BABY OUTLAW—

[sonnysolis]

❛❛ 𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑, taught me that weakness was a myth and love was leverage. Every hug came with a hidden cost, every lesson soaked in control. I became the perfect daughter for a man who never wanted one—just another weapon in his arsenal. And when I failed him? He discarded me like I was never anything more than a tool gone dull. But I remember now—tools can cut both ways.” ––––––––––––

name. marisol nayeli sales solis

nicknames. sonny, son, nay & carita de ángel (by mom/brothers), and muñeca asesina ("killer doll" by the mc)

pronouns. she/her

age & birthday. november 7th, thirty five

zodiac. scorpio sun, aries moon, leo rising

hometown. san antonio, texas

sexuality. bisexual + heteroromantic

residential area. beach front

relationship status. single

occupation. freelance strategic consultant

length of time in briar ridge. 3 years (2015-2018), then since march 31, 2025

MUSINGS | CONNECTIONS |  PINTEREST

❛❛ 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 ━

mother. holana "ana" sales (nee solis)

father. elio "el rey" sales

siblings. mateo sales, dominic sales (wanted!!)

children. elijah parker (son)

cousins. tba

❛❛ 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 —

trigger warnings: crime, manipulation, toxic relationships

Sonny Solis is a strikingly beautiful, sharp-witted woman of mixed heritage—whose life has always been defined by conflicting loyalties and an unyielding need to prove herself to the powerful men in her life. Born to a prominent and ruthless leader of a rival motorcycle club (The Vipers/Outlaws), her childhood was one of privilege but also isolation, where love was often replaced by power plays and manipulation. Her father, a man whose influence spanned far and wide, never showed Sonny the nurturing affection many children crave. Instead, he raised her to understand that love and loyalty come at a price.

At the age of 23, Sonny’s life took a dark turn when her father sent her to Briar Ridge, a small but crucial town with an even smaller but fierce rival MC (The Saints). She was tasked with infiltrating the life of Shane Parker, a well-respected member of the Saints MC. Her mission was clear: to seduce Shane, get close to him, and destroy his trust in his brothers, ultimately causing him to self-destruct or leave the club. With an almost clinical detachment, Sonny was trained by her father to charm and manipulate—her beauty was a weapon, but she learned quickly that it was her intelligence and cunning that would keep her in control.

For two years, Sonny and Shane were inseparable. Despite her initial cold intentions, something unexpected happened—Sonny fell for Shane. She had never been treated the way he was with her, with an honesty and passion that melted the walls she’d built around herself. Their love felt like a betrayal to everything she had ever known, yet it was also the one thing that made her feel alive.

Sonny and Shane’s relationship deepened, and a child was born—Elijah Parker. Holding her son for the first time was an experience Sonny never anticipated. For the first time in her life, she felt a sense of unconditional love and responsibility. The boy, a product of both her and Shane’s love, seemed to offer the chance at a different life, one she had never dreamed of. She envisioned a future away from her father’s cruel demands and the toxic world of the MCs, a future where she could be a mother to Elijah and raise him with love.

But Sonny’s dream of escaping that life was shattered when her father found out. Furious at her failure to carry out his orders, he threatened to kill Shane and Elijah if she did not sever all ties with them. The weight of her father’s wrath was too much for Sonny to bear. Torn between the love she had for her son and Shane, and her fear of her father’s power, Sonny made the gut-wrenching decision to leave. She fled Briar Ridge, abandoning both Shane and their newborn son without a word or even a goodbye.

After abandoning Shane and Elijah, Sonny was exiled by her father, branded a failure for not completing the task he had set for her. She was forced to cut ties with everyone in her life, including her father’s enemies and allies. The shame and guilt she felt haunted her, but so did her longing for Shane and Elijah. She never stopped thinking about her son, wondering how he was growing up without her, and if Shane would ever be able to forgive her for the cruel decisions she’s made.

Now, several years later, Sonny is a woman hardened by betrayal, loss, and the relentless fight to reclaim her life. Her exile has only strengthened her resolve to live on her own terms, and she has become a skilled strategist, working in the shadows for various factions, quietly building her influence once again. But despite her success, a part of her always aches for the family she left behind. Her loyalty to her father is fractured beyond repair, and she has no intention of returning to his control, but the consequences of her past actions still haunt her.

 Sonny’s life has been anything but stable after her exile. While she was forced to cut ties with her father’s criminal empire, she knows that the underworld never forgets or forgives. Her father’s rivals have gained power over the years, and whispers of betrayal and schemes are rampant. Her return is prompted by the growing instability surrounding her father’s operations. He's reached out to her, though indirectly, asking her to return and help reassert control over certain key territories—Briar Ridge among them.

Sonny’s exile from her father’s empire made her hungry for power, but she knows the price of loyalty and the cost of betrayal all too well. She’s returned not only to fulfill her father's demands but to carve out a piece of Briar Ridge’s underworld for herself. The criminal landscape has shifted, and she’s ready to stake her claim. With her blend of beauty, intelligence, and ruthless instincts, Sonny knows she can manipulate the situation in her favor. She’s no longer a passive pawn; she’s a player in her own right, one who will stop at nothing to secure her future—and potentially even take down her father’s empire from within.

 Ultimately, Sonny’s return to Briar Ridge is about redemption—if such a thing exists for someone like her. She is seeking to right the wrongs she’s committed, not only to herself but to those she’s hurt, especially Shane and Elijah. Whether she can make amends or will fall deeper into the spiral of her father’s world is uncertain. But what is clear is that she is no longer the naive young woman she once was. She’s stronger, more calculating, and determined to confront her past head-on, even if it means risking everything in the process.

❛❛ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 —

In a house built on power, blood, and control, Sonny’s first rebellion wasn’t running away or lying — it was growing things. As a child, she found a neglected patch of dirt behind one of her father's garages — a place no one ever noticed. At first, it was just her hiding spot when the shouting got too loud. But one day, she pressed a few stolen seeds into the ground, not even knowing what they were.

It became her private ritual — weeding in the early hours before anyone woke, whispering to the plants while her father gave orders to kill. She learned how to coax life from dirt the same way she learned to read people: quietly, obsessively, with devotion no one ever saw. She stole fertilizer from club supply runs. Took cuttings from the neighbors’ yards. Pressed flowers into notebooks and hid them under her bed like forbidden love letters.

She still remembers the name of every plant she grew as a kid

She sometimes plants symbolic gardens wherever she travels — hidden and small, like secret memorials

She has a tiny scar on her thumb from pruning too fast at age 12 — and she still rubs it when she’s thinking

When Elijah was born, her first impulse wasn’t to run — it was to plant something in his name. She never got the chance.

One of the only things she took when she fled Briar Ridge was a dried flower from her childhood garden — flattened and kept in a small tin, worn from years of handling.

Sonny doesn’t like losing control, so alcohol is rare. But on the rare nights she lets go — usually after an emotional trigger she won’t talk about — she drinks hard liquor straight and goes dead silent. She doesn’t get loud or sloppy. She gets blunt, ice-cold, and terrifyingly honest. Her tongue cuts sharper than any knife. Sometimes she cries alone after. Most nights, she just disappears into the dark.

She constantly fights against her emotions, particularly when it comes to those she deeply loves. To this day, she’s mastered the art of compartmentalizing, pushing feelings aside when they threaten to weaken her resolve.

Sonny is unshakable in most circumstances, but if her son is ever in danger — or even mentioned in a threat — the mask drops instantly. She becomes unpredictable, impulsive, and borderline feral. She would burn down kingdoms, shoot first, ask no questions, and dare anyone to stop her. Her Scorpio nature turns into a vengeful storm; her Aries Moon makes it violent and immediate. She doesn’t just protect Elijah — she obsesses over his safety. That guilt's never went away.

