#i could talk days and days about like. love in different forms

[levigarden999]

Maybe what if reader breaks up with Kaiser because he’s too selfish while he already bought the ring for them to pop the question? Can be angsty/fluff at the end?

different perspectives 𓍯 michael kaiser x reader

⋆.˚ notes : inspired by the req above , thank u anon ♡

you knew this day would come eventually when you’d have the hardest, most gut wrenching talk with your boyfriend kaiser. you had prepared for this discussion for a few weeks now, but it didn’t make it any easier. but it seemed like that breaking up was simply the best option available.

of course, it wasn’t a surprise to you that kaiser was a self centered bastard, literally. soccer was his whole life and he always made it clear to everyone how damn skilled he was. you were fine with his bragging and arrogant attitude, and somehow it was even a part of his charm. but what you weren’t okay with was his selfishness.

you would’ve never guessed how selfish the guy could actually get, even towards the woman he claimed so dearly to love.

the fact he always promised you more support, how he would be there for you more in the future and that he’d make more time for your relationship. the fact he promised to take you out more often and do those small things couples do that make you feel validated. however, all those promises were broken. straight up lies.

kaiser returned from practice that evening, hair slightly damp from sweat and the compress shirt clinging to his form, revealing the tattoo on his neck so beautifully. however, you didn’t even glance at him as he arrived home. in fact, you were already in tears.

”i’m home, baby” he started, the usual cocky and somehow cheerful tone in his voice as he slipped his shoes off.

”michael, we need to talk” you answered immediately. kaiser probably noticed the firmness in your tone because he obediently walked over to you in the living room, a confused tone in his voice as he spoke.

”yeah? what’s up?”

you turned to look at him from the couch, revealing your tear stained cheeks and trembling lips to him. the sight surprised him totally – kaiser’s eyes visibly widened at the sight of you so miserable. as if you hadn’t been suffering for the last few years with him.

”i-i’m so tired, mike… i… i can’t do this anymore” you whimpered, voice choked.

he blinked, not understanding your words.

”you can’t do what anymore?” kaiser asked, but you knew he knew what you talked about. the fear was evident in his tone.

”you know what. i… i’ve talked about our problems and… you never change. i’m tired. i don’t… want to be with you anymore” you continued sobbing and hiccuping, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks again.

at that, kaiser’s face twisted into something more emotional. there was confusion, even hurt, in his face as those blue eyes pierced through you.

”what about me? what about what i want?”

you scoffed and shook your head.

”that’s exactly what i mean. it’s always about you, isn’t it? always about what you want and what you need and what you require!” you suddenly snapped, the obvious frustrating booming through the room like an echo of misery.

kaiser fell silent. you could tell he felt like his voice was gone. for once in his life, he was goddamn speechless.

you huffed and stood up from the couch. you needed some alone time. the silence between you was too painful for you to handle right now.

”i’ll go take a walk” you mumbled, absent mindedly walking past him to the front door where he had left his duffel bag and… apparently something else as well?

”n-no, wait!” kaiser suddenly exclaimed, but it was too late.

you noticed yourself staring at a tiny shopping bag, which had a text in the front.

cartier . wedding selection

it took you a moment to understand what was going on. your mind couldn’t wrap itself around the fact what the small bag actually contained.

”… what is that” you whispered shakily, the words nearly getting stuck in your throat. you couldn’t even look at kaiser right now, not right now when you two clearly shared a different perspective over your relationship.

kaiser remained silent for a few seconds before he spoke, voice more pathetic and vulnerable than you’ve ever heard before.

”for you. obviously” he managed to utter out.

you then turned your head to him, needing more information. his eyes were on the floor, a few strands of blue hair hanging over his forehead. he looked so young, so vulnerable and troubled.

”i- i’ve thought about it for months now and… i bought it today. a ring for you” he continued. as you finally realized the gravity of the situation, your throat tightened even more and it felt like you would be sucked into the very core of earth at any second.

kaiser scratched his neck nervously, still not looking at you.

”i was thinking about proposing…. during our trip to italy next month”

trip to italy? since when were you going to italy?

”i-i remembered you mentioning how you want to spend more time with me and… i already bought plane tickets to venice for us. i… i remembered you telling me how much you adore water as an element and… well, there’s a, uh, river, so, i thought that proposing on a boat there would be perfect-”

”michael” you said.

he stopped rambling, those blue eyes finally meeting yours. you had never seen him looking at you with such eyes before. the deep blue was now lighter, the look in his eyes now so distant yet craving and needing. you saw his adam’s apple bob, a lump going down his throat.

”i’m not… you don’t have to take me to venice to be a better boyfriend. you don’t have to buy me a wedding ring to prove yourself to me” you sighed, the gentle words leaving your mouth without much else thought. your voice was still trembling.

you took a step closer to him, your eyes matching the vulnerability in his as well.

kaiser avoided your eye contact again as he shifted uncomfortably.

”but… you mentioned you wanted to spend more time with me. to have more dates, more romance from me” he muttered. it was almost unbelievable seeing his usually very arrogant and straight up annoying attitude gone.

you couldn’t help but soften from the inside.

”no. i asked for more support. i asked for your physical presence and… emotional presence as well. i don’t need vacations or rings, michael. i simply want to trust you again, i want to trust michael kaiser – i do not want some infuriating soccer star” you noticed a hint of a teasing undertone creeping into your words. kaiser fixed his gaze back to you, he was nearly pouting.

kaiser simply nodded, a pale hand reaching out and touching your cheek gently. it seemed like the first time ever he actually listened and understood what you had to say. you melted a little into his touch, since the moment felt so intimate and meaningful, which was something you hadn’t experienced in a while with him. he looked at you like he understood you, touched you like he actually didn’t want to lose you.

”okay” kaiser said, quietly.

”okay?” you raised an eyebrow, words just as quiet.

”okay. i’ll do it. i’ll prioritize you”

you blinked.

”i want to say you’re my wife. i want to marry you, i want to see the diamond ring on your finger and be reminded of the fact you want to spend the rest of your life with me just as much i want to spend it with you” he continued, a small smile appearing on his lips. the moment felt silent and peaceful, even though your heart was hammering against your ribs.

you couldn’t help but smile.

he then chuckled. ”and i know, the ring can wait though. but i’ll make sure you’ll say yes when i propose you some time in the future”

both of his hands landed on your cheeks and he leaned in closer. kaiser’s face softened even though his voice took a more serious tone.

”i promise. when i propose, you’ll say yes in the happiest, most confident way imaginable”

[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. 

[only-lonely-star]

Darry nsfw headcannons please please please

*proceeds to beg on hands and knees*/j

NSFW Darry Curtis HCs

Darrel Curtis x Reader

Warnings: NSFW content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

Author’s Note: Yes, yes!! Keep begging- Darry is super into that! 😼I tried to make majority of them gender neutral, but I guess you could say a few of them aren’t. I hope you all enjoy!! 🫶🏼

─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ⋅⋆ ─── ─── ───

He’s a gentle giant. I don’t think he would be into any rough activity. He’s bigger and taller than most, so it’s sort of shocking to realize that he isn’t all that scary in bed.

Speaking of being a giant… I’m 10000% certain this man has a size kink. Any size person will do for him, but it’s so arousing to have someone smaller. It’s easier for him to flip flop his partner around and switch positions if they’re tiny. (Technically, you don’t even have to be tiny. Average size works too since he’s so giant.)

He’s a sucker for quickies. Darry is a busy man, y’all. He’s always down for a quickie in the bathroom, car, or just as he’s waking up for work.

HE LOVESSSS to hear any moan/groan/whines from you. It’s like reassurance that he’s doing good and not hurting you with his size. If he doesn’t think you’re all that into it yet, he’ll pause and try to help you ease around him better.

