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"Right here, baby, in my eyes. Can you keep them open for me?"
Those eyes, damn, those fucking eyes. It was like you were completely lost, drowning in the deep, swirling mix of emerald and amber, colors that seemed to shift depending on his mood. You'd seen them change so many times—whether it was lust, when they darkened with anger, when his brows would furrow and his jaw clenched tight, barely containing what he was feeling inside; or even sadness, when they softened, filled with a heaviness he tried so hard to hide. Many emotions flickered through them, making it impossible to look away like he was holding back something that he was waiting to unleash.
"Don't hide from me, princess. I need you to keep them on me.."
His plump, plink lips glistened, freshly moistened by his tongue, which was still soaked with your juices. The way he licked them slowly, savoring every drop, made you feel like he could devour you entirely. That taste seemed to make him feral, he wanted to claim every inch of you.
"You look so beautiful when you're taking me like this.."
But it wasn’t just the taste of your essence that had you hooked. It was the sound of his voice, that smooth London accent, rolling effortlessly off his tongue when he spoke to you in the sweetest, most tender way. It almost felt like what you were really tasting was the sweetness of his words, more than your own juices. His words touched you in ways that had you craving more, not just of his body, but of the way he made you feel when he spoke.
"My sweet girl, so perfect for me.."
You could still taste yourself on his tongue, that sweet, lingering flavor covering you with the warmth of his breath as it brushed against your lips from the kiss he’d left you with just moments ago. His lips felt just as good as they looked—soft and pillowy. Your fingers found their way to his ears, lightly massaging them as you playfully sucked on his bottom lip, feeling the soft tug of his skin against your own. He responded by pulling at your top lip with just as much passion, his breath hitching before he pulled away slightly, catching your lips in another tender kiss that made your heart skip a beat.
"Mmm, so soft..so beautiful.."
When he finally pulled away, those pretty orbs scanned your face as if memorizing every detail, while his flushed lips parted slightly as if he was still savoring the taste of you. The small tugs you made on his ears made the corner of his lips turn up in a soft smile, something that made you blush. He leaned in again, the heat of his body pulling you closer, and you could see how much he loved this—how much he loved you.
"You feel so damn good, wrapping around me like the good girl you are. Taking me deeper, and deeper, and..fuck...deeper."
Your knees were wrapped snugly around his waist, pulling him closer as you felt his dick twitch inside you. His strong hands gripped your wrists, pinning them beside your head and holding you firmly in place. You could feel the weight of his body against yours, the way his muscles flexed as he moved, leaving you damn near breathless. The way your pussy gripped his dick made you feel completely at his mercy, every inch of him filling you as his hips twisted and rolled painfully slow. The thrusts were deep, drilling into you with as if he were mining for gold. Every time he hit that sweet spot, your breath got caught, his name just barely escaping your lips.
The way he had you pinned, the way he took control, your belly mimicked that same feeling you experienced when a rollercoaster made that big drop.
"I want you to focus on how it feels when I'm deep inside you. Uhn uhn, look at me—don’t look away. Let me see..."
His forehead pressed against yours, sweat dripping down from his brow as his body worked tirelessly to keep you lost in a blissful state of euphoria. His pretty caramel-colored skin glistened, catching the light in a way that made him look even more flawless than usual. Every bead of sweat traced down his features and the contours of his muscles. He was concentrated and confident, giving you every bit of his attention.
"Mhm, just like that. Makin' me fucking weak when you look at me with those pretty brown eyes.."
With his fresh haircut and sharp line-up, he looked as yummy as ever, and the scent of his cologne lingered in the air and made you want to swallow him whole. Honestly, having someone as fine as him fucking you felt like a dream, a wild fantasy brought to life.
Your chest was caving in with every deep breath, and you couldn’t help but wonder what this man was doing to you. It felt like your body was buzzing and you were doing your best to keep your eyes on his. The whines that escaped your lips were almost being sucked in by him, his own lips hovering close to yours, ready to catch every sound you made.
"Mmm, keep those whimpers coming. You're taking me in so good, so wet..just for me.."
You were sucking in his grunts just as eagerly as he was drinking in your noises. As deep as he was driving into you, your gushy walls were making his knees weak, stirring up nervous flutters in his belly. He masked it well, though, keeping that confident facade as he focused on you, completely lost in you. But you could see it in his eyes—the way he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.
"There it is..I can feel you tightening around me. Talk to me darling, is it right here?"
Your pussy was getting wetter by the second, causing your grip on his hands to tighten. You were pinned against him with nowhere to escape. His hips were perfectly angled, grazing your G-spot with each thrust, making the hairs stand on your skin and your face twist with pleasure.
"Tell me that’s your spot; I need to hear you say it. Tell Daddy how deep he is.."
You didn’t have to say a word; the sounds your pussy made filled the air and spoke for you. The sounds that told him everything he needed to know. The way your fingers clutched his hands, the way your slick walls wrapped around him, all communicated the delicious torture he was putting you through.
As you struggled to speak, he was watching you closely, taking in every tiny change in your expression. He was digging into you like a shovel, watching your lips part in desperate gasps, trying to let out your whimpers. But now, those sounds were fading, as he fucked the voice out of you. He knew he had you completely under his spell.
"Breathe through it, love. You can take it,"
His eyes looked down, watching your walls pull around him, holding onto him tighter. He pulled out slowly, teasing you just enough before thrusting right back in,
"You can take every single inch of me,"
You could feel him deep inside, filling you completely, not one inch of you unfulfilled. The world outside faded away, and all that mattered was the way his body moved against yours.
“That's right, let it happen, princess. I'm right here, give it to me..”
He was so calm, his voice so steady as he stroked your index finger with his thumb while your hands were still in his grasp. He was coaxing you to surrender to him, completely let go and be vulnerable in his hold.
"Shit, that's my girl. Just give in to me baby, don't hold back. I want to feel every fucking drop.."
As you felt the orgasm creeping up, your body shuddered to every angle, every hit of your spot, he knew exactly what you needed.
“Look at that, ” he murmured, his eyes marveling and locked onto where your juices splashed onto his dick and thighs, glistening in the soft light. You were soaking him, drenching the sheets beneath you, and gasping for air like you were surfacing from deep water. You both shook and writhed beneath him, and he watched you with a look in his eyes that made your pussy grab at him again. A satisfied smile crept onto his face, full of not only pride but also arousal, as he saw you unraveling completely under him.
“See? You can take it all,” he said with a playful smirk, his lips still ghosting over yours as you attempted to catch your breath. You rolled your eyes and smiled lazily at his comment.
"And because I know you can take it all..I'm going to need one more from you, okay?"
--------------------------------------------
I would like to believe I proofread this a billion times, so hopefully there are little to no mistakes. Hope y’all enjoyed!!!
Summary: Six months postpartum and Cleo is still insecure about herself. Terry has had enough.
Terry Richmond x Black!OC
18+ Content! || porn with little to no plot, married couple, slight daddy kink, p in v, mentions of postpartum depression, mentions of insecurity
Cleo gasped, the faint sound getting caught in her throat as her nails dug into the meaty flesh of Terry’s arms. Her toes curled tightly as the tremble in her thighs intensified. The constant jabbing and stimulation of her g-spot due to Terry’s deep, digging strokes sent intoxicating waves of pleasure through her body, leaving her looking fucked-out and dick drunk.
Another whine left her swollen, parted lips, eyes rolling back in her head as her knees came together in an attempt to slow Terry’s mid-paced strokes. “Mm-mm…”, he hummed, his right hand moving to smack her thigh. “Open them legs. Let me see that pretty ass pussy.”
He didn’t give her much of a chance to follow his commands before he hooked his huge hands around the back of her knees and pushed them up to her chest. His gaze stayed fixed on her creaming tightness, watching the milky white ring she left grow thinker and larger. “She so pretty…”, he mumbled, “just like you.”
His plump, pink lips wedged between his pearly white teeth as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “Look at her.”, he took his right hand off her thigh and cupped his hand around he jaw, forcing her to look at their connected parts. “Look how she’s creamin’ around me.”
Cleo blinked to clear her hazy vision, focusing in on his length moving in and out of her with ease. Seeing first hand the sticky mess she was making made her even wetter, causing her nails to dig deeper into Terry’s arms. “Terryyy…”, Cleo whined, her eyes fluttering closed as her head fell back against the sheets.
Terry, whose hand had moved from her jaw to around her neck, hummed in response. “What’s the matter, mama?”
Breath partially taken from his firm grip on her neck, Cleo released a choked moan as the tremble in her legs intensified. “Talk to me, baby”, Terry mumbled, his grip tightening softly, “tell daddy what’s wrong.”
Cleo whined in response, her walls tightening around him as her toes curled tightly in the air, “y-you’re so deep, baby.”
A cocky grin spread across his face, his bottom lip moving to rest between his teeth once more. He told her this would happen. He told her all it would take was just one more time for him to catch her looking at herself negatively in the mirror, one more time to catch her starving herself to lose weight, one more time for her to talk down on herself. One more time and he was going to do something about it.
He made it clear from the first time she made a comment about her postpartum body that he would not tolerate his wife being insecure about the body that carried their child. But for a while, he did. He knew postpartum depression was a bitch, and he saw it take its ugly toll on Cleo. He hated seeing her so upset about the changes her body had gone through bringing their baby girl into the world, and quite frankly, he didn’t understand. Hell, he loved it.
He loved everything. The way her hair grew, the way her skin became glass, the way stretch marks were visible on her thighs, ass, and stomach. The way her chest grew, hips expanded, and her ass got fatter? Oh, you know he was loving that. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t love it. Honestly, he didn’t want to. One too many negative comments about herself and he had had enough.
He told her the next time she said something negative about herself, he’d fuck the shit out of her. If he couldn’t talk her into feeling beautiful, he would fuck her into feeling beautiful. He made it clear that he would go so deep inside of her that she wouldn’t even remember what she was insecure about.
And she didn’t. She barely even remembered her name right now.
His name seemed to be the only thing she remembered, because in the moment, it was the only thing she could manage to say. Beside the occasional whines, whimpers, and cries, the only thing leaving her mouth was Terry’s name. But that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
“Look at me.”, he commanded, his deep green eyes burning into her face. Cleo peeled her eyes open, locking eyes with her husband. They held intense eye contact, the effects over their intimate dance causing butterflies to swarm in Cleo’s stomach. “Tell me what I wanna hear.”
Cleo didn’t have to ask what it was he wanted her to say. He’d been saying it to her since the day they met, and after she had the baby, he said it ten times more. Now he wanted her to say it.
But Cleo didn’t want to say it. She didn’t think it was true.
Noticing her eyes starting to close, Terry smacked her thigh with his free hand while putting more pressure on her throat with the other. “Don’t look away from me, Cleo.”
Cleo yelped at the harsh contact his large hand made to her thigh as her eyes shot open. “Tell me what I wanna hear.”, he repeated, his hips moving in ways that damn near made it impossible for Cleo to keep her eyes open, let alone talk. “Come on, baby…say it for me.”
Despite his pussy-wetting words and leg shaking strokes, Cleo still refused to say it.
Terry said nothing. Instead, he began to retreat from her walls and let go of her neck. Whining from the feel of his exit, Cleo hurriedly reached out to grab his arm. “No, don’t stop! Please, don’t stop, it feels so good!”
At her pleading words, Terry slowly pushed back inside of her. “Well stop playing and tell me what I wanna hear.”
Gasping as he stretched her again, Cleo’s back arched off of the bed as he inched closer and closer to that sweet spot of hers. She knew him and she knew how petty he was. He was purposely avoiding hitting her spot until she said what he wanted her to say.
Burying his head in her neck, Terry peppered kisses along her neck as he mumbled, “Come on, mama. Let me hear you say it.”
Whining as her walls contracted around him, Cleo mumbled, “I’m beautiful.”
“What you say?”, Terry mumbled as his lips pressed repeatedly against the sweet spot on her neck. “I ain’t hear you.”
Cursing under her breath, Cleo fought not to lose her damn mind as she draped an arm over Terry’s neck and both voluntarily and involuntarily raked her nails over his shoulder blade. “I’m beautiful…”, she repeated in her whining tone, her free hand reaching up beside her head to grip the plush pillow. Cleo wanted to slap the shit out of Terry for having her like this. Better yet, she wanted to slap the shit out of herself for pushing him away for so long. Her insecurities kept her from damn near seeing heaven, and damn was she mad about it.
Terry needed to say nothing to let Cleo know her words had been accepted. All he needed to do was push his hips a little bit deeper, and there it was.
Cleo needed to say nothing to let him know that he’d found that spot, because the involuntary bucking of her hips along with the trembling of her legs and gasp of pleasure, Terry knew. His low chuckle of contentment confirmed that as he lifted himself from the crook of her neck to balance himself on his hands and continue to roll his hips in that same pattern. Looking down at his dazed wife, Terry chuckled once more and took his bottom lip between his teeth, asking, “I’m hittin’ that spot, huh?”
Cleo, in her otherworldly pleasure, could only grip the pillow tighter and continue to let her sweet love sounds slip past her parted lips.
Terry could do nothing but admire her when she was like this. Her legs spread all over the bed, hands clenched in the sheets, hair wild as hell. She was a disheveled, sweaty, moaning mess. But still to him, she was the prettiest thing in the world.
He watched as her tired brown eyes rolled back into her head and her head fell back against the bed as she tried not to be too loud and wake their baby girl across the hall. He took a second to let his head fall back and avert his vision to the ceiling from both pleasure and to take a breather, because if he kept watching Cleo, he would get her pretty ass pregnant all over again.
Hearing her whine his name again in that familiar tone, he quickly returned his attention to her. She was close.
“What’s the matter, baby?”, he cooed as he moved his right hand down to her bundle of nerves and used the pad of his thumb to rub slow, sloppy circles, “you gon’ cum for me? hmm?”
Moaning aloud in response to his unexpected touch, Cleo’s hand quickly moved down to his hip in an attempt to halt his movement just for a second so she could get some air back in her damn lungs. “W-wait, T…”, she murmured, fighting to keep her eyes from doing yet another roll inward, but damn did she feel good. Hell, she could barely talk without moaning.
Shaking his head, Terry’s hips continued to move, fighting back against her weak pushes. “Nah”, he mumbled, his thumb continuing its rotation on her pleasure point, “don’t tap out on me now, Cleo. Gimmie that nut. Let me have it.”
And just like that, his wish was her command. “Oh, f-fuck, Terry!” Her volume control was out the window, as was her mind as an orgasm sent from God himself ran its course. His name upon her lips was music to Terry’s ears as he continued his movements, helping her ride out her high.
Motions slowly coming to a halt as her body relaxed, Terry chuckled as he watched her pleasure cost his shaft in creamy coats. Finally being allowed to catch her breath, Cleo’s chest rose and fell at a semi-rapid pace. “Terry…what the fuck?”, she whined as she raised a hand to cover her face.
Chuckling once more, he gently removed her hand from face before peppering kisses all around it. She smiled weakly as he whispered, “You did so good for me, baby. I’m so proud of you.”
With more kisses to her face and her lips, he then murmured, “but I know you got some more in there for me. Gon’ head and turn over.”
Real shit you act all important cause your stories and shit get hella likes and stuff but the shit is boring and you not even that good at writing. Same thing ova and ova. People kiss yo and other writers on here ass so much it's crazy
i typically don't post or share asks like this, but considering i've gotten a couple similar ones in the past few weeks, i feel the need to address it.
i don't talk about anyone. i don't mess with anyone. i don't talk shit on anyone. i post my stories, interact with folks, reblog, read, and mind my business. i get that some people, or maybe more than some, don't like me. so much so that i got a list of pages who've blocked me. that's fine. i don't care anymore, because i know i'm not problematic on here.
i don't think i'm better than anyone. i know i'm not. i don't act better than anyone. at the end of the day we're all just writing fanfics for people we like. no one is performing brain surgery. it's not that big a fucking deal.
and, you wanna know something? i'll be real vulnerable and honest right now. a huge issue i struggled with when writing on this site years ago is something i've secretly been struggling with on this page too, so much so that i talk the shit through with my therapist, because some of it triggers some of my trauma. i feel really bad when i see my stories get interactions and other don't. like, i've done something wrong and should feel bad about it. it's part of the reason, too, i stopped writing on here for a while.
but, i'm tired of feeling that way, cause i don't do anything wrong. i do the same thing every other creator on here does. and, i feel like every time i try to write and share my shit, i have to deal with bitches like you who hate me or don't like me for whatever reason, and it's fucking exhausting. i mind my business. i'm not mean. not negative. i work super hard to keep this page a safe, fun place. i honestly have no idea what i do to always gather a group of folks who can't stand me for some reason.
and, we do have fun on my page, and it's mostly amazing times. but, i'm also human, and i have feelings. so to you and any other people or person sending me shit like this, please stop. leave me alone. you don't like me? fine. block me. pretend i don't exist. you're mad at me for reasons i won't state, but you know what it is, and i know what it is.
but, keep fucking trying me, and imma lay it all out and hurt ya goddamn feelings.
This is not okay. Why be mean, disrespectful, and disgusting when people are minding their own business? Leave them alone and stop messing with others.
pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x doctor!reader.
word count⠀⁎⠀9.6k.
summary⠀⁎⠀between petty fights and an abnormal level of clinginess, you're at your wit's end with joe's recent behavior. who would've known that ja'marr could crack the code before you?
author's note⠀⁎⠀combined a couple of different requests into one. collection of scenes more than a real plot? struggled with the smut so pls forgive me if it sucks. i have zero medical training, pls don't yell at me.
warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, established relationship, married couple fights, one (1) communism joke, joe can't shut up when he's in love syndrome, teasing, fingering, oral (fem receiving), joey talks you through it <3
Slumped shoulders and tired sighs filled the still air of their Cincinnati home as you and Joe crossed the threshold just ten minutes apart. Words remained limited to the necessary as you greeted each other for the first time that evening, the clock hanging over the front door reading 6:45 PM. The crisp smell of antiseptic and hand sanitizer mingled with the lingering scent of Joe's familiar deodorant and cologne.
You padded down the hallway to your room, heels in hand, eager to shed your work clothes and scrub the clinical office off your skin. You hadn't seen Joe in what felt like days, your paths only crossing at night, a brief intermission in your chaotic schedules. Between your patients and his training, the time you had together was a blur of tired half-sentences and fleeting kisses.
Mindlessly, you stripped out of your white coat and knee-length dress, tossing them onto the chair by the door. The sound of the fabric hitting the wood was a welcome release of the day's tension. You stepped into the bathroom and turned the shower knob, letting the water heat up. You heard Joe's footsteps approaching, the soft thud of his sock-covered feet entering your bedroom.
You lathered away at your brown skin, softly humming a tune that had been stuck in your head all day. The warm water cascaded over you, the steam wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open, and Joe's large frame filled the doorway. You paid him no attention, assuming he was just checking in before heading back to the bedroom to answer some emails, settle into bed, and mentally prepare himself for his media obligations tomorrow afternoon.
To your surprise, Joe didn't retreat. He stepped closer to the shower, his blue eyes squinting at you through the foggy glass, a deep sigh escaping his lips. "I need a shower too, babe. Can you hurry?" he said, his voice tinged with annoyance.
You rolled your eyes, holding back before answering him. "I had a full schedule today," you retorted, your voice echoing off the tiles. "You got home before me. Did you not get one in at the facility?"
Joe leaned against the sink, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "No, I wanted to shower at home." He tried to play it cool, but the hint of irritation in his voice was unmistakable. It was one of his rare flaws, the inability to hide his emotions when it came to inconveniences.
You reached for your exfoliating sponge, the sweet scent of your body scrub filling the small space. "Baby," you began, your voice firm yet tired. "I'm almost done. You could've used one of the other bathrooms."
Joe's sigh grew heavier, the frustration in his eyes evident. "It's not the same, all my stuff is in here," he said, his voice tight. "Why are you taking so long? Just hurry up."
You couldn't help but feel a spark of annoyance flicker within you. You had been looking forward to this shower, the one thing you could control after a long day of treating patients and navigating the chaos of your new practice. "Joe, I’ve been seeing patients all day. Can't you wait five more minutes?" you snapped, your voice bouncing off the shower walls.
He stepped closer, his expression unyielding. "Five minutes turns into ten, turns into twenty," he said, his voice flat. "I'm exhausted, babe. I just want to get clean."
You felt a twinge of guilt, but you stood your ground. "I've been looking forward to this shower all day," you said, your voice a mix of frustration and weariness. "You could've just told me you needed to get in first."
Joe grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, pacing for a minute before yanking off his clothes. You felt the cooler air of the bathroom flood the shower before you realized what he was doing. You squealed as Joe stepped in behind you, large hands reaching for your shampoo as if disregarding your personal space.
