks of knowing one another. You were important to him, even though he had never been brave enough to admit that out loud, you were still quite literally the only person that mattered to him now. But seeing as clearly you weren’t opposed to the idea of exploring something new, he figured...maybe he could get behind it. 
His face leaned down toward your ear again from behind, “You tell me if it’s too much…ya hear me?” he said almost sternly to show you how serious he was about this.
Your brows furrowed in confusion, opening your mouth to question him, but you didn’t get the chance before his hand came up to gently squeeze at your neck. Your eyes widened, a surprised whimper escaping your lungs while his hips slowly began to buck up into you again, picking up right where he had left off.
The tightness he held around your throat immediately sent you back to that blissful haze, feeling your limbs begin to tingle as he continued to send shockwaves of pleasure up your spine. You moaned loudly when he squeezed a bit tighter, testing the waters with how much you could take. But it didn’t hurt at all surprisingly, like he somehow knew exactly what he was doing though he had never tried this before in his life. It was almost concerningly perfect, and you were in heaven.
“God, you sound so pretty.” he breathed, his pace increasing as he began to manhandle you, “You really like this, don’t you?” he asked almost teasingly.
But you couldn’t bring yourself to hear the tone of his voice, only managing to focus on how good it felt as you nodded your head frantically. Silently begging him to let you finish this time.
He choked you a bit harder when you didn’t respond, “Come on girl…tell me how good it feels.” he groaned.
You panted heavily while simultaneously swallowing to try and lubricate your dry throat, “Feels good- feels so good.” you stuttered pathetically.
Daryl hummed in approval as he heard your response, leaning his head down to kiss and lick at the skin of your shoulder while his free hand moved down to rub circles on your clit. A sharp gasp was pulled from you as you arched your back into him, your vision growing almost spotty at the amount of sensations he was giving you. Your legs began to twitch and he could feel your walls clenching around him even more intensely as you neared your orgasm again. But instead of slowing down, he finally continued to draw it out.
Your moans and whines grew louder and louder as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten, his hand over your throat only making your brain feel more fuzzy. You almost couldn’t control the sounds you were making anymore as you finally came, crying out his name in the state of bliss you had craved so much. It was like for a moment you saw stars, feeling as if your soul left your body for a moment as his fingers continued to work on your sensitive clit. The feeling of your tight walls consuming him left him not far behind as he quickly managed to pull out of you, before spilling himself onto your back with a low groan of pleasure.
It took minutes for the two of you to finally come down from your high, catching your ragged breaths while your bodies felt almost too limp to even attempt to move. But eventually, his hand retracted back from your neck as he slowly sat up a bit, leaving a tender kiss on the back of your head to express what he couldn’t with words.
“We…we need to do that again.” you breathed quietly, slumping onto your back from exhaustion.
He couldn’t help but chuckle at your silent request, shaking his head though you couldn’t see, “Let’s wait a few hours at least…don’t wanna kill ya.” he said lightheartedly.
You huffed softly, “I think you already did. I feel like I can’t move my legs.”
His eyes glanced down, his hand coming up to run along your hip before traveling down your thigh, “How bout a massage then, hm?”
It’s funny, you thought. One minute he was saying the dirtiest things, fucking you until you forgot your own name. And then the next, he was sweetly suggesting a massage after his own doings. But then again, you would never complain. Perhaps after this, he would be more keen to trying new things…
~ Thanks for reading!
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louisferrignojr · 13 hours ago
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i started thinking about 8x06 and i got mad again. I'm literally never not going to be mad about that fuckery. god help me from the restaurant scene with the “yOu'Re AlLOwEd tO LoOK” bullshit, Buck being flustered because a woman is flirting with him SINCE WHEN??? at worst he would have flirted back (accidentally or on purpose), at best he would have said no can do, I'm celebrating my 6 month anniversary with my boyfriend here. “I don't know what the Kinsey scale is” HE WOULD NOT FUCKING SAY THAT or the fact that he doesn't know his boyfriend is gay!!! after 6 months!!! and the worst is they wrote this scene only as a set up for Tommy to talk about his past of dating women for the Dramatic Reveal
which sucks even worse because the fact is that Tommy's ex fiance could've been literally any random woman from the greater LA county area and it would have made so much more sense without retconning Abby's and Tommy's canon from s1 & s2!!!!! her boyfriend broke up with her because he was an asswipe who couldn't handle that she was caring for her sick mother, not because he was gay!!!! Tommy sat at a bar with his colleagues and said he doesn't date because women can't handle his job because he was gay and closeted, not fucking engaged!!!!!
you want Buck freaking out because his boyfriend hurt people because he was living a lie, fine. you want to put him in a room with Josh and have him wax poetic about glee, fine. both of these things could happen without the mutual ex connection. literally bringing some nonsense fanon theory into your show... for what, exactly? we know you didn't plan it that way since the beginning, so it doesn't make you look smart. we know you stole the idea from the fandom, so it doesn't make you look good. it served no purpose and ruined already established satisfying canon facts. was it to have Maddie make a homophobic joke about a woman she never even met turning men gay? after her brother had explicitly told her he still likes women? you wanted that biphobic joke in there? congrats, you ruined Maddie's character too in this scene. well done.
fuckass tim minear when i catch you....
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justmymindandstuff · 3 days ago
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Desire - Robb Stark X WifeReader
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summary: Your life is perfect. You are happily married to your husband Robb Stark and gave birth to your first son a few moons ago. But since then things have changed between you. You miss your husbands touches but after you told him about your worries he shows you how wrong you are.
words: 6.132
warnings: self-doubt, discomfort, smut (oral f receving, fingering, p in v sex), pregnancy Kink (kind of/ mention), Porn with Plot ,fluff, 18 +,MDNI
as always english is not my first language, no beta reader so all mistakes are mine //No use of Y/N // Hope you have fun with this // AO3
requests are open // main-masterlist // GoT-masterlist
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You sigh and look back in the mirror in front of you, you turn to the side a few times to look at yourself from as many angles as possible. Then another sigh. Your son babbles in his cradle next to you. You give him a smile. He would soon see his fourth moon. You can't imagine what life was like before him, or maybe you don't want to. The last years have been marked with war, loss, mourning, fear and suffering. First the Lions, then the Others. But you've been through all this, you and your husband, Robb Stark, King of the North. You wipe your black hair out off your face.
The minute it was clear that you are a girl, your father, King Robert, engaged you to the heir of his best friend. You knew all your life that you were going to be Robb's wife, and at age seven, you were sent to Winterfell to live here as Neds ward. You were supposed to become Lady Stark of Winterfell, but then your father died, the truth about your (half)siblings came out, and for Robb and you all this brought the crown of the North. You were dragged into this terrible game of thrones, had to forge alliances, foresee the intrigues of your enemies, and were faced with so many impossible choices. Who do you trust? Who can help you? Who will betray you? You remember with an unpleasant feeling the cold night in the harbour, the wind blowing outside the windows and in a few hours you would sail off to Dragonstone. "Do you want the throne my love?" Robb had whisperd into the night. You lay naked and tightly wrapped around eachother in the uncomfortable bed, his seed was still sticking to your thighs, and when he asked, everything in you was drawn together. You are the only living, legitimate child of your father, his throne, the Iron Throne, is actually yours. "No. Give it to the Dragon Queen, for her help and the independence of the North." The Dragon Queen accepted your offer, and when all the armies of the North and the Riverlands, the Unsullied, the Droharki and three Dragons stood before King's landing, it was over. The city had already opened the gates and ringed the bells. Tywin Lannister could do nothing but lose his head. Then you have turned your armies to the north, just in time to defeat the Night king.
A knock at the door trear you away from your thoughts of the past. "Come in." the door opens and Catelyn enters.
"Hello, Dear," she says in a warm voice, smiling at you. "How are you?"
"Good," you answer, and it's not even a lie. You have a perfect husband, a healthy son and a great family. What more could you wish for? Your mother-in-law is smiling at you.
"Robb is back soon the banners are already on the horizon," she tells you.
You can feel your heart beating faster when you think of your husband. After all these years, mentioning his name is enough, and you feel like a love-sick teenager again. Robb had been in Karhold to attend Lady Karstark's wedding. The journey would have been too long for your son, and you didn't want to be separated from him for so long. So Robb left with a heavy heart without you.
"Finally," you say, and then you take Catelyn's hand. "Thank you again for helping me so much over the last few weeks. I know I have neglected my duties as a queen."
"You're now a mother Dear." her gaze goes to the crib and a sparkling enters her eyes as she looks at her first grandson. "Of course, there are shifts in priorities. That's normal."
You nod, even if you're feeling bad anyway. During Robb's absence, it would have been your job to take care of the North and Winterfell, but your thoughts are always with your little son.
"If you want I can take little Ed for a few hours?" your mother in law asks. "You and Robb were separated for a long time."
Your ears are getting red because you know exactly what she means. "That's not necessary." you say and smile. It's not like you don't trust Catelyn with Eddard but it's really not necessary.
Catelyn smiles. "I was once young and in love too." she says. You try to smile, but instead you sight. Catelyn shrinks her eyebrows. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"I can see in your face that something is wrong."
Your gaze goes back to the mirror. Your marriage to Robb is perfect, he's like one of the heroes from the songs, one the best men in the Westeros, trusting, loving, honest. Everything you can wish for in a husband. God, you love this man with all your heart and you know he loves you too. Nevertheless, your heart is getting heavy. During your pregnancy you have gain weight and have not lost the soft pads on your hips, even though you had a wet nurse, your breasts are not quite as tight as before, besides that you have stretch marks over your abdomen and breasts. You look backt at Catelyn suddenly tears come into your eyes. She overcomes the distance between you in a few steps and pulls you into her arms.
"What's going on?"
It's uncomfortable for you to share these thoughts with her. But why? It was Catelyn who told you all about moon bleeding, marriage, the marriage night and birth. Your mother came to your wedding, but you were so alienated by then that you asked Lady Stark for advice. She was always like a mother to you. You get out of her hug to look at her.
"I think..." you start and swallow hard bevor you speak again. "He doesn't want me anymore," you answer. "Not since Edds birth, even in the time before. He doesn't desire me anymore."
You don't want to think about these thoughts at all, and most importantly, you do not want to keep thinking. If Robb doesn't share the bed with you anymore, who does he do it with? Only the thought that he is lying with someone else causes nausea to rise in you. But he'd never do that, you know, he would never shame you like that, never hurt you that much. Even if you're so sure, there's a voice from the corner of your mind screaming: every man has needs and you obviously can't satisfy his anymore. Everyone would let him in her bed, he always has women around him who want to seduce him. Younger than you, more beautiful than you. Virgins, whores, everybody. He's the king.
"Nonsense!" you're surprised at the sharpness of Catelyn voice, but she keeps talking. "Have you seen how he looks at you, sweetheart? That's not the way men look at women they don´t desire. He's crazy for you. He loves you."
"I didn't say he doesn't love me. I know he does. He just doesn't want me anymore, that's something else."
"Why do you think that?"
"Well, we have." you interrupt yourself, but then you throw all the shame overboard, it doesn´t help. Catelyn held your hand during the birth of your son, shame is absolutely unnecessary in this place. "We haven't shared the bed with each other since Eddard's birth. He didn't make me feel like he wanted that."
You think of the time after your wedding, sometimes you didn't even get to your cambers, he was too eager to take you. Even during the war, it was hard for him to stay away from you for more than two days. Only the memory of the gazes that he has cast on you over the battle plans in the war council, makes your cheeks glow. But since the last third of your pregnancy, he's begun to retreat from you. Not emotionally, but physically. No more hot kisses in dark corridors, no more hands wandering over your body, no longer whispers of dirty thoughts as he passes by in the corridors.
Now Catelyn sigh too. "I can only give you one advice I've learned in 16 years of marriage," she says, and you look at her curiously. "Speak with him."
You grimace, that's exactly what you didn't want. You don't want him to think he's a bad husband or that you miss something. But if you're honest, you miss it, your miss your husbands touches.
Catelyn looks at you determinedly and smiles. "I'll take Edd tonight, I want to spend more time with my grandson anyway and you talk to your husband." her voice does not allow contradiction, and even if you would want to contradict, a horn rings loudly through the hallway and over the courtyards of the castle. Robb's finally home. When you think of seeing him again, your heart beats faster, you missed him so much. You take Eddard carefully out of his bed. Fortunately, he won't wake up. You're just taking him with you because you know that Robb had a hard time being separated from his son for so long and that he really wants to see him.
In the evening, you sit on your bed and open your braids , so that your hair falls open over your shoulders. You've already dismissed your maids for the evening. The crip is now empty and you already have the need to run through Winterfell to your son. You always thought you couldn't love anyone as much as Robb, but then you held your son in your arms for the first time and your heart almost broke from love. You don't love Robb less now, it's just more love. The room door opens and Robb enters the room. When you see him, a smile comes to your face.
"My Lady Wife." he says joyfully and closes the door behind him. He comes over to you, puts a kiss on your lips and sits on the bed next to you. Then he looks at the crip "Where is Eddard?" he asks.
"With your mother, she wanted to take care of him tonight. So we may have a little rest." you answer him. He looks back at you, his gaze becomes troubled.
"Was it too exhausting to have Edd alone? Shouldn't I have left? Do you need more maids?" he asks and takes your hand in his.
"No. No, with Eddard, everything was perfect, he's perfect. The perfect little prince." you calm him down quickly. "Your mother helped me a lot with government affairs." Robb breathes out relieved.
"Good." then he stands up again and starts getting undressed. As he pulls his shirt over his head, you observe the play of his back muscles and you feel a flattening inyour abdomen. You're watching Robb change his clothes, you can't turn your eyes away from him. Then he comes back to bed, he smiles at you from above and caress you cheek, you lean into his palm and close your eyes. Then he squates down in front of you to be on an eye level with you. Your legs lie to the left and right side of his body while your bare toes slightly brush over the soft carpet on the floor.
"I missed you." you say and kiss his palm.
"I also missed you. I wanted to turn around the first day and come back to you."
You laugh quietly and start playing wit the curls in his neck. He closes his eyes and groan quietly. The familiarity you two have grown over the years fills your heart with warmth. You grew up together, were best friends for years, and you never feared marrying him. You slightly pull at the curls in his neck to get him to put his head in the neck. He opens his eyes again and looks right into your eyes, you bow down and put your lips on his. You lean into the kiss, bury your hands in his hair, but before you can intensify the kiss further, Robb pulls away.
You can't help but sigh. You could just turn around now and crawl under the soft blankets and fur, but then your worries would still be the same tomorrow. Catelyn is right, the only solution is to talk to him. You're searching for the right words, but you don't really know what to say. Robb's eyes hang on your face, he's pulling his eyebrows together.
"What's going on?" he asks.
You still don't know what to say, you can't find the right words. So you just decide to speak out. "Why don't you desire me anymore?"
Robb looks shocked at you. "What do you mean?"
You take a deep breath. "Since I was pregnant, since we had Edd, you don´t desire me anymore."
"No, that's not true," he said, shaking his head. Is he just saying that to not hurt your feelings? You know it's true, you feel it, you noticed the change in his behavior.
"Is it because I'm not as thin as I was before? Or the scars on my stomach? Because I'm a mother now? I can understand that you withdrew from our marriage bed during pregnancy, but Eddard is now four moons old, the maester said weeks ago that I´m healed, Nevertheless, you don't even touch me anymore! I can be happy if you kiss me." the words just sprinkle out of your mouth.
Robb's just looking at you for a few moments. "What are you talking about?" he asks in a quiet voice. "You think I don´t want you? You think I would not longing after you every second oft the day?"
There's something flashing in his eyes and he's moving so fast that you can't even react. Suddenly you lie with your back on the bed, Robb over you. You can feel his body on yours, but you know that he holds most of his weight on his knee between your legs. On his face appears the trace of a smile.
"My queen," he whispers in your ear and then places a kiss right below your earlobes. You shiver slightly and bite your lips so you not let out desperate moan. Gods, you missed his touches. Your hands lie around his body, caress the muscles of his shoulders. "I let you down, made you feel like you weren't desirable. I'm sorry, wife, forgive me." his words are followed by a series of kisses, over your neck, your cheek and finally your lips. When his tongue slips into your mouth, you can't help but cry out. Your body bends toward him and you can feel the pleasant poaching between your legs.
He separates himself from you, rests on his elbows and looks into your eyes. You bend up to feel his lips on yours again, the familiar feeling of his lips allowing heat to flow through your whole body. But again Robb doesn´t let you intensify the kiss an pulls away.
"Wifey," he says in a dark voice with a hint of his northern accent. "I'm sorry, I didn't want you to feel like I woun´t desire you." his lips goes back to your neck, first he places light kisses and then he begins to suck. A whimper comes over your lips. Robb's hands wander over your body, you wish your thin nightgrown wasn't between you. He lets go of your neck again, and you know you're gonna have his mark tomorrow. But you doesn´t care. Your hands wander over his shoulders forward to his chest and you draw on the fabric of his shirt. You want to feel his skin under your hands, but Robb grabs your hands and pushes them with one hand on your wrists over your head into the mattress.