He likes to watch himself move slowlyyyy in and out of you. It gives him that little push to keep going because he thinks it’s so hot lol.

I can’t see him being super into receiving head. Is he top tier at GIVING it? Yes, but that’s a different story. He feels it’s a little selfish to come home from a long day out working and ask you to suck him off. He’d prefer to do YOU the favor. Even if you’re the one to insist you help him wind down with a blow job, he just wouldn’t be as enthusiastic about it.

I can’t stop talking about how big this man is. (Maybe I’m projecting LMFAO.) Darry’s fingers are literally as wide as his dick. 2-3 fingers in and you’re already whining that you’re about to finish.

Piggybacking off of the last one, I think Darry would be so good with his hands. He’s really into overstimulation- do NAWTTT let this man use his hands on you. Whether he’s playing DJ with your clit or giving you a hand job, he’s smirking to himself the whole time because he knows you’re savage over his hands.

Honestly, his hands need more appreciation. This isn’t like a filthy headcanon, but just imagine them. They’re so big. Like- HUGE. They’re hella strong from lifting (lifting as in weights & heavy material at work). The back of his hands are veiny and somewhat scuffed up, but it’s oddly attractive…?

Darry begs to go raw when he’s really been craving you. He thinks it’s ‘more intimate’ that way if he can really FEEL your body. (All headcanons aside, please use protection.)

He’s not super vocal, but the occasional groan he lets out usually signals he’s about to finish. That’s his little breaking point.

He triple checks that you two are alone. He would hate to be heard/walked in on having sex. He just won’t do it. Not when there’s a slim chance of someone else overhearing. Especially in front of his brothers. It’s 10 times more embarrassing if they were the ones to find out about it. The teasing from the other boys would actually drive him insane.

I think Darry is a very passionate man. Any form of missionary, lotus, or maybe even doggy would be his go to positions. Very close, intimate, and hot. He just likes to be close to you, but also have the ability to see your face.

He love love lovessss to pepper little kisses wherever he can. One of his hotspots is around your neck/collarbone area.

If you’ve got tits, TRUST he’s all over them. Kisses, nuzzling the tip of his nose against them, squeezing them- all of it.

Darry loves when you get vocal. He wants to hear you beg and plead for him, and nine times out of ten, he won’t give you anything until you do.

This sort of contradicts the very first headcanon, but I think Darry might actually use his arms on you. Slight choking, nothing extreme. I can picture him putting you in a headlock of some sort during doggy just so he can kiss you more efficiently.

His form of aftercare is simple but effective. If he isn’t settling for just a quickie, he would make sure you felt content afterwards. A little snack and some water paired with constant checking in is his thing. Darry would ask how you feel (physically), if you’re hurt anywhere, how he did, etc. He’s overall the sweetest in bed, and he tries to make things as pleasurable as possible for you. You’re his ultimate priority.

AND THAT’S A WRAP, THANK YOU ALL FOR READING!! :D

-Sophia 🫶🏼

[anonymous-dentist]

tr! Lucas falling for pangi, while pangi only fell for lukey is fun, because I feel like Lucas would see his future self as kind of a downgrade to his normal self, due to despite lukey saying he operates on logic it’s pretty clear he doesn’t, while based on what we know Lucas kinda does guenially do stuff based on what he sees as a more logic approach (he is also affected by emotions in his thoughts just not as much and less obvious then lucked)

so for someone he falls for to enjoy his future self over him more despite the fact they both have more perceived things in common then his future self did, would mean that a version of him without memory’s and is weaker and more emotionally is just a better one

also I don’t think Lucas had a lot of people he would call close vs lukey who has green faction and aimsey, so I just find it fun for Lucas to realize that he probably wouldn’t be able to be a person that could make these friends and start thinking he might be the worst one between the two lukeys

(lukey somewhere else, is thoughts about how he thinks Lucas is the better one between the two, due to being stronger, more logical, and someone that would be able to help green faction more then him, and would not be called a hamster)

do you get the vibe I’m putting down, i find the idea of them meeting interesting, espically if they both have a thing for pangi

I'm personally unconvinced that Lucas actually talked to anyone besides Newt. From Newt's diary, it really looked like Lucas spent all day every day in their lab unless he was trying to get Skulk or committing Other Crimes. So him getting a glimpse of his future and seeing his future self surrounded by people who love him and, more importantly, seeing that he loves them is absolutely a shocker

But I feel like Lucas would actually see that as a weakness, especially if he finds out that Lukey finished the cure but there's still Corruption around. Like "You're too busy with frivolities to bother with the important stuff anymore, aren't you? The world is ending, but, sure, go play house with him some more. No, yeah, I'm sure you two will be very happy together when you're both fucking dead."

(He almost wants to be jealous, but he convinces himself not to be. There's no point in being jealous of a weaker version of himself, especially not when his future self seems almost determined to doom the world in the name of, eugh, love.)

(Pangi thinks this dude is a dick btw, but he also sees how Lucas and Lukey really aren't all that different at the end of the day. Lucas' hair is shorter and Lukey's face has smile lines starting to form, and they both do the same tone of voice when asking for something- Lucas asks Newt for access to the Null for his research the same way Lukey asks Pangi for gapples and pearls. They talk with the same inflections and even do the same dramatic swish of their lab coats when they want to look impressive.

But it's Lucas who looks on with subdued horror as Lukey slaughters a pangopup with a single swing of his axe just because Pangi asked him to, and it's Lukey who rolls his eyes at the way Lucas practically begs to hold the dragon egg with actual stars in his eyes, he's so excited.

So, really, it's just the same self-hatred Lukey pretends he doesn't have made incarnate.)

[mountaingutta]

TFO Optimus Prime in TFP

Small excerpt from a fanfic I’ll probably never write.

For the first time in a very long while, Arcee met the sunrise on this Primus-forsaken planet in the middle of nowhere with the feeling that today was going to be a good day. How wrong she was. 

The day actually started off decently - the old wounds didn’t ache, they had enough energon to survive another couple of months without fearing starvation, and no one had been injured during recent patrols.

Even Optimus wasn’t exuding his usual level of melancholy, and Ratchet was—surprisingly—in a good mood. By Ratchet’s standards, at least. It looked like someone had taken advantage of the empty base last night and put that time to good use. Ew. Don’t think about how old bots spend their lonely evenings. Especially when it’s Ratchet and Optimus. That’s almost the same as imagining your creators in that situation.

In her lifetime, Arcee had never been 100% sure of anything. Well, maybe a few things. Airachnid was absolute evil. Starscream would sell his own carrier for a single shanix. The weird Old One who gave gifts to human sparklings in winter definitely ran a global spy network. And the universe loved to mess with their Prime.

That last statement always held true. Especially lately. The cursed planet they lived on was proof enough of that. Don’t think about the fact that you’re driving across Unicron the Destroyer, Devourer of Worlds, and the Primes’ most hated enemy.

It had rained overnight, so she gladly splashed the redheaded punk with a puddle while picking Jack up from school. Yep. The day was officially a success.

Right up until the moment a massive energy vortex appeared in the middle of the desert, scorched a rather noticeable mark into Nevada’s landscape, and then vanished leaving behind an unexpected guest.

As it turned out, it wasn’t just their universe that loved messing with their Optimus. All universes loved messing with every Optimus. 

How else do you explain yet another, much younger but equally miserable version of their glorious leader, now pacing around the base like a giant striped feline in one of those places where humans lock up animals and stare at them for entertainment. Barbaric. 

Although this Prime was much chattier.

“Brilliant! So, it all started out well. I was hoping we could talk to the fake Prime about the miners’ situation, but instead that slagging Darkwing…”

She looked at Bulkhead. Interesting start. And who’s Darkwing?