"Joey," you whined, your pout deepening as the shower suddenly felt much smaller. "What are you doing?"
He shrugged, ignoring the tone of your voice to deliver a straightforward answer. "What does it look like? We're sharing."
The initial shock gave way to a playful scoff from you as you turned to face him, your eyes glinting with amusement despite your earlier irritation. "You're serious?"
Joe nodded, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he squeezed past you to stand under the water. "Deadly," he said, "If you’re good, I might even scrub your back for you."
You rolled your eyes, gently nudging him away from the direct shower of the steamy water. "You can’t hijack my shower, Joe. That’s not how this works," you said with a huff.
Joe chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he stepped closer to you, the water now spraying you both. "I'm not hijacking, I'm sharing," he said, his hands reaching for your very expensive, tropical-scented shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into his large, open palm. "Like we learned in preschool?"
You didn't respond, choosing instead to focus on scrubbing your extended arms. You felt Joe's amused chuckle reverberate through his chest as he lathered his hair, the suds cascading over his shoulders and down his torso.
Sensing your irritation, Joe reached over you to nudge the temperature valve. The once warm embrace of water turned frigid, causing you to jump and shriek. "Joseph!" you yelped, trying to avoid the icy spray. You took a step back, your back meeting the solid wall of Joe's broad chest as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, the water temperature now to his liking.
"Perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with feigned innocence. "Just how I like it." He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer as the cold water continued to assault your skin. You squirmed in his grasp, the shock of the cold water fading into a laugh as you realized the futility of fighting him on this.
"Joe," you squealed, your laughter mixing with the sound of the water, "turn it back!" Your attempts to escape his grip only made you laugh harder as he held you firmly, his deep laughter vibrating against your back. You attempted to get a hand on the valve but your movement was cut short by Joe's larger hand gently swatting yours away.
"Come on, it's good for your skin," his deep voice rumbled in your ear. You shivered and tried to push him away, but he was too strong. The cold water continued to pummel them, and you felt your body tighten with the shock of it. "You should know better, doc," he quipped, his breath warm against your neck.
Your tense laughter subsided into a whine. "Joey, please," you begged, your teeth chattering slightly. "It's too cold. You're ruining my shower."
"Your shower?" Joe echoed, his tone incredulous. "This is our shower now."
You couldn't help but laugh despite yourself, the absurdity of the situation bringing a smile to your lips. You leaned back into him, your body beginning to warm again as the chill dissipated. His arms tightened around you as the water washed away the last of the soap. The two of you stood in silence for a moment, the sound of the water the only thing breaking up the quiet.
"Alright, Comrade Burrow, let go of me," you said, your voice filled with mock irritation. Joe's arms loosened, allowing you to twist the valve back to a warmer temperature. The lukewarm water washed over you, and you turned to face him, your eyes dancing with playful anger.
"That's strike two," you muttered, a hand settling against his jaw as you pulled him down for a chaste kiss, leaving his skin tingling with a bite at his pink bottom lip.
Joe raised an eyebrow, chasing your lips as you pulled away and turned back around. "Strike two?"
You nodded, your eyes still closed, as you enjoyed the warm water cascading over you. "First, you try to bully me out of my shower, then you try to freeze me to death. You're on thin ice, babe."
Joe leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "I'll warm you right up," he whispered, his hands skimming over your wet body.
"That's strike three, I'm leaving." You giggled, pushing Joe's hands away with a gentle smack. You stepped out of the shower, your skin glistening with water droplets. Joe stepped aside, the playfulness in his eyes never fading as he watched you wrap a towel around yourself. You grabbed another for him, tossing it onto the vanity counter before exiting the bathroom.
Joe stepped out behind you, long limbs leaving a puddle on the gray mat beneath his feet. He wrapped the towel around his waist, his skin still slightly red from the cold water. "You're cute when you're mad," he said, his voice teasing.
You rolled your eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching with a smile you couldn't hold back. "I'm not mad," you replied, walking over to your side of the sink to start your nightly skincare routine. "Just disappointed."
Joe stepped closer to you, the warmth of his body contrasting the coolness of the bathroom air. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as he peered at your reflection in the mirror. "How can you be disappointed with this?" he asked, his voice playful as he gestured to your reflection.
Your hand paused mid toner application, and you couldn't help but smile. "It's the principle," you said, turning your attention back to your routine. You felt Joe's warm breath against your neck as he leaned closer, his arms tightening around your waist.
"Well, the principle is that we both needed showers, and we're both tired," Joe said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "Let's just get ready for bed before we start arguing over stupid shit again."
You took a deep breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly. You finished your skincare routine, your movements precise and methodical, while Joe brushed his teeth with a hint of minty toothpaste wafting through the air. Joe finished drying off, forgoing a trip to his closet for a pair of sweatpants, and simply heading off to bed.
You set off for the closet, swapping your towel for Joe's raggedy Athens Bulldogs long-sleeve and a pair of his boxers. The fabric of his shirt was well-worn and smelled faintly of his scent. You couldn't help the shy flutter of your heart as you emerged to find him sprawled out underneath your sheets, taking up a good deal of space. The room was dimly lit by the bedside lamp, casting a soft glow over Joe's muscular form. His bare chest peeked out from beneath the line of the sheets covering his lower half. He held his phone in one hand, the other arm bent behind his head as he scrolled through his notifications with a trademark unimpressed expression.
You approached the bed, sliding under the covers with a dramatic sigh, your body heat immediately melding with his. As if second nature, Joe's arm curled around your waist, his free hand coming to rest on your lower back, your head finding its usual spot on his firm chest. The two of you lay there in silence for a few moments, the only sound being the soft rustling of the sheets and the occasional buzz of his phone. Your eyes drifted shut, the warmth and safety of Joe's arms around you acting as a sedative after a grueling day.
"Love you," he hummed, placing his phone on the nightstand before switching the bedside lamp off. The sudden darkness enveloped them, and you felt Joe's chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. You knew he was waiting for your response, but you remained silent, fighting off the twitch of a smirk.
He nudged you, a hint of urgency in his voice, "You gonna say it back?"
You pretended to be asleep, your body relaxed and limp against him, enjoying the quiet after the shower squabble. You felt his grip on you tighten slightly, a silent protest to your silence. With a dramatic sigh, you opened your eyes and propped yourself up on your elbow, the moonlight from your bedroom window highlighting the mischief in your gaze. "You really expect me to after you ruined my relaxing evening?"
Joe rolled his eyes, but the tension in his body dissipated as he couldn't help but smile at your feigned indignation. "I love you," he repeated, his voice softer this time.
You leaned in, your fingertips tracing his strong jaw as you whispered, "I love you too," before leaning in to kiss him softly. Your kiss held the promise of warmth and comfort, a silent apology for your earlier squabble. As you parted, Joe's eyes searched yours in the dim light, looking for any lingering traces of irritation. Finding none, his features softened, and he pulled you closer, soothing the two of you into your familiar embrace. His hand moved from your ass to your lower back, rubbing in slow, comforting circles as you slipped into slumber.
Your schedules left little time for cuddly nights like those as the season pushed forward. Between your full work weeks and Joe's demanding training and game days, your time together had melted into an afterthought. The occasional dinner date had turned into a rare luxury, and your once-nightly pillow talks had been replaced by quiet grumbling about who forgot to take out the trash or who left their keys scattered around the house.
The world only seemed to grace you with a few fleeting moments on Sundays when the Bengals played at home. Though you wouldn't see Joe until after the game, sharing him with his parents for a few hours before you all retired to bed, you always looked forward to Sunday evenings. It was the one day you could count on for a decent stretch of time together. This weekend, however, had been particularly testy on both your nerves.
Joe's parents, Robin and Jimmy, were staying over before making the trip back home the following morning. You and Robin fluttered between the living room and the kitchen, chatting about the game as you prepared dinner together. Jimmy sat in his designated Lazyboy, nodding along to your conversation, occasionally throwing in a comment about in his southern cadence so similar to Joe's. The house was filled with the comforting scent of dinner cooking and the first pumpkin pie of the fall baking.
You could feel your nerves frazzle every time you came within Joe's grasp. His constant touches, though affectionate, felt suffocating today. You needed space, but he seemed to need you more than ever. Each time he grabbed you, you'd give him a look that was half-playful, half-exasperated, but he remained oblivious, his attention not quite turning away from the conversations at hand.
Finally, Robin spoke up, her voice carrying a hint of teasing. "Joey, let the poor girl breathe," she said, gaining a chuckle from Jimmy.
Joe looked up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at his mother's words. "What do you mean?" he asked, adjusting his grip on your waist as he pulled you closer to his chest protectively.
You couldn't hold back your laugh. "Sweetheart," you said, your voice light with affection. "You're smothering me today."
Joe met your eye, jaw set with tension. "I just want to spend time with you," he murmured, his voice thick with a hint of defensiveness. His hand remained firmly on your waist, his thumb idly tracing circles against the fabric of your crewneck.
Your smile softened, and your eyes searched his. You knew he was just feeling the weight of your different lives. "I know," you said gently. "But you're being a little clingy."
Robin looked up from the salad she was tossing, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "It's okay to let her go, Joey," she said. "You guys need to learn to live without each other a little."
You shot her a grateful look, which Joe returned with a glower. "You're one to talk," he said, his voice tight. "You and Dad have been joined at the hip for what, thirty years?"
Robin chuckled, setting the salad bowl down on the kitchen island. "That's different," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "You two are still in the 'can't keep your hands to yourselves' phase of being together. It's adorable, really."
Jimmy coughed out a laugh, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Your mother's right," he said, his gaze flicking from you to Joe. "You're both young, and busy. If you're serious about staying together, you need to find a balance of affection that works."
Joe's grip tightened, and you felt the beginnings of a petty protest brewing. "I just want to spend time with you," he grumbled into your ear, his voice a mix of annoyance and longing. "Barely see each other these days."
"I know, babe," you said, placing a reassuring hand on his forearm. "Just give me a few minutes to breathe, okay?" You gave him a warm smile, hoping it conveyed your love without patronizing his feelings.
Joe hesitated, pouting like a scolded puppy.
"Actually, sweetheart, do you mind taking a look at this?" Robin said, holding up her hand to reveal the beginnings of a scar running along her forearm. "It's been a week since I got it, and it's not healing right."
Your gaze shifted from Joe's sulky expression to Robin's arm. "Sure," you said, your professional instincts kicking in. You stepped out of Joe's embrace, following Robin to the bathroom. You could hear Joe grumble something under his breath as you closed the door behind you.
In the well-lit bathroom, you washed your hands before reaching out to take Robin's arm in your hand. "It does look a bit red," you said, your voice concerned. "How did you get it?"
"Tripped over a box at the garage sale," Robin said with a shrug, her tone airy. "Thought it was nothing, but it's still bothering me."
You continued scrutinizing the scar. "It's definitely inflamed," you said, your voice even. "I might need to write you a script for some antibiotics."
"Oh, no need," Robin said, her voice bright. "I got this checked out on Friday. I just wanted to hear your opinion and get you some space from Joe."
Your eyes widened as realization dawned on you. You couldn't help but laugh. "He's gonna kill me," you said, shaking your head. "But thank you, I needed a breather."
Robin chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "You guys are going to be okay," she assured you, giving you a comforting pat on the arm. "You just need to remember to make time for each other, and communicate when you need space better. Like Jimmy was saying, you need to find a good balance. I wouldn't want you two to be miserable over communication."
You nodded, your eyes lingering on the scar, which you knew was fine. The whole thing had been a clever ruse, but it had given you the break you needed. "We've been at each other's throats the last week. He just wants to be with me, but he can be..." you trailed off with a sigh.
Robin leaned closer, her expression understanding. "A little too determined?" she offered.
You nodded, unable to hold back a chuckle. "Yeah, that's one way to put it. But I love him, and I know he just misses me. I feel awful asking for space when he's so obviously trying to reconnect."
Robin squeezed your arm. "You're not asking for the moon, honey. Sometimes, Joe just needs a nudge to understand. You two are both stubborn as hell, but that's what makes you work. You understand him." She smiled softly before adding, "Just be upfront with him. Tell him you appreciate the affection, but you need some breathing room."
You nodded, taking Robin's advice to heart as you returned to the kitchen. You could see Joe sulking on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He glanced up, his eyes searching yours, looking for any sign of the argument's resolution. You felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was just craving your attention. You gave him a warm smile and took a seat beside him, your legs curling under you.
"Better?" he asked, a hint of hope in his voice.
"Much," you assured him, leaning into his side. You knew that Joe's clinginess was just his way of dealing with the distance your hectic schedules had forced between you. "Your mom just needs antibiotics for that scar," you said, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.
Joe looked up from his phone, his expression unchanged. "Oh," he said, his voice devoid of interest, choosing instead to allow you to pull his arm around your shoulders. A sly smile tugged at his lips, he couldn't help but feel the tension in his chest ease slightly.
Your office buzzed with the steady rhythm of a busy clinic, the murmur of patients, and the tap of your heels against the linoleum punctuating the air. You stood at a long counter, finishing up your notes, when one of your nurses, Luca, looked up from where he was entering data into a computer. "Joe's here," he said, a knowing smile playing on his lips.
"Where?" you responded, your focus still on the paperwork you were filling out.
"In room four. He said he had an appointment," Luca replied, raising an eyebrow.
Your eyes darted up, a mix of surprise and confusion. "Appointment?" you murmured, setting your pen down and looking at Luca. "Was he on my schedule?" you trailed off, reaching for one of the stray iPads kept around the office to take a look at the day's appointments.
"Well, no. But your 2:45 was a no-show," Luca explained, his smile widening as he leaned back in his chair. "Taylor did his rooming and said it was something simple, probably just a sunburn."
You couldn't help but laugh, your heart warming at the thought of Joe sneaking in for a visit under the guise of needing medical attention. It had been weeks since you had any real quality time together, with his football schedule colliding with your busy clinic hours. You shook your head as you closed the manila folder you were holding. "Alright, I'll go see what Mr. Franchise needs," you said, your tone playfully sarcastic as you handed Luca the folder and pushed away from the counter.
Walking into the exam room, you saw Joe sitting comfortably wide in the light blue exam chair. He looked up when you entered, a familiar spark entering his eyes when he took in the sight of you. "Hey," he said, his voice low and a little shy.
"Hey yourself," you responded, your smile genuine despite your initial surprise. You set your iPad down, sitting cross-legged in your chair just a few feet away from him. "What's this about?" you inquired, your gaze traveling over his face and exposed limbs for any hint of the irritation that had allegedly brought him into the practice.
Joe shifted, his eyes avoiding yours for a brief moment before meeting them again. "Well, it's…it's my neck," he said, his cheeks flushing slightly. "My skin's been bothering me for a couple of days."
Your smile grew softer as you stood from your chair, walking over to inspect the area. "You know, I've told you before," you said gently, your voice professional despite the intimate setting. "You really need to get a better helmet liner. This irritation is from the constant rubbing."
Joe shrugged, his large hands folded in his lap. "I know, I know. I'll look into it," he said, his eyes meeting yours. The silence grew between them as you examined the reddened skin, your touch feather-light.
"When you sweat, the friction just the irritation makes it worse," you added, your thumbs tracing the inflamed line along his neck. "It's not anything serious, but it could become infected if you don't treat it. With your skin being so sensitive, we need to be careful."
Joe didn't respond, his eyes lingering on yours. You could feel his hands settle gently on your hips, urging you closer. You sighed, setting aside your professional demeanor for a moment. "You know you could've just called me to tell me about this," you murmured, a hint of exasperation in your voice. "Or gone to the team physician."
"Honey, are you listening to me?" you asked, your eyes searching his as you stepped closer, your hand reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair. The ends of his unstyled dirty blonde strands curled around your fingers, reminding you of the hundreds of times you had done this before. His cheek pressed to your chest, his breathing slowed, you knew he was enjoying the simple closeness.
His eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned into your touch. "I am," Joe said, his voice a soft rumble.
You couldn't help but chuckle, continuing your gentle threading. "You know you're being ridiculous," you said, your voice a warm tease. "Is everything okay? How was practice?"
"Practice was fine," Joe replied, his eyes still closed. "I missed you. Just wanted to see you."
You felt a twinge of guilt. "I know," you said, your voice gentle. "I miss you too. I'm sorry we've been like this lately."
Joe's arms tightened around you. "Me too," he murmured, focused on the way your heart beat steadily beneath his ear.
"Did you really come here just to see me?" you asked, your voice filled with a mix of affection and skepticism.
Joe looked up at you, a boyish grin playing on his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his blue eyes sparkling. "My skin was irritated so I came to see the best dermatologist in Ohio."
You rolled your eyes playfully, unable to resist the warmth spreading through your chest. "You're terrible," you said, your voice filled with affection. "But I'll take the compliment." You lifted his jaw, meeting his eyes before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. "I'll write you a prescription, you big baby."
Joe grinned, his grip loosening slightly. "I'm your big baby," he murmured, his eyes lighting up as you kissed his nose.
You couldn't resist the charm, your eyes crinkling with laughter. "You're something, alright," you said, stepping back to scribble something on the prescription pad. You tore off the top sheet and handed it to him. "This should help with the irritation, but you really do need to get that helmet sorted out."
Joe took the prescription with a nod, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'll do it," he promised, his voice earnest. He pulled your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. "Thank you, Doc."
You felt the tension of the day melt away as you leaned into him, your free hand coming to rest on his cheek. "Any other ailments or afflictions you'd like me to check out?" you asked, your voice teasing.
Joe's smile grew into a grin. "Maybe just one more," he said, his thumb tracing a line down your arm. "My lips are kinda chapped."
You rolled your eyes, your own smile widening. "I'll take a look," you said, leaning in to kiss him lightly. "Feels fine to me. But maybe you should keep hydrating," you said, lightness entering your voice once again.
You shared a quiet laugh, the air in the room thick with the intimacy that had been missing from your recent interactions. Your hand lingered on his cheek for a moment longer before you stepped away, washing your hands before reaching for the medical cream you needed to apply. You squeezed a small amount onto your fingertips before gently rubbing it into the irritated area. Joe leaned into your touch, his eyes drifting closed as the coolness of the cream soothed his skin.
"You'll pick this up from the pharmacy, right?" you said, your voice firm but gentle as you capped the tube of cream.
Joe nodded, his eyes still closed. "Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing.
You couldn't help but smile at his obedience. "Good boy," you said, your thumb smoothing over the cream to ensure it was evenly applied. "And Joe, please don't make a habit of this. I nearly popped a blood vessel when I thought you had something serious going on."
Joe nodded, his eyes still closed, savoring the moment. "I know," he said. "But sometimes, I just need to feel you taking care of me, you know?"
Your heart swelled. You did know. Your lives had become a series of passing moments, stolen kisses, and rushed conversations. You missed the simplicity of your early days together too. You gently placed your hand on his shoulder, your thumb brushing against the fabric of his shirt in small, comforting circles. "I'll make sure to be home at a reasonable tonight," you promised.
Joe's eyes fluttered open, and he gave you a warm smile. "You don't have to," he said, his grip on your waist loosening slightly. "But I'd like that."
You nodded, your eyes soft as you met his gaze. "Okay, I'll be home by seven. We can have dinner together, and maybe watch Episode IV for the thousandth time?" you suggested, your voice hopeful.
Joe's grin grew. "Now, you're talking," he said as he leaned back in the chair. "You promise to stay awake for the whole thing?"
You rolled your eyes playfully. "It's dangerous to make promises like that," you teased. "But I'll try." You stepped back, your hand lingering on his shoulder before you finally pulled away. "Now, go get that cream, and start looking for liners. No more sneaky appointments unless it's a real issue."
Joe chuckled, standing from the chair. He wrapped his arms around you in a quick, tight embrace. "Deal," he murmured before letting go.
Things had seemed to cool off, but as the weekend drew closer, the two of you were swept back up into your separate routines. By the time Thursday evening came around, you were both exhausted and looking forward to a quiet night in.
It wasn't unusual for Ja'Marr to pop over, especially before important games when Joe had his individual film sessions. The two men had made it a tradition since their time together at LSU, their friendship had remained tight with their close proximity.
Ja'Marr, with his broad shoulders and a fresh cut, strolled into your house without knocking, having memorized the code to the keypad ages ago, a bag of chips in hand. "What's up?"
You looked up from the open fridge, shaking your head with a smile, watching him unload his pockets as Joe's heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. "Hey, I'm about to make dinner, you want some?"