Sonny has a climate-controlled unit under an alias filled with relics: photos, her old leather jacket, a lock of Elijah’s baby hair, the first blade her father ever gave her, and a sealed letter she wrote to Shane but never mailed. It’s her personal purgatory — untouched, unvisited, but never forgotten.

Even if she were to let someone back into her life —Sonny doesn’t sleep next to people. She can’t. The vulnerability is too much. She’ll stay the night. She’ll share a bed. But at some point, she’ll slip out and find the couch, or the floor, or just sit awake staring at the ceiling. She never lets herself fully rest around anyone. Not yet.

She still has Elijah's first baby blanket. It’s kept in a sealed bag in her personal lockbox. No one knows she has it. It smells like lavender, and on her lowest nights, she’ll take it out and just sit with it in her lap — like a prayer, a curse, and a memory all at once.

Will talk to inanimate objects like they're coworkers. Burnt toast? "You had one job!"

Has a drawer full of mismatched socks and refuses to pair them out of principle. Will never catch her wearing a matching pair, thank you very much.

Loves peaches, strawberries, chocolate, and pretzels. Give her any of these and she's yours forever.

Will put on a full on concert in the car or kitchen. Prefers to do it alone but has been caught numerous times by those she loves.

Her favorite thing to do is hang out on her porch or balcony during a thunderstorm and watch it as she nurses a hot cup of tea and a blanket or a fuzzy, mexican cola.

❛❛ 𝐏𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒 —

She has little patience for people who are unprepared or who fail to think things through. Her own upbringing in a high-stakes world where every decision could have deadly consequences made her keenly aware of the importance of planning.

While she is a master manipulator, Sonny has a deep-rooted disdain for blatant lies. She’s skilled at reading people and can usually tell when someone is lying to her or trying to hide something. When someone is insincere with her, it rubs her the wrong way, especially if they’re trying to pull the wool over her eyes. Her father's brand of manipulation made her wary of dishonesty, and it reminds her too much of the toxic relationships she had to endure growing up.

Sonny tends to be a bit cold and calculating, so people who let their emotions control their actions (or who let their emotions get in the way of logic) frustrate her. She respects self-control and finds excessive displays of emotion—whether it’s anger, crying, or even too much joy—distracting and unnecessary.

Raised to be fiercely independent and self-sufficient, she absolutely cannot stand being treated as if she’s fragile or incapable. Whether it’s someone doubting her intellect, abilities, or strength, it triggers a deep-seated irritation.

Having grown up surrounded by constant power struggles, Sonny prefers order and control in her personal life. People who thrive on drama or thrive on stirring the pot for no reason annoy her. She enjoys calm, strategic environments and avoids unnecessary conflicts unless she absolutely needs to be involved.

 As someone who is fiercely loyal to her own goals and values, Sonny has no patience for people who question authority or rebel without a good reason. Though she dislikes the way power is abused by people like her father, she still respects it when it’s used wisely and decisively. If someone fails to respect a chain of command, it irritates her.

[sonnysolis]

status — closed for @leylayilmz

location — everything goes

The bell above the bakery door gives a cheerful little jingle that feels immediately out of place—too soft, too warm for someone like Sonny Solis to be walking in from the storm clouds.

She steps inside with the slow caution of someone who isn’t used to places like this anymore. There’s a subtle hitch in her movement—her right shoulder still healing from a recent run-in, her body sore and stiff from nights spent on floors instead of beds. The smell of sugar and cinnamon is almost enough to knock the air out of her lungs. Nostalgic. Dangerous.

Places like this make people forget the world is ugly. Sonny doesn’t have the luxury.

She lingers near the entrance for a beat too long, sizing up the small shop with the same gaze she'd give a new crime scene. Not because she's suspicious—well, maybe a little—but because it's safe. And safe makes her nervous.

The counter’s empty for the moment, so she moves slowly toward it, fingertips brushing the edge like she’s checking for traps. Her voice, when it finally comes, is low. Smooth, but rasped at the edges—like it’s used to secrets and smoke, not sweet nothings. “Place smells like trouble,” she says, half under her breath, half not.

A pause. Then her gaze lifts as Leyla steps out from the back—and Sonny freezes, just for a second. The woman behind the counter doesn’t look like the type to carry a knife in her boot or bark orders at grown men—but neither did Sonny once, and look how that turned out. The woman’s warmth is disarming. It pisses Sonny off a little. It also makes her... curious.

"You the magician behind all this?" Sonny asks, a brow raised as she gestures vaguely to the rows of pastries, the display case glowing like some kind of shrine to comfort. "Or do you just guard the treasure?" The tone’s light, flirt-adjacent, but it doesn’t go deep. Sonny’s tired. Hungry. And trying so damn hard not to let it show. “Look,” she adds after a beat, leaning against the counter. Her eyes flick toward the back of the shop, then back to Leyla. “I’m not here to loiter or lick frosting off a spoon. I just needed a place to breathe. For a second.”

Another pause, this one tighter, tenser. Her next words land heavier. “I don’t usually do bakeries. But this one… something pulled me in.” She doesn’t say what—but maybe it’s the smell, the silence, or maybe it's the soft hum of safety that seems to hang in the walls. She glances down at a tray of peach danishes like they just personally offended her. “What’s your poison here? The thing that makes people come back even when they’re trying not to?”

Her voice dips slightly. “Asking for a friend.” She doesn’t know, of course. Doesn’t know that Leyla already has a story about her. Or worse—that her ex might be part of it.

[sonnysolis]

status — closed for @mateosal

location — his place

tw injury, blood

The knock at Mateo’s door isn’t loud.

It’s not frantic either—just three sharp raps, steady despite the blood trailing down her wrist, soaking into the cuff of her jacket. Sonny leans against the doorframe with her uninjured shoulder, breathing through gritted teeth, her knuckles white where they grip the edge of the wood.

She doesn’t look up when the door swings open. Doesn’t have to. She knows it’s him. Even after all this time. She can feel it in the shift of the air, the heaviness of silence that follows. “Before you say anything,” she mutters, voice rough, “you should see the other guy.”

Only then does she glance up—half a smirk on her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her face is pale beneath the blood and grime. Her bottom lip is split. There’s a gash above her brow that’s still leaking, slow but steady. Her breathing’s shallow and ragged, and it’s clear she’s holding herself upright through sheer force of will alone.

But she’s here. After everything. She’s here.

And when she speaks again, her voice cracks beneath the weight of what she’s not saying. “One of Dad’s dogs came sniffing around. Said he had a message to deliver. Something about consequences and staying in my lane.” She drags in a breath, swaying slightly on her feet. “Guess poking around where I wasn’t wanted pissed him off.” Her eyes flicker to Mateo’s, something flickering behind them—half apology, half defiance. “Didn’t think he’d send someone from his inner circle though. Figured he was still too proud to admit I’m a threat.”

She swallows hard, grimacing. “Turns out, I underestimated just how pissed off he really is. Again.” A beat passes. Then two. The wind shifts outside, cool and rustling through the trees like it’s trying to eavesdrop.

Finally, Sonny lets her weight drop fully against the doorframe, a soft hiss escaping her teeth. Her pride’s bleeding out faster than her shoulder now, but she doesn’t ask for help. She just looks at Mateo like she used to—when they were younger, when things were less poisoned, when they were still just two kids surviving the same war. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I'm sorry.” And maybe that’s a lie. Maybe she has other safehouses, other contacts. But they’re not him. And that matters more than she’s willing to say out loud.

[evanreilly]

setting — chapman's grocer, any given day, shortly before closing time

status — closed for sonny solis / @sonnysolis

Whether it be by divine intervention or the simple fact that, most days, Evan's work schedule barely left time to breath, she hadn't had the misfortune of crossing paths with Sonny Solis yet.

Apparently, that luck had run out.

