#*lives next to a planned parenthood

[supercantaloupe]

ah yeah it's saturday and the school year's started. explains the protesters on my way to the metro station

[miraculouslumination]

I'm not usually one for car stickers. But damn am I really heavily considering decking out Aphrodite (my car) with as many advocacy stickers as I can

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Honey & Steel

Chapter One : The Elevator Meet

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x SingleMom!Reader

Series Summary: "A chance encounter in a broken elevator ties together the lives of a hardened , emotionally closed off CEO James Barnes and a struggling single mother balancing her daughter , her new job , healing old wounds , and building something neither of them expected , a family."

Word Count: 3k+

Content/Warnings: infidelity (not bucky) , nudity , anxiety/panic attack , mentions of single parenthood struggles and financial instability , mild profanity , mentions of emotional manipulation and betrayal in past relationship(s) , mild child separation anxiety

a/n: new series yayayay! So excited to begin this era and the love has been felt already , so tysm and i hope you enjoy this first chapter! Theres about 20 chapters I have planned right now but who knows where it will go!

I've been struggling with anxiety recently and writing really helps me get out of my own head , so seeing comments and likes and kudos , messages and all of that , makes me feel so happy and loved beyond words , so from the bottom of my heart truly thank you for making this feel like a family and community!

series masterlist coming soon... read on ao3 coming soon...

6:42 a.m. Y/N’s Apartment

The creaky run down and stuffy apartment smells faintly of that morning's , very burnt toast and faintly wafting through the air the small of a kiddie strawberry shampoo which was specifically bought and begged for because of the paw patrol characters that were on the packaging. 

Y/N was already three steps behind , out of routine , and the day had barely begun to start.

"Madelyn , where are your nice pink shoes?” Y/N called out throwing stuffies off her sweater she layed out the night before but was quickly covered in a dogpile of stuffed bears , bunnies and giraffes.

“I already have shoes on mommy!” Madelyn was sprinting around the apartment clomping about , in her butterfly rain boots.

“Baby, we don't have time for—" Y/N was really tiring to be calm but her body was running low on patients as her daughter argued.

"I don't wanna go!" Madelyn wailed from down the hallway , clutching her baby pink baby blanket like it was a plea or lifeline. Her face was scrunched up red, her pigtails crooked from the rushed hair-brushing session in the bathroom that ended in tears and a now empty bottle of detangler.

Y/N glanced at the clock above the stove as it blinked her way taunting her. 

6:43 a.m. Her interview was at 8:00 am sharp. All the way across the other side of town. In Midtown. During rush hour.

“Great” She breathed out dropping her head taking a deep inhale.

"Maddie , baby , please , Miss Helen is waiting for you next door , and Mommy really needs this job, okay?" Y/N knelt down and smoothed her daughter’s gruley hair out of her face , trying not to cry herself. 

Her heart was breaking. She wanted nothing more than to be home with her baby girl, but this was survival. This was motherhood. Well….single motherhood. 

Y/N met Madelyn's father through a mutual friend who claimed they would be “soulmates and the perfect match”.

So after a few months of dating Y/N actually began to love the guy and when she found out they were unexpectedly expecting a baby , a little girl too , she was beyond ecstatic. 

They moved in together right after the news to both be there for the baby and were both happy. 

It was now 6 months of dating and Y/N decided she wanted to do something special for the two of them before the baby made , three of them. She made reservations at their favorite Thai place downtown , bought him a very expensive watch and cologne he raved about in a magazine he showed her one night and had it all ready to surprise her love , the father of her baby.

She walked into their shared apartment , gift bags in hand and looked around the place , which was very nice thanks to his job and hers which she was very proud of getting and slowly began climbing up the chain there. 

She slowly tiptoed through the home dodging haphazardly kicked off shoes and things on the floor. When she reached their bedroom door knowing around this time he would be napping or “resting his mind and eyes” as he put it. She giggled under her breath , she loved his silly ness , loved him.

Swinging open the door, smiling brightly holding up the bags her eyes immediately filled with tears. 

In her bed , in her home , with her boyfriend. Laying a naked redhead woman sleeping…it was her boss. 

She dropped the bags suddenly, making the woman shriek and call her boyfriend's name. 

Luke came running out , towel around his waist and in shock eyes flipping from the two of them. 

“Y/N?! , you were supposed to be at the OB?!” He cursed under his breath and threw the woman's dress that was on the floor at her on the bed as she scrambled to get modest.

“I…” Y/N couldn't move , couldn't breathe couldnt believe this was happening to her and her baby. 

She put a hand over her barely there bump as her eyes burned and her feet , like concrete not letting her move an inch.

When her boss- her friend , was now dressed and running off slightly bumping into her , that's when Y/N began to sob. 

She picked up the closest thing ,  being their lamp on the bedside and threw it at Luke. He dodged it and cursed at her running out after her boss.

So that's how she and her perfect precious daughter were in the cheapest little place she could afford , behind on three months rent and in between jobs.

And.. At this very moment consoling a crying four year old and there was nothing she could do , she needed this job so badly , needed it to all work out. For her girl.

Madelyn sniffled and wiped her eyes with her pink weather sleeve. "I don't want you to go Mama."

"I know , sweetie , I know. But this job could help us get a real car , that pretend food play set you wanted and maybe even a yard. Remember , you wanted a yard for bubbles and chalk and so Flopsy could run and play?"

Madelyn glanced at their rescue bunny Flopsy sitting in her cage eating hay , she sniffled feeling conflicted. 

Eventually her little teary gaze moved back to her mom who was giving her the best half smile she could make , and she gave her a tiny nod.  Y/N exhaled loudly like she’d just run a marathon.

“Okay baby , let's grab your lunch bag and head to Miss Helens alright?” She booped her daughter's little button nose. 

“I can't forget to say bye to Flopsy!” She giggled running to the crate whispering to her rabbit as Y/N scooped up all she needed and called Maddy to follow her out the door.

Helen , the elderly neighbor , God sent , who'd babysat in emergencies before for the girls  , stood at the door in her fluffy white robe and a sympathetic look over her aged features. Y/N handed her the bag with snacks , instructions , and emergency contacts to her neighbor mouthing a quick thank you.

"I'll hopefully be back by lunchtime. I promise. Thank you so much , Helen."

"Go," Deirdre waved her off , her eyes twinkling. "Go get that job , us girls will be just fine.” 

Y/N knelt to her daughter's level and kissed her nose making her squeal and wrapped her tiny arms around her moms neck. “I love you so much my angle , i'll be right back okay” 

“Okay mommy , for the yard!” She pulled back and wiped tears that slipped past her waterline. 

“That's right , bye baby” 

7:58 a.m. Barnes Medical Prosthetics Co. Lobby

Y/N barreled through the sleek intimating lobby of the towering glass building that housed inside “Barnes Medical Prosthetics Co.” Her cream blouse stuck to her back from the sprint down 6th Avenue after a crazy man tried to get too close to her on the subway making her ditch that plan , and her heels which she plans on returning right after this interview had become two little medieval torture devices. 

She made it to the elevator and hit the elevator button with the up arrow five times , as if that would make it arrive faster.

She checked the time on her phone waiting , and as soon as she did she hadn't heard the loud ding that sounded and now only saw the doors slowly shutting.

"Hold the door, please!" she shouted , breathless tucking her phone away again gripping her paper resume and coffee cup.

A tall man in a navy almost obsidian suit turned her way at her voice and hastily and caught the door with one hand. 

He looked like something off a GQ or Men's Health magazine cover. He had a perfectly kept and trimmed beard , hair swept back like it never dared move without permission the lavish product he had layered in making it do so , and those sharp blue eyes that flicked to her figure with curiosity.

"Thanks," she huffed , stepping inside and pressing the 32nd floor.

The doors slid closed , the man gave her a polite nod and the loft began to ascend. She was cursing the machine to go faster as she was a minute late now and then the elevator groaned.

A came to a shaky abrupt stop.

Y/N blinked in disbelief and fear , looking at the buttons pressed 32 again. Nothing. 

She hit the emergency call , and of course no answer. Panic began to bubble in her chest and belly.

"Oh no. No, no, no," Her palms were instantly sweaty as she tried to wipe them on her sweater and her stomach churned.

The man beside her didn’t flinch , he was standing still and tall , unmoved by the halt on the lift. “It's been getting stuck between floors recently. Usually it resets in a few minutes."

Y/N's breath came faster as she tried to nod to his words and closed her eyes. She pressed a hand to her chest feeling the constant and hard thump that pulsed and picked up with each moment she was stuck in here. "I can't be stuck. I have an interview. I need this job." She slid down the wall in a full anxiety headspace.

He crouched down slowly. "Woah , hey. It's okay. Just breathe."

She shook her head , sliding down the wall , her legs didn’t trust her to stand anymore , her knees jello-like and useless. 

She kept her hand on her chest trying to slow her breathing and all she could think of between harsh fast breaths was her kid.

"This morning was already a disaster…” Breath in …”My daughter didn’t want to let me go, and I barely made it here.” Breath out “...And now I’m going to miss the interview for the one job that could actually change our lives…and…and."

She covered her face pressing her palms to her eyes , she refused to cry in front of this handsome well put together stranger. "God , I'm so sorry I ramble when I'm nervous. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I don't mind," he said gently , placing a hand on her shoulder. "Tell me about your daughter , she seems to help when you talk about her.”

Y/N hesitated. But his voice was calm , and something and some reason in his presence she felt safe.

"Madelyn. Her name is Madelyn. She's four. Funny as hell , but too stubborn for her little body. She's obsessed with pink and bunnies and sparkles. She’s all I have. Her dad….It's just the two of us."

The handsome man nodded , his face unreadable but not harsh. "Sounds like she's lucky to have you."

“I'm the lucky one, I-”

Her phone buzzed. Helen.

She glanced at the man as if asking permission and he sank down fully sitting by her nodding , she answered the phone of course expecting the worst.

But it wasn’t Miss Helen on the other end.

"Hi Mommy," came the tiny voice beaming with joy and love.

Y/N's entire demeanor softened in an instant as she left out a shaky exhale she didn't know she was holding so tightly. "Hi , baby. Are you being good for Miss Helen?"

"Mmhmm , I miss youuuu." Her little voice was blaring through the speakers , loud enough for Y/N to slightly wince and for the man next to her to hear the high pitched sound.

"I miss you too , honey. But guess what? Mommy's going to do her interview so lightning fast and then I’ll be home before you know it , okay? Be good for miss Helen and we can have a sleepover in my bed tonight okay?"

"Okay Mommy. I love yousss."

"I love you more my baby , bye honey."

She hung up , blinking back tears , and realized the man had been silent through the whole thing but listening carefully.

"That was Madelyn ," She wiped her eyes.

He nodded and took out his handkerchief and gave it to her. "She sounds adorable."

Y/N exhaled slowly, smiling , accepting the cloth and dabbing her wet eyes letting out a watery laugh. "Sorry. Again. I’m nervous and stuck in an elevator with a stranger and my life is imploding in front of you , so of course I’m running my mouth and now my daughter-."

"You haven't even told me your name yet , so can’t be that bad ," he said with a smile.

"Y/N."

He hesitated saying her name in his head. "Bucky."

Before she could respond , the elevator jolted and whirred to life, suddenly spooking both of them.

"Oh thank God," she gasped , scrambling to her feet , Bucky's hand shot out in case she needed balance but she managed upright and wiped the wrinkles out of her pants.

They reached the 32nd floor , and the doors opened widely with a perfect ding. Y/N rushed out grabbing her things , calling out without looking behind her, "Bye , Bucky! Thanks for listening!"

8:12 a.m. 32nd Floor of Barnes Medical Prosthetics Co.

"Miss Y/L/N?" a sandy blonde man in a navy polo stood outside a sleek glass office. Was everyone who worked here a model and built like a superhero? She wondered.

"Y-Yes! I am so sorry. The elevator—"

He waved it off. "It happens , quite alright , I'm Steve Rogers , I'm conducting the interview today as the position will be right under me."

She nodded , trying to compose herself. He nodded his head silently saying to follow him and she did , right on his heels.

Just as they turned to enter the office where he said the interview will be held , a familiar voice boomed behind them.

"Morning , Steve."

Y/N froze and spun slowly afraid to meet the eyes of the man she just one , had a panic attack in front of and two , she told her life story too before even knowing his name.

Except he wasn’t just Bucky from the elevator.

He was James Buchanan Barnes, CEO of Barnes Medical Prosthetics Co.

She turned red from hairline to collarbone.

“Well what a lucky day for you , Ms. Y/L/N this is James Barnes our Ceo and sadly my best friend for many years.” Steve smiled, gesturing to Bucky.

Bucky snorted at Steve's words as he met her eyes with a soft look giving her a slight smile and a nod before turning and walking away.

She wanted to melt into the floor and never come up again. But Steve acted like it was normal. As if the CEO randomly showing up to say good morning to the newest maybe hired girl , like it was no big deal.

Y/N shook her head and focused again and sat down , cheeks still warm as she spoke up. "I didn’t realize—"

"Don’t worry about it," Steve said kindly. “Ready to begin”

She nodded and slid over her resume , and somehow , she found her footing. 

“My name is Y/N-”

After the interview ended and Steve escorted her out she peeked a slight glance at the large sleek double doored office next door with the plaque “James Barnes CEO” scripted on the door. It was empty , the door wide open , and she couldn't tell if she was slightly disappointed or relieved.

9:47 p.m. Y/N’s Apartment

"Okay angel , bath time is over," Y/N laughed , as Madelyn splashed holding her rubber ducks and toys giggling.

Y/N got her snuggled and wrapped in a warm fluffy unicorn towel and then changed into the softest of jammies.

Their move they started was long forgotten as Madeylns slow sleep filled breaths filled the bedroom and Y/N taken in the serene moment rubbing soothing circles on her daughters back as she breathed in the peace.

That peace was very short lived as her phone rang loudly.

She cursed under her breath and scrambled to silence the intrusion making Madelyn whimper in her dream state and stir. 

When she finally got a hold of the device she saw it was an Unknown number , clicking answer.

"Hello?"

"Hi , is this Y/N Y/L/N?"

"Yes this is her."

"I'm sorry to call this late but this is Steve Rogers from Barnes Medical Prosthetics. Just wanted to say congratulations, we'd like to offer you the position."

Y/N nearly dropped the phone and her heart sped rapidly.

"Really?"

"Really. Welcome to the team Y/N we expect you to be available by Monday of next week , will that work for you?."

“Y-Yes absolutely thank you so much , see you Monday sir.” Ending the call.

Madelyn looked up with glassy sleepy eyes clutching her moms collar with tiny fists. "Mommy?"

Y/N smiled, kissing her daughter's head whispering into her hair "Mommy got the job baby."

And for the first time in a long time , things started to feel like they might be okay.

10:18 p.m. 32nd floor of Barnes Medical Prosthetics Co.

Bucky sauntered into his best friend's office slowly , one hand was wrapped in his suit jacket and the other holding a crystal glass of whiskey. 

“You made the call?” He leaned against the door frame eyebrow raising as he took a long sip of the amber liquid.

“Yeah jerk ,  I did…You gonna tell me exactly why you were so adamant on it being her?”

Bucky gave a half shrug and began putting his jacket back on. “She's gonna do great here.” Was all he gave his friend with a salute and a goodnight as he walked out the room.

What Steve didn't see was the grin his friend and boss had plastered across his face.

-end

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[shurisneakers]

unsolved (xi)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, ghosts,

A/N: hai. we're into the double digits. thanks for sticking around this long!! jsyk there are like 17 parts planned to this series so

Previous part || Series masterlist

This is a dream scenario.

It’s the weekend, which means he should be out somewhere fighting off bats in a haunted cave or sitting in a dark room muttering Bloody Mary’s name fifteen times like a broken tape recorder because you insisted the first three didn’t work.

Instead, by 5 p.m., he’s in bed. With a book. There’s even a cup of coffee sitting beside him, growing cold. 

Really, he should be enjoying this. It’s rarely this quiet, and especially as the sun went down, the absence of your shenanigans, the lack of you dragging him into another bullshit horror hunt should be greatly freeing. 

But something feels wrong.

Because something went wrong in his childhood, and then something very definitely went wrong in his adulthood, Bucky feels uneasy with the peace.

He turns a page. At least, he thinks he does. He’s not sure he’s actually read a single word. Gun to his head, he would not be able to tell you the plot.

By 6 p.m., his eyes have zeroed in more on the door than the actual book in his hands.

His phone is on full volume, waiting for a notification. He made sure his floor access was open. His windows are not blacked out. He has even left his door cracked open slightly, which feels wrong to the fundamental fibres of his being. 

Nothing.

By 6:30 p.m., his coffee is still half full and lukewarm. God, he did not like that drink. The only thing he's done is flipped through pages for the sake of feeling like he’s accomplished something.

By 6:37 p.m., he’s out the door.

His grumbling is only half-hearted, which he hates. There is something much heavier that sits in his chest. Anticipation. Worry. Fucking blergh. 

He’s never been on your floor before. He knows you share it with Nat, the way he does with Steve, but he's never actually visited it. Sure he regularly makes sure you're dropped off to your floor now , but he hasn't actually stepped foot there, no matter how much you invite him in to your bedroom.

He assumes it’s similar, just with fewer World War II relics and less The Price Is Right. 

By 6:45 p.m., he’s knocking loudly on your door.

There’s no answer.

His jaw tightens.  

He wouldn’t blame you if you had just upped and left. He just thought Maya would beat you to it, because the second the article dropped, it was like the Avengers personally made it their mission to have the next week become a shitstorm of them making headlines for the most insane things. He thinks she's on sick leave. Or she should be, at least.

Clint posted a picture from inside a JP Morgan bank vault. Nat walked straight into a national live broadcast and joined in on a debate she had no context to. 

Sam did something. Bucky wasn't sure, but he saw Maya rubbing her temples and assumed it was bad.

Then, after Steve gets in an argument online and matches donations to Planned Parenthood and ends up donating nearly 100K, Maya declared a state of emergency. 

Every single one of them was put on lockdown, all social media passwords were changed, and every future press interview was canceled.

Bucky never even got the chance to plan what his disaster would be.

But even after all that, he had heard from you. Big, congratulatory messages flooding the group chat. Dumb memes. Responses to inside jokes no one else understood.

So where the hell were you now?

He bangs his fist against the door again.

Nothing.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. He raises his metal hand, just one second away from really turning the door into a pile of splinters-

It swings open before he gets the chance.

And there you are, staring at him like he’s the crazy one. The audacity. 

“Wha– oh.” You blink at him. “Why are you trying to break into my room?”

For a moment, it is just two idiots staring at each other.

Finally, he lets out a low, “What’s wrong with you?”

You raise a brow. “Could you be more specific?”

Only then does he really look at you.

The skin under your eyes is darker than usual, your arms crossed tightly over your oversized sweatshirt. Official Avengers merch, two sizes too big and the same colour you got him because you insisted you had to have matching fits. There’s a slump in your shoulders that wasn't there before.

���No video today?” he asks gruffly.

“Nah,” you sigh. “You’re free to do whatever.”

He stares.

You stare back.

“What?” you demand.

“Is this because of the news?” he asks slowly.

“I’m just tired, Buck.” You rub at your temple, like you're already exhausted with the conversation. “Haven’t I annoyed you enough this week?”

Logically, he should be happy about this. You did annoy him. Constantly. Every day. Even off the clock.

So why the hell is he still standing outside your door?

“Don’t you have something better to do?” you ask, leaning against the doorway. “I thought you were watching True Detective with Steve.”

“Dunno where he is,” Bucky mumbles. Which is a lie, because Steve was very much in his room, waiting for him but Bucky had ghosted him to instead come be a clown outside your door. 

You squint at him. “What are you doing here?”

He shifts his weight. “Thought you were dead.”

A snort escapes you before you can stop it. “Why? ‘Cause I didn’t come knocking today?”

He doesn’t respond.

Your jaw drops slightly. “Wait. You came looking for me because you missed me?”

“I didn’t–” he starts, then immediately gives up halfway through the sentence because he already knows he’s lost.

Your grin is too smug. “You came all this way because you missed me.”

His entire body tenses. “I just came to check.”

You press your lips into a thin line, fighting back laughter. “That is so cute. Just say you’re in love with me. I’ll even kiss ya if you ask nicely.”

Bucky turns immediately on his heel. “Goodbye. You can die now.”

You laugh outright at that, and he shakes his head as he stalks back down the hall. Which is good. Which means things are back to normal. He can go find Steve and get done with the stupid fucking vampire show or whatever--

“Actually--” your voice calls out behind him. “D’you wanna come in?”

His body actually stops.  Turns back slightly, warily asking over his shoulder, “…Why?”

You shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “No pressure. I was just gonna watch old conspiracy theories and figure out whether they’re legit or just old Avengers missions. You can sit in the corner and brood or whatever it is you do.”

“I do not brood,” Bucky says, brooding. 