Ja'Marr nodded, tossing the bag of chips onto the counter. "Yeah, sounds good," he said, offering you a side hug as Joe approached. The three of you settled into the kitchen, Joe leaning against the counter, Ja'Marr with his hands in his pockets, while you started pulling ingredients out of the fridge.
"You're cooking?" Joe asked, raising an eyebrow as he watched your flurry of activity. "Why don't you just order something?"
You shot him a look over your shoulder. "Because I want to?" you said, a sassy edge to your voice. You knew Joe's question was more than just a preference for takeout; it was his subtle way of hinting that you were working too hard. "It'll help clear my head."
Ja'Marr chuckled, taking a seat at the kitchen island. "Joe, are you really complaining right now?" he teased, popping a chip into his mouth.
Joe shrugged, his eyes still focused on your moving figure. "Nah, just making sure you're not pushing yourself too much," he said, his voice filled with affectionate concern. "You've been going non-stop lately."
You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress your smile. "I am literally making you dinner," you said, your voice light. "How are you complaining?"
Ja'Marr laughed outright at that, shaking his head. "You two are something else," he said, taking a sip of water, scowling when Joe reached into his bag of chips for a few pieces.
"What?" Joe said, munching on a handful. "You walk into my house uninvited, man. I can have a few of your chips."
You walked over to Joe, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Go watch film, I'm okay, I promise," you said, gently nudging him away from the kitchen. You knew he was just trying to help, but you needed this time to unwind.
Joe sighed but didn't argue further, grabbing his iPad and retreating to the living room. Ja'Marr lingered behind, watching your every move with an expectant look on his face.
"Yes, Ja'Marr?" you asked, your eyes flickering over to him as you prepped vegetables.
"Are you still driving up to Cleveland on Sunday?" he started with a light tone. "If you are, maybe my girl could sit with you? She's been wanting to see me play in person for a while."
You paused mid-chop, the knife hovering over a bell pepper. You looked up at him, a hint of surprise in your eyes. "No, actually," you said, placing the knife down carefully. "I thought I'd stay home this weekend, maybe go to the spa, and catch the game from here."
Ja'Marr's eyebrows shot up, and he looked at you as if you had just suggested something unthinkable. "You're not going to the game?" he said, his tone incredulous.
Before you could respond, Joe's voice cut through the kitchen, his tone incredulous. "What do you mean you're not going to the game?" he called out from the living room.
You took a deep breath before releasing a long sigh. You knew Joe was sensitive about you not attending the games you typically did, but you had her reasons. "I just need some me-time, Joe," you called back, your voice firm. "I don't want to drive to Cleveland by myself. Besides, you're going to be busy with the game. I won't even see you until we get home at like two in the morning."
Joe appeared in the kitchen entryway, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. "That's not the point," he said, his voice tight. "You always come to the games in Cleveland."
You took another deep breath, keeping your eyes on your task. "Joe, this has nothing to do with you. I just know I'm gonna be exhausted, and I want to take care of myself."
Ja'Marr looked uncomfortable, shifting in his seat. "Maybe I'll just ask Tee," he offered, trying to ease the tension. "His mom is staying with him this week, she might go to the Cleveland game."
"It's fine," you said, turning to give him a reassuring smile. You didn't want to ruin his night with your relationship woes. "I didn't know you were that serious about her. I wish I could meet her."
Joe's face fell, and he took a step forward, obscuring Ja'Marr's view of your faces. His voice dropped, "Are you really not coming?"
You could hear the disappointment in his tone, and you felt a twinge of guilt. You knew Joe thrived on your support at games, and you had been his rock at every single one, cheering him on from the sidelines. But you were tired, so tired. "I'm sorry, babe," you said, your voice sincere. "I was gonna tell you tonight."
Joe crossed his arms, his eyes searching yours. "Is that the real reason?" he pressed, his voice low. "Or are you upset with me about something?"
You took a deep breath, turning to face him fully. "Joe," you said, your tone measured with a warning. "I have my own life too. Work is tiring, and I need the weekend to recover."
Joe's jaw tightened, his blue eyes boring into yours. "But we hardly see each other as it is," he countered. "I like knowing you're there, supporting me."
"Are you worried I won't watch if I'm not sitting in the stadium? Because I promise you, I'll be screaming at the refs through the TV just as loud." You knew Joe was taking your absence personally, but you couldn't help the way you felt.
"It's not the same," Joe said, his voice gruff. "You know that."
You sighed, wiping your hands on a kitchen towel. "Babe," you began, your voice calm but firm. "I love watching you play, but I can't always drop everything to follow you around. I have my own shit to deal with here."
Joe shook his head, biting at his lip with a frown. "I don't get it," he murmured, his voice tight with frustration. "But whatever."
Your eyes narrowed slightly at his tone, but you kept your voice steady. "What don't you get?" you asked, your patience wearing thin.
"We will talk about this later," Joe said, his voice a low growl. Your jaw tightened, the two of you engaged in a silent staring contest.
Ja'Marr took the moment of silence to clear his throat awkwardly. "I can leave if you need to talk? Just let me know when dinner's ready?"
You offered him a tight smile. "No, it's fine. Stay and watch film."
Joe didn't say anything, choosing instead to continue staring intensely at the side of your face as you resumed chopping vegetables. The kitchen was filled with the rhythmic sound of the knife slicing through the peppers, the tension palpable. You felt a simmer of annoyance build in your chest, but you pushed it down. You didn't want to fight, not really, but you had to stand your ground.
"Okay," Ja'Marr drew out slowly under his breath. "Y'all two fighting like an old married couple. Maybe you need some one-on-one time, or some shit."
Joe grunted, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest. "What do you mean?"
Ja'Marr leaned back against the counter, popping another chip in his mouth as he attempted to play relationship counselor. "Y''all been at each other's necks," he said, gesturing between you. "Maybe you just need to, you know, fix it in the bedroom."
You couldn't help but snort with laughter, turning to Joe with narrowed eyes. "Did your best friend just tell us to have sex to solve our problems? Both of you get out of my kitchen, please. Go do literally anything else."
Joe couldn't help the laugh that erupted from his chest. He turned to stalk off to the living room, already taking Ja'Marr's words to heart. The wide receiver followed him as he muttered, "I'm just tryna help you, bro."
You finished dinner, serving the two men before retreating to your office to catch up on some paperwork. Ja'Marr had left before the clock hit 8:30, reminding Joe of his earlier words.
"Maybe he's onto something," Joe mumbled to himself, watching as the front door closed.
By the time Joe made it up to your bedroom, you were already tucked into bed, your laptop open and the soft glow of the screen casting a cool light over your features. You looked up at him as he entered, your eyes questioning. He paused in the doorway, his mind racing. He knew he had to tread carefully; he didn't want to start another fight, especially not after your earlier tension.
"Hey," he began, his voice tentative.
You paused from her work, the glow from the laptop lighting up your face. You studied him for a moment before closing your laptop with a sigh. "Hey," you replied, confusion etched into your features as you observed Joe carefully.
Joe took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between the two of you. He walked over to the bed and sat down beside you, his eyes searching yours. "I'm sorry about earlier," he said, his voice sincere. "I overreacted. I just miss you, you know?"
You nodded, the tension in your shoulders visibly dissipating. "I miss you too," you admitted, your voice softer, offering him space to climb under the blanket with you.
Joe leaned in, his hand brushing against your cheek as he turned your face to meet his. His eyes searched yours, looking for any lingering anger or resentment. Finding none, he leaned in to kiss you, a gentle brush of his lips against yours that grew more urgent with each passing second. You closed your eyes, your arms sliding around his neck as you melted into the kiss.
Your kiss grew deeper, your bodies pressing closer together as Joe's hand traveled down to your waist, pulling you towards him. You felt the warmth spread through you, the stress of the day slowly evaporating. The two of you broke apart, both panting slightly, staring into each other's eyes as if seeing one another for the first time in weeks.
"Do you want to...?" Joe trailed off, his voice low and hopeful, his thumb tracing the plump of your bottom lip. His palm cupped the side of your face, blue eyes searching yours.
You studied him, the love and desire swirling in his gaze undeniable. You knew he was referring to the "one-on-one time" Ja'Marr had so bluntly suggested. Despite your initial dismissal, you couldn't ignore the spark it had ignited within you. The petty fights had clearly been a symptom of a deeper issue - your lack of intimacy. "Please," you murmured, leaning into his touch.
Joe didn't need any more encouragement. He leaned back, pulling you with him so you were straddling his hips. The weight of you felt like home, the warmth of your skin seeping into his as he kissed you deeply, his hands exploring your curves. Your sighs turned into a moan as you ground your hips down into his, feeling his hand squeeze your ass under his palms before bringing a hand down to hear the satisfying 'smack', the friction sending shockwaves through Joe's body.
He rolled you over, his body pressing yours into the mattress, his hands roaming over your skin, peeling your clothes away. Your hands were equally busy, fumbling with the hem of his shirt, your nails scraping lightly against his chest as you pushed the fabric over his head. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and the rustle of fabric.
Your kisses grew more urgent, Joe's hands tracing a path down your body, his fingertips dancing along the edge of your panties. You gasped, your body arching up into his touch. He paused, his eyes dark with desire. "Tell me what you need, baby," he whispered against your skin, lips drawing heat as they pressed wet kisses to your chest, nipping eagerly at the fat of your breasts, hands kneading the flesh beneath his palms.
Your breath hitched, your voice thick with want. "You," you managed to get out, your eyes fluttering shut as Joe's mouth found your neck, kissing and sucking the tender skin there. His touch was soothing an ache you hadn't realized you had been carrying with you for weeks.
"I can do that," he said, his words muffled against your salty skin. Your hips squirmed against him, your lips parting with another pretty moan from the feel of his tip pressing against your core. You could feel the frustration of him being so close but not close enough. The thin fabric of your underwear - ironically matching in color - was the only barrier left between you.
With a low groan, Joe's hands slid down to the waistband of your panties, his thumbs hooking into the elastic. Your own hands were busy in his hair, pulling him closer as his mouth found your breasts. He kissed and bit, his teeth grazing your nipples, and you couldn't help but arch your back, pushing yourself into his mouth. He took his time, savoring the taste of you, feeling the tremble of your body with each nibble.
You whined, tugging at the messy strands of his hair. "Joe," you breathed out his name, a plea for more. He chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with lust as he peered up at you. He held your gaze as his fingers slipped into your panties, humming in approval when he found you slick and ready. With a nudge, he kept your thighs spread to accommodate him, allowing you access to his lips as his fingers lightly stroked through your folds.
"You're so wet for me, baby," Joe murmured, his voice thick with want. He kissed your stomach, your hips rolling with impatience. He took his time, dragging his kisses down the line of your navel until his mouth was right there, hot breath against your clit. His cheek rested against your thigh, breathing in your sweet scent as he continued to hold you open for him.
Your eyes fluttered shut, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as Joe's fingers continued rubbing you in slow circles, your hips bucking upward in silent demand. He trailed kisses down your inner thigh, his tongue darting out to soothe you after biting into your brown skin. The anticipation was agonizing, but you knew he enjoyed teasing you, drawing it out until you were begging.
"Joey," you breathed, your voice trembling with need. "Please."
He chuckled under his breath, forcing himself to keep his attention on your sensitive center. His fingers still pressed against you, sweeping through your wet pussy as your arousal began to coat the inside of your thighs and slowly drip down to the bed. He knew if he looked up and saw your face, he'd be lost in your eyes, so he focused on your reactions, the way your body arched and trembled. He brought his face closer, hovering just out of reach, his thumb gently teasing your entrance without giving you the satisfaction you craved.
"Give me a second, honey." He murmured reassuringly under his breath. "Need to make sure she remembers me. It's been so long, you think she does?" He smirked against your skin, his teeth grazing your inner thigh again, making you squirm.
Your grip tightened in his hair, your hips bucking upwards. "She'd never forget you," you managed to gasp out, your voice breathless. "Just..."
Joe took the hint, his smirk growing wider as he leaned in closer, his tongue pressing flat against your center, licking up your slit with a maddening slowness. Your nails dug into his scalp, your body tensing as he finally took you in his mouth, sucking and licking with a hunger that had been building for weeks. The sensation was overwhelming, your thighs shaking as they tense over his shoulders. You released a soft moan, the sound of his name on your lips like a prayer.
Your body was tightening, the tension in your core growing with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck of his lips. Joe could feel you getting closer, the muscles in your legs tensing as your breath grew shorter. He didn't stop, his mouth working to bring you to the edge of pleasure. Your hips began to rock against him, your moans growing louder, gasping and writhing to his touch, feeling yourself getting closer and closer.
Joe pulled away with a smug smirk, watching you react to his touch as his fingers took over for his mouth. With a start, he inserted one finger inside you, feeling the heat and the tightness of your walls. He stayed close, watching the way your body quivered in reaction to his touch.
"I know, baby, I know," he soothed, voice deep as he kissed your thighs, his breath brushing over your overly sensitive skin. He watched your face, the way your eyes had glazed over and your teeth bit at your bottom lip. He didn't want you to come from his fingers, though. He wanted to feel you come around his cock, wanted to hear you scream his name as you lost control.
"Keep 'em open for me, gonna give you my cock, beautiful," he urged, instructing you to keep your thighs open as you whimpered at the loss of his fingers. He kissed your stomach before sitting up to remove his underwear. His cock stood proudly, thick and hard, the tip glistening with pre-cum. Your chest heaved as you watched him gently stroke himself, turning your head to the side as your thighs closed together, the ache for him unbearable. You could feel your pussy fluttering, begging for his attention.
He wasn't quite done teasing you. As he sat back on his heels, he guided his tip through your folds, using your wetness as his lubricant. You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, muffling a moan at the sensation. Your eyes were glossed over with lust, watching him with a mix of frustration and need.
Without another word, Joe pushed into you, watching your eyes widen as he filled you up. He took his time, savoring the feel of your tight warmth surrounding him, your inner walls pulsing around him as you adjusted to his girth. Your eyes rolled back, your back arching off the bed as he began to move, setting a steady rhythm that had you both panting within moments.
Joe leaned forward, supporting himself on one hand as the other pulled your leg to rest against his hip. He was positioned directly over you, allowing your hands to reach for his jaw, bringing him down to kiss you deeply. You could feel the heat from his body, his chest pressing against your breasts, and you reveled in the feeling of being filled by him. His strokes grew more urgent, and you could feel the tension building within you once more.
"Come on, talk to me, sweetheart," he groaned out. "'M listening, need to hear your sweet voice."
Your breath hitched, your eyes snapping open to meet Joe's intense gaze. "I need you deeper," you whispered, your voice a desperate plea. He smirked, his eyes lighting up with challenge, and lowered himself onto an elbow, pulling the thigh in his grasp higher on his hip. The adjustment sent him deeper, and you gasped, your body tensing for a brief moment.
He chuckled, his thumb drawing a soothing circle into your thigh. "Breathe, baby," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. You took a deep breath, feeling the pressure building once more. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs locking around his waist as he began to move again, his hips rolling into yours with a deep, steady rhythm that had your toes curling as you struggled to stay in control of your body.
"Yeah," you moaned, your voice strained, "like that."
Joe's pace quickened, the sound of your skin slapping together filling the room as he pumped into you with an animalistic fervor that had been building since you started fighting. The frustration of the day, the need to claim you, to make you his again, was palpable in every thrust. You whimpered as his nose nudged against yours, reminding you to keep your eyes trained on his. He liked watching you come, liked the way your pupils would blow wide and your eyes would glaze over like you were baring your soul to him.
He felt you tighten around him, your legs squeezing him, your breaths coming out in short puffs. You were close, so close, and he couldn't help the smug smile that tugged at his lips. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Right there?"
You nodded, mouth wide, pupils blown, your breathing ragged. "Yes," you gasped, "right there, don't stop. Fuck, yes."
Joe groaned, his eyes never leaving yours as he felt you tighten around him. He could feel his own release building, but he held it back, focusing on you, wanting you to come first. His hips slammed into yours, the rhythm relentless, his cock driving deep within you with each thrust. You were so wet, so tight, the sensation of your pussy gripping him like a glove threatening to send him over the edge at any moment.
You began to squirm as your orgasm approached. Your breathing growing more shallow, your eyes locked with Joe's as if begging for release. His own breaths grew strained, the muscles in his arms tensing as he held himself above you, his hips moving faster, pushing into you with a force that had your body rocking against the bed.
"Uh uh," he tsked, snapping his hips into you with more force, the smugness in his expression growing with each whine you made. "You're not going anywhere, baby. Stay right here with me. I got you. Just let it go for me. Let me make you feel good."
The words were like a dam breaking, the orgasm crashing over you with a ferocity that had you arching into him, your legs tightening around him. You threw your head back, moaning his name as you came, your body shaking with the intensity of it. He watched your face, the way your eyes screwed shut and your mouth fell open in a silent scream, the way you clamped down on him, and it was his turn to moan out. He could feel your pulses around his cock, your walls milking him for all he was worth.
"Yeah, there you go, babe. That's it, baby, good fuckin' girl." Joe's voice was a gruff whisper in your ear, his thrusts growing more erratic as he felt your climax ripple through your body. He held on, waiting for you to come back down before he allowed himself to go over the edge. Your nails dug into his skin, leaving lines on his back, but he didn't care. He liked the push and pull, liked knowing that you were feeling everything just as intensely as he was.
"Oh, my fucking god - shit!" you gasped, feeling your orgasm continue to ravage your senses, each wave more intense than the previous as Joe's hips continued to roll into yours.
"Look at that. So fuckin' beautiful," Joe murmured, his voice thick with the beginning of his own climax. He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss as his own release began to build. The taste of you was on his tongue, and it was all he needed to push him over the edge. He groaned, his hips stuttering as he filled you, the warmth of his cum spilling into your depths as his muscles tensed and then relaxed.
Your bodies lay tangled together, a mess of sweat and limbs as you both caught your breath. You felt Joe's weight shift, his muscles slackening against you as his breath evened out. You trailed your fingers through his tousled hair, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead as the fuzziness in his head cleared.
"You okay?" He murmured, his voice gruff with satisfaction.
You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Okay," you assured him. "You?"
"Better than okay." Joe nuzzled closer, his chest rising and falling with deep, contented breaths. You lay in a cocoon of warmth, the sheets twisted around your legs. "We should do this more often."
You chuckled, stroking your hand down his back. "Damn," you breathed, your voice filled with a mix of pleasure and amazement. "You've never spoken to me like that before."
He laughed, his eyes still closed as he enjoyed the still aftermath of your passion. "It's all that pent-up frustration," he murmured. "But you liked it."
It was a statement, not a question, and you couldn't help but agree. You kissed him again, your hands still tangled in his hair. "I loved it," you admitted, your voice still a bit breathless.
Joe chuckled, his chest rumbling against you as he pulled out of you. "Good to know," he murmured, his thumb tracing over your cheek. "Guess we know what the cure for our petty fights is now."
You couldn't help but laugh, the tension from earlier dissipating. "Next time I start arguing with you about stupid shit, you have my permission to fuck it out of me."
Joe smirked, planting a kiss on your forehead. "Deal," he agreed, his voice filled with a newfound lightness. He rolled away from you, collapsing onto the bed with a sigh of contentment. You turned onto your side, kissing him softly before slipping out of bed to clean yourself up.
Joe followed her, allowing you space to handle your business before taking his turn. When you both climbed back into bed, the air was thicker, charged with the aftermath of your released tension. You lay down with a satisfied sigh, your body still humming with pleasure. You snuggled closer to him, your hand tracing shapes over his chest as you lay in the quiet darkness.
"I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ass recently," Joe said, his voice soft and sincere. "I know you've got a lot going on with work and stuff, but I just feel guilty being gone so much this season."
Your hand paused on his chest, your eyes searching his in the dim light of the room. "I know, baby," you replied, your voice filled with understanding. "It's not your fault, I should've been more honest, should've told you I wasn't going to Cleveland when I made the decision."
"That's okay," Joe said, his thumb tracing lazy circles into your supple skin. "We're good. I'll go up to Cleveland, get a win, and come back for victory sex." His voice was light, the tension from earlier replaced with humor and affection.
You couldn't help but laugh, "Sounds like a plan." You cuddled closer to Joe, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into yours.
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Summary: Six months postpartum and Cleo is still insecure about herself. Terry has had enough.
Terry Richmond x Black!OC
18+ Content! || porn with little to no plot, married couple, slight daddy kink, p in v, mentions of postpartum depression, mentions of insecurity
Cleo gasped, the faint sound getting caught in her throat as her nails dug into the meaty flesh of Terry’s arms. Her toes curled tightly as the tremble in her thighs intensified. The constant jabbing and stimulation of her g-spot due to Terry’s deep, digging strokes sent intoxicating waves of pleasure through her body, leaving her looking fucked-out and dick drunk.