She was just a few feet into the cereal aisle, debating the price per ounce difference between Sadie's favorite and it's off brand counterpart (which didn't taste the same, as her daughter would undoubtedly complain) when, out of the corner of her eye, a figure appeared.

Not any figure, of course. It couldn't be Ms. Barclay, the elementary school's newest receptionist, or Mr. Hoak, her not-so-favorite loan officer at the bank. It had to be Sonny, finally, and right when her patience, good manners, and good mood had run out for the day.

Whatever attempt she'd been making to calculate how the few dollars difference would affect her overall grocery budget went out the window. Evan slid a glance left, none too subtly appraising the other woman, before turning.

It was only a half pivot, leaving one arm braced atop her shopping carts hand rail, but it was enough. Enough to really look at Shane's destruction and downfall for the first time in a decade. Enough to meet Sonny's gaze when it lifted from her own cart.

A near silent, unamused huff parted her lips.

"Heard you were back in town, Sonny, but I almost didn't believe it." Not with the way she'd vanished so completely, leaving Shane and Elijah behind. Not with the way she left and then stayed gone, as if neither man nor child ever played a part in her life.

"I said to myself, you know, maybe Shane's lost his mind, talkin' to ghosts and seein' things that aren't there, 'cause surely you wouldn't have the nerve to crawl back now." After so much time, so much silence. "Then again, you didn't really give a fuck how your choices affected anyone else the first go 'round. Guess I shouldn't be all that surprised."

[sonnysolis]

Sonny doesn’t flinch. Not right away, at least.

She does however, hear Evan’s voice before she fully registers her presence. It's low, sharp-edged, dipped in just enough Southern fury and venom to sound polite to a stranger but then, lethal to someone who knows better. Or knows well. It’s a tone Sonny remembers rather vividly. Evan’s always had a talent for slicing someone clean in half without ever raising her voice. She's always admired that about her.

Lifting her gaze slowly, calmly, like she’s known this moment was coming for her, the second her boots grazed Briar Ridge pavement, Sonny inhales a deep breath. Her hand lingers for a second on the edge of her own cart — fingers curling in, then relaxing, like she’s biting down on something she won’t let show. Yet.

Her eyes scan Evan over once, deliberately. Not cruel, not really — but precise. Memory maps itself over the present: beers shared at bonfires, laughter that didn’t feel weaponized yet, late-night drives, cheap diners, double dates that used to end in four-part harmony belting sessions over whatever was on the radio.

It's all gone now though. All dust. She lets the silence stretch just enough to be uncomfortable before she speaks. Her voice comes out low, clipped, but not defensive — more like someone who’s done the math on this conversation and knows how ugly it can get.

“You’re not wrong.” It’s not an apology. Not really. But there’s no venom in it either. “I did leave. Without warning. Without grace. Without giving anyone the decency of a goodbye. Shane didn’t deserve that. Neither did Elijah.” She shifts slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching into something too bitter to be a smile, and too tired to be a smirk. “And I know that makes me the villain in half this town’s bedtime stories. I get it. I'm a monster now.”

She steps closer. Not aggressively, but enough that the air tightens a little between them — enough that she doesn’t have to raise her voice to be heard. “Guess even monsters don’t always stay dead after they've been run off,” Sonny says evenly, her voice low, a little unreadable. “Especially in this town.”

Her fingers twitch at her sides, like they want something to hold onto—something to ground her—but she doesn’t give them that. Instead, she keeps them clenched. "I figured if I was going to run into anyone first, it’d be Travis,” she adds, tone just on the edge of soft. Surprisingly enough. “He always did hate grocery shopping though, didn't he? So, I suppose he sent you instead?”

It’s not small talk. Not really. It’s a test. A reach. A reminder that once upon a time, this wasn't how things were between them. Because once, there were backyard barbecues and shared eye-rolls over their boyfriend’s poor decisions. Once, they knew each other. Maybe not well. But enough.

The cold silence that lingers between them now, though? Says none of that matters anymore. Therefore, Sonny exhales a deep breath and lets the smile she was holding back die on her lips.

“I know what you must think of me. Honestly, I don’t blame you. You want someone to hate, right? Well, fine. That’s easy.” Her voice doesn’t shake, but it’s not made of steel, either. It’s more like glass—it's clear, sharp, perhaps even a little breakable if pushed too far. “But let’s get some things straight first. Whatever story you’ve told yourself, however many late-night phone calls or barstool rants you’ve sat through—you don’t know what happened.”

There's a beat. Her jaw flexes once, before the bitter words could ever leave her mouth. “You probably think I left because I didn’t care? Because I didn’t love them, right?” Sonny laughs—quiet, but dry because it couldn't be further from the truth. “But, I haven't slept a single night in the last seven years without hearing my son’s cry in the back of my head. Without wondering if Shane could ever forgive me. Or if I’d get gunned down the second I stepped back into this town....”

She takes a single step closer. Not aggressively. Just steady. “Which, by the way, I didn’t crawl back, Evan. I clawed my way here. And it cost me everything I had left to do it.” Another pause. Her voice softens, not for pity, not even to defuse the tension really, but because she’s just tired of fighting everyone who doesn’t know the full story. “I’m not asking for a welcome-back parade. I’m not even asking for your understanding. I finally came back because I’m done letting fear dictate my choices for me. And whether you like it or not—I’m not going anywhere. No matter how hard you or anyone else tries to run me off on Shane's behalf.”

Her gaze flicks briefly to the cereal box Evan’s still holding. Then back to her face. “Sadie still hate the off-brand stuff, I'm guessing?” It’s a small, fractured offering. But, it's something. A memory shard passed across a minefield.

And sure, maybe it means nothing in the whole grand scheme of things. Maybe Evan will still bite her head off and storm away, anyway. But Sonny stands there regardless—unmoving, unblinking, waiting. Because this time, she’s not running away from her problems. No matter how scary and tough as nails, and feisty they are.

[shanepcrker]

At first, Shane’s tempted to roll his eyes, to interrupt her before she can go any further, before she can continue to dance around the truth. He’s just so sick of not getting a clear answer from her. He deserves to know what happened, all of it. But then, she continues, bringing  up her family. And Shane knows he can’t interrupt now. 

His whole body froze at the explanation that the person she was running from was Eli’s grandfather, her father. Blinking a couple times as his brain tries to process this information, Shane had always thought he’d had it rough with his asshole of a father, but what Sonny was describing was hard to even imagine. “Shit, Sonny.” The curse slips out before he can stop it. Hearing this part of her past, despite everything that’s happened between them, cuts him to the bone. He can only imagine what kind of scars that kind of cruelty left behind.

He’s still trying to wrap his head around the traumatic story of a girl whose father was nothing but cruel and cunning, when he can tell something has shifted. She’s frozen completely still, staring ahead. That’s when he realizes the house has come into view. Despite the heaviness of the conversation, his lips nearly twitch into a smile. He’s been waiting for this moment—wanting to share the life he’s slowly building for Elijah, the life they once dreamed up together. But the reaction he’s expecting never comes.

Instead, she walks forward like she’s weighed down, reaching out to touch the doorframe with trembling fingers. Shane stays where he is, watching as she approaches the house, reaching out and touching the doorframe. He buries his hands in his pocket, puzzled by her reaction so far, waiting for more of an indication of how she’s receiving this. It doesn’t take long before he can finally pick up on how she’s feeling. 

Holding his hands up in the air, he takes a couple cautious steps forward, wading in against the tide of emotions pouring out from her. And for Sonny, someone who always held her emotions so close to the vest, the fact she was showing them, portrayed just how much she was feeling. The lack of control was telling. 

“Sonny… I didn’t build this to hurt you.” He swallows hard, eyes flicking from the porch beams back to her face. “Hell, I didn’t even build it for me. Not really.”