"I forgive you." you say, you can hardly forme a clear thought, it's all about Robb and your desire for him. "Please, Robb." you don't know exactly what you're asking him for, you just want the burning desire in your body to be fed. A deep groaning comes out of his throat, but he won't let go of your hands. You push your hips against his, you feel his body and his hard member on you. Robb and you both moan at the little friction. He caress with one hand over your body, circles around your chest and lets his thumb run over your nipples. You try to suppress a moan, you don't want to look as desperate as you are. Gods, you missed your husband's touches.
"Did you want to know the truth? Why I have withdrawn from you?" he says, bowing down slightly to kiss you, your tongues are playing with each other. Robb finally releases your wrists, you immediately bury your hands in his curls, while Robb puts his hand on your cheek. The gentle stroking of his hand doesn't quite match the hot intensity with which he claims your mouth as hi. You keep pressing on to him. You want to feel every inch of his body against yours. You know you're incredibly wet, almost embarrassed how little it took.
Robb's hands wander over your body, he gently pushes your nightgown up above your hips, finally his warm hand touches your thigh.
"I could hardly be near you without going completely mad." he starts kissing your neck again, going slowly over your collarbone. You slightly pull his hair to get him to kiss your lips again, but he only bites swiftly, then kiss the place again. His hand goes higher and higher under your nightgown until it finally reaches exactly where you want it to be. In the next moment, he pushes a finger into you and moves it slowly. You inhale sharply, bend your hips towards him.
"I had to keep thinking about the fact that you were carrying my child in you. Gods, you thought I don´t want you anymore because you were pregnant? On the contrary, I wanted you every second. I would rather have you locked up in this room. Every second I could only think of pushing you against the next wall and taking you right there."
His lips find yours again, you spread your legs further for him, make room for him and bow toward him. Your hands wander over his neck, his shoulders, to his muscular upper arms. You need something to hold on to. Robb squeezes his thumb into slight circles over your clitoris and your legs start to tremble.
"Fuck. I could no longer have a clear thought, could not concentrate, could hardly be a king, because my thoughts were constantly circling around you. I had to stay away so that I could function at all, so I would not fall over you." he adds another finger. A wet sound fills the room as you are still trying to understand his words. He starts kissing your collarbone again. His lips wander deeper and he starts kissing your breasts over your nightgrown. The movement of his fingers becomes faster, he curves them slightly and increases the pressure on your clit a little. Then he'll start sucking on your nipple.
"Robb," you cry out. The feeling of his lips, his fingers, of him is strange, but simultaneously so familiar. Your whole body is trembling. His teeth brush against the fabric of your nightgown as he intensifies the movement of his fingers and the stimulation of your clit. Your fingers scratch over his skin as you come around his finger with a moan.
Robb waits until you have calmed down again and then gently removes his fingers from you, in the light of the flames you can recognize the glitter of moisture on his fingertips. Robb takes them into his mouth and the sight alone almost makes you moan again. Your breathing is still a little fast, Robb gently kisses your cheeks and smiles at you.
"You taste as sweet as I remember, even better," he whispers in your ear before his lips find yours again.
You bit him slightly in the lower lip, causing him to shudder. You want him. You have to have him. You want to feel him. You push your hips forward, make them slide against the center of his body. You feel his hardness. Robb groans in your mouth, then place his hand at your hips and he pushes you back onto the soft mattress.
"Not so impatient, my queen." he says, and a slight smile appears on his face. He's driving you crazy. His lips wander over your neck, your breasts. Your nightgown is in his way. "Are you hanging on this night grown?" he asks you quietly with a rough voice.
"No." you say confused about his question, and at the next moment he tears your nightgown of your body.
"Robb, I liked it despite that." when the cold air hits your body, your nipples arise, and the next moment his lips surround your nipple, while his hand embraces your other breast, he rubs his thumb over your nippel. Your protest immediately disappears from your lips and is replaced by a moan. You throw your head back into the soft pillows. Your body burns from craving and you give yourself to it. "Robb, please. I want you." you beg him, you want to finally feel him inside you again.
"Let me take care of you first. " he says, his eyes sparkling in the light of the candle, his gaze is full of desire but he holds back. On face appears a smiling, more wolf than man. His lips find yours again, for a fast and hot kiss. Robb's hands wander across your body, his touches are tender, you get goosebumps all over your body. His hands seem to be everywhere on you, sliding down your arms, cupping your breasts, trickling along your waist. His lips followed them down. He kisses ever centimeter of your body. Quiet praises falling from his lips.
"My beautiful wife. My queen. You're perfect. Never think anything else."
And you believe him. With every word, every kiss, the self-doubt disappears. Your body stretches toward him and you feel like the blood in your veins is replaced by fire. Robb's lips slowly wander over your belly, his beard slightly tickles on your skin, his hands move along your sides, laying on your hips.
Feather-light kisses wander over the stretch marks on your belly. "You're so beautiful. I didn't deserve you." Robbs hands slip over your hips down to your thighs, and he slightly pushes them apart. You gladly give in and open your legs for him.Robb makes himself comfortable between your legs, kisses the inside of your thigh, you wimper as his beard strikes over the skin. Anticipation runs through your entire body and you feel yourself clenching around nothing.
"Robb, please."
"Gods, since when have you been so impatient Love?" you can hear the laughter in his voice.
"I have waited months for..." your sentence ends in a cry as his tongue slides through your folds up to your clit. He moans as he tastes you an the vibration sends sparkling through your whole body. Your hand is buried in his curls, your nails scratch slightly over his scalp. You're pressing your hips against his mouth, wimpering desperate. His tongue rotates over your clit. He alternates between sucking and licking. You groan. His beard lightly scratches the skin of your thighs. His tongue slides from your clit through your folds. Robb moans as his tongue presses into you. Your legs are starting to shake again. He rolls his tongue slightly. Hot pleasure runs through you. You twitch against his mouth. Your body shudders and the familiar knot forms in your abdomen. Robb eats you out like a starving man. He licks up every drop of your wetness. His tongue skilled switches back and forth. He feast on your cunt, licks over your folds and your clit. Then he sucks lightly, making you scream. For a moment you're worried that the guards in the hallway will hear you, but when Robb drives back inside you and rolls his tongue every thought flies out of your mind and all you can do is moan for him. Your fingernails scrape across his scalp. He groans and this sound is enough to make you clench again. Your hips rise towards him. Robb laughs darkly and pushes you back onto the bed with one hand. He is enjoying himself a little to much. His tongue doesn't stop for a second.
"Robb I." you start but can't finish your sentence. The pleasure he gives you makes your whole body tremble. You notice sweat forming on your forehead. You shift back and forth in his grip. Can't decide if it's too much or if you want more.
"I got you my beautiful wife." his voice sends vibrations through your core and you flinch away slightly. But Robbs immediately pulls you back onto his mouth. "Come for me." his tongue slaps against your clit. You moan and your orgasm washes over you. You squeeze your eyes shut as you writhe back and forth on the sheets. Your body pulsates pleasantly as your pleasure takes over you. Robb carefully kisses your middle, your thighs, tastes your wetness on his tongue. Robbs fingers caress your legs.
You're slowly coming back to reality. Your skin burns under his fingers. Your breathing is heavy and you have to blink a few times before your vision becomes clear again. You lean slightly on your elbows and look down at Robb. His eyes are on you, he is watching you. There is a satisfied grin on his lips.
"Your are a sight for sore eyes Wifey." his voice is now heavy with his northern accent. His eyes dark with lust and pure desire in his gaze. The hunger in his eyes makes you blush like a maiden and at the same time sends hot shivers through you.
With a smile on your lips your roll your eyes. Your heart is full of love for Robb. He places another kiss on your center. You twitch away from the overstimulation. You whimper softly. Robb sits up again. His hand wipes your wetness from his beard before letting his lips wander over your body again. He knows well that you can´t stand the cold feeling of his wet beard on your skin. He, on the other hand, loves it when the evidence of your desire for him runs down his chin.
Your lips meet for a kiss, you taste yourself on his tongue. You moan and lean into his touch. Your hands wander down his body impatiently,your hands paint over his hardness, his hips bend forward and he groans in your kiss. Suddenly your hands are pushed away and in the next moment Robb pushes his pants from his hips. His cock is hard and stretches toward you, the tip red and dripping with precum.
"I know I have a lot to make up for but I can't wait." you giggle softly at his words and open your legs for him again. His gaze lingers briefly on his wet middle and he takes a deep, shaky breath. “Fuck you look like a goddess."
"Stop with the compliments and finally take me." you say impatiently. New desire burns within you. You can hardly wait to finally feel him inside you again.
Robb positions itself at your entrance, your lips meet again for a passionate kiss. Your husband pushes himself inside you with one quick thrust. Your scream is swallowed by your kiss. Robb pauses, pressing his forehead to yours. His body is shaking. Sweat forms on his bare chest. You raise your hands and scratch lightly over your muscles. But you also need a moment too to get used to the feeling of fullness. Gods did you miss this. You push your hips towards him as a sign that he should move. Slowly he pulls back just to let himself sink back into you, making you feel every inch of its length. You throw your head back on the pillow and moan. Your legs spread further, allowing him to go a little deeper inside you. Pleasure runs through your entire body. You wrap your legs around his wais,push yourself towards him. Robb moans in your ear before he curses quietly. He's so deep inside of you, his body heavy and warm on yours, right now there's nothing for you but him. The sky could fall down and you wouldn´t notice.
"Fuck. I missed you so much." you moan. Enjoying his thrusts and the pleasant pulsation in your center.
"I missed you too. I´m so sorry Love. Don't ever doubt me again. I will never let you doubt again how much I desire you. I promise." he kisses your lips, you open your lips a little and his tongue slips back into your mouth.He doesn´t stop his thrusts for a second. Each of his movemens is precise and lets you see stars. Robb takes you slowly, enjoying every second.
The knot in your stomach is starting to build up again as he rolls his hips, grinding over your clit. Your hands wander over his muscular body as your hips meet each of his movements. Your legs start shaking again.
"Fuck Robb."
His hand is on your cheek, and he gently caress you. His lips never leave yours for a second, your tongues dance around each other. He bites your lip. You moan in response. You lean your head back a little, gasping for air. Robbs lips immediately attack your neck again, he sucks dark marks on your skin.
The knot in your body becomes more intense gets stronger with each of its shocks, you can feel how you pulse around his cock "Please don't stop."
"I could never my sweet love." he whispers, hot breath on the skin of your neck. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you."
Your bodies melt into each other. Robb takes your hand, intertwines your fingers with each other. All our thoughts are just Robb, his body on yours, his cock inside you, his sent around you, the feeling of his warm skin on yours. You clench again around him, make him shiver.
"It feels so good." you moan.
Robb smiles, catches your lips in a kiss. "I know Love. If you ever doubt again that you are not the most beautiful woman on earth to me, say a word and I will fuck that nonsense out of your pretty head." You whimper at his words. His thrusts become harder as he gets closer to his own orgasm. Rapid breathing mixes with your moans. "Have you understand me?"
You nod and Robb stops in the middle of his movement. His cock slips almost out of you. You want to scream in frustration.
"Words. You know that."
"Yes, I understand." you say breathlessly.
He rams himself back with one thrust. "How about I keep you full of me. I'll give you another child. So everyone can see how much I love you. This time, I'm doing it right. I will not depart from you, I will tell you every day how beautiful you are."
Your pleasures pass through you like a storm. Heat runs through your veins as your legs start to tremble again. You interlock your ankles behind his lower back and press him closer into you.
"Please." you whisper and you barely recognize your own voice. You pull his head on his hair from your neck back to your lips and kiss him passionately. Robb's moans in your mouth. A dark, animalistic tone that causes a shiver all over your body.
"God, you're gonna look so good, full with my child." Robbs voice trembles. He is lost in his lust and in you.
"Yes, please give me another child Robb." you want a second child, and a third and a fourth. "A whole bunch of wolfpuppies."
Robb laughs quietly, you stretch to kiss his cheek. His beard picks slightly on your cheek as your lips wander over his cheekbone to his neck to spread kisses there. His laughter becomes a moan, his grip on your hands become stronger, as his strokes become faster. Again, you can't suppress a moan, your free hand goes over his arm and you sink your nails into his shoulder, you need something to hold on to. Hot waves of desire pass through your body and you feel your next orgasm approach. You are not sure if you can come again. It´s to much and at the same time not enough.
"I'll share every thought with you, I'll whisper to you in the council meeting that I'd rather would like to bend you right over the table. And when they're all gone, that's exactly what I'm going to do. I don't care if anyone can hear us. Let them. Let everyone hear how much I love you. How much I long for you. You'll get sick of me."
You shiver at his words, your whole body cramps and in the next moment your orgasm breaks over you. You can feel your nails crawling into the skin of his shoulder, and Robb moans when you clench around him. Uncontrollable and overwhelming, your pleasure drowns you and makes your vison blurr. Robb's name falls from your lips like a prayer. Robb is slowing down his strokes again as he leads you through your orgasm. As the first waves weaken, you feel Robb's thrust get faster again, you throw your head back as you cry out loudly.
"You're doing so well. Milking me so good. Gods I would die for just one second longer in your sweet cunt Love." he praises you, thrusting harder into you. Only now do you realize how much he has holding himself back all this time. You whimper and tremble under him. You can't do anything else but take it. Enjoying the feeling of him losing himself inside you while chasing his own orgasm.
Robb's hand goes between your bodys and starts rubbing fast circles over your clit. In the same second he bites your collarbone, as he sinks even deep inside you. With a groan he comes inside you. The combination of his twitching cock inside you, the skillfull circles around your clit and the slight pain at your collarbone pull you over the cliff again and you scream out your lust. Tears flow out of your eyes and your whole body trembles around him.
He moves carefully for a few more moments before stopping. You're both gasping for air. You have to blink before your vision clears again. Your gaze finds his. His eyes are full of love for you. For a moment you're just looking at each other. An exhausted smile spreads on your faces. You whipe a sweaty strand of hair off his forehead and kiss his lips. Then you put your arms around his neck and pull him down to you. Robb lets his weight fall on you, you can feel every inch of his body on your heated skin, but it's not uncomfortable, it makes you feel safe. You feel warm, loved and happy. Everything is as it should be. Not a single thought of self-doubt is in your head. Robb spreads light kisses on your the skind of your neck. You're scratching his neck wraping his damp curls around your fingers. He sight and close his eyes and buries his nose in the crook of your neck. You stay for a few minutes just lying like this, enjoying each other.
Robb kisses your forehead, then gently rolls down from you. As he slips out of you, you immediately miss the feeling of him inside you.
"Are you all right?" he whispers.
"Yes." you answer in the same volume. "You?"
"Of course." smiling, he turns to his side, pulls you in his arms and kisses your cheek. "I mean what I said. There's no one else for me. I love you. With every fiber of my body, I love and desire you. Always. Please don't forget that. I'm sorry you doubted me. That's never gonna happen again. I swear. I love you so much."
You slide closer to him and paint small circles over his chest. "I love you." you kiss his naked chest and caress over his arm. Then you shigh satisfied and cuddel closer to your husband.
"Don't make yourself too comfortable, I'm not done with you jet." he whispers in your ear with a rough, deep voice, and you have to bite your lips to suppress a whimper. Gods, how could you ever doubt him?
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littlespoonevan · 3 days ago
Note
Would love to hear more about the Miss Congeniality Au!
ahhh miss congeniality au, my beloved!!!! 💖💗💞💕🩷❤️ truly, truly, truly i feel like this au could be so much FUN if i could find the discipline and motivation to just sit down and write it lmao. but i will say i v much enjoyed fitting all the pieces together for this snippet so here's hoping it awakens something in me askdjhf
i hope you like it 🥰
~
Eddie never imagined becoming a special agent. Then again, he never imagined becoming a single dad either.
But FBI work actually keeps him chained to a desk a hell of a lot more than regular police work used to and the pay’s better.
He’s regretting that decision right about now.
“Eddie, it has to be you.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, quickening his step even as Chimney continues to keep pace with him.
“It absolutely doesn’t, Chim.”
“The whole office agrees-“
Eddie stops short, whirling around. “Just because the little simulation version of me you drew up on the computer had an eight-pack-“
“My computer does not lie, Diaz-“
“I don’t have time,” Eddie cuts in. “I can’t be away from Chris that long.”
“It’s one week. Less, if you do your job right.”
Eddie makes a face.
It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. A charity firefighter competition that he really thinks sounds a hell of a lot like a beauty pageant. Sure, there’s obstacle courses and stuff to complete but he’s not sure what a speedo competition has to do with being a competent firefighter. The cause is noble, he guesses, but there has to be a better way to raise money than deciding who’s the most specialist firefighter in all of Los Angeles.
Especially when the host – Captain Bobby Nash – is the target of a bomb threat.
It wouldn’t even have landed on their desk if not for the fact that three people with ties to Bobby Nash and the LAFD had received bombs in the mail over the last two weeks.
Athena thinks their best chance to take down the mail bomber is to have someone on the inside, to infiltrate the competition and investigate the contestants while also being the FBI’s eyes and ears throughout the week.
Hen and Chim, of course, volunteered Eddie for the job.
“I don’t like undercover work.” It’s an oversimplified version of the truth – that Eddie hates having to perform for an extended period of time and that this competition sounds like his own personal version of hell. Also, as much as he knows he’s in good shape, he doesn’t actually want people ogling his body for a week straight.
Chim gives him an incredibly unsympathetic clap on the shoulder. “Just use those big, brown eyes of yours and wow the judges with your salsa skills and no one will be any the wiser.”