“Sure, buttercup.” You wave dismissively. “See you next week, then.”

Bucky stares for a second longer, then pivots.

Then pivots again.

Finally, with a deep sigh, he walks back toward your door.

Bucky doesn’t expect your room to look like his room. His room, by standards, was the second worst room in the Tower, only second to Clint’s fucking swamp dungeon. 

But he also doesn’t expect it to look like this.

It’s too empty.

A bed, a desk, a laptop. A single, half-empty mug on the nightstand.

The only thing that makes it yours is the box shoved in the corner overflowing with fan mail, little gifts, and trinkets from people. Stickers, keychains, neatly folded letters– even a framed cross-stitch that says "if we die, we die together."

Which he doesn’t remember you saying, but sounds exactly like something you would. The thought makes his chest feel weird. 

But beyond that, it looks like a room doesn’t require much time to be packed up.

Something about that sits wrong with him.

“You’ve done a lot with the place.”

“Finally get you into my bedroom, and the first thing you do is insult my interior design,” you say. You gesture at the lamp on your desk. “Look at that lamp. I got it from the same trashcan I found Alpine in. It’s got character.”

Bucky squints at the lamp. Now that you mention it, the shade is bent at a weird angle and the base is slightly burnt.

“Really livens up the space,” he tells you.

“Thanks, I try.”

You flop onto the bed, stretching your arms overhead with a sigh. 

He hesitates for a beat before finally settling onto the floor, knees pulled to his chest.

You blink. “Why the hell are you sitting on my floor?”

“I’m comfortable,” he grumbles.

“You– I have chairs.” You gesture to them. “They’re free, I swear. You do not have to do this.”

“I’m good.”

You narrow your eyes, but let it go, shifting to sit near the edge of the bed. Your knee almost bumps his shoulder.

For a moment, there’s just the hum of your laptop, the faint flicker of the TV waiting on a selection screen.

“How are ya?” he asks, voice lower than usual.

“Mighty fine. You?”

He gives you a look.

You blow out a breath, arms crossing loosely over your stomach. “I’m fine.”

“Then why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you haven’t slept in a week.”

Your lips curve up in the corners. “We can change that. Wanna sleep with me now?”

Bucky doesn’t react. At all.

Which is worse. Because he should roll his eyes. Should scoff. Should grumble some insult under his breath.

But he doesn’t. Your smirk falters slightly.

You clear your throat. “God, you’re no fun.”

“Why’d you call off the video shoot?”

“Why must I work all the time? Why can’t I take a simple break without being interrogated?”

He just keeps looking at you. It’s that new kind you’ve noticed him doing now. The kind that lingers half a second too long, that feels heavier than it should.

You shift. Rub at the edge of your sleeve.

“It’s…” You hesitate. “Not been the best week.”

Bucky adjusts how he sits. He doesn’t doesn’t dig, only keeps his eyes trained on you. 

You take a deep breath, then force a grin. “Been watching Glee compilations till, like, 1 a.m. Pretty sure that’s the real issue.” 

Bucky makes a low, unimpressed noise. Still, he lets it go—for now.

Instead, he asks, “So what’s your plan?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“For making yourself feel better.”

That makes you pause. What’s the plan? Like he’s already factored himself in, as if whatever comes next includes him.

You open your mouth, then shut it.

“Paranormal shit.”

You weren’t even thinking about it. It just… happened, probably because he’s here and it’s the subconscious working in mysterious ways. 

But Bucky’s reaction is not what you expect.

He does not shut it down instantly. Call it nonsense. Leave the room. All of which he has done before, to varying degrees.

Instead now he looks at you like he’s used to it. Like he’s thinking about it.

Something in your stomach tightens. You beat it down with a stick. 

You grin. “Oh, you want to.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “What paranormal shit?” 

“Well, I don’t know. I didn’t expect you to agree.”

“I didn’t agree.”

“You told me so with your eyes. You gave me signals.”

“You’re insane,” he mutters. "I did not give you signals."

But you suddenly perk up like it’s given you an idea. 

“What?” he demands.  

“You ever talked to ghosts?”

Kinda.

“No.”

“Well, that’s what we’re doing today.”

“What?”

“Ouija time, baby,” you say, already moving towards the box in the corner. “Now I don’t have a board but fear not. I shall make one. Custom-built. And then we will auction it off for a lot of money when you fake your death.”

“Why do you already sound like you’re prepared for that?”

“Because I am.” You rummage through the box. “Let’s see. We’ll need a marker, some cardboard–”

“You got a ring we can use?” he asks with a sigh.

“No, ‘cause you haven’t put one on me yet.” 

Bucky shuts up after that. 

You grin, pulling out a shot glass and wiggling it between your fingers. “Classy, right?”

Bucky stares at it. “Has that been used before?”

“Any remnants are just a little treat for the ghosties” you reply, flopping onto the floor and immediately getting to work, drawing out letters in marker.

Bucky watches you, something unreadable flickering across his face.

This is so fucking stupid.

Still, all he does is shifts to sit properly, arms crossed over his chest, watching as you finish drawing out the board with little squiggles decorating the corner and everything. 

He doesn’t even realize how close he’s leaning until you glance at him, something teasing and careful in your gaze.

And for a second– just a second- maybe he forgets how to breathe.

Then you smirk, knocking him right out of it. 

“Alright, soldier,” you say, grinning. “You ready?”

Bucky gives you a flat look.

The room is quiet, except for the hum of the TV and the scritch-scratch as you add in finishing touches. 

You hold up the board.

It’s terrible.

The letters are uneven and the numbers are already smudged from where you’ve dragged your sleeve over them.

You sit back, admiring your work, before grabbing the shot glass and plopping it in the center.

You nod solemnly. “It’s ready. Now put your hands on the planchette.”

Bucky sighs deeply, metal fingertips touching the top of the glass.  

You clear your throat dramatically. “Spirits, if you are here, make yourselves known.”

Silence.

Bucky nods. “Guess that’s our answer–”

The shot glass suddenly shoots out.

His muscles tighten immediately. His fingers twitch like he’s ready to grab a knife out of thin fucking air.

You, however, fail miserably in hiding a grin.

Bucky’s eyes narrow immediately. “You’re pushing it.”

“I am not,” you lie.

He stares.  

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

Bucky groans, dragging a hand over his face. “I cannot believe I am wasting my night on this.”

“You’re just mad that the ghosts like me more.”

Bucky does not dignify that with a response.

“Put your hands back there, boy.”

So he reluctantly places his fingers back on the shot glass.

You clear your throat again.

“Oh great and powerful spirits, what secrets do you have for us?”

Silence.

Bucky watches unamused, watching as the letters spell out in lightning fast speed:

Y - O - U - R - 

A pause.

M - O -M.

Bucky lifts his hands and leans back.

“That’s the ghosts talking, not me.”

Bucky just sits there, silent.

You wiggle your fingers dramatically over the board. “Maybe you’re the problem. Maybe the ghosts just don’t like you.”

Bucky snorts, “Right. I’m the problem here, not the fool who used a shot glass to talk to them.”

“The shot glass is genius, alcohol is an ice breaker in most social situation."

"What about this is a social situation?"

"Well it's you, me, and a couple of babes from the underworld. By definition it's a social situation, and a cool one at that."

“Why aren’t your ghosts talkng to us then?”

“Maybe they’re ageist.”

Bucky glares at you.

“You’re practically ancient. Maybe they just hate old people.”

“Maybe if I was a centuries-old spirit and the first thing I heard from the afterlife was your voice, I’d go straight back to hell.”

Your mouth falls open, before you let out an outraged scoff.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from–”

You stop mid-sentence when Bucky shifts, leaning back slightly, arms stretched behind him, his body loose and relaxed. 

There’s a stupid smile ghosting at his mouth. 

“Oh my God.” You latch onto it instantly. “You’re enjoying this.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

The sleeves of his hoodie are pushed up just enough to expose the solid cut of his forearms, the angle of his jaw sharp against the dim glow of your terrible table lamp. 

His expression is too neutral, too blank. Like he’s waiting for you to react.

Something about it catches you off guard. It’s not intentional. It’s not even anything. But your stomach tightens anyway.

And suddenly, you’re aware of how close you’re sitting, how he feels bigger in the small space, how there’s this awful, annoying sense of recognition curling at the edges of something you’re not ready to name.

Bucky notices the way your expression shifts even if it was just for a second, his eyebrows knitting together. 

You clear your throat immediately. “Anyway. Let’s ask them something real.”

“Oh, now we’re asking real questions?”

“Spirits!” You slap your hands onto the board. “What is Bucky’s deepest, darkest secret?”

He rolls his eyes.

The shot glass has not moved in half an hour.

It’s honestly humiliating at this point.

You refuse to acknowledge this.

Bucky, however, has fully accepted it.

“So what now?” he asks, leaning back against your bed, fingers drumming idly against his knee.

You stare at the board. “Maybe it’s a slow connection.”

Bucky blinks. “Slow how?”

“Like two bars, not four?”

“You think ghosts have bad WiFi?”

“I don’t know, Bucky, I’ve never died before.”

“I have. WiFi’s not the issue.”

You shove his shoulder. 

Bucky’s stupid smirk does not fade. 

 “Can we pack this up, or are you going to keep going until your humiliation kink ends?"

"I see you've been thinking about me and kinks in--."

"Stop talking."

You narrow your eyes at him, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like ‘fascist’, but place your fingers on the shot glass.

Bucky does the same.

You inhale deeply. “Spirits, is there anything you would like to say to us?”

Silence.

“Maybe they don’t know English.”

“Sure.”

“Should we try Morse code?”

“No.”

You hum, ignoring him. “What about—”

“Hey spirits. What’s the real reason why this one’s hiding from everyone?” Bucky cuts in smoothly.

It just slips out.

He looks as surprised as you do, but he recovers way quicker. 

He keeps his eyes on the board, like maybe if he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, it won’t become a big deal.

The shot glass doesn’t move. Of course. 

But you pull your hands away first.

Bucky watches, quietly, as you sit back, pressing your palms against your thighs.

“That’s a dumb question,” you mutter.

Bucky hums. “Yeah?”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “Yeah.”

A beat.

You force a grin and shove the Ouija board aside.

“Well,” you announce. “That was disappointing.”

He stretches his arms over his head, not looking at you as he says, “You’re avoiding.”

You pause mid-movement. “Avoiding what?”

“You know.”

You freeze for just half a second, then shake your head, laughing awkwardly. “I haven’t–”

“You have,” he says simply.

It’s the certainty in his voice. Like he already knows the answer, and he’s just waiting for you to say it out loud.

You sigh. “It’s stupid.”

Bucky shrugs, looking back at the board. “Not what I asked.”

A moment passes.

“It’s the name thing,” you say finally, voice flat.

“The name thing?”

“Maya’s trying to relaunch me. Or, like, reintroduce me. Whatever.” You wave a hand. “She’s planning this whole… thing. New identity, new codename, new brand. Something public-friendly.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“She’s just doing her job,” you say quickly, like you’re cutting him off before he can say anything reasonable. “I get it. I do. But it pisses me off.”

Bucky hums. “Why?”

“It’s dumb,” you mutter, kicking at a loose thread in the carpet. “I shouldn’t care this much. But now, instead of just letting me deal with it, I have to make it a thing. I have to let everyone see me deal with it. They want me to launch like I’m some new product. Like they get to decide what version of me gets to exist.”

Bucky is silent for a long second.

Not because he doesn’t get it, but because he does.

Finally, after a while, he leans back slightly, “So what do you wanna do?”

You blink. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know? Or you just don’t like your options?”

Your mouth presses into a thin line.

Because hes right-- it’s not that you don’t know what to do. Stay silent? People fill in the gaps themselves. Let Maya spin it? You become someone else’s project. Reject it outright? You’re the problem.

It’s not even a big deal. It’s just a name. A stupid PR campaign. But every option feels like losing. Like a trap.

You exhale. “I just don’t wanna think about it right now.”

Bucky nods. Like that answer’s good enough.

And for some reason, that makes your shoulders loosen a little.

For the first time all week, it feels like someone actually heard you.

You shift, stretching your arms dramatically. “Anyway. That’s my tragic backstory.”

Bucky exhales sharply. “More tragic things have happened to you.”

“Yeah, like some blue-eyed Avenger-boy not asking me out.”

“No.”

“Let me have my moment.”

A silence rests lightly. 

“Alright,” he mutters. “What dumb shit are we doing next?”

“I don’t know. You want pizza?”

“I meant about your situation.”

You sigh, stretching your legs out in front of you. “Nothing. It’s fine. It’s not like I have a choice, anyway.”

Well that’s not entirely true. 

It’s an idea that creeps up a little too fast. It makes him worry about how much influence you’ve actually had on him. 

Bucky hums. “You’ve got one more option.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He tilts his head, casual, almost lazy. “Yeah.”

When he finally tells you, your entire expression changes.

Slowly, deliberately, a grin spreads across your face.

“Oh,” you say, “you are evil.”

Bucky just leans back on his hands, completely at ease. “I had nothing to do with this.”

Twenty minutes later, the board is still on the floor. 

The shot glass is still doing absolutely nothing.

You and Bucky are back to arguing over whether or not ghosts have good taste in movies when your phone explodes with a call.

You barely have time to read the caller ID before--

“You released a fucking internet poll?!” Maya’s voice bursts through the speaker, loud and borderline hysterical– but not in a bad way.

Bucky immediately presses his lips together, suppressing a smirk.

You, however, grin like a criminal.

“Define released,” you say, like this is the most casual thing in the world.

“Oh, you know exactly what you did.”

“I do,” you agree easily. “But I like hearing you say it.”

Maya groans. “You put your entire name change up for a public vote.”

Bucky coughs into his hand.

You tilt your head. “And?”

“And?!” Maya lets out a breath, “They're all chaotic fucking names and the poll already has two hundred thousand votes.”

Bucky immediately stares at you.

You blink, turning to look at him dramatically. 

“Two hundred thousand?” you repeat, voice too calm.

Bucky raises an eyebrow.

You grin.

“Oh, I’m so famous.”

Bucky groans, while Maya is losing her mind on the other end.

“Oh my God,” she mutters. “Why are you like this.”

You shrug, flipping onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “I would say I was born this way but I was created. In a test tube and everything.”

Maya scoffs.

And Bucky, for some reason, has a look on this face, like he’s enjoying this more than he should.

Then, after a second, he mouths, “Have an actual conversation.”

You roll your eyes but tilt your head back toward the phone.

“Alright, fine,” you sigh. “Lemme step out. Yell at me in private.”

Maya exhales. “It’s not yelling.”

“It’s a little yelling.”

You roll onto your feet, shuffling toward the door

“Back in a sec,” you tell him.

Bucky just nods, watching as you disappear into the hallway.

And just like that he’s alone. Sitting on the floor. Next to a completely useless Ouija board.

And he doesn’t know why, but his fingers twitch.

Not because he believes in it. Not because he thinks it’ll work. 

But… just because. 

Instead, he just shakes his head, rolling his shoulders back. 

“You’re losing it, Barnes,” he mutters under his breath.

But then, without warning-

The shot glass moves.

Bucky immediately stiffens, staring at the door but you’re still having an animated conversation with Maya, fingers pressed into your forehead. 

Bucky’s gaze drags back to the board. 

He doesn’t move an inch. Doesn’t even breathe.

Just watches as the glass drags itself across the board, slow and deliberate.

One letter.

Then another.

J.

Bucky’s jaw tightens.

A.

His stomach twists.

Then–

M.

And the shot glass tips over. 

His heart stops.

And suddenly, he’s not in your room anymore.

He’s eight years old, sitting on the floor of a Brooklyn apartment, scribbling nonsense into a notebook while Rebecca Barnes, all of six years old, with messy braids and jelly-covered fingers, sticks a homemade label on his lunchbox.

“Becca.”

“What?”

“That’s not how you spell James.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

Bucky presses a hand against his face. “Mom—”

 He blinks.

The board is in front of him again.

The shot glass is still. He doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at it.

His head feels weirdly light. His chest feels too tight.

The door clicks shut behind you, and Bucky keeps still, in a way that says nothing happened.

Because if he doesn’t deal with it now, then it isn’t real. And if it isn’t real, then he doesn’t have to think about it.

You flop onto the bed, letting out a long, theatrical sigh.

“Well,” you exhale, dragging the word out. “That was a wild experience.”

Bucky registers the words, but not the meaning.

It’s like he hears you, but the sound is coming through the wrong frequency.

“Yeah?” he mutters, barely processing it.

The sound of your voice fills the space, but it doesn’t quite pull him in.

“Oh, yeah.” You roll onto your stomach, kicking your feet behind you. “First, she yelled at me. Then she was impressed, which honestly I think pissed her off more.”

Bucky nods. Because that’s what he’s supposed to do.

You’re still talking. That should ground him.

And yet his mind is somewhere else entirely.

The air feels off. Like the word JAM is still written in front of him.

“--already drafting apology emails before I even hung up.”

Bucky blinks once, twice.

He knows he should be engaged, responding, moving.

But instead, he just mutters, “Yeah.”

“You’re not listening to me.”

Bucky blinks. Finally, he fully snaps back.

His eyes flick toward you, registering you properly for the first time.

The way you’re watching him now, eyebrows raised, like you’ve been waiting for him to catch up.

He searches for the last thing you said.

Finds nothing.

Shit.

You press a hand to your chest, looking deeply entertained. “Are you ignoring me?”

Bucky scoffs. “Not right now specifically.”

“What was the last thing I said?”

Bucky opens his mouth. Then closes it. 

“Wow. Incredible.” You clap your hands together once. “I’m heartbroken. Betrayed. Ignored.”

Bucky shakes his head, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah this must be what he felt like."

"Wow."

"No, no, it’s fine.” You wave a hand, mock casual. “I’ll just go die then.”

Bucky groans. “I’m back.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because if you need to space out again, just know that I have an open window–”

Bucky balls-up the ouija board and tosses it at your head.

You shriek.

He’ll think about it later.

Whenever later is. 

The laptop screen flickers in the dim room, casting weird shadows against the wall.

You and Bucky are back on the floor, legs stretched out, backs leaning against the bed, watching one of the most ridiculous conspiracy theory videos you’ve ever seen.

The narrator speaks with the conviction of a man who has nothing to lose.

“--and that’s why I’m telling you, there’s no way the Pentagon incident was just a gas leak. Witnesses reported a mysterious figure in black who allegedly disappeared into the shadows–”

“That was Nat.”

You pause the video. “What.”

Bucky doesn’t even look away from the screen.

He gestures lazily toward the blurry figure circled in red.

“That’s her. Right before she cut the power and knocked out two guards. The whole thing took, like, a minute.”

You stare at him.

Then at the screen.

Then at him again.

“I fucking knew it.” You gesture vaguely at the screen. “I called this years ago. Everyone told me I was an idiot. ‘Oh, the footage is too blurry, you can’t even tell if it’s a person.’ Amateurs.”

“Feel validated?”

“Oh, hugely.”

He shakes his head, amused.

You squint at the screen. “What else? What’s real, what’s bullshit?”

Bucky thinks for a second.

He points to another clip.

“Alright, see this?”

A new segment starts playing, showing grainy footage of someone scaling the side of a high-security building.

The narrator’s voice kicks in again. “--but the real question is, who was this shadowy figure? And how did they evade detection when–”

“That’s me.”

You blink.

Bucky nods. “Stockholm. 2012. Whole mission went sideways, had to improvise.”

You exhale, pressing a hand over your face.

“Oh, my God.”

Bucky smirks. “Something wrong?”

“You’re telling me that a significant percentage of government cover-ups are just you and Nat running errands?”

Bucky shrugs. “I wouldn’t call them errands.”

“What would you call them, then?”

He thinks about it for a second.  

“Side quests.”

You nod slowly.

“Right,” you say. “Of course. Are the lizard people real?”

Bucky huffs a short laugh. “I’m not answering that.”

“Wow. Interesting.” You stroke your chin. “You didn’t say no.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. You grin.

The videos keep playing, but neither of you are really watching anymore.

The narrator is still droning on, something about classified operations and shadow governments, but the energy has shifted.

Your eyes feel a little heavier now.

Bucky can tell.

You’ve stopped fidgeting, stopped making comments, stopped cracking jokes at his expense.

You’re just there, leaning into his side, slowly sinking deeper into the moment.

He exhales, tilting his head back against the bed, letting himself relax, too.

The silence between you is comfortable. Easy.

And before he fully registers it, your head is in his lap.

Bucky freezes.

It happens so smoothly that for a second, he wonders if you even realize what you did.

You don’t say anything.

Just curl up slightly, tucking your arms under your head, pressing your cheek against his thigh like it’s nothing.

Like this is normal.

Bucky forces himself to breathe.

To not react too much.

To not make it something. Because it’s not.

Right.

The glow from the laptop screen flickers, illuminating the soft edges of your face.

Something in Bucky’s chest tugs.

You sigh, voice quiet, almost lazy.