He shifts his weight, pulling a slow breath like he’s choosing every word with care, desperate not to make things worse than he already has. “I built it for Eli. Because he asked. Because one day, out of nowhere, he told me he wanted a house with a big porch swing, just like the one his mama used to talk about.” His voice dips low, thick. “And I realized I’d told him those stories. I’d told him about you. About what you dreamed of. About the home you wanted for us. I didn’t even know I was doing it half the time. Just… trying to give him pieces of you. Pieces I thought he deserved to have.”

His gaze drops to the dirt path, then lifts back to her, steady but aching. “So no, I wasn’t showing you this to punish you. I wasn’t trying to rub salt in a wound. I just—” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, forcing it steady again. “I just wanted you to see that you were still here. That even when you were gone, you were part of him. Part of us. And I thought… maybe it would mean something to you, knowing that.” His last sentence is punctuated with a tense shrug of his shoulders, as if he’s convinced that explaining won’t actually undo the hurt he’s caused. 

[sonnysolis]

Unable to do anything else, Sonny simply stands there, rooted to the ground, or the porch rather, like she’s been struck by lightning, her breath catching as Shane’s words dig beneath her skin—soft yet undeniably sharp, like knives wrapped in velvet. Not intentionally, of course. After being given a few minutes to calm down, she can understand that. But, it doesn't make the moment, the weight of this any easier.

In the meantime, her jaw tenses. She doesn’t speak up at first. She can’t. What even are vocal chords? There’s too much heat behind her eyes too, and she doesn’t trust herself not to fall apart again if she opens her mouth, not completely anyway. She’s already too raw, too broken. She's already given him more of herself in ten minutes than she has to anyone in the last seven years. Possibly, ever.

But when she finally does move, it’s slow—deliberate. She turns toward him, her eyes glassy with tears but blazing with something deeper than just pain. Something older. Like grief that’s grown roots.

“You told him all of that? About me?” It's almost like she can't believe it, her voice breaking while she says it, like it can't decide if it’s angry or grateful or both. “I'm grateful but, I still don't get why. You could’ve easily made me the villain, Shane. Everyone else in your life... maybe even you too, seems to think I am. So, why not? Hell, maybe I deserve to be.”

She blinks hard, one tear slipping down her cheek before she can swipe it away. Her fingers curl tightly into the hem of her jacket now—white-knuckled, like she’s bracing for impact. Then again, when is she not? She's always bracing.

“I thought he’d forget about me. That, you would....” she admits, breathless. “I prayed for it too, sometimes. Because if you both forgot, then maybe that would mean you weren't hurting anymore. Maybe that, would mean you were both okay.” Her throat tightens. Because, deep down that's not what she truly wants. “But you kept me alive in him… You kept this dream of mine, alive.”

She gestures around them—to the porch, the beams, the swing that isn’t there yet but one day will be and, the idea of a life that almost was.

It’s too much for her to take. She can barely contain it as is, as her voice dips lower. “And now I have no idea what to do with that. I don’t know how to hold that kind of grace in my hands without breaking it, Shane.” There's a pause. A brief one, before she continues, “Without breaking you.”

She steps forward, closing some of the distance between them, but not all of it yet. “I can't tell you, how many times I've dreamed of this place every day I was gone. How many times, I imagined what it would've been like to come back here and find you standing in this doorway, Elijah’s laughter echoing in the background, as the smell of something burns in the oven because you still refuse to follow a recipe.” Her voice cracks into something akin to a laugh. Something bordering on a sob, although it dies just as quickly as it comes.

“I've always wanted to come home, Shane. To this. To you.” Her words hang in the air for a moment, as reverent as she intended them to be. “But I wasn't even sure I was still allowed to call this a home anymore.” She finally looks at him then—really looks at him—and there’s no armor left to hold up anymore. No carefully curated detachment she can drum up on the fly, no cool girl exterior or mask to let slip. It's all gone now. And, all that's left is just Sonny— wide open and wrecked.

“I know you didn't build this to hurt me. Not intentionally. I believe you when you say that.” She nods once, firmly, as if admitting any of it out loud might make it more real. “But, seeing it in the flesh.... reminds me of everything I walked away from. You... Elijah.... And that hurts just the same. Maybe even more.”

Her eyes flick down to the dirt between them, her shoulders sagging. She can feel the defeat settling over her. The immense grief. “At the same time, it also reminds me of why I came back.” She steps toward the porch again, her hand grazing the wood as if she’s afraid it’ll disappear if she touches it wrong. Although this time, she doesn’t pull away instantly when she does. She lets herself feel it, in it's immensity. All of it. The pain, the grief, the sadness, the unbearable ache between her ribs.

“This place... this house...” she whispers, “I didn’t think I’d ever have the chance.... or be allowed to see it come to life. But now that I have…” She turns toward him again, no less shattered but her voice begins to steady a bit. “I want to see more of it. When, it's finished... I want to earn it. I don’t know how. I don’t even know if that's possible. But if there’s a chance—any chance—I'd like to try.”

The porch creaks faintly, finally, beneath her boots as Sonny steps forward this time, slowly—like every inch of distance she closes between her and Shane is its own small battle. Her fingers trail along the doorframe before dropping to her side, clenched tightly into her palm.

She looks at him and there’s a little less fire behind her gaze now, but there's still the same ache. A quieter desperation. She studies his face like she’s trying to memorize it all over again, trace the years that have passed, figure out what’s changed—and what hasn’t.

And then, softly—barely above a whisper, she asks: “Where is he, anyway?” The question sits heavy in the air between them. It isn’t accusatory. It isn’t even hesitant. It’s yearning. It’s the first thread she dares to pull, the first step toward something that might actually unravel her—AGAIN— if she’s not careful.

“I just mean—” she clears her throat, looking away briefly, nervously, then back. “Is he safe? Is he… happy?” Her voice thins again, but she pushes through it. “What's he like?" She asked Wes this once before but, if anyone knew Eli best, it was him. It was his dad. "Does he still… scratch his left brow to signal when he's getting cranky?”

It’s one of the few things, she hasn’t let herself wonder out loud, until now. “I don’t expect you to introduce us right away,” she reassures him cautiously, her voice soft but still on edge. “I just… I need to see him. I need to know what I've missed. I need to know him. Even if I’m not allowed in his life—Just...in case I don't....”

Her breath hitches again, as she cuts herself off, refusing to finish that sentence while her hands drop to her sides, her fingers brushing the edges of her jacket. “I still remember the last thing I whispered to him like it was yesterday,” she tells Shane, quietly. “He was so tiny. And, he felt so warm. I told him I loved him. And, that I was sorry. And whether or not, you believe it, I said the very same things to you before I left.”

She finally glances up at him, offers a faint trembling of her lips. Which, she doesn’t bother trying to hide anymore. “He deserved so much more than that. But, so did you.” Another beat of silence. The wind kicks up slightly, catching her hair and pulling it across her cheek like a veil, but she doesn’t brush it away though. “Does he know?” she wonders. “Anything? Did you even tell him, that I was back? That I'm here and I want to see him?” She doesn’t sound angry anymore. That moment's passed. She does sounds tired, though. Like she’s already made peace with the idea that she might be a ghost in her own child’s story. A shadow that's never earned a place. And might never.

[sonnysolis]

💖 for shane & sonny

Send a 💖 for a song that makes me think of our characters

It was genuinely so hard to pick so you get two: Locksmith by Sadie Jean, because it pretty much sums up her feelings currently. But, if you want one during the seven years she was away, there's All I Wanted Was You by Paramore. @shanepcrker

[sebolivar]

Sebastian wasn't sure what he would gain from revealing so much of himself to someone he had just met, but he was pleasantly surprised by the response he received. He realized he hadn't considered it from that perspective before. After spending so long in the dark, he had focused more on how long it took to get to this point rather than celebrating the fact that he was finally here. As she continued speaking, he remained silent, a gentle smile forming on his lips. She was quite thoughtful, and he wondered whether she treated everyone this way or reserved her kindness for those she likely would never see again.