“Well, that part wasn’t too bad either — we ran into Bee down there, made it out, and went off looking for the Matrix. But of course, just when everything was going smoothly, Elita-1 decided to detain us, I got punched a couple times, then the train left without us and we ended up on Unicron’s horns, Primus knows how far from civilization, running from Quintessons and stumbling into a cave where the Primes had died.”

Whoa. Quintessons? In their world, those disgusting parasites were kicked out to the galactic backside long before it was even formed. Okay. So how do you punch someone who’s in a different universe? Judging by Bulkhead’s fists, he’s thinking the same thing. Good.

“But we managed to bring Alpha Trion out of stasis. Oh, it was starting to look like things were finally going our way. BUT — of course there’s a but. Turns out our current Prime is nothing more than a filthy impostor and traitor who sold us all to the Quintessons, murdered the Primes, and for fifty cursed vorns has been lying to the entire people and driving us all underground.”

Wow. Things were escalating fast. Optimus, their Optimus, had flinched strangely when the newcomer mentioned Alpha Trion. So, important information. Don’t forget. Hah, seems like the previous Optimus from another universe was even more of a jerk than theirs. Scrap, “Optimus from another universe” is way too long. Gotta come up with something shorter.

“And that’s not even all. We got tracked down, Alpha Trion was captured. Then we wandered through the jungle, and D started to seriously lose it. Then we got taken by the High Guard, led by Starscream, Soundwave, and Shockwave. And D’s processor just kept melting and melting—so naturally, he decided, ‘Hey, why not pick a fight with the leader of this elite army of hand-picked murderers personally trained by Megatronus.’”

OP 2.0? No. Mini-Optimus? Hah, he was taller than Buckethead from their universe. Definitely not ‘mini.’ Junior Prime? Prime Jr.? 

"And he took down. Oh, and on the bright side, we got the T-codes. So at least there’s that."

Wait, who beat what? And what’s this about T-codes? Bee seems to be okay… so why did Ratchet grab the scanner? 

"But then Sentinel’s guard found us again. That crazy spider-lady was with them. D and Be were taken along with part of the guard. I managed to talk the others into helping."

So Sentinel was the previous Prime? Hah, looks like that bot’s absolute slag no matter the universe. And Optimus is always stuck cleaning up after him and his damn administration. 

"I even rallied the miners to riot, stole a train, and Elita drove it straight into Sentinel’s tower. Then D totally lost it and went to kill Sentinel. Don’t get me wrong, I also wanted that scrap-eater to pay but I had a public trial planned. Where we could lay out every crime, every failure, spell it out for all of Cybertron to see what a pathetic blowhard he really was. And then deliver a public punishment no one would dare argue with."

Wow. That’s a lot to happen in one day. But they’d seen worse. Still… she couldn’t help but wonder if their Optimus had once planned something similar with the Senate before Megatron melted them all down for his throne. Optimus, as always, was a rock. 

But when she looked into his optics, and he didn’t look away. Scrap. He would’ve done something like that. Maybe… he had planned it. Wasn’t there a report, way back at the start of this whole mess, about the senators being placed under special guard?

How they weren’t allowed to leave the Senate building without the Prime’s permission and an escort? They said it was for the senators’ safety, but maybe they’d all underestimated the freshly appointed Prime.

“But no! We needed swift vengeance. And now I have to deal with Sentinel’s supporters trying to paint him as the first victim of a bloody Decepticon regime.”

Politics is a glitching piece of scrap.

“But wait, there's more - my best friend shot off part of my frame. And instead of pulling me up from the pit I was dangling over… he let go.”

For a moment, the silence was crushing. What the frag?! Arcee looked at every single person in the room at bots, at humans. No one spoke. Even Miko, who had been vibrating with excitement over the whole thing, froze and stared at the younger Prime in stunned disbelief. Ratchet’s servo visibly trembled. That didn’t happen often. Not unless Prime nearly died of Cybercystic Plague. Not unless Bee lost his T-gear. Not unless Bulkhead nearly flatlined forever. Not unless Cliff...No. Not now.

“And I was just soaring off to meet Primus. But no, you haven’t suffered enough yet, Orion Pax. Here’s the Matrix of Leadership now go fix all the scrap we and our treacherous successor left behind.”

Now, he truly resembled their Optimus. That familiar aura of melancholy and unspoken pain cloaked him. Broad shoulders hunched as if they bore the weight of the entire world. It was painfully familiar. Their Optimus had always been a rock amidst the chaos that was their life. But even rocks crumble with time. She wondered...Would this other Prime become such a rock for his own bots? Or would he break long before?

“So now I’ve got several planetary-level crises and a few global ones, and I’m stuck in another universe while my own world is circling the pit.”

[motzglorp]

I kinda wrote the first version of this for @morphoportis and it inspired this one, so I might as well post this in public. Should I use a title? I am still figuring things out.

Summary: afab!Reader is for the TF 141 what Pepper is for the Avengers but there is more and Bucky learns a new thing about himself.

Bucky struggles a bit, trying to find his (although temporary) place in the 141 team dynamic. Since they are waiting for intel, there is not much to do, other than training, relaxing for a day. He is not really used to free time, wary of the carefree attitude Soap and Gaz are showing, but they remind him of Clint and Tony. Ghost seems to get it, joining him at the table, cleaning their knives in silence.

They are family in a similar yet different way the avengers are. Secretly he thinks Steve could learn from Price about leadership but he immediately feels a bit guilty about that thought.

And then there is you. You shouldn't be here. You are too soft for this place, too precious to be around these dangerous men. If you were his (you are not, you are theirs, never forget that, it is not his place to judge), he would make sure you are safe, even from himself. Especially from himself.

But you don't seem to realise that you are surrounded by weapons in human form. You had explained it to Bucky in words that almost make sense.

"You know how Tony Stark could do all these stunts because he has Pepper Pots, yes? Nobody really wants to admit it, but without her, he would be buried in paperwork, meetings, everything. No PA I have heard of can do what she does, she is a genius and instead of following a career of her own, she dedicated her life and brain to the man she loves and the family around him, the avengers. I am their Pepper. Well, I try to be. I mean... I do what I can to make their work easier. I know, that I am no use in battle, but I have contacts, I am good at seeing patterns and I know what they need and I can make sure they get it. I am their lifeline, if needed. And just to make it perfectly clear, as long as you work with them, all of that's includes you." You had giggled and added: "For the time being, you are mine, Sgt. Barnes"

Something settled inside of him. You are mine.

The part of him, that was once The Winter Soldier recognised the meaning behind these words. It was simple. As long as he was here, he belonged to you. To this little pack.

A commotion from the sofa put a stop to his thoughts.

"Johnny MacTavish, you did not just jump my leg like a fucking mutt!" Your voice sounds more annoyed than angry, still everyone in the room is suddenly looking towards Soap, who has the decency of putting on an apologetic smile. "A joke, please forgive me. You know I am.stupid around you sometimes.."

"Sometimes?" Ghost mutters and Bucky is wondering if something like this is a usual occurrence. He never noticed anything so far.

"Oh yes, I know. And I was thinking about rewarding you with a treat tonight, because I know you really behaved like a good boy so far." The expressions on Soaps face changed rapidly from hopeful to realisation.

"So far? Don't joke like that, bonnie, I beg you."

Bucky froze. There was something in your voice, a new quality, like the promise of a command. And watching Soap slowly sinking down on his knees, shoulders straight, hands behind his back, made The Winter Soldier curious and calm at the same time. He didn't even notice that Gaz had left for a moment and now came back with a small box, placing it into your waiting hands.