Eddie opens his mouth to argue back when another voice cuts through their conversation.
“She said yes!”
He and Chimney both look up to find Hen running towards them, a beaming grin on her face. “Athena said yes! Better start practicing your poses, Firefighter Diaz.”
Well, shit.
-
Captain Bobby Nash has got a made-for-TV smile that has Eddie understanding why he got the hosting gig over every other fire captain in LA.
“Special Agent Grant,” he says, shaking Athena’s hand with a warmth to his expression that Eddie doesn’t expect.
Athena clearly doesn’t expect it either because she clears her throat as she pulls her hand back. “Captain Nash. This is Agent Diaz.”
Nash redirects his attention to Eddie, extending his hand once again. “Great to meet you. And please, call me Bobby.”
“You too,” Eddie says, flashing a polite smile and following Athena’s lead to take a seat in front of Bobby’s desk.
“So I take it there’s been some progress in the case?” Bobby asks, settling into his chair.
Athena purses her lips, exchanging a look with Eddie. “Not as much as we’d like. Given that we still don’t have a trace on the letter the bomber sent and the LAFD’s reluctance to cancel the competition, we’ve decided to send one of our agents in undercover.”
Bobby’s eyes immediately flick to Eddie and Eddie feels the ridiculous urge to straighten his posture. “I’m guessing that’s where you come in, Agent Diaz?”
“Not that we want to undermine the integrity of the competition but it will be imperative that Eddie makes it to the final,” Athena says. “It’s the best chance we have of catching the bomber if we can’t determine a suspect before then.”
Bobby leans back in his chair, regarding them both with an unreadable expression. Finally, he cracks a smile. “Well, he certainly looks the part.”
“He gets that a lot,” Athena snorts and Eddie ducks his head to hide the heat in his cheeks. It’s bad enough when it’s Hen and Chim ribbing him; he didn’t actually think Athena ever overheard them.
“Which firehouse is he representing though?” Bobby asks. “All of the contestants have already been chosen.”
Without missing a beat, Athena hands over a file that Eddie knows contains the fake details of his new identity. “Apparently the 133’s entry came down with an awful bout of food poisoning.”
Bobby accepts the manila folder with a faint smirk. “Well, that’s a shame.”
-
“Diaz. Diaz, do you read me? Over.”
Eddie rolls his eyes as he steps onto the bus ready to ship the contestants to the opening luncheon. “Yes, Chim,” he mutters under his breath. “I can hear you; stop yelling.”
“Remember to smile, Eddie.” That’s Hen.
How Athena thought they were the two best suited to oversee this, he’ll never understand.
He scans the length of the bus, looking for an empty seat. The whole place is overrun with burly men in too tight t-shirts talking animatedly to each other. It takes him a second to realise one of the men in question is waving at him.
He’s got curly hair and a golden retriever-esque eagerness to his smile. “Edmundo?” he asks. “From the 133, right?”
Eddie clears his throat and rearranges his face into a smile as he makes his way to the empty seat. Though calling it an empty seat feels generous when the firefighter all but shoves himself against the window to make room.
“How’d you know who I was?” he asks, genuinely curious. They only finalised the details of Eddie’s position in the competition yesterday and they made sure to leave any of his information off the official competition website.
“Oh I did a little deep dive on the other contestants but you were the only one who didn’t have a picture so I figured it had to be you.” He shrugs with an affable charm before offering Eddie a hand. “I’m Evan Buckley, with the 118. Everyone calls me Buck though.”
“He’s cute,” Hen says in his ear.
“Like a puppy,” Chim adds.
Eddie ignores them and shakes his hand. “Uh, you can call me Eddie,” he greets. Changing his last name was necessary; he refuses to go by Edmundo for the next week. It’s only then that he clocks the station number Buck said. “You’re part of Nash’s team.”
“Yeah,” Buck says, beaming with pride. “Bobby’s the best captain ever. You know some of these guys have it out for me because they think he’s gonna play favourites even though he’s not a judge. He’s just the host. But whatever, it’s not a big deal.”
The dejected look that creeps onto Buck’s face suggests it very much is a big deal even if he won’t admit it. Eddie feels a pang of sympathy. The guy seems harmless, even with all the rippling muscles. Then again, he’s not surprised a competition this testosterone-fuelled has people acting territorial.
“They just want an excuse for when you beat them in the first round,” Eddie says, mostly to fill the silence but also to get this Buck guy to stop looking so downtrodden.
He definitely doesn’t expect the way Buck’s whole face lights up in awe.
“You think I’ve got a shot at making it to the finals?”
The earnest hopefulness in Buck’s voice catches Eddie off guard and Hen and Chimney in his ear don’t help.
“Aww Eddie’s making friends!”
“Forget friends! Eddie, he’s cute; keep flirting with him.”
Eddie bites down on the urge to tell them to fuck off and makes himself smile at Buck instead. “’Course you do. Some of these guys are lucky they even made it this far.”
Truthfully, Eddie hasn’t even taken the time to look at anyone else on the bus all that much yet but the words tumble out of his mouth without permission. And in the face of Buck’s delighted grin, he can’t find it in himself to take them back.
“Thanks, man,” Buck says bashfully. “Hey, you have anyone to share a room with at the hotel yet?”
“Please tell me there’s only gonna be one bed,” Hen squawks gleefully in his ear.
“Uh I don’t know. Are they assigned or-?”
“They figured since most of us know each other we could pair up however we want but- um…” Buck trails off, making it clear no one has offered to share with him and well, it seems like he knows a lot about the other contestants. That could be good for Eddie. To get information and close the case. Obviously.
“Yeah, man. We can share.”
“Awesome!” Buck declares, slumping more comfortably in his seat and bumping his shoulder –probably accidentally – against Eddie’s. The bus gets moving then and Eddie takes the opportunity to scope out some of the other contestants.
It’s unlikely their suspect is another firefighter but not impossible.
“So how come I’ve never seen you at a scene before?”
Eddie blinks, redirecting his attention to Buck who’s looking at him curiously.
“Oh uh, I just transferred in the last couple of months.”
“From where?” Buck’s expression doesn’t look suspicious and Eddie has to remind himself not every conversation with a stranger needs to be an interrogation.
“Um, El Paso,” he says, immediately cringing on the inside. This man does not need to know any of his real life personal details.
But Buck only smiles again. “Cool. I’ll have to look out for you on calls from now on.”
And it’s not said flirtatiously or anything like that but Buck looks bashful again and Chimney is cackling his ear about how, “Eddie’s got a fan,” and Eddie’s stomach does a strange, traitorous flip.
But this is fine.
Everything is fine.
It’s just-
It’s going to be a long week.
-
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dira333 · 18 hours ago
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Mom Friend - Kenma - part 3
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Hinata’s dating someone.
He tells you first - at least that’s what he claims when he knocks on your door that Sunday, asking to be let in.
Kenma had been right, after all. Hinata doesn’t mind being mothered.
His girlfriend, one of the team's managers, doesn’t mind mothering him.
“I’m happy for you,” you tell him, hugging him tight. “Should have seen that coming, really. You’ve always been giggling during the breaks.”
He blushes adorably. “We’re going out as a group this Sunday. Are you coming?”
“Sure,” you agree easily. It’s different now. Easier.
-
The night is still warm, though you can smell the crispness of autumn. You bring a warmer jacket, unsurprised that you get to lend it out only five minutes after sitting down.
You sit in the corner, with an empty chair to your left. You don’t think much about it until a shadow falls over your table.
Kenma is quiet as he slides out the chair, waves at everyone and sits down.
You don’t make a fuss either and turn back to the conversation on your right, trying your best to forget about him.
It’d be a lie to say you manage. His knee hits yours as he tries to find a comfortable position and though neither of you says anything, your eyes meet for the briefest moment.
Kiyoomi changes seats right after ordering and you know it’s just so he can talk to your friend sitting across from you, but if you don’t want to butt into their conversation every five seconds you have no choice but to talk to Kenma.
“How’s work?” You ask, twirling your glass between your fingers.
“Good. Yours?”
“Good.”
Silence settles over you. Kiyoomi says something about a movie he wanted to watch and you add that you’ve seen it. The conversation moves onto your opinion about it before turning to something entirely else and your focus drifts again.
Kenma’s staring at the tablecloth. 
It’s a little weird that he’s not playing on his phone.
“Is your battery dead?”
“No,” he shakes his head.
“Oh, okay.”
You wish you could just pull your own phone out and play around with it, but you’ve always thought that a little bit rude, not to mention that the only book you’ve got downloaded is pretty boring.
“There’s a movie-” Kenma starts but cuts himself off when the server arrives with the first few plates of food.
It’s easy not to talk as long as you’re eating. Just chew slowly, stare at the plate or smile at someone at the end of the table, ask them how they’re enjoying their meal.
Soon, though, the plates are cleared again. Dessert is ordered, but that takes some time.
Your eyes trail over the flowers decorating the patio. The little path separating the tables. The edge of your table. Kenma’s hands, pressed flat onto the tablecloth.
“You were saying?” You ask, turning toward him. “About a movie?”
Relief washes over his face.
“It’s similar to the one we watched. Back in, uh, May, was it?”
“April,” you correct him.
“Right.” He clears his throat awkwardly, folds his hands, and separates them again. He’s nervous. “It’s not about the same game, but it’s very similar. You liked that last one, yeah?”
“It was okay,” you agree quietly, thinking back. “The ending was good.”
Kenma nods. His pupils are wide as he looks at you.
You can’t help thinking back to that night in April, how you thought about the size of his pupils then. Did they tell the truth then? Or is it just nonsense you read somewhere?
“I was thinking about going to watch it,” he mutters. “I wanted to ask around… maybe you want to come?”
Time seems to stand still for a moment. 
You want to turn, to check on the others, see if they’re laughing, if they’re in on a joke you don’t get, if they’re even here with you right now, or if you’re dreaming, but you can’t move.
“Sure,” you say because you don’t know what else to say. “If I’m free.”
This time, Kenma doesn’t look relieved. Maybe he wanted you to decline? You don’t care enough. Though that is a lie and you know it.
You push yourself up from the table with an apologetic smile.
“I need the bathroom real quick,” you tell him, turn to your friend but she’s still deep in conversation with Kiyoomi. “You know what I ordered if it arrives before I’m back.”
The toilet seat is cold, but you stay there longer than necessary.
It feels like a Deja Vu or your very own version of Groundhog Day. 
“He does not love you,” you tell yourself like a mantra until you can feel it settle in your bones.
Only then do you feel ready to go back.
- - -
The air is crisp, your cheeks sting from the wind. If air had a taste, you think it would taste like fresh soda, bubbling on your tongue. 
You’re still unsure if this is a good idea, even as you walk up to the cinema, the same one you went to last time.
You dressed comfortably and not to impress. As far as you know only a few people confirmed. Kenma, of course. Kuroo, too. Hinata and his girlfriend. And you. 
Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you reach the front door, but you don’t want to look at it yet.
You’re early, it seems. Or maybe everyone canceled, just like last time.
You wait another minute before you pull out your phone. 
Kuroo has to work longer. Hinata’s caught a stomach bug.
You wait for the next text, for Kenma to decline as well.
“Hey.”
-
This time it’s you, head buried in your hoody, eyes on your phone. 
Kenma’s dressed well. He must have had a work meeting earlier, though you remember he often dresses in sweats for those as well.
But he did wear fancy pants to the hangout too, so it doesn’t have to mean anything.
“Everyone canceled,” you tell him, raising your phone like it means something.
He nods and moves as if stretching out his hand before pushing it into the pocket of his blazer.
“I’m still going to watch the movie,” he points out, looking up at the sign above the door. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
You think about it for a second. Think about the last time you went in there with him. Nothing good came from it.
But you’re not scared of him. Nothing he can say will hurt more than what he said last time. And you survived that, right?
-
The movie isn’t bad. 
You know even less of this game, but it doesn’t seem to matter. They’ve built up the story well. It almost makes you forget that Kenma paid for the Popcorn sitting between the two of you, the giant basket he asked to share.
“I want the limited edition bucket,” he had explained, his eyes darting around. “But I don’t want to eat the whole thing by myself.”
You offered to pay for the drinks but he’d declined, quietly but firmly.
And now you’re sitting here and it feels like a date when it clearly isn’t.
-
“Do you wanna eat something?” Kenma asks once you leave the cinema, dust your clothes off and get rid of the last remnants of popcorn and stray skittles. 
You hesitate for a second.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
Kenma’s face twists.
“I’m not-”
“Okay,” you nod to yourself. “So why are you being so nice to me?”
He hesitates.
“Can we talk?” He scuffs his shoes on the linoleum floor. “Somewhere more private?”
You look at him for a while before you nod.
“Same as last time?”
He nods and you follow him out of the Cinema and down the street. 
The wind is biting and you pull your jacket tighter around you. 
A couple walks down the street, facing you. The girl shivers and the guy pulls her close. Kenma turns his head to look at you and you swallow around a lump in your throat. 
As they pass, Kenma steps out of their way, careful not to bump into you. 
It feels like a sign. You wish it didn’t.
-
The warmth of the restaurant has you sniffling. Kenma finds a booth at the back and promises to order while you hit up the bathroom.
Your eyes are watery and your nose is red. You look like you’ve cried.
No amount of cold water is going to save that so you leave it as is, blow your nose one last time, and go back. Your stomach is tight, your hands cold.
Kenma’s looking at you as you walk over. His phone is not on the table. 
Whatever he has to say must be important to him.
-
“Do you still have a crush on me?”
His voice is even, like he’s reading from the menu and it takes you a second to register the meaning of the words.
Your mouth opens, but you have no answer.
This time though, you don’t look away. You hold his gaze, find anxiety darkening the gold in his eyes.
Eventually, you find your voice.
“Why do you ask?”
“I-” He hesitates. “I’ve been thinking about it. A lot.”
“Okay?”
“I’m sorry,” Kenma mutters and there’s a weight to his words and to his gaze. 
“Okay.”
He says nothing more for a while and you swallow around the questions in your throat. You don’t want to ask them. 
The food arrives and he stares down at it as if he forgot how to eat.
“It’s not going to be like it was before,” you eventually add when he makes no move to pick up his chopsticks.
“I know.”
“And yet you apologized.”
“It’s not just what I said,” he tells the table instead of you. “It’s how I said it.”
“It hurt a lot.”
“I can only imagine.”
You sniffle. It’s so silly that it makes you tear up again, the memory of it. But you can’t help it. 
“It would have been okay, you know.” You tell him quietly. “If you just… told me that you weren’t interested. Why did you have to try and set me up with someone else?”
Kenma picks his chopsticks up and puts them down again.
“I wanted to make you happy.”
A dry laugh works its way out of your throat.
“That’s not how you do that?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I gathered that. I’m… I’ve never…” He stops. “I’ve never felt that way before.”
Something in the way he says it irks you.
“What way?”
A nervous blush works its way up his neck.
“Protective,” he mutters. “Like… I needed to make sure… That you’re happy. And you wouldn’t have been happy… with me.”
Realization sinks in heavy and you gasp for air.
“Do you have a crush on me?”
“Kuroo thought you might be into Shouyou,” Kenma tries to avoid your question. He’s staring out the window too. “Because you were always mothering him.”
“That’s not the que-”
“You’re like Kuroo, in that way,” Kenma adds on, as if he’s not hearing you. “So I thought maybe you’d be happy with him, too. You could take care of each other. God knows Kuroo works too much. You do too. Always care too much about your coworker's needs. Or what your friends want. You bring extra water bottles and extra painkillers and a snack in case someone gets hungry and you remind them of their appointments-”
“Kenma.”
He sinks into himself. Kenma’s not tall, at least not compared to his friends. He’s not sturdy or broad-shouldered or anything. He’s just Kenma.
“I really messed up, didn’t I?” Kenma asks, his eyes finding yours. 
“Yeah, you did.”
Quiet settles over you. But it’s not stifling or uncomfortable.
Instead, it’s the soft quiet of knowing the truth.
You straighten and pick up Kenma’s chopsticks, press them into his hands.
“Eat,” you tell him. “We can’t figure things out on an empty stomach.”
“Figure things out…” He repeats, almost phrases it like a question. Almost.
“Yeah,” you try a smile. “If I’ve learned anything these past few months is that you can’t get anything done without good communication. And I think we’re really mastering that today.”
His lips break into a shy smile and he starts to eat.
You don’t know what’s going to happen after this.
All you know is that you’re breathing a little easier.
Everything else you can worry about later.
- OPEN END -
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Mom Friend - Kenma pt one two three
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trippinsorrows · 7 hours ago
Text
looking through your eyes + twenty seven
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authors note: none.
cw/tw: angst, threats of violence, csa survivor being triggered
song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes
masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form
words: 13k
Solana gasps when the familiar scent of her husband’s cologne, strong yet subtle, invades her nostrils conjoined with the welcoming embrace of his strong arms around her body. Naturally, she turns around from the counter where she was putting away dishes, a small smile on her face as he rests his hands on the small of her back. 
However, her grin dims a bit when she sees he’s fully dressed. “You’re leaving already?”
Roman nods, explaining, “I need to get back on track. The sooner, the better.” 
His words, logically, make sense. But, they do nothing to abate her nerves. “What if you worked from home?” She then proposes in an almost selling manner. “I called off today anyway, so I’ll be here in case you need something.”