He pauses for a moment as she speaks again, a gentle grin spreading across his face as she recalls a story from her childhood. "I actually like Moose," he says, his brows raising with genuine interest. Sebastian chuckles to himself, slipping into one of his daydreams. "I'm imagining a Great Dane or a Mastiff," he muses. He knows he would never own one, but the fantasy of it makes him melt—perhaps in another life.

There's a brief moment when Sebastian turns to Sonny after she offers to help put out any fires. "You'd help put out my fires?" he asks with a laugh, not taking her too seriously. "That's a big I.O.U. for being at the right place at the right time." After a moment, he shakes his head as he looks back at her, unsure of how he feels about being so seen by her. It felt strange to be around someone like that. Sebastian can't help but chuckle and shake his head. "You're quite thoughtful," he says, leaving no room for disagreement. "You certainly give people a run for their money, don't you?" He chuckles again, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

[sonnysolis]

Sonny smiles at the compliment—it's small at first, then wider, softer, the kind that creeps up on you like an old memory, resurfacing after so long. She doesn’t look at Sebastian right away, but her fingers do tap lightly against her thigh, like maybe she’s trying to keep herself grounded in the moment. Because that word—thoughtful—sits somewhere in her chest, odd and unfamiliar, like it doesn’t quite know where it belongs. She’s not used to hearing it without some catch attached. Not without some suspicion tied behind it.

She lets the silence stretch again, although not out of discomfort this time. It’s more like she’s settling into something unspoken between them, something almost, peaceful. “Moose definitely would’ve been a Great Dane,” she murmurs after a moment, lips curving with faint amusement. “One of those big dumb types that thinks he’s a lapdog. Just barreling through everything, breaking the furniture and hearts with whatever stupid grin dog's have.” She glances over at Sebastian then, her expression gentler than usual, even vulnerable for a breath. “I think my brother would've liked that. Something ridiculous and loyal.”

Her hand drifts up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and then she leans back in her seat with a sigh, head tipping just slightly toward the window. The edges of her voice are still laced with something unspoken—grief, probably, but dressed up in something else, something quieter.

“And yeah,” she says finally, “I’d help put your fires out. Not everything’s meant to burn.” A pause. “Besides, you’re not the kind of guy who lets things fall apart without trying to save them first. So that in itself, deserves some backup.”

She looks at him again, fully this time, eyes steady and unreadable, but warm around the edges. “And I don’t give people a run for their money,” she adds with a smirk. “Or... only sometimes. I mostly just make sure they’re paying attention. Someone has to.”

Then, with an easygoing shrug she adds, “You’d be surprised how many don’t.”

Her gaze lingers for a moment, something curious flickering behind it like she’s studying him again—only this time not like he’s a puzzle, but maybe like he's a mirror, she just so happens to be looking through. Then she swivels her gaze away again, not to retreat, but to give him space. Because for all her sharp edges and calm control, she knows what it feels like to be seen too clearly—and how terrifying that can be.

She adds though, more quieter, “It’s nice. Talking to someone like this.” Another steady beat. “I don't do it often. Or really much at all." She gives that confession room to settle. "You ever think. that maybe you’re not supposed to keep putting fires out for everyone else though? That, maybe someone should return the favor for you every now and then?” It’s said lightly. Almost. But it’s not a joke. Not really. And perhaps, a part of her isn't just asking for him. But, for her too.

[cassiagallo]

"I think the fact that you're saying I wouldn't be the first person to die in a horror movie is probably one of the best compliments I've gotten in a while. Not fully the best but it's up there." Cassia liked to think she'd be too smart to die at the hands of a murderer by going up the stairs, but she'd potentially let one in so who knew.

She looked over her one more time, down at her notes, and then at the plants that were all around them. After getting the needed information, Cass would have to put in the work and then there wouldn't be anyone to blame but at least she felt a little more informed than she'd been the day before so that had to count for something.

"With Wes?" She questioned with a tilt of her head. Evidently the girl hadn't gone into detail because she likely wanted to keep that a secret but maybe Cassia would just need to ask Wes about the mysterious woman who knew how to pick locks and had safe houses. Wes didn't seem like the type that would lie to her about something like that.

"You should. I'll get you a free drink." She'd pay for it because she wouldn't start giving alcohol away. Wes didn't deserve that and she liked her job too much to risk losing it over a six dollar drink. "It's the least I can do for all of this." Helping her break in, with the plants, and then also not murdering her.

The end.

[sonnysolis]

END.

[sonnysolis]

Send a 🙈 for my muse's guilty pleasure song

Send a 🙈 for my muse's guilty pleasure song

"Pocket full of Sunshine" by Natasha Bedingfield. It plays, she will roll her eyes. But she will still sing along to every word while holding any object that resembles the shape of a mic. This has happened multiple times while in her underwear, and using her bed as her stage lol.

[cassiagallo]

Cassia could hear the sarcasm in her tone and she only could smile in amusement because there wasn't any way she could take Sonny. But she'd fake it until she'd make it. "Underestimating me is the first way I would beat you. Maybe I have surprise tricks. Plus, I know the house better so that's a big advantage." Not in the moment given that they were outside but she wasn't going to point that out

Her gaze moved back to the subject matter and she felt like she was learning science all over again. There were just some things she couldn't wrap her head around and how someone could learn things about lock, without being a professional theif, made no sense. "So like, you've read up about locks that much or is it purely from experience? Are you professional thief? Oh, not one of those girls who used to hit up Paris Hilton's house? Like that kind?"

At this point, she was pulling at straws but then she remembered the mention of a safe house and surely they weren't sophisticated to have that. She'd need to be stealing a lot more than a few designer bags and dresses. "Tension," she added to her notepad. And then 'talking????' with about seven question marks.

While the lock was a cause of concern purely because it seemed like an easy one to break into, the real thing that had her worried was what was living inside. If she didn't have any knowledge on locks, she had even less on most of the plants in that home. "Okay, so it's all about water or don't water. That feels simple."

As for the lights above each plant, she hadn't touched those and so far that had worked for her. As they re-entered the home, Cassia was taken aback by the fact that she was complimented for doing something that had felt stupid an hour ago. "Well, it wouldn't have been smart if you were actually here to kill me which I had convinced myself of about forty minutes ago. It was almost painful not to sprint to the door when you mentioned going out there— I was that freaked out."

Now it felt silly so she felt safe to admit it. "You probably would let me win. You may be able to murder me, you've got to have strong hands for lock picking so you'd win with the whole." She wrapped her hands around her throat and then let her head fall to mimic what she could do in a fight. "Yeah, I work at the rusty spur. You should come check it out. Bring a lock and show people your party trick."

[sonnysolis]

Sonny lets the screen door creak closed behind her as she steps back inside, eyes adjusting to the soft, warm light spilling over the scattered pots and hanging vines. Her fingers ghost the edge of a plant as she passes, brushing against a leaf like it’s an old friend.

She chuckles low in her throat, amused by Cassia’s dramatic reenactment of her own demise. “You’ve really got a flair for theatrics,” she says, mouth tugging into a crooked smirk. “Keep that energy and you’d survive longer than most.”

Her gaze flicks to Cassia’s notebook—those scribbled notes, the seven question marks—and she huffs a quiet laugh. “You know, I think you might be the first person to take notes on a conversation with me that didn’t involve a lawyer or a wiretap.”

Sonny leans her hip against the counter now, her arms folding loosely across her chest again. “And no, I wasn’t in Paris Hilton’s house. Too pink. Too obvious. But yeah—experience. You spend enough time in places you’re not supposed to be, you learn things. Locks, people, rooms… they all talk if you’re quiet enough.” Her eyes linger on Cassia then, softer than before, like she’s saying more than what’s on the surface.