“Thanks for hanging out with me,” you murmur. “I needed that.”

Bucky swallows.

“Don’t mention it,” he mumbles.

And then before he can think too hard about it, his fingers brush lightly over your scalp.

A small, absentminded gesture.

Barely there.

But you don’t move.

Just breathe slower. Sink deeper.

Bucky knows he’s going to regret this later. His back is already complaining, his brain is already filing this away for future analysis.

But you look too at ease to move.

So he stays right there.

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[trippinsorrows]

authors note: well, friends, after 85 years of ya'll patiently waiting for my slow ass, it's officially time to kick off book two of the ltye series. buckle up. it's gonna be an interesting ride.

note: this is a sequel to book 1, looking through your eyes. thus, you cannot read this unless you've finished ltye.

warnings: angst

words: 10k (and some change)

song inspo: 'i hope you dance' by lee ann womack

cast + masterlist + story playlist + taglist request form

There’s a common, popular belief that the new year brings in everything aligned and corresponding with the word “new.” That everything that occurred in the past remains just that—the past. 

And on one hand, Solana Reigns believes that. She welcomes it even, because majority of her past has brought nothing but heartache and pain. 

And yet, there’s many things, especially in the year prior, that have been quite the opposite. 

Starting with an arranged marriage. A union intended to bring about death and destruction but has birthed anything and everything but. 

Solana’s hand moves to her growing belly, that small, happy smile on her face as she thinks about her babies. Two beautiful little girls that, in a matter of mere months, she’ll be able to hold and love on.

Her daughters. 

Lives created out of the purest love with her husband. 

Roman Reigns. 

The man she met last year. The man she fell in love with last year. And so so much more. So, yes, while 2024 brought a lot of different things that were varying degrees of good and bad, unlike most, she doesn’t hope for a blank slate with the new year. 

She hopes for a continuation. 

“I take it you haven’t spoken to that husband of yours about the baby shower yet, have you?” 

Afia’s warm voice pulls Solana from her thoughts and reflection. Her sister-in-law works gracefully, gliding almost, from one end of the kitchen to the other. A combination of layering the plates with the snacks they just made and placing the dishes dirtied into the sink, spraying them with soap to aid in the later-on washing. 

“Not yet,” she answers, bitting down on her bottom lip, walking over to help. “I will. I just—”

“Solana.” Afia’s voice, much like everything else about her presence, especially over the past couple months, is nothing short of helpful. Beyond that. Kind. “I understand.” She nods, full lips turning into a bit of a smirk. “I just heard the last time you sprung a social gathering on him, he didn’t take it well.”

Solana chuckles. That’s a safe way to describe it.

What started out as chaotic ended infinitely more disastrous than she could have ever anticipated. 

And just as quickly as she was smiling, Solana is frowning.

Jey.

Thoughts of her husband's cousin, once like a brother—to the both of them—now a stranger. And with him, Jimmy as well. 

Naomi.

Afia is many things, perceptive being one of her many strengths. She turns away from the sink, drying her hands with the towel, already knowing where Solana's headspace has drifted off to. “You haven’t spoken to her yet either, have you?”

A simple, heavy answer. 

“No.”

Not from intentional avoidance. At least, that’s certainly not Solana’s intent. 

With them only being a week and two days into the new year, she's just been occupied with so many other things. She and Roman discussing wants for the new house, her long distance mentorship with Aurora and relationship with Paloma, designing and readying the nursery in their current home until the new house is ready, planning for their second wedding next month, and just preparing for parenthood altogether. 

Not to mention there’s still so much to unpack and process from the Coup.

Some of which Solana has gotten Roman to discuss with her. Most of which, he has not, which she works hard to respect while also acknowledging it has to be fully unpacked at one point or another. 

Not even including her own thoughts and feelings regarding all that, but the difference between herself and her husband is that Solana has talked about it. With Gail. With Trish. Afia. Bayley. Even him. Her entire support system that she’s leaned on greatly since…that.

She wishes she could say the same for her husband.

A gentle hand on her shoulder pulls Solana from potential overthinking. Afia’s grin comforting. “Give him time.”

Solana sighs. 

If only that was easier said than done.

“In the meantime, help me with the food and drinks, yes?”

An agreeable nod. “Of course.” After gathering her share of the trays of food and snacks, Solana looks over at Dulce who sits in her bed kept in the kitchen. “Come on, baby. Let’s go see daddy.” 

Solana’s sweet puppy doesn’t need to be told twice, hopping out of her bed, fluffy body swaying as she prances towards the steps, leading the way. 

Afia chuckles, commenting, “let no one say she’s not smart.”

Solana smiles, carefully balancing the tray of food. “Sometimes I think she’s smarter than me.”

“You? No. The average man? Probably.”

Shared laughter as the women make their way up the steps, Solana noticing the way Afia keeps darting her eyes over, as if watching and making sure she’s okay. It makes her smile but also evokes a teasing comment. 

“And here I thought Roman was the only overprotective one.”

Afia rolls her eyes, denying nothing. “Can’t help it.” She skillfully manages holding the tray of drinks with one hand, the other reaching over to feel Solana’s growing baby bump as they reach the top of the steps. “Many are waiting to meet these little ones.”

Solana doesn’t say anything, but truer words have never been spoken. 

Herself and Roman at the front of the line. 

And speaking of, it’s heard before seen. Obvious grumbling, arguing, and disagreement.

“Just hang up the damn phone. It’s been 45 minutes.”

“If I was gonna hang up, I would have done so about 30 fucking minutes ago.”

“He’s right, Roman. Doesn’t make sense—”

“What doesn’t make sense is—”

Afia and Solana arriving and standing in the doorway is all that’s needed to stop each man, mid conversation, three sets of eyes turning onto them and then Dulce who walks over to the big box that remains leaning against the wall, in the same spot Solana saw it in the last time she and Afia checked on the men.

Almost two hours ago.

Regardless, it’s a stark contrast to the other box that looks like it was practically shredded open, the contents of which are spread across the room. 

Again, very similair to how she left them.

“We umm—,” she starts, ignoring the mess, walking over to Roman who, even without saying anything, or him even needing to express as such, Solana can see is visibly and clearly annoyed. “We brought snacks.”

She can tell he’s about to protest, hence why she uses the still unopened box as a makeshift desk, laying down the tray and taking a plate. “Ro, you need to eat something.”

He manages to fit in that protest, scowling, “baby, I can eat when we’re done.”

“And just when is that going to be?”

Matteo, mouth full of food, mumbles something indecipherable at his wife’s question.

“We’re almost done,” Dwayne is the only one to offer an answer, Akara in one hand, homemade lemonade in the other. 

Solana looks around at the scattered pieces. 

“Are—are you sure?”

It’s only then that she becomes aware of what she’s sure Afia already noticed the second—if not before—they entered the room. The cell phone that lays on the window mantle, screen up and lit, revealing a duration of 47 minutes. 

And counting.

It makes her frown as she reaches for one of the Akara’s, leaning up on her heel to force feed her stubborn husband, if that’s what it takes. 

That's exactly what it takes. Solana with a small, pleased grin at the sight of him chewing while scowling at the same time.

Typical Roman.

“Who are you on hold wi—” Afia’s question is cut off by her question being answered. Just not by anyone physically in the room. 

“Hello, thank you for calling—” The poor soul on the other end of the phone, voice light, warmhearted, but deeply accented, has no idea what she—most likely—is set to experience.

Because Dwayne is quick to close the distance, snatching the phone and barking into it like a man on the brink of a crashout. “Yeah, listen here, we’ve been on hold for goddamn a whole ass hour when all we fucking need is you to email over a copy of directions for one of your products in Engl—”

Beep.

Solana’s jaw drops at the same time Afia covers her mouth and turns her head, that small smirk of amusement sneaking through her partially spread fingers.

“Son of a bitch!”

“Did she hang up?”

“No, the phone just randomly fucking beeped.”

Roman’s smart ass comment is silenced by Matteo running his hand over his face, muttering, “and this is why I said I should handle the call.”

Dwayne, however, couldn’t disagree more. “No one has the fucking time for you to pull that suave Casanova shit, Fabio.”

Matteo remains unbothered—as always—calmly countering. “Tell me then, how was your approach any better?”

“It was a waste of fucking time from the beginning,” Roman growls, Solana stepping closer, placing a calming hand on his chest. “We don’t need them anyway.” 

“I’ll just finish translating.”

“Because that was working so well before.”

Matteo’s second smart comment that earns a snort from Afia makes Dwayne stand ten toes down. He gestures to the half-brothers. “Well, I speak better French than you two fuckers.”

At that, Solana finally speaks up, looking between the men. “French?”

Roman answers, angrily gesturing to the ground where a booklet, edges torn and pages worn, stares back at her. “The fucking directions they included are in French.”

Solana makes a face, starting to say something in response. Only to stop herself. To keep it as a thought.

If you would have just let us get the cribs I saw at Target, maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation.

It feels a bit mean and too “I told you so” for her liking, hence Solana offering what she hopes is a helpful suggestion.

“Maybe you all should take a break. You’ve been at it for a while now.”

What she wants to say or even ask is for Roman especially to take a break. He still hasn't fully healed from his injuries sustained from the coup, partially due to the severity but mostly because while he's close to the end of his rehab, the taking it easy part of his treatment plan is just something he's clearly chosen to ignore.

Typical Roman.

But, what Solana intends to be hopeful and encouraging appears to come across as some sort of challenge what with her receiving various forms of disagreement.

“We got this.”

“They should be built in no time.”

“I’m not taking a break. We’re gonna get this shit built, and we’re gonna get it built today.”

Solana sighs. 

Though she’s had very little experience with the opposite sex, well, more negative experiences than anything, one thing seems to remain the same, regardless of individualistic differences. They’re all stubborn.

And her husband, his brother, and his cousin seem no different, if not the prime examples of this stubbornness.

And pride.

She readies to try another approach, seeing the stress building and settling on her husband’s handsome face. The way he stands, hands on his hips, mouth set into one of his infamous scowls. It’s a position, mimicked by the other two men, sans Dwayne who has the foreign directions in one hand and a cup of lemonade in the other.

Buy, it’s in looking in that direction that she spots something. Among the discarded, non-assembled pieces, a card, glossed with something so evident and obvious staring back at her.

Of course.

“Umm, Roman—”

But, it’s too late. He’s already talking amongst the men, the three having gathered once more in a sort of huddle. He waves his arm dismissively, too focused on the conversation at hand to even look in her direction. “Not right now, Sol.” 

She frowns. “Bu—”

“Solana and I are going for a walk,” Afia cuts in, her tone all the proof that it was an intentional interruption. That only makes Solana's frown deepen, the confusion multiplying when Afia sneaks a wink before clearing her throat. “The kids are all down for naps, so they should be good until we get back. Same for Dulce.”

Dulce, who has made a bed for herself out of the stretch film. Solana would go and grab one of her beds if not for her puppy already being fast asleep. 

“Sounds good,” Matteo responds, also deeply focused on the conversation versus what was said by his wife. He instead looks over at Roman, asking something in Italian.

Solana watches her husband roll his eyes, responding tersely in the same tongue. 

Dwayne then cuts in, English being his language, “that’s what the directions say, so it’s gotta be true!”

Solana sighs once more. 

Something tells her that the projected “no time” will end up being a long time.

“We won’t be too long,” she offers, realizing there is no use in trying to get through to them. To any of them. 

No reply.

She and Afia meet in the doorway, leaving behind the food and drinks they carried.

“Take security with you,” Roman calls out, his eyes finally meeting his wife's just long enough for him to issue his order.

Afia smirks from where she stands beside her. “She’s with me.” Solana looks over at the other woman. “She doesn’t need it.”

Solana doesn’t doubt that one bit. However, she also knows her husband. 

They can take a guard or two with them.

It’s not until they’re both out of the room and heading towards the staircase that Solana stops her sister-in-law to ask, “why didn’t you let me tell them about the QR code?”

The same QR code Solana is almost certain that none of the men realize most likely will bring them to the website with the manuals and other useful information.

In English.

Afia giggles, the sound soft and melodic, such a stark contrast to the vicious killer that rests deep within, always ready, willing, and waiting to be called to action when the occasion arises. “And take away the satisfaction of seeing such grown, powerful, and seemingly intelligent men struggle?” She shakes her head. “No. There’s no fun in that.” 

There’s something about her response that makes Solana smile, lightly chiding, “that’s so mean.”

“You call it mean. I call it entertainment.” Once again, Solana uses the bannister to descend down the steps, Afia keeping a watchful glance in her direction. “We were definitely right about one thing.” Solana stops to look at her. “Our husbands certainly have more in common than they probably realizes.”

Solana chuckles.

That, they do.

They most certainly do.

—————

Solana knows it’s a bad idea, or perhaps it’s less she knows it’s a bad idea, and more she suspects the fact that she’s doing so without telling Roman is what makes it a bad idea. She will. There’s no way she’ll keep something like this from him. Time and hard lessons have taught her that few good things sprout from her keeping secrets from her husband. And, vice versa.

However, she would prefer to have more to tell him than just his mother was reaching out to speak with her. Requesting an audience with her. Solana would like to be able to tell him what said audience was about, hence why she opted to skip informing him until after the meeting.

She can only pray it’s the right choice.

Solana walks into the rented out restaurant with her chin held high, flanked by personal security detail, Bloodline and Cartel included. Stephanie remains close beside her, eyes surveying and watchful. Always waiting and ready.

For anything.

Smoothing her hand over her dress, for a second, Solana wonders if should have worn something else. Perhaps something more modest, that doesn’t show as much of her ample cleavage, something that feels a bit more appropriate. However, just as quickly as that concern appears, it deflates almost instantly with the reminder that Solana doesn’t care about this woman. 

Doesn’t care what she thinks about her. Not even a little. A strange sentiment considering who she is, but ironically, it’s because of who she is that Solana doesn’t care. She’s heard not one good or nice thing about this woman in the few instances that her husband has spoken about her. But, truth be told, what he didn’t say spoke more than his words ever could. Solana could see the pain and distress simmering, buried deep within him, the hurt this woman caused him. Her own son. 

It’s a type of pain Solana knows all too well. The hurt and pain that comes from knowing a parent doesn’t want you. 

Doesn’t love you.

At the time, she tried to comfort him. Empty words holding little weight but what felt right to say at the time, because no one wants to believe that their parent cares little to nothing for them. However, deep down, Solana knew. She knew that Roman’s mother was just like Xavier. Incapable of loving or wanting a child they never asked for in the first place. 

Once painful, it stirs up more anger than anything. Anger that stems from not understanding how people can be so cruel. Anger that stems from carrying two children that she hasn’t even met yet but would do anything for. 

She just doesn’t understand.

So, a small part of her wonders, maybe more so hopes, that this meeting could give her some sort of clarification. A why. Something she knows Roman doesn’t give two shits about at this point in his life, and rightfully so, but something she’d like to know regardless. 

For her own sake.

Viviana Reigns is a woman whose presence is felt long before it’s seen firsthand. Solana recognizes this the minute the woman walks into the restaurant, surrounded by guards who wear the Cosa Nostra insignia. Solana stands from the table, looking her over. This woman. A ghost, but also not. Because seldom has Solana heard of ghosts donning designer suits that have clearly been tailored to fit and mold to every one of her soft curves. Viviana is neither tall nor short, some perfect space in the middle. Her figure slim and lithe, somewhat similair to her features. Features that, right off the bat, Solana can see Roman in. Can see the resemblance between her husband and his mother.

His mother. 

Viviana’s thin lips, bathed in rich red lipstick lift into a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “Solana.” Her voice is light, deeply accented. Regal. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

If only Solana felt the same. 

“Mrs. Reigns….”

Viviana waves a hand in her direction, Solana catching a glimpse of the wrinkled, partially disfigured skin. Burn scars.

Similair to the ones cloaked beneath Roman’s tattoos. 

“Please. Call me Viviana.”

A small part of Solana doesn’t want to, for reasons unknown, but it’s not a hill she will die on. 

Not with so many other options for hills.

“Okay.” Nothing more. Solana taking her seat as Viviana waits for one of guards to pull out her own. 

And then, she smiles, leaning back in her seat. She says something. Not in English. Most likely Italian.

Solana frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh nothing.” She shakes her head, Solana briefly focused on the motion of her chestnut brown hair that brushes past her shoulders. Viviana shuffles with the tea cup and plate on the table in front of her, setting both to the side. “You’re just…not what I expected my son to go for.”

Solana’s frown only deepens.

What’s that supposed to mean?

“How far along are you?” 

Solana can’t tell if it’s an intentional change of topic, albeit somewhat strange considering they’re only having met minutes prior, but on some level, it’s appreciated.

“Ummm…” She pushes some of her hair back behind her ear, one hand naturally going to her bump. “5 months.”

Viviana doesn’t attempt to hide her surprise. “That’s it? I would have thought you were further.”

Sting.

“I’m having twins.”

There’s a spark in the older woman’s eyes, as she asks, almost excitedly. “Boys?”

“Girls.”

A small part of Solana wonders if she should be sharing as much. So much, in some ways.

Too much.

But, there’s a larger part of her that also feels like the sharing, at all, is about to come to an end real fast. Especially with the obvious disappointment on Viviana’s face.

“Both are girls?” She shakes her head, eyes dipping to the table, murmuring something in Italian before offering a faux smile. “Well, I suppose you can always try again. But, not too late. After all, Roman will be turning—”

“You’re confused.”

She pauses. “Excuse me?”

“I said you’re confused.” Solana doesn’t stammer nor stutter not once. “Clearly confused, because in no world, especially this world, my world, do you get to walk in here and speak to me like this. Disrespect me the way you have in the little time I’ve known you.” Time Solana has not appreciated nor enjoyed not one bit. 

“I—”

“Will remember who you sit in front of?” Solana readily and happily answers for her. “Yes....yes, you will.”

It’s a surprisingly easily role and space to slide into. Once upon a time, Solana would have sat there silently and quietly. Would have allowed this woman to say whatever she wanted, only having a bit of a response later that day. Only feeling her feelings about it after the fact.

No more.

No more will Solana allow anyone to disrespect her. 

Her new motto has become that if she wouldn’t want her girls receiving or putting up with it, then neither will she. 

No matter who it is.

“I see.” Nothing else is said, the older woman's nude nails tapping against the table. She clears her throat, moving around in her seat once more. “Well, I suppose we should get right to it, then, shall we?”

Absolutely. “Yes.”

Viviana’s smile remains. Nothing has ever felt or looked so cold. 

“Obviously, you, like my son, are aware of my….reappearance.” Solana offers nothing in response. The time and opportunity for sharing with her is well past gone. “As I’m also sure, he’s most likely expressed to you his….disinterest in speaking with me or even learning why I decided to make my still being alive known.”

Again, nothing.

Viviana sighs, clearly irritated with the lack of engagement. She starts shuffling with the folded napkins on the table that also now have the pleasure of her eye contact. “Well, I need you to speak with him, as he’s not returning any of my—” 

“No.”

Icy eyes dart up with inhuman speed. Viviana’s expression shifts so subtly that it’s almost unnoticeable. Almost. “No?”

Solana, however, remains undeterred. It was obvious Viviana wanted a response. Well, she’s got one now. “Yes. No.”

Silence. The woman sits across from her, gaze still unmoved, the tight smile on her face widening just enough, small age lines in the corner of her mouth pronounced. “I don’t think you understand—”

“I understand just fine.” An interruption conjoined with the shift of Solana’s body as she sits up in her seat, completely uninterested in the cup of tea that’s now gone lukewarm, a stark contrast to the conversation at hand that burns with flames lapping and rising on both sides. “You are the one who doesn’t understand.”

Viviana's calm facade drops. “Listen—”

“You are not the Faletua anymore.” A cold, necessary reminder, as Solana points to herself. “I am.” Her eyes travel to the team of security sat quietly but observantly behind the older women. Their movement subtle but noticeable, a shift forward just as Solana sat up, matched by her own set of security. Especially Stephanie. “And the wife of the Capo, which means they answer to me.” And without a second of hesitation, a simple, one word command. “Leave.”

Viviana stares and scoffs. Her expression shifts from enraged, to haughty, to enraged all over again as “her” security team stands and exits out without a single word of protest. She turns around in her chair, scoffing with disbelief, growing irritation evident in the way she narrows her eyes. “You—”

“You didn’t protect him.” A harsh but truthful statement. The underlying emotion that drives Solana’s determination—and anger—overtly present in this conversation. Viviana's lack, a catastrophic failure that resulted in so much pain and heartache for the man she loves. It deepens her resolve. “But, I will.”

Viviana’s gaze remains heated, boiling, rage simmering. “You think being married to my son for not even a year makes you better than me? His mother? That carrying his children means something?” She laughs, voice emotionless like the look in her empty blue eyes. “You’re a pretty girl but clearly naive as to how all this works.”