Another whine left her swollen, parted lips, eyes rolling back in her head as her knees came together in an attempt to slow Terry’s mid-paced strokes. “Mm-mm…”, he hummed, his right hand moving to smack her thigh. “Open them legs. Let me see that pretty ass pussy.”
He didn’t give her much of a chance to follow his commands before he hooked his huge hands around the back of her knees and pushed them up to her chest. His gaze stayed fixed on her creaming tightness, watching the milky white ring she left grow thinker and larger. “She so pretty…”, he mumbled, “just like you.”
His plump, pink lips wedged between his pearly white teeth as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “Look at her.”, he took his right hand off her thigh and cupped his hand around he jaw, forcing her to look at their connected parts. “Look how she’s creamin’ around me.”
Cleo blinked to clear her hazy vision, focusing in on his length moving in and out of her with ease. Seeing first hand the sticky mess she was making made her even wetter, causing her nails to dig deeper into Terry’s arms. “Terryyy…”, Cleo whined, her eyes fluttering closed as her head fell back against the sheets.
Terry, whose hand had moved from her jaw to around her neck, hummed in response. “What’s the matter, mama?”
Breath partially taken from his firm grip on her neck, Cleo released a choked moan as the tremble in her legs intensified. “Talk to me, baby”, Terry mumbled, his grip tightening softly, “tell daddy what’s wrong.”
Cleo whined in response, her walls tightening around him as her toes curled tightly in the air, “y-you’re so deep, baby.”
A cocky grin spread across his face, his bottom lip moving to rest between his teeth once more. He told her this would happen. He told her all it would take was just one more time for him to catch her looking at herself negatively in the mirror, one more time to catch her starving herself to lose weight, one more time for her to talk down on herself. One more time and he was going to do something about it.
He made it clear from the first time she made a comment about her postpartum body that he would not tolerate his wife being insecure about the body that carried their child. But for a while, he did. He knew postpartum depression was a bitch, and he saw it take its ugly toll on Cleo. He hated seeing her so upset about the changes her body had gone through bringing their baby girl into the world, and quite frankly, he didn’t understand. Hell, he loved it.
He loved everything. The way her hair grew, the way her skin became glass, the way stretch marks were visible on her thighs, ass, and stomach. The way her chest grew, hips expanded, and her ass got fatter? Oh, you know he was loving that. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t love it. Honestly, he didn’t want to. One too many negative comments about herself and he had had enough.
He told her the next time she said something negative about herself, he’d fuck the shit out of her. If he couldn’t talk her into feeling beautiful, he would fuck her into feeling beautiful. He made it clear that he would go so deep inside of her that she wouldn’t even remember what she was insecure about.
And she didn’t. She barely even remembered her name right now.
His name seemed to be the only thing she remembered, because in the moment, it was the only thing she could manage to say. Beside the occasional whines, whimpers, and cries, the only thing leaving her mouth was Terry’s name. But that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
“Look at me.”, he commanded, his deep green eyes burning into her face. Cleo peeled her eyes open, locking eyes with her husband. They held intense eye contact, the effects over their intimate dance causing butterflies to swarm in Cleo’s stomach. “Tell me what I wanna hear.”
Cleo didn’t have to ask what it was he wanted her to say. He’d been saying it to her since the day they met, and after she had the baby, he said it ten times more. Now he wanted her to say it.
But Cleo didn’t want to say it. She didn’t think it was true.
Noticing her eyes starting to close, Terry smacked her thigh with his free hand while putting more pressure on her throat with the other. “Don’t look away from me, Cleo.”
Cleo yelped at the harsh contact his large hand made to her thigh as her eyes shot open. “Tell me what I wanna hear.”, he repeated, his hips moving in ways that damn near made it impossible for Cleo to keep her eyes open, let alone talk. “Come on, baby…say it for me.”
Despite his pussy-wetting words and leg shaking strokes, Cleo still refused to say it.
Terry said nothing. Instead, he began to retreat from her walls and let go of her neck. Whining from the feel of his exit, Cleo hurriedly reached out to grab his arm. “No, don’t stop! Please, don’t stop, it feels so good!”
At her pleading words, Terry slowly pushed back inside of her. “Well stop playing and tell me what I wanna hear.”
Gasping as he stretched her again, Cleo’s back arched off of the bed as he inched closer and closer to that sweet spot of hers. She knew him and she knew how petty he was. He was purposely avoiding hitting her spot until she said what he wanted her to say.
Burying his head in her neck, Terry peppered kisses along her neck as he mumbled, “Come on, mama. Let me hear you say it.”
Whining as her walls contracted around him, Cleo mumbled, “I’m beautiful.”
“What you say?”, Terry mumbled as his lips pressed repeatedly against the sweet spot on her neck. “I ain’t hear you.”
Cursing under her breath, Cleo fought not to lose her damn mind as she draped an arm over Terry’s neck and both voluntarily and involuntarily raked her nails over his shoulder blade. “I’m beautiful…”, she repeated in her whining tone, her free hand reaching up beside her head to grip the plush pillow. Cleo wanted to slap the shit out of Terry for having her like this. Better yet, she wanted to slap the shit out of herself for pushing him away for so long. Her insecurities kept her from damn near seeing heaven, and damn was she mad about it.
Terry needed to say nothing to let Cleo know her words had been accepted. All he needed to do was push his hips a little bit deeper, and there it was.
Cleo needed to say nothing to let him know that he’d found that spot, because the involuntary bucking of her hips along with the trembling of her legs and gasp of pleasure, Terry knew. His low chuckle of contentment confirmed that as he lifted himself from the crook of her neck to balance himself on his hands and continue to roll his hips in that same pattern. Looking down at his dazed wife, Terry chuckled once more and took his bottom lip between his teeth, asking, “I’m hittin’ that spot, huh?”
Cleo, in her otherworldly pleasure, could only grip the pillow tighter and continue to let her sweet love sounds slip past her parted lips.
Terry could do nothing but admire her when she was like this. Her legs spread all over the bed, hands clenched in the sheets, hair wild as hell. She was a disheveled, sweaty, moaning mess. But still to him, she was the prettiest thing in the world.
He watched as her tired brown eyes rolled back into her head and her head fell back against the bed as she tried not to be too loud and wake their baby girl across the hall. He took a second to let his head fall back and avert his vision to the ceiling from both pleasure and to take a breather, because if he kept watching Cleo, he would get her pretty ass pregnant all over again.
Hearing her whine his name again in that familiar tone, he quickly returned his attention to her. She was close.
“What’s the matter, baby?”, he cooed as he moved his right hand down to her bundle of nerves and used the pad of his thumb to rub slow, sloppy circles, “you gon’ cum for me? hmm?”
Moaning aloud in response to his unexpected touch, Cleo’s hand quickly moved down to his hip in an attempt to halt his movement just for a second so she could get some air back in her damn lungs. “W-wait, T…”, she murmured, fighting to keep her eyes from doing yet another roll inward, but damn did she feel good. Hell, she could barely talk without moaning.
Shaking his head, Terry’s hips continued to move, fighting back against her weak pushes. “Nah”, he mumbled, his thumb continuing its rotation on her pleasure point, “don’t tap out on me now, Cleo. Gimmie that nut. Let me have it.”
And just like that, his wish was her command. “Oh, f-fuck, Terry!” Her volume control was out the window, as was her mind as an orgasm sent from God himself ran its course. His name upon her lips was music to Terry’s ears as he continued his movements, helping her ride out her high.
Motions slowly coming to a halt as her body relaxed, Terry chuckled as he watched her pleasure cost his shaft in creamy coats. Finally being allowed to catch her breath, Cleo’s chest rose and fell at a semi-rapid pace. “Terry…what the fuck?”, she whined as she raised a hand to cover her face.
Chuckling once more, he gently removed her hand from face before peppering kisses all around it. She smiled weakly as he whispered, “You did so good for me, baby. I’m so proud of you.”
With more kisses to her face and her lips, he then murmured, “but I know you got some more in there for me. Gon’ head and turn over.”
READ: On average, it takes more than 2 months before a new behavior becomes automatic — 66 days to be exact. And considering that 2025 is precisely these many days away, why not start with our glow up plan already?
Physical Glow Up-
BODY
— 5-10K steps a day.
— 7-8 hours of sleep.
— workout everyday for 1 hr atleast- yoga/stretching/pilates/cardio. a workout may take one hour, but your mood will be boosted for the next 12 hours.
— posture training.
— sunlight exposure after waking up for at least 10 minutes.
NUTRITION
— 2-3 liters of water every day.
— limit your caffeine intake.
— avoid sugars as much as you can.
— high protein diet, pre and probiotics.
— more fruits and veggies (+ green smoothies if you like).
— no junk/processed food/trans fat.
— no eating after 8 pm.
SKINCARE
— be clear on your skin type (oily, dry, combination, sensitive).
— once you're clear, use these accordingly- cleanser, toner, targeted serum, eye cream, moisturizer, sunscreen (≥50 spf).
— keep your bedding clean as well.
— no picking of skin on your lips, cuticle etc.
— gua sha to help improve blood circulation and lessen toxins.
— cold therapy may take three to five minutes of being uncomfortable, but your energy levels will be boosted for the rest of the day.
— remove makeup before you go to bed.
BODY CARE
— shower every day.
— exfoliate 2x a week.
— use body lotion (shea butter/aloe vera gel/coconut oil).
HAIR CARE
— wash hair 2-3x a week
— oil your scalp 2x a week, at least 3 hours before shampoo.
— hair mask 1x per week.
— never brush wet hair.
— use silk pillow case.
HYGIENE
— brush your teeth 2x a day, clean tongue and the roof of the mouth daily.
— floss daily.
— cut your nails 1x a week, never remove the cuticles.
— glycolic acid under arm for odor and discoloration.
— never use soap on your coochie.
Mental Glow Up-
MINDSET
— set clear goals- define and breakdown your aspirations.
— start your mornings with positive affirmations.
— surround yourself with uplifting content and people.
— be shamelessly selfish to your career and mental health, remove anyone or anything that doesn't align with your priorities and wellbeing.
— boost your brain health by these 4 neuroscience tools:
difficult first: start your day with the most difficult task (cortisol and dopamine are high in the body meaning that your body/mind is primed to work).
rest your eyes: introduce a micro-pause after learning by resting/closing your eyes - will help retain information better.
tomorrow's worries: write tomorrow's to-do list before bed as it is proven to be effective in helping you fall asleep.
find time to play: engage in low-stake play. can be anything you find fun but where the outcome doesn't matter (induces neuroplasticity + reduces stress).
MIND
— meditation might take as low as ten minutes, but your focus will be improved for the rest of the day.
— no social media after waking up and at least an hour before bed.
— keep aside 1 hr of time to read daily! reading a new book may take five hours, but you will keep the knowledge forever.
— journaling, gratitude.
— digital detox once a week or for 12 hours.
— limit unnecessary screentime, unfollow or cut off people you don't want to see.
JOURNALING
— choose a regular time each day to journal, making it a part of your routine.
— find a quiet, comfortable place free from distractions. light a candle if you want.
— allow your thoughts to flow without censoring or editing.
— write about your feelings and emotions to understand them better. write about things you are thankful for to boost your mood. write about your short-term and long-term goals. identify what triggers certain emotions or reactions
— set a timer for 5-10 minutes and write continuously during that time.
— reflect on both positive experiences and challenges.
— make lists, journal your thoughts on these questions.
— journal at night to clear your mind before bedtime, because emotions and thoughts lose their power once we acknowledge them.
— a gratitude practice may take five minutes, but your mindset will be shifted for the rest of the day.
AFFIRMATIONS
— customise affirmations to your needs.
Personal Life-
WEEKLY TASKS
— initiate small changes: begin with small, manageable tasks such as making your bed or cleaning your room every sunday.
— celebrate your success: reward yourself when you achieve your goals or have a consistently productive week. consider treats like buying flowers for yourself or watching your favorite show.
DAILY WORK
— set achievable goals: establish realistic goals for the day, week, or month ahead.
— track your progress.
— organise your work space, declutter your shelves etc.
— embrace the power of lists: keep a list of tasks to be done and their deadlines. this way, you start each day with a clear plan. to make it visually appealing and motivating, consider using productivity apps like evernote, habit tracker, or notion.
PRODUCTIVITY TIPS
— wake up early.
— plan ahead everything, do scheduling. you can use:
google calendar / notion / tasks .
— if the task takes less than 2 minutes to finish, do it immediately.
— countdown rule, if you are procrastinating, count 1-2-3-4-5 and jump.
— start slow, don't rush and try to do everything at one time.
— follow a proper routine, use app locks based on screentime.
— pomodoro technique, 25 min work, and 5 min break.
— schedule longer break times as well e.g 30 min nap.
authors note: here we are again with another au. this one, however, is a hot ass mess. i condone none of this shit.
also, this particular au will be told through a set of interconnected, non-chronological oneshots.
warnings: angst, some minor smut, and a shit ton of mess
words: 6k
suggested listening: 'a drop in the ocean' by ron pope
There have to be over a hundred different ways Solana predicted her life would turn out. Almost all of them ended with letters after her name, a white coat and stethoscope around her neck, and a set of children and husband in a cozy, white picket fenced house somewhere in the suburbs.
Such a traditional, stereotypical, happy ending of sorts. But, it’s an ending she settled on being hers.
If only things ended up that way, because nothing about her current situation is anywhere near the path to that standard domesticity.
Solana’s hand naturally falls to her stomach, pushing past the fluffy material of the dress. Material that hides the secret she’s been sitting on for almost two months now. A secret that stands to ruin, quite literally, everything.
“Solana!”
The woman in question jumps and quickly removes her hand, focused now on the icy glare of her older sister. A stark contrast to her cruel expression is the natural beauty Samantha “Sam” Miller has always possessed. Her makeup is light, as anything heavier takes away from her natural beauty. Her dark, long, loose curls cascade down her back and complement her practically perfect complexion. The white, bodycon type dress hugs her curves in all the right ways and highlights the toned planes of her body, including a flat stomach.
She looks perfect.
She always has though.
That’s always been part of the problem, because how could Solana ever compete with that?
“Sorry,” Solana mumbles, nervously fiddling with the side of her dress. “What—”
“Why aren’t you wearing the dress I picked for you?”
Solana tenses. Another issue she’s been avoiding that ties back to the biggest issue she’s avoiding.
The answer, as rehearsed, is simple. “It—it doesn’t fit anymore.” Not an entire lie. The dress Samantha selected for her bridal party to wear at the wedding rehearsal was always a bit snug. Still is. The difference now, however, is that it’s even more snug in the stomach area, the same area Solana needs to keep cloaked as if her life depended on it.
And in some ways, it does.
Samantha’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean it doesn’t fit anymore?” She scoffs, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “Oh my God, I knew you were getting fatter.” Solana would have more of a reaction if not for the fact that she’s used to these kinds of comments. She’s heard them her whole life from her sister. “Jesus, can’t you do a crash diet or something? It’s not fair that I—”
“Samantha, what’s wrong?”
Nina’s smooth voice enters the conversation. Both sets of eyes fall on the woman with a grace and beauty about her both physically and non-physically. Nina Miller’s presence is usually felt before she enters a room. She truly is someone who commands the attention of all nearby, including that of a now embarrassed Solana.
“Mom, your fatass daughter can’t fit the damn dress I picked for her to wear tonight, so she’s got….this on instead.”
Again, Sam’s words don’t really do much to Solana. Nina’s almost disappointed expression almost does though.
“Solana.” She gives a faux smile that doesn’t reach her warm eyes. “Honey, you know how important this night is for your sister. You should have been mindful of your food intake these past few months.”
“More like her whole life.”
As always, Nina ignores the cruelty extended from one child to another. Her judgmental gaze takes in Solana’s alternative outfit. “It doesn’t look awful, but it does make you look bigger.” She reaches a hand and places it on Solana’s shoulder. “I’ll send you over some articles for a few diets that might be good for you.”
Solana still says nothing. This also wouldn’t be the first time her mother has tried to help her with her “weight” problem.
After all, as Nina has said multiple times, “no one’s going to want a fat person for their doctor, Solana.”
“Sam.”
Another voice. One that makes the hairs on the back of Solana’s neck stand up, that has her wishing for quite literally anything to happen that will cause the earth to swallow her whole or somehow grant her invisibility.
He stands behind Nina and Sam, her sister’s height partially obscuring her view of him, but most definitely not his view of her.
And the minute his penetrating gaze falls on her, Solana knows she needs to make herself scarce.
“Roman.” Her mother’s sickeningly sweet address of the man Solana should technically also address, as per protocol, is just more fodder for the youngest Miller girl to try to quietly make her escape.
If not for her damn sister.
Solana tenses when Sam reaches and grabs her arm. Their eyes lock, and Sam glares, “did you acknowledge him?”
Did you?
It takes a lot for her to keep that snarky comeback locked within the confines of her head. A wise decision, as she knows the rock on Sam’s left finger is all the acknowledgement she needs to give.
Just the thought of it has her chest hurting. A pain that intensifies as Solana forces her gaze to lift to Roman’s. His eyes are piercing into her, questioning, inquisitive, curious, wanting.
There’s a heaviness in the back of her throat as she forces out in a leveled but low voice. “My Tribal Chief.” And just like that, before he can offer any sort of response, Solana is turning to leave, desperate to put as much distance between herself and him as possible.
But, as have been most things in her life in the past couple of months, the universe has something else in mind.
Because Solana is halfway down the hall of the church, a partial view of the restroom signs in her line of vision when she hears someone call after her.
Another familiar, unwanted interruption.
She starts to ignore him, actually does so as she continues walking, only for him to catch up to her, grabbing her arm and moving in front of her.
“Solana.”
She closes her eyes, unable to handle the almost pleading expression on his face. Swallowing, she addresses him, “Jey.”
It’s clearly not the kind of address he was looking for, but he leaves it alone. “How you doing?”
A stupid ass question, one that has her scoffing as she asks, still not looking at him, even as he drops his hand from her. “What do you want, Jey?”
“I been calling and texting you.”
“What do you want?”
There is full recognition of her rudeness in this moment. Solana knows this, and she also knows that it’s not entirely directed toward the man before her. Knows that, if anything, he’s the one who should be upset with her.
And the minute she finally allows herself to look at him, she sees that warranted frustration.
“What’s your problem?” Another fair question with a loaded, layer answer not appropriate for this setting. “Trying to check on you. Trying to check on the bab—”
“We’re fine,” is her clipped answer. She hugs herself, trying to move past him. He stops her, however, prompting her to plead, “Jey, please—”
“Why you acting this way? Huh?”
She closes her eyes again. “I’m not acting any kind—”
“Bullshit.” An appropriate callout, but one that has her eyes watering again. “I don’t get it. One minute you was all over me, now I can barely get you to fucking look at me.” And she still doesn’t, not until the next thing that leaves his mouth practically forces her to. “At least, I’m trying to be involved. Trying to step up. What the fuck has Roman done?”
That’s when she finally meets his pointed gaze. Swallowing, she warns, “don’t.”
“Why?” Jey is clearly unwilling to back down. Unsurprising. He has more in common with his cousin than he’d probably like to admit. “Man, when you gon’ get over him? He’s marrying your sister. Even if it is his—”
“Then, it’s none of your business,” Solana pushes back, once again trying to leave only for Jey to continue to block her. “Mo—”
“But, if it isn’t, then it is my business.”
And that brings about an uncomfortable truth that Solana is not fully ready to admit out loud. Not even in the slightest, because she shouldn’t want either of them to be the one. Jey is, in many ways, the best outcome.
If only he was the one she wanted.
“Be honest with me, Solana.” His voice does an almost 180 from the previous irritated tone, shifting into something also solemn and vulnerable. “Was any of it ever real?” Another question she wasn’t expecting, just like any of this. “Did you ever actually give a fuck about me or were you just using me to get over him?”
Solana swallows. “Jey, I never—”
“Answer the damn question, Solana!”
“Hey!”
Another new voice enters. One Solana is actually grateful to hear.
Vai marches over to them, shoving on Jey, forcing him to move out of Solana’s way. “Leave her alone, Jey.”
He looks down at his cousin with an almost sneer. “Aye. This don’t involve you, Vai.”
Vai, however, has never and will ever be that person to back down. “The hell it doesn’t! You all only know her because of me.” A true statement that could either be a good or bad thing, depending on the perspective. “Come on, Sola.”
Solana is grateful and keeps her head down as Vai ushers them past a still watching Jey. But, it’s only when they’re in the privacy of the restrooms that Solana finally cracks.