"There is my good boy. I am so happy, you remember the rules now. I know it has been hard for you, having someone here, in your safe space, that you don't know yet. But we talked about it and you agreed, that we all behave until we know him better, yes?" Your voice is so soft yet stern, understanding, yet disappointed. Soap stays silent, except for a small whine. The Winter Soldier couldn't move, no, he didn't want to move. He had never before heard such a soft command between the words. Making him wish to obey, not forcing. Making him wish you were talking to him, not to the Sargent. He follows the movement of your hands, opening the box and taking out a metal chain, with a small golden ring in the front and a lock in the back. You smile as you turn your head and look Bucky directly in the eyes. "Sorry, this must be a bit confusing. I will answer any questions you might have later. But if you feel uncomfortable, please leave the room." You wait a moment and when Bucky shakes his head you nod and turn back to Soap, putting the chain around his neck, the golden ring right above the clavicle. Another sound escapes Soaps lips, a bit shaky, even if nothing in his posture signals unease. If anything he seems to relax as soon as the chain is on, even more when you lift his chin and cradle his cheek.

"Feel better? You are being so good for me, Jonny. Kneeling so beautifully, showing me, what you need. Even when there is someone watching you, who might not understand. That was very brave and I am proud of you. Now, your actions will still have consequences, but for now I give you a choice. You can stay here with me, just like that, until the movie is over and I will punish you myself. Or you can get it all over with right now and accept your punishment from John."

Another shaky breath and then: "John. Ah need John, please."

Bucky doesn't know how to feel. Why is everyone so calm about this. You are talking about punishing a team member and nobody is stepping in. Instead you seem to be happy about it, genuinely relieved almost. Not the fake softness a sadist would show. Not the cruel games Hydra would play. But how can a punishment be a good thing?

Ghost is watching the Soldier, like he is waiting for something. Your voice is so full of... Love? When you thank Johnny and tell him go find Price in his office. Jonny hesitates for a moment, looking at you with a little uncertainty and you just sigh, but there is a smile on your lips.

"It's okay, Johnny, I am not mad at you. You are still my good boy." Soft, but firm. The Winter Soldier shudders with... what is it? Longing? He doesn't understand the meaning behind everything, but when Soap is gone, he notices how your posture softens and Gaz tucks you onto his lap, holding you in a way, Bucky wished he was allowed to. You must be so soft to hold, to cuddle. It is even more confusing since he just witnessed you commanding a man to accept punishment, who could easily break you in half.

Ghost is still watching him, obviously thinking. "When she sais, she knows what we need, she means it. Not just for the work we do. She knows what we really need, deep inside, where most people don't dare to go. Johnny needs to know that someone cares enough to put him in his place, when he acts out. We all have our things, some similar, some very different. But she gives us what we need. Keeps the team dynamics stable. Keeps us human. Reminds us, that we have something to fight for, to come home to. Grounds us."

There is movement from the sofa as you get up, pulling Gaz with you. "'m tired, bed is calling." You mumble as you come over and place a quick kiss on Simon's shoulder. Then you look at Bucky, brows furrowed for a moment as if deciding what to do with him. It feels almost exciting. Then you smile again. "Thank you for staying calm and not interfering. I know you must have questions, I will gladly answer tomorrow. And remember what I said, as long as you are with us, you are mine to care for. As far as you let me."

It's an invitation. And something inside of him is warm and fuzzy already. He did good. He did not disturb the.. that. You are happy with him. For a moment he wonders how it would be to kneel like that before you, to make you proud. You just smile and turn around one last time before you leave the room.

"James, be a good boy for me and write down all your questions on a piece of paper and bring them to me tomorrow morning. You know where my room is, I will get up around eight."

Another invitation and instructions. Bucky is almost disappointed about the lack of command in your voice, but he feels the Soldier relaxing. Good boy. He can be that. He can be your good boy. Yours.

[fictionrealms]

Hide & Seek->Chapter Two

Sylus x MC x Caleb

TW:

depictions of grief, self neglect, depictions of depression, depictions of loss, obsessive behavior, smut (in the future), self doubt, self loathing, nightmares, more tags to be added, MDNI

Summary:

Life was meaningless now that he's gone. Only visiting me in the long hours when I refuse to sleep. I've long since given up the fight. What was the point anymore? Then there was him.

Word Count: 1685

Finished || Ongoing

Prologue-> Chapter One

Hide & Seek - Chapter 3 - bhaalistbabe - 恋与深空 | Love and Deepspace (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

There's an old, twisted tree trunk on the bank facing the lake. Its old bark rough against my skin and missing in places to reveal the smoothness underneath. The last rays of the sun shone across the water, making it sparkle and shimmer like blown glass. We used to detour here walking home from school. A little place just for the two of us. A piece of time carved out where we can exist without anyone else. In the summer we came here every day. Jumping into the lake from the old tire swing we made off the bank. We were just kids then. Stopped coming here the older we got. Carving out a time for each other wasn't as important as we aged. Took on responsibilities. Became adults with our own lives. Took separate paths in life.

We sit together on the trunk. Our feet dangling off the ground and staring off at the setting sun. But something was different. Something was off.

We were smaller than I remember being.

"Do you think we'll ever stop coming here?" my voice, smaller, more delicate than it should be comes out like it was rehearsed. Something I was supposed to say or had said before. A script I memorized.

Caleb shrugs. His limbs are long and gangly. His face thinner than it should be and my heart skip when his voice cracks. "I don't know, Pip. But I hope we always find our way back here. This is our spot. Just for you and me, yeah?"

Time seems to stand still here. With just the two of us looking out at the sun setting on the lake.

I turn to look at him and he's taller than he was previously. His shoulders broader and muscles more defined. He's not wearing his favorite white sweater anymore. Replaced with a pilot's uniform and the DAA stitched on his front pocket and shoulder. Before I couldn't see my hair. It was out of my line of vision, but now it reaches just under my breasts. I can't feel the bark under me though my legs are bare.

"But we never did. Did we, Pipsqueak?"

"I wish we did. I miss this." My voice is soft when I speak. Tears forming in my eyes.

Caleb turns to me with the same lopsided, goofy grin he always wore. But there's an edge to it this time. Something sharp and sad. Something knowing and melancholy about the way it doesn't reach his eyes.

And in the dim light cast on him from the sun, I see it.

The way his eyes shimmer with the formation of tears and his chest doesn't move with breath.

Because none of this is real.

Caleb is dead.

With the realization, he turns to face the lake again. His clothes change to that of the Colonel. His jaw sets with a certain kind of tick when he was irritated with Gran—Josephine. He's much more built than before and his arms fold over his chest with a cold finality I assume he used when addressing the Fleet. There's hardly any warmth in the galaxies in his eyes. But it's still there all the same. And in that I find refuge. A piece of the same Caleb I had always known buried beneath the trauma and whatever burdens he held close. Never letting me close enough to ease the weight he carried.

"We never came back here because of you. We could have if it wasn't for you." His voice is cold, detached.

"What?" My voice comes out no louder than a whisper. "Caleb, what are you talking about?"

He shakes his head. "You just had to go sticking your nose where it shouldn't have been. If it wasn't for you…"

There's a pregnant pause as I wait for him to finish his sentence. And when he turns to me again he's in the tank top and sweatpants he died in. His eyes are glossy and devoid of emotion or any sign of life. His skin as pale as a full moon and rotting in some places.

But that isn't what catches my attention.

It's dark lines that spike and spiral from the singed hole on his chest. The way it zigzags up his collarbone and over his shoulder.

Lightning.