Something being a euphemism for the word anything. In the few days that have passed since the funeral, Solana has continued to stay with and watch her husband like a hawk. Ready to support him in any way that he needs, the memory of him breaking down in front of her, holding her while he cried into her stomach, something she will never forget.
Something he desperately needed.
And something he hasn’t outright spoken about. She gets it. Understands how both major and uncomfortable that had to have been for him. Emotions are tricky and confusing, and for someone who’s used to pushing them away, feeling them all at once can be….an experience.
His thick brows furrow slightly, as he asks the million dollar question. “Why’d you call off?”
Shit.
A couple of reasons. 
Beyond just the obvious of wanting to be physically present and available for him.
One, while her husband was in their home gym, trying to work off some of his still heavy emotions, she sat near the toilet for almost twenty minutes, vomiting twice and afraid of a third occurrence, hence her not leaving. Second, Solana still feels not the best—morning sickness attacking her with all the rage the past two days. Three, she has the appointment today. 
And none of these things can be said to the man before her who looks understandably confused. 
So, she goes with a not entirely untrue answer but not the full truth either. “Didn’t really feel up to it today.” Her fingers scrunch the soft material of his shirt. “Besides, I didn’t want to leave you alone….”
And that is not a lie. Solana has tried her best to keep reminding herself that she can’t be with her husband 24/7, but given how they have been together practically 24/7 for over a week straight, it’s kind of hard not to want that to continue.
She’s anxious at the thought of not being nearby in case he needs something.
In case he needs her.
Roman shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.” There’s a hint of concern etched in his handsome features as he asks, “are you sure you’re okay?” Solana does her best to remain with a neutral expression even as his shifts into something of a frown. “Feel like you’ve been sick a lot lately...”
“Stress,” she answers. Again, technically not a lie. “It’s just been…..a lot recently.” But then, she feels bad because she sees that he feels bad. “I’ll be fine. I promise. I just need to make sure you’re….okay enough.”
Because wanting him to be good is a ridiculous expectation. Not with what he’s just been through. She knows better than anyone how recovery from a major loss like that can take some time. 
A lot of time.
Roman’s still looking at her unconvinced. Like….like there’s something he’s not saying.
Or asking.
And, it’s unnerving, because sitting on a pile of secrets is always stressful enough. Adding in her overtly protective and possibly suspicious husband is even more unsettling and not anything she can tolerate right now.
“I’ll come see you at lunch then,” she suggests, partially wanting to actually check on him mid-day but also needing them to get off this subject. 
It seems to work, as he objects, “you don’t have to do that, Sol.”
“But, I want to,” she counters, lifting her palm to his cheek. “You’ve helped me get to the point where I’m okay….now it’s my turn.”
Solana is unsure what okay will look like for Roman, because everyone’s definition is different. But, whatever it is, whatever it requires, she’s willing and ready to walk with him, right by his side, the entire time.
Roman leans down and kisses her forehead, muttering, “come with me.” He straightens back up and goes to grab her hand, explaining, “I want to show you something.” 
Solana nods and allows him to walk them out the kitchen and past the living room where she sees Dulce sleeping peacefully in her bed. Roman guides them up the steps and into their bedroom only for her to gasp, turning to him with a small smile. “Roman? What is all of this?”
This referring to the more than several set of small to medium black, luxury shopping bags with a foreign word written in calligraphy sitting on the dresser. Moving closer, another gasp when she realizes they’re almost all filled with various sized jewelry boxes. 
“When did you even….” She trails off, grabbing a random box and opening it, mouth dropping at the stunning diamond necklace. “Roman, this is beautiful.” Because it is, and she’s certain every other piece he’s apparently purchased for her is just as stunning. 
He’s moved over towards her, arms crossed as he explains, “it’s handmade Italian jewelry. I wasn’t sure exactly what you’d like best, so I just got it all.” He says it so casually, Solana’s eyes widening at the thought of how much all of this could have cost. 
“How much did you—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he dismisses, pushing some of her hair out of her face. “You’re worth it all.”
His words warm her heart and make those butterflies form as her eyes land on something else. Carefully closing the box and placing it back inside the bag, she’s quick with grabbing the beautiful brown leathered book. “You got me journals!” It’s said with such elation, almost childlike, evoking a chuckle from Roman. The smile on her face widening as she runs her hand over the soft cover. Opening said journal, an engravement on the inside of the front cover catches her attention. It’s written in what she would guess is Italian.
Italian jewelry. Italian leather, most likely. Putting two and two together would indicate these are gifts he got her while he was away in Italy. A realization that makes her heart flutter. He was there on business yet still made time for her.
Always thinking of her.
Moved and now especially curious about the words she cannot read for herself, Solana asks, “what does it say?”
And without even reading it, Roman speaks in Italian, moving his hand to gently cup her face as he translates in a quiet voice, “you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Her heart swells, eyes shutting momentarily to bask in the moment. Love is such a beautiful, sacred thing, treasured and coveted. Something she’s found, so deeply and heavenly, with him.
Always with him. 
And it’s in that moment, as she leans up and kisses him, reciprocating her vow of love, that it hits her. 
Solana knows exactly what tattoo she wants to get for her husband.
————
The minute the backdoor is opened and Roman slides in the SUV, he’s met with Dwayne’s hulking frame, phone glued to his ear.
“I don’t fucking care if it’s impossible. Make it possible,” he barks. Roman chuckles. His cousins’s temper can rival his at times, and this aggression and irritation that fills the SUV makes it a bit easier for him to drift from sorrow to business. 
Emotions have always been…..weird for him. Something he’s always possessed but worked tirelessly to push away and suppress, only to ever really reveal and express around one woman before Solana.
Fetu.
She was always his safe space. His anchor. His safety.
Her being gone isn’t something that’s computed, that’s truly set in, that he’s accepted. Or, maybe he has. Maybe it was that crushing realization that not only is she gone but that he didn’t even get to see or speak to her one last time that made him break down in his wife’s arms.
Years.
It’s been years since Roman has cried. Not since the day of the funerals where he refused to leave the gravesite of his deceased family. Where he cried and apologized profusely for hours for not being able to save them.
For failing them and not being strong enough to do so.
That….that was the last day he’d allowed himself to shed a tear.
Until now.
It was both a strange, liberating experience. One he never wants to experience again but also…..needs.
Two opposing forces that make little sense and account for a shit ton of cognitive dissonance. 
The only thing that does make sense is his wife.
Solana.
That is the one thing, the one person he needs. Now more than ever.
And she’s been nothing but his rock throughout this whole thing. Even when he tried to push her away and ice her out, she stayed. Supported him. Helped him. Cared for him. Loved him. 
He wasn’t lying when he told her he couldn’t have made it through this without her.
He couldn’t.
At all. 
And as nice as being with her, not having to think or focus on anything but himself and all of his heavy ass emotions has been, it couldn’t last forever. 
Because as much as he still feels not okay, he’s gotta pull it together. 
One way or another. 
“Yeah….that’s what I fucking thought,” Dwayne snaps, pulling Roman from his thoughts, before snatching the phone from his ear and smashing the red end button. “Fucking incompetent pieces of shit.”
“Do I want to know?” Roman asks, even though he really wants to substitute want with need. Right now, essential information and problems is all he wants to tackle this day. It’s bad enough his Wise Man is out sick.
Paul is usually the buffer and filter for all the bullshit, something Roman truly has little patience for on most days, even more on a day like today.
“Naw.” Dwayne shakes his head. “I got it.” He turns to his cousin as Roman signals for the driver to start driving. “How you doing?”
A dumbass question in Roman’s mind, but he doesn’t say as such. “Fine.” He’s not, but as easy as Dwayne can be to talk to sometimes, if Roman is going to talk to someone about feelings and shit, it’s going to be his wife.
And, well, her. 
Maybe. 
“Bullshit,” Dwayne calls him out, lightly shoving his shoulder. “But, getting back into the swing of things might be helpful for you. You like yelling at people.”
“I shouldn’t have to though,” is the easy counter. “People should just do their fucking job.”
Dwayne gestures to his phone. “That’s what I just told this dumbass.” Roman snickers and shakes his head as his older cousin clears his throat and suddenly asks, “that wife of yours talk to you?”
Roman easily hides the way his shoulders tense at being asked about Solana. “About?”
Dwayne’s expression shifts into something a bit more serious, and this isn’t lost upon Roman. “About what went down with Rikishi?”
“Yes.” The answer to that is easy and simple. Solana did technically tell him something happened between her and his older cousin, but she did not say specifics. And he knows that was for a reason. “Now tell me what really happened.”
————
The conference room is already filled with the expected persons by the time Roman and Dwayne arrive. All but two chairs are occupied as Jimmy, Jey, Solo, Rikishi, and Matteo wait with various expressions. The sons and father seem to be engaged in quiet conversation while Matteo keeps to himself, preoccupied with the phone in his hand.
That dynamic is about all that Roman can make out as he marches right into said conference room, Dwayne not too far behind. The men are barely able to finish standing when Roman marches right over to Rikishi’s chair, grabbing him by his collar, snatching him out the chair and shoving him against the nearest wall. 
Roman is somewhat cognizant of the voices of shock and protest around him, but it doesn’t make a single fucking difference.
He’s seeing red.
Muscled forearm barred against Rikishi’s fat neck, he finds joy in the way the older man’s eyes are bulging and the almost desperate way his chubby fingers try to push him away. “If you ever in your fucking life raise your hand to her again, I’ll kill you! You understand me!” Roman relishes in the absolute fear emanating from the man before him. Good. “Don’t you ever fucking disrespect my wife!”
By now, Roman is a bit more cognizant to the hands grasping at him, trying to pull him away from his target.
“Ayo, Uce, what the hell you doing!” Jimmy’s voice makes it past the thick wall of anger that fills and consumes Roman as he thinks about this fucker having to audacity to try to hit his wife.
Over Roman’s dead fucking body will anyone disrespect Solana. Especially his family.
“Get the hell off him!” Roman is finally “pulled” away from a now gasping, coughing Rikishi. It’s truly Roman’s decision to let go, because ain’t no way in hell not a man in that room could stop him from killing this son of a bitch right now if he wanted to.
And a part of him does. He really does. But, it’s hard to tell how much of that desire is fueled by his grief vs logic. 
But, it’s when Roman realizes both Jey and Solo are standing in front of a reddened face Rikishi, while Jimmy tends to his dad, that he really gets pissed the fuck off. They have the audacity to look like they’re ready to jump him. “What ya’ll about to do, huh?” Roman challenges, ready for whatever. As he always is. “Ya’ll ain’t about to do shit!” 
And maybe, just maybe, they are. Doesn’t matter. He’ll kick both their asses and make their daddy watch. 
Jimmy then moves over after helping Rikishi to his feet. “Roman, what the hell are you even talking about?”
Chin jutted in Rikishi’s direction, his answer is cold and direct. “Ask him.”
Another harsh cough followed by an unexpected answer as he moves to the side, no longer completely obscured by the protective wall of two of his sons. “She hit me first. Did she tell you that?”
At that answer, both Jey and Jimmy look slightly taken back. Solo just continues to glare at Roman, who’s tempted to knock him out for that disrespect alone.
“She did,” Dwayne suddenly chimes, him and Matteo simply watching the scene unfold without a hint of interference. For now. “But, this was only after you made fun of her being abused and basically told her she was useless because she hasn’t produced an heir yet.” Just hearing it again has Roman’s eyes closing and hand fisting at his side. Rage. “Regardless, you know the rules. We don’t put our fucking hands on women.” And then an almost knowing comment/question. “Or have you forgotten?”
It’s a simple question, but it feels like there’s a story there. The way anger flashes in Rikishi’s face and eyes, something similar to what’s painted on his twins faces. Roman, however, is redirected from wondering if there was more to said comment by Jimmy and Jey switching their focus back to their dad.
“Dad, did you really do that?” Jimmy is the one to ask, shaking his head. “Tell me you ain’t say that shit.”
Rikishi doesn’t hesitate to defend himself. “The girl was out of line.”
“Aye,” Jimmy is the one to cut him off. “Her name is Solana, alright?”
“Just let him talk,” Jey interrupts. “Two sides to every story.”
“Not when it’s a man trying to hit a woman,” Jimmy counters. “Making fun of her trauma and shit.”
Jey is also not backing down. “Look, we weren’t there, alright?”
“But, I was, and I saw exactly what went down,” Dwayne reminds, crossing his arms. 
“And if I may,” Matteo suddenly enters the conversation, Jey only looking more irritated than before. “Under no circumstance should a man try to hit a woman. Ever.” 
Jey doesn’t hesitate to try to put Matteo in his place. “Aye, look, this don’t involve you, alright. This Bloodline business.” 
“I suggest you lower your voice.” Matteo’s own voice takes on an icy tone as he so chillingly threatens, “I’d hate to have to spill your blood in front of your family. On this otherwise lovely day, too. A shame.”
Matteo’s very real threat only further incenses Jey. “I know you not fucking threatening me.” He steps forward, Solo reaching to restrain his older brother. “Man, I’ll knock your ass out!”
Matteo smiles. “I look forward to seeing you try.”
Jey points to Roman, “you better get your fucking boy, Roman.”
Roman couldn’t care too much about that. “Tell your fucking dad to keep his hands off my wife.”
“Man, you overreacting! He ain’t even touch her!”
Roman growls, “just because you don’t give a fuck about your bitch of a wife—”
“What the hell you just say?” At that, Jey’s very paltry sense of resolve breaks. “I told you, you not gon’ keep disrespecting my wife, or we gon have problems!”
Roman goes to move toward Jey, never ever scared when both Matteo and Dwayne go to restrain him. “If you gon do something, do it!” It takes a great amount of strength from both men to hold back an irate, borderline unhinged Roman. “I’ll whoop you and your daddy’s ass, and if Solo keeps looking at me like he’s lost his goddamn mind, I’ll kick his ass too!”
“That’s enough!” Jimmy finally cuts in, also going to restrain Jey, standing between an almost standoff. Rikishi, Solo, and Jey vs Roman, Dwayne, and Matteo. “Everybody just needs to calm down!”
“Your anger is misplaced, Uce.” Rikishi sounds, Dwayne still holding onto Roman’s arm while Matteo has loosened his grip in favor of focusing on the other three, waiting to see if they’ll do something. “Especially considering I was the one who tried to plead on your behalf just this morning,” he taunts almost, as if trying to get under Roman's skin even further. 
And, it partially works. 
Roman doesn’t need anyone to do shit for him.
“Plead for what?” Dwayne is the one to ask, recognizing verbalizations are a much better alternative to the physical melee that’s on the horizon if de-escalation doesn’t start. And fast. 
Rikishi straightens up, adjusting his tie, almost as if he’s trying to act like his life didn’t just end suddenly and violently. “The Elders have grown tired of waiting for the Tribal Chief to produce an heir.” Dwayne tightens his grip ever so slightly, feeling Roman try to inch away from him. “You and your wife are to conceive by the end of the year….or else.”
It’s almost an instant thing, several sets of eyes all on Roman, most of which trying to anticipate and navigate his next move.
Meanwhile, Roman’s mouth shifts, his nose snarled as he finds himself shouting, Dwayne again having to hold him back from lunging. “Or else what!”
Rikishi’s voice is eerily calm as he answers in an even voice, “they will make you divorce Solana and take a new wife of their choosing this time.”
————
There’s an emptiness she feels sitting in the patient room, waiting for the nurse to walk in. Roman’s absence is noticeable and heavy, and she hates it. Hates that this is yet another thing that she has to keep from him.
That she’s chosen to keep from him, because at this point, these are choices she’s making. 
She chose to not tell him about her potentially being pregnant. Chose to not tell him once the pregnancy was confirmed. And chose to still not tell him even as she sits at her first OB-GYN appointment.
And yes, all of that may be for good reasons, for her wanting to protect and be mindful of where he is mentally and emotionally.
Still, it doesn’t negate the fact that it sucks.
And that it hurts.
It hurts a lot. 
Following a small knock and opening of the door, Solana looks up from her lap and wipes away at her blurry gaze, offering a small smile to the nurse who’s just walked in. “Hello.”
She’s young, probably close to Solana’s age, her scrubs revealing a slim, lithe figure. Her dark hair cascades down her shoulders and frames her features nicely. She’s a stunning woman. 
A woman, however, who fails to reciprocate Solana’s kind gesture. Not right away, at least. Awkwardly clearing her throat, she greets, “Mrs. Reigns. I didn’t—they didn’t tell me it was you…..give me just one minute?” The nurse doesn’t wait for a reply, just leaves a confused Solana sitting in the patient room wondering just what the hell is going on.
She’s just about ready to step out into the hallway when the nurse returns, quietly closing the door behind her. “I’m so sorry.” 
Solana has to ask, nails nervously tapping against the bed. “Is….is everything alright?”
“Yes,” she answers. Quickly. Too quickly. “Shit, no.” Closing her eyes for a few seconds, she walks over to Solana and offers one of the wildest introductions ever. “My name is Sasha, and I know you don’t know me, and I’m probably crazy as hell for even telling you this, but I—I used to sleep with your husband.”
Solana’s shoulders slump at the same time her chest tightens. “W–what?”
Sasha’s eyes go wide as she shakes her head and explains. “It’s been months. Like not since the beginning of this year, but I—I was one of the ones…..” She presses her fingers to her temples. “God, this is so messed up. I’m so sorry to do this to you. I tried to see if another nurse could handle you, but everyone is busy and…..fuck.”