She cries into her hands, overwhelmed and overcome with the heaviness of it all.
“Oh, Sola….” Vai comes up to her, engulfing her in a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“No, it’s not,” Solana cries into her, clutching her almost. “I—I messed up.”
“Solana, this isn’t all your fault. My dumbass brother and cousin played a role in this as well.”
“But, I should have known better,” Solana argues, placing the bulk of the responsibility on herself. “I—I knew it was wrong.”
“So did they.” Vai has never been unafraid to call a spade a spade. Someone who agrees with holding all parties responsible. It’s partially why Solana values their friendship so much, because just as Vai can be a hot ass mess on any given day that ends in ‘Y,’ she’s always been in Solana’s corner, ready to support and go to war for her.
In many ways, a better “sister” than Sam has ever been.
“Look.” Vai steps back and wipes away some of Solana’s tears. “I know it’s a lot, but we just have to make it through the next couple of days, and then we’re out of here for a month, so you can clear your head and get away from this all.”
And it’s in a set of back to back interactions that Solana completely forgot that while the next few days are bound to be some of the hardest of her life, going to spend a month in Mexico with her best friend and abuela is truly bound to be the kind of escape she needs.
Because Vai is most definitely right when she says that Solana needs to get away from all of this.
From them.
Blowing out a breath, she shakes her head. “You’re—you’re right.”
Vai rolls her eyes. “Of course, I’m right.” She gives a playful smirk, lightly nudging the other woman. “You may be the smart one, but I have my moments, too.”
A light, bitter chuckle. “I don’t know too much about smart anymore.”
Vai gasps. “No way. No way will I let the smartest, prettiest, finest girl I know talk down to herself.” She points to the mirror, ordering, “assume the position.”
Solana sighs. ‘Vai, no—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Vai objects, starting to push Solana in the direction of the wall of mirrors. “Come on.” Solana gasps when Vai’s hand comes down on her ass. “Get to it.”
“Vai—”
“Fine,” she relents, pulling out her phone from the small Chanel bag on her shoulder. Tapping on the screen, Solana rolls her eyes as the music fills the bathroom.
I am healthy, I am wealthy
I am rich, I am that bitch (Yeah)
I am gonna go get that bag
And I am not gonna take your shit (Uh)
“Vai!” Solana giggles when Vai climbs up on the counter and starts twerking, rapping along with Baby Tate. “You are so bad! We’re in a church.”
“I can’t hear you,” she ignores Solana’s protest, moving off the counter to grab her phone, opening up Snapchat to record them. Her influence pays off as she dances on Solana, eventually peer pressuring her best friend since elementary school in joining her for the singing.
It’s a silly little thing that truly lifts Solana’s spirits. Helping her feel a little more hopeful and a lot less helpless.
—--------
It’s painful.
All of it. For a variety of reasons. The biggest and most impactful of which largely due to the 6’3 man who makes intermittent eye contact with her throughout the entire evening. Even as her sister walks down the aisle during the ceremony rehearsal, Solana can feel his gaze on her instead of his bride to be.
And, it takes everything in her to not run off, simply rub at her eyes to avoid anyone from finding out her tears are far from the happy ones shed by her mother at the thought of this all being finalized in just a few days.
The thought alone makes Solana sick to her stomach.
Just like any time she catches a glimpse of Sam holding onto Roman’s arm, laughing unnecessarily loud as they interact with other attendees. More her than Roman. Solana knows better than anyone how he’d much rather be anywhere other than here.
She knows, because she feels the same.
And because there’s nothing more truly mind fucking than seeing her sister harp on and fawn over a man who just this morning was in Solana’s bed, fucking her, whispering all the sweet, sinful things that should be reserved for his fiancé.
Not his fiancé's little sister.
But, as already stated, the whole situation is just fucked up.
And it somehow becomes significantly worse during the rehearsal dinner.
They’re in the midst of toasts, Solana’s parents standing to offer their insincere words of support for the marriage. Insincere because they truly only care about the wealth and status that will be afforded to the family once Samantha becomes not only a Reigns, but thee Reigns.
The wife of the Tribal Chief.
Just thinking it makes Solana sick to her stomach.
Not as sick, however, as she feels the minute Jey literally stumbles into the dining room. His eyes are glazed, a silly look on his face, bottle of Hennessy in one hand, mic in the other.
And just like that, Solana knows shit is about to go from bad to inconceivably worse.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he starts off with a sly smile. “I heard—I heard we wishing good luck to the happy couple, right?”
The worry spreads across the room, including Vai who sits beside Solana wearing a trepidatious expression. “Oh no….”
Oh no is exactly what it is.
“Look, congratulations, Big Dog. Got you a bad one. Samantha fucking Miller. Fine ass been fine like goddamn.” For some reason, Solana finds her gaze falling on Roman who sits there, unlike almost everyone else, unworried and clearly pissed off.
Jey is in the middle of the room, brows furrowing. “I just got a question though.” He then points between Roman and Samantha with the clearly empty bottle. “How you gon be married to her—” the bottle shifts to Solana. “—when you fucking her?” He laughs to himself, as Solana feels her soul slip away from her. “Matter of fact, how you gon be married to her when you done knocked up her sister?”
Never in Solana’s 26 years has she been so mortified to have so many sets of eyes on her, all presenting with the same level of shock and disgust.
As if knowing she’s seconds away from panicking and causing an even bigger scene than what’s occurring, Vai reaches to grab and gently squeeze Solana’s hand.
If only that did any fucking thing.
“Wait, shit, my bad. It might not even be your baby, cause she been fucking the both of us!” Eyes shutting, heart crumbling, Solana has never felt so low. “So hell, maybe I’m the daddy!”
“But, hey, look! Solana!” Jey continues to talk, even as Jimmy and Solo are attempting to get the mic from him. “I got a surprise, too! Guess who also pregnant?” He tosses the bottle to the ground, shattering it, causing a group of the guests to gasp. “Nicki!” Breathing isn’t something Solana is certain she’s even capable of anymore, as an inebriated Jey continues to twist the knife. “So not only is my wife pregnant, but my side bitch might be carrying my baby too—”
Roman seems to come out of fucking nowhere, tackling Jey to the ground, immediately beating on him. And from there, even more chaos, security and other family members attempting to pry the cousins apart. Guests looking around and at the scene before them with all the bewilderment.
“You fucking whore!”
That’s all Solana hears before she’s grabbed by her hair and dragged out of her seat, thrown to the ground. There’s only seconds between Samantha going to kick her and Vai jumping out of her seat, tackling Samantha, effectively keeping her away from her intended target.
“I wish you fucking would touch her, you bony ass cunt!”
And because Vai is an actual Reigns, the baby sister of the Tribal chief, the princess of the Bloodline, security is by her in seconds, ready to defend if need be.
Meanwhile, Nina and Xavier are rushing by to check on Samantha, helping her to her feet, Nina’s horrified gaze on her youngest daughter. “Solana. Tell me….tell me it’s not true.”
Xavier’s gaze is less judgmental, almost sympathetic. “Sweetheart….”
Solana can only cry, struggling to get back to her feet, ignoring the brawling around her. It’s not nearly as heavy as the scene before her. “Daddy, I—”
“Of course, it’s true!” Samantha shouts, Nina having to restrain her daughter. “That’s why she’s gotten so fat! She’s pregnant!”
“Samantha, please,” Xavier sighs, running a hand over his face. Vai moves to help Solana stand, hand on the small of her back. “Solana Miller, don’t lie to us. Is this….is this true? Are you…..are you…..are you really pregnant with—with Roman’s child?”
In all the ways this unfortunate set of news could have been broken, for it to be laid out so publicly and brutally, it’s something she would have never foreseen.
Ever.
And with all the regret—and embarrassment—in the world, Solana answers, “I don’t—” She closes her eyes, never in her life feeling so much shame. “I don’t know if he’s the the father—”
“Oh my God,” is all Nina can say, hands covering her mouth, thus freeing Samantha who goes to swing for Solana once more. Vai, however, is having none of it. She jumps in front of her best friend without an ounce of hesitation.
“Hit me, bitch! Let me see you do it!” She challenges, knowing full and well, even with her rage, Samantha isn’t stupid enough to try anything. Not with a slew of security ready to make the upcoming wedding a funeral real fast.
If there even still is a wedding.
“How could you do this to us?” Nina demands, anger overpowering shock. “To your sister?” Solana would give anything to not exist in this moment. Anything at all. “What kind of whore have you become?”
“Nina,” Xavier says in an almost quiet voice. Solana would appreciate the almost sign of defense if not for his next question. “Why have you not terminated it?”
It’s a question Solana isn’t entirely surprised by, but it’s the way he asks, the fact that he’s asking now, even as the crowd has started to disperse, security directing people near the exits, that stuns her.
“I don’t—”
Samantha scoffs, eyes wide. “You’re not keeping that thing!”
“Samantha. Calm down.”
Xavier’s words seem to do the complete opposite. “Calm down? This whore fucked my fiance! And now she’s potentially carrying his baby, and you want me to calm down?”
“Yes, because if you don’t, I’m about to beat the shit out of you,” Vai cuts in, unafraid to be the mouthpiece Solana clearly needs at this moment. She looks toward Xavier and Nina. “This isn’t the time or place for this conversation.”
“This doesn’t concern you, Vai,” Nina’s objection is cold and her stare is icy. “This is a family matter.”
“Solana is basically my family, and the baby she’s carrying is either my niece, nephew, or my little cousin, so yes, it absolutely does concern me.”
Vai reaches for Solana’s hand, making one final statement. “Another time.”
And without giving anyone a chance to beat down more on Solana than she was already beating on herself, Vai guides them out of the place, just as Solana catches Roman’s intense eyes burning into her as he moves in their direction.
It only makes Solana walk away faster.
—-----
There aren’t words accurate and applicable enough to describe just what emotions are coursing through Solana’s body. Not as she empties her stomach over the toilet, only partially due to morning sickness. Not as she cries into her best friend’s chest, Vai doing her best to offer words of support and comfort. And certainly not as Solana takes in the gravity of what just occurred.
Not only has her pregnancy been outed in front of everyone, but to make matters worse, she’s completely humiliated her family.
Samantha’s dislike of her was already magnanimous. Now, her hatred will be unfathomable.
And her parents…..
God, Solana will never be able to wipe away the memory of their disappointment as they looked at her. They were already on shaky terms following her taking a year off from medical school, something that was met with disagreement and judgment. But this?
This is an entirely different ballpark. One that she doesn’t know how to navigate her way out of.
So, she’ll do the only thing she can in such a situation.
She’ll run.
Solana was already planning to leave, to go stay with her grandmother for a month after the wedding. But now….
Now, even if there is still a wedding, there’s no way in hell she can attend. That she’s even still invited.
Samantha would soon rather kill her than see her present on that big day.
And because Vai truly is the guardian angel Solana was blessed with, she agreed to accompany Solana on the trip that's now been moved up, citing she’d rather be chewed alive by a pack of rabid dogs than sit there and watch “that bitch and my brother exchange vows.”
A sentiment that Solana partially shares, as she’s been doing her best to prepare herself mentally for that sight.
Just the thought of it has her eyes watering yet again as she folds another dress and packs it into her suitcase.
The silence of the apartment doesn’t help the bombardment of thoughts in her head. So many racing thoughts that have her wishing she hadn’t told Vai she’d be okay until morning where they would board one of the Reigns’ private jets and head to Mexico.
And while a welcomed escape, it’s not her preferred destination.
No, given what’s occurred, Solana would prefer to head to Georgia. To spend time away from it all with Trick, her older half brother, his wife, Ashanti, and Solana’s “aunt” Melody, Trick’s biological mother. The woman who’s been more supportive and loving than Solana’s own biological mother at points.
She knows she’d find nothing but support from the older woman. And would from her brother as well, who’s always been there for her, if not for the fact that Jey is one of his good friends, and thus this situation would potentially put a wall between them.
But, even more, Trick and Roman hate each other, and Solana would not be surprised if her brother literally tried to kill Roman.
So yet, another mess that this situation has created. Not only has she messed up a marriage before it began, potentially ruined an almost lifelong friendship, heightened a decades long feud but also interfered with an actual marriage.
Because Nicki, Jey’s wife, being pregnant is something she could have never seen coming. He told her they were separated, that he was finally done with her. And Solana believed him.
The same way he believed her when she told him she was done wanting Roman, even if she was lying through her teeth and knew it at the moment. Was just too weak to be honest with him.
And herself, to some extent.
Additional tears fall freely as Solana moves to her dresser to pull out more clothes when she hears the doorbell. A glance at the clock on her nightstand reveals it’s almost 11pm. Too late for any visitors. If this was an average day.
But today was far from average.
Solana heads out of her room and to the front door where she leans up to look out the peephole, instantly regretting it.
Feet flat on the ground, eyes closed, her first instinct is to ignore him. To leave him outside for however long it takes for him to go away.
But, she also knows him. Knows that he’d kick the damn door down if that was what it took to see her.
It’s why, against her better judgment, for the second time today, she lets him in.
And as soon as she unlocks and opens the door, she brings her eyes to where he stands before her, expression filled with concern, no sign of him being involved in such a violent scuffle earlier.
That means Jey got the short of the stick.
Yet again.
“What are you doing here?” Solana redirects her attention and focuses on the door instead of the intense way he’s looking at her.
His answer is instant. “I needed to check on you.”
It’s the needed that makes her chuckle bitterly. “Just leave, Roman.”
“No.” An expected answer. As long as she’s known him, Roman has never responded well with being told what to do. “Not until I’m sure you’re alright.”
And, it’s that infuriating alright that makes her snap her focus back on him. “Alright?” Just saying it leaves a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. “Roman, nothing about what has happened is alright.”
He swallows. “I know.”
“No, you don’t,” she counters, the emotion building back up. “Because it wasn’t you who was humiliated tonight in front of everyone, Roman. It was me.”
His expression hardens just slightly. “This shit involves me too, Solana.”
Her grip on the door tightens as she lays out for him the double standards he seems to not understand. “Roman. You’re the man who’ll get props for fucking sisters. I’m the whore who doesn’t even know who the father of her baby is.”
His eyes shift from irritated to something almost soft at the ending part of her sentence. “It’s my baby, Sol.”
She feels such a mixture of frustration and appreciation for that one sentence. “You don’t know that, Roman. You shouldn’t want that.” Even if she also wants that. Doesn’t matter. It’s wrong. “This whole situation is so messed up, and the fact that you don’t see it just shows how unaffected you are by it all.”
“How the hell am I not affected by this, Solana?” His anger is rising, the two somehow moving from by the door to the interior of her apartment, near the living room. “Am I not in the middle of this, too?”
She scoffs, throwing her hands up and pointing at him. “You know what, you’re right, you are in the middle, because you started all of this!”
He pauses. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Solana presses her fingers to her temples, expressing aloud, “God, I wish you just left me alone.” And to emphasize the accountability on both parts, she admits, “I should have left you alone.”
A brief moment of silence followed up with a quiet, “you don’t mean that.”
“Of course, I mean it!” She shouts, gesturing around the room. “Roman, look at what’s happened. Nothing good has come out of this. My sister, who already hated me, is never going to forgive me. My parents have threatened to disown me if I keep this baby.” Just recalling the long, ultimatum of a text message she received has the tears brewing again. ‘That’s why—why I can’t.”
Roman’s shoulders drop. “Can't what?”
And for the first time since being backed into decision-making corner, Solana says aloud, “I’ve decided to put the baby up for adoption.”
Silence
It’s the longest bout of it that’s existed between herself and the man before her.
Shaking his head, Roman takes a step toward her, voice low but firm, “Solana, you….you can’t do that.”
Backing away and wiping at her wet eyes, she affirms, “yes, I can, and I will.”
It seems her answer triggers another set of anger for him. “The hell, you can.”
Looking away, Solana finds herself sharing some of the things she had to consider when coming to this decision. “Roman, what kind of life would this baby have?” An honest, fair question she’s asked herself since finding out she was pregnant. An answer she’s finally come to after the events of tonight. “If it’s yours, he or she will just be the shunned bastard child of the Tribal Chief with a step mother who would never accept them.” She crosses her arms, playing out the alternative. “And even if it’s Jey’s, he or she isn't much better off dealing with Nicki as a step-mother.” A sure shitfest of a situation, given everything she knows about Jey’s wife. “It’s wrong to bring a child into this mess!”
Roman, as always, shows no signs of backing down, matching her volume. “It’s our child!”
“Stop saying that!” She snaps, loosing the already limited control she held with her emotions. “You don’t know that! Until we can get a paternity test—”
“I don’t care what the fucking test says!” He shouts. “This is my child!”
Solana’s eyes shut. Just like that. Just like that she’s taken back to all the moments shared between him. Those memories that showed a different side of the man known as the Head of the Table. A softer, vulnerable man. A loving man.
A man who’d do anything for her.
Even claim a child that’s not even biologically his.
“Roman…..” Her voice is significantly quieter, but her determination is unwavering. “I can’t be a mother right now.” She just can’t. “I’m supposed to be finishing medical school next year. I—I have plans—”
And once again, another wave of anger with both harsh and cruel delivery. “They’re not even your fucking plans, Solana. Those are your parents' plans because you’re too goddamn scared to stand up to them and be honest with yourself.”
She’s less taken back by his tone and more the words. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Roman doesn’t hesitate or stutter as he explains, ever so clearly, “it means you keep living your life for others instead of yourself. Doing what you think makes everyone else happy instead of yourself.”
If not for this whole situation, Solana might be able to acknowledge the truth in those words. Recognize how a lifetime of feeling never enough has created a tremendous amount of people pleasing.
But, this isn’t that.
Her voice is pointed and tight. “I tried to do what makes me happy and look where it got me.” A powerful, telling statement followed by the heartbreaking acknowledgment of all that’s been destroyed. “Look what it’s cost me.”
His eyes soften as he attempts to comfort her. “Baby—”
Solana turns away and shares what, in hindsight, she should probably keep to herself. “I can’t—I can’t stay here anymore, Roman. I—I need time to—”
He cuts her off, asking almost urgently. “What do you mean you can’t stay here?” When she says nothing, he asks directly, “you’re leaving?”
Solana looks away, unable to handle whatever his nonverbal response is. “Yes.” She closes her eyes, sharing, “I’m—I’m going to stay with my abuela for a little while—”
“Solana, please—”
“I can’t stay here anymore.”
“We can figure this out—”
“It’s too—it’s too hard—”
“I can’t lose you—”
“It’s never going to work, Roman!” She yells, once again losing the battle with her emotions. Watery eyes on him, she pours out all of her emotions. “You are marrying my sister! You’re going to make her your wife! She will give you and be the mother of your children. Not me.”
“How many fucking times do I have to tell you that I don’t want her?” There’s an almost blunt coldness to his rhetorical question. But, it’s contrasted and negated as he steps toward her once more. Solana doesn’t back away this time. “I want you.”
Her eyes close once more, almost on their own accord as his hands move to her face.
“I love you,” he breathes. Whispered, sacred words spoken against her closed lids as his grasp on her waist tightens just not enough. “And, I need you….”
“Roman,” she whispers, unable to stop herself from moving her hands to his chest, fingers grasping at the soft material of his shirt. “We—we can’t.”
He doesn’t say anything, the same way she doesn’t say or do anything when he hikes her up on his waist and walks them back to her bedroom.
“You can’t leave me.” An almost pleading tone laces his words, a weight to them that matches the light weight of him on top of her as he lays her down on the bed and hovers over her slightly.
His hands moving under her shirt, his big hand rubbing over her small baby bump. An act he seems to do every time this happens between them ever since it appeared almost overnight a couple weeks ago. “Roman, n—”
“Please don’t leave,” he all but begs, effectively pulling her shirt over head, tossing it to the floor. Mouth back on hers, he breathes against her lips, “stay with me.”
Her eyes shut are clenched shut as he continues to tug her clothes off, followed by his until they’re in a crumpled pile on the floor that’s similar to the crumpled, pathetic thing that is her resolve.
“You can never leave me, Sol.” It’s another desperate plea that tumbles out his mouth at the same time he enters her, her mouth falling open at that delicious, addictive stretch.
“Roman….” Nails pressed into his back, thighs tightened around his waist, the resolve is all but desolate.
“Mine,” he vows, restricting her hands above her head, claiming her lips in a possessive, needy kiss. “Tell me,” he presses his forehead against hers. “Tell me you love me.”
And as much as she would love to deny him that, to deny him something, she can’t. Not that. Never that.
“I love you,” she whimpers, overwhelmed and overcome with it all.
Because she does.
Because as wrong as it is, Solana loves this man. Loves the man she can never have, and it’s that part of it that has her determined to follow through with her plan.