"I̷̧̡͊̕'̵̹̘͒m̶̻̫̈́̊ ̷̲͝d̴͓̈́͊e̸͓̅å̷͚̱d̸̖̲͒͝,̶̪̝̇͌ ̴̗̻̀̆S̴̫̄͗t̷͎͆͠ĕ̸͇v̵̩̉͘i̸̬̺͐e̴̞͙͂͝.̶̦͒ ̴̼͎̄B̴͉͗͝é̸̙͋c̸̺͂a̶͖͆̀u̸̪̎s̶̲̀ę̴̿̅ ̴̪̈̈́ó̶̞f̶̩̪͗̋ ̴̗̓͐ẙ̴̉͜o̵̦̒͜͝ǘ̵͜.̴̘̍͒ ̵͖̋͠Y̶̟̽o̶̫̐͝ṵ̸̧̆̈́ ̴̥͘d̸̳̯͆̽i̴͈͌ͅḑ̵͂͠ ̴̫̥̄t̵̟͕͝h̶̲̝́ḭ̴̫̉̊s̶̺̩̐̎ ̴̗̆͠t̷̺̅ö̵̙́ ̷͉̎m̷̪̲͛͛e̶͉̼̍.̵̦̹̏̓ ̵͖̄̉Y̴̠̹̑ò̶̘̰ū̴̡͚͒ ̷̬͇̈͗k̷̤̖̓̒i̴̪̰̕l̶̺̭͋l̴̟̮̀̈́ḛ̵̈̔d̷͖̋ ̸̘̳̅m̴̙͉̿ë̶̙͎́,̷̨̗͂̃ ̵͔̄͝S̵̻̞͒͠ṯ̴͋͝e̴͉̍v̴͓͂̈́͜i̶̘͔͋̚è̵͎͝.̵̺̠̀ ̶͉̻̑͝H̵̫̣̃͝o̴͔̦͛w̵̲̄͠ ̸̗̱̇̇ç̷̎ò̶͇̐u̸̳̿̓l̵̋ͅd̸��͍͂ ̶̬͍̄ÿ̸̧́̉ō̵̼͆u̷͓͇̅̆?̷̢̗̌͒"

"No, Caleb, I—"

"Y̵̺̻̓͛ö̶̞́͋u̸̲̅ ̸̳̆̃d̴̪̼͋i̴͚̜̾d̶͎̖̀͒ ̶̩͂t̵̫̑͗h̷̟̝̿i̵̟̫̎s̴͓̼̀ ̸͔̌͂ͅẗ̷̲́ŏ̶͈̅ ̵͇̞͊m̶̘͖̽̕e̴̜̍.̴͉͎̽̚"

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sweat coats my skin. Making my clothes stick to me like a second skin and my hair is damp to the touch. My breaths come in short, desperate pants and tears stream down my cheeks. Before long I fold in on myself and let the sobs break the silence only disturbed by the soft hum of the machinery. My arms wrap around my stomach, my forehead presses to my knees and the sobs sound more like screams. Or maybe I had done so much screaming since Caleb's death that I've grown accustomed to the sound.

There's no knowing how long I sat there.

It's only when a cold hand touches my shoulder that I register someone is in the room with me. The weight of the bed shifts and I don't need to look to know who it is.

"It's my fault." My voice comes out broken. Too soft to be considered anything but a whisper. "I killed him, Zayne. This is all my fault. He's dead because of me. It's my fault."

"It's not. You know that deep down. None of this is your fault." Zayne's voice is steady, soft, comforting in the way it soothes my nerves. And out of my peripheral vision, I can see a thin coat of frost forming on his knuckles as he strokes my knee with his thumb.

"It is my fault though. It was my lightning that killed him."

"You're burning up. Please, you have to try to calm down, Stevie. Your heart—"

"Fuck my heart! I don't want it anymore!"

A soft glow of golden light emanates from the palms of my hands. Like sunlight was seeping out of my skin.

Zayne turns his head just over his shoulder towards the door. A crease forms in his brows and his grip on my knee tightens as if to steady me. And ice slowly creeps up my thigh. Probably to cool me down if I had a fever like he said. But I don't feel hot like I do when I'm sick. The warmth from my palms thrums up my arms and burns in my chest. It's tepid as it blankets around my heart. Spreads throughout my chest.

"Nurse! She needs medicine and a cold blanket!"

He says something else to the nurse that rushes into the room to his side. Her expression full of worry as she glances at me before turning back to Zayne. Their voices hushed and inaudible to the roar of my heartbeat in my ears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A year,

Nearly.

Ten months.

That was how long it had been since she sent that final message to him. Nothing more than coordinates and a single word; here.

But by the time he had followed the coordinates, she was gone. He followed the signal from her phone then. Following the pings from the towers throughout the city to find her only to come across dead ends. Getting in Skyhaven would have been difficult if he had been anyone else. Had used any other name or alias to get to where her signal was last pinged. Tire marks led him into a desolate, abandoned city.

That was when he lost her.

Until only a day ago.

At first, he had given her space. Allowed her the time she needed to adjust and get herself out as she needed. He knew that she was capable enough. Stubborn enough to do things on her own. Never had been very receptive of help. Had been in more perilous situations before.

But each passing day when he had yet to hear from her made his panic worsen. What if he had been wrong?

That was when he sent Mephisto.

When the crow returned back to him, telling him of the things she was enduring and allowing to be done—he knew that she would not be coming back on her own.

She had given up.

His feisty, fierce kitten had given up the fight.

A little bomb once again.

Sylus made his decision then.

If she was not going to fight for her life herself. Then he would remind her who she is and what she is capable of. He would break her free and bring her back to where she was when they met.

But they had made one very grave mistake.

Sylus walked calmly from his room, hands clasped behind his back. Still in a black, silk robe from sleep. Luke and Kieran sat on the couch, bickering amongst themselves over something frivolous. They pause as his shadow casts over them and turn to face him.

"Were we too loud, Boss?"

"No, but I have an important mission tomorrow. You two will come with me."

The twins look at each other before turning back to him.

Sure, he could get her out in one piece by himself. Sylus was more than capable of taking care of the center on his own. Skilled without the use of his Evol. After all, he hadn't gotten to where he is now without knowing what he was doing. But that just didn't feel fitting for the things that had been reported of her current state. He needed to send a message. Make a point. An impression.

Hell hath no fury of a fiend whose treasure had been stolen.

[straykidsnerd255]

I really like the request you made for your followers (as usual your results never disappoint) so, thats why...~ I also want to make a request to give to you. Saja boys x sexy aesthetic influencer fem s/o ( separately ) Like Fem s/o has an aura that attracts the attention of Saja Boys please....

You are so sweet! Hope you enjoy these little drabbles!! <3

Jinu:

He has been following your aesthetic foody tour instagram and youtube channel for a year. You would go all over the world eating food or treats from different places in the world. Jinu would always check his phone when a notification went off and it was something that you had posted either a new photo or a new video. A few years passed and here Jinu was, waking up to you laying in the same bed as him, your fingers intertwined. He was happy. He remembered the day you both met and immediately hit it off. Jinu can’t help but move closer to you, pressing the back of your hand to his lips, a smile forming on his lips when you move closer to him. “My love, we need to get up. You have a new video you need to post and I have a new song to practice” Jinu whispered, watching you groan and move closer to him, burying your face in his chest. “I don’t wanna.” You mumbled making Jinu chuckle. “Come on love. If you get your video posted, I will let you come with me to practice and watch.” Jinu watched in amusement as you popped up out of the bed and rushed to the closet to get ready. Jinu laughed loudly from the bed as he too got up to get ready.

Abby Saja:

Now, Abby Saja would rather be in the gym exercising, gotta keep his muscles defined and strong. However, when it comes to you wanting to get your instagram updated with your aesthetic flower photo taking, he could never say no to you. He would follow you no matter where you went, making sure that you were protected or that no one would approach you thinking you were single. You giggled happily when the field of flowers appeared out your side of the car window. Abby Saja smiled as he watched your excitement through the corner of his eye. Pulling into the parking lot, you immediately rushed from the car and towards the flowers immediately taking photos, playing with the filters and getting annoyed when some of the photos that were actually really beautiful were too blurry. You immediately relaxed when Abby Saja’s arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he looked at your phone screen. “I think the blurry flower aesthetic seems really cool.” He said, watching your fingers dance over the photo, fixing a few things before moving over to instagram and posting it. “You are right Abby Saja. It does look really cool.” You said, watching your boyfriend smile and nuzzle into your neck, a smile on his face.