Fuck is most definitely the right world. Of all the places. Of all the nurses. Solana just so happens to get the one nurse who used to be one of her husband’s fuck buddies.
Go fucking figure.
“I haven’t spoken or done anything with him in months. I swear.” She then lifts her left hand to show off a beautiful engagement ring. “Funnily enough, this is actually my last week working here. My fiance—long story— and I are from the same town, and he just got a job back home, so we’re moving next week.” She adds in a bitter tone, “kinda wish it was this week now.”
With the absence of Solana’s voice, Sasha proceeds to fill the silence. “Mrs. Reigns, I really am sorry. I know I had no business still sleeping with your husband after you two got married, but we’d been….intimate on and off for years, and he was just someone—”
“Please,” Solana finally speaks, voice low and soft. “Please don’t. I—I get it.”
Because with the shock worn off and the discomfort waning, as irritating as this is, it doesn’t necessarily matter. 
This Sasha woman was Roman’s past. Solana knows that she’s his present and future, so from that logic, what reason does she have to be upset?
At least with Sasha.
She does, however, have a reason to be nervous.
Hand naturally falling to her stomach, she says in a much more desperate voice than she’d like, “you can’t tell anyone—”
“Are you kidding me?” Her eyes widen once more as she shakes her head. “Outing the Tribal Chief’s wife’s pregnancy is a sure way for me to go missing, and I’d actually like to make it down the aisle.” Sasha visibly tenses, suddenly asking in a lowered voice. “Wait, is he he—”
“No.” That’s it. That’s the only answer Solana can bring herself to give. And it seems enough, Sasha nodding before the two settle into an awkward silence.
“Is it okay if…..if we get started?”
Solana nods, still a bit boggled by the whole situation but recognizing that it’s not the priority. 
“Of course,” she agrees. 
All things considered, Sasha is the epitome of professionalism. She asks her questions, takes down the information given to her, draws Solana’s blood and directs her to the bathroom where the pregnant woman gives a urine sample, all while maintaining a calm, friendly disposition.
There’s nothing, surprisingly, awkward about it. 
And that’s appreciated. Shocking, too, given who she is and who she was to Roman. 
It’s only when she’s wrapping up her portion that she clears her throat again. “I hope this doesn’t come across as an inappropriate question and feel free to tell me to mind my damn business, but can I ask why Roman isn’t here?”
Solana is tempted, almost ready to take Sasha up on her suggestion to tell her to mind her own damn business, but there’s something so genuine about her question. A sadness in her voice and sympathetic look in her eyes. It seems to come from a place of genuine concern. 
Solana finds herself answering honestly. “He doesn’t know yet.”
Sasha makes an ‘O’ with her mouth. “I’m sorry. I should have never asked. It’s just….with how much he must care about you—”
“What makes you say that?” Solana knows the words to be true. Knows that Roman cares about her. Loves her. But how and why the woman in front of her knows this is what makes her slightly suspicious.
Sasha sighs, answering almost nervously, “a man like Roman Reigns doesn’t just cut off his entire roster of women in exchange for one if she doesn’t mean something to him.” She shrugs, adding on, “and I mean, look at what he did to Sam’s uppity ass.”
If not for the confusion, Solana would maybe chuckled a bit. She’s not heard one good thing about Sam from a single person. Not one. “What do you mean?”
“Girl, you didn’t hear?” Sasha sucks her teeth, smiling a bit. “He had Nia whoop her ass. Well deserved, in my opinion.”
Solana gasps. “What?”
“Yup,” Sasha pops the ‘p.’ “Had her break that bitch jaw.”
Solana sits there stunned, briefly struggling to understand the reasons why only for it to come to her so easily.
The night of the fight. 
Sam’s cruel words to her in the bathroom. 
Solana told Roman. Roman said he’d handle it.
Clearly, that was how it was handled. 
“You be careful with that one though,” Sasha advises, expression shifting to something a bit serious. “She was always delusional believing Roman was gonna marry her ass. And a couple weeks ago, I saw her drunk in a bar lamenting about how much she hates you and can’t wait to—her words, not mine—give you exactly what you deserve.”
The words should bother her. Maybe even trigger a sense of concern. Solana recognizes that would be a normal reaction, especially given the world that they live in. However, concern and even fear are not the emotions that rise at Sasha’s information.
Anger.
Anger is the only thing she feels. 
Solana isn’t the same woman Sam cornered in the bathroom and talked down to.
She’s changed. Grown. Is better in so many ways and stronger in so many more.
So, Sam can try some shit if she wants to.
Solana is ready this time. 
“I’m not scared of her,” is all she says, hand falling protectively to her stomach. 
“I can see that,” Sasha says with a small smile, tapping on the screen a couple more times. “Well, I think that’s all I need from you. Dr. Sharmell will take over the rest.” She pauses. “Like I said, this is my last week here, so Alexa or Jakara will probably be your nurse moving forward, but I just wanna say congratulations. You seem like you’re gonna be a great mom.”
Eyes watering, Solana can only mumble a quiet, heartfelt, “thank you.” 
Sasha doesn’t say anything else before walking out the room, leaving Solana alone for not even five minutes before there’s a knock on the door followed by an entrance.
“Mrs. Reigns?” An African-American woman with smooth brown skin, a wrinkle free complexion and pearly whites. Her smile is amenable and her disposition warm. She walks over, extending her hand. “Hi, I’m Dr. Sharmell. I’ll be your OB-GYN. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Solana can only reciprocate the smile and gesture, shaking the older woman’s hand. “Thank you. It’s—it’s nice to meet you too. You….you can call me Solana.”
She looks a bit taken back but nods. “Solana, it is.” Moving over to the screen, she double checks a couple things that Sasha had already asked. Asks a couple more questions, mostly regarding if there’s been any concerns regarding the pregnancy thus far. The answer is no.
Solana prays it stays that way.
“Okay, well, I see you had a pap smear at the beginning of the year, so I won’t do one of those again. The labs I ordered are standard procedure just to make sure your levels are good, and from what I can see based off your hCG levels, it does look like this is a multiples pregnancy.” Solana has no major reaction to this, as it was already hinted/told to her by Dr. Michaels. “But, let’s do an ultrasound and double check, okay?” She gives Solana a look that’s of a questioning nature, like she wants to make sure this is an okay trajectory.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” she answers in a quiet voice.
However, it’s when Dr. Sharmell starts to move the machine around that Solana notices something that zaps the comfort and calmness she was experiencing up until his point. “Wait, is that—do we have to do a transvaginal ultrasound?”
Just saying it aloud makes her stomach twist in all of the wrong ways.
Dr. Sharmell nods. “Based upon the date of your last menstrual cycle, you should be right at 10 weeks, and internal ultrasounds are best practices for pregnant women still in their first trimester.” Solana’s discomfort must be written all over her face, prompting the older woman to ask, “are you okay?”
Sniffling, Solana wipes at her now tearing eyes. “I’m sorry, I just—” She takes a deep breath, reluctantly sharing, “I was raped as a child and…..I just….things down there…..”
And this is why Solana would give anything to have Roman here with her, because she knows his presence, holding his hand, having him here reassuring her that she’s safe would help her be able to tolerate the exam.
But, he’s not here, and the thought of being penetrated, even if for medical reasons, is something that has her heart racing and anxiety spiking. 
Dr. Sharmell is nothing but sympathetic as her face morphs into something almost solemn. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” She shakes her head. “I can do a pelvic one instead. It may not show everything, but it’ll show enough for now. Okay?”
Solana can only nod and close her eyes as Dr.Sharmell shifts gears, handing her a sheet to cover up her lower half. Solana then proceeds to raise up the hospital gown to expose her belly. The gel is cool, a nice, chilling sensation to help settle her nerves. But, it’s when the doctor makes a sound that she opens her eyes and shifts her focus to the screen. 
“I was right.” She shoots Solana a small, comforting smile. “Twins.” Eyes continuing to water, Solana looks in awe as Dr. Sharmell points to the screen. “This is Baby A.” Her finger travels around as does the transducer roaming her belly. “And this is Baby B.” 
So early on in her pregnancy, it’s hard to make out anything significant like arms, legs, and a head, because none of those have developed just yet. However, none of that matters, because they’re still her babies.
Her children. 
Confirmation that they’re alive, growing, and healthy.
It makes the tears spill over, the emotionality of it all overwhelming her in a sense. 
He should be here.
Roman should be here, experiencing this with her. 
But he’s not.
And all she can seem to think about is how this is wrong. 
All so wrong. 
————
It’s not a good time to be doing this.
Not in the slightest. Roman knows this, has the wherewithal to see and know that he’s not in the best place to even try to be open to something he doesn’t even want to be doing in the first place.
But, he also knows that he needs to. That he needs to do this. Whether he wants to or not. 
It’s not about him.
It’s about her.
It’s about doing what’s best for their marriage, and truthfully, if she can find it in her to do it, then so can he.
Marriage…..
Roman’s fist forms at his side as he rolls his shoulders while trying to settle the anger growing again at Rikishi’s words he has no doubt came directly from the Elders.
There’s also lingering feelings towards Jey and Solo, toward their disrespectful, borderline challenging behavior. Unacceptable on all fronts, thus he regrets nothing except maybe not reminding them both why they answer to him and call him Tribal Chief.
However, that’s minimal compared to Rikishi and his actions both today and toward Solana.  
But, while a part of him wants to believe that the son of a bitch was just trying to fuck with him with his statement about the Elders, a result of his anger and pride at being attacked, the logical part of Roman knows that’s not the case.
He knows Rikishi isn’t lying about that much.
It makes sense. Roman sensed there was some shit they were planning before Fetu had passed. Sensed that they were up to something, and this is clearly it.
It’s not going to happen though.
It’s one thing for Roman to reconsider ending his marriage to Solana for her own safety. It’s another for those prehistoric fuckers to try to tell him he needs to end his marriage to her.
Over his dead fucking body will that ever happen.
Roman will kill them all before he lets them take her from him.
Murder is obviously the last resort. Maybe. But as of right now, he hasn’t got another plan. A less violent way to handle this, but he’ll figure it out. 
He always does.
Even though the solution is rather simple, something that is very much a possibility now that their marriage has been consummated. 
Many times.
Many….many times. 
And in full transparency…..Roman had started to wonder. Her sickness. The fatigue. The vomiting. 
Started to wonder if maybe, just maybe…..
And then he pushed it away. Has pushed it away, because stress would also explain all of that as well. But beyond that, he knows that if it was that, Solana would have said something. 
And, she hasn’t, thus it’s not even worth thinking about further. 
So, until then, he’ll come up with a plan.
But, not right now. 
Now he’s got a whole other issue he’s sort of—not really—ready to tackle.
Because Roman’s already paper thin patience is waning by the second every time he glances at the clock on his phone to see another minute pass. Three. She’s three minutes late. And for some people, that would be insignificant, but not for Roman. Because every minute of the day is precious for him, spoken and accounted for with tasks to be completed.
So every minute wasted waiting on her is deducted from the total time he has in a day to get everything done, thus, he’s already got one strike against this woman before ever even meeting her.
Thankfully, a text from Solana manages to briefly pull him from his growing frustration and temptation to just leave.
Solana: You’re not getting back until late, right?
Roman: Yes. 
Roman: Why? You alright?
Solana: Yes. It’s just Bayley and Naomi are “making” me go with them to dinner tonight, but I don’t want to not be there when you get home….
Roman: Solana, go. I’ll be fine. 
Because he will. Emotionally, he still feels…..not great, but he doesn’t feel as numb and overwhelmed as he’s been the past few days. Even beyond that, his wife has been by his side this entire time, putting her own life on hold to focus and cater to him. And he’s grateful. Immensely. But, she needs to also focus on herself.
His feelings about Bayley and Naomi are still…..not the best, but he knows what they mean to Solana, and she needs this.
So, he wants her to have it.
Solana: Are you sure?
Roman: Positive
“Well, shit.” 
Roman looks up from his phone, instantly irritated because why the fuck is someone talking to him when he’s trying to text his wife?
And he’s even more annoyed at the sight of the red headed woman wearing jeans, boots, and a white short sleeved shirt that shows off the tattooed sleeve on her right arm. Bag over shoulder, cup of coffee in one hand, and keys in the other, she scoffs. “Yeah…..Gail wasn’t kidding when she said she had a challenging referral for me.” 
But, it’s when she speaks again that his scowl drops. Roman asks, “you the therapist?”
She shrugs, answering, “that’s what my clinical license says.” Turning away from him, she prompts, “come on. Sorry I’m late. People don’t know how to fucking drive.”
There’s a lot to process in this moment. The lateness. The almost unprofessional attire. The profanity. 
What in the hell did Gail sign him up for?
Nevertheless, Roman follows this woman into the office once she unlocks and opens the door. And again, another culture shock. His wife’s therapist office is the traditional cool tones, plants hanging near the window, some mental health shit on the wall and whatnot. And this….person still has that, but there’s nothing neutral and traditional about her setup. The sofa is red, a kaleidoscope of colors plastered everywhere from the rug to the pillows to even the tye-dye curtains that are pulled back with a bright green tie. And it’s the framed poster on the wall above the computer that reads, “feelings are weird and uncomfortable and shit’ that makes him chuckle.
One thing he can give her is that it’s nice to not have that…..therapy shit shoved down his throat.
Not when he’s already extremely uncomfortable with this whole thing.
“Make yourself at therapy home,” she encourages, going to hang her bag on the hook behind the now closed door. Roman sits down, still on edge but feeling less annoyed. “Name’s Lita, by the way. Not sure if Gayle mentioned it.”
“She didn’t,” he answers, watching how she walks over and plops down in her chair, grabbing her coffee off the desk where she’d placed it while getting the room set up.
“Well, it is,” she shrugs. Taking a sip, she then informs, “I’ll call you Roman.”
Instantly, the irritation is reappearing. “Did I say you could call me by my first name?”
Lita gives him a look, asking in an even voice, “do you seriously expect me to call you My Tribal Chief?” She chuckles at her almost mocking tone, mumbling before snagging another sip. “That’s not happening.”
Roman finds himself asking, both rhetorically and literally, “what the hell kind of therapist are you?”
Because while his only experience with this profession has been through Solana, through Gail and even Stratus, the differences are stark. These women are day compared to Lita’s night.
“The kind who works with people. Not titles.” Reaching to place her coffee on the small table beside her, she explains. “The Tribal Chief is what you are. It’s not who you are. Who you are is Roman Reigns, and that’s who I’m interested in working with.” She gestures around her room. “In this space, you’re just a person, and something tells me that’s not a space you get to be in a lot in your life.”
He’s quiet. For a couple of reasons. The main one being that he’s having a bit of a hard time finding a point of disagreement. Her delivery is absurd, borderline disrespectful, but it’s not….it’s not entirely wrong. 
“So how’s this shit supposed to work?” He asks, allowing himself to lean back on the sofa, muscular arms crossed over one another.
Lita shrugs once more. “However you want it to work.” And before he can push back on her vague ass answer, she supplies, “my approach is I don’t make you do anything. I help you get to a point where you want to do things.”
“Like?” 
“Actually work on and process shit.”
“That’s probably not gonna happen.”
Lita chuckles, standing up and walking over to her desk. Roman watches her pull open a drawer where she grabs a notebook and pen. She then walks back over and reaches said items to him. “Here. Take these.”
Roman looks at her with disinterest but still accepts said items. “Alright, I want you to write down why you’re here right now. I’m not gonna see it, not gonna read it, not even gonna keep it. That’s for you. I just want you to be honest with yourself and preferably me, but we’ll get you there.”
Roman looks slightly confused but still understanding of what she’s asked of him. Lita grabs her coffee and falls back into the chair. “Get to writing.”
A scowl reappears. This demanding shit is gonna have to most definitely be addressed. 
Roman doesn’t get demanded.
Even though he most definitely finds himself writing shit down.
Control my anger/blackouts (around my wife—I don’t care about anyone else)
And that’s it.
“Done.”
Lita lifts a brow. “Seriously?”
“What?”
She scoffs, “you head the two biggest criminal organizations in the world and only need less than a minute to list things you want to work on?” She shakes her head, directing,“try again.”
Roman is irritated. This smart mouth of hers is getting old. “I don’t need—”
“I said try again,” Lita says in an almost softer voice. “Remember, be honest with yourself.”
There’s something both triggering and eye-opening about that latter statement. Honesty is something Roman has always valued, but when it’s directed toward and about himself, there seems to be difficulty. 
Solana….she’s helped a lot with that, and he’d probably feel less hesitant and more forthcoming if it was her he was talking to, but as great a support system his wife is for him, he knows he can’t put it all on her.
The same way, deep down, he knows he can’t continue to bottle shit up like he’s been doing.
Roman swallows before starting to list without thinking, refusing to allow his brain to interfere with what weighs his heart down when he strips back all the thick layers of protection.
Feeling guilty about Fetu’s death
Feeling guilty about my family’s murders
Feeling guilty about surviving
Feeling guilty about Solana’s attempt
Feelings towards my mom
Feelings about fatherhood someday
Not feeling good enough for Solana
Feeling like I have to be perfect to be loved
Being codependent with Solana
Matteo
Other shit
Roman can list it, but that’s it. Talking about or even thinking about what he wrote down is just….it’s too much right now.
“Done,” he mutters, taking it upon himself to fold up said paper that he stuffs in his pocket. 