Because loving in him is nothing but a dead-end to heartbreak.
So, tonight, she’ll have this. Have him once more. One last time.
Because come morning, this time, it’ll be him who wakes up alone.
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authors note: this chapter is emotionally heavy and taxing. please be mindful of your mental ability to handle heavy content.
cw/tw: angst, discussion of child abuse, and direct accounts of child abuse from said child.
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words: 10k
Giving Roman his space while also being worried sick about him is the last thing Solana was expecting to experience this week, but it’s exactly where she’s got.
They didn’t leave on the best of terms. It wasn’t hostile, not nasty, and no one was angry. There was just this lingering tension. Some level of animosity and frustration on her part, because he refused to listen to her.
Because he refused to stay.
And that irksome guilt on his part. Solana could see it smoldering every time he looked at her, looked at her face, at the bruise. So much so that Solana went and put makeup on in the hopes that camouflaging it could ebb away some of the undeserved guilt. A fruitless effort because he still packed his bag, still gave her that almost reluctant kiss, still murmured an almost sad ‘I love you’ (that she did not reciprocate), and walked out the door.
He still left her.
It’s childish to a certain extent. Her behavior during his departure. Solana knows and recognizes this. But, it stems deep down from a deep place of concern. She’s worried sick about him, hates that he hates himself for an accident.
There’s not a single part of her that believes that man would ever lift his hand to her. That’s not her Roman.
What happened truly was an accident. She just wishes she could get him to see that.
She’s hopeful the item she snuck in his bag will help.
Even if just a little.
The communication between them in the time since he’s been gone is almost non-existent. He texted her when he arrived in Italy and when he made it to the hotel. For that, she was grateful, but she just couldn’t find it in her to offer a written response, settling for hearting his messages. Again, childish. And Solana can recognize that her behavior also stems from just being frustrated with him, angry with him for not staying and going with her plan.
For going so far away to the point that she can’t help him. She just wants to be there for and support him, and all he can seem to do is….is push her away.
And that hurts.
Deeply.
Especially when he’s been so good in trying and succeeding in supporting her in all of her mess. All she wants to do is return the favor, but he won’t let her.
And that’s when the anger sets in. Such an unfamiliar experience.
She’s not an angry person. But, she certainly feels like one.
It’s why she has the thought—or maybe hope—that training will be a good outlet for her to let off some of this uncharacteristic anger.
If only it happened that way.
Or maybe Solana was too naive. Stupid, possibly, to think she could just walk into training like nothing happened, like the proof of something happening isn’t literally written all over her face in black and blue.
Solana has barely stepped into the training space when the smiles on both Bayley and Naomi’s faces collapse the minute they lay eyes on her.
“Oh my god, Solana!” They rush over, Solana starting to wish she’d taken the time out to use makeup to conceal the bruise. As much as she could. The pigmentation is deep, and even with the heavy application, it was still visible when she tried to hide it for Roman’s sake. “What the hell happened to your face?”
Solana looks away, already regretting her decision to come here in the first place. “I’m fine.”
“What the hell do you mean you’re fine?” Bayley’s eyes are wide, her face painted in disbelief. “Solana, your face is all bruised up.”
An exaggeration. It’s focused on one side of her face, but given the nastiness of its appearance, Solana can slightly understand the description.
“Solana, what the hell happened?” Naomi repeats her question, this time her lips formed into a line before she asks, “who hit you?” Solana closes her eyes and shakes her head. This is the last thing she needs to be dealing with right now, especially with the nausea that’s starting to build.
This morning sickness is clearly about to kick her ass with this pregnancy.
“Solana….” Bayley cuts in, and almost instantly, Solana knows she’s not about to like whatever is said. “Did Roman hit you?”
At that, Solana’s attention is immediately focused back on Bayley. She was absolutely correct in that she doesn’t like the question. At all.
She can barely find the words to respond to such a thing. “What?”
Naomi looks past her, motioning someone over by them. “Jimmy! Come here.”
Shit.
And just like that, the situation is progressing from bad to worse. Yeah….she definitely wishes she’d just stayed home.
“Whassup?” Jimmy’s jovial voice sounds from behind her, Solana barely able to match his smile before, just like Bayley and Naomi, it’s dropped the second he lays eyes on her. On the bruise. “What the hell?”
“Jimmy, pl—”
“Solana….” Another indication more anger is about to be stirred up on her part. An accurate expectation given the next question to leave his mouth. “Did Roman hit you?” The second it leaves his mouth, she’s filled with anger, but there’s a matching level of that emotion on his end as well. He shakes his head, voice dead serious, more than she’s ever heard from him since their initial meeting months prior. “The truth, Solana. If that son of a bitch, hit you, I wanna know. I’ll handle it.”
They mean well. She knows they mean well, but it’s a combination of all the things. Of what happened with Roman. Roman leaving. A possible pregnancy. A pregnancy she’s hiding because she can’t tell her husband just yet.
It’s just too much.
“Would you all just shut up?” She snaps, voice raised, several sets of eyes on her with varying levels of bewilderment. “I said he didn’t do it, and the fact that you all even think he could ever be capable of that is disgusting.”
Because it is. Because they should know him better than that. He’s a lot of things, but that has never been one of them.
And the fact that they’re accusing him of such is infuriating to her.
Shaking her head, she turns on her heel to leave. “I’m out of here.”
“Solana, wait—”
But, she does nothing of the sort, just keeps walking away, never once looking back.
————
Regrets are a tricky thing. Varying in size and impact. Never a major issue for Roman.
Not until two days prior.
Two days prior where demons from his past submerged, resulting and causing him to do the unthinkable.
On a basic level, he knows it was an accident. Knows that he would never intentionally do anything to ever hurt his wife. Especially in that way. But, the key word is intentionally, because regardless of what he intended, she was hurt.
She was hurt because of him. By his hands. And, that’s something Roman can’t seem to make peace with. Every time he thinks of texting her, of even trying to call her, he’s hit with a flash of her pretty, innocent face marred with that hideous bruise.
A bruise he caused her to have.
And he just as quickly puts his phone away.
He instead opts for something different, something he hasn’t dared to touch since spotting it when emptying his luggage and hanging up some clothes.
Roman walks over to the nightstand where the purple journal with tattered edges and random stickers plastered has sat untouched. Until now.
Solana’s journal.
It’s aged, most likely one from when she was still a child, and he hasn’t the slightest clue when she placed it in his bag, but the minute he opens it and sees a pink post it with her handwriting on it, his stomach twists in a way it’s only done in the past few months after years of dormancy.
It’s a simple, short but powerful message.
You could never be them.
-Solana
Roman closes his eyes. Right away, he knows he’s in for a heavy, brutal insight into the hell she experienced for so many years. A part of him doesn’t want to. Doesn’t feel fully capable or even worthy of reading her vulnerable words. Her journals are a private thing he would never want to invade. However, she placed it in his bag for a reason. She wants him to read it, some of it, at least.
The least he can give her……is that.
Bracing himself as best he can for what he’s about to read, Roman turns to the first entry.
Dear Mami,
I try really hard not to make dad upset, but it’s hard. He’s always angry and yelling at me.
I know you always told me to stay out of his way, but it’s hard, mama. He makes me do all the cleaning and cooking like he made you. Sometimes, he doesn’t let me eat.
I wish you were here.
Love,
Sol
————
Dear Mami,
Yesterday was really scary. Dad yelled at me for almost an hour and was throwing things. He hit me, too. I tried not to cry.
I’m trying to be strong like you, but it’s hard.
I’m not like you, mami. I’m not strong, and I don’t know how to be.
I miss you,
Sol
————
Dear Mami,
I keep looking for Hummingbirds. I know you said they don’t fly here, but I keep hoping I’ll see just one. I just want to see you again, mama. I miss you so much.
I wish they never took you from me.
I don’t have anybody anymore.
I’m all alone.
Love,
Sol
————
Dear Mami,
I don’t know what I did, but I made dad really mad. He just kept hitting me and hitting me. Then Wes started hitting me too. It was hard for me to get the blood to stop, but I did exactly what you taught me, and it worked.
My body hurts really bad, but I’m scared to leave my room cause I might see dad.
I think I’m gonna sleep in the closet tonight.
Love,
Sol
————
Mami,
I’m sorry I haven’t written you.
Something….something really bad happened to me, mama.
The detective lady said it wasn’t my fault, but it was. I was too weak. I’m not strong like you.
I’m sorry I let you down.
I hope you still love me.
Solana
————
It’s that last entry that Roman has to stop at. He can handle a lot. Has handled a lot, but this…..this he can’t.
He always knew Solana went through hell in that house, both from speculation as well as confirmation from her. But, to read her words in real time, to see with his own eyes the extent of that hell.
A child. She was a fucking child.
No one deserves what she went through.
No one.
And while he understands her intentions, maybe hope, she had with him reading her entries being enough to trigger more self-forgiveness. Thought that him gaining better insight into her abuse would lessen his feelings of guilt towards his actions…..that’s not entirely the outcome.
Maybe to some extent.
But, it’s hard to feel any bit better knowing he’s unintentionally contributed to her massive pile of traumatic experiences.
Ashamed. Roman feels ashamed. A new, heavy ass experience that has him partially weighed down, even more so now knowing exactly some of the thoughts and sentiments Solana experienced while enduring years worth of torture.
Eyes shut, he’s tempted to grab his phone and just text her, check in on her. Because while he hates what he did, he also hates how they left off.
How he left her.
Because she didn’t want him to leave. Because she practically begged him to stay, but he left regardless, because he didn’t feel right being and staying around her after what happened.
Didn’t feel like she was safe around him.
The way he still feels now.
Redirecting himself, Roman instead swaps the journal for his phone, choosing to respond to messages from Dwayne and Matteo. Focusing on the business purpose of his trip. He can at least acknowledge that he’s done a decent job completely immersing himself in the role of Capo. A necessity given the purpose of this whole trip.
Well, the original purpose.
Interactions with members of the Administration thus far have irked him almost as much as interactions with the Elders. Their judgmental expressions of his long hair—that he absolutely wears down just to piss them off—and tattoos—also hidden—do nothing to hide the racist reasons they truly despise him.
It’s a nice distraction, knowing how much he gets under their skin, knowing that it kills them that he’s as intelligent and successful and fucking good as he is, hence why they can’t find a legitimate way to dethrone him.
The memory of him putting a babbo down brings a small smirk to his face. A small slice of amusement tucked in between everything else heavy and egregious. It’s short lived, however. Because it’s not pertinent right now.
No, Roman has other matters to tend to, much more important ones that he’s gone back and forth with himself on for days, ultimately deciding to bite the bullet.
Even with having this newfound piece of information via Solana’s journals.
Roman moves over to the table and opens up his laptop, a quick glance at the clock on the wall alerting him that it’s time.
Logging in and getting set up take less than a minute, only for her to not be on, that annoying ass “Your clinician will start the appointment shortly” welcome message taunting him.
And just like that, Roman is instantly annoyed.
Does punctuality mean fucking nothing?
He’s even more irritated when the screen lights up a couple minutes later revealing his wife’s therapist. “You’re late.”
Gail looks like she wants to roll her eyes but ultimately decides not to. A wise decision. “I usually don’t get into the office until—”
“I don’t care.” He honestly, truly doesn’t. There’s a bit of hesitation as he asks, “how is she doing?”
Roman watches her shift in her seat, followed by movement that indicates she’s moving around some items on her desk. “Good. I’m pleased with her progress and dedication to continuing treatment.”
That’s relieving to hear. Much more than he’s willing to let on. Especially after what he just finished reading. “Did she attend yesterday?” He already knows the answer, having stayed on top of Nia via probably annoying, frequent texts reminding her of all the important things. Times of Solana’s appointments. Location of said appointments. Importance of making sure Nia puts Solana’s medication back exactly where he keeps it.
All of the things.
“She did.” He sees it, the unspoken question in her voice. And, he’s prepared to tell her to just ask the shit, letting him decide if he wants to answer it or not. But, she’s two steps ahead of him. “Mr. Reigns, this call wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the bruise she tried to hide with makeup, now would it?”
Fuck.
Roman doesn’t care about her question or the almost implication in said question. What he cares about is the fact that his wife is having to cake her face in makeup to hide the result of his lack of self0control. Is having to lie about how she acquired said bruise.
It’s……crushing. Truly.
Reminds him of her haunting words written as a child.
Similar words probably being penned in her most recent journal as a result of his actions.
His arrogance is definitely knocked down a peg, as he asks in a low voice, “what did she tell you?”
Gail sits back in her chair, answering evenly. “Accident while training.”
It’s believable. Roman will give Solana that, but he’s not surprised. She probably spent years having to explain away bruises as a result of her despicable family.
It’s difficult to not group himself in that same category, however.
No matter what Solana says.
“You said…..you said she’s codependent on me.” Roman’s gaze is focused on the cherry wood table in his hotel room and not on the woman watching him through the screen. It’s…..it’s easier that way. “How attached is she to me?”
Gail’s eyes narrow as she jumps straight to the point. “Roman, what exactly are you asking me?”
Nothing he ever anticipated having to ask.
Or even consider.
It’s difficult for him to hide the heaviness in said answer. “What do you think it would do to her mentally if we weren’t together anymore?”
————
Here in the night
I see the sun
Here in the dark
Our two hearts are one
Solana grabs her phone and pauses the music, realizing it’s been a while since she took a break.
Sitting in her home library, surrounded by boxes, boxes filled with her books and journals finally transported from her work library has been the activity to occupy her racing mind for the past two hours.
It’s been a nice distraction. That and work itself the past few days. Getting back into her usual routine has been helpful, and coming back to a barrage of letters, cards, drawings, and other heartwarming gifts from the kids really was the highlight of her return.
She’s never felt so loved than in the moment where they practically bum rushed her with hugs or when Mrs. Jensen handed over all of their “get well soon” gifts they’d brought in while she was away. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes, a welcomed change given those tears came from pleasant emotions.
Not like the ones she’s been crying ever since Roman left a couple days ago. She still hasn’t spoken to him. Not really. Not outside of occasional almost awkward check-in texts that she replies to with just as much awkwardness, if not just an emoji reaction.
It’s miserable and stupid. She wants to talk to him. Wants to hear his voice, but she’s also trying to be respectful. Then there’s the lingering anger and frustration toward him for leaving, even if it’s subsided mostly into just sadness.
And loneliness.
She misses him.
Misses falling asleep next to and waking up to him, something she was deprived of when she was away at treatment. But now, she’s right back in the same space.
And even this, finally being able to start setting up her library/art room he thoughtfully created for her, is a bittersweet thing. She always imagined this being something they would do. Her handing journals and books to Roman for him to place up on the shelves that she cannot reach. His arms around her, frequently distracting her with dirty whispers of promised pleasure later that evening. Her sitting on his lap as she feeds him whatever she decided to make for lunch as they took a break.
It was just supposed to be different from this.
Solana’s hand falls to her stomach.
It was all supposed to be different from this.
Tears pooling once again, she shakes her head, refusing to spiral yet again. She instead grabs her phone and once again ignores the unread texts from a variety of people. Naomi. Bayley. Even Melina and them.
Their messages are warranted given the abrupt almost cold text she sent to their group telling them the girls trip was off and to be postponed for a later date and time.
A part of her feels bad, but she’s mostly relieved.
She just….she just needs space.
Doesn’t feel like talking.
If it’s not Roman, she’s not interested.
Her husband is the only person she wants to interact with, but she can't. Thus, her self-imposed isolation.
He’s not an option currently, so until then, she just wants to be alone.
Solana is interrupted by her phone dinging, and the way she jumps with the hope that it’s maybe Roman is squashed the minute she realizes it’s not his notification sound and simply a calendar reminder.
Appt w/ Dr. Michaels @ 2pm
Solana gasps and curses to herself.
She’d completely forgotten about scheduling that, most likely because she hates the fact that she’s even doing it.
She quickly hits dismiss on the alarm and stands up, sliding the phone in the back pocket of her jean shorts. The space around her is still a mess, some boxes partially open, others still taped shut. This is a project that’s clearly going to need to be completed in phases.
Thus, she grabs a couple of unorganized journals scattered on the floor and drops them into a box, just to get them out the way, missing how a faded letter with her name written across in neat handwriting slips out one of the books and lays untouched and unseen on the floor.
Out of the library and into the rest of the house, Solana has little difficulty finding Nia. Her husband's cousin who he somehow talked into, most likely forced, to stay with her has spent most of her time in her room, the gym, or the living room.
And the latter of which is where Solana finds her, but not only her. Bautista is present, standing near the opposite end of the sofa where Nia sits.
It’s not surprising, however, given his almost “promotion” to guarding her at home, alternating with Solo for some outside outings as well. His service while she was away as well as his friendly disposition and Solana being comfortable with him securing this new arrangement.
Solana nervously clears her throat. “Nia?”
The other woman sighs. Loudly. “What?”
And just like that, the nerves are starting to set in. Nia isn’t going to like this. “I forgot I scheduled a doctor’s appointment today.”
Nia’s groan is also loud as she pauses the show and turns to Solana with a scowl. “Seriously? Can’t you like reschedule it or something?”
Not really. “No. I—I need to go.”
“Are you dying?”
Solana hesitates for a second. “Umm, no, but—”
“Then you don’t need to go,” she says it in the cheeriest voice, grabbing the remote to turn off the TV. Standing up, Nia briefly looks over at a quiet Bautista then back at Solana. “I’m going to take a nap.”
Solana frowns. Does Nia not have other plans then? Because, Solana could understand if her appointment interfered with pre-existing obligations, but if there are none….what’s the issue?
Once it’s just the two of them, Bautista clears his throat. “If…..if I may?”
Solana looks over at him, managing a small smile. “Of course.” It doesn’t matter how many times she tells this man he doesn’t have to behave so reserved around her, he remains firm with his professionalism and manners.
Regardless, the respect is deeply appreciated.
He walks over to her, keeping a respectful distance but still close enough for her to hear his calm, leveled voice. “Roman Reigns is our Tribal Chief. He sits at the Head of the Table. We all acknowledge him just like we all answer to him.” His tone takes a firmer, almost convictive nature. “You are Solana Reigns. The wife of the Tribal Chief, meaning you sit directly next to him at that table. You only answer to him. No one else.”
Silence.
There’s a heavy but powerful silence that follows his words. A silence that’s filled with thinking and recognition. Solana has always known, never been ignorant to the power her husband holds. All that comes with his status and position. But, it’s not until this moment, not until Bautista frames it that way, that she fully recognizes just how much of that, if not all of it, carries over to his wife.
She is the wife of the Tribal Chief.
And that means something.
Nodding from a newfound sense of confidence and credence, Solana offers a heartfelt, “thank you, Bautista.” Lifting her chin, she informs, “we’ll be leaving shortly.”
There’s a small smile playing on his lips. “Yes ma’am.”
Pleased and determined, Solana turns on her heel and doesn’t waver as she makes her way up the stairs and down the hall until she’s standing before Nia’s door.
She doesn’t even bother with knocking.
Opening the door, Solana finds Nia laying in bed. She jumps up and removes her sleep mask, irritation all over her face. “What the he—”
“I said I have an appointment.” Solana has never felt more assured than she does at this moment, not a bit of her reluctant as she orders, “be ready in half an hour.”
And with that, she turns on her heel and walks out without another word.
It’s not needed.
She said what she said.
————
Despite an excellent, earlier display of assertiveness, to say Solana feels good about her decision, as a whole, would be a lie, because she doesn’t. Going behind Roman’s back is what she feels like she’s doing, and that is an awful feeling. But, she’s in this tricky situation where she doesn’t want to tell him about the pregnancy if there is in fact no pregnancy. And if she is pregnant, she doesn’t want to tell him via a text or phone call because that feels too impersonal. And, she also just doesn’t want to tell him, period, because he’s already beating himself up over what happened and him knowing that she is pregnant could only make it worse.
And yes, she could just take a home test, but at this point, she needs to know with absolute certainty. A home test can’t do that for her.
But, a blood test can.
Thus, where she currently sits: in the lobby of the private clinic where her husband’s doctor operates out of. Because she needs a medical professional, but she doesn’t know who to go to. Doesn’t know how this is supposed to work. She just knows that if she is pregnant, it’s important that it doesn’t get out for a lot of reasons.
Especially since she has to be the one to tell her husband.
Just when the time is right.
“Why exactly are we here again?” Nia’s bored voice cuts her from her thoughts, Solana looking up from the thread she has opened. The one between her and Roman. “It’s probably just allergies.”