Mystery Saja: 

Mans is always watching your youtube videos. Doesn’t matter if he is in the middle of practice or in the process of trying to figure out how to defeat the huntrix, he has your latest youtube video pulled up and notes surrounding him. You are a photographer and Mystery Saja has been in love with every photo you have taken. Mainly the photos are of you holding something out in front of you with the background blurred. You would sit and talk about how you got that photo, and give instructions to those who ask for them. Mystery even started taking pictures just to come back home to you with the brightest smile on his face as he waves his photos like a child waves a new toy they had just got. You smiled, taking the photos and looking over them, your smile growing bigger and bigger the more you look through his photos. Mystery asking you to use his photos in your next youtube video made your heart swell with so much love and pride that you couldn’t deny him. Your next video included his photos and you proudly saying your boyfriend took these pictures making Mystery blush a deep red.

Romance Saja:

He is all about the aesthetic couple photos he finds on pinterest. He will run up to you when you are currently struggling with a video you need to present to your college photography class and show you the pictures he found, asking if you both can copy the picture. You immediately and excitedly nod your head. This could be your final project for your class. You and Romance Saja walk around the city to find the perfect spot. After searching for hours, you both come across a beautiful looking forest entrance. You had handed Romance Saja your camera, knowing how careful he was with those kinds of things. You took his hand and began leading him forward, oblivious to the soft smile on his face. He lifted the camera, messed with the settings to find one he liked and snapped the photo, catching you holding his hand and leading him forward. You turned towards him right as he put the camera down, fanning innocents before ushering you to continue forward. You smiled before rolling your eyes playfully and continued walking forward. When looking through all the photos, you found the one he took smiled softly to yourself as your heart filled with warmth.

Baby Saja:

He never really paid attention to what you posted on Instagram but, when he decided to take a look at what you have posted, his heart started pounding wildly in his chest. You had been posting aesthetic photos and videos of his rapping and dancing, showing off just how amazing he was in your eyes. He immediately followed your Instagram and had notifications on so that when you posted something new, he could see it. Baby Saja never felt that kind of love before and when he started dating you, he thought you would grow tired of him and leave him just like everyone seemed to do but when you immediately started taking photos and videos of him, Baby Saja knew that you were never leaving his side and that made him smile. A few hours into dance practice, Baby Saja’s phone went off with a notification. He practically dived for his bag and grabbed his phone out, pressing the notification button and found a photo you had taken of him when you both went out on a date last night. He smiled softly as he liked the photo, commented on it, and placed it back in his bag so he could finish up the last of his practice. A smile permanently etched into his face just thinking about you.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[feralwetcat]

tginking about doomed/tragic ghostjnife again. if you even care.

[sayheykid]

i genuinely don't think a story's worldbuilding and lore has ever drawn me in the way that check please did. it's been years and i still think about it every day. the characters and plot were always superb but i think what has stuck with me the most is the depth of the settings and how everything feels so lived in and tangible. everyone wants to make a fake world and town and university but no one else has EVER done it that well

[iamnotlookingidonotseeit]

sometimes I tell my parents things. often then i wonder why i even open my mouth. but when I keep it light I end up wondering why I can't seem to connect on any real kind of level. and I add another thing to the list for therapy

[roastedoatmilk]

Arcane Women Strap Hcs

characters: sevika, vi, caitlyn, mel, ambessa

A/N barely proofread sorry, also my first time writing for arcane please be kind 🙈 i hope y’all enjoy lmk your thoughts :)

Sevika

first things first she has a dark purple strap i’m talking almost the same color that shimmer is and boy does she know how to use it

whenever she pulls the strap out be prepared to not be able to walk the next day

she prefers to fuck you in missionary but if she had to choose a different position it would be fucking you from the bottom, she just loves to be able to see your face while she pleasures you

her strap game is DIABOLICAL, she always makes sure to hit that spot inside you that makes you let out a squeal and causes your toes to curl

honestly she could just cum from fucking you alone but if you feel up to it once she’s done with you she loves when you eat her out after

“that’s it baby, you’re taking me so well just a little more”

Vi

vi screams black strap to me like it just makes sense

she prefers to fuck you slow and DEEP, i’m talking girly lifts your hips off the bed and grips them so hard that you can feel bruises form

shes so cocky about it too like she knows she’s good

vi’s another one that could cum from pleasuring you alone and 9/10 times she does, however the one time she doesn’t she will literally sit on your face once you’re well enough to take care of her

“that feel good pretty girl ? yeah i know it does, you’re always so good for me”

Caitlyn

dark blue strap sorry yall i don’t make the rules

caitlyn loves when you’re on top and she’s fucking you from below

she revels in the sight of you falling apart above her while she’s gripping your hips guiding you

she’s 100% a brat tamer and you can’t tell me any different

“oh darling is it too much ? you shouldn’t have behaved like that if you didn’t want me to fuck you like this”

Mel

HEAR YE HEAR YE she has a gold strap idc idc

mel also likes it when you’re on top however she prefers to gently guide your movements while she praises you

don’t let that mislead you tho shes a HUGE tease

she can and will make you edge yourself until you’re literally crying begging her to let you cum

“ my love you look so beautiful when you ask nicely like that, go ahead and take what you need”

Ambessa

ruby red strap that’s all imma say

the cruelest of the bunch, she’s not afraid to leave you dry while she takes what she needs

another brat tamer yall you love to see it

she doesn’t make love she FUCKS, be prepared to constantly be buying new headboards

she makes you suck on her strap NEXTTTTT

“sweet girl did you think i’m finished with you ? no no we aren’t done until you can’t remember anything but my name”

[piknim]

It is very hard for me to change oc designs for some reason but i had a great idea for one and it actually is motivating me to figure out how to draw him

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Serious Arranged Marriage

AKA "Damian al Ghul and the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead are married because of some ritual Ra's al Ghul did when Damian was a baby. The Batfam only find out because Damian casually mentions his husband and they're like?? WHAT???" prompt idea!!

Loosely inspired by this post where Billy Batson & Danny Fenton accidentally get married and Billy spills the beans in front of the JL.

I love the idea of Ra's al Ghul knows Danny because of the Lazarus Pit; maybe Ghost King!Danny came to Ra's and was like, "You know unsanctioned resurrection is forbidden, right? You have to submit an Undead Appeal form in the afterlife. I'm gonna have to confiscate your Goop." But Ra's is a master manipulator and gets Danny to agree to a truce... a marriage with his grandson in exchange for continued use of the Lazarus Pit. Don't ask me how it happened; Ra's "wins" either way because his grandson gets married to a High King and he gets to keep his Goop.

(Because Danny's young, okay? Logistically speaking, he's not going to outsmart an immortal cult leader. Maybe sometime down the road Danny gets tired of Ra's talking circles around him and just, like, punches him in the face or something. Makes "Redemption Arc" Dan take care of it. Who knows?)

But for now, Danny is now married to a literal baby. He's confused as hell how this happened. He's like, omg, am I a groomer now?? Am I one of those creepy ancient kings that get married to 12 year old girls?? What the fuckkkk!!! So, he runs to the Ghost Zone. Goes off-world, maybe he gets swept up in Ghost King duties and totally forgets about it. The thing about the Ghost Zone is that the time dilation is different: a couple of days/weeks/months in the Ghost Zone is actual years on Earth. That's why Danny is still so young despite depictions of him going centuries back (time is even messier because he can actually time travel, too, so there may be paintings of him during the Aztec civilization but only because he was there for maybe a week or two.)