“Besides,” she adds, pushing off the counter, “you’d be surprised what people let you get away with when they think you’re just some pretty girl with too many questions. That’s the real trick—let them underestimate you. Let them look away.”

She glances at one of the plants near the window, inspecting a browning edge of a leaf with quiet focus. “And yeah, water—but not just that. Light. Heat. Time. Some plants need space. Others need company. Some survive on neglect. Others? One wrong move and they’re done for.” Her tone shifts—gentle, but laced with implication. “It’s not just about keeping them alive. It’s about paying attention.”

When Cassia says where she works, Sonny lets out a soft, “Ah,” like it all makes sense now. “The Rusty Spur. I’ve heard of it. Not been in it too much recently—too many eyes, too many loud men trying too hard to be quiet. And, I also kind of have a complicated relationship to the owner.” She shrugs. “But maybe I’ll stop by sometime. When I could use a drink that doesn’t come in a flask or with a fake name.”

She moves toward the plant shelf again, adjusting a tiny ceramic pot just slightly like it matters. Her voice is casual, but something edges underneath. “You tell anyone I picked that lock, I’ll deny it. Tell ’em you got lucky.” A smirk. “Gotta protect the mystique, you know?”

[tanvi-rao]

Tanvi's body sat on the stool facing Sonny, posture more relaxed than she felt inside, giving the other woman her full attention. The bar around them, the clatter, the noise, the people, they didn't matter. For the time being, Tanvi's world narrowed down to Sonny and her story, and as she sat and listened to the other woman's explanation— finally getting the answers she'd been chasing for years on Shane's behalf— she hated the way she understood. Not only understood, but she could relate— at least in a roundabout way.

"I understand it." She admitted, her tone softening while her gaze remained hardened. While she could understand where Sonny was coming from, why she made the difficult decisions she did, she'd still left a lot of pain in her wake. Pain Tanvi had witnessed first hand— and she'd come into the picture when Shane had already begun his healing journey. "And I never saw you as the villain." Another concession, however small.

Reaching out to pick up a piece of calamari with her fork, dipping it into the tartar sauce before bringing it up to her lips and taking the bite, Tanvi chewed slowly. She used the time it took her to chew and swallow the bite (and subsequently wash it down with a sip of her drink), to mull over her own words. Sonny had already admitted quite a bit, much to her surprise, and she figured she should reciprocate in some way. Which was why...

"Do you know why I took Shane's case?" She finally asked after dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "Why I specialize in missing persons cases?" From what Tanvi knew about the woman across form her, she figured she'd done her homework on the person who'd been one step behind her for years. But she wasn't sure just how much she knew, so the private investigator chose to tell an abridged version of the story. Enough to help Sonny understand.

"When I was fifteen my older sister went missing. We woke up one morning and she had just... vanished. The cops were convinced she'd just run away, but we knew better. They did a half ass job of searching for her when she didn't show back up after a couple of days but they never found anything." Tanvi's gaze remained on Sonny, though her voice waivered slightly at the memories that always came flooding back whenever she spoke about Leena. "But I wouldn't let it go. I did my own searching, my own investigating so to speak... and I found her. In the Charleston morgue as a Jane Doe. She'd been there for months." Sucking in a deep, shaky breath, Tanvi took a moment to compose herself. It'd been more than a decade since she'd lost her sister, since she'd found the answer her parents had been searching for but it wasn't the answer they'd wanted.

"I knew what he was going through, the hell of not knowing what happened to someone you loved— the fear that grips your heart every single time the phone rings." Bringing her gaze back to Sonny, Tanvi's resolve was firmly back in place. "The way your mind plays tricks on you, thinking you see them in a crowd or hear their voice while you're at the store. The way sleep evades you because when you sleep, the things you don't let yourself think about— the horrific things that could have happened, overtake you. And he went through all of that with a baby." She sighed. "Shane never asked anything more than for me to find you. He just wanted to know you were okay. You were alive. You were somewhere."

For a moment she searched Sonny's eyes, unsure of what exactly she was looking for in them but finding it nonetheless. Then she continued, her voice softer, the edge in her tone gone. "I couldn't give him those answers then, but you can now. I understand it's a delicate situation, that you've been doing your best to do what's best for him. For them. But don't you think he should have a say in it, too?"

[sonnysolis]

Sonny listens in silence, her gaze steady, but no longer hard. There's a shift in her posture—barely perceptible—but it’s enough. A subtle loosening in her shoulders, a quiet admission written in the way her thumb idly traces the edge of her glass, as though she’s grounding herself to this moment, to this truth.

When Tanvi speaks about her sister, Sonny doesn’t interrupt. She doesn’t look away. She just absorbs it—each word, each break in her voice, each haunted thread stitched between the lines. And when it lands, when the story comes full circle to Shane and the ache of not knowing, of hoping and fearing in equal measure—Sonny exhales like the wind’s been knocked out of her.

"God," she murmurs, not quite to Tanvi, maybe not even to herself. Just to the weight of it all. “I didn’t know that about your sister.” Her voice is softer now—unarmored in a way most people never hear from her. “I wouldn’t have tried to run you off so many damn times if I had.”

There's a pause, then a dry smirk pulls at her mouth for half a second. “Okay—maybe I still would’ve, but I’d have felt worse about it.”

She takes a long sip of her drink, not for the taste or the buzz, but because she needs the second to regroup. Everything inside her feels like it's shifting—years of walls crumbling in slow-motion.

“Shane,” she says finally, that name wrapped in equal parts affection and ache, “was never supposed to look for me. That was the deal. I leave, they live. I gave up the right to be loved by him when I chose to disappear. And he—” she pauses, breathing slowly through the pain still lingering in her voice, “—he made it too easy to want to stay. If I’d let myself even hope, I would’ve risked it all. So I didn’t let myself.”

She sets the glass down gently, fingertips tapping once against the wood. “But you’re right. He deserves the truth. At least he did back then, maybe even now.”

Sonny meets Tanvi’s eyes again, steady and bare. “The thing is, I know how Shane loves. Once he sees me—once he really sees what’s left of me—he’ll want to pick it all up. Put it back together. That’s just who he is. But I don’t know if I’ve got anything left to give him except pain and unfinished business.”

A flicker of regret flashes across her face, sharp and sudden. “I can’t be the reason he ends up in my father’s crosshairs again. I won’t. So if I do this, if I talk to him… you’ll be the one keeping him from making the kind of decisions that could get him killed.”

She leans forward, elbows resting on the edge of the bar, her gaze unwavering. “Can you do that? Can you keep him safe for me, Tanvi? Even, if it's from me? Because I believe you when you say you understand. And I believe that you care.”

After a long beat—long enough for her to blink away the sheen in her eyes—she adds quietly, “He deserves a say. So maybe it’s time I give him that. I just need to know he won’t throw himself into the line of fire once he sees how much ash is left. And if he tries, someone like you would be there to stop him.”

[jiya-santa]

"I regret nothing!" Helping her onto the bar next to her, Jiya dropped her hand as they both started to dance. The music was loud, the alcohol was strong and it really was what she needed. If you can be confident enough to dance on the bar in front of a load of strangers, then maybe her confidence wasn't so shot after all.

As she moved her hips to the music, nothing else seemed to matter. Her ex, her emotional explosion, her mess of a life, none of it. All that mattered was the beat, the cheers from the crowd and the thrill of feeling free and alive that was running through her body. Sober Jiya would be nowhere near the bar, let alone on top of it, but this was a feeling unlike anything she had ever felt before.

"Good, because I'm sick of looking like the opposite!" Maybe this wouldn't be quite as fun if she hadn't been a little obsessed with coyote ugly when she was a teenager, but the grin on her face said everything. She didn't move her feet much from fear of her heels slipping on the bar top, but the cheers they were getting were loud enough as they twirled and wiggled.