As part of doing her best to hide her pregnancy, Solana wisely made up an excuse of her throat feeling weird and a headache to explain to Nia and Bautista this otherwise random appointment. So far, it seems to be working. “Maybe, but I just want to make sure. You know Roman had the flu not too long ago.”
Nia rolls her eyes and wisely says nothing else, focusing back on the book in her hand. It’s not missed upon Solana how her gaze briefly darts to Bautista.
She’s not sure what exactly is going on there, but Solana could get behind it. In a strange sort of way, they just make sense to her.
He could maybe help Nia level out the way Solana tends to help Roman with his temper.
“Mrs. Reigns?”
Solana looks up to see the nurse standing by the door. She turns to Nia and Bautista. “I’ll be back.”
“You sure you don’t need us to wait in the hall or something?” His question is valid as is the concern on his handsome face, but Solana can’t risk them somehow overhearing the truth behind this appointment.
“No, I’ll be fine.” She manages a small smile that probably doesn’t reach her eyes, turning on her heel to follow the nurse to the back.
Solana is most definitely experiencing heightened anxiety that only intensifies when she spots Dr. Michaels coming from the other end of the hall.
He’s not alone, however. A tall man, about the same height as the doctor. Smooth chocolate skin with a decent build for a man who looks to be in his fifties is beside him, focused on whatever Dr. Michaels is saying to him.
“......firefighter, doctor, what’s next? Police officer.” She overhears her husband’s doctor who wears a teasing smile. “You’re just crossing them all off the list, ain’t you?” A friendly set of blue eyes settle on her when the gap between both is closed. “Well, what a sur—”
“Solana……”
Solana finds herself frowning, her attention directed to the man who she’s never seen before this very moment but who somehow knows her name and is staring directly at her. It’s not a predatory stare or even something inappropriate. It’s almost…..sad.
He’s looking at her like he’s just seen a ghost.
Dr. Michaels is also looking at the man next to him but with a different kind of expression. One that screams, you can’t just address the Tribal Chief’s wife so informally like that. “Mrs. Reigns, I apologize for the wait.”
Solana shakes her head, still unsure why this stranger keeps staring at her. “It’s okay.” She hugs herself, looking past him to see if she can spot whatever door is open that could be the room they’ll be in. “Are you ready or…..”
“Of course.” He turns to the man beside him, offering a handshake. “Good to have you on the team, Dr. Adams.”
Dr. Adams.
Yeah, not familiar at all.
This Dr. Adams finally removes his gaze from her to accept Dr. Michaels handshake, only nodding as he gives her one last, almost regretful look and carefully moves past her.
Solana frowns in the wake of his absence. What was that?
Dr. Michaels apologizes again. “Sorry about that. Come with me.” Wordlessly, she follows him, moving to sit on the patient bed, anxiety growing once again as he closes the door. “Now, I hear you’re having some—”
“You can’t tell Roman I was here.”
It’s certainly not what she planned to say. Not yet, anyway. But, it’s exactly what comes out, Solana closing her eyes and going to correct herself. “I mean…..I’m gonna tell him myself. I just….I just need time.”
Time and a plan. Along with many other things she doesn’t need to tell the man before her.
His jovial disposition has shifted into something almost nervous and uncomfortable. “Solana, what’s going on here?”
She takes a breath, head tilted back, giving herself one final boost of encouragement before answering. “I need…..I need a pregnancy test.”
The release of what she’s been holding in for the past couple weeks is both terrifying and relieving. She hates that the first person she’s uttering the words to, even if just a thought of pregnancy, isn’t her husband. But, she also knows that she’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Even more, she needs to know for certain, and Dr. Michaels is the only one who can provide her with that answer.
He looks only slightly less confused. “I see…..” Shifting the tablet under his arm to in front of him, he speculates, “and Roman doesn’t know that you might be…..”
“No,” she answers, voice small. “I’m—I’m going to tell him, but I want to know for sure first.” Again, only a part of a much bigger, complicated story.
“Well, I can absolutely do a blood test, but I’m general medicine, Solana. I’m not an—”
“OB-GYN. I know. I just…..I didn’t know who else to go to. You’re Roman’s doctor, so he obviously trusts you.” Enough to manage his health, at least. “And I don’t know if there’s a specific doctor the Bloodline uses—”
“There is,” he supplies with a small smile. “I’ll make sure to give you her info before you leave. Even if….” He trails off, clearly not wanting to state what Solana would be shocked to find out is a false alarm.
She feels pregnant.
He clears his throat. “I don’t mean to pry, but have you told anyone e—”
“No.” It’s an easy, truthful answer. “I haven’t said a word to anyone, and I won’t. Not until I find out if I am and definitely not until I tell Roman.”
He nods, clearly agreeing with this plan. “I will say, the big guy might order that this pregnancy stays just between you and your care team. And I guess me now,” he ends with a chuckle. “You’re the Tribal Chief’s wife who might be carrying his first official heir. That target over your head just got a hell of a lot bigger.” It’s weird, but his words don’t come across as fearmongering or even a scare tactic. Just a genuine warning of what’s to come. “But, that’ll be discussed between—”
“How is he?” It’s a breathless almost thing that falls out of her mouth. An unintended question but one she finds herself asking, nonetheless. “Roman, I mean, like….his health.”
Because on top of worrying about his mental state, being in front of his doctor has her curious about the physical side of things.
“You’re a smart young lady, Solana.” Dr. Michaels starts, voice tentative almost. “You know how HIPAA works…..”
She closes her eyes. “I’m not asking you as a patient’s wife. I’m–” She takes a deep breath, voice firm and solid. “I’m asking you as the Tribal Chief’s wife.”
Bautista’s words still playing in the back of her head, Solana has never really considered what role she plays as Roman’s wife. Never thought to pull that card, because it’s almost out of character. She’s always been more inclined to shy away from status than to use it to her benefit. But, this is different. This is about Roman, and there isn’t much she wouldn't do to help him or even to know if and what he needs help with.
And he’s been mum regarding his blood pressure as of late, so her curiosity is only naturally piqued.
There’s obvious hesitation, but he relents, partially to her surprise. “He’s doing alright. Numbers look decent. Seems that he’s finally recognizing how serious this could be if he doesn’t do what he needs to do to keep from progressing to another stage again.”
“Wait. What?” Solana frowns. “Stage? What….what are you talking about?” A brief look of panic flashes in his blue eyes, alerting Solana that something is very much not right. “What stage?”
“Fuck…..” He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He didn’t tell you….”
“Tell me what?” Solana presses, her anxiety almost through the roof “I’m not—I’m not gonna ask again.”
Dr. Michaels sighs with defeat. “Look, the last time Roman was here, his numbers were bad. Like, he jumped from prehypertension to stage one actual hypertension bad. I had to up his dosage and increase his follow up appointments as well as bloodwork check-ins.” Solana’s heart swells and her stomach jumps, and Dr. Michaels clearly sees how devastated this news has her, thus him adding, “but, like I said, he’s been on top of it and is looking good…..”
It’s hard for her to focus on that ending bit when all she can think about is one thing.
Lie.
Roman lied to her.
She asked him. She fucking asked him how his appointment went, how his blood pressure was doing, if he was okay. And, he lied. He lied to her face. He told her he was fine, and he wasn’t.
He still isn’t.
And this time, instead of lying, he’s just left.
Ran away.
Like he always does.
“Solana…..”
It’s the almost gentle way her name is said that alerts her to the fact that she’s crying, tears spilling down her face as she clutches her stomach.
“Can I just have the test, please?” Because that’s all she wants and needs at this point. She just needs to know for certain, and she needs to get the hell out of here.
She just needs to get away from it all.
————
Solana has never considered herself an irrational person. Most definitely not impulsive. Even with both of her suicide attempts, they may have been impulsive in the moment, but they didn’t indicate a truly impulsive personality or even disposition.
But, that hasn’t been the case for the past three days.
No, it hasn’t been the case, because Solana’s current situation is the direct result of impulsivity.
She sits in her bedroom, Dulce sleeping peacefully in her bed on the floor beside her. Bautista and Nia are somewhere in the house that is not her main home, but the house purchased by her husband for her.
She’s in Isla Mujeres.
And has been for three days now.
Coming home from the shocking appointment, Solana found herself packing a small bag for herself, one for Dulce, and telling both Nia and Bautista to get ready because they were flying out that night.
Her command left no room for argument, and that’s exactly what occurred, hence how Solana ended up where she is.
It’s been a true form of escape.
Feeling overwhelmed with all of it, Solana knew she needed to just not be around any of it.
And this place has served as a site of refuge, providing her with some level of tranquility that’s been escaping her back home.
Again, her random text to the group chat regarding her “going away” for a couple of days was met with another round of bombarding messages and calls. And Solana isn’t stupid, she knows and can understand her friends being concerned about her.
But, it’s not like she’s entirely alone. She has two people who are making sure she’s safe despite her perhaps strange behavior, and that’s all that matters.
Because she just needs space.
And in an unexpected turn of events, Roman has been added to that list.
He lied. He lied to her. Lied to her about something so important, something regarding his health, of all things. Was dishonest with her.
Again.
It’s becoming a bit of a theme, and she’s not naive. She can somewhat understand why he didn’t tell her. At first. Because she was in the midst of treatment.
But, she’s home now. She’s been home. Why would he not come clean?
Tears burn her eyes. It’s hard to balance understanding with feeling betrayed, because this isn’t the first time her husband hasn’t been honest with her.
And if she’s being honest with herself, this “reason” for the dishonesty being because he’s trying to protect her is…..it’s getting old.
She’s just so frustrated with him.
So much of this could be avoided if he would just talk to her, and she’s running out of different ways to help him understand as such.
Wiping at her eyes, Solana grabs a journal off the nightstand. Something she’s discussed with Gail in therapy as of late is the importance of never forgetting where she came from, how far she’s come. Remembering that she’s moving in the right direction.
It’s a strange thing, too.
On one hand, reading journals from when she was a child and teenager could and maybe should be triggering. And it is. To a certain extent.
But, Solana is proud to say that she can revisit these painful memories and not be drawn back into those dark emotions but rather recognize that was how she used to feel. Where she used to be.
Who she used to be.
But, not anymore.
Never again.
Solana leans back against the headboard and opens the journal, unsure what she’s about to read but ready regardless.
Dear Mami,
I miss you so much. I’m so so sorry for everything. I’m so sad now that you’re gone. I wish you were here. Daddy is so mean to me. Wes now too. He hates me because it’s my fault you’re dead.
I’m so sorry.
Love,
Sol
————
Dear Mami,
Everything is so much badder now. Daddy is angry at me all the time. Wes too. They call me names. They hurt me, mommy.
I wish I could be with you.
Yours,
Sol
————
Dear Mami,
I’m sorry I haven’t written you lately. Daddy got mad at me for spilling some juice, and he broke my arm, so I couldn’t write.
I just got the cast off this morning.
It still hurts a lot, but at least I can write you.
I got all A’s this quarter, mami! I’m trying to make you proud.
Hope you’ve forgiven me.
Solana
————
Dear Mami,
I feel so sad. Nothing makes me happy anymore. I try to think of you. Remember the times we would draw and sing and cook together. But, it’s not working anymore.
Mommy, I have times where I feel like I can’t breathe cause I feel so sad.
And sometimes when I just don’t want to breathe anymore at all.
Solana
————
Dear Mami,
I don’t want to do this anymore.
Solana
————
Mom,
It was a rough day. I had those thoughts again. I was able to fight them, but it’s so hard.
I try to think about how you always told me to never stop dreaming. Never stop believing that life is a gift. I try, but it’s hard.
I try to dream that not all men are like dad and Wes. That not every man in my life will hurt me. That maybe……just maybe I can fall in love someday. Find and marry someone who’s actually nice to me, who treats me with kindness, who loves me.
Kind of like my prince charming.
Do you think I could ever have a happily ever after?
Love,
Sol
Reading the entries definitely stirs up emotions, but it’s the last letter, however, that has her tears subsiding and the weight on her chest decreasing. A complete shift away from the heavy, depressing entries from such dark times in her life.
A man unlike her dad and brother.
Roman.
A man who would never hurt her like her dad and brother.
Roman
A man she could love and marry. Someone who treats her with kindness and loves her.
Roman
Solana snaps the journal shut and cries a little harder, feels a little deeper, the realization hitting her like a stack of bricks over the head.
Roman isn’t perfect. He may seem like it sometimes, but he isn’t. He’s just a man. A human being like any other human being. He has his faults, the same way she has hers. He has his demons, just like she has hers.
But one thing that’s always remained consistent is him. He’s been her pillar since the beginning of their marriage, even when things were rocky and they were trying to learn each other. He’s been there for her.
More than any other man in her life, and this rough patch for him, for them, should not be anything that has her questioning him or their relationship.
Roman loves her. Plain and simple.
The same way she loves him.
And it’s that love that’s going to get them through this.
Wiping at her eyes, nodding to herself, Solana takes a deep breath. Swapping the notebook in her lap for the phone on the nightstand, she navigates to the unheard voicemail from Dr. Michaels.
The one that’s sat there for three days now, Solana not feeling well enough to receive that answer.
But, not anymore.
It’s time.
Eyes closing for a second, her hand drops to her stomach as she finally hits the play button.
Almost instantly, a new, male voice fills the room.
“Hey Solana, it’s Dr. Michaels.” Her heartbeat is a mile a fucking minute, Solana having to take a deep breath to help herself calm down. “Got your test results back and looks like you and the Big Guy better start babyproofing that big ole’ house of yours.” And just like that, Solana smacks the pause button on the voicemail before doubling over, a sob leaving her mouth.
She knew it. Felt it. But, there’s something about hearing the confirmation. Knowing without a doubt that she’s pregnant that’s almost overwhelming.
In the best possible way.
Sniffling, she smiles down and rubs her hand across her stomach.
She’s pregnant.
“Now, I don’t want to freak you out, but your hCG levels came back pretty high, which isn’t anything bad. At all. But, it can indicate a multiples pregnancy. Meaning you could be carrying twins, and if that’s the case……”
It’s difficult for Solana to continue to focus on the rest of his message, something about him reminding her that Dr. Sharmell is the go-to OB-GYN for Bloodline pregnancies, as well as a phone number she’d guess for this doctor. However, as appreciated as that is, it’s mostly in one ear and out the other, because all she can hone in on is one word.
Twins
Twins like the ones she’s had several, frequent, recurring dreams about over the past few months. Dropping her phone altogether, Solana places both hands on her stomach, somehow, someway already knowing that he’s right.
She is carrying twins.
Smiling, laughing faces that are the perfect combination of herself and Roman rushing to the front of her mind, deepening her smile, increasing her joy.
Her babies.
Overcome with happiness, Solana finds herself grabbing her current journal that was also sitting on the nightstand, trembling hands skipping to the end of the book that she’s damn near completed. Using the pen in the middle, Solana shares the news, officially, with the only person other than her husband who she would give anything to have to celebrate with right now.
Dear Mami,
I’m pregnant.
With twins.
I’m getting my happily ever after, after all.
Love,
Sol
She must reread it almost a dozen times, each reading widening her smile. It’s such a strange thing, how quickly emotions can oscillate. She’d traveled the feelings spectrum from one end to the other over the past week, but this stop…..this stop is one she’d be okay with staying at for a while.
Solana grabs her phone again, fingers navigating to Roman’s contact. She’s not going to tell him. Not like this, but this avoidance game they’ve been playing needs to stop. A glance at the time as well as her pulling up the world clock reveals it’s almost midnight in Italy, but that doesn’t stop her from dialing the number regardless.
It’s time to talk to her husband.
Except, it’s not.
Because the phone goes straight to voicemail.
Solana frowns. She can’t recall a time where Roman’s phone has ever been off. On Do Not Disturb, sure, but off?
Never.
Not since she’s been with him, at least.
The beeping on the other end alerts her to the fact that she can either leave a message or hang up.
She decides on the former of the two options.
“Hey….” Clearing her throat, she does her best to keep her voice steady, a tricky task considering the life-changing news she’s sitting on. “I—I wanted to talk to you. I—I miss your voice. I miss you.” Swallowing, she smiles, wishing she could bask in this moment with him. “Call me back when you get a chance….I love you.”
Hanging up the phone, Solana scoffs, still slightly in a state of disbelief. Looking down at a still sleeping Dulce, a soft giggle leaves her mouth at thinking about how her fur baby is going to react to there being a real baby in the house.
Two.
Climbing off the bed, phone in one hand, Solana moves over to the dresser and grabs a change of clothes before heading to the attached master bathroom.
She’s done a lot of sulking while in her supposed happy place, engaged in a lot of avoidance behavior.
No more.
She has a reason to smile, to be happy, to be excited. And she wants to lean into that.
Solana starts to make a mental list of things she wants to do before leaving in a couple days. The item at the top is to go see Paloma. She’s barely spoken to the older woman with kind eyes and a warm personality since first meeting her months prior.
It’s time to see her again.
But, as much as she would like to focus on an agenda for the remainder of her trip, it’s difficult for her mind to not keep gravitating back toward the news.
To the thought of life growing inside her.
Two lives formed from a beautiful though flawed love. Two individuals who have lost so much yet stand to gain so much more through the lives they’ve created together.
Solana knows Roman will be an amazing father. He’s been so good to her, so patient, so loving. Seeing that extended to their children just fills her with all of the butterflies.
They’ll definitely have to make some changes. She might have to cut back work hours. He could maybe work from home more, if that’s even a thing. No nanny. Roman probably wouldn’t trust anyone anyway.
And the guest room closest to them could easily be the shared nursery for both children. It only makes sense for the babies to be close to them, getting different, separate rooms as they get older.
Standing in the shower, continuing to go over any and all the details, there’s a small bit of sadness at not being able to share the news with her friends. She knows they’re all going to be so happy for her, and Solana knows they’ll plan the biggest, most elaborate baby shower that she’ll probably have to bribe Roman into attending.
All of it, even the maybe stressful things, keeps her smile on her face.
It’s just been some time since she’s felt so happy. A well deserved thing following an almost week of anything but.
But, it’s as Solana steps out the shower, wraps the towel around her and checks her phone, her smile dims at her lock screen being littered with notifications.
1 missed call from Jey
3 missed calls from Jimmy
4 unread texts from Jimmy
2 unread texts from Jey
And just like that, her stomach drops.
Something is wrong.
Given Jimmy is the one with the most outreach attempts, she bypasses reading any messages and just skips right to calling him.
Pacing across the bathroom, each ring on the other end feels like an eternity. Finally, he picks up. “Solana.”
“What’s wrong?” It’s blurted out, her desperation and fear loud and present. “What happened?”
A heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. “Solana…..”
“What happened, Jimmy!” She doesn’t mean to yell, but she does mean to stress that she needs this man to tell her just what the hell is going on.
Another pause. “Fetu took a turn for the worse.” Her heart stops. “She’s…..she’s probably not going to make it through the night.”
Of all the things to come out his mouth, Solana could have never guessed that would be it. She’s instantly in a brief state of shock. This can’t be……no, it can’t.
“What?” Is all she’s able to muster, leaning back against the counter, heart rate a mile a minute.
“I don’t….I don’t know all the details. Ava was too upset to talk, but—”
“Roman….”
Jimmy blows out a deep breath. “He’s already on a plane here. He…..he was actually already on his way.” Solana’s frown deepens. “He wanted to surprise you.” And the knife just keeps twisting. “He knows and should land in a couple hours, but I don’t know if—”
“Don’t,” she cuts him off. Solana can’t even fathom the notion of what he’s about to say. It can’t…..no. “Don’t say it.”
“Solana….” She’s never heard Jimmy sound so despondent. “From the way Ava was talking, she doesn’t have a lot of t—”
“He’s gonna make it.” There is no other alternative. None that Solana can consider. At least, not in this state. Because she’s still trying to sit on the fact that Roman’s laughing, smiling, hoot of an aunt is now suddenly at death’s door. It doesn’t make any sense. They were supposed to go see her. Solana had already texted and talked with Ava about surprising Fetu with a visit when Roman returned.
And now…..
“I’m on my way.”
She can practically picture Jimmy’s surprise. “Solana, I don’t—”
“I need you to meet me at the airport and take me there,” she continues. Because Solana has only been there once, she doesn’t know how to get to Fetu’s place. But, Jimmy does, and something tells her Roman will land back home before she does, and she doesn’t want him wasting a second waiting around for her so they can go together.
“Solana, you’ve never…..you’ve never been around Roman when he’s lost someone. I don’t—I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you—”
“I am not letting him deal with this alone,” she vows, anger replacing the fear. “Prepare the jet for me.”