This leads to everybody on Earth thinking he's an Ancient Being. Ra's is elated that his grandson, the heir of the League of Assassins, is married to the equivalent of a God (he doesn't know that 99 percent of the time, Danny's lounging on Sam's couch in sweats and eating cheese puffs, watching melodramatic reality TV with Tucker).

And Damian grows up hearing about this legendary marriage, how this Great Ancient Being is his husband, and is... maybe scared? A little angry, resentful? He's had the choice taken from him from before he could even conceptualize it. He was a kid growing up thinking this All Powerful Being was watching his every move, judging him for not being the best like his Grandfather says, and waiting. He trains harder, learns more, maturing faster than anyone his age. And he's still waiting. Because the High King doesn't show up. Not when Damian's four, six, ten, twelve, fourteen. Damian thinks maybe he's not good enough yet despite vastly outdoing even the most seasoned senior assassins in the League.

Danny comes back to Earth and is like, oh, shit, I need to check on my baby!!! Except when he drops in on the League of Assassins, he's met with an angry, resentful, offended Damian al Ghul who's the same age as him. And Damian's met with.... some guy?? What the hell?? This can't be the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead, Ancient Being, etc. He's heard so many stories of his husband, spanning centuries of different culture and in varying dead languages.

Needless to say, their introduction doesn't go great. But Danny wants to explain himself and make amends, and Damian's just baffled enough to listen. ("What do you mean, the Undead Siege of The Great Wall wasn't you???" "Yeah, that was the previous Ghost King. I've never risen an army of the dead before.") But as they talk, Damian begrudgingly accepts that his husband is... actually pretty cool (despite the god-awful sweatpants). Danny's recounting his various tales, usurping the previous Ghost King, and Damian even starts to respect Danny.

So, they keep talking. Keep meeting, learning about each other, becoming friends, and eventually becoming more. Damian originally thought Danny was too stupid for words, but quickly realizes that he's a great strategist, knowledgeable about a vast amount of stuff, and is incredibly loyal. Danny thinks Damian's deadpan bluntness is hilarious, understands Damian's pathological need to be the best (courtesy of the Demon Head's traumatic teaching during childhood), and is almost single-mindedly, unconditionally loyal. He's also incredibly petty, which is also hilarious.

Maybe years pass and they're now lovers, Danny sticking around Earth because he's scared if he goes into the Ghost Zone, he'll unintendedly come back when Damian's 90 or something. So, Danny's there when Talia takes Damian aside and says, "Bruce Wayne is your father. I'd like you to train under him before you become the new Demon Head."

Damian goes and Danny follows. When he worries about Tim usurping the title of Heir, Danny's there to say, "You don't make friends by attacking them, Dami! He's your family, not your enemy." The whole "Damian trying to kill Tim" thing doesn't happen. When he worries about disappointing his Father, Danny's saying, "He's your dad. He missed your childhood so he wants to get to know you - just be yourself." Damian doesn't act violently, aggressively, or is offensively provocative; he's still petty, painfully blunt, and exasperatingly self-confident, but he's also honest and thoughtful.

Damian transitions into the Batfam easier with Danny beside him (invisible, only showing himself while in Damian's room or when they're alone). Because Danny wants his husband to feel accepted, appreciated, and get the unconditional love that he never received while living with the LoA.

Let's imagine several months go by and the Batfam are totally comfortable with Damian. He's truly like their annoying younger brother. So, they're at family dinner, maybe Dick is discussing his relationship with Barbara and Steph makes a comment about when are you going to propose already?? Tim and Jason are ribbing him about commitment issues (Bruce is suspiciously silent, likely knowing that if he says something, his kids are going to verbally tear him apart for his Situationship with Selina).

And Damian says, "Many feel apprehensive to marry. I was not, of course, but my husband was very trepidatious."

The whole Batfam are like... what?? What do you mean the youngest kid of the Wayne household is the first to be married?? (Aside from Alfred, who's since divorced.) Is this even legal???

But Damian just continues on, "Perhaps discussing the progression of your relationship with Miss Gordon would be beneficial. Marriage should be consensual." (Damian learned that from Danny, who had offered to null their marriage in the early days. It was a heated conversation, Danny feeling guilty because he'd trapped Damian into this relationship and Damian feeling betrayed because what do you mean you're leaving me? This is unacceptable! They shared their first kiss after realizing neither one wants to end the marriage.)

And the Batfam, as comfortable as they are with Damian, knows he's a little like a feral animal. He doesn't share things about himself often. They don't want to scare him off by prying, even if Bruce is gripping the table cloth, sweating, and is looking pale. Because his child is literally married and God, please don't let it be to one of those old assassins in the League, please. So, Dick just says, "Uh, yeah. That's - thanks, kiddo, that's... a good idea."

Damian continues to make occasional comments about his husband, but nobody knows who it is. He doesn't use Danny's name. And Danny has to leave to do Ghost Stuff (despite being terrified of losing track of time, but Damian's now living with a loving family so he's kind of okay with being dragged off for his Kingly Duties). So, nobody's ever actually seen Danny.

Until the Joker decides to make his mark on the newest addition of the Batfam. He's already killed one Robin, traumatized the hell out of another, and paralyzed Batgirl. He's eager to add another of the Batfam to his roster.

Joker nor the Batfam anticipate the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead to straight up portal Joker's ass into Frostbite's territory (aside from Damian because he absolutely knew what was going to go down the second he saw a glowing green aura illuminate the warehouse). One minute Joker is threatening a civilian Damian, whos' still dressed in his Gotham Academy uniform, and the next he's being violently yanked into a massive swirling void of green.

And who steps out? Ghost King Danny, in full kingly attire, including a wreathy crown of white-hot, broadsword hung on his hip, and a skull mask over his face. The Batfam are scrambling to get Damian's chains unlocked and haul him away from whatever-the-fuck that is. They get Damian unlocked, but he just snaps for them to desist your hysteria, Richard, 'that' is my husband.

(Cue the very tense family dinner afterward. Danny's in Damian's sweater and ripped jeans but the Batfam are just squinting at him like, how is this the same as that Thing from the warehouse?? Danny's totally oblivious, holding Damian's hand and saying, "Mr. Wayne, I love your home! The painted ceiling in that one from on the second floor is amazing, the constellations are actually super accurate!" He forgot that the Batfam had no idea he's visited Damian literally hundreds of times since he moved into Wayne Manor. Bruce looks like he's gained several greys in the last hour.)

(Bonus points if at some point Damian can be seen lovingly feeding Cheetos to Eldritch Monster Danny and the Batfam are just like that's... definitely not pants-shittingly terrifying... Bruce tells himself he's just glad his son isn't married to an LoA member.)

[mggslover]

learning sign language so you can make inappropriate comments to spencer while at work and you sign “want to suck your cock” and spencer just looks at you all bewildered like “since when did you know ASL?”

dirty talking to spencer in ASL genre: sfw with sexual innuendos word count: 1,8k a/n: a lil something while i'm working on kinkfest :)

Spencer Reid is a man of many talents. People say — well, specifically, Spencer once told you that learning a new skill is easiest around the age of ten and how the process will be more difficult once you reach the age of eighteen. Something about neural connections forming rapidly, the unconscious system, the critical period… To be honest, you lost your focus the moment he mentioned the new skill he’d learned: sign language. 