“It works the way I say it works.” Solana’s fist forms on the table, the other placed protectively over her baby bump, one of her daughter’s kicking. Sharp. As if also angered by the conversation transpiring. Lina. “Roman may be the one who sits at the Head of the Table, but make no mistake Viviana, I sit right there next to him.” Head tilted ever so slightly, the calmest, coldest question. “Where exactly is your seat again?”

Checkmate.

Viviana’s defeated expression says just as much, but so does her frustration. It’s palpable. The anger. 

Solana never flinches. 

“I’m not sure what you expected of this meeting, but if there’s anything you should leave today with knowing, it’s that no matter what, I’m on my husband’s side.” Then. Now. Always. “Whatever he wants or decides to do, I support, and nothing you say will change that.”

Ever. 

Viviana’s eyes remained narrowed, her upper lip crinkled, her mouth set in a way that indicates nothing nice is set to follow. 

Solana is ready for it. 

For her. 

Expect, that never comes. She’s instead met with a quiet chuckle. “Perhaps I underestimated you, child.”

“Your mistake.” Solana doesn’t miss a beat. “I wouldn’t advise you to do it again.”

Because if there’s anything Solana has learned over the past year, has become committed and determined to, a religion of sorts, it’s the refusal to allow anyone to mistreat or speak to her in a way she doesn’t deserve.

She’s spent the better half of her years being the mental, emotional, and physical punching bag of almost everyone in her life.

And, she’ll be damned if she lets that continue any longer.

Not after all the hard work she's put in.

But, even more. She has to lead by example. She wants her daughters to know their mother as an assertive and strong woman. Not the weak, timid, and traumatized girl Roman married. That girl is gone.

Forever.

Viviana’s smile remains tight. “Noted.” 

At that, Solana doesn’t wait for another response. She just moves to stand up, using the table to brace her. “I believe this meeting is over.” 

Whether she wants it to be or not. Solana is walking past her when Viviana’s hand shoots out, grabbing Solana’s wrist. Naturally, Stephanie and the rest of security jump, ready to intercede, only for Solana to lift her other hand, halting them.

Blue locks onto brown.

Reigns vs Reigns.

The calmest, yet eeriest of tones. “You should know, Solana, I’m a determined woman.” Her eyes flash with something, her smile faltering just so slightly. “I haven’t survived everything I have by sitting idly on my ass. If I want something….I get it. Always.”

Threatening. A part of Solana perceives the words, a supposed general statement, as threatening. Another part sees it as a challenge.

A challenge she’s ready and willing to take on. 

Roman has enough he’s dealing with right now. He doesn’t need anything else added to that plate.

She can take care of this. 

Gladly.

Solana jerks her wrist from Viviana’s hold, leaning over as much as her bump will allow, words simple but matching exactly the tone used.

“Then that makes two of us.” 

—————

Solana debates it. 

She debates telling him. She knows she needs to, but she also doesn’t want to.

Roman is already handling so much as it is. Continuing to monitor the Bloodline. Working closely with his representatives out in Italy for the Cosa Nostra. Handling negotiations with Domingo for the Cartel alliance.

Preparing for fatherhood.

She would like nothing more than to remove from his plate. Not add to it.

But, she also knows secrets in their marriage have never done either of them any good.

It’s only made things worse.

Thus, she knows what she needs to do. 

Later that evening, well after she’s prepared and they’ve shared dinner together, she finds him in the space both have occupied more than not over the past week, almost two weeks.

There’s minimal decorations up, as they’ve yet to pick up the major things like decor. It was just the cribs—both assembled, sitting on either side of the spacious room, that they saw online, and Roman really liked. Solana liked them, too. She just found the price a bit too exorbitant; however, Roman’s look of disgust when she showed him more affordable options on the Target website was all she needed to see to know he would accept no such thing.

Only the best.

The warmest smile on her face as she leans against the doorway, hand on her belly. He sits on the floor, shirtless, nothing but dark joggers on. Hair pulled up into a messy, lazy bun. Phillips screwdriver in hand as he tightens a screw in the rocking chair that he has on its side. It’s the same white wood as the cribs with pink outlines. From the same collection, but something he only needed to see Solana’s eyes light up at to know he had to get it for her.

“I take it that one was a bit easier to put together.”

He chuckles, not looking at her but also offering no visible sign of surprise at her presence. Expected. Roman’s attention to detail and his surroundings is unmatched.

“Having the directions in English tends to make assembly a little fucking easier.” Her smile wides as he looks up at her, tossing the screw driver in the bag. “I still can’t believe you saw that box shit and didn’t say anything.”

She giggles. “It’s a QR code, baby.”

“Yeah, well, whatever it is, it would have helped to have it three hours fucking earlier.”

She shakes her head. “I tried to tell you.”

“You could have text me.”

“True.” She’ll give him that. Solana plays with the material of her gown, sharing with a teasing smile. “But, Afia was right.”

His brow lifts. “About?”

She smiles. “It was kind of funny seeing the three of you react like that.”

He looks away, cutting his eyes, muttering, “I knew she was a bad influence on you.” Solana laughs, shaking her head as Roman moves to his feet, turning the chair right side up. His gaze falls over to her. “Try it?”

Solana doesn’t need to be asked twice. Pushing off the wall, she walks over to the rocking chair, one hand on her belly, the other accepting Roman’s as he helps her ease down into it. Instantly, the pink padding on the back and seat soothing her in the best of ways.

She releases a content sigh, as Roman moves to one knee, his watchful gaze staying on her. “Is it alright?”

The easiest answer as she brings his hand to her belly. “It’s perfect.”

The relief that flashes in his brown eyes makes her smile deepen. Solana reaches to cup his face, her smile faltering. “I need to talk with you about something.”

She hates the way his face drops, like he’s bracing for the worst. “Everything alright?” Naturally, he looks down at her stomach. “Are they—”

“They’re fine.” She assures, thumb brushing against his salt and pepper beard. “I promise.” They just had another follow up appointment that confirmed as such, but Solana also knows with everything that happened, he’s been a little more on edge regarding her pregnancy. 

Understandably so. 

“It’s—I—” She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to spit it out. “I met with your mom today, Roman.”

She didn’t expect the warmest reaction, but Solana can’t deny there’s a bit of sadness that imbues within her as his hand drops from her stomach. “What?”

Solana swallows. “She—she asked to meet with me.”

He stands up, Solana grateful he still offers his hand, helping her to her feet. 

“And you went?”

She won’t lie to him. 

“Yes.”

Roman looks away, but she doesn’t. She studies every movement. The subtle clench of his jaw, the way his eyes shut and open as he clearly works to gather himself. She sees it all. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t want me to go—”

“You were right—”

She sighs. “But, I also….I just wanted to know what she had to say. Where her mind is, Roman.”

“I don’t give a fuck about where her mind is, Solana.” She winces at the drastic shift in his tone. So harsh. “I don’t give a fuck about her.”

“I know you don’t, and I respect that. I do, but I—I wanted to know and hear for myself, because if she’s up to anything, I want to know. I want to know, so I can take care of it.”

He sighs, eyes shutting, voice softening. “Sol…”

“She’s done so much harm already, Roman….” Solana moves over to him, hands on his chest, grateful when he looks down at her. “I won’t let her hurt you.”

Not anymore.

Not ever again. 

He continues to calm down, hands moving to her hips, holding her against him. “I don’t want you worrying about me, Solana. I can handle this—”

“Yeah? Well, so can I, and I will. I did.” He eyes her, clearly curious and wanting to know what she means by that, hence her elaboration. “She….she wasn’t the nicest to me.”

His eyes darken. “Of course, she wasn’t. She’s a fucking heartless bitch.”

“But, I—I set her straight.” And did. “I made it clear who I am. My position. Along with the fact that whatever you decide to do about and regarding her, I support. My loyalty is with you.”

As it always will be. 

Her reassurance seems to chip away at his iciness. “What did she want?”

Solana presses her lips together before answering truthfully. “We didn’t get to the specifics, but I think she thought I could talk to you for her….convince you to talk to her.”

His entire body stills, his voice calm but even. “Solana, you know I love you more than anything in this fucking world, but not even you could convince me to do that.”

The most unsurprising thing ever. 

She presses a kiss to his clothed chest, offering additional reassurance. “I know, and that’s why I’m not trying.” Nor would she try to undermine his boundaries like that. Not when he’s a major reason she even has any and knows how to set them for herself these days.

It would be such a slap in the face.

Her fingers move gently against the cotton of his shirt. “You know….if there’s anyone else other than Matteo who knows how or even a fraction of how you feel….it’s me.”

He doesn’t say anything, but she knows he understands where she’s coming from. What she’s referring to.

That part of her life that she also has to figure out. That, currently, non-existent relationship. 

And if she wants it to stay that way. 

But, one thing at a time. 

Solana presses her body against and into him, as much as her bump allows, cheek mushed into his shirt, voice soft but audible. “I’m sorry.”

Not for the meeting. 

For all of it that led to the meeting. All of the unhealed hurt and trauma this woman, the same woman who should have showered him with love and affection, has caused. Then. Now. Perhaps, always, to some extent. 

Again, Solana understands the impact of parental trauma more than anyone. As hard as she’s worked and as much progress as she’s made, some scars are too deep to be fully healed. 

Too painful.

Too permanent.

And, she knows her husband, sadly, has more than a couple of those scars.

Especially…especially after the coup. 

“Hey.” She looks up, offering a small smile. “Let’s go baby shopping this Friday.” 

That brief spark of something more hopeful, less heavy makes her chest flutter. “Yeah?”

She nods, pressing another kiss to his chest, “maybe just clothes and stuff. We can take a break from the furniture, since, you know, that was….a little stressful for you.”

“Solana.”

————

A few hours later finds the husband and wife in their bedroom, their puppy lounging in her bed, playing with one of her fifty million toys that Roman loves to complain about, despite him having purchased half said toys. 

Not that he’d ever own up to that. 

Never.

In comfortable silence that’s eventually interrupted by that. 

It’s the smallest thing, a simple sound, an indication of something that could very well be nothing, but Solana knows her husband well enough to know he’s too perceptive for that. It’s why he immediately halts his movements, hands still on the sole of her feet as he works to ease some of the discomfort that stems from the swollenness.

His eyes quickly scan over her, searching for the source of the sound. The cause. And then, “what’s wrong?”

It’s impossible to not smile. Small but warm. Moving. “Nothing, mi amor.”

A bit of a silly answer considering who she’s speaking to. “Solana….”

The sigh that tumbles out is accompanied by her reaching for him. “Come here.” A directive that doesn’t need to be repeated. Roman is soon causing the bed to creak under the weight of him joining her, beside her, Solana allowing him to reposition her body so she’s leaning at an angle into his chest. Hand on top of his, she guides it along her stomach before finding placement. “Right….there.” Solana chuckles, looking up to see that same almost transfixed expression she witnessed the first time she let him feel the girls moving around. “They’re active today…”

Roman moves his hand around her belly, Solana allowing hers to remain atop, traveling with him. “Does…does it hurt?”

“Not really,” she answers. Uncomfortable at some points, especially when Lina is kicking, but the blessing that is knowing her girls continue to grow big and strong inside of her is more than enough to outweigh any sort of discomfort. “Now keep talking.” Solana shifts her body once more, reclining further into his chest, eyes closing.

Even without her vision, she can feel his confused gaze on her. “Why?”

Another simple answer. Solana opens her eyes long enough to reach her hand to cup his bearded cheek, offering yet another simple explanation but one that tugs at the heartstrings of both, even if he doesn’t outwardly admit it.

“They’re most active when they hear daddy’s voice.”

And, she’s right. Roman’s eyes flash with something akin to appreciation, but because she knows her husband, she sees it. Feels it even. In the way that he drops his gaze, pulling away and repositioning himself to continue her massage. 

Solana sighs, deciding to share something she’s been sitting on for the past few days. 

Something she feels ready to share.

That she needs to. 

“Can you do me a favor?”

His answer is immediate. “Anything.”

She smiles. “Give me your phone.”

Roman doesn’t hesitate, pulling it out of his back pocket and handing it to her. Solana’s heart fills with warmth seeing his Lock Screen photo. So similair to her own. From their New Years Eve party. Her on his lap, arms around his neck, hugging him, face buried into his neck, his hand splayed protectively across her baby bump. 

That warmth multiples when she realizes just how similar it is to one of her older Lock Screen photos. From her birthday trip last year.

She sighs.

Every year with him just gets better and better. 

Solana unlocks the phone and navigates to Apple Music. She’d give anything for him to use Spotify, her preferred music app, but her stubborn, old fashioned husband rants about it being “too fucking complicated” and preferring the ease/simplicity of the phone’s native music app. 

Regardless, it’s hardly a hill to die on. Plus, it serves the purpose. Especially for the task at hand. 

Pulling up the song and saving it to his library, she hands him back the phone, explaining, “I just want you to listen to that.” 

Roman accepts the phone, looking at the screen, seeing said song, and then back at her. “Okay, and?”

She shakes her head. “And keep listening to it until you get it.” 

Naturally, he frowns, his confusion understandable but also something that makes her smile a little. “Get what?”

Solana takes his free hand, lifting it to her mouth, pressing a gentle kiss. 

“You’ll know...” 

—————

The past few weeks have proven to be some of the most challenging of Roman’s life. The closest to death that he’s ever come to, the closest to the end of it all, that almost had him by the collar. 

But, even with all that, all the deception, the lies, the death, none of it could have prepared him for this.

For standing besides Matteo, standing besides his brother, in front of the one person he would have bet his life on never seeing again.

At least, not on this side of life.

For a second, a brief second, he considers it. Considers if in the blink of an eye, he went from among the living to among the dead. If a bomb was somehow planted in his office, detonating and killing all of them.

Because death, in his mind, has always been the only way he would ever see her again.

See his mother.

She steps closer, gaze falling between the two of them. A part of Roman wants to back away, run away even. Just get the hell away from her. Out of there. His office suddenly becoming so much more claustrophobic than he remembers. 

She doesn’t stop until she’s in arms distance, her smile small and almost….emotional. 

That’s the thing that sways him, just slightly, from his state of shock.

His mother was—is—a lot of things, but emotional would never be one of them.

“Look at you two,” she breathes, taking yet another step closer. Roman closes his eyes. “My sons. My handsome, strong—”

There’s something about her words, laced with honey that doesn’t saturate, doesn’t penetrate him in any sort of way, along with her taking his hand in hers. Holding it. Thumb moving over his rough knuckles that does it. That breaks him from that trance of sorts. Snaps him back to reality. 

Roman jerks his hand back, aware of the way that Matteo looks at him, expression still filled with shock. The way he keeps his hand entertained with hers.

Viviana’s look of surprise at the action is contrasted with something else, something heavy, something almost…hurt.

She looks hurt.

If only he gave a flying fuck.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” It’s what he asks, but it’s not what he wants to ask. No, what he really wants to know is how and why the fuck she’s still alive. 

A lot of Roman’s memories around that time are blurry and unclear, but he’ll never forget the hours he spent at the cemetery the day of the funerals. Multiple. The funerals of his entire family. He’ll never forget the tears he shed, the last time, in years, that he truly allowed himself to feel. The way he sat in front of his mother’s coffin and murmured a quiet apology. 

How he apologized to all of them. 

For not saving them. 

For not saving her. 

For—

“I—I know this must be confusing for you—”

“Confusing?” Matteo is the one to speak, an undertone of anger in his deep, accented voice. “We’ve thought you dead all these years.”

She presses her lips together. “I know.”

“You know?” Roman’s voice is mocking and cruel, and he doesn’t give two shits. Because as shocked as he was before, he’s none of that, maybe some, but mostly just anger.

He’s pissed. 

“What the fuck do you mean, you know?”

“Careful the tone you take with your mother, boy.”

At that, both Matteo and Roman snap and turn to the other part that had completely lost in the midst of the believed dead returning to the land of the living. 

But, before Roman can address the man who is his grandfather in blood only, Matteo is two steps ahead. “There are no boys present in this room, but there will be a dead body if you don’t remember who the fuck you speak to.”

Roman’s gaze briefly flits to his brother, at the simmering rage underneath each word. Something deep. Something personal. Roman recognizes his own….complicated feelings towards that side of his family, but the level of aggression and rage in Matteo’s threat makes him wonder just what that relationship looks like for him. 

It’s something to explore. For sure.

“Please.” Viviana’s pleading tone drags their gazes back to her. “This is a lot. I recognize that—”

“You survived.” Roman has never been one for fluff. To beat around the bush. Moving past the haze of it all, it’s easy to come to that simple conclusion. Especially with her standing before them.

She swallows. “I did.”

How? He hasn’t the slightest clue. She didn’t come out unscathed. The burn scars—similar to his own—all the proof. But, right now, he can’t say he very much cares about that. All he can focus on is the fact that, regardless of how it occurred, she survived. 

She survived that night he believed he lost everything. 

She lived. 

And has been living all this time, only to now come out of the shadows. 

And, he doesn’t hesitate to express as such.

Especially when he starts to put more pieces together, factoring in what was said before he even saw her. 

“Given all that’s happened the past few weeks, we realized it was time—”

“You’ve been alive all this time and only decided to make your being alive known because you found out we weren’t dead, after all?” 

Even if she wanted to deny it, she couldn’t. Roman is too smart for that, but beyond that, he’s perceptive as hell. He absolutely catches the moment her eyes flash with something loud and clear. 

Guilt.

“It’s not that—”

“Go to hell.”

A simple, blunt, telling response and cut-off to whatever she was going to say. He doesn’t care. About her. About any of it. 

“Roman…” Matteo’s voice beside him doesn’t register. Not really. Especially not as Roman makes his way past her, jerking his arm away as she attempts to reach for him. To call for him. 

“My son—”

It’s that word, that fucking triggering ass word that makes him turn on his heel. He lifts his hand, index finger pointed, jaw flexing, the difficulty in controlling his emotions in this very second one of the hardest things he’s ever experienced.

God, he’d give anything to have Solana with him right now. 

Anything at all.

“I’m not your son.” He’s uncaring of any sort of reaction, she, they, any of them have. He doesn’t fucking care. At all. “And, I never was.” 

Solana shifting in Roman’s arms is the perfect distraction and route for escape from a memory he’d tried hard over the past few weeks to scrub from his mind. And, in a lot of ways, he had. Or, he thought he had.

But, Solana dropping that on him earlier, that she’d met her, revealed that for all his valiant efforts, he’d failed miserably. 

He looks down at her, soothed by the peaceful expression on her face as she sleeps, hand on his chest, her bump pressed against his side. Even the sound of Dulce’s light snores as she slumbers away in her bed on the side of their bed. 

It’s all comforting in a way he needs.

Roman meant what he said when he told Matteo, Dwayne, and even Solana, that he wants nothing to do with her.

Nothing at all.

She never added anything to his life when she was alive the first time around, and he has zero interest in seeing if that will change on this second go-round. 

And perhaps, it’s less she never added anything, and more she only added negative. Was only a detriment to him. A poison. 

A trigger.

And judging by his reaction since her reappearance, that hasn’t changed. Even after all these fucking years, almost forty fucking years-old, and that bitch still has some level of impact on him. 

He hates it. 

Fucking hates it.

But, what he hates more is the fact that she’s trying to loop Solana into whatever the fuck she wants. 

He’s not upset with Solana for going. A little upset at her about not telling him about it beforehand, but he also understands why she didn’t. She was absolutely right when she said he wouldn’t have let her go. 

He works hard to not restrict her of anything, to allot her as much autonomy as possible. But, the exceptions have always been safety, and that woman, for him, falls under the umbrella of safety concerns. 

Roman barely knew her then, and he definitely doesn’t know her now. Nor does he want to. 

But, considering she’s still in town, something tells him she has no plans on leaving anytime soon. That’s fine. If it comes to it, he’ll make sure that she stays gone. In the meantime, however, he has to set some ground rules. 

Boundaries, as Lita calls them.

Because going behind his back to speak to his wife, to try to manipulate Solana into talking him into speaking with her is one thing. Disrespecting his wife is something entirely different.

He’s killed for less.

And while Roman believes Solana when she said she set her straight—she’s come so far with that, with being assertive—he’ll be damned if anyone disrespects his wife, and he doesn’t put them in their fucking place. 

Or six feet under.

The latter is usually preferred but not exactly an option in this case. 

Not that it would make a difference anyway. 

Not even death wanted to deal with that bitch. 

So, Roman will suck up his pride and allow himself to be around her, in her suffocating presence long enough to make sure that she knows that was her one and only pass. Same for fucking Alicia, who she apparently left the message with. The message that she wanted to speak to Solana, said message that his secretary then passed onto Solana.

Regardless, while Roman will set Alicia’s ass straight too, it’s her that he needs to make clear on one thing and one thing only.

Stay the fuck away from his wife. Even more than that. 

His hand moves down their connected bodies, resting on Solana’s stomach. 

She needs to stay away from his family, and ensure to enforce that message, loud, clear, and unmistakable. He thought he had before, but clearly he hadn’t. 

No worries.