“Good.” Lita nods. Standing up once more, she moves over to a bin near the bookshelf, pulling out a red, familiar box. “Now let’s play a game.”
“A game?” Roman is disgusted all over again when she walks over, holding the biggest box of fucking Uno he’s ever seen. “Do I look like a child?”
“Technically, there’s a child in all of us,” she counters. Roman watches her pull the massive stack of cards out of the box. “Now this is actually feelings Uno.”
“Feelings Uno?” It keeps getting worse. So much worse. “What the hell is that?”
Rolling her eyes while she expertly manages to shuffle through the giant cards, Lita explains, “Red is anger. Blue is sadness. Yellow is joy. And Green is a free for all, meaning you get to decide whatever emotion you want it to be on your turn. You play a card and then talk about whatever emotion goes with the card color.” The steps are clear and to the point, but Roman is still struggling with the fact that this woman seriously wants to play a whole ass game with him. “Considering it’s only our first session, I’ll take it easy on you. You only have to answer when you play a red card.”  She smirks, equally distributing cards to the both of them. “Something tells me anger won’t be too difficult for you to talk about.”
She’s not….not entirely wrong. 
Roman asks while looking over at his colorful cards. “You stack?” Playing a game is truly preferred than talking about….feelings and shit.
“You trying to talk about several different upsetting events at once?” She asks, laughing a little when he rolls his eyes. “No. No stacking. This time.” Leaning over, she plops the first card down for their pile. “And to show you I can sometimes be one of those overly nice therapists, I’ll go first.” Roman watches her lay down a matching red card, sharing so casually, “well, I felt angry as hell when I came home from school when I was thirteen and found out my abusive, piece of shit dad had not only offed himself but took my mom and little brother with him.” 
Silence. Almost everything about this woman in the less than twenty minutes that he’s known her has been unexpected, but that has to take the cake. The casualty in her voice is a stark contest to the weight of the confession. It has him partially stumped, cause what the fuck does one say to that?
He goes with the only thing he knows and can think to say in the moment. “Why the hell would you tell me that?”
There’s a bit of a shift in her countenance. Her voice softens as she explains, “it’s important you know when we’re working together and I say that I understand life can be a shitshow, I’m not talking about fucking Starbucks messing up my order.”
He doesn’t comment on her disclosure nor her follow up comment. He just lays down his own red card, sharing, “felt angry at my mom when she told me one time that my half brother was the son she wanted, not me.”
Lita makes a sound. “Parents are just wonderful, aren’t they?”
Roman says nothing, the two of them easily falling into this space of sharing and not really elaborating. Just putting it out there, building some strange form of rapport that feels almost natural to him.
And it’s through this process that Gail’s comment regarding this whole therapy thing returns to him. “I have someone in mind who will either be a perfect fit for you or the worst referral I’ve ever provided.”
And strangely enough, Roman is leaning toward the former of those two paths.
————
Solana has always felt deeply aligned with the saying, “if it ain’t one thing, it’s another.” Always felt that perfectly described many of her life experiences. It’s something that’s waned drastically since being married to Roman but has still popped up from time to time.
And sadly, this is one of those times.
Because now not only is she sitting on a letter given to her by Roman’s late aunt that she requested only be given to him when the time was “right,” a pregnancy that now her husband’s ex fuck buddy knows about before him, but now another letter addressed to Solana.
From her mother.
A letter Solana has never seen before today when she was trying to reorganize her library/art room after Roman canceled their lunch date, citing being unable to escape meetings.
She believes him, of course. It’s just that it would have been preferred to this.
Yet one more thing for her to work through.
In all actuality, it should be easy for Solana to just open the damn letter. Read it and get it over with. But the weight of it, the amount of pages she can feel through the envelope, and the fact that it’s in a separate letter instead of a journal, has her concerned.
Solana’s mom always wrote to her in journals, so the fact that this is not in a journal…..it has her worried.
Which is why it remains untouched, laid out on the bathroom counter with Fetu’s letter along with the sonogram photo she received just earlier today. Both pulled from their respective hiding spots in her art room/home library.
Solana is trying to figure all this out while doing her makeup for dinner. A nice, necessary distraction as she spends a little extra time covering up the bruise. The darkness and hyperpigmentation have gone down tremendously, which she’s immensely grateful for. Especially given the fact that Roman hasn’t commented on it in a while. She knows he sees it, can see the slight cringe he still does at the sight,  but his guilt seems to have dwindled moderately, which is deeply appreciated.
Even if it’s because he’s battling a different type of grief now. And it’s staring at the envelope from Fetu that Solana allows herself to really think about if the right time is now. It would be so easy to just give it to him, to not have to have that weight on her shoulders. And maybe she should have done it sooner, done it during his week of depression and dissociation.
But, she was just so worried that it could somehow make things worse. That it was too soon. 
And, it still feels too soon. Solana isn’t entirely sure what the right time is…..but, it doesn’t feel like now.
Maybe….maybe in another week or so. Besides, Fetu trusted her to give Roman the letter, so the older woman must have trusted her judgment….right?
What is and has been the right time for some time now, however, is this pregnancy. Solana can’t keep hiding this from him. He deserves to know. He always deserved to know, and while her intentions were always good, that doesn’t negate the fact that she’s in the wrong.
She needs to tell him.
And, she will.
Tonight.
It still doesn’t sit right with her to spring this on him while he’s still trying to process such a massive loss. But, it’s even more not right to tell his doctor, to attend these appointments, to be ten weeks along, almost three months along and him still be in the dark.
It’s not fair.
He doesn’t deserve that.
And as if on cue, her phone dings with a text from the man of the hour himself.
Roman: I love you
Such simple words that put the biggest, deepest smile on her face. She is quick to respond with reciprocation.
Solana: I love you, too. ❤️
Solana: Everything alright?
She taps her nails against the phone screen, staring at the three dots as he types.
Roman: Yeah.
Roman: Just wanted to say it.
And a sigh of awe leaves her, imagining him saying as such instead of texting it. A softness in his voice and gaze reserved only for her. 
Solana: Well, I’ll never get tired of hearing it. ☺️
Solana: I’m getting ready to head out.
Roman: Okay. Text me when you get there.
Solana: Will do.
Feeling slightly better at having some sense of direction moving forward as well as an unexpected, sweet exchange with her husband, Solana sends a text to Bayley and Naomi to let them know she’s on her way. Eyes glued to the phone, she isn’t paying much or enough attention to the fact that two items slide off the counter and onto the floor as she grabs a single envelope.
Bautista serves as her guard again, not that she has any issue with that. Solo is fine, has been fine, for the most part, since his apology at the gala, but Bautista….there’s something different about him.
Despite his intimidating, frightening presence, there’s a warmth in the older man that vastly contrasts Solo’s coldness. Not to mention his sage words regarding just who she is and the power that title gives her has truly been groundbreaking. It’s something she plans to never forget.
The drive leans on the side of shorter rather than longer, Solana walking into the restaurant, being escorted to the back where Bayley and Naomi wait. As soon as their eyes are on her, they’re standing up, each pulling her in for hugs.
“We’ve been so worried about you,” Naomi whispers in her ear, followed by Bayley’s hug as she straight up asks, “Solana, what the hell has been going on?”
But, it’s only after the waitress comes, takes their orders, and she texts Roman that she’s arrived that the words start to spill out. 
A heavy sigh leaves the mouth of the Tribal Chief’s wife as she sits down in the chair, placing her purse in the other empty chair. A quick glance to the left reveals Bautista sitting at a nearby table. Not too close but close enough where he could act if something were to go down.
“I know….I know I’ve been distant.” Distant seems like not a strong enough word, but it’s the best she’s got in this moment. “And, I’m sorry that I’ve been worrying ya’ll. That wasn’t my intention. There’s just been a lot going on.”
“Like what?” Naomi presses. “Solana, we don’t want to overstep, but the last time we’ve seen you was at training where you had a black eye. That was over two weeks ago with intermittent contact since. You’ve gotta give us something here.”
And Solana knows this. Knows that both of the women sitting across from her only mean well. From day one, they’ve been nothing but kind and supportive. Have only sought to help her as she reclaimed her voice and her life.
She owes them that much.
“I’m gonna tell you guys something, but you can’t say anything to anyone. Not a soul.” She focuses on Naomi. “Not even Jimmy.”
Bayley nods immediately. “Of course.” 
Naomi seems a bit reluctant. “I don’t like keeping things from my husband,” she admits. And Solana can’t and won’t fault her for that. “But, I can see this is important to you, so you have my word. I won’t say a thing.”
And Solana trusts it.
Trusts them.
Closing her eyes, she starts to answer, “Roman had…..he had a nightmare the night of his fight with Drew. Drew said something to him, and it messed with his head. I won’t say what. It’s not my place.” Because it isn’t. Nor is it relevant to the conversation at hand. “It was a bad nightmare, and I was trying to wake him up and when I finally did, he woke up swinging and accidentally hit me. He had no idea what he was doing, and he felt awful afterwards. He even…..he even compared himself to my dad and brother.”
The shocked expressions on their faces match the disgust Solana feels at Roman even being in the same sentence as those two men, let alone the same category.
“So yes, he did technically hit me, but it wasn’t intentional.” Solana finds herself adding, “and that’s why I got so upset, because for all that Roman is and can be, I was frustrated that you guys believed he could ever do something like that to me.”
“You’re right,” Bayley sighs, shaking her head. “I think we just saw the black eye and assumed it was because of what happened with Drew…..” She stops herself, correcting. “It was wrong though, and I’m sorry.”
“We both are,” Naomi agrees. “But, not for worrying about you.”
“Never that,” Bayley chuckles, lifting up her phone with a small smirk. “You’ve had the newbies hitting us up nonstop wondering if we’ve heard from you.”
“Girl, got us all in a group chat and everything called SOSlana.” Naomi proves this by pulling up her phone and sharing her screen where Solana can sure enough see the name of the group chat.
It makes her laugh. A much needed thing. “I know I need to catch up with them too, but ya’ll deserved to speak with me first.” Cause as amazing as Melina, Cam, and Mickie have been, Bayley and Naomi were there first.
The loyalty goes a lot deeper.
“Maybe we can reschedule the girls trip for all of us. Like in two weeks?” Bayley suggests. A glance at Naomi provides a nod of agreement. “Solana?”
Hesitation. On one hand, she’d like to say yes, but on the other, she just doesn’t know. Because something tells her when she tells Roman about the pregnancy tonight, he’s about to be a hell of a lot stricter regarding her outings. And she understands it fully. Understands why her being the pregnant wife of the Tribal Chief means a different layer of protectiveness.
“Let me run it by Roman first,” she finally answers. “He’s….he’s going through something right now, and I need to be there for him.” Not a lie. The absolute truth. 
“Yeah, Jimmy’s been acting kind of off too. I think something’s going on with the Bloodline.” She shakes her head and transitions into elaboration. “Just earlier today, I overheard him arguing with his brothers and dad.”
“Which brothers?” Bayley beats Solana to the punch by asking a very valid question.
“Jey and Solo,” Naomi answers. Solana does her best to maintain a neutral expression, but it’s hard. There’s something almost unsettling about that, though she can’t put her finger on the why. “It didn’t go well. They all ended up basically marching out the house, slamming my doors and everything.”
Curious, Solana can’t stop herself from asking, “did Jimmy tell you what the argument was about?”
A pause. A noticeable pause. “Not really. I’m sure they’ll get it together though.” As Naomi takes a sip of her champagne, Solana does her best not to look or think too deeply about the obvious deflection.
To be fair, Solana is firm about her boundaries regarding certain things discussed between herself and her husband. 
Why can’t Naomi get the same grace? 
Solana is grateful for the arrival of the food, appreciative of the diversion of topics, because Naomi is certainly right. Something is most definitely going on with the Bloodline. A major loss that’s mostly impacted Roman but Jimmy and Jey as well, most likely.
But, Solana can’t and won’t comment on that.
Providing her girls with some insight regarding a bit of what’s been going on is a nice distraction for Solana. Laughter is always good for the soul, and being around her sisters never ceases to bring about a healthy amount of that.
The merriment makes it hard for her to not imagine what their reaction will be to finding out she’s pregnant. The way they’ll absolutely gloat and squeal, especially when they learn that she’s having twins. The baby shower that they’ll plan is destined to be one for the ages. 
And she looks forward to it all. 
But first….. first she must talk to her husband. 
It’s about an hour into dinner when Solana feels her bladder screaming at her to be emptied. “I’ll be right back,” she excuses herself, taking her purse with her for good measure. Mouthing bathroom to Bautista, Solana makes her way to the back, pleased to see that the stalls are all empty. 
There’s such a weird relief at no longer having that pressured feeling, expelling her bladder like she didn’t use the bathroom shortly before leaving the house. 
Frequent urination.
It’s one of the symptoms Dr. Sharmell mentioned she might start seeing soon at this point in her pregnancy.
She wasn’t wrong. 
Flushing the toilet and walking over to the sink, Solana attempts to toss her purse on the counter only for it to go tumbling to the floor, some of the contents falling out. Cursing quietly, she washes her hands first before bending down to stuff the items back in her bag, grateful her phone wasn’t one of the tumbled objects. However, it’s something else that manages to capture her full attention. 
The envelope with her name written on the outside.
Slow hands reach for it, trembling fingers tracing over her name so beautifully signed, her mother’s penmanship something worthy of all the jealousy. But, jealousy isn’t what Solana is feeling in this moment. 
Curiosity is.
A growing feeling gnawing at her that whatever is contained within this envelope needs to be unveiled and read. Needs to be freed after so many years of confinement. And, it makes no sense how Solana went from avoiding doing such a thing to readying to do it in the public restroom at a restaurant.
She knows it’s not the best decision, that it’s bound to make her emotional, make her cry. 
And yet…..the right timing.
Roman is grieving and about to find out that he’s a father. There’s so many layered, complex emotions in that alone that she’s truly lost as to how he’s supposed to manage that and helping her sort through whatever emotions will follow the reading of this letter. It also seems unfair to put that on him when he’s dealing with so much.
But Bayley and Naomi…..they could. They could be her sources of support. They’ve been wanting to be said sources, and maybe, just maybe, it’s time to take them up on that offer.
Solana releases a deep, shaky breath while rising to her feet, taking her purse off the floor with her. Walking over to the door, she turns the lock and moves back over to the counter. Leaning back against the counter, Solana takes one more efficient breath before still trembling fingers carefully pry open the letter. Solana unfolds several sheets of paper.
And she begins to read. 
My Dearest Solana,
If you are reading this letter, then I am no longer living. I wish with everything in me that is not the case, and everything will go according to plan, so that what I am about to write will be told to you from my lips instead of read from this letter.
But, I cannot be naive. I must be realistic and prepare for all outcomes.
Solana, what I am about to tell you is going to be difficult, and you may never forgive me, may even hate me, but please know I never ever intended to hurt you, my sweet girl.
I was 23 years old when I met “Xavier Miller”. He claimed to be in Mexico on sabbatical from work. Said he was a “businessman.” I believed him. I believed everything he told me. All the false hopes he put in my head about bringing me to America and helping me get into medical school so I could become a doctor. Believed him when he said once we got settled, he’d pay for my parents to get passports so that they could visit. I believed it all. He was charming and handsome and kind, and I wanted so deeply to be in love that I fell for it all. 
After three months of us knowing each other, he proposed. I said yes. My parents did not agree. They believed we were rushing things. They were right, but I was too naive. I listened to my heart and only my heart. I fell in love with this man who promised me the world, promised to always love and take care of me. 
I spoke very little English, but he promised to help me learn once we moved to the States. He was adamant about me coming to America with him, said it would open up more doors, specifically helping me achieve my dream of being a doctor. 
And, I was determined, so I married him and came to America.
The decision will forever haunt me.
Our first night as “husband” and “wife” was the first time he raped and beat me. I woke up the next morning bruised and bloody. It was only then I saw the real him for the first time. He told me I would never see my family again, and if I ever tried to contact them or leave him, he would kill me. That same morning is when he informed me of who he really was.
A mafia man.
And right then and there, I knew my life was over.
I will not further traumatize you with details. But, it was...horrific. 
I thought once I gave him a son, which is what he eventually told me he what wanted from the very beginning—a “stupid woman” he could “control” and “breed”--- that he would lessen his cruelty. And, he did, to some extent. 
He allowed me to start volunteering at the hospital, which was truly only because he wanted me away from Wes. He said I would make him “soft.” The same hurtful thing he says about you. 
But, this ended up changing my life, because it was through volunteering that I met someone. His name was Darnell, and he was a medical student doing clinical rotations. Again, I do not wish to sully you with the details, so I will just say it.
I started an affair with Darnell, and I regret nothing, Solana. He was the first man I ever really loved who showed me what it meant to truly be loved by a man. It was dangerous for both of us, and I tried to break it off, tried to tell him what could happen if we were ever caught, but he didn’t care. He wanted to help me find a way out, because he loved me, and I loved him.
But then everything changed when I found out I was pregnant. Initially, I was distraught. Xavier was still raping me, trying to get me pregnant, and the thought of having his child again sickened me.
But, when I went to my appointment and learned how far along I was, I realized that the time I conceived was when Xavier was away on a business trip.
He wasn’t the father.
Darnell was.
And, I was so happy, so overjoyed, my love. You have no idea. 