“Solana—”
“I said I’m going!” She snaps. Solana is certain her shout bypasses the perimeter of the closed bathroom door, travels into her bedroom and permeates throughout the house. “If you don’t want to help me, that’s fine. I’ll find a way. I will fucking swim back home and walk my way there if that’s what it takes, because I am not letting him deal with this alone.” There’s absolute silence on the other end. “Now are you going to help me or not?”
Jimmy is quiet for a good minute before answering. “I’ll be there when you touch down.”
There’s a small slice of relief that fills her at his agreement, but it’s nothing to sit in given the weight of the situation. “I’ll see you then.”
Hanging up the phone, Solana hurriedly applies her deodorant and slips on her bra and panties. Walking out the bathroom, she moves over to the dresser, pulling out some sweats and a shirt. Once her sneakers are on, she’s grabbing Dulce, apologizing for waking her up as she moves out the room and down the stairs.
She finds Bautista and Nia in the kitchen, not hesitating as she informs, “pack your stuff. We’re leaving.”
Their surprised, borderline confused expressions make all the sense, but it’s Nia who speaks up. “What do you mean we’re leaving?”
Solana ignores her, carrying Dulce to the backdoor and letting her out, keeping her eyes on her puppy as she finds the patch of grass to relieve herself.
Nia, of course, refuses to let it go, pushing her at a time where Solana is already trying not to sink into panic. “Look, you have been an impulsive mess all week. Randomly making us fly out here and now you’re making us randomly fly back. What the he—”
“Would you shut up!” It’s similar to the way she snapped at Jimmy, but angrier. More personal. “I don’t answer to you, Nia. I said we’re leaving, so we’re fucking leaving!”
And at that moment, Dulce hurries herself back inside, Solana slamming and shutting the door as she storms past a bewildered Nia to go back upstairs and finish packing.
Shaking hands, quiet sniffles, and silent tears accompany her preparation. She tried to call Roman again, only for the phone to once again go to voicemail, further worrying her.
He’s been pushing her away all week, but this…..this feels different.
He’s icing her out, and it hurts, but not for her. She hurts for him, because he was already in a not good place before leaving. And now this?
“Please don’t take her from him…..” Solana finds herself pleading, praying for the first time in a long time. “He can’t…..he can’t lose her.”
Because he can’t.
Because Solana can’t even imagine what losing Fetu would do to Roman. She isn’t sure how he’d handle it.
If he could handle it.
Less than twenty minutes later, Solana and Co. are out of the house and on their way to the airport. Dulce, forever perceptive, remains in her lap, every so often licking her arm and whining, cuddling close to Solana.
To her stomach.
It’s appreciated.
Necessary.
Because Solana is a nervous, emotional wreck sitting on the jet, Bautista and Nia wisely keeping their distance, leaving her alone in the bedroom with Dulce close by her side.
Solana tries to call both Roman and Ava one last time before takeoff. Neither answers.
It’s not unexpected, but it does make that despair lingering in the pit of her stomach grow.
Makes Solana think back on the letter she has tucked and hidden away at home. Makes her reflect on that almost ominous interaction with his aunt.
Fetu shakes her head, Solana looking down when she places a white, sealed envelope in her hand. “I need you to give this to him when the time is right.”
Those words now haunt her, cause her to wonder just what is contained within that letter. If….if it was intended for a time like this.
A time where she’s no longer around.
Solana shakes her head, a sob breaking through as she tries to gather herself. She’s an emotional mess, yes, pregnancy hormones probably not helping, but regardless, she can’t be.
She needs to be strong.
For Roman.
It’s what she keeps telling herself, reminding herself of as she’s forced to utilize some of her coping skills to settle her anxiety. Because it’s not just her she has to think about anymore.
It’s her babies, too.
Solana is nearly running out the jet the minute it lands and they’re clear to exit. She leaves Dulce with Nia, instructing her to take her back home.
Nia doesn’t argue with this.
But, the minute she steps foot out of the jet, her feet on ground, her eyes locked with Jimmy who waits near a black SUV…..she knows.
She just knows.
Solana’s hand goes to her stomach. “No……” Jimmy’s eyes shut as he runs his hand over his face, unshed tears glistening once he reopens his eyes and looks over at her. “Please, no…..”
“Solana….”
Her voice breaks. “Don’t say it.”
But, he does. He absolutely says it. “She’s gone, Solana.”
She knew it. Knew it the moment her eyes locked with his that are filled with such tremendous grief, holding a truth she’d give anything to be anything but. But, on top of the grief that now fills her body the same way it fills Jimmy, there’s an entirely different layer that nearly grounds her when that realization settles.
“Roman.” She’s almost scared to ask, but she has to. She just has to. “Did he….”
And it’s the way Jimmy’s sadness deepens as he shakes his head no that Solana’s already wavering resolve crumbles, that she breaks down in front of her husband’s cousin. Jimmy moves over to her, letting her cry into him at the second horrifying realization bulldozes into her with the weight of solid concrete.
authors note: no idea where this came from. but, we here.
no tags. if it ends up on your dash, twas meant to be lmao
words: 1.2k // warnings: mental health topics and roman being an ass to literally anyone not his child.
Children get sick.
It's a normal thing that happens from time to time, or more, depending on immune systems, exposure, and other extraneous variables.
However, for Roman and Solana, when one of their girls gets sick, both usually end up with whatever the ailment is before it's all said and done.
It's why they've come up with a system of sorts. Somewhat keeping the girls separated to avoid infection and exposure. It's not foolproof, nor is it liked by their girls who are more or less inseparable, but it saves the parents a ton of late nights with only having one child sick. Or, at least, one child sick at a time.
And to help out a bit, they split up the duties, taking turns with who caters more to the sick child and who caters more to the well child. It's Solana's turn, hence Roman being the one who's currently strapping Leya into her car seat after picking her up from school.
He goes to step back, a bit of a test when Leya's little hand reaches out to stop him. He sighs. "Why don't we just try one time and see what happens?"
It only takes her eyes widening with unspoken fear for him to know that's definitely not happening today.
"Please...." Her voice is soft and pleading and easily drags him over to her side of the fence. Roman proceeds to secure and unsecure her car seat a total of three times, after which her face settles into comfort and satisfaction.
He doesn't say anything, just makes a mental note to tell Solana they need to meet with her therapist again. Leya's OCD doesn't seem to be improving despite almost two months of weekly therapy.
He's just closed the door to the SUV when the single most annoying voice shouts his name. "Oh, Mr. Reigns!" This fucking bitch. "I need to speak with you!"
He doesn't hesitate to dismiss her ass. "Sounds like a personal problem to me." It's never anything important, just her probably trying to bait his ass into donating more money to their already rich ass school. If it doesn't have to do with his girls, and he knows it doesn't, she can fuck off.
Roman finds slight amusement in the way her smile drops off into borderline shock as he hops into the drivers seat and slams the door shut. Also annoying cause when has he ever paid this bitch any mind?
Nevertheless, he's driving home when Leya asks, "is sissy better yet?"
He wishes. It'd be easier on all of them. "Not yet, baby." A glance at her through the rearview mirror reveals her disappointment. Lina really is her best friend and not being able to play with her has to be hard. "You want me to watch that....Brown guy show with you?"
For the life of him, he can never remember the name of that damn show that has a chokehold on all the children.
Leya giggles, and it puts a small smile on his face. He loves hearing his girls laugh. Any of them. "It's Bluey, daddy."
"Yeah, that too." Close enough. "You wanna watch it or not?"
She nods, grabbing and holding her stuffed animal. She doesn't say anything else, and he doesn't really expect her to. She talks when she feels like it, and he respects that. She's like her mom, but she's also like him. Of few words at times.
It's when they're home, and she's changed out of her uniform into something comfortable, he sits down with her as they share their dinner together. Roman making sure to use one of her pink sectional plates to ensure her food doesn't touch.
Cause he knows damn well she won't eat if it does.
And when she asks for ice cream afterwards, Neapolitan, of all flavors, he watches how she uses her spoon to separate all of said flavors.
"What if I just got you the three different flavors instead?" He has to ask. It's probably unhelpful in helping her learn to manage her compulsions, but it seems at least a bit more efficient than her current routine.
However, she shakes her head, explaining in her cute little voice, "it's not the same...."
Roman sighs. "Leya...." Might not be the best time but between the car seat, her needing to see him lock the car and the front door three times, her completing all of her homework yet again instead of doing some there at school and some at home, and now the ice cream, he has to say something. "You know we've gotta work on some of these things."
He doesn't need to say what said things are. She already knows.
Her gaze drops to the bowl of perfectly partitioned ice cream. "It's my brain."
He frowns. "What?"
She lazily moves her spoon around the bowl, explaining, "Tracy at school said my brain is bad and stupid, and that's why i have bad thoughts."
There's never a shortage of people on Roman's hit list. It grows and changes around every day. But, this lil Tracy bitch just made her way to the top of the fucking list.
Kid or no kid.
"Who's Tracy?" He's mindful of his tone, not wanting her to think his simmering anger is any way directed toward her. Like her mom, she can be very sensitive at times.
"She's in my class....." Was in her class, cause this little bitch with the old ass name of Tracy just earned herself an expulsion from the school. "I just don't want bad things to happen."
Her eyes watering is enough to have Roman get up from his own bar stool as he moves to lift her up, takes her seat and settles her onto his lap.
"Nothing bad is going to happen, okay?" He moves his thumb to her eyes, gently wiping her tears. "Daddy's always going to protect you, your sister, and your mom. I promise you that." With every part of his being, every fiber of his soul. "I know it's hard for you, but your mom and I are gonna help you."
And some of that help might include Roman having to set aside his pride and reservations about medicating Leya. The minute her therapist brought it up, he wanted to cuss her out. She's 7. That's too damn young to be on some mental health medication. But seeing and hearing in her own words how she views herself because of her OCD, it's more than enough to have him at least hear out her pediatrician.
He's pleased to see and even feel her spirits lifted a little, prompting him to take it a step further. "Can you smile for me?" She bites down on her bottom lip just like Solana, clearly suppressing said smile. "I know it's in there." His hand is barely on her stomach, tickling her when she bursts out into giggles, moving against him. Roman keeps his arm firm around her to keep her from falling. And he always will. "There it is...." Her smile is also Solana's. Through and through.
Leya presses her body into his chest. "Thank you, daddy."
He kisses the top of her head. Anything. Anything she needs or will ever need, he's got her. For life. "I love you, Cataleya."
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SWAN | sw-an | “a symbol of wisdom and includes awakening the power of self, balance, grace, inner beauty”
The queen of light years ahead, the originator..My sweetest Aaliyah, not a day goes by where I don't think of you. 23 years without you.
The physical absence of your presence is unbearable but I know your beautiful spirit is forever evolving and touching hearts. The amount of love and support that still represents reminds us all that there are no limits to your timeless existence and the love of your soul is endless. This year is a symbolic reminder of that. I hope you continuously endure the warmth of our love and beam of light in the heavens. Your powerful purpose, determination and presence will forever influence generations to come.
What an amazing human, what an immense soul.
We love you, We miss you. Continue to fly high baby girl.
Synopsis: "We can go to Italy and have sex on a yacht" 🤭
Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader
Requested by: my Blanca baby @hoodharlow 😘💕
Do not engage if underage
Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere
Liked by jackharlow, urbanwyatt, saweetie, blancahood, mariahthescientist, and 2,683,790 others
y/ninsta: now I'm on an island getting my back blown 🤭🤭
saweetie: yall are disgusting. can't wait to hear that I'll be an aunt tho.... for the millionth time
urbanwyatt: I helped him plan this so you can thank me
y/ninsta: saweetie AHT AHT! we do not speak that!
jackandy/naremyparents: big mama looks so pretty! 😍
jackharlow: if you're trying to get your back blown, I suggest you get off your damn phone and come here
y/ninsta: on my way stink 😌
---
The sun was beginning to set as you took in your surroundings off the coast of Italy. This vacation had proved to be necessary after you had released your album and was planning to go on tour later in the year. Seeing that you needed a break, your husband took it upon himself to simply tell you to pack your suitcases and get into the car not realizing what your destination was. He literally made you put on a blindfold until the two of you had touched down. You were excited to find out that the two of you would be staying in Italy for two weeks and Jack made it known that the only thing that the two of you were allowed to focus on was each other.
Because when the two of you were together, nothing else mattered.
As you were taking another sip of your margarita that you had made, you felt Jack come up behind you and his arms went around your waist before he turned you around and leaned down to kiss you.
“Do we have to leave in two days?” You asked as Jack simply smiled down at you.
“We can add on another day and that's about it. You have an album to promote, remember?”
“Yes, but that just means I'm not going to be around you and I'll be busy.” You told him as you pouted.
“It's only for a little while and it'll fly by before we know it. But enough about that. For right now, I'm enjoying the time that I get to have with my wife with no distractions.” He told you as he started playing with the ends of your hair as you smiled up at him.
“You know I'm actually surprised at you.” You told Jack who looked at you confused.
“By what, baby?”
“We’ve been on this yacht basically all day and you have yet to fuck me on it. I think you’re slipping when it comes to your husband duties.” You told him and he immediately smirked at you.
“Hmm, only because it was light outside. Now it's not so you better be careful what you wish for.” He whispered against your lips before kissing them. The drink that you were holding was taken out of your hand by Jack and long forgotten as he placed it on the table.
“You don't care about having an audience so I'm not buying that as an excuse.”
“I don't, but if they were to see me that probably wouldn't be good because someone would be bound to take pics and it would end up on TMZ.”
“Hmm, you have a point.”
“No one gets a free show from my wife except me.”
“Let’s get to you getting your free show then.”
You quickly kissed him again and made Jack sit down as you were quick to straddle him. He kissed and nipped at your skin starting from your neck and worked his way down to untie the top of your bathing suit.
He threw it to the side behind you as you felt the growing tent underneath you. He slowly ran his fingers over your folds through the thin material that happened to be the last piece of clothing that you were wearing and found yourself getting wetter by the second as you reached down to bring your lips to his.
All of a sudden, you felt Jack move the material to the side and slowly slip one of his fingers in as you let out a soft moan in his ear.
“Don't hold back, baby. You can be as loud as you want out here.”
The tone of your moans became louder when he added another finger and soon discarded the thin piece of clothing from your body altogether. Jack was simply admiring you before he picked you up with you letting out a yelp.
“Baby! I'm going to fall!”
“Now you know good and damn well that I'm not going to drop you. Come here.” He placed your legs on his shoulders and felt him take one long lick.
The last thing you ever expected was for him to be standing up and eating you out as he was holding you up midair.
“Now your ass can't run even if you wanted to.” You heard Jack say from between your thighs and he quickly dove back in.
Jack could feel your juices running down his chin as he moved at a faster pace and you began to massage and pull at your pierced nipples. They had just recently gotten over being sore since you had changed the jewelry in them and couldn't wait until Jack’s mouth was on them.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” Was all you managed to let out as Jack gripped your thighs tighter. Your hands then found a way into his hair and you were trying to bring him closer to you even if it was damn near impossible.
That feeling that you knew all too well was beginning to build and it was if Jack knew since he immediately moved higher to pay close attention to your clit. He knew you were close and began teasing you as he would lightly brush his tongue back and forth against your clit with the slightest touch making you go insane. So insane that he quickly heard you throwing a fit about it.
“Baby, stop teasing me and let me cum!” You told him as you grabbed a handful of his hair, but he didn't even acknowledge you and he continued to do the same thing knowing that you were going to hit your peak that much harder.
“Who's teasing baby girl? Hold still for me or I'll stop.”
“I wish you fucking would stop right now, fucking make me cum damn it!” You breathlessly yelled out and sure enough, Jack halted his movements and sat you back down where you had been sitting before and spread your legs.
“Who do you think you're fucking talking to like that?” He asked as he hovered above you and his hand went around your neck.
You didn’t answer, and he put his fingers to your mouth and you immediately began to suck on them tasting your juices. Once Jack was satisfied with how wet they were, his pointer finger grazed your clit making you groan.
“Baby, come on!”
“Come on what? And you still didn't answer my question.”
“Please! And I'm talking to my husband.”
“Not with that attitude you're not.” He told you as he spread your legs once more and kneeled down in front of you.
“Lose the attitude and I'll let you cum.”
“Fine, baby just come on. Pleaseee.”
“Oh, now we finally learned how to use our manners.” Was the last thing you heard Jack say before he was giving your clit his undivided attention.
“My baby has the prettiest pussy, doesn't she? You want me to suck on your clit?”
“Yes!”
“Give me some room then and act like you want me between your thighs.”
As soon as he told you this, you moved your left leg to the side to rest on top of the couch that you were sitting on and Jack couldn't help but to smirk before he began to do what you so desperately wanted.
In less than two minutes a rush of liquid flowed out of you as Jack still continued to eat you out as you were trying to come down from your high. Once you did, you reached down to kiss him as you slipped your tongue in his mouth and both of you were battling for dominance.
When the two of you finally broke apart, Jack stood up and you quickly slipped off his swim trunks as you then stood up and made him trade places with you. Jack stroked himself a few times as you saw the precum leaking down the sides. You glided your finger along it as you brought it to your mouth and sucked it off making Jack smirk. You held onto his shoulders as you straddled him and slowly sat down allowing you to feel every inch of him as he filled you up with moans escaping both of your mouths.
Jack held onto your hips to help guide you until the two of you got into a comfortable rhythm. He then left a trail of kisses along your breasts before sucking on both of them making sure he showed them an equal amount of attention as you let out a series of moans and threw your head back in satisfaction.
“Look at how creamy that pussy is and how well you’re riding that dick. You going to make daddy cum? Hmm, baby?”
You slowly nodded as your head rested on his shoulder and increased your pace.
“That's it, baby. Fuck you feel so good around me. I know I tell you this all the time, but you look so pretty when you ride me.”
You abruptly stopped as you slid him out of you and immediately took him in your mouth before he could protest about you not riding him anymore because you knew it was coming.
“Shit!” He held tightly onto your hair that he had put it into a makeshift ponytail as you felt him reach the back of your throat.
You released him from your mouth with a loud pop as you traced your tongue from the base to the tip before going back down. You started to jerk him off before taking him back into your mouth. You were caught off guard by Jack moaning loudly and feeling his load shoot down the back of your throat.
“And you better not waste any of it.”
Cum was leaking out the side of your mouth as it landed onto your chest and you took him out of your mouth once more to glide your finger along it and taste it.
Jack helped you up and you straddled him one more as he reached up to kiss you and you eagerly kissed him back. As he gave a light tap to your cheek, you opened your mouth and warm liquid hit your tongue.
“Be a good girl and swallow it.”
Doing as you were told, Jack then gave a light smack to your ass as you smiled at him.
“Baby, I need you on all fours and I'll be back. Can you do that for me? You've been such a good girl.” Jack asked and you quickly nodded as you got up and sat to the side as you watched him disappear for a minute.
Once he came back you saw a bottle of lube in his hand and you smirked before getting on all fours.
“Baby, tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I want to make you feel good, not hurt you.” He told you as you heard the bottle opening.
“I know.”
“You ready, baby?”
“Mm hmm.”
Your back was arched as Jack lifted your hips a little bit higher and he started to slowly insert himself. As of lately, anal had become one of your favorite things and Jack was not one to protest. If it was something that you wanted as long as you let him know he would do it for you.
Jack started meeting resistance and simply added more lube before finally slipping all the way inside as your head was resting on your arms and taking all of the pleasure that you could get.
“How's that feel?” He quietly asked you as he slowly began to move.
“So good, keep going.”
Jack did what you asked him to as you lifted up your head to spit into your hand and reached down to rub your clit. Even though you had recovered from your orgasm before, the slightest touch still had you whimpering.
“Baby, go faster.” You told him as you could tell that he was holding back since the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt you.
Listening to you, he increased his pace and your hand was soon replaced with his as he rubbed small circles along your clit as you loudly cried out.
“Baby….”
“You’re almost there, I can tell. Such a good girl for me.”
Hearing this pushed you over the edge as your third orgasm of the night hit you. Jack continued to rub your clit as he pounded in you from behind. His movements were getting sloppy indicating that he was close and sure enough, he slowly slipped out of you before releasing all over your back.
The two of you were trying to catch your breath as he slowly turned you around and hovered over you as he smiled before leaning down to take one of your nipples in his mouth. Your hands once again found a way to his curls as he switched to the other one.
When he finally looked up at you, he placed a soft kiss on your lips before he opened his mouth to ask you a question.
“Did I fulfill my husband duties? Was that up to your standards Mrs. Harlow?”
“Yes, you exceeded my expectations, truth be told.” You said as you laughed.
“Good, but we are nowhere near done.”
“Wait, what?”
“When we get finished, I plan on you not being able to walk straight. Spread your legs so I can eat you out again.”
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