He’ll make sure of it this time around. 

—————

Months.

It’s been months since Solana was in this house. A place that holds the best and worst of memories. A combination of both. Which outweighs the other? She’s not entirely certain.

She’s not sure she’ll ever know for sure, truly.

“Leave us,” she directs the security, unsurprised to see them cast a questioning glance to Roman who promptly puts them in their palace.

“When she says to do something, you do that shit.” A set of downward, almost embarrassed countenances. “Leave.”

This time, there is no delay. One by one, they depart until it’s only herself and her husband. There’s a quiet that settles over them as she takes a look around the place she once called and considered home.

It’s never felt so untrue.

“Solana…” 

Roman’s voice registers but not enough to draw her attention. No, her focus is drawn on studying and observing all the details. The expensive Persian rug she can recall on numerous occasions, her mother was forced to stay up until the witching hour, scrubbing and working to get out the blood stains from an earlier beating.

Her blood. 

The same thing Solana would end up doing only a few years later. The wall opposite the same place where she was shoved into so many times. Choked against. Sometimes until she was unconscious. Sometimes to where she was hunched over, clutching onto her stomach, coughing up blood from the intensity of Wes or Xavier’s powerful punch to her abdomen. 

She looks over at the kitchen, only a few feet away, a place that held both wonderful and horrific memories.

The sound of her mother’s laughter.

The sound of her screams.

Solana’s soft singing as she worked to prepare meals.

And then her shouts and pleas for mercy as her face was held over the heat of the same pot that held food she slaved over but wouldn’t be able to consume. Just them.

Good. Then bad. Decent. Then horrific. A specific pattern, formula almost, that follows as she makes her way around the house, never saying a word, all the while aware of Roman’s close presence behind and near her.

A silence that’s only broken when they finally arrive at the sole reason she even asked him to come with her today. 

The reason she needed him to come with her.

He says her name again. This time, firmer. Concerned, almost. “Solana.”

And her response, somewhat to her surprise, matches his tone. “I have to.”

She doesn’t want to. God, she doesn’t want to, but something deep within her is pressing and pulling her in that direction. In the space that she once swore she would rather die than be exposed to.

Her childhood room.

The same room that not even a year ago, just the thought of entering would have dragged her to the pits of a mental breakdown. The room that the man beside her had to enter on her behalf, because she felt physically paralyzed by just the idea of it.

Of entering.  

The same room she’s about to enternow.

“Baby, I don’t think—” 

“I have to.” Same words. Stronger determination. 

Solana adjusts the shoulder strap of her purse and reaches for his hand, her fingers clasping around his. Secure. Her other hand goes for the knob, the coolness of the metal a stark sensation to whatever else burns within her. Something close to courage. But also fear. Anything and everything, the likes of which only multiplies the second she opens the door and walks in. Solana stills, close to the doorway, Roman directly behind her, their hands still clasped but wresting on her hip. 

Her other hand drops to her stomach.

She closes her eyes.

I can do this. 

Words of encouragement that loop in her head as she wills herself to open her eyes, vision instantly blurred by the unshed tears.

Quiet sniffles, the faint stale smell of the room that’s been unused for almost twenty years. Items untouched and left just as they were that night.

The signs of the horrors still visible. Nail marks, dried blood, the almost ominous aura. 

A violation. 

A death.

All of that remains true and firm but not enough to break Solana’s determination, to force the crumble of her resolve. No, she breaks away from Roman, releasing his hand as she walks over to the closet. Dated, worn edged stickers against the door that slides open, the scent of staleness maximized from a release that’s had almost twenty years pass since the last one.

Solana’s eyes take in the clothes. Her clothes. Hung up neatly, some folded on the white metal rack at the top of the closet. She sees the selection of shoes, also neatly lined on the also carpeted floor of the closet. That’s when she sees it. When her breath catches, a sob almost instantly rising and waiting patiently in the back. 

The shift in her disposition felt by her husband who steps closer, ready. For what, he’s not sure. Whatever she needs.

However, Solana’s request in that moment is simple. She simply needs his forearm, her palm wrapping around as a sort of bearing to support as she angles her body down, maneuvering carefully with her baby bump to lift the brown bag from off the floor. 

The minute it’s in her hands, Solana takes a deep, shaky breath. She can feel Roman’s gaze burning into the item that needs no explaining. The bold, black word written in the largest font compared to the other words speak volumes. 

Evidence

“Solana…”

She says nothing, the silent tears making their way down her cheek. She won’t open it.

She can’t.

That much she knows.

Just like she knows opening it isn’t the point of this.

Not even close.

The point is closing it.

Closing up one of the most painful chapters of her life. Of truly reclaiming back so much, if not everything, that was lost that horrific night.

And, that chapter could only be closed, Solana realized, by freeing herself completely of the shackles of her past.

Starting with anything that links her to that.

And, Solana can’t think of anything more fitting to destroy than the tattered, ripped, and bloodied remains of her clothes she wore that night.

The night she was raped. 

Walking over to her bed, still unmade, still reeking of those haunting memories, and places the bag in the middle. 

She takes a step back, Roman, as always, remaining nearby. He doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing for him to say, and she knows that he knows words are not what she necessarily wants or needs in this moment. 

His presence.

Him being here and with her, supporting, is what she needs. Why she asked him to come.

Everything else….everything else she has to do. 

By herself.

For herself. 

It’s what floats through her as she adjust the strap of her purse, bringing it in front of her and pulling out the tiny red, white, and blue box of matches.

She can feel her husband straighten up behind her. His stance that of a man ready to move at any second, if need be.

An understandable reaction, especially given where they are, what’s transpiring. Even her history. 

Solana, however, is not there. Not in that headspace.

No, she’s in the headspace that led to this very moment. From the second stepped foot in this godforsaken to even well before that. The way she dragged herself out of the house that night. The heaviness that consumed her when she was discharged from the hospital and forced to return to the same place that only held nothing but horrific, hellish memories. All the way up to the day where she walked in to retrieve her items, Roman right by her side, serving as her advocate and protector. A role she had no idea at that time would be permanent. 

That he would always be those things for her—and more. 

But, ultimately, it’s everything outside of this house that carries her into taking that life-changing next step.

Words, statements, sayings, experience, they all comes rushing and storming in with the intensity and force of a tsunami. 

It’s one thing though, one passage from a book she’d had for so long but only felt able and capable of using and reading once out of this place, did she embark upon it. The journey to heal.

The journey to love.

A section containing the thoughts and feelings of another woman who’d experienced the unspeakable. A survivor. 

"In spite of the horror, in spite of the

tragedy, in spite of the weeks of sleepless

nights, I'm finally alive. I'm not pretending.

I feel real. I'm not playing charades anymore. I wouldn't go back to the way I was for anything. I'm really like a different person. I'm where I am, and I'm making the most of it. I know I'm courageous now. I found out I had it in me to face this."

Solana closes her eyes.

Nothing has ever felt more relatable and real.

A final verbal declaration. Whispered. Hushed, but felt. 

Oh so felt. 

“No more.” 

With that, Solana doesn’t hesitate one bit to quickly drag the match head against the striker, a flame appearing at one end. And just like that, she tosses the match onto the bed, watching the flames spread to the sheets, to the bag. 

Done. 

Naturally, Roman steps forward, gently pulling her back into him, away from the fire. 

She takes his hand, squeezing gently, eyes watery.

“Let’s go.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

Roman allows her to lead the way, to guide them out of that room and out of the house.

It’s not until they’re outside, that she breathes in the fresh, freeing air, eyes briefly shutting as she tunes out the sounds around her. Guards talking quietly amongst themselves, waiting for a command. 

And one is issued. 

Digging the matchbox out of her purse, she tosses it to one of the guards. One of the same ones who refused to heed to her command when she told them to leave before.

“Let it burn to the ground.”

Naturally, his expression is one of confusion. “Ma’am?”

“Till nothing’s left.” She doubles down, not offering any sort of elaboration. 

He’ll find out soon enough. 

Solana walks past him, Roman close behind, heading to the SUV where another of the guards opens the door for her. But, she waves him off, instead reaching for Roman. 

In seconds, he’s in front of her, holding her as Solana buries herself in his chest.

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs into her scalp, hand to the back of her hair, the other on the small of her back.

Solana closes her eyes.

So is she. 

She only pulls back to look once more at it, at the house. Once a home, but never her home. A place with bits and pieces of love and life, the majority of which often stomped out by violence and trauma.

No more.

It ends today. 

“I’m gonna build one of the safe houses here,” she shares. Roman looks down at her. “For my foundation.”

The smallest smile on his face, one of pride and admiration. “Yeah?”

She nods, mirroring his small smile. “Yeah.” One more look. The final one.

With that, Solana allows Roman to help her climb into the SUV. In under a minute, he’s seated right beside her, barking at the driver to take them home. 

Home.

The word that settles and resonates with her, washing out any feeling of discomfort, grief, sadness.

Just the calm. 

Tucked into his side, holding onto his arm, as they drive off from then, straight into now. The sight behind her remaining just as it will always be from here on out.

Then.

She never looks back. 

[enwoso]

joys of parenthood | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

-> based on this request:)

grumpy masterlist

leah had the whole day planned. she had for weeks.

since alessia asked for her to watch you for the day — alessia doing a shoot with ella and it just being a whole lot easy for you to spend the day with leah than it was to keep you entertained while you not getting in trouble on a photo shoot.

as well as it wasn't often leah got one-on-one time with you, and so she was looking forward to your little adventure. just you and her. a proper mama and you day.

it was a picture perfect plan, for a perfect day. a trip to the zoo, stop for ice cream, maybe a little playground time to waste anymore energy and some time to play a little game of football on the grass before heading home for a cozy night and dinner. the perfect day.

—

it started off well. you both had made it to the zoo, and you were thrilled, skipping beside leah as you pointed out all the animals in awe. you'd even been on your best behavior when leah bought you an ice cream.

it is easy, leah had thought smugly — to naively. watching you happily lick at the ice cream cone as you babbled about all the different animals you had seen.

but all too quickly it then all fell apart.

the elephant enclosure was the scene of the crime. you had decided you needed to feed them. not wanted—needed. but when leah gently explained to you that they couldn't because the zoo had strict rules, your little face crumpled.

and then, chaos.

one second, you were sadly pouting. the next, you were screaming. full-on, earth-shattering wails. tears streaming down your tiny face. people staring.

leah had been through some high-pressure situations in her life and she would like to pride herself on being able to stay calm during these moments like a euro final, captaining her team, press conferences that felt like walking into a battlefield.

but nothing, nothing, could've prepared her for a five-year-old throwing herself onto the pavement and sobbing like the world was ending because she couldn't feed an elephant.

"angel, baby, i know you're upset, but we can't—"

"NOOOO!"

"alright, alright." leah ran a hand down her face, feeling the eyes of every parent around her. some were sympathetic, others were definitely judging.

okay. think, leah, think.

she crouched beside you, lowering her voice. "i know you're upset and feeling a little sad, but this isn't how we—"

"I WANNA FEED THE ELEPHANTS!"

leah exhaled. defeat. absolute defeat. where was alessia when you needed her.

after several long minutes, during which she exhausted every tactic she could think of, leah admitted defeat. the zoo trip was officially over.

she scooped up you as you were still sniffling, carrying you back to the car, their day suddenly cut very, very short.

—

by the time they got home, leah was done.

gone was the well-planned day of fun. instead, she settled you down for a quieter evening—movies, a simple dinner because at this point, leah couldn't handle another battle, and eventually, bedtime.

which, of course, was its own challenge. "mama," you called out sleepily after leah had already tucked you in. "can you tell me a story?"

leah sighed but smiled, brushing a few curls from your face. "only if you promise to actually go to sleep after."

you grinned. "okay." it took three stories, two extra sips of water, and leah humming a lullaby she barely knew before you finally, finally fell asleep as leah kissed the top of your head mumbling an 'i love you and mummy loves you' before leaving the room making sure your night light was left on.

reaching the bottom of the stairs, leah feet dragged there way into the living room as she slumped onto the couch, closing her eyes.

and that's exactly where alessia and ella found her when they walked in later that night.

—

"how was your day?" alessia asked, dropping onto the couch beside leah , kicking her feet up. ella plopped down on the other side, looking equally curious.

leah opened one eye. "where do i start?"

ella laughed. "that bad?"

leah pushed a hand through her hair, shaking her head. "she had a meltdown. full-on, world-ending, screaming-at-the-top-of-her-lungs meltdown. in public, at the zoo."

alessia's lips twitched. "oh yeah?"

"yeah," leah deadpanned. "because i wouldn't let her feed the elephant even though technically there was no way you could of anyway"

at that, alessia snorted and ella outright cackled. leah narrowed her eyes at her girlfriend. "you could've warned me."

alessia smirked. "oh, babe. welcome to toddlerhood." she patted leah's knee, grinning. "you've got it all to look forward too, the tantrums in the middle of the supermarket cause you won't let her look at the toy section, the not touching her food even though she's just asked for that exact meal. consider this your pre-warning for the teenage years."

leah groaned, letting her head fall back against the couch. "i am not ready for that."

alessia just laughed, leaning over to press a quick kiss to leah's cheek. "well, you survived today. that's a start."

leah exhaled dramatically. "barely."

ella shook her head, grinning. "i'm just glad i got to witness this moment. leah williamson, fearless leader, defeated by a five-year-old."

leah shot her a look. "you try handling tiny in full meltdown mode, then we'll talk."

alessia grinned. "so... you'll watch her again next time?"

leah groaned, but she was smiling. "yeah, yeah. but next time, you're handling the tantrum."

alessia smirked. "deal." and despite everything, leah had to admit, tantrums and all, she wouldn't trade her little mama and you days for anything.

[lyratea]

Welcome to the Hustle & Heart Legacy Challenge! 💼✨ This 8-generation challenge is all about building businesses, taking risks, and leaving a lasting dynasty! Your Sims won’t just inherit wealth—they’ll have to hustle, grind, and master their craft to create successful businesses from the ground up. From pottery shops to buzzing nightclubs, peaceful spas to chatty tattoo parlors, every generation will take on a new business venture, each with its own set of rules, skills, and challenges.

Can your family go from small-time entrepreneurs to legendary business moguls? Let’s find out!

(GOOGLE DOCS VERSION)

I plan to actively refine and add more generations once i've played through the game more, if there's any advice or something flawed you've noticed please let me know!

expand to see the legacy challenge!

NEEDED PACKS: Business and Hobbies

RECOMMENDED, BUT BASE GAME ALTERNATIVES PROVIDED: City Living Cats and Dogs Discover University Eco Lifestyle Get Together Get To Work Jungle Adventures Lovestruck Outdoor Retreat Parenthood Seasons Spa Day Werewolves

GOAL: Build a family legacy by creating a multi-generational business empire! Each generation must 'master' a different business type and pass the family fortune to the next heir! RULES: You may use freerealestate for your first HOUSE/LIVING AREA but after please refrain from using any more money cheats. Normal or Long lifespans recommended. The business must be started from scratch- no inheriting a previous successful business and remolding the lot/changing business activities. You may use the funds from your household to help kickstart a new business. IF you'd rather start from scratch each time, that's fine too. Each business should reach a 4-star rating before the heir can 'retire'. Try to train and promote employees- don't just fire them! NO selling the business for a quick payout- run it long-term.

Play the generations in whatever way you see fit or amusing if you don't like how i lined them up <3

GENERATION 1: Pottery Maker

Traits: Idealist, Ambitious, Maker(bga: creative) Aspiration: Esteemed Entrepreneur Goals: Reach max level in the Pottery and Handiness skills. Have at least 5 successful 'lectures' Make 10 Excellent Pieces Extra: Start selling one other 'home furniture' item in your shop

GENERATION 2: Tattoo Artist

Traits: Creative, Practice Makes Perfect, Art Lover Aspiration: Mastor Mentor Goals: Reach max level in the Tattooing and Charisma skills. Have a celebrity sim as a customer (if using get famous) Mentor at least 2 sims 'becoming tattoo apprentices' Extra: create at least 5 custom tattoos and give them to customers.

GENERATION 3: Nightclub

Traits: Shady, Dance Machine(bga: Music Lover), Lovebug(bga: romantic) Aspiration: Party Animal Goals: Open and run a high-energy nightclub with a bar and dancefloor. Have at least 1 romantic relationship with a coworker or clubgoer before 'settling down'. Reach max level in Dancing, and Mixology skills. Extra: Earn minimum §100,000 from club earnings.

GENERATION 4: Museum

Traits: Genius, Overachiever(bga: Perfectionist), Bookworm Aspiration: Nerd Brain Goals: Open a museum showcasing AT LEAST 6 ITEMS from 4 DIFFERENT collections. (Pick your own collections if you please, there are 16 BG options. For the ones I find the most ‘museum like’, here are my suggestions: Microscope prints, Insects(O.R), Fossils, Ancient Omiscan Artifacts(J.A), MoonWood Relics(Werewolves)). Reach max level in logic, and research and debate(bga: Writing) Extra: Publish at least 2 research books or guides.

GENERATION 5: Gym/Spa

Traits: Active, Bro, High-Maintenance(bga: Self-Assured) Aspiration: Zen Guru (bga: Bodybuilder) Goals: Reach max level in Fitness and Wellness skills. Have at least ONE close friend to workout with once a week Host at least 5 meditation or yoga sessions (if using spa day) Extra: Do a yoga routine everyday!

GENERATION 6: Lounge

Traits: Outgoing, Goofball, Foodie Aspiration: Friend of the World Goals: Open a run a lounge that offers live entertainment and good drinks. Reach max level in Charisma, Comedy OR Singing(bga: piano) Become friends with regular customers. Extra: Perform comedy or singing gigs at your lounge!

GENERATION 7: Daycare

Traits: Family-Oriented, Neat, Proper(bga: Loyal) Aspiration: Super Parent(bga: Successful Lineage) Goals: Reach lmax level in Baking(bga: cooking), and Parenting(bga: Handiness) Have at least three children (biological, or adopted) Host your daycare from your home!

GENERATION 8: Park Owner

Traits: Green Fiend(bga: Loves Outdoors), Vegetarian, Animal Enthusiast(bga: Good) Aspiration: Outdoor Enthusiast(bga: Freelance Botanist) Goals: Reach max level in Gardening, Fishing, and Flower Arranging(bga: creative) Plant and maintain at least 20 plants/trees. Open and run a PUBLIC PARK (NO ENTRY FEES!) Rescue or adopt at least 5 animals (if using Cats and Dogs)

This is the ROUGHEST draft I’m currently producing as of now without playing much of the new expansion pack myself. When I get back from my work trip and figure out exactly how much cross-compatibility there is with other- packs, there might be a whole new set of generations coming out.

happy simming! Lyratea ^^

[monarchberrysblog]

UNDER THE STARS ⋆⭒

⋆｡°✩ part two to: NOTHING BUT TROUBLE

credit to: @mar_marOu on Instagram & @/marmarOu on X and Tumblr!

✭ 🔞 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐭! 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✭

✭ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: sometimes, a hero and a vigilante need a break from the hectic city environment.

✭ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃. miguel and the reader are in an established relationship, brief mentions of kleptomania, exhibitionism (both of y'all literally don't give a fuck but seriously, don’t do freaky stuff outside), cumplay (?), cum eatting (we are going there too), uncircumcised peepee 🤭, hard? dom! miguel, assertive behavior from the reader, cunnilingus (f! receiving), unprotected p-in-v (please go to your local planned parenthood to educate yourself), and heavy breeding kink. (he scrambles your eggs 😝)

✭ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: +1.6k words 🤭

✭ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Nothing But Trouble blew up overnight! thank you for your undying support! it means a lot to me 😭 if there are errors, i do apologize, it's been a month since I looked at this. I'm slowly getting back in the groove.

here’s to my followers! y’all live in my basement now 🐈‍⬛ 🩵

The low clouds in Nueva York cascaded onto the ground, creating a murky environment in now empty streets. It was a quiet night, even for Nueva York. Within the apartment buildings of the hustling city, many were home, sheltered away from the smog air. Some were fast asleep in bed with their blankets, and others were cooking a warm meal for the evening. But for you, you were dragged out of your soft, cozy bed past the window edge decorated with many potted plants and small trinkets. You were now climbing the fire escape, wearing your pajamas and a simple black sweater.

The cat dragged you out into the cold environment, away from your warm, cozy bed. You yawned as you climbed up, swiftly up the fire escape, feeling the now wet bars against the palm of your hand.

The memory of seeing a text message from Miguel immediately came to mind when your slipper fell off your foot, causing you to shoot a web at it to retreat.

The "I want to see you real quick" text meant nothing but trouble from him. He was always up to no good, leaving a little mess behind, like a cat playing with a ball of yawn, only for the poor creature to be tangled in its consequence with big, teary eyes.

Nonetheless, you continued your climb up, finally reaching the rooftop.