Glancing out to the crowd, Jiya grinned again as she spotted someone filming them. Instead of shying away like sensible, she simply leaned forward slightly and shook her ass in time to the music. She never would've been in the position had Sonny not encouraged it, but she might be forever grateful.

Grabbing her hands as she spoke again, Jiya lifted them up for the girl to twirl underneath their arms. "Pretty sure I thought that as soon as I climbed up onto a bar and risked my life." She might not remember all of it if she continued drinking, but then again, that might not be such a bad thing once she regained some of her composure. "This might be the most fun I've had for a long ass time. Tell me we can do this every night!"

[sonnysolis]

Sonny laughs again, brighter this time—unfiltered and dangerously infectious. There's a glint in her eyes as Jiya twirls her, and for a split second, she just lets herself watch her—this blur of glitter and chaos and unexpected bravery.

“You say that like I need convincing,” she calls over the music, fingers squeezing Jiya’s briefly before she spins around again, landing in a low dip that makes a few more phones pop up from the crowd. “You want bar dancing and reckless decisions? Babe, I’ve practically got it on retainer.”

She straightens, hair whipping over her shoulder as she steps in closer, just enough so their movements sync without even thinking. The music pulses through them like shared electricity, and Sonny is riding the edge of it like a storm chaser who stopped running and decided to become the lightning instead.

“I’ll take you dancing every damn night if it means you keep looking at me like that,” she adds, voice low but sincere—cutting through the laughter and noise with something that lands deep. Not needy. Not overly serious. Just true.

The crowd roars at something—maybe the chorus drop, maybe the sight of two women owning the bar like a stage—and Sonny throws a hand in the air with a wicked grin, egging them on. It's intoxicating, not the liquor, not the music, but the way it feels to not hold back anymore. And Jiya—Jiya's right there with her, glowing in the madness.

She leans in again, this time slower, letting her lips hover by Jiya’s ear, voice a little raspier from the shouting, the laughing, the weightlessness of it all. “You’re not the opposite of trouble, Jiya. You’re the kind that hides under good intentions and sharp eyeliner. And right now? You’re exactly who you’re supposed to be.”

A beat, and then Sonny pulls back, her grin wide, wild, and unstoppable. “So yeah. We’re doing this again. Tomorrow night. And the one after that. Hell, maybe we'll just make it a tradition. You and me, dancing on bars and outrunning the boring parts of our lives.”

She raises an eyebrow, offering her hand like it’s a pact. “You in?”

[saxophoneslut]

she’s a 10 but she has her father’s anger issues

[priquintana-deactivated20241209]

PRISCILLA QUINTANA

via Instagram

[shanepcrker]

He can feel, even more than see, the uncertainty spread out across her features and for a moment, all Shane can think about is how much he hates whoever made her feel that she couldn't be sure of their love. He hates anyone who has ever made her question if they would stick around for her.

But when she leans in, resting her forehead against his, he pulls her even closer—if that’s possible. Like her grounding herself in him somehow anchors him too. He brushes a kiss to her jaw, gentle, grounding, then leans back just enough to meet her eyes. "Every damn word, Son," he says, his voice clear and strong and more certain than he's felt about anything in a long while. "You and this little guy," he paused, glancing down at the hand that still rested between them, obviously with no clue if it's a boy or a girl, but using the term generically, "won't be able to ever get rid of me, even though you'll probably both want to sooner or later."

When he looks up to meet her gaze again, the swell of emotion in his chest threatens to knock the air from his lungs. Sonny, admitting she’s scared—admitting that she wants this so badly it terrifies her—seals it for him. She’s always kept her cards close, held her feelings tight to the vest. But this? This raw honesty sparks something deep and primal in him. A need to protect her. To show her that they can do this. That she’s not alone.

“It’s still sinking in,” he admits, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “But once my brain catches up? Yeah, you bet your pretty little ass I’m gonna be scared shitless, Son.” His voice carries a trace of disbelief, but more than that—there’s awe in it.

“But I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not running. Not now, not ever. You’ve got me—for the long haul. Even if we’re stumbling through diapers and midnight feedings and whatever brand of chaos this little one brings.”

Shane lets out a low, stunned laugh, the kind that sounds half like a breath of relief and half like he’s still catching up to the reality she’s just cemented with those words. “A dad,” he echoes, the title foreign and holy in equal measure on his tongue. He shakes his head, a dazed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as Sonny tugs him down with her, the two of them sinking into the couch like they’re finally allowed to exhale.

He just breathes her in for a second, forearms braced on either side of her, careful not to put too much weight on her as he kisses her again—slow, insistent, needing the reassurance that this is real. That they’re real.

When he finally pulls back, a devilish grin begins to creep across his face as he looks down at her. “Guess I better start working overtime, huh?” A beat. His smirk deepens. “You know—for the house.” His nose brushes the shell of her ear as he leans in, voice dropping lower as he begins to pepper kisses along her neck.

[sonnysolis]

Sonny’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, his words settling over her like a blanket—warm, grounding, and impossibly steady in a way she hasn’t let herself hope for in so long but, she knows is purely him. Her fingers tighten lightly where they rest along his shirt, like if she anchors herself to him, maybe the fear won’t feel so sharp and piercing anymore. Maybe the weight of everything they're up against won’t feel so heavy either.

But then he says it—guess I better start working overtime—and she huffs out a laugh, low and breathless, somewhere between disbelief and affection hitting his ear. “Overtime, huh?” she murmurs, tilting her head as his lips graze her neck, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t realize kissing me and getting us both worked up, counted as you clocking in. Not that I'm complaining, of course...”

She turns her head just enough to catch his mouth again, this time with a smile tugging at the corner of her lips—half teasing, half bathed in overwhelmed affection. Her free hand curls at the nape of his neck, fingers threading into the hair there as she deepens the kiss for a heartbeat before breaking it, resting her forehead against his once more.

“It's okay to be scared though,” she breathes, voice soft and yet, so painfully honest, it makes her chest ache. “I mean I was. I still am.... I probably always will be even after he or she arrives....” Her eyes search his, more serious now. “I think… the scariest part—for me at least,— is I don’t want to fuck it up—" meaning their child.

She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth now, lingering there. At the same time, she falls quiet, her smile fading slowly, like a tide pulling back from the shore. She leans into his touch again, but her gaze drifts—somewhere past him, past the room. Her fingers still idly trace patterns along the back of his neck, while her whole body has gone still in that way Shane’s learned means something.

“You know… I haven’t really… talked about my own dad much,” she says finally, the words quiet, almost cautious, like she’s not entirely sure she should be saying them out loud. But, it's almost like she can't not. “He wasn’t cruel. Not in the way that leaves bruises. But he had this way of making you feel like his love was conditional. Like it was always just out of reach unless you were perfect. And I spent so much of my life trying to be perfect for him. Trying to earn something that should’ve just… been there the whole time.”

She exhales shakily, then finally looks up at Shane, and her voice softens further—barely audible. “And I guess now, with this baby—this tiny person—we haven’t even met yet, I keep thinking: what if I do fuck it up? What if I don’t know how to love them right? What if I pass on the same doubts and fears and… emptiness I grew up with?” She hesitates, her eyes searching his. “I’m not scared of the responsibility or the chaos. Even if I was, I know I have you there to help me...." There's a pause as she looks down, almost in shame. "I think I'm scared of turning into him. Of not being enough—of not being the kind of mother this kid deserves or you deserve.”

[cassiagallo]

Cassia decided then that she was going to throw caution to the wind and trust that the woman wasn't playing the slow game with her murder intent. But she was also very curious to find out how to work a lock without a key.

She crouched down and peered at the lock, unsure how one could tell whether a lock was one of the popular ones or one that provided a bit more security. "And you know this how? Because of the make and brand?" Perhaps there was some other kind of tell like there was a wider gap or the material of the lock.