Throughout the pregnancy, Darnell and I tried to come up with plans. Tried to figure out a way we could escape. Me, Him, Wes, and our babies.
I was pregnant with twins.
But, the closer the time came, the more fearful I became that even if we somehow escaped, Xavier would find us and kill us all. He always threatened to kill me if I tried to take Wes from him. 
So the plan changed to one that broke my heart and Darnell’s, but we agreed it was the safest thing for us to do. We were able to have some of the hospital staff assist us with this plan, which made a world of difference.
It truly did.
When I gave birth to you, I gave birth to your twin brother as well. A brother who Darnell took, while I kept you. And, I told Xavier, who did not come to the hospital until the next day, that my boy didn’t make it. 
He was livid. So angry that he forced the hospital to give me a hysterectomy.
He said I would not “fail” him again.
The plan was for me to wait until you were older, at least one, and then we would try to make the move, but what I didn’t expect was for Xavier’s cruelty towards me to increase. He became significantly worse to the point where it was impossible for me to do anything without him knowing. He refused to allow me to volunteer at the hospital, which cut me off from all the people who were going to help me reunite with Darnell and my other child.
And instead made my life even more of a living hell, but now he was subjecting you to the same treatment.
He always blamed you for the “death” of your brother. That’s why he’s always hated and resented you. Because you “lived” and the boy “did not.” He never wanted daughters. Only sons. 
Solana, I know this is a lot. I know that I am putting so much on you, and I am so sorry, my love. There is just so much you need and deserve to know, and I just have to make sure you know one way or another.
It was selfish of me to keep you. I should have let Darnell take the both of you, but I always wanted a daughter. Wanted to have a piece of him with me as well. But, my selfishness subjected you to all kinds of horror, and I’m so so sorry, mija. 
But, Darnell is your father. And, you have a twin brother. And if all goes to plan tomorrow, you, me, Wes, your real father and your other brother will finally be able to be a family. You’ll have the family you always deserved but I deprived you from.
And words cannot express how sorry I am, my sweet Sol. Because the fact of the matter is that I was being selfish. It was selfish and wrong of me to not let you go with your father, to keep you in an abusive household with an abusive man.
It was wrong, and I am sorry.
But…
In the event something goes wrong, I just needed you to know the truth. Because if something happens to me, I need to make sure you at least know where you really come from.
And that’s not Nina Miller and Xavier Miller. 
It’s Darnell Adams and Alma Escobar.
My name is not Nina.
It’s Alma.
Alma Escobar. 
Xavier made me change my identity when I came here to avoid my family finding me. And, it worked, because Xavier also lied about his name when we first met. He made it up. It was all a part of his plan to get me in America and make me his slave. 
It’s why my family was probably never able to find me. They were looking up one name that never existed and another name that would never exist again.
But, that brings me to my next part. 
My mother’s name is Paloma Escobar, and my father’s name is Ricardo Escobar. I have two uncles: Bernardo and Tomas.
If I have the chance and this plan works, I will finally take you and your brothers to Isla Mujeres to meet your family. You deserve that much and so much more. 
Again, this is so so much to drop on you, mija, but I don’t have much time. 
Solana, that is why I have always called you “my Sol.” Because phonetically, Sol sounds like “soul,” which is what my real name really means. YOU are my soul and an extension of myself, just infinitely better.
Never forget, my amazing girl, that you are smart and beautiful and kind and have such a pure soul. You must never forget any of that.
And one day, you are going to grow into a beautiful young woman, find a kind young man who loves and treats you the way you deserve, and you will be an amazing mother. 
And that, my love, will be your happy ending.
I pray to God that I will live to see all of this, be around for all of it, but if I am not, know that I loved you infinitely in this life and will continue to love you infinitely in the next.
Forever your Hummingbird,
Alma 
Breathing.
A simple, easy thing that’s suddenly impossible for Solana. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t compute any of what she’s just read. Only one sentence of so many shell-shocking revelations circulates in her head, thudding against her consciousness.
Xavier wasn’t her father.
He wasn’t her father. 
There’s so many things embedded and included in this confession of sorts, but that’s the one thing Solana can’t seem to pull away from.
The man who was responsible for the murder of her mother and her attempted murder was not her real father.
The man who was responsible for her rape was not her real father.
The man who almost beat her to death and threatened to finish the job was not her real father. 
The man who she so desperately wanted to love her like fathers should love daughters but never could. And not just because he was incapable of love. No. It was because he wasn’t her real father.
Solana almost stumbles to the ground, one hand going behind her to hold onto the counter to keep her upright.
This….this was a mistake.
She should have never read this letter.  
Ever.
Feeling on the verge of a panic attack, she releases the papers and places a hand over her chest, closing her eyes, and working to regulate herself. She manages to pull from the coping skills learned in therapy as she tries to find some anchor of sorts to keep her grounded instead of drowning in the panic that threatens to overtake her.
Too much.
It’s just too much to process.
Too much to sit on. 
She just can’t.
Solana is sniffling, silent tears running down her face as she places her other free hand on her belly. She can’t fall apart. Not right now. Not like this. And not with the babies growing in her belly. 
They need her to pull it together. To be strong. 
Needing a reminder of sorts, she digs through her purse with wobbly hands for the photo that depicts the two tiny lives growing inside of her. 
There’s only one problem. 
The sonogram photo isn’t in her purse.
Solana’s glossy eyes scan the floor to see if she somehow missed it, only for that to come back a deadend given the emptiness of the pristine tile. 
Solana frantically digs through her purse once more realizing the photo isn’t the only thing missing.
So is Fetu’s letter.
And now yet another massive weight is dropped onto her chest with the terrifying realization of what she’s done.
“Oh no….” Trembling hands fold back up the sheets and stuff them back into the envelope that she shoves in her bag. Solana’s legs can’t move fast enough as she unlocks and rips the door open, making her way over to that table where Bayley and Naomi are laughing. 
It’s when their gaze lands on her, however, that the laughter dies down. “Solana, what’s—”
“I have to go,” she interrupts, unable and partially uninterested in offering the truth as to why. Because she can’t. She can barely fucking think straight right now, let alone try to explain the magnitude of what just happened.
What could happen if she doesn’t get home. 
Fast.
Bayley is the one to push. “Wait, Solana, you can’t just—”
“Please,” she begs, eyes watering. “It’s….it’s Roman. I have to get home.” Not a lie, just an answer that probably insinuates a severity that does not equate to the actuality of the situation. Or, maybe it does. “I’ll….I’ll explain later, but I have to go now.” 
Naomi and Bayley share a look, clearly not liking this sudden shift in energy, and Solana can’t blame them. However, she can’t focus on that right now. Not when her world has just been turned upside down.
“Okay,” Naomi concedes with a sigh, “but at least text us when you get home.”
“I will.” That much Solana can promise. Hopefully. “Thank you.” Both women only answer with a nod as Solana gestures to Bautista. “Come on.”
Wordlessly, he gets up and leads her out of the restaurant. 
Solana is a nervous wreck the entire drive home. Knee bouncing, heart racing, intermittent tears. This is not how she expected this day to go. It’s almost too unbelievable to be true.
There’s too many things for her to sit on and sift through. Her pregnancy. Fetu dying. Her mother’s letter. Now this?
Solana wipes at her eyes. It’s just all too much. And the fact that trying to call Roman only led to the phone ringing two times before going straight to voicemail only makes things infinitely worse.
Roman has never sent her to voicemail before. 
The drive to the mansion is really only a matter of fifteen minutes, but it feels so much longer. Torturously longer.
The SUV is barely in park before she’s whipping the door open and running towards the house, heels in one hand because she can’t have any sort of interference. 
“Roman!” She calls out his name the minute she steps foot inside of their home only to be met with silence.
And for that brief second, there’s relief. A respite from all the heaviness as she rushes up the stairs, ready to grab the letter and photo off the bathroom counter to hide them again before he gets home.
Before he finds out the two major secrets she’s been sitting on without her being able to tell him herself.
But, that’s a short lived fantasy, one that’s killed the moment she’s standing in the doorway of their master bedroom.
“No….”
Solana drops her shoes at the sight of her husband sitting on the side of their bed, facing the door, papers in hand, a now opened envelope beside him along with a photo.
The sonogram.
Her heart breaks.
“Roman, I—”
“Solana.” 
Never.
 Never has she heard her name leave his mouth with such anger and disgust. The same anger and disgust that’s written all over his handsome face as he asks, point, blank, period, “what the hell is going on?”
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paleprincessturtle · 1 day ago
Text
Always Somewhere
Sooooo, this one isn't my usual Harvey Specter fic. I've known F1 for ages (my fiance is a diehard petrolhead and an F1 huge fan, so I've heard about it here and there). But with all the media coverage, I've been exposed to the world of F1 more than usual lately. And I've had this idea in my mind for a couple of weeks now, so why not post about it?
This is definitely going to be a mini-series. Forgive any errors in my writing. I hope you guys enjoy this!
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Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader (for now🤭)
Word count: 1.6K
DECEMBER 2021
It was a little over 9 pm when Max made the urgent call to Charles. Being alone in his apartment, Charles told him to come to his place. He wouldn’t say that Max was his best friend, but they always had that chemistry going on between them, also the urgency in Max’s voice, Charles couldn’t lie that he got quite worried. Even when his nickname was Mad Max, he never really let his emotions get the best of him outside of the racing world. Charles always saw him as a very poised man, against all odds.
The ding to Charles’ apartment startled him. When he opened the door for Max, he was surprised. Max looked... disheveled. The black circle under his eyes, the unshaved stubble. Max smiled weakly as he raised a bottle of wine. Max sat quietly on the couch as Charles disappeared with the wine bottle. He carried two glasses of wine and managed to also hold the bottle in his right hand. As Charles sat across from him, Max sighed. That deep long sigh that was laden with something heavy. It was silent for a couple of seconds before Charles broke the silence. “Are you okay?” Max didn’t look at him right away; his gaze fell upon the white fuzzy carpet under the table, then to the stacks of magazines on the table, to the wine glasses, to the withering flowers in the vase. Everywhere but Charles’ eyes. Max sighed again, and what after felt like an eternity, finally he met Charles’ gaze. “I feel like total shit,” Charles commented with a small laugh. “No shit.” Max snickered at Charles’ response. Max also felt the same way about their friendship. But Max knew Charles understood. Not to mention they live only a few minutes drive away. Desperate times called for desperate measures, Max thought. “I couldn’t sleep. When I slept, it was full of nightmares,” Max paused, Charles nodded and encouraged him to continue. “The burden of everything...” he trailed off; both his hands found their way to his face, and he groaned. Charles looked at him with full sympathy. He put a gentle hand on Max’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I can’t help much. But you know, if you are open to suggestions,” Charles threaded carefully as Max looked at him. “I know a therapist, a psychologist; she can help. She’s like the best one I know.” Again, Charles looked at him carefully. Afraid that Max took it as an offense at the prospect that he needed professional help. “You are seeing this psychologist?” Charles shook his head. “No. But I’ve known her since I was a kid.”
So that night, Max saved the number of said psychologist, just in case he wanted to go see her. The rest of the night went smoothly, transforming the depressing topic into a lighter one. Max laid on his sofa, Sassy sprawled across his chest. His finger hovered over the number he had just saved the previous few nights. Max won’t even deny it. There was some pride in him that he just couldn’t admit that he needed to talk. Of all the things he could do, he needed to talk. Just talk. But the past few nights had been horrible. “Fuck it,” he mumbled to the empty house as he pressed the number. A chirpy voice in French greeted him, and he awkwardly chuckled before saying that his fluency still needed some finesse to it. “Yes, I would like to set an appointment.” Max waited, sat straight up now. It was nerve-wracking, he thought. He listened (not so) patiently and nodded, “Just as soon as I can.” The chirpy voice came to a halt once again: “Okay, Mr. Verstappen. I can schedule you today at 6 pm. Would that be okay?”
It was 5.45 pm when Max arrived at the building. He sat there in his car, in complete silence. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He could just say he suddenly got sick and bailed out of it. Max was not one to pour his heart out. He sighed as he rubbed his eyes. He closed his eyes and leaned back. He took a steady breath. He needed this. He needed to get better for the upcoming season.
As he waited for the elevator to go up, he couldn’t help but marvel at the lavishness of the building. This psychologist must have made a lot to be able to rent a place like this. As the elevator came to a halt, Max took some cautious steps. He again was greeted by the same chirpy voice he heard on the phone just a few hours before. “Good evening, Mr. Verstappen.” She was greeted with a warm smile. Max stopped at the reception table and nodded his greeting. “Mr. Verstappen, there are some forms that need to be filled just before you proceed with your evening here,” she handed him a transparent clipboard and a pen.
Max then entered the psychologist's room. He pushed the heavy door and was greeted with a woody smell. The room was big with a ceiling-to-floor glass window overlooking the dark Mediterranean Sea. A woman, he bet wasn’t even older than him, turned to him as she heard the door being pushed open. She was beautiful, Max admitted. Not models kind of beautiful but like normal kind of beautiful. Her hair was long and wavy. She dressed in a tan sweater and navy pencil skirt just shy around her knees. Her high heels clacked over the marble floor as she approached Max. “You must be Max Verstappen; it's a pleasure to meet you,” she offered her hand and smiled at him. Her name dripped out of her mouth like honey. “You can call me Max.” Max sat down on the single-seater leather sofa just across from her. “Okay, Max. So how are you today?”
To his surprise, the conversation went smoothly. He didn’t feel like he was under the scrutiny or anything. He talked about his father, the burden of this year’s WDC, the nightmares, and the feeling that he had never done anything good enough. Everything. Before he knew it, their session was over. Max held himself from whining when she informed her that they had finished their session. “You should think about our conversation,” she said, looking at him thoughtfully, legs crossed. Max mused, deep in thought, then nodded. “We can continue this next week, yes?” She smiled at him before writing something down in her notebook. “Next week? That’s like so long,” Max's brows knitted. She laughed, and he found himself smiling at the sound. “You need to think about what we talked about today, Max. And not that I discredited your ability to think about it, but this type of thing takes time. Okay?”
FEBRUARY 2022
What Max only planned as one session turned into 5, and 5 turned into 20. It wasn’t always face-to-face sessions. Sometimes Max needed out of the country multiple times, so they continued via video calls. Sometimes, Max asked for more than one meeting per week. And she obliged as she deemed necessary. But on this 20th meeting, they met again in her office. After an hour passed, she put down her glasses on the side table. “Max, it is with great joy that I inform you that this is your last session with me,” she smiled brightly at him. Max was flabbergasted, to say the least. “What do you mean the last? I still need you." She smiled at him, full of understanding. “Max, let me ask you something. Say that you go see a doctor for a headache; the doctor prescribed you some ibuprofen. Upon deeper investigation, it happened that you have poor sleep hygiene, and you never ate on time. That is what caused you persistent headaches. While fixing your sleeping and eating schedule, you keep taking ibuprofen. But once you can maintain a good sleeping and eating schedule, the headaches vanish. Do you think you would still need to take the ibuprofen?” Max slowly shook his head. “Why?” she asked again. “Because the core of the problem is handled.” He answered but his voice was smaller than usual. “Exactly,” she smiled and watched him. “You don’t look happy,” she observed. “How if I can’t do it without you?” she gave him a warm smile and a gentle, brief squeeze on his hand. “It’s you that has been doing it all this time, Max. Not me. You did it all just before the season started. Wasn’t that your goal? You should be proud of yourself as much as I you.” Max nodded at her answer, feeling defeated. “You should be glad. Cheer up, Max! You don’t have to keep paying me now,” she tried to lighten up the situation with a joke. Max chuckled, “Money is not the problem.” She looked deep into his eyes. “I know.” They stayed like that for a couple of seconds until an idea crossed Max’s mind. “But we can be friends, right? You’re friends with Charles, and I’m also friends with Charles.” He looked at her, eyes full of hope. “We can’t be involved in any relationship at least until 2 years from today,” Max’s jaw dropped. “Said who?” he quipped. “Said the code of ethics,” she chuckled. “I’m also moving to Cambridge; I’m taking my doctorate.” She blushed as she shared the information; she was never really one to share with her client, even on the last termination session. Max beamed over the news, “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that! I hope England will treat you well.”
As Max waited for the elevator to bring him down, he realized he wasn’t that thrilled about the news that she was going to continue her doctorate, nor at the news that they couldn’t be in any relationship for the next 2 years. Something tugged at his heart. He was going to miss her.
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myanmardoesnotexist · 18 hours ago
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Analysis of Why Valentino Cares So Much
So, I know I write a lot of fanfiction, but perhaps my favorite thing about Rosquez is the psychology of Valentino, specifically his bizarre fascination with Marc (This is outside of shipping goggles btw). As the years go on, this fixation with one specific rivalry has become increasingly more clear, and I kind of just wanted to dive into why I believe Valentino Rossi cares so much.
To me, it comes down to two things:
#1: Marc was the first to really win (in Valentino's eyes)
With Stoner, Lorenzo, and Sete it was a rivalry for sure, and there was anger, but Valentino seemed to view it as sort of a game he could control. And he did control it, he came out the victor both to the public and on track. When they eventually got over their rivalries years later, it was Valentino being a 'benevolent king' with the vibe of sparing his enemy. Even if they beat him in the championship, ultimately Valentino won the game of relevance and importance in MotoGP. With Marc it was slightly different. Valentino got the entire racing world to turn against Marc (in a way he never had before with other rivals), and yet somehow it didn’t work. Marc kept on winning, he brushed off the hate, and he’s well on his way to matching Valentino is championships next year. Even if Marc's reputation never recovered, even if we know that Marc was very hurt by this, none of it matters because he is the more relevant one now. Marc is still riding, is on the currently best team (a team that Valentino failed to bring a championship to) and each year more and more people view him in a better light.