The cold air nipped at your skin, piercing its cold air needles through your sweater and pajamas. Bringing your hands close to your mouth, you exhale warmly to your freezing digits, rubbing your hands, seeking friction to warm your dead, lifeless fingers temporarily.

You stand idly, waiting for his arrival.

A puff of smoke escaped your lips while you yearned for your return to your warm bed and away from the cold weather. Then, your vision darkened. A pair of large hands shield your eyes from the skyscraper lights of Nueva York. "Miguel!" You squeaked, reached to grasp his hands, and forcefully attempted to pull them away from your face. "Seems like you're happy to see me." He croons against the shell of your ear. His voice vibrates against your eardrums, reverberating down to your core. "Tell me why you're here...!" You finally pull his hands away from your eyes and turn around to see him.

"I can't see my favorite person in the whole wide world?"

"No, no, you can't."

"Ouch, I'm hurt." He feigns pain, placing a hand against his "aching" chest cavity. You chuckle, delivering a punch against his shoulder, and sigh. "Really, why are you here?" He chuckles at the question, his palm rubbing away the aching punch that blossomed under his skin. "I have something for you-"

"Did you steal it?"

He frowns at the question. Sure, it was a given that he tended to snatch the next shiny thing in sight, but this time, it was... different.

"No...!" He hisses. "I bought it with my own money." He reaches down to his toolbelt and grabs a drawbag. He opens the tiny draw bag and retrieves a small royal blue box. "It's for you." He tosses the box to you. The little box jumps around your hands before it settles down on your palm. "I hope you like it." He huffs a bit of his cheeks while watching closely.

Your hands move independently, opening the tiny container. The velvet plush container revealed a heart-shaped necklace; the midnight blue stone glistened in the moonlight, shining independently. "Miguel...?"

"Now, don't get sappy on me." He scoffs, displaying a frown. Behind the frown, a smile waits to be displayed. He browsed at multiple boutiques, hoping to find something that was meant to be for you. Something that stood out from the rest. Simple, but it was made for you. "You got this for me?" You pout and soon retrieve the necklace from the velvet box.

"Do you like it?" The question felt boyish, even for him. But it was such a cute action coming from him.

"Yes! Oh my god! Help me put it on!" You bounced on the balls of your feet, ready to be climbing on the walls. "Put it on me, put it on me!" You repeat the phrase as a mantra, handing him the necklace to help you put it on. His frown breaks as he chuckles and assists you put the necklace on. "Do you like it-" He repeats and immediately gets jumped into an unsuspecting embrace. "Stop asking the question! Yes, I love it!" Your laughter fills the space as Miguel's hands work to get a proper hold of your bottom. Your laughter filled the space before the slowly descended to soft giggles and sighs.

His nose nudges against the tip of your nose, slowly creating a gap of silence between you. "Hi..." you whisper, nudging your nose against his. "Hey, " he croons as he nuzzles closer, planting a gentle kiss against your lips, molding your lips perfectly. You hum at the contact and enable the soft kiss. His fingers dig into the plush of your bottom as his claws sink deep into your skin.

Soft suckles and sighs fill your personal bubbles before pinning you down against the ledge. Your hands grasp Miguel's bicep before his chuckle greets your ears. "C'mere..." His hands move to hold onto your hips and drag you closer to his hips, rubbing himself against you at a slow, agonizing pace. "Even when it's cold out, you are warm."

You turn to look down, seeing the hustle and bustle of the streets, the lights looking nothing but a speck of light. "No one is gonna see us." He hums before he nuzzles his way to the crook of your neck, slowly placing soft kisses and trailing them back to your lips.

"Are you sure?" You push the question and lean closer to the soft butterfly kisses against your skin. "It's dark, no one is going to see." He rubs his straining member against your aching core, fluttering and waiting to be penetrated. His hands tug away at your sleep shorts, desperate to cease them off your body.

The thin line of arousal builds up against the gusset of your underwear, the slick, clear arousal clinging against your folds. "Let me get a taste." He pulls away the gusset, his fingers feeling the warmth and heat against his digits. "Look at that; you were already preparing for me..."

He kisses his way down to your core, almost moaning at the scent. You were his catnip, the temptation luring him to you, to roll his tongue at the liquid, sticky ecstasy, to drown in it.

His nose budgets against your clit as his tongue laps at your entrance, collecting the taste. The cold air, accompanying his warm breath, nipped at you as your walls clenched around nothing. You are opened up to him like a blooming flower, exposing more of your now sensitive clit. “You are too sweet…” His voice is muffled thanks to his tongue licking your entrance from the bottom to the top.

Your eyes shoot open when you feel his middle finger linger at your entrance, tracing the opening slowly. Your breathing catches you, also as if you were sprinting in a marathon. He pulls away from the intimate kiss from your lips, his lips coated in your mess. "C'mon… let everyone hear you." He purrs and pushes two fingers in, feeling you clench against his digits. "Easy there, quierida." He keeps at a steady pace, immediately hearing the wet slaps. "There we go, there we go..."

The small whimpers evolved into full moans, your moans only audible to him but immediately drowned out by the sound of honking cars and noises in every other corner of the gloomy city's lively life. "Let me hear you, let me hear..." He slurps the sticky discharge before he is immediately shoved into you by your hands. You wailed out, squirming about before he pinned you down. "Open your mouth, now." His demands muffled, not daring to move away from your puffy folds.

You did as he said and screamed out an orgasm, nearly waterboarding him. He pulls away from your puffy folds and is wholly doused. You croak out a noise, ready to say something, but get stopped. “Just keep your mouth open.” He pulls down the zipper of his suit before he frees the strained tent between his legs.

Not earning a warning on time, he spits into your mouth, giving you a taste of your cum. The strong tangy taste and substance stayed in your mouth as you kept your mouth shut in shock. "Swallow it." He heaves before he reaches down between the two of you and lazily pumps his aching cock. You reach down and pull back at the foreskin gently, allowing to see the mauve tip peek out from the extra skin.

You grab his cock, pulling him close to you and pushing him into you. He groans softly at the sensation as he rocks himself in and out of you.

You swallow your cum and bounce on him, following his lead and feeling the familiar pressure between his tip and G-spot. You flutter against his length, trying to create a consistent rhythm, but the rhythm comes out staggered and messy. "You've been working on your kegals? You little slut." He hisses while pushing you down on the ledge.

"You're getting there. I can feel it." Strands of hair begin to stick to his forehead, and sweat soon drips down onto you, landing on your blouse and occasionally on your face. "Together now, you can do it. Hold it, " he demands as the pace increases. You look over at him, mouth agape and eyes pleading. Your hands grasp his exposed bicep, fingernails leaving crescent indents and red streaks.

"No, I know what you're thinking. Not yet." You pull him close, feeling your lower stomach bubble like a witch's cauldron. He leans down, planting you a harsh kiss, his tongue creeping its way to yours. You eagerly oblige, still tasting yourself on his tongue. "Now, go ahead." He rasps, rubbing his thumb against your clit. With one final thrust, you splash the two of you, your mess landing on the floor beneath the two of you.

"There you go, I'm so proud of you." He leans in to kiss your temple and nuzzles close. He slowly pulls out and looks at your pully walls. Not even a moment later, his cum spills out of you, dribbling down past your swelling folds. "Hold on, nena." His fingers gather his cum and push his cum back into you slowly.

He pulls his fingers out, residue lingering on his fingers before he licks the mess off.

"Don't waste a drop."

[gottencents]

Kiwi - Jennie Kim

love hangover masterlist. main masterlist

pairing. katseye!oc x jennie

synopsis. Jennie impulsively adopts a kitten, Kiwi, for herself and Tatum, only for them to realize they have absolutely no idea how to raise a cat—leading to a chaotic but adorable journey into pet parenthood.

Jennie had always loved animals. Dogs, cats—anything with paws, really. But she had never actually raised a cat before. So when she impulsively decided to adopt Kiwi after the Buzzfeed kitten interview, she figured, How hard could it be?

That was before she and Tatum found themselves standing in her living room, watching Kiwi explore his new home like he owned the place.

Tatum tilted their head. “So… what now?”

Jennie frowned. “I don’t know. What do cats do?”

Kiwi let out a tiny, unimpressed meow from where he sat on the coffee table, his green eyes blinking at them like they were the strange ones.

Tatum gasped. “Oh my god. We’re parents now.”

Jennie smacked their arm. “Stop being dramatic.”

“You literally called us his ‘moms’ five minutes ago.”

“That’s different!” Jennie crossed her arms, watching as Kiwi stretched his tiny paws. “I meant like… in a cute way. Not in a responsible way.”

Tatum chuckled, but then quickly sobered. “Okay, but for real, do we just… let him roam? Should we be watching him? What if he tries to eat something weird? What if he’s secretly a little criminal?”

Kiwi, as if sensing their concerns, hopped off the coffee table and casually knocked over a magazine on his way to the couch.

Jennie and Tatum gasped in unison.

“He’s so powerful,” Tatum whispered.

Jennie shook her head. “Okay, no, we need a plan. First—food. I bought some, but I don’t know if he likes wet or dry food yet.”

“Easy fix,” Tatum said, already heading to the kitchen. “We do a taste test.”

Jennie followed, watching as Tatum placed two bowls on the floor—one with dry food, the other with wet. Kiwi trotted over, sniffed both, and immediately went for the wet food.

Jennie nodded. “Noted. He’s a fancy boy.”

Tatum smirked. “Like mother, like son.”

Jennie ignored that. “Okay, next—litter box. I set it up in the bathroom. Do we have to, like… teach him how to use it?”

Tatum made a face. “Oh god. Do cats need potty training?”

They both stared at each other before pulling out their phones.

A minute of frantic Googling later—

“Oh,” Tatum said. “Turns out they just know.”

Jennie exhaled in relief. “Thank god.”

With the basics settled, they sat on the couch, watching as Kiwi explored. He batted at the rug, tested the sturdiness of the coffee table by jumping directly onto it, and then—without hesitation—leapt onto Jennie’s expensive decorative vase.

The vase wobbled.

Jennie’s eyes widened. “Kiwi, no!”

The vase crashed to the floor.

Jennie gasped. “KIWI!”

Kiwi, completely unbothered, looked down at the shattered remains, flicked his tail, and walked away like he had zero regrets.

Tatum, on the other hand, was dying of laughter. “I love him so much already.”

Jennie pinched the bridge of her nose. “We need to cat-proof this place.”

“Or,” Tatum said, lounging dramatically on the couch, “we just accept that we now live under Kiwi’s rule.”

Kiwi, as if on cue, jumped onto the couch and immediately made himself comfortable right on Tatum’s stomach.

Jennie’s heart melted at the sight. “Okay… maybe this won’t be that bad.”

Tatum grinned, scratching behind Kiwi’s ears. “Yeah. I think we’re gonna be just fine.”

Jennie sighed, reaching out to stroke Kiwi’s fur. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she murmured.

Kiwi purred in response, his little body vibrating as he settled between them.

And just like that, their chaotic first night as cat parents officially began.

taglist [OPEN] : @multiliker @goofymickeyr @yuyuy90 @hydrardz @wtfisthisnoclueman @reiiaokii @somedaydream @yjiminswallet @inejghafawifesblog @jaythegirlkisser @xochitlisbest @1800hotnfunn @awkwardtoafault

[meeedeee]

Calling Your Congresspersons

Not my post but please feel free to copy and paste to share with others

*******************************

FOR THOSE OF YOU LOOKING TO TURN YOUR ANGER INTO ACTION, here's some advice from a high-level staffer for a Senator. Re-posting from a friend of mine:

There are two things that we should be doing all the time right now, and they're by far the most important things.

You should NOT be bothering with online petitions or emailing.

1) The best thing you can do to be heard and get your congressperson to pay attention is to have face-to-face time — if they have town halls, go to them. Go to their local offices. If you're in DC, try to find a way to go to an event of theirs. Go to the "mobile offices" that their staff hold periodically (all these times are located on each congressperson's website). When you go, ask questions. A lot of them. And push for answers. The louder and more vocal and present you can be at those the better.

2) But those in-person events don't happen every day. So, the absolute most important thing that people should be doing every day is calling.

YOU SHOULD MAKE 6 CALLS A DAY:

2 each (DC office and your local office) to your 2 Senators & your 1 Representative.

The staffer was very clear that any sort of online contact basically gets immediately ignored, and letters pretty much get thrown in the trash (unless you have a particularly strong emotional story — but even then it's not worth the time it took you to craft that letter).

Calls are what all the congresspeople pay attention to. Every single day, the Senior Staff and the Senator get a report of the 3 most-called-about topics for that day at each of their offices (in DC and local offices), and exactly how many people said what about each of those topics. They're also sorted by zip code and area code. She said that Republican callers generally outnumber Democrat callers 4-1, and when it's a particular issue that single-issue-voters pay attention to (like gun control, or planned parenthood funding, etc...), it's often closer to 11-1, and that's recently pushed Republican congressmen on the fence to vote with the Republicans. In the last 8 years, Republicans have called, and Democrats haven't.

So, when you call:

A) When calling the DC office, ask for the Staff member in charge of whatever you're calling about ("Hi, I'd like to speak with the staffer in charge of Healthcare, please") — local offices won't always have specific ones, but they might. If you get transferred to that person, awesome. If you don't, that's ok — ask for that person's name, and then just keep talking to whoever answered the phone. Don't leave a message (unless the office doesn't pick up at all — then you can — but it's better to talk to the staffer who first answered than leave a message for the specific staffer in charge of your topic).

B) Give them your zip code. They won't always ask for it, but make sure you give it to them, so they can mark it down. Extra points if you live in a zip code that traditionally votes for them, since they'll want to make sure they get/keep your vote.

C) If you can make it personal, make it personal. "I voted for you in the last election and I'm worried/happy/whatever" or "I'm a teacher, and I am appalled by Betsy DeVos," or "as a single mother" or "as a white, middle class woman," or whatever.

D) Pick 1-2 specific things per day to focus on. Don't rattle off everything you're concerned about — they're figuring out what 1-2 topics to mark you down for on their lists. So, focus on 1-2 per day. Ideally something that will be voted on/taken up in the next few days, but it doesn't really matter — even if there's not a vote coming up in the next week, call anyway. It's important that they just keep getting calls.

E) Be clear on what you want — "I'm disappointed that the Senator..." or "I want to thank the Senator for their vote on... " or "I want the Senator to know that voting in _____ way is the wrong decision for our state because... " Don't leave any ambiguity.

F) They may get to know your voice/get sick of you — it doesn't matter. The people answering the phones generally turn over every 6 weeks anyway, so even if they're really sick of you, they'll be gone in 6 weeks.

From experience since the election: If you hate being on the phone & feel awkward (which is a lot of people) don't worry about it — there are a bunch of scripts (Indivisible.org has some, there are lots of others floating around these day). After a few days of calling, it starts to feel a lot more natural.

Put the 6 numbers in your phone (all under P – Politician.) An example is McCaskill MO, Politician McCaskill DC, Politician Blunt MO, etc., which makes it really easy to click down the list each day.

**If you want to share this, please copy and paste so it goes beyond our mutual friends.**

I have added the following websites:

1. Find your federal and state legislators: Use reps.fyi (directs you to https://www.commoncause.org/find-your-representative/ )

2. Use scripts from 5Calls.org

3. Use scripts from the Americans of Conscience Checklist (updates every 2 weeks) https://americansofconscience.com/checklist/

4. Join a local or virtual group at https://indivisible.org/

[mononijikayu]

“beautiful boy (darling boy)” — gojo satoru.

“Papa chose the character for you. It means 'dawn'.” He whispered to him tenderly, almost like a little lullaby. “Because you are the beginning of a new chapter for our family. You bring light and hope into our lives, just like the dawn brings a new day."

GENRE: post hidden - inventory arc (2010s)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, mention of pregnancy, depiction of the aftermath of birth, depiction of parenthood, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: beautiful boy (darling boy) by john lennon.

NOTE: my classes were cancelled and i just played random music on my phone and this.....sort of sparked something. i sobbed to this, by the way. this might be my last one for now. i've just been frantically making these for the past few days. i'll come back after some rest!!! i love you all so much!!! <3

addendum: the character satoru chose for satoshi is '暁' which means dawn/daybreak; satoshi was born on the same day as his father in 2014.

masterlist

u s and t h e m

IF HE WAS BEING HONEST, HE DIDN’T KNOW IT WOULD COME TO THIS. He could remember it like it was yesterday, when you held out your hand and took his — placing them together on your belly. Your lilac eyes shone against his bright blue, full of wonder and anxiety. He was frozen at that moment. He was overwhelmed. 

Not even his six-eyes could keep up with his emotions, his thoughts. He knew it was an accident, he knew it wasn’t something both of you planned. But he was happy. He was all too happy that he scooped you in his arms, as though you were the treasure of the world and cradled you, whispering the most loving things, loving words ever known to any being.

It was never your plan to have children, not even with the pressure from the elders of your clans. There was never the time. There was never a sense of security. WIth what Satoru was planning to do, with what dangers there’ll be — just like he had experienced in youth, none of you wanted that for your child. And you wanted to help him, you wanted to do well by him. Satoru was your lifeline, your purpose to live was his goal. Your life with him was what made your life blossom in these past few years of marriage. But that changed too, with the bludding life growing in your belly.

You both cried that night, holding each other. It was hard to comprehend that this was happening, that a child had chosen both of you. You were glad that the Tsumiki and Megumi were at a sleep-over. They didn’t need to see you both so conflicted with your joy and your worries. No kid should be burdened by such a thing as the worries of the heavy world. 

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of evening casting long shadows on the walls. Satoru sat across from you, his cerulean eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions—excitement, concern, and a fierce determination to protect. The news of your pregnancy had brought a bittersweet mix of joy and anxiety.

“We need to decide what to do next, darling.” Satoru said, his voice steady but laced with worry. “I don’t want you to suffer like my mother did. The multiple assassination attempts... I can’t let that happen to you.”

“We can’t tell the world, Satoru,” you said quietly with a soft nod. “The higher-ups could see this as an issue. There was a time when the passing of powers in the Gojo clan – similar to the Six-Eyes, was from father to son. They might see our child as a threat, Satoru….and I…I don’t want them to hurt our child.”

Satoru’s jaw tightened, his protective instincts kicking in. “Then we keep this between us, Megumi, and Tsumiki. My mother….maybe your mother and Aunt Arisu can help us hide this from the world too. They’ll understand the importance of keeping this secret.”

You reached out, your fingers intertwining with his. “They will. They’ve always been supportive of us…and our plans. They’ll be kind to us about this too. It is their next of kin now, after all.”

For a moment, your husband looks at you. His free hand draped across your cheek and you looked at him so lovingly, leaning your head against the warm palm of his hand. He could feel how lucky he was. How beautiful you were. His eyes lowered at your belly and felt that same warmth glowing from within you, as welcoming and loving towards the person who had helped give such life to the growing seed in your belly. 

Satoru pulled you into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “I’m sorry, darling.” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with confusion. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because….” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “You’re the one who will suffer the most here, not me. The secrecy, the danger... it’s all on you. And all I can do is hold your hand. And I….”

You shook your head, resting your hand against his cheek. “Your hand is more than enough. You by my side is more than enough. All I have ever needed, all our child will ever need — is you. All they need is their father.”

“When did I ever deserve something as good as you in my life?”

You smiled at him, “Because you are good, Satoru. You’ve always been.”

“You’re the most important thing in my life.” He whispers to you, his hand on your belly. “You and our child.”

“We’re in this together, Satoru. I’m not alone in this.” You let your hand brush against his silver locks. “Because you’ll always be here, hm?”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. “I love you,” he said softly, his voice trembling slightly. “I love both of you. And I’ll protect you with all I have.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the weight of his words sinking in. “I love you too,” you whispered, feeling the strength of his love envelop you. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

The next few days were a whirlwind of planning and preparation. Your mother and Aunt Arisu were brought into the fold, their wisdom and experience invaluable in devising a plan to keep your pregnancy a secret. They promised to support you in any way they could, offering their home as a safe haven where you could hide from prying eyes.

Megumi and Tsumiki were surprisingly understanding, their loyalty to you and Satoru unwavering. They vowed to keep the secret, to protect their future sibling from the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the jujutsu world.

As the weeks turned into months, you found strength in the love and support of those around you. Satoru’s determination to protect you never wavered, his presence a constant source of comfort and reassurance. Despite the secrecy and the danger, there was a sense of hope that carried you through each day.

And in the quiet moments, when it was just the two of you, you felt a deep sense of gratitude for the love that bound you together. It was a love that would see you through the darkest of times, a love that would protect and nurture the new life growing inside you. And with Satoru by your side, you knew you could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

The days leading up to Satoru's confrontation with Sukuna were heavy with unspoken fears and silent resolutions. Each moment felt borrowed, a fragile gift that could shatter under the weight of impending doom. You moved through your days with a heightened awareness, every touch, every glance laden with meaning. The anticipation was a living thing, a constant presence that neither of you could shake.