"Camera and maybe a new lock— got it." She'd at least let her know that her lock was on the easier side to break into.

She took her phone out and pulled up a note pad so she could take some notes. At least she could refer to it later if she had to go through this scenario again. But god did she hope not.

"I mean, it's kind of a badge or something, isn't it? I assume that like the gang or orginazation makes them do it once they're in?" Maybe she didn't know what the hell she was talking about but it seemed like she was going to learn more and Cassia was all for being in the know, especially from someone who was directly involved.

She paused and looked her over for a second, wondering who the hell this woman was. Clearly she had a job that had her leaving for a safe house— which she assumed could be weeks at a time— so she wondered how the hell she managed to keep any plants alive with that sort of impromptu schedule. "I'm all for tips and tricks for those plants because I swear I saw a leaf turn brown and I almost had a mental breakdown. She adores those plants. They have their own instagram."

At the way the door went click, she furrowed her brow because that seemed like the easiest thing. "I mean, that's impressive. A girl who can break in and save plants. You're just perfect, aren't you? Everything I'm not."

Cassia teased as she stood and cleaned herself off. "I work at a bar and that's kind of taught me that most people have ulterior motives." A lot of men she'd chatted up were impressive at the start of the conversation but usually ended up being assholes once they realized she wasn't going to bring them home.

"I feel like I could have taken you though. I mean, if you were sent to kill me." Cassia teased with a wink.

[sonnysolis]

Sonny chuckles under her breath as she leans back against the railing, arms folded casually over her chest. “Oh, definitely,” she says, letting the sarcasm drip just enough to make her grin obvious. “You totally had me shaking in my boots.”

Her gaze lingers on Cassia for a second longer than necessary, something sharp and amused flickering behind her eyes. “But hey, I admire the confidence. It’s cute.”

She shifts her weight slightly, glancing down at the lock again before continuing. “And yeah, you can tell a lot just from the design, the way it sits, the brand, the wear. Some locks have these tiny manufacturing flaws that make them easier to manipulate. Others are just old and loud about it. It’s kind of like people, really. The ones who look solid on the outside sometimes have the softest spots, and the ones who pretend to be subtle usually scream their secrets if you press in the right place.”

Sonny pauses, then nods toward Cassia’s phone. “But seriously—write this down: tension is everything. Doesn’t matter how many picks you have or how fancy your tools are. If you don’t get the feel of the lock under your fingers, it won’t talk to you. And if it doesn’t talk, it doesn’t open.” Her tone slips briefly into something more serious—something that feels almost metaphorical if you let it.

Then, as quickly as it came, the moment eases again. She takes a breath, her smile softening again at the mention of the plants. “An Instagram for them? Damn. She’s serious. Alright, rule number one: don’t overwater. Most people kill plants with love, not neglect. Rule two: group the ones with similar needs together—it’s easier to remember what they like that way. And rule three—if it starts turning brown? Don’t panic. It’s just adjusting. New environment, new air. Give it time.”

Sonny tilts her head a little as she studies Cassia, her expression unreadable for a second before she speaks. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. I mean—okay, sure, I’ve got a few fun party tricks, and yeah, I might’ve broken into a few places here and there. But you? You’re holding your ground. You’re curious. And you’re still here, even after all the weirdness.” She smiles, genuinely this time. “That’s not ‘not perfect,’ Cass. That’s just being real. And people like me, admire that.”

A beat passes, and then she adds with a sly grin, “But if we did go toe-to-toe… I dunno. I might’ve let you win. Just to see what you’d do with the victory.” A laugh escapes, before she pins Cassia with a curious stare. "You work at a bar, really? Which one?"

[sebolivar]

Sebastian couldn't help but laugh. He wasn't typically a fan of puns, so hearing the ones she shared genuinely amused him. They were both terrible and hilarious at the same time. "That's so bad," he said, shaking his head, feeling suddenly grateful for the name of Happy Tails.

He can feel her gaze when it lasts for a bit longer than either of them realizes, and Sebastian glances over while keeping his head faced forward. Her words catch his attention next, finding himself weirdly appreciating her attempts to soothe whatever weird reaction he gave off to what she said earlier. He smiles softly in response, looking over at her as they come to a stop sign. With the blinker on, he waits for traffic before making a left turn.

"You can't help but set matches of your own?" he asks instead of answering her. "Isn't that the world's balance, though?" He starts the turn, looking over into his blind spot before smoothly merging into traffic. Another fifteen to twenty minutes until Kelly's. "Some people start fires, some people burn, and some put them out." Sebastian shrugs, knowing which category he inevitably fell into. "At some point, you just accept it, right?"

He huffs, a sigh that reveals his uncertainty. “I don’t know,” he begins, shrugging. “My mom never allowed us to have any pets in the house, so I became obsessed with taking care of stray animals.” He doesn’t mention that this passion was the only thing that kept him sane after his older brother went missing. Feeding stray dogs and cats was his main focus when he wasn’t preoccupied with his brother's disappearance. “They can't speak for themselves, and I wanted to understand them well enough to take care of them. It felt good, you know?” He glances over for a moment, smiling softly. “To get it right.”

There’s a brief pause before he continues, wanting to express everything at once. “I was just one year away from finishing veterinary school when my ex-fiancée broke off our engagement, and I dropped out of school.” Sebastian can’t help but laugh; the reveal has become somewhat routine for him. "I got too sad," he says with a laugh. By now, it isn't difficult to explain how he ended up owning a pet shop. It took him a long time to come to terms with this reality, and Sebastian knew that addressing the significant issues right from the start was important for him.

[sonnysolis]

Sonny listens intently, her smile softening as Sebastian speaks. She keeps her eyes trained forward for the most part, but every now and then she glances over at him, studying the shift in his expressions. There’s a weight behind his words—steady, practiced maybe? but still real—and something in her chest tightens at the thought of younger Sebastian trying to make sense of a world that kept letting him down.

She lets a beat pass after he finishes, the silence thick but not uncomfortable. Then, with a small breath, she replies. “That's... a lot,” she says gently, the corners of her mouth curving into a sympathetic smile. “And also—kind of beautiful, in a way?” She shrugs a little, eyes still on the road. “You didn’t just roll over when things got too hard. You found something that made you still feel like you were doing something right, even if it wasn’t where you originally thought you were heading.”

There’s another pause as she looks over at him briefly. “I don’t think that’s something to laugh off.” Her voice softens, but there’s a rare honesty in it now, the kind that slips out when the walls come down without warning. “Honestly, I think people like you are the ones who do put the fires out. Maybe not with a big heroic gesture or anything, but in quiet, steady ways. Like picking up strays. Or... owning a shop called Happy Tails, which is just—come on, that's adorable.”

She lets out a breath like she’s weighing how much she wants to say next. Sonny’s never been the type to overshare, but something about the way he’s so calm about his own pain—like it’s worn smooth from being turned over too many times—makes it feel...safer somehow. Or, maybe not safe. But close enough.

“My brother always wanted a dog,” she says suddenly, voice distant. “We never got one. He used to leave me these drawings though—like, crude little cartoons of us with a giant mutt named Meatball or Moose or something stupid like that. Said we’d get one when we ran away one day. Make a new life, with a dog and no rules.” She lets out a breathy laugh, small and sad. “We didn’t run far. And he never got that dog.”

Her gaze stays fixed on the window, but she adds, after a long pause, “So, yeah. I get it, I guess. Why someone might build a weird little rebellion out of animals. And hope.” A beat, then she smirks. “And yeah, I do set matches sometimes. But I like to think I know when to stop before it all burns down.” She reaches out, brushing the back of her fingers lightly against his arm in a quick, casual motion. “Besides, if you ever start one by accident, I’m pretty handy with a fire extinguisher, just so you know.”