On top of that, Marc's name is up there with Valentino's as one of the legends in MotoGP history. Stoner, Sete, and Lorenzo are all brilliant drivers and some of the greats, but that top list is Agostini, Doohan, Rossi, and Marquez. Valentino is arguably still more legendary than Marc, but he will never be able to escape from the younger man. Their names are up there together forever, and to Valentino that is a first with a rival. He cannot look at any of it and say that he won, so it must mean he lost.
#2 Marc was the first to actually hurt him personally.
With Marc he clearly felt in some way personally betrayed. He liked Marc, this is almost undeniable. He was proud of him, he cheered him on, they hung out, honestly Marc was almost an unofficial VR46 student with the way their relationship was in those early days. Yes, Marc represented a passing of the torch, but Valentino almost seemed okay with it at that point. Until he became competitive again and found out that Marc doesn't just look up to him or admire him, but wants to beat him, point blank, and will ride on the limit to do that. This came in 2014, but honestly I don't think is was as prominent because Marc had such a dominant season it was hardly a real fight. 2015 though, it was Valentino really fighting for the title. And he probably expected Marc to bend the knee, to be on his side. Maybe not help him, but not impede him in any way. But they had their friction throughout the year, and the fact that Marc was racing him just as hard as he races everyone else got into Valentino's head. Because Marc was supposed to be on his side. So if he's not, he must be against Valentino and for Jorge Lorenzo. There is no in between.
So he lashed out, he let paranoia hit him, and yet somehow he still didn't get satisfaction. Because even though he did his best to hurt Marc, the other man barely seemed to flinch (which we all know isn't true, but to Valentino I think it is). And that would be particularly rough, because it would mean Marc didn't care. That all of that friendship was one-sided on Valentino's part, that he was the one used, which to someone like him, who always has control, would be new and very very uncomfortable. And so he created this narrative that Marc never liked him, Marc never looked up to him, everything was a lie and a manipulation, and he is a villain with no heart. Because I think to Valentino it is impossible to even act like he doesn't still care. So if Marc can do that, it must mean all of it was fake.
To me these two reasons are why Valentino can't seem to let go of this one particular rivalry, and seems so viciously angry about it ten years after the biggest incident happened. His crazy brain fascinates me, and even if you look at it through a purely platonic, non-shipper lens, its one of the most interesting relationships in MotoGP.
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violent-viscera · 1 day ago
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my true (respectful) thoughts of arcane s2
so much of the promotional material promised so much in the way of vi and jinx/powder and their sisterly relationship, but i feel like with the amount of storylines/plotlines they did in this season, it was just too busy to focus on anyone–let alone the two supposed protagonists of the show. i think the best way for me to articulate how i feel about the writing of this show is that it fell flat, lost its heart, and emotional impact of the first season.
i would have been okay with them straying from my personal favourite focus if:
the storylines had been fleshed out better
the decisions the characters made actually made sense
main characters didn't become plot devices (vi)
new additions of the show weren't just plot devices (isha, loris, maddie, etc.)
motivations of characters made sense
characters had even small lines/dialogue to articulate their intentions/ideas
less time spent on off-screen development
and the thing is with the amount of plot lines they were ambitiously aiming to see out to fruition, its really hard to also set up all these new facets or opposing characteristics in former characters–plus adding new ones too. for example:
caitlyn's facist arc that didn't really have much meaning or attention
jinx's s1 mental collapse which changed abruptly into her redemption arc via isha (plot device)
jinx's revolutionist arc (first, reluctantly and then, willingly w ekko)
vi's pitfighter/brawler arc which was literally just one clip (which ended up being a teaser that showed everything)
im almost grateful to the minimal screen time ekko got bc they didn't try to change the core and essence of who he was in s1: he stayed true to himself. he's just a boy with a huge heart and love for his people that chose to leave his happy ending in an alternate timeline to return to the ppl who needed him where he is almost guaranteed heartbreak in some way or another.
i think the main reason so many ppl loved the first season was bc the characters were relatable in one way or another and they became so multidimensional when you explored how their environment/circumstances shaped them. but this season bc it was so purely focused on the endgame instead of HOW everyone got there, the characters fell flatter, they lost a soul and heart, and i felt the show lost its charm.
i know we all have our favourite characters and storylines we want the show to focus on and i would have been okay if i didn't get my way. if the show didn't focus on jinx and vi, i would've lived (although the promotional material was unfairly misleading) if the storylines, characters, and everything else made sense to me.
of course, the animation was lovely and the music was catchy/heartbreaking. i dont regret watching the show out to its final episode. it was one of the most beautiful visual experiences of my entire life. i still love the characters and will never regret staying on board until the final moments.
but i cant lie and say im not a little sad at how it ended too.
edited add-on:
also, the voice actors did phenomenally. ella purnell just absolutely nails the delivery for every line and reed shannon also hurt me with how he portrayed ekko. so on and so forth.
but that being said, i also felt the dialogue and lines of each character felt much less impactful this season (again, writing.)
i liked viktor’s monologue at the end of act 2. that was compellingly well written
but the lines this season weren’t the same quality as silco’s monologue about drowning, jinx’s speech at the beginning of the doomed tea party, etc. everything just felt so flat and shallow this season overall.
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greyyson-but-no · 2 days ago
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good looking
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somehow, even when he was dead asleep, arm lolled off the edge of the bed, jess was gorgeous. the moon was shining in through the curtain that neither of you had been bothered to pull shut when you'd gotten into bed that evening. it gave him a light, a shine that cooled in skin in the summer heat, making him almost ethereal.
you couldn't sleep. the rest of the day had been so incredible, you weren't able to stop thinking about it, and as a result, you had watched him fall asleep and been unable to follow suit.
first it had been a trip to one of the many cafes in the centre of new york, breakfast on him, then a day thrifting through record shops and bookstores together, getting together a good selection of both vintage books and vinyls for the both of you. then, surprise tickets to the strokes' one-off show where you spent the evening shouting the lyrics to reptillia and hard to explain with him wrapped around you, occasional kisses pressed against your neck.
the night had ended wonderfully, as assumed.
only now, you couldn't stop thinking about it. because there he was laying, fast asleep and peaceful. not a single worry in his mind at all. earlier in the day, he'd told you this was one of the best days he'd ever had. you knew a lot about his childhood, growing up, his mum, luke, everyone. he struggled.
but he didn't struggle anymore. it was looking like his book was going to be a hit, you both shared an apartment in new york and he was able to go and see luke whenever he needed.
he stirred, grumbling. "i can feel you staring, babe."
"I'm not..." you laughed, moving a hand to thread through his hair, breathing in the hum he let out at the contact.
"liar." jess smiled sleepily, forcing his eyes open.
you pouted, brushing a thumb against his cheek. "but my pants aren't on fire?"
"you aren't wearing any." he grins, peaking a look under the thin duvet, running a hand around your waist and pulling you close, his lips resting against your neck.
humming, you snuggled into him. "and whose fault is that?"
he squeezed your waist. "guilty, what can I say? you certainly enjoyed it, there's no denying that fact, sweetheart."
"i love you."
"love you too, and. thank you."
you spun around to face him, a hand against his jaw as your eyebrows furrowed. "why are you thanking me? you planned it all, I should be thanking you."
he shook his head, looking over your face in detail. "not just for today. for everything. you saved me."
sending him a warm smile was easy. "you saved yourself, jess."
"but you standing by me made it easier." he mumbled, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. "really, I mean it. I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't for you."
"now I know that's a lie." you laughed under your breath, not quite understanding where this whole conversation was coming from, five minutes ago he was fast asleep and now... "you started the book before you met me, you were a good way through as well."
he paused for a second, breathing in deeply. "i probably would have given up if it weren't for you, you truly saved me."
"honey." you pouted at him.
"hmm, shut up, it's 4 in the morning, of course I'm acting like this, leave me alone." he grumbled, pulling a face at you. "woke me up with your damn staring."
you shrugged, grinning at him. "what can i say? you're good looking."
he laughed lightly, sitting up a little to see you properly. "how long until we have to be up and moving?"
"luke said he'd arrive at around 10."
jess hummed, rolling onto his back and taking your hand in his, staring at the ceiling as he thought. you watched him still, as his eyebrows twitched as the look in his eyes switched between confusion and reassurance. god, he really was gorgous. "so, that means we get up at 10. you know he'll be running late."
"as always." you paused, your face lighting up. "oh! is he bringing lorelai?"
he furrowed his eyebrows. "maybe? i can't remember what the message said now. he probably will."
you smiled, letting your head rest on his chest as his arm wrapped around your shoulder, bringing the two of you as close together as possible again. even with the thin duvet cover, his skin was still warm, and sent that same warmth through to you in the summer nightly chill. "i've still got that jumped I made for her."
"sweetheart, have you ever heard of this brilliant thing called a mail service?" he joked, the corners of his lips lifting.
"wouldn't risk a jumper." you frowned, shaking your head. "especially with the stories i've heard about the stars hollow mail service from everyone."
jess smiled, remembering all his years spent there. all the people met and hated, all the people he met and loved. everyone he ever said hello to and everyone he ever said goodbye to. "you would have really liked stars hollow, i think."
you sat up a little on your elbow, finding his eyes as he looked in detail at the expression on your face. "we could always spend christmas there one year?"
"christmas is a special time there."
"sounds like it would be." you murmur. "right, we've got six hours before we have to be awake. are we going to try and go back to sleep?"
he looked over at you. "you haven't slept yet, so yes. you need the sleep. don't think I haven't noticed how tired you've been these past couple days." he leaves a swift peck on your cheek before turning you over and wrapping an arm around your waist, nose buried into your hair.
"goodnight, my love."
"g'night sweetheart." he mumbled, letting the both of you delve back to sleep. life was pretty good. jess was pretty good (looking).
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small worlds.
✩ read on ao3 ✩ steven g. rogers masterlist ✩ forget-me-not creative campaign ✩ library blog
‣ pairing — 1940s!steve rogers x f!reader
‣ contents — one-shot, hurt/comfort, somewhere between fluff and angst, implied smut, established relationship
‣ summary — all he ever wanted to do was the right thing. it never occurred to him that doing the right thing could possibly hurt someone he loves.
‣ word count — 1.5k
‣ notes — this is my submission for my own creative campaign lmao 😅 i just got inspired looking at those prompts again, okay? and these are my missing pre-serum!steve hours 😭 and after the week i’ve had, i need some comfort~
prompts used: ✩ geranium = returning joy ✩ plumeria = “well, this is new.” ✩ zinnia = mourning your absence
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Bucky had been wrong. 
His best friend predicted that you would be thrilled to see the new him. After all, the girls at the SSR couldn’t seem to stay away, nor could the flight nurses out on the frontlines, no matter how many times he told them he had a girl back home and just wasn’t interested. 
Howard was the only one who knew well enough to warn him; given how Steve had left things with you before he took off on his tour across the country, he shouldn’t expect everything to be sunshine and rainbows when he got back. 
The two of you had fought, the biggest one in the history of your relationship, and hadn’t spoken to each other in days before he had to leave. His efforts to lie his way into the army was always a source of friction between you, and this, being selected as the subject for Project Rebirth, was just another straw on the camel’s back. 
Steve knew you were just afraid for him, as anyone who mattered to him would be, but it was something he knew he had to do. Unfortunately he couldn’t be convinced, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t also terrified of facing the consequences. 
“Be prepared to grovel, Rogers, like you’ve never done before,” Howard warned, giving him a grave look before waving him off. “Hell hath no fury.” 
So, he showed up at your door only days before he had to leave for Italy, holding a bouquet of flowers and shuffling nervously on his feet as he waited. Steve didn’t know what to say when you opened the door, feeling a little awkward himself at nearly two feet taller and about a hundred fifty pounds heavier. 
You stared at him for a moment, almost as if you didn’t recognize him. 
“Hi,” he said sheepishly, giving you a hesitant but hopeful smile. You looked like you might reel back and punch him, no doubt still angry about the way things went down and how he’d returned to you looking like an entirely different man, but then your face crumpled. 
There were downsides to the serum, he realized, as he could smell the salt of your tears before they even reached your lashes. He leaned down, bending at the waist, something he never had to do before, letting you wrap your arms around his widened shoulders. He could taste the relief in your tears as he kissed them away. 
In the hours that followed, however, you remained distant. He caught you staring thoughtfully at him from across the kitchen, only to quickly avert your eyes when he looked up from the hearty dinner you made him. 
You pulled away subtly when he reached for your hand or the soft dip of your waist, flinch when he moved to kiss your cheek, and returned all his dumb jokes with tight smiles. 
“Well, this is new,” he grinned softly as he stepped behind you, his chest firm against your back, grabbing a jar on a high shelf that you were struggling to reach. 
It took you a few moments too long to turn towards him, your lips curving upwards ever so slightly but it never quite touching the rest of your features. 
Even when he lay next to you that night, it felt like you were miles away. He was leaving soon, all the way to Italy and then to god knows where else, and he didn’t want to leave things this way. He didn’t want to go yet, not while he was uncertain about whether you’d welcome him back next time. 
But as always, it’s like you hear the thoughts in his head without him ever needing to speak them. It’s why this works; he broods and you see through him, as though you have a map directly to his heart. 
“It feels strange,” you confess in hushed tones, the two of you lying in the darkness of your bedroom. When the two of you touch, it feels foreign. You feel guilty, as though you were somehow being unfaithful to a version of him that would never come back. 
“I know,” he says, reaching for you. His heart sinks when you pull away. He lays there in silence, his enhanced vision capturing you so clearly in the dark, staring up at the ceiling as your bottom lip quivers. 
“You took him from me,” you whisper, eyes shining so brightly with anguish in the moonlight. It takes a moment for him to realize what you mean. He can hear the tears sliding down your temples and dripping onto the pillow. 
All he ever wanted to do was the right thing. It never occurred to him that doing the right thing could possibly hurt someone he loves. 
“I’m still me,” he murmurs, his fingers desperate to wipe them away, his arms itching to find their place around you once again. 
“To everyone else, even to you, he was always just that scrappy little nobody from Brooklyn. But to me?” You are weeping now, your voice thick with grief even though he’s right next to you. “To me, he was everything. I don’t want Captain America. I want Steve. My Steve.” 
Steve swallows hard. You always were the only one who did. 
“He’s still here,” he pulls you close and this time, you don’t fight him. You fold yourself against him, crying harder when you are met with the hard sharp planes of his new body, instead of his usual soft edges that always seemed to embrace you right back. “I’m right here.” 
He lets you cry into his chest until, after what seems like hours, you finally drift off into an uneasy sleep, the front of his shirt still damp with your despair. 
But it doesn’t take much longer to find a new normal. 
He still smiles at you the same way as the day you met, a little sheepish and a little shy even after all this time. 
He still does that thing where he intertwines his fingers with yours, his touch a little evasive, teasing you a bit before finally pressing your palms together. 
He still holds you for as long as you need, always letting you be the first one to pull away. 
He still quietly fills the pages of sketchbooks that he hides on your bookshelf. 
He still eats so slowly, taking his time at your dining table because even a slightly bigger portion than normal used to make him sick. 
He still looks at the most terrible parts of humanity and decides that the world is worth saving. 
You slowly get used to the fact that he can reach the higher cabinets in your kitchen now, that he no longer falls ill at each turn of the season, and that while you will never get to see your Steve again—even though you think of him often—this Steve is right: he never really left. 
And when you’ve forgiven him, because there really was no question about it, when you’re ready to give yourself to him again, you’re both a bit nervous and awkward. 
It takes a little bit of dancing to get used to each other’s bodies again; you’re much smaller compared to him now, and he’s afraid he’ll forget his newfound strength and inadvertently hurt you somehow. 
But, much like you did before when he was small and inexperienced, he guides you and you eagerly follow. He lets you come to him, allows you to set the pace and boundaries of how far you’re willing to go, and he always looks at you the same. He even says it again—
“I can’t believe you’re here with me,” he croaks, so close you can smell his aftershave. 
It’s moments like these when you fully realize that while the serum changed him on the outside, it never touched what was inside. As always, he handles you with the utmost care, pulling you cautiously onto his lap, his hands gently cradling either side of your face as he drinks you in, eyes darting back and forth across your face before he finally leans in to kiss you. 
His eyes never once leave yours, even as you abandon your dress and undergarments on the bedroom floor. His fingertips slide down your sternum in a featherlight touch, down the valley between your breasts, before turning his hand over to brush his knuckles lightly over your rib cage, raising goosebumps in his wake. 
You stare into his familiar eyes, the ones that fill your vision with the clearest blue—as if you’re looking into a cloudless summer sky, just like the day you met the boy with a heart ten sizes too big for his chest—and you sigh in relief. 
“There you are,” you purr against his lips. 
His lips stretch into a smile, coaxing yours into doing the same. He remembers a promise he’d made to someone else not that long ago, and he promises it again—to you this time. 
That you will stay who you are. 
That he will never lose your Steve. 
fin.
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