The last time you both saw your son was during separate visits to the ancestral manor. He knew you had been there, especially when you brought Yuuji along at his request. Satoru had visited him shortly afterward, driven by an insistent need to see his boy before the impending confrontation. The weight of the world seemed lighter, if only for a moment, as he thought of his son.

Satoru could only sigh, the longing in his heart palpable. He had yearned for Suguru for the past eleven, twelve years, a constant ache that never quite faded. Yet, this longing for Suguru, as intense as it was, paled in comparison to the deep, unyielding yearning of a father. He had missed his son so much, too much. The distance, both physical and emotional, had been a torment he could hardly bear.

Satoru was certain he remembered everything about his son. The boy was a spitting image of him—silver hair that fell a bit longer, the same striking blue eyes, though his son's were even darker, like the depths of the sea. But more importantly, he recognized the essence of you in every move, every quirk, every smile. Your son might look like Satoru, but in all the ways that mattered, he was you.

Satoru adored him the most in the world. Even if he loves you, there is truly nothing that’s going to encapsulate, translate how much he loves his little boy. Your son was a constant, beautiful reminder of the bond you both shared. Your son carried your grace, your kindness, and your strength. Every time Satoru looked at him, he saw the love and unity that defined your relationship. For that, he was profoundly grateful. For that, he was happy. There was a reminder of you, of him, together in this world, encapsulated in the boy who bore the best of both of you.

And here he was, newly sealed, recovering from all of it;

All he could think about was wanting to see your dear boy.

All he could think about was wanting to embrace him again.

"I want to go to Hida," he said, his voice steady but laced with a vulnerability that made your heart ache. He looks to you softly, eyes full of yearning. “I wanna see him.”

"Are you sure?" you asked gently, searching his face for any hesitation. You purse your lips. “Satoru, it’s unsafe now. Are you sure?”

He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. "I want to spend as much time as possible trying to make sure our son understands that his father loves him."

You could hear the uncertainty in his voice, the doubt that gnawed at him despite his resolute exterior. "Satoru, you're a good father." you assured him, but he shook his head, his expression conflicted. “You have put your own heart at hold to protect him. He understands.”

"I don't know if I'm doing it right or wrong," he admitted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I love our son as much as I love Megumi, as much as I love you. But I didn't have a father growing up. Mine died when I was young, and I don't remember him very well. My mother tells me that he loved a lot, but I don't know if I believe that."

You stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "You love our son, and that's what matters most. He's always known that, even if you haven't been able to be there as much as you wanted. He sees it because you show him.”

Satoru sighed, his gaze distant as he recalled the moments he missed, the milestones he couldn't witness firsthand. "I want to be the best father to him, darling. I want him to know he's the most beloved son. That I love him the most in the world.”

"You already are, Satoru," you whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“We have to see him.” Your husband retorts back to you, a sad smile on his lips. “If this is the last chance—”

“It won’t be,” You shake your head at him. “You know that.”

“I know, but…” He sighs, resting his head against the crook of your neck. “I want to be sure. Nothing is bound, darling. I want to… I want to be able to leave him with something he can remember his old man by.”

The weight of his words pressed down on you both, the unspoken fears and the grim reality of what was to come. You could feel your throat choke up as you tried to banish the tears from your eyes. The thought of Satoru not being there hurt you.

Not only because you loved him, but because you knew your son loved him the best in the world. The thought of him becoming without the person he holds dear in the world, it tears you apart.

You want to believe that your husband was the title he was given. You knew he was strong. You believe he will overcome this. That’s why you keep putting off visiting your son. It was safer, it would be in the future that you and Satoru had fought so hard to fight for. But your husband was just a man too. A man who has a finite life and a heart too big for the world to comprehend. He was just Satoru. A husband, a father. A friend, a teacher. He was just like that. 

You look at him with a guilty look. You were selfish with him, with what you said. He needed you, he needed Satoru. Your son needed you both. As much as you needed him. What is protecting him from all these dangers, if you both weren’t there to love him either?

What is loving Satoru if you can’t be there for him either? If you can’t love him properly either? You took a deep breath. You’ve made up your mind. You will not deprive him of this. You would not be selfish with this. You would let him be selfish. You would let him live as he had never before. 

You held him tighter, feeling the tension in his muscles, the vulnerability he rarely showed. “You’re right. We will see him, my love.” you affirmed, your voice steady. “And we’ll make sure he knows how much he’s loved.”

Satoru’s eyes met yours, a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. “Thank you, darling.” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “For understanding, for always being here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I’m sorry, Satoru,” you whispered to him tenderly as you kissed the small of his lips. “I should have been better with this.”

“Hey, don’t be sorry. You want to protect him too, I understand.” He tells you, a small smile on his lips. “Sukuna has familiarity with Hida, I know you’re wary about it.”

You nodded, the weight of your concerns evident in your eyes. “I just want to make sure he’s safe. That we’re all safe.”

Satoru’s smile softened, and he brushed a thumb over your cheek. “We’ll keep him safe. We’ll keep everyone safe. That’s a promise.”

You smiled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “We’re in this together, Satoru. Always.”

He kissed your forehead, a lingering touch that conveyed all the words he couldn’t say. “Let’s go to Hida,” he said finally. “Let’s spend this time with him, make memories that will stay with him.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of resolve settle within you. “Yes, let’s do that. We’ll make sure he knows how much he means to us.”

All of Satoru’s training was canceled for the next few days.

Everyone understood why and said nothing about any of it.

Gojo Satoru couldn’t be happier to enjoy the long trip.

Because the next he’ll get off the train, he’ll see his dear son.

ARRIVING IN HIDA WAS A REFRESHING THING. It was as though the looming war, the destruction, the suffering, did not exist. These precious days felt suspended in time, a haven of peace amidst the chaos.

Each sunrise brought with it a semblance of normalcy, a gentle reminder of the life you were fighting to protect. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and the sun cast a warm, golden glow over everything it touched.

As the days passed, you found moments of solace in the simple joys of being together. Satoru’s determination to be the best father he could be was palpable. He approached fatherhood with the same intensity and dedication he showed in his sorcery, and you admired the way he threw himself into the role with such fervor.

His playful nature shone brightly as he engaged your son in games, stories, and lessons. The bond between father and son grew stronger with each passing day, and it filled you with a sense of hope and reassurance.

Gojo Satoshi did not know much about the wider world beyond the confines of the carefully constructed life you and your family had built around him. But Satoru thought that was for the best. At his tender age, the complexities and dangers of the world could wait.

For now, Satoshi was wrapped in a cocoon of love and safety, his days filled with laughter and innocence. The little lordling of the Gojo clan had the privilege of being shielded from the harsh realities, existing in a world where he was cherished and adored.

“Young master Gojo, please do not run too much! You’ll slip!” His nurse-maid's voice rang out in a mix of concern and exasperation as she hurried after the energetic boy. Her normally composed demeanor was visibly frazzled as she struggled to keep pace with her lively charge. “Young master!”

“Heh, chase me! Chase me!” Satoshi's infectious giggle echoed through the gardens, his small feet moving quickly across the manicured lawn. His silvery hair, so much like his father's, shimmered in the sunlight, and his blue eyes sparkled with pure delight.

The scene was picturesque, the verdant greenery of the garden serving as a perfect backdrop to the boy's joy. Flowers bloomed in a riot of colors, and the gentle hum of insects added to the serene atmosphere.

Gojo Satoru watched from a distance, a soft smile playing on his lips. He saw so much of himself in Satoshi, from the boy’s boundless energy to the mischievous glint in his eyes. Yet, he also saw you in him—the kindness, the warmth, the innate ability to find joy in the simplest things.

Satoshi’s world was small but rich, filled with the love and attention of those who cared for him. He didn't know of the looming threats or the responsibilities that came with his lineage. Instead, his days were spent exploring the garden, listening to stories, and playing games. It was a simple life, but it was one that Satoru cherished deeply for his son.

The nurse-maid finally caught up to Satoshi, scooping him into her arms despite his playful wriggling. “Young master, you must be careful,” she chided gently, her tone softening as she adjusted his tousled hair. “We wouldn’t want you to get hurt. You are too important to be hurt.”

Satoshi pouted for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. “Okay, I’ll be careful,” he promised, though the twinkle in his eye suggested that he was already planning his next adventure.

“Our little lordling is too bright for the sun, huh?” Satoru approached, his presence immediately noticed by Satoshi, who reached out eagerly. 

“Papa!” the boy exclaimed, his arms stretching towards his father.

With a warm chuckle, Satoru took Satoshi into his arms, lifting him high into the air. “Having fun, little lordling?” he asked, his voice filled with affection. “You were zooming out there, huh?”

“Yeah!” Satoshi replied enthusiastically. “We were playing chase, and I was winning!”

Satoru laughed, his heart swelling with love. “I’m sure you were. But remember to listen to your nurse-maid, okay? We don’t want any accidents.”

Satoshi nodded solemnly before breaking into giggles again. “I will, Papa.”

As Satoru held his son close, he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. In these moments, the worries of the world faded away, leaving only the pure, unadulterated love between a father and his child. He knew that soon enough, Satoshi would grow older and the realities of their world would become unavoidable. But for now, he was determined to protect this innocence, to ensure that Satoshi's world remained filled with laughter and love for as long as possible.

“Let’s go find Mama,” Satoru said, carrying Satoshi back towards the house. “I’m sure she’s missed you.”

Satoshi's eyes lit up at the mention of you, and he nodded eagerly. “Yeah! Let’s go find Mama!”

The path back to the house was lined with blooming cherry blossoms, their petals gently drifting to the ground with each breeze. Satoru walked with an easy grace, his son nestled securely in his arms. The house, an elegant blend of traditional and modern architecture, stood as a sanctuary amid the chaos of the outside world.

As they approached, the soft hum of your voice reached their ears. You were in the kitchen, preparing a meal, the aroma of freshly cooked rice and simmering soup wafting through the air. Your presence was a constant source of comfort and strength, grounding Satoru in ways he often struggled to articulate.

“Mama!” Satoshi called out excitedly as they entered the kitchen.

You turned, a warm smile spreading across your face as you wiped your hands on a towel. “There’s my little troublemaker,” you said, reaching out to take Satoshi from Satoru’s arms. “Were you having fun in the garden?”

Satoshi nodded vigorously. “Yes, Mama! We played chase, and I was winning!”

You chuckled, kissing his forehead. “I’m sure you were. Did you give the nurse-maid a hard time?”

Satoshi giggled, hiding his face on your shoulder. “Maybe a little.”

Satoru watched the interaction with a tender expression. “He’s full of energy today,” he commented, stepping closer to place a hand on your back. “How are you feeling?”

You glanced up at him, your eyes filled with understanding. “Better, now that you two are here.” You looked back at Satoshi, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Were you good for Papa?”

“Yes, Mama,” Satoshi replied earnestly. “Papa said we should always listen to nurse-maid.”

You smiled, giving Satoru an appreciative look. “That’s right. It’s important to be careful.”

Satoru's gaze softened as he watched you interact with Satoshi. Despite the looming threat of Sukuna, these moments of normalcy and love filled him with a fierce determination to protect his family at all costs.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” you said, turning back to the stove. “Why don’t you two wash up?”

Satoshi wriggled in your arms, eager to comply. “Come on, Papa!” he urged, pulling at Satoru’s hand.

“Alright, alright,” Satoru laughed, letting himself be led towards the bathroom. As he helped Satoshi wash his hands, he marveled at how such simple acts could bring so much joy.

After washing up, they returned to the kitchen where you had set the table. The meal was a humble but hearty spread, the kind that brought warmth and comfort to the soul. Satoru helped Satoshi into his chair before taking his own seat beside you.

As you all sat down to eat, Satoshi’s chatter filled the room, his stories animated and full of wonder. Satoru listened with rapt attention, his heart swelling with pride and love. He reached out to squeeze your hand under the table, a silent promise that he would do everything in his power to keep this happiness intact.

After dinner, you all settled in the living room. Satoshi, full and content, curled up next to you on the couch, his little head resting on your lap. Satoru sat beside you, his arm draped over your shoulders. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the evening light, casting a serene ambiance over the scene.

Satoru looked at you, his cerulean eyes filled with a mixture of love and determination. “We’re going to be okay,” he said softly, his voice steady. “No matter what happens, we’ll face it together.”

You nodded, leaning into his embrace. “Together,” you echoed, your hand resting gently on Satoshi’s back.

“Papa, let’s go!” Satoshi’s eyes sparkled with excitement, his little hand tugging at Satoru’s sleeve.

“Hm? Where, little lordling?” Satoru asked, his voice warm with affection.

“The koi pond!” Satoshi replied eagerly, his enthusiasm infectious.

Satoru looked at you, seeking your opinion. You nodded and offered him a warm smile. “Why not? It’s too nice today and it’s refreshing after a long play, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.” Your husband nodded to you before turning his attention back to your son, his grin widening. “Does my little lordling want to be carried by papa, or is he wanting to be a big boy and walk?”

Satoshi puffed out his chest with pride, his tiny hands clenched into determined fists. “I’ll walk, Papa! I’m a big boy!”

Satoru chuckled, patting Satoshi’s head affectionately. “That’s my boy. Lead the way, then.”

The three of you made your way to the koi pond, the garden bathed in the golden glow of the moonshine The air was filled with the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft chirping of owls settling down for the evening. It was a tranquil scene, a stark contrast to the turbulent world outside your home.

The tranquil scene was framed by vibrant greenery and the soft murmur of a nearby stream. They were watching the koi fish swim lazily in the pond, their colorful scales glinting in the moonlight. Your son was immediately chattering excitedly about something he’d learned, his voice a melodic blend of enthusiasm and curiosity. Satoru listened intently, a fond smile playing on his lips.

Satoshi skipped ahead, his laughter ringing out like a melody. You and Satoru followed at a leisurely pace, hand in hand, savoring the peaceful moment.

As you reached the koi pond, Satoshi knelt by the water's edge, his eyes wide with wonder as he watched the colorful fish swim gracefully. “Look, Papa! The fish are so pretty!”

Satoru crouched beside him, pointing out different koi. “See that one with the golden scales? That’s the king of the pond. And that one over there, with the red spots, is the queen.”

Satoshi’s eyes sparkled with delight as he listened intently to Satoru’s explanations. “Can we feed them, Papa?”

Satoru glanced at you, and you smiled, pulling out a small container of fish food from your pocket. “Here you go, Satoshi. Just a little bit at a time, okay?”

Satoshi nodded eagerly, carefully taking the container from you and sprinkling a small amount of food into the pond. The koi fish swarmed to the surface, their mouths opening and closing as they devoured the food. Satoshi giggled with delight, clapping his hands together.

“Papa, did you know that koi fish can live for over 200 years?” your son exclaimed, his eyes wide with wonder.

Satoru nodded, his gaze never leaving your son’s animated face. “Really? That’s amazing, buddy. Imagine all the stories they could tell.”

Your son giggled, the sound pure and joyful. “Maybe they know magic, too!”

Satoru’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Maybe they do. Maybe they’re the guardians of secret underwater realms.”

You and Satoru stood back, watching your son with fond smiles. “He’s growing up so fast.” you murmured, leaning into Satoru’s side. "Almost four already. He's not our baby anymore, hm?"

“He still is, y'know?” Satoru hummed, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “but you're right. Soon, he’s going to grow up strong. Our beautiful boy, he’s always going to be loved, too.”

“This is perfect,” you whispered, leaning your head against Satoru’s shoulder. The warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart grounded you, reminding you of the strength you found in each other. “This is everything we could ever want.

“It is.” Satoru agreed, his voice low and filled with emotion. “Everything is more than I imagined.”

As the moon echoed below the horizon, casting a warm evening glow over the garden, the three of you stood by the koi pond, savoring the simple joys of family and the promise of a future filled with love and hope. All Gojo Satoru had to do was defeat Sukuna. All he had to do was get this over with. Then all will be over. He’ll get to be with you. He’ll get to be with Satoshi. You could be a family in peace.

Gojo Satoru wouldn’t be the strongest then.

He could just be himself, he could just be this.

He could just be your husband, Satoshi’s father.

He can be a human being for the first time in his life.

“Papa, can we stay here forever?” your son asked suddenly, his eyes wide with innocence. Both of you look at him. “You and mama, can we all be here together?”

Your son's innocent question hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the simplicity of childhood dreams. Satoru's gaze softened as he looked down at your son, his expression a mixture of tenderness and wistfulness. It was a question that held a weight far beyond its years, touching on the deepest desires of the heart.

For a moment, neither of you knew quite how to respond. The idea of staying in this tranquil moment forever, frozen in time with your family by your side, was undeniably tempting. Yet, reality loomed on the horizon, with its uncertainties and responsibilities.

Satoru exchanged a glance with you, silently communicating the depth of his emotions. There was a longing in his eyes, a yearning for a life free from the burdens of duty and danger. But beneath it all, there was a fierce determination to protect what mattered most—your family.

With a gentle smile, you reached out and ruffled your son's hair. "We'll always be together, Satoshi. No matter what happens, we'll find a way to stay together."

Satoru's hand found yours, his grip reassuring and firm. "That's right, little lordling. We'll always be here for you, no matter where life takes us."

Your son's eyes sparkled with happiness at your reassurance, his small hand reaching out to clasp both of yours. "Promise?"

You exchanged a knowing look with Satoru, his expression mirroring your own determination. "Promise," you both said in unison, sealing the vow with a tender smile

The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the room as you lay entwined with your husband and son. In the tranquil silence of the night, you could hear the steady rhythm of their breathing, a comforting reminder of the love that bound you together.

Wrapped in the warmth of each other's embrace, you felt a profound sense of contentment wash over you. It was in these quiet moments, surrounded by the ones you held most dear, that you found solace from the chaos of the outside world. Here, in the sanctuary of your shared love, you felt invincible, ready to face whatever challenges awaited you.

As you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, a serene smile graced your lips. In the arms of your beloved family, you knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, you would overcome them with unwavering strength and unwavering love.

“Satoru, my love.” you whispered, your hand entwined with his. “Thank you for being here. For being with us.”

He turned to you, his eyes filled with love. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, darling. You and our son… you’re my everything.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his words seep into your heart. “And you’re ours. Always.”

The days turned into weeks, and the time for Satoru’s confrontation with Sukuna drew closer. But instead of being consumed by fear, you found strength in the love that surrounded you. The bond you shared with Satoru, the love you had for your son, and the support of your family gave you the courage to face whatever lay ahead.

On the last evening before Satoru was to leave with you, the three of you all gathered under the stars, the night sky a blanket of twinkling lights above you. Your son sat on Satoru’s lap, his head resting against his father’s chest.

“Papa, will you come back soon?” he asked, his voice small and filled with hope.

Satoru hugged him tightly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’ll do everything I can to come back to you, buddy. You and your mama are my entire world. Papa can’t live without any of you.”

Your son nodded, content with his father’s promise. “Me too, papa.”

“Hm?”

“I can’t live without you and mama.” Your son whispers to his father, wiping his father’s tears tenderly. Satoru blinked at his son’s act. “So papa has to do well and come back, with mama?”

In that tender moment, the depth of the bond between father and son was palpable. Satoru's heart swelled with emotion as he gazed into his son's earnest eyes, filled with a love so pure and unconditional it took his breath away. With a lump in his throat, he tightened his embrace, savoring the warmth of his son's small body pressed against his own.

His voice was thick with emotion as he replied, "I promise, buddy. I'll do everything in my power to come back to you and mama. You both mean the world to me, and I can't bear the thought of being without you."

Your son's response was equally heartfelt, his voice soft yet resolute. "I believe in you, papa. We'll be waiting for you, always."

You leaned against Satoru, drawing comfort from his presence. “I love you so much.”

He takes a breath. “I love you too. With everything in me.”

The night was quiet, filled with the gentle sounds of nature and the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in unison. As you closed your eyes, Satoru whispered a silent prayer, to any god listening above. If there ever was one. He prayed.

He wished that he could come home. He wished that he could be with you. He wished that he could watch Satoshi grow up. He wishes for that dream, for that hope, to come true.

That’s what all he could see as he lay there.

Shoko Ieiri looked him in the eyes as he struggled.

He smiles at her and then you, puddle full of tears.

“I love you.” He choked. “You and Satoshi, I love you.”

From faraway Hida, a boy sits by the koi pond and prays.

“I hope that my mama and papa return to good health soon.”

flashback epilogue

The hospital room was cast in a gentle, dim light, creating a serene atmosphere that belied the intensity of the recent events. Satoru sat on the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders relaxed yet filled with a quiet strength as he cradled his newborn son,  little Gojo Satoshi, against his chest. 

With delicate care, he adjusted the soft blankets around little Satoshi, ensuring his newborn son was warm and comfortable. Despite the fatigue evident in his eyes, there was a palpable sense of wonder and tenderness in Satoru's touch as he looked down at the tiny bundle in his arms.