Spencer was excited to tell you about this new skill. He already knew a handful of languages, from Russian to Yoruba, but what appealed to him most about ASL was the hand motions. How he didn’t need to pronounce any of the words. You still chuckle to yourself when the memory of him pronouncing a Spanish sentence pops up in your head. How vividly you could picture Elle correcting him. There was nothing funny about him using ASL, though. In fact, you remember the way your throat tightened and your cheeks heated when his hands started moving — long fingers, decorated in veins, flexing into different symbols at a speed that other beginners would envy.

“That means ‘I love you, and that sweater looks pretty on you’.”

You had laughed. Had leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you,” you replied. A hot pink flush made its way onto his face, a shy smile tugging on his lips. 

“Does this mean you’ll be speaking to me in sign now?”

Your comment was meant as mere teasing, but Spencer had taken it as a challenge. He’d made sure to at least communicate a couple of ASL sentences to you every day. You could imagine it being a good way of practice for him. For the both of you, actually. Because over time you started to recognize some of the movements. A sign you had mistaken as rock and roll before, you had now concluded meant I love you. A swipe of his hand over his face? Pretty. There were a few others you could recognize, but as the sentences grew longer and his signs faster, you gave up.

You had always assumed everything Spencer signed to you was something sweet. You’d smile, kiss him as a thank you, and forget about it, assuming he was complimenting you. That was until Derek caught Spencer in the act, signing something to you before the elevator doors closed in front of him, ready to head over to the lab for another case you were on. 

“My man,” Derek chuckled heartily, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Your brows furrowed, the smile that had lingered on your face moments before dropping instantly. “What?”

He kept laughing, not noticing the clear confusion you were in.

“Derek!” you said, giving a soft punch to his arm to catch his attention.

“Oh, you don’t-” He raised an eyebrow, pointing to you and the closed elevator doors before laughing even harder.

“Stop it!” You cried, getting embarrassed by the scene you were causing in the middle of the bullpen. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, pretty girl,” he started, taking a deep breath to recover, still grinning widely. “Pretty Boy over there should be getting the title of Dirty Boy from now on.”

Your mouth opened, then quickly closed when no words came out. “I don’t understand.”

Derek looked around the bullpen, finding no one near. Still, he leaned in, shielding his mouth with his hand as he recited Spencer’s words to you.

You gasp, hand clutching your chest dramatically as if starring in a soap opera. “He didn’t,” you say in full disbelief.

“Oh, yes he did,” Morgan smirked in full pride.

“How would you even know that?”

“My buddy works at a youth center. I teach the kids football from time to time. Some speak ASL.”

You scoff. “Kids have taught you these words?”

Derek shrugs. “What can I say? It’s the dirty words that are most fun to learn.”

-`♡´-

You had struggled to think of anything else after that encounter, your mind wandering to every possible naughty sentence when Spencer signed to you from then on. It was frustrating, really, how he must be gleaming knowing you had no clue what he was saying. As long as he knows that you’re also up for a challenge. 

After work that day, you told Spencer you’d be home later, having to pick something up from a friend’s house. It wasn’t completely a lie — you had to pick something up, just from a different location. You parked your car in the parking lot in front of the public library, feeling like a criminal as you knocked on the glass doors. A woman in her late sixties greeted you, her kind beady eyes framed by thin glasses that hung low on her nose.

“You’re the one who called? From the FBI?”

You nodded, smiling. “Hi, yes, that’s me. I am so sorry to be bothering you at this hour, but we’ve got a killer on the loose, and it’s very urgent.”

The older woman cringed at the mention of a killer, muttering some words under her breath, and turned to grab an entire stack of books. You reached your hands out, accepting the heavy weight of the books, the title A Beginner’s Guide to ASL written on the top one. 

Her hand trembled lightly as she tapped the front cover. “This one comes with a DVD.”

“Oh, that’s perfect. Thank you for your help.”

“You better catch that bastard!” You nodded confidently in response as you turned on your heel.

-`♡´-

Unfortunately, Spencer was right: learning a new language as an adult was far from easy. Especially with the lack of time you had because of working a demanding job. You had to make do with the rare free weekends and some late nights during the week to study as much as possible.

You were tucked underneath a blanket on the couch, laptop in your lap, as you were watching a YouTube video Derek had recommended: “Sign Dirty to Me: A Guide to Dirty Talk in Sign Language”.”

“The next sentence we’ll be learning is ‘I want to give you a blowjob’.”

“A what?” 

You screeched, lifting yourself up on the couch at a speed that made the laptop fall on the ground with a thud. You mutter a string of curses as the video continues playing, using your foot to stomp the laptop shut.

“Jesus, Spencer, can’t you knock?”

You turn your body, spotting your boyfriend's tall figure leaning against the open bedroom door, an amused smile lingering on his lips. “I think you’ve forgotten that you’re in my house.”

You groan at his smug grin, trying to find an excuse. 

“What were you watching anyway?” He asks in curiosity before you could explain.

“Nothing!”

He takes a stride toward you, and you scramble from the couch to grab the laptop, holding it tight in your arms as a safety measure. Spencer leans on the plush frame of the couch, appearing rather relaxed as a gleam sparkles in his eyes. “Don’t tell me you were watching-”

“No!” You exclaim in offense.

“I wouldn’t mind it if you were.”

“I was not watching anything.”

The content look doesn’t fade from his face. He looks rather pleased by the scene you’re making. The tips of his fingers brush against the bare skin of your arm. Those damn fingers. “I don’t mind, angel. I would just offer you my help instead.”

You swallowed. He was distracting you, and you were not going to fall for his dirty ploys yet again. No way.

“I’m good,” you squeak, hurriedly standing up from the couch. You point at him while your other hand clutches your laptop. “I will go to the bedroom now, and you will stay here. Don’t even think about moving an inch.”

Your words were only making you sound more suspicious, but you didn’t care. It would be worth it in the end.

-`♡´-

Two weeks had passed since you and Derek had exposed Spencer’s dirty, little secret. Two weeks in which you had spent all your free time learning ASL. You had been nervous all morning while getting ready for work, trying to resist the urge to sign something to him. But you wanted to do it in the bullpen; you needed to see him get flustered in a crowd. 

Your fingers had been nervously tapping on your desk, eyeing Spencer at his desk opposite yours. You were waiting on Derek, who you had promised could be there for the “big moment”. 

“Where are we going?” Penelope’s voice sounded through the bullpen as Derek grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the desks. You throw your hands up in frustration, it wasn’t the plan to make it that big of a show. “Are you kidding me?” You mouth toward Derek.

“Now,” he mouths back as he stays at a safe distance against the far wall.

Here we go.

A single kick to Spencer’s shin was enough to grab his attention. “Ouch! What did you do that for?”

Biting down on your lip to hide your smile, you began moving your fingers, a little exaggeratedly, to make sure he understood. 

Look what new skill I learned.

Spencer beams, smiling brightly as the realization dawns upon him. “Hey! Since when did you know ASL?”

You don’t give him an answer right away, not wanting to get out of your flow, so you continue signing the variety of sentences you’ve learned, each one even dirtier than the last.

You knew you were doing a good job when a few snorts came from your right at certain words, Derek understanding what you were saying. Looking at Spencer confirmed it — his eyes stood wide open, red blotches of heat forming on his neck as his lips moved in a struggle to find the words.

Stop it. Right now. He eventually signed.

You grin, pride washing over you as you can understand him. This new method of communication truly opens up worlds.

But I mean it. You sign back.

He hides the small smile that forms on his face, tugging away a piece of hair before finding the courage to respond back to you.

What else would you like to do, then?

Penelope nudged Derek, looking puzzled. “What are they doing? Are they…? Oh my god, they’re trying to get in each other’s pants? Right in front of us?!”

Derek threw his head back laughing. “That’s right. They’re not so innocent anymore, huh?”

“But dirty talk is our thing!” Penelope protested.

Derek shakes his head. “I hate to break it to you, baby girl, but they’re outdoing us.”