Meanwhile, you lay nearby, your form softened by the relief of finally finding respite after the long and arduous hours of labor. Your face, though etched with exhaustion, held a serene expression, a testament to the profound sense of fulfillment that accompanied the arrival of your precious child.

In that quiet moment, amidst the hushed sounds of the hospital room, the bond between parent and child blossomed, enveloping the room in an aura of warmth and love that seemed to transcend time itself. Satoru couldn’t be happier to carry his whole world in his arms.

Gazing down at the tiny bundle in his arms, Satoru felt a surge of overwhelming love wash over him. With a soft smile, he leaned in close to Satoshi's ear, whispering words of welcome and affection.

"Welcome to the world, my beautiful boy." Satoru murmured, his voice filled with warmth. "D’you know what your name is? What it means?”

The little boy cooed at his father’s words.

Satoru laughed softly, looking at him lovingly.

He was already so attentive towards his father.

“Mama and I decided together, y’know? Your name just had to be Satoshi.” Satoru takes a deep breath, smiling as the baby cooes again. “You’re satisfied, hm? But you’ll like the spelling more, little man.”

Satoru could only feel overwhelmed by what he felt.

He could only feel nothing but joy, nothing but elation.

The dawn was breaking, as it always had before this moment.

But now,  where his own dawn was in his hands, he just smiled.

“Papa chose the character for you. It means 'dawn'.” He whispered to him tenderly, almost like a little lullaby. “Because you are the beginning of a new chapter for our family. You bring light and hope into our lives, just like the dawn brings a new day."

There was a louder coo this time around.

He was more than happy, Satoru thinks.

And he couldn’t be happier than this moment.

This beautiful boy, his darling boy, his dawn.

Satoru pressed a gentle kiss to Satoshi's forehead, marveling at the precious life he held in his arms. "I love you so much, my son," he whispered, his heart overflowing with love and joy at the arrival of their little miracle. “My little dawn.”

[folkwhoreberry]

I NEED MORE AGAINST THE ODDS PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE

Against The Odds pt. 4

hamilton!oc x verstappen!reader

or... the one where you’re together, forever tied

word count : 1k

warning : mentions of teen pregnancy, young parents, english is not my first language!!!

on the radio : mine by taylor swift

part 1 part 2 part 3

🦁🧡 X 🤙🏾💜

it had been a month since you and miles welcomed your daughter into the world, and parenthood was already teaching you both more than you could have imagined. the first few weeks had been a whirlwind of emotions - late nights, early mornings, the exhaustion that came with caring for a newborn, and the overwhelming love you felt every time you held her in your arms. you and miles were young parents, and while neither of you had planned for this big change so soon, it felt as though everything had fallen into place perfectly.

your daughter, still so small and fragile, had already begun to shape your world in ways you hadn’t thought possible. it was strange, but every moment spent with her felt like time slowed down, even as everything else around you moved so fast. you were both learning on the fly, figuring out how to be parents together. miles was constantly there, always ready to help, whether it was holding the baby while you got some sleep or offering to change yet another diaper. it wasn’t always easy, but you both made it work.

miles had always been there for you - through everything - and now, more than ever, you could feel the strength of his commitment to you and your little family. watching him care for your daughter made your heart swell, and you couldn’t help but think how lucky she was to have him as her father.

life hadn’t stopped, though. while the two of you were adjusting to your new routine, there was still the outside world to contend with. the media had not forgotten about you, despite the few weeks of peace after the baby’s birth. they were still obsessed, trying to get the inside scoop on your family life. you tried to keep things as private as possible, but it wasn’t always easy. every time you stepped out in public, cameras seemed to follow, ready to catch any glimpse of you, miles, or your daughter. but you and miles made a conscious effort to keep her out of the spotlight. she was still so young and deserved to grow up without the constant pressure of being in the public eye.

the scrutiny didn’t stop there. you and miles had become somewhat of an unofficial “royalty” of the paddock in the eyes of the media - young, successful, and now parents. the constant buzz around your relationship had shifted to this new chapter, and headlines like the verstappen-hamilton family: the next generation started popping up everywhere. but despite the attention, you and miles were determined to keep your lives as normal as possible. the press could speculate all they wanted, but you weren’t going to let it interfere with your new life as a family.

for max and lewis, things had taken on a new dynamic as well. the two of them, once rivals, had both stepped into their roles as grandfathers with ease, something neither had expected. max, who had been a little apprehensive about becoming a grandfather so young, was already smitten with his granddaughter. you’d caught him on more than one occasion making goofy faces at her, trying to get her to smile, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.

lewis had been no different. he was already offering unsolicited advice, his protective fatherly instincts kicking in, as though he were your second father rather than just a father-in-law. every time he saw you with your daughter, his face would light up, and his pride in you and miles was evident.

despite the joy, there were moments where the pressure of being young parents weighed on you both. the lack of sleep, the constant worry that you weren’t doing enough, the demands of balancing your family with everything else - it was a lot. but when you looked at miles, and when you held your daughter, all of it felt worth it. you had built something beautiful, even if it wasn’t perfect.

it was one of those moments, sitting in the quiet of your apartment, holding your daughter while miles made dinner, that you realized just how far the two of you had come. from the nervous excitement of finding out you were pregnant to now, as a family, things had changed in ways you couldn’t have imagined. your little family was growing, and though the world might have had its opinions, you had everything you needed right here.

that evening, after dinner, miles sat beside you on the couch, his arm draped over your shoulders. the baby was sleeping soundly in your arms, and for a brief moment, everything felt peaceful. miles leaned over and kissed your forehead, then looked at you with a soft smile.

“I was thinking,” he said, his voice quiet, as if unsure of how to begin.

“about what?” you asked, glancing up at him.

he took a deep breath before continuing. “about the future. and how much I want you in it. not just as my partner, but as my family. our family.”

you raised an eyebrow, feeling the weight of his words. “you’re already stuck with me,” you teased, brushing your hand over your daughter’s tiny head.

“I know,” miles replied with a smile. “but I want more than just being stuck with you. I want to make this official.”

before you could respond, miles reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. your heart skipped a beat as he opened it, revealing a simple yet beautiful ring. his eyes met yours, full of love and sincerity.

“will you marry me?” he asked, his voice full of emotion. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, building this family together.”

you blinked, taken aback for a moment. it wasn’t the most elaborate proposal, but it was perfect. it was everything you had ever wanted. you couldn’t help the tears that welled in your eyes as you looked at him, at the life you had built with him, and at the future you could see so clearly now.

“yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “yes, of course.”

miles smiled, relief washing over him as he slipped the ring onto your finger. you kissed him softly, your daughter nestled in your arms between you, and for the first time in a while, everything felt right. you were a family, and this was just the beginning.

————————————————————————————

© all rights reserved to folkwhoreberry. no stealing or copying will be tolerated.

a/n : fourth part woo!!! this is growing on me

[jobeisbae]

jobe bellingham x mom!reader

summary: jobe bellingham and his wife navigate the joyful chaos of daily life with their two-year-old twins, balancing professional commitments and parenting with love and teamwork. From morning wake-ups to bedtime routines, every moment is filled with love, laughter, and a touch of exhaustion.

warnings: none

The day began early, as it always did with two-year-olds. You were awakened by the soft, insistent cries of one of the twins over the baby monitor. Jobe stirred beside you, already reaching for his phone to check the time.

“I’ll get them,” he murmured, planting a quick kiss on your forehead before slipping out of bed.

You stretched, listening to the familiar sounds of Jobe soothing one of the twins, while the other soon joined in the chorus. Smiling, you got up and made your way to the nursery, where Jobe was already changing diapers.

“Good morning, my little loves,” you cooed, lifting your daughter out of her crib. Her giggles were music to your ears, a perfect start to the day.

Jobe handed you a freshly changed son, and you both headed downstairs, twins in tow. Breakfast was a team effort—Jobe prepared the twins’ oatmeal and fruit while you made coffee and toast for yourselves.

With everyone seated around the kitchen table, you and Jobe took turns feeding the twins and stealing bites of your own breakfast. Laughter and tiny messes filled the room, setting a cheerful tone for the day ahead.

After breakfast, Jobe headed out for training, promising to be back by lunchtime. You spent the morning engaging the twins with playtime, storybooks, and a bit of creative chaos. They were particularly fond of building block towers only to knock them down with squeals of delight.

Around mid-morning, you managed to fit in some work, responding to emails and planning content while the twins napped. The house was blissfully quiet for an hour, allowing you to focus.

Jobe returned home just as the twins woke up, their sleepy faces lighting up at the sight of him. “Daddy’s home!” you announced, watching them toddle over to him with outstretched arms.

Lunchtime was another family affair, with sandwiches, fruit, and lots of chatter. Jobe shared stories from his training session while you updated him on the twins’ morning adventures.

After lunch, you both took the twins to the park, enjoying the fresh air and watching them explore the playground. Jobe pushed them on the swings while you captured the precious moments on your phone, memories to cherish forever.

Back home, it was nap time for the twins again. This gave you and Jobe a rare moment of peace. You cuddled on the couch, catching up on a favorite show or simply enjoying each other’s company in comfortable silence.

Once the twins woke up, it was time for more play and a bit of screen time with their favorite educational shows. You prepped dinner while Jobe kept them entertained, the house filled with the sounds of playful giggles and the occasional sibling squabble.

Dinner was a lively event, with the twins eagerly trying new foods and sharing their delight with every bite. You and Jobe took turns eating and managing the occasional spill, the routine now a well-practiced dance of parenthood.

After dinner, it was bath time. The twins loved splashing in the tub, and you and Jobe relished the chance to make it a fun, bonding experience. With the twins clean and wrapped in fluffy towels, you headed to their room for storytime.

Jobe read their favorite book while you tucked them in, the soothing rhythm of his voice lulling them into drowsiness. You both kissed them goodnight, watching as they drifted off to sleep.

With the twins finally asleep, you and Jobe retreated to the living room. You shared a quiet, intimate dinner, reflecting on the day and planning for the next. The exhaustion of the day melted away in the comfort of each other’s presence.

“Another successful day,” Jobe said, pulling you close as you settled on the couch.

“Couldn’t do it without you,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.

After some much-needed relaxation, you both headed to bed, ready to recharge for another day of joyful chaos with your little ones. As you drifted off to sleep, you felt content, knowing that together, you and Jobe were creating a loving, happy home for your family.

[jeonitopia]

BABY TIME

🪐 bts x f! pregnant! reader (separate)

🪐 headcanons // fluff+angst

☆ warnings: none except maybe no beta read !

a/n: potential part 2 for when the baby is born? depends on if people like this.. also just short hcs bcuz well.. i overdid myself and did all 7 in one post... sigh (i made tis longer than it was supposed to be wtf)

☆KIM SEOKJIN

"Aishh! you already had chocolate earlier!"

constantly watching your diet, making sure all your vitamin and certain intakes are proper

"Jin I'm craving ramyeon with milk mixed in.." "WHAT"

catching him ask his mom what she needed and what she wouldve done if she got pregnant again (he has no shame)

he's an absolute prince in your child's eyes

when he has to leave, he calls you at least every 2 hours and if he can't, he messages you!! (asking for pics of you and the baby)

in love with role-playing with the child, wether it be king and princess, or knights and bandits (you're the damsel in distress)

☆ | 🪐 | ☆

☆MIN YOONGI

honestly, he was terrified of being a father because of his experience with his own father

once he realized the whole weight of the situation, he understood that he WILL be a good (and supportive) father because you are with him

learning that your child also has a thing for music

absolutely bringing your baby to the studio and letting him have his own crib next to his producing set-up

has noise cancelling headphones for the baby if he has to record something or when he's going to fully focus on producing

(of course has the volume on his headphones a medium volume so he can hear if the baby wakes up)

made a joke about how in daechwita, you'd be his empress and the baby is the heir

cue him posting a photo of the three of you in traditional hanbok (yoongi in daechwita outfit, without the long hair because baby will be upset)

☆ | 🪐 | ☆

☆JUNG HOSEOK

always taking photos of your progress

"look here!"

he always tries to keep you active

massages all day everydayyy

you got him to chill with the dance practices so that he both doesnt overwork himself AND you get to spend more time with him

absolutely doing the silliest things to entertain the baby

it's obvious who the favorite is 😐

showing dance moves to the baby and doing silly faces

has a picture of the three of you in hope world, he loves staring at it and just being grateful for his family

he's j-hope, you're bae-hope, baby is mini/baby-hope

☆ | 🪐 | ☆

☆KIM NAMJOON

songs containing references and metaphors that relate to you and the baby (not that he DIDNT do this before)

maybe even a whole mini-album dedicated to your journey into parenthood, each song created throughout your progress till your due date

he did his thorough research on pregnancy and things related to it and constantly gives you advice

when the baby is old enough for long distance rides, family trips are a common thing

loves cradling the baby and blabbering about an art piece they're standing in front of

you're so in love? help???

he has 3 lil plants, the 3rd plant being a new sprout that he likes to say is the baby (it sprouted the day the baby was born?? omg???)

☆ | 🪐 | ☆

☆PARK JIMIN

you became an absolute princess the moment he found out you were pregnant

wonders if the baby would grow up to have the same fingers as his papa mochi

already planning to convince the baby to try a martial art or a type of dancing so he and his papa can have multiple ways of bonding

dropping hints about the baby mochi on some of his lives

one time he asked if he can try your breastmilk

😐😑😐

teasing him about how when the baby holds his fingers, they look the same

☆ | 🪐 | ☆

☆KIM TAEHYUNG

honestly you'd have around 2-3 kids

but this is your first one, taehyung is honestly nervous

absolutely SURE he wants to be a father but more worried on if he'd be a good one

at this point, he'd also be another baby

"Ack, my feet hurt quite a bit.." "AREYOUALRIGHT?DOYOUNEEDTOGOTOTHEHOSPITAL??ILLCALLDOCTORPARK"

you personally think he might be the one more stressed even when he isnt the one carrying the baby

2nd questioner of wifey's breast milk taste

yeontan and the baby being bestfriends

yeontan has super instincts and starts going wild when he feels the baby is about to start crying

☆ | 🪐 | ☆

☆JEON JUNGKOOK

he watched the movie Up with taehyung and they googled why the old couple had a miscarriage, he learned it was from lead exposure

so now he keeps you away from drying walls and dusty areas and even has a small baggy filled with masks and cleansing tissue

he calls it "baby protection protocal"

surprisingly very calm and responsible! (hes trying to win your trust so that he can spoil your child rotten)

absolutely DROPS the fact that he is having a child and dragged you into the view of the live

3rd questioner of wifey's breast milk taste

baby plays with daddy's lip ring because he finds it really cool

baby also thinks daddy's sleeve tattoo is cool and always wants to slobber his saliva on it

baby wants to ride on bam's back??? 😭😭😭😭

[groverapologist]

New Athens, a Percy Jackson HeadCanon:

Percy discussed with Annabeth how he wished New Rome was closer to Manhattan, or that Camp Halfblood had its own similar city so that he could be closer to his family and hometown. this sparked an idea for Annabeth.

after finishing her olympus project, she began to work on her pitch for New Athens, a safehaven for Greek and Roman demigods to grow old and live their lives in right next to Camp Halfblood. Though it was Percy who sparked the idea, the idea became so much larger and more significant than an offhand wish.

with the help of chiron and dionysus, annabeth gets her pitch approved, and work begins.

demigods of all godly parenthood have their chances to shine in the process;

Athena kids are mainly city planners, civil engineers, and architects.

Hephaestus kids are mechanics, constructors, and advisers for the civil engineers.

Demeter kids are mainly agricultural engineers, and alongside Persephone kids, also environmental engineers.

Hermes and Iris kids are transportation engineers, and Hermes kids also focus on hospitality of Roman demigods and hunters.

Apollo kids are healthcare executives and administrators, and together with Dionysus kids, they focus on entertainment.

Aphrodite kids focus on the sociological aspects of urban planning.

Ares kids focus on safety and protection.

There are much more jobs as well, some predominantly run by other demigods (Hypnos, Hecate, etc), and some run by a mixture.

While the jobs are predominantly separated by lineage, any demigod is allowed to work any job they desire.

Frank and Hazel also send in Roman volunteers to provide assistance in the development process. In their words, "You need as many hands as possible to build a city from scratch".

Leo worked considerably on this as this was his chance to be in a place where he felt he belonged. It also felt like a way to honour Jason's legacy as Jason lived in New Rome but chose Camp Halfblood. Leo wholeheartedly believes that had Jason been alive, he would want nothing more than for Camp Halfblood to be a liveable and lively place.

Leo builds a monument in Jason's memory. It is engraved with the words "Lover, Brother, Friend, Praetor, Hero. Symbol of Roman and Greek Unity. Lightning Boy." When it was first revealed, he and Piper sat there all day, holding each other.

while piper offers all the help she can, she never once seriously considers living in New Athens. while her demigod lineage is something so integral to who she is, she would rather live in the outside world. Leo and Annabeth understand.

clarisse works on a monument for all heroes lost in the battle of manhattan. even though it was her idea, it still hurts to see Silena's name engraved on the marble.

dionysus pretends to hate it, despite having played a huge role in convincing the gods (especially Zeus) that this was a great idea. he never takes credit for that. annabeth only ever finds out through chiron, months after they started work.

the project takes years to complete, but it makes annabeth's world. she considers it one of her greatest achievements, if not the greatest; she has helped her people and the future generations to come. this work cannot be forgotten. her love for demigods is written all over the city, and so many generations will see it.

percy opens a small candy shop the first moment he can. it mostly sells blue candy.

leo finally opens a garage, becoming the best mechanic of New Athens.

annabeth continues working on architecture, helping build any new buildings and working on any expansions.

grover and juniper build a family together there, their home near the woods. percy, annabeth, and grover stay close the entire time.

piper visits often. she and leo always visit Jason's monument when she does, and they leave flowers every time.

will and nico own an apartment. will's still a doctor. nico becomes a teacher. it's a surreal feeling to be able to help kids feel safe and happy, something he did not often get at their age. they've adopted two cats together.

when hazel and frank have the opportunity, they visit as well. they visit nico and will whenever they can, and percy and annabeth and leo and piper as much as possible too. despite being tied down to new rome, they still love New Athens.

reyna and thalia only visit with the hunters, but both go to jason's monument together. they don't have to talk to understand each other.

chiron is happy. in his thousands of years of working at camp, he had never had the ability to see his pupils live long lives. even if they'd lived to their 80s+, they never did so at camp. it's a new experience for him, and to all greek halfbloods who could now feel safe as they grew older in a place that accepted them with open arms.

[voxina]

All I can think about is " still very very proud of him ...Taking over the world definitely". Like, Harry is currently on a break, so Louis either knows all the world taking plans for hs4, or he knows Harry is worried about the reception of the album or something 😭🥹

Hi nonnie! :) No, I don't think Louis knows Harry is worried about the reception of HS4. Why would he be? He has no reason to. A little anxious, maybe. But it's perfectly understandable, being him a perfectionist and coming from the incredible global success of his previous work. To say that he is very, very proud of him is something sweet and lovely, and it has already happened before. Something you'd expect from him, because that's what Louis is. He has always been an incredibly supportive and caring person about Harry and his life & career, just as he has always supported the other members of the band, his family, friends, loved ones, and colleagues. Envy is not something he feels. It is really just not part of his personality, in fact he is always ready to publicly demonstrate genuine pride and support for other people. And yes, Harry's been on a break for two years, but the reasons Louis said he was very, very proud of him could be as many as you can think of. We should not assume that he was referring to something specific or necessarily related to music. I mean, in March Harry completed the 2025 Tokyo Marathon. He finished crossing the line in 6,010th place out of more than 37,000 runners. Quite impressive considering that he is not a professional athlete. And it is certainly something to be proud of. More recently, he has also signed a full-page ad supporting Planned Parenthood after US President Donald Trump signed an executive order targeting reproductive rights, including banning federal funding for non-medical abortions. And this is another example where you can be proud of someone close to your heart. Not to mention the countless donations Harry made and charities that he is involved in. Just last month it was revealed by The Sunday Times that he donated £5.2 million generated by the 173 shows of his Love On Tour to charities, including Save The Children, Choose Love, and Planned Parenthood. I don't know about you, but that makes me a very, very proud fan of him. And I have no doubt that this could be one of the many reasons why Louis feels so too. One of Louis' greatest qualities and one of the many that makes him such a special being, beyond his amazing talent, is certainly his philanthropic endeavors. He has also actively supported plenty of charities and initiatives in support of less fortunate people. Over the years they have both used their privilege to help those in need and make a positive difference. And these are all things that are known publicly. Imagine what we don't know, everything that's going on behind the scenes, everything that's rightfully private about their personal lives and that only they and a few others know. So although Louis obviously knows more than we do about Harry's next album, I don't think he was referring to anything specific about it. Nor was he sublty hinting at anything, or even proving anything to anyone. It was simply Louis who finally, after months and months of so much drama, was at ease with that topic and -more important- put an end to the mortal enemies idiotic narrative. And we should all be just happy about this, because that's what